"I can't believe it." Rodney looked up from his laptop, his words of dismay loud enough to create a lull in the SGC's commissary. "He lost." Rodney looked around the room as he moaned. "The computer lost. That's impossible."

Daniel had the misfortune to catch Rodney's gaze and now couldn't look away without appearing rude. Rodney, sitting across the table from Daniel, waved at his laptop. "It shouldn't have done that. The program's too good; it should've won the match."

He heard a soft snicker of laughter from Sam as Daniel mumbled, "Sorry to hear that."

But Rodney wasn't finished. "Okay, so the first prototype might have had a few problems and was a little... erratic. But this new and improved version was better. Much better."

"Are you talking about the SoCal Computer Chess Invitation?" Sam asked, suddenly interested in Rodney's complaining. Daniel quickly looked down at his plate, glad he was let off the hook. He stuffed a French fry into his mouth, giving the next one undue attention by dragging it through gravy while he swallowed.

"Yes. It looks like our guys will be offering a contract to the Japanese," he sighed. "He shouldn't have lost." Rodney turned the laptop around, showing them the streaming video of the conference hall where the competition had taken place. "Look at this." He bent sideways, typed in a few commands and the footage replayed.

"You speak as if you participated in the construction of this computer," Teal'c said as Rodney fast-forwarded through the recording.

"Participated? No, I just emailed the guy who wrote the software and gave him a few tips. Well, maybe more than just a few tips. He's brilliant, but he refused to change a few things despite it making the computer a little... moody. After a few weeks of emails, he sent me a copy of his program and we tweaked it together. He'd been using..."

Daniel ignored Rodney's babbling and fixed his attention on the chess game displayed on the screen. It took him a few seconds to acquaint himself with the play, then watched curiously for a few moves. When one player lost his queen, he was sure it would lose the game but to his surprise, his opponent made such an overt mistake, he now understood Rodney's shock.

Anyone else, Daniel would have suspected that the computer's program was faulty or had a few bugs. But if Rodney had a hand in writing the software, and the computer had been winning up to this point, then this wasn't the computer's fault. He opened his mouth to say so, but Teal'c beat him to it.

"Then the computer is not at fault. The individual controlling it caused it to fail."

"That's what I'm afraid of. Why would Andy do that? Winning the match was a done deal."

"Rodney," Sam laughed. "You have a copy of the software and the military is out there ready to offer a contract to the winner?"

"Well, technically it's not mine to use," he said quickly. "I just offered to help – Andy would probably have figured things out eventually – I just helped him along a little sooner."

"Dad, are you almost done?" Daniel knew he was whining as he pointedly picked up his backpack and rested it on his lap.

"Yes, another five minutes." His father sounded pre-occupied as he perused several sheets of paper in a folder.

"You said that five minutes ago."

"And it'll be another five minutes if you keep interrupting me."

"But..." Daniel snapped his mouth shut and leaned forward, resting his arms on his bag. As much as he used to love coming to the SGC to be with his dad, lately there had been too many days spent in the infirmary getting physicals. And, he had plans tonight.

"Where's the fire?" His dad finally initialed the bottom of the top sheet, shut the folder and tossed it into his out tray.

"Alexandria's renting a movie and I promised to watch it with her tonight." Plus he owed her a thank you for standing by him during his not so normal bad stretch of craziness. A little crankiness and weirdness during the past year would be an understatement, but Alexandria had been right there by his side.

"Ah. A date."

"It's not a date. But it's getting late and it's a school night and at this rate we won't be able to watch the end of the movie—"

"Wouldn't want you to be late for your date, eh?"

"Are you done?" Daniel asked as his dad put his pen away.

"Done. Let's vamoose." Using his arms to push himself up from the chair, his dad let out a long groan. "And remind me the next time I get on the dirt bike, not to try and keep up with a fourteen year-old."

Daniel was up in a flash, hurrying towards the door as his dad grumbled, only to slide to a stop when he came face to face with Rodney. Annoyed, he nearly said something rude until he saw the expression on Rodney's face. For a moment, he thought Rodney was either going to throw up or pass out.

"Dad!" Daniel cried out, then stepped backwards to let his dad get to Rodney.

"He's dead," Rodney said in a faint voice when his dad wanted to know what the problem was.

"Who?" His dad asked, full of concern.

"Andy. Andy Goode."

"Who?" Concern was replaced by total confusion.

"The computer guy?" Daniel asked, looking around his dad. He suddenly felt awful for Rodney.

"Someone shot him. In the hotel."

"Who's Andy Goode?"

"A guy who programmed a computer to play chess. There was a tournament earlier today," Daniel said quickly. "Andy and Rodney worked together on the computer."

"Aren't there games out on the market that do that?" His father scratched his head as he stepped back, letting Rodney into his office.

"The Turk is much more advanced than a simple computer game," Rodney said, affronted as he paced back and forth in the small space in front of the desk. "It's programmed to learn, and actually shows random behavior in solving problems. This could be a breakthrough in the way we know computers. I've already started writing a few programs to help with the SGC and—"

"And this Goody guy? What's he got to do with Stargate Command?"

"Um. Nothing." Rodney gave his dad a blank look for a second. "I helped him with the software. I'd read an article a while back about what he was doing and contacted him, after his house burned to the ground and he lost his first prototype. We rewrote the software, and he entered a competition where the winner would get a contract with the military—"

"You helped a guy write a software program which the military is going to have to pay for?"

"That's what Sam said," Daniel half-whispered into his dad's ear.

"Hey, it's not my software—"

"But you're using it to write programs for your work here—"

"It's something I thought about doing one day. I just didn't have the time." Rodney shrugged, waving a hand in dismissal. "Andy's program, by itself, was pretty innovative but with my help, he was sure to win the competition."

"And he died because he won?"

"No. He lost."

"Did they catch the guy who did it?" Daniel asked, wishing his dad would show a little bit more sympathy towards Rodney.

"Yeah. The cops chased some guy and caught him in an alley outside the hotel. Colonel, I think someone should go and at least talk to Andy's partner—"

"I thought you were his partner—"

"No. I just helped him write the software. His partner, Dimitri Shipkov, taught the Turk how to play chess. I offered, but Andy had already made a deal with Shipkov."

"You just said the cops caught someone—"

"Think about it. His computer lost, so supposedly it's not worth anything. So why kill him?"

"For the computer," his dad said coldly.

"Bing. Bing. Bing. Give the man a kewpie doll." Rodney stopped pacing and flicked a finger in their direction. "I know what that software can do. The computer lost the competition. It shouldn't have. That in itself is pretty fishy."

"What are the implications of this software falling into the wrong hands?"

"Well, it's got potential but it's not like it can suddenly take over the world and annihilate mankind." Rodney seemed more composed now. "The military aspects are numerous, and actually, out in the real world, someone could probably make themselves pretty damn rich in the gaming community."

"Enough to kill someone for?"

Rodney gave his dad a short nod.

"I'll go speak to Hammond."

Daniel suddenly realized they weren't going home anytime soon.

"Daniel, I'll get someone to drive you home—"

"To Alexandria's?" he asked hopefully.

"Just make sure you're home by ten."

"I'll see you tomorrow." John strolled next to Cheri, grinning when she turned to smile back at him. For a moment, she looked carefree, then she turned her head towards the street and her face became serious. "Bye," she said gaily, waving her hand towards Cameron, pretending she'd been smiling at her instead of at John.

She skipped down the stairs, hurrying towards her father's car. John continued after her, resolute in catching a glimpse of the man who terrified this girl so much. The door opened before Cheri could reach for the handle and there was her father, leaning across the seats, staring defiantly at John.

Their eyes met.

John froze.

Sarkissian, his face cold and unforgiving, gave John a nod of recognition. There was a ghost of a smile before he pulled back and Cheri slid into the car.

For a moment, John couldn't catch his breath. "Shit."

"Your mother won't be pleased," Cameron said.

"Understatement of the year," John answered with a heavy heart.

"John's girlfriend is Sarkissian's daughter." Cameron went straight for the jugular, announcing to all and sundry even before John shut the door behind them.

"John has a girlfriend?" His mom, poring over printouts John had recovered from the triple eight's chip, gave him a quick, teasing smile.

Cameron looked at him guilelessly for a second when he glared at her before turning all her attention towards his mom. She looked none the worse from the damage Sarkissian's bomb had incurred last week; except for a few burns on her back which were conveniently out of sight under her skimpy top. "Cheri Westin is Sarkissian's daughter."

"And who's Cheri Westin?" When Cameron opened her mouth to answer, his mom put a hand out in her direction to stop her, but her eyes didn't leave John's face. He tossed his schoolbag onto the counter and walked to the fridge, ignoring how she watched his progress across the small kitchen.

"Just a girl at school." He pulled out a Snapple, popped the top, and chugged down half of it before coming up for air.

"And Sarkissian?" Derek said, walking into the room and leaning against a counter top. "What does he have to do with this girl at school?"

"He's her father," John repeated.

"And you know this, how?" his mom asked not so gently, lowering her hand.

Cameron jumped in with robotic gusto. "Her father picks her up after school."

"You saw the bastard that tried to kill us?" Derek pushed away from the countertop, hurrying to the door and peering outside, a gun already in his hand.

"He knows where we live. If he had wished to attempt another coup, he would've done so already."

"I wish I knew why Sarkissian risked so much. For the fun of it? Because he could?" Derek sneered.

"Retribution," Cameron answered.

"Thank you, Dr. Phil," John snorted. "Retribution or just to show us we were getting too close," he said, shrugging as he glanced towards Cameron, "it's not going to happen again." He took another slug of Snapple. "Like Mom said, if he wanted to get to us, he knows were we live," John couldn't help adding. He also wondered if Cheri was going to be in class tomorrow. He had a feeling his new crush would find herself getting enrolled in an all girl's school sometime in the near future.

He pulled a chair from the table and sat opposite his mother, placing his half-empty bottle before him and twirling it round and round, feeing the condensation slick his palms. "Did you figure out what those were?"

"Military plans, I think. I've found a few serial numbers I'd like you to try and run through the computer. Might come up with a location."

John reached for the plans. "Sure."

"John, this girl. Was there something—"

"No." He dropped his eyes, taking a quick swig of iced tea. "Just someone I was partnered with to study for a chem test last week."

He finished his drink and stood, grabbing his schoolbag, the plans and headed for his room. "I'll look up those numbers as soon as I finish my homework." He wrinkled his nose as he passed by the oven. "And mom, I think you need to check on supper. Something's burning."

"You're tired."

John fought the urge to roll his eyes at Cameron. Instead he blinked burning eyes, concentrating on the blurry screen and stifled a yawn. "I'm fine." He kept his voice low in deference to the fact that his mom and uncle were both sleeping.

"You've been accessing the chip for four point three hours. It's past your bedtime."

"Stop it. You sound like Mom."

Cameron's words may have been uttered with less emotion than his mom would have expressed, but her usually impassive face stared at him with a hint of concern. Concern that didn't come into being because she cared, but because she was programmed to protect him.

"You require adequate sleep to function nominally, which you failed to obtain during the past two days. And it's a school night."

John held back a sigh. "I know. I'll catch up on sleep on the weekend. We need to find out if there's anything else in here that's worth exploring. And I've almost got this one—" The elusive bits of file that he'd struggled with all evening suddenly fell into place and a room showed up on the monitor. "That's it." John watched tiredly, not quite able to make out the things laid out neatly on the workbenches. "What are those?"

"I'm not sure."

"You recognize anything?" he asked as the triple-eight walked through the room, giving them a pretty good view of much of the articles through the cyborg's eyes.

"Yes."

"What?" he asked with exasperation when she didn't elaborate.

"Tools. They're not from this time. I'm not certain about the other items. They don't appear to be finished."

"So the triple-eight had a secret storage room where he built stuff?" John watched the video for a moment longer, then made a note of the file so he could replay it the next day, when he wasn't quite so tired. He sighed, glancing at the clock. What with homework, doing his mom's research and working on this, it was nearly two in the morning. Maybe he'd make more sense of everything tomorrow. Or make that later today.

Shutting down the chip by rote, John yawned. Five minutes later, teeth brushed, bladder emptied, he collapsed into bed.

John smothered a yawn, hiding his fatigue from his mother. School had been tough to get through with only a few hours of sleep. The nap he'd hoped to sneak in before supper was a daydream, and he'd probably have to stay up late to finish his homework because he'd only had the time to come home, search through Vic's chips to find the address to the warehouse and now, they were standing outside that warehouse while his mom picked the lock.

Shifting nervously, John couldn't help looking over his shoulder. A car went by, but nobody paid them any interest. Still, he felt exposed, feeling like someone was watching them doing something illegal and he fought the lure of looking back one more time. He hated being so on edge.

When his mom got the door open, they filed in quickly. Derek shut the door behind them while Cameron walked confidently forward. His mom was right behind her, hand close to the gun in her jacket pocket.

John glanced around as he followed, sandwiched protectively between his mother and his uncle. Derek identified a couple of items while Cameron did the rounds, giving the all clear before they dispersed. John moved away from the group, listening as his mom questioned both of the others about the items.

He couldn't even come close to identifying things; there were bits of metal everywhere, in all shapes and sizes. "Is this coltan?" he called out to Cameron.

"Yes."

"Could these all be spare parts?" He waved at the pieces of metal on the table before him.

"Yes," Cameron answered. "It's feasible, but unlikely. Judging from levels of construction, the triple-eight may have been attempting to build another—"

"You're saying the metal was building another one?" Derek dropped whatever he'd been holding with a loud clang and strode over to Cameron.

"Yes."

John glanced back, satisfied that Derek wasn't going to take his shock out on Cameron, and continued poking and prodding among the pieces.

"Sonofabitch."

"Well, it doesn't look like he got very far." His mom pushed her hair away from her face, a sure sign of aggravated frustration that John knew very well. "We'll need to take all of this with us and get rid of it."

John sighed as he looked for an empty box. He grabbed one from under the table and began sweeping bits of metal into it. He'd cleared half the table when he realized there was a small glass bottle hidden behind the bits he'd just swept into the box.

Curious, John placed the box to the side and picked up the bottle. He examined it closely, and shook it. A white powder inside coated the glass. Slowly he unscrewed the top and peered inside.

"Cameron? What's this stuff?" He waved the bottle towards the others, and a small puff of powder flew out of the opened mouth and onto the back of his hand. He switched the bottle to his other hand, absently wiping the powder onto his pants.

A second later, his hand started to burn.

"Ow."

Another second later, his outer thigh where he'd just rubbed the powder off his hand, burned in unison.

"Ow. Ow. Mom!" He shook his hand desperately.

Cameron left the group, striding quickly towards him. Her boots echoed loudly in the room, bouncing off the walls. As she came nearer, his vision distorted. She seemed to elongate, then popped back to normal as the sound of her footsteps came to him through a long, deep tunnel. Following on her footsteps was his mother's cry, his name one long, unending syllable.

Then suddenly the world flipped, and Cameron was sideways. He opened his mouth to comment on how weird that was, when his muscles cramped in agony.

"He's seizing." Frantically Sarah reached for John, only to have Cameron push her hands away.

"No. It's not a seizure."

"Like hell it's not." She scrabbled for John, but despite her petite form, Cameron was an immovable object.

"Don't touch him. The powder contains nanotechnology made for cyborg physiology and not humans." She had one hand clamped on John's hand, the other on his leg. "It may not be too late to save him."

"Save him?" Sarah heard her voice rise an octave.

"The nanocytes aren't programmed for human flesh. They emit a poison that quickly kills."

"And you can save him?" Kneeling next to her son who was shaking so hard, his breath came in agonized gasps, Sarah tore off the light jacket she'd worn over her tee shirt and eased it under John's face, trying to protect his skin from the unforgiving roughness of the cement floor. His eyes had rolled into the back of his head, leaving two white slits visible.

"They're attracted to my physiology. If they leave his body quickly, then the poison won't be fatal."

"How long?"

Cameron lifted a finger to peer at the skin on John's hand, which looked like it was bruised. "Not long."

"How long?" Sarah yelled.

"Another fifteen point two seconds."

"You'll know then? If he's okay?"

"No. It'll take another ten point one second to remove all the nanocytes from his cells."

Sarah couldn't comprehend that and she focused and latched only onto the next ten seconds which felt like years. Finally Cameron released John's hand and leg. A moment later, he went limp. "You can touch him now."

Sarah wiped the sweat from John's face. His skin felt hot, like he was feverish. "Tell me what's going to happen. What we can expect."

"High fever. Delirium. Cramps and intense pain. He may require medical intervention to assist in his recovery."

"We need to take him to the hospital." Sarah reached for John's hand, which was swollen and mottled dark with bruises. "Now."

"We can't," Cameron said.

"The hell we can't," Derek said stepping into tin girl's personal space.

"The echo of the nanocytes in John's blood will raise questions we can't answer."

"Shit." Derek scrubbed at his face, turned away, then turned back. "Okay, metal, what the hell are we supposed to do?"

"It would be safer to enlist the aid of your ex-lover."

"Well, gee, thanks for that tidbit of information." Holding back her tears, Sarah grabbed John and tugged him upright. He flopped bonelessly against her. "Derek and I will get John home. You get all this stuff packed up by the time Derek comes back for you."

"I should go with you."

"You should stay here and pack up this metal. Then you'll dispose of it the same way you disposed of the triple-eight."

Cameron stood, a movement so fluid that belied the weight of her metallic body beneath the skin. "I'll be finished by the time you come back."

For a moment, Sarah could have sworn the pretty face actually looked worried as her eyes raked over John. Then she turned, intent on her job while Derek pulled John up and over his shoulder. Sarah bit her lip as she followed wordlessly, running to open the door.

"Mom? Did you get any ice cream?" Intent on his homework, John wiped a hand across his face. He was dying for something cold and wet. "The air conditioning's on the fritz again," he yelled, listening to his mom's footsteps as she moved around in the kitchen. The heat was almost unbearable and he was just about ready to move his laptop outside where there was at least a hint of a breeze. "Mom? Ice cream?"

There was a rustle of a paper bag, and the clink of metal on china. John smiled to himself, licking dry lips in anticipation. A moment later, his mom walked into his room, holding a bowl with a spoon sticking over the edge.

"Here you go." She handed the bowl over, bumped his fingers as he reached for it and a scoop dislodged and landed on his leg. The ice cream was cold, freezing his skin through his pants. He jerked, and the rest of the bowlful spilled out, landing on his hand. Screaming in pain, he tried to stand but couldn't get his legs to work.

"Hold still, John." Sarah readjusted the ice pack over John's hand, loosely tying it down with a piece of cloth. She checked the one on his leg, making sure it hadn't dislodged with John's sudden surge of restlessness.

"Hot," John mumbled as he blindly tried to push her hands away.

"I know." She hurried into the kitchen, filled a pot with cold water, grabbed a facecloth from the bathroom and brought both back to John's bedroom. She moistened the facecloth, squeezed it with one hand and ran it over his face and neck. He licked his lips, and Sarah wet the cloth again, this time let it rest against his lips, allowing a few drops to drip there. He licked his lips again, letting out a soft sigh.

"Chocolate," he murmured softly, then frowned, pulling away from the facecloth. "Cold."

"I know."

"Mom?"

"I'm here, John."

"Mom?" His eyes opened for a moment before he curled up on his side. She took the opportunity to run the damp cloth over his neck and shoulders, wiping the sweat from his back. She continued even as the shivering began, until the bed was shaking so much she took pity on him and covered him with blankets.

His fever was so high; if this kept up, he'd be dehydrated in no time. He needed an IV and something to help bring his fever down. But she hesitated to call Charley, she'd sworn to herself never to get him involved in any of this again.

For a long while the only sounds were the chattering of John's teeth and his restless moans. Then she heard the sound of the car coming round the back and she sighed in relief. Derek and Cameron walked in a few minutes later, and some of the doom and gloom Sarah had felt eased with their presence. Maybe it was the fact that she wasn't alone with her son anymore, or she had someone in her sights to blame.

She rose from the bed, striding angrily towards Cameron, confronting her in the kitchen.

"How is he?" Derek began, then went silent when Sarah walked over to Cameron, stopping mere inches from her body. "What the hell was in that powder?"

Without a word, Cameron turned sideways, pulling up her tee shirt. She grabbed a corner of the gauze taped over the burn on her back, exposing the perfect skin beneath. "The nanocytes speed healing."

"You knew there'd by some in that room and you didn't warn us? Didn't warn John?"

"I didn't know the triple-eight had created nanocytes and kept them in the room." She calmly smoothed her tee shirt down, tossing the stained gauze onto the countertop.

"But you knew there was a possibility he might have some?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't think to say anything?"

"It wasn't a danger to anyone until John opened the bottle."

"And would John have opened that bottle if he'd known it could be dangerous?"

"No."

"You didn't think to warn anyone."

"They're not programmed to think. They follow orders," Derek said unnecessarily.

"If I had seen the bottle, I would have warned John not to touch it."

"Hindsight isn't worth shit!" Sarah turned from the large, innocent-looking eyes, shaking in anger.

"John needs medical help."

"Sarah." Derek turned towards her, a mix of sadness and panic in his eyes. "The hospital is out of the question."

There would be too many questions at a hospital. Save John's life to lose it when every red flag would be waved the second any name of his would be logged into a computer, never mind the nanocytes. "No." She turned on Derek. "I don't... it's not safe." She ran a hand through her hair, surprised to find her hands shaking. She didn't know what to do. "Let's wait a little while longer before I call Charley." A little white lie for all concerned. "You." She spun on her heels to face Cameron again. "Get rid of those parts. And the nanocytes."

"We'll need more thermite."

Sarah merely glared.

"I'll make more." That was said almost hurriedly, and Sarah felt a glimmer of satisfaction that the robot could at least pretend trepidation at Sarah's authority.

"Mom." John's voice reached weakly into the kitchen.

She looked at Derek a moment before hurrying to John. She glimpsed Cameron heading out of the kitchen while Derek was on her heels, following her into the bedroom. Sarah had just stepped into the room when she froze, hearing her voice coming from the kitchen.

"Charley. John's sick. We need your help."

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Sarah strode out of the room, grabbing her cell phone from Cameron's hand.

"Helping."

"You have no right to bring Charley into this."

"Charley Dixon can help John."

"You have no right."

Cameron glanced at the phone in Sarah's hand. "Then call him and tell him you changed your mind." Without another word, she left the house.

Sarah stood there, clutching the phone, almost relieved that the temptation of calling Charley had been made for her.

"Oh God, it hurts!" John arched backwards in the bed, fully awake for the first time since he'd gone down. It had taken both Sarah and Derek to hold him there and prevent him from falling off the bed when he'd surged upright screaming just seconds before.

He collapsed, panting and groaning, eyes wild.

"I know, I know," she crooned, trying to reposition the ice pack against his hand. His eyes stilled, met hers, and she schooled her features. "It'll be okay. Can you drink some water?"

Derek hurriedly grabbed the glass of tepid water she'd left there earlier, holding it to John's mouth as she lifted his head. John took a first sip, swallowed, took a second and choked, forcing Sarah to half lift him up as he coughed and wheezed, spraying water all over her face and chest.

"This isn't good." Derek slammed the glass of water down and they switched. He bore John's weight while Sarah wiped her face in the crook of her arm.

"Don't you think I know that? Shut up," Sarah commanded. "Just shut up." She softened her voice when John reacted to her shouting. "Charley will help."

Derek snorted. "Get your head out of your ass. The guy's an EMT, he's not—"

"He'll help." Mindful of his swollen, bruised hand, Sarah protectively leaned over John, warding off Derek's negative thoughts. "Charley will help, right, John?" She soothed sweaty strands of hair from his forehead, asking the question as reassurance and not because she was waiting for an answer.

"He's not a doctor. The guy's gonna be a band aid, not the solution."

"Hospital is not an option. You know it. I know it. So unless you have another solution up your sleeve, I'm warning you, just shut the fuck up." Sarah advanced on Derek, the nails of her fingers digging deeply into the palms of her hands. "Truthfully, I certainly didn't hear you complaining when Charley saved your life."

"Charley boy's not coming."

Sarah and Derek stood in the doorway of John's room, watching, giving him a touch more space than she was comfortable with at the moment. John had fallen into a restless sleep, awakening every time he shifted positions on the bed. Slowly, they'd backed away from the bed, getting as far as the doorway, unable to proceed further.

"Your hero won't be saving the day," Derek repeated.

"Charley will be here," she insisted, never taking her eyes from John's body.

Ever the pessimist, Derek's disdainful chuckle was like nails across the chalkboard. "John's going to die and in the end it was a terminator who killed him. Mankind is going to lose the war."

For once, Sarah didn't care about the war. Fuck Judgment Day. The only thing she was concerned about was the here and now. Her son. Her John was all that mattered.

The glare Sarah shot at Derek was enough to silence him. She wanted to hit him. Punch him. Wipe the smug look off his face with a wave of her hand, but she punished him in a different way. "Go out to the garage. Make sure there's not a particle of dust left over from the warehouse. Make sure Cameron burns everything - but not the powder."

Arm's flailing, Derek resembled a two year old in the throes of a temper tantrum. "Are you crazy? Look what it's done to John. You want to keep—"

"As a precaution," Sarah said, enunciating the words slowly. "In case." She swallowed and tried again.

"In case what?" Derek challenged.

"Go watch her," Sarah ordered again, though this time the bite was missing from her words.

"If you need me..." Derek reached for her, his hand dropped against his side when she caught the movement.

"Charley will be here soon. We'll be fine."

Not until the side door slammed shut, did Sarah go back to John's bedside.

"Charley's on his way," she lied as she knelt by edge of the bed.

John opened one eye, smiling at her. It was a tiny lopsided grin and she knew, even before her hand made contact with his forehead, that his fever had risen and for the moment, John was some place else besides this bedroom. A happier place.

There was an urgent pounding at the front door. "Charley's here." She jumped up, relieved, because she never, ever, would have admitted to Derek that she'd had her doubts about Charley's appearance.

There was no preamble, as soon as Sarah opened the door, Charley shouldered past her. "Where is he?" Quickly, he paced in a tight circle, trying to get his bearings.

Silently, Sarah led the way to John's room.

Charley was dogging her heels, his equipment banging against the hallway's walls in his haste to keep up with her. They separated upon entering the bedroom to opposite sides of the bed. Charley shrugged off the shoulder strap of the case, glanced at John then nailed Sarah with his gaze. "What happened?" he demanded, not bothering to wait for Sarah's explanation as he sat on the bed.

"Careful." Sarah leaned over and grabbed Charley's hand before he rested it on the blanket covering John's bruised leg.

"What the... Look but don't touch? Makes it pretty damned hard to treat him if I don't know what the hell is going on." He began to open his case. Stethoscope. Blood pressure cuff. Thermometer. "I don't work that way. I can't work that way."

Sarah yelled out a word of warning as Charley folded the blanket down. The icepacks on John's hand and leg shifted and supersensitive, abused skin met air. John jerked and blindly fought to retrieve the blanket, mewling in pain.

"In a second, Johnny. Promise. Just let me..." He gently removed the icepack. "Holy shit." In shock, he gazed at her then back at the hand resting gently in his. "Spill. Now," he ordered Sarah.

"John touched a powder that had nanotechnology created for cyborg physiology and not humans. They're not programmed for human flesh. They poisoned him."

"Poison. Nanotechnology for scary robots." Charley blinked at her. "Sarah, that's really outside my area of expertise."

"It's John." She squeezed his hand. "According to Cameron, he's been poisoned, Charley. High fever. Delirium. Help him."

"Help him," Jack yelled as he pushed past the parents on the bleachers, creating a path down to the field.

The collision had been fast, two players, heads down, each of them intent on gaining control of the ball, and there would've been no problem if the forward from the other team hadn't decided to lend some support with a tad more aggressiveness than was called for. The three of them went down in a pile of arms and legs and the stands stood as one, booing the unsportsmanlike conduct of the third player.

A hush fell over the crowd as each of the three players slowly untangled themselves, followed by a round of applause. The two players from the opposite team slowly stood and the third player offered Daniel his hand, which he accepted with a grateful smile that Jack saw from the stands.

It wasn't the getting upright that Daniel had a problem with. Daniel was fine with that, it was staying upright. Jack began his descent from his place in the stands to the field when Daniel's red, sweaty face turned the color of paste the second his right foot touched the ground.

Daniel landed ass first onto the field, bent over his leg, with both hands wrapped around the right kneecap.

Jack shouldered past Coach Dawson and the players from both teams and dropped to the ground. "Let me—"

"Don't touch it," Daniel hissed, when Jack tried to unlock his hands.

"We need to see it, Daniel." The coach's voice left no room for discussion, and he gently pushed Jack's hands to the side. "I'm not going to hurt you. Just want to look. Can I just look?"

Daniel slowly nodded, releasing his hands.

Shit. Already the area was bruised and swollen, and from Jack's medical field experience, the knee looked dislocated and damn painful.

"I'm going to call for an ambulance." Coach Dawson pushed himself upright and cocked his head back towards the team's bench.

"No!" Daniel's head shot up. "Just give me a minute to walk this off. I'll be..." He placed his palms on the grass on either side of his thighs.

Jack leaned across Daniel, slid his hands atop his and pasted a smile on his face. "How about you just stay put." God, the hands under his were shaking, or maybe those were his hands that were shaking, he couldn't tell the difference.

Tight-lipped, with a sheen of sweat covering his face, Daniel inclined his head.

"It's going to be okay. You're going to be okay," Jack crooned.

Daniel dropped his gaze to his damaged knee. "It hurts," he whispered.

"I know," Jack whispered back to his son, feeling for some strange reason responsible for Daniel's injury. "I'm sorry."

In the ambulance, Daniel refused to answer any of the EMT's questions. He lay on the gurney, staring at the ceiling of the vehicle, basically, unresponsive.

With one hand on Daniel's shoulder, Jack filled in the blanks with some lies and some half truths, watching the man complete the form, smiling when he tried to make conversation, exhaling slowly in relief when he went to radio the hospital.

"Dad?"

"I'm right here, Icky," Jack squeezed the shoulder under his fingers. "Promise."

"I want Janet."

The familiar hint of petulance in Daniel's voice forced a natural smile to Jack's face. "Me, too."

Daniel's muteness vanished in the ER. He was uncomfortable. In pain. And vocal.

"Did you call Janet?" he asked for what seemed to be the thousandth time.

Jack was getting as frustrated as Daniel. He'd been x-rayed and prodded, vitals taken more than once and a call had been put out to the pediatric orthopedist. "Janet's been called, there's an emergency at the mountain..."

Daniel shook his head, nodded and closed his eyes. Finally, and Jack had been waiting for this, a handful of tears leaked out from under the closed lids. God, he knew exactly how Daniel felt, he wanted Fraiser here also, talking care of Daniel.

Doctor Chadway wasn't Fraiser, but he was young, younger than any doctor had a right to be, and while his explanation of Daniel's accident was geared for Jack, the doctor didn't break eye contact with his son.

"Based on the x-ray, physical examination and the extent of the bruising, you're looking at a dislocated knee."

Lazily, Daniel blinked at the doctor. "Shit, that doesn't sound so good." With uncoordinated movements, after a few unsuccessful tries, Daniel managed to tuck a stray piece of hair behind his ear.

Jack tapped the tubing to the IV. "Good stuff?" he asked the doc.

"Just to take the edge off."

"I think it's working just fine." Jack tucked the same piece of errant hair behind Daniel's ear.

Daniel gave Jack a crooked, dopey smile. "We can go home now?"

"I don't think so," Jack said, socco voce, leaning into Daniel. "What now, Doctor Chadway?"

The doctor flicked off the light behind the wall mounted light box and gently drew back the blanket covering the bed, exposing Daniel's knee.

"Wow, that looks bad." There was an air of shocked awe in Daniel's voice. "Doesn't that look bad, Dad?"

Jack patted his son's shoulder, hoping the simple touch made up for how nauseated he felt at the sight of his son's injury. The knee looked mangled, hopeless, and he wanted Fraiser. Now. Right now. He swallowed down a mouthful of bile. "Let's hear what the doctor has to say, alright?"

The nursed entered the curtained off area and flashed Jack a smile.

"He's still sorta out of it." Jack held Daniel's lax hand, rubbing his thumb over his son's knuckles.

"Daniel," she whispered.

Without opening his eyes, he turned towards the sound of her voice. "Hmmmm?"

"Can you open your eyes for me, sweetie?"

"Yeah."

Jack nudged Daniel's arm with his elbow. "Come on, Icky, let the nurse see your baby blues."

"Ha," Daniel said, "funny." The words were slurred, but at least the eyelids were fluttering.

"Come on," the nurse prodded, taking Daniel's wrist between her fingers.

Experience had taught Jack to remain silent while vitals were being taken, he bore enough scars from interrupting Fraiser.

Daniel smacked his lips, noisily, moving his head from side to side. "Thirsty."

Jack glanced towards the nurse for guidance. At the SGC Infirmary he knew the rules. Hospital, he wasn't so in touch with the do's and don'ts. "Give me a second, Daniel, and I'll see what I can do."

"Okay." Daniel shifted on the bed and Jack held his breath, waiting for the expected yelp of pain, but there was none. Either the drugs still had a damn good hold on him or what the doctor had said, that once the knee was realigned and popped back into place, the majority of pain would have dissipated. Time would be the deciding factor.

Doctor Chadway stepped into the cubicle, stethoscope around his neck, hugging a chart that was bigger than any ER admission had a right to be. "I got this, Lorraine," Chadway said, dismissing the nurse with the slightest of nods.

"Hey, Daniel." Chadway placed the chart on the already crowded bedside table, chatting amiably to a barely responsive Daniel while he finished taking vitals.

"Thirsty," Daniel repeated, touching his lips for emphasis.

"I'm sure that can be rearranged. Ice chips?"

"I want to go home." Opened but unfocused eyes stared towards the hallway with undisguised longing.

"One thing at a time, Daniel." Jack shrugged apologetically at the doctor. "Daniel's a bit..." He made a flighty motion with his hand.

"Let's work on the ice chips first, then see what we can do about getting you home sometime this evening."

"Really?" Jack was taken back, considering how the knee had looked and how Daniel looked now, he had thought they'd been leaving anytime within the next year or two.

Chadway tapped the chart. "Daniel's been here before."

"Yeah," Jack shuddered. "It was the best of times, it was the worst..."

"Spoken like a true parent of a teenager."

Jack's grin was weak at most.

Daniel's head rocked between him and the doctor. "Thirsty?" He broke into a huge smile when the doctor pressed a Styrofoam cup of ice into left hand. "Wow." Apparently ice now held the same reverence as Snapple.

The doctor didn't look that much older than Daniel, but he was assured, confident and gentle as he tucked a spoon into Daniel's free hand then slowly showed him how to spoon the cold stuff into his mouth. "Got that?"

"Hmmm," Daniel answered, even though half the spoonful of ice landed on his chest.

"Based on the x-ray and the ease in which the patella fit back in place, Daniel's one lucky kid."

"Noth a kidth," Daniel said around a mouthful of ice.

"Sorry," Chadway corrected, "one lucky teen."

Daniel stuck the spoon into the ice cup, then shoved it at Jack. "Done." He shifted on the bed. "Now I can go home."

"Patience, grasshopper. How about we just let the good doctor finish?"

"I'll make this quick." The doctor drew a deep breath. "Right now, due to the drugs, Daniel's pretty pain-free, but by tomorrow he's going to be uncomfortable. Today is..."

"Wednesday," Jack filled in. It was only by a stroke of luck that he'd even been at the game today. Finished paperwork, a cancelled meeting and he'd snuck out of the mountain, catching the match five minutes in, where he'd smiled and waved at Daniel from the bleachers.

"Right, thanks." The doctor pushed his glasses on top of his head. "By Friday morning, Daniel needs an MRI to confirm that there's no ligament damage. Right now, I'm going for crutches for him to get around. After the MRI, I want to see you in my office, fit him with a brace to immobilize the knee. After about two weeks, we can start some weight training exercises and based on Daniel's age and his excellent physical condition..."

"Not bad for a forty year old," Daniel blurted out.

Chadway's brows knit together. "Huh?"

Jack chuckled. "It's the drugs."

"Yeah, right," the doctor answered, not sounding convinced. "Where was I? Ah yeah, based on Daniel's physical condition he should be crutch- and brace-free in four to five weeks."

"Goddamn it." John was basically a moving target, shaking so badly that Charley struggled to start an IV. "There's a reason the medical profession don't treat their own family."

Family. For eight years, Sarah and John had been out of his life and still Charley thought of her son as family. As Sarah pinned John's shoulders to the bed, she thought maybe now wasn't the time for her ex-fiancé to think of John as family as she watched Charley's trembling hand. A trembling hand coupled with a shaking, uncooperative patient was a recipe for disaster and it took Charley three tries before the needle was in and taped in place.

"Hold this."

Sarah exchanged her son's shoulders for the bag of fluids and observed Charley turn, assess the room then settle on a pole lamp in the corner. He ripped off the shade, tossed it and dragged the pole over to the bedside. She nodded, understanding what he was doing.

"Here." Sarah handed off the bag and with a few minute adjustments and a flick to the tubing, the IV was up and running.

Charley just stood there, staring down at John.

"Well?"

"Well what, Sarah? What do you want me to do? What am I treating? I don't understand the cause of the fever, the pain, the low blood pressure, the erratic heart rate. I don't understand anything."

"Help him," she begged, hating that she sounded like a damn broken record.

"Don't you think I want to?" Frustrated, Charley ran his fingers through his thinning hair. "It's just that—" Shaking his head, he stopped talking.

"What?"

"This is alien, futuristic," Charley whispered, his gaze bouncing between her and John. "What if my helping makes it worse? What if I—"

"You won't." Sarah gazed up the man who once upon a time had shared her bed and her life. "I believe in you."

"That makes one of us."

The shaking had stopped, but was replaced by John's nonsensical mutterings. "Dinner's done," he mumbled to Sarah.

She glanced at Charley, who seemed to be doing a second assessment in slow motion.

"I need lunch money." John shouldered the thermometer Charley was trying to stick in his ear.

Sarah gripped John's face in her hands and bent forward until she was nose to nose with her son. "Pay attention, John Connor."

This was a voice John knew and obeyed. Always. The this-is-not-the-time-for-fun-and games order. This was the 'holy shit' tone. The stop whatever the fuck you're doing and listen to me because your life depended on it.

He struggled, but this time it wasn't a fight against Charley, but more of a battle trying to wade through layers of fever and pain.

"Open your eyes. Now."

He whined. A contemplative normal, teenager's whine against her authority.

"Open your eyes," Sarah ordered again, harsher.

"Mom?" Slowly, they opened. Bloodshot. Glazed. But John blinked at her, confused.

Her hands slid up his face and pushed the sweaty strands off his forehead. "Hey."

Awareness brought pain and Sarah saw John lose his focus.

"I need you to look at me, John."

John bucked, trying to throw her off.

"Nice try, Mister," she said, hating the acerbity in her voice

"Sarah." Charley laid a hand on her arm.

She snarled at him then turned her attention back to her son. "This is not a request, John Connor. It's important that you listen to me."

John quieted, concentrated, stared into her face. "Hurts." Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes.

Her heart broke and she used the tips of her fingers to gently wipe away the moisture. "I know. Look who's here."

"Talk to me, Johnny." Charley covered her hand with his. "What hurts?"

Sarah's hand was sandwiched between the heat of John's cheek and Charley's sweaty palm and she smiled at the recognition in John's eyes when he saw Charley.

"Hi."

"Hey, buddy." Charley leaned forward and surprised Sarah by kissing John's forehead. "Think you can answer my question?"

His gaze slid from Sarah to Charley. "What happened?"

"Answer Charley."

"Stop it, Sarah. He's sick. He's in pain. He's confused and you're not—"

"Well, neither are you. I thought that you'd—"

"Stop it," John gasped. "No fighting." His eyes widened and the shaking which had stopped started again, without warning, so intense that John's teeth rattled with the movement. The scream of pain was strangled and he clutched at Sarah, his one good hand clawing at the fabric of her shirt.

"Do something," Sarah cried desperately.

There was no missing the curse or the word hospital as Charley dug into his case.

"What is that?"

"This?" Charley injected the contents of a syringe into the IV. "Valium."

Sarah watched as the drug took effect. John relaxed, his breathing slowed, but his hand never relaxed his death grip on her. "Not going anywhere," she soothed, patting his hand. She forced a smile.

John didn't smile back. "Charley?"

"Right here, Johnny."

"Dying?"

Charley shook his head. "Not while I'm on duty."

Now, John attempted a smile and heaved a weak sigh. "Good. Otherwise mom'd be pissed."

"Can't have that, can we?" This time John was too far gone to object to Charley using the ear thermometer.

Sarah did, though. "You just did that."

Charley ignored her until the thermometer beeped. He took a glance then showed it to Sarah, whose stomach ended up around her ankles.

One oh four point six.

"Johnny, your mom and I will be right back, okay?"

Once Sarah was off John's bed, Charley grabbed her shirt and dragged her out into the hallway. "We have to get his fever down."

Sarah could've have kissed the man for not even mentioning the word hospital. "Can't you put something in the IV?"

Charley paced. "Towels. Ice. Something that John likes to drink and I hope to God you have Tylenol. Aspirin? Motrin?"

"Yes." She answered, unsure if she was answering 'yes' to anything in specific or just the fact that maybe she had at least two of the items Charley wanted.

John was falling asleep and Charley was doing his damnedest trying to keep him awake. "Look, here's your mom." There was no missing the grateful enthusiasm in his voice as he jumped up to help her.

"There's Tylenol. Motrin. A Snapple..."

"Ice?" Charley peered into the large flat Tupperware she had in her hands.

"No one ever fills the ice trays. I always yell at John and Derek for that and—" She shook the Tupperware. "There's not a lot.

"It's okay, Sarah," Charley said with a light touch to her arm, forcing her to refocus. "We can make do for now."

Easier said than done. First, Charley refilled the ice packs on John's injuries. The Valium had relaxed him enough to watch dispassionately.

"Doesn't hurt anymore," he slurred.

"I'm mixing you a cocktail that'll help with the fever." Working with the nightstand as a table, Charley poured two fingers' worth of Snapple into a paper cup, put two Tylenol on top of a book and crushed them, using the edge of his radio and repeated the procedure with two Motrin.

"Ready?" Charley didn't give John a chance to answer. "You too, Sarah, come on."

It wasn't easy. John was basically a limp rag doll, uncooperative and unable to help either Sarah or Charley in propping him against a nest of pillows against the headboard.

"Screw this." Sarah crawled into bed, leaned against the pillows, opened her legs, hooked her hands under John's armpits and hauled him towards her.

Instantaneously, Charley got the idea and helped. While this wasn't easy either, it worked. Head down, abashed at his inability to have seen such a simple solution, he readjusted the IV line. "Sorry, I just didn't think of..."

John was hot. Even through his shirt and her shirt, she could feel the unnatural heat he radiated. So hot, Sarah half-expected the air around him to waver and shimmer like heat off the asphalt on a summer's day. Sarah moved her shoulder, jostling John. "Still with us?"

He stirred. "Hmmm."

"Do it," Sarah ordered.

Sarah and Charley managed to get two Tylenol, two Motrin and Snapple into him. John managed to keep it down and from her viewpoint, spent and exhausted, she really wasn't too sure which had been the harder of the two jobs.

In deference to Daniel, Jack drove slowly, trying to process all the information that the doctor had vomited up at him. Things stuck, like Friday's MRI and a visit to Chadway's office. Physical Therapy. Crutches. Braces. Weeks of recovery.

He patted his breast pocket. Discharge instructions. Everything that he needed to know for Daniel was written on the yellow pieces of discharge paperwork. What to look out for. When to call. Two prescriptions for medications.

Daniel sat in the passenger seat, straddling the line between awareness and unconsciousness.

He tapped his son's shoulder. "Hungry?"

Daniel thought, then shrugged. "Fast food is okay."

Jack took that as a yes and turned left at the corner, his stomach growling in anticipation.

While spreading out the burger and fries on the kitchen table, Jack called first Fraiser, then his mother, not even realizing that Daniel was standing in the middle of the kitchen, leaning heavily on the crutches until he almost bowled him over. "Whoa." He shot out his hand to steady Daniel, nearly losing the cordless phone tucked between his chin and shoulder.

"What the hell happened?"

"Nothing, Mom. Just hold on a second, okay?" Placing the protesting phone on the counter, Jack guided an awkward but compliant Daniel to a chair. "Why don't you have a seat, your grandmother wants to talk to you."

Daniel lowered himself carefully into the chair. Jack took his crutches and exchanged them for the phone. "Hi, Grandma." Daniel picked up a fry, ran it through the ketchup, then put it back down. "I'm fine." He paused, then stared at the fries. "Okay, maybe not fine, fine, but I'm, umm..." Daniel looked up at Jack for an answer.

'Alright', Jack mouthed.

"Dad says I'm alright." Daniel picked up the fry again and painted the edge of the napkin with the ketchup on its tip.

Wonderful. Let's see, there was the point of origin glyph of Earth, and Abydos. Daniel was just about to drag the fry through the ketchup again when Jack grabbed the napkin and crumpled it. Jack pointed to the food then pointed to his mouth in the universal language of 'you better damn eat the food before it gets cold'.

"Hey!" Daniel's brow furrowed in indignation. "I was... Sorry, Grandma. No, I'm okay. Dad just... Okay, yes. Love you, too." Daniel handed the phone to Jack. "She wants to talk to you."

After his mother finished ripping him a new one about not taking proper care of her grandson, Jack scoffed down his meal while Daniel managed a bite or two before the phone rang again. And again. Dria, Cassie, Corey, all in quick succession followed by Coach Dawson, then Fraiser and for good measure, his mother again until the burger and fries looked damn unappealing, Daniel was bleary-eyed and Jack just wanted to scream.

Daniel pushed his food into the middle of the table, folded his arms then dropped his head, face down, into the pillow they made. "I'm not hungry."

Jack was too tired to be angry; concern was sapping all of his energy. "Want a bowl of cereal?"

Daniel shrugged, then shook his head.

Jack laid a hand on his bent head. "I'll take the phone off the hook, how's that?"

Daniel lifted his head. "That would be way cool."

"That's me, the cool dad." Jack shut off the phone then cleaned off the table, keeping one eye zeroed in on Daniel. "Don’t go to sleep," he warned when he saw Daniel lower his head back onto his arms.

With great effort, Daniel sat up. "Not sleeping."

"Good," Jack ruffled Daniel's hair. "Too old for me to carry you."

"I'm too old or you're too old?"

"Very funny. Watch it or I'll turn the phone back on."

"I need to go to the bathroom. Can I..." Daniel pointed to the crutches leaning against the wall.

"I can pee by myself."

Jack stood between Daniel and the bathroom door. "I know you can, I just thought you might need some help."

Daniel's face colored in a furious blush. "I don't need another pair of hands. Honest. I'll figure out how to do this without falling face-first. I promise I'll be safe." He shook his head, "It's only the bathroom, for God's sake."

Jack wrapped his hand around the nape of Daniel's neck, tugging him ever so slightly forward and planted a kiss on his forehead. "No one is ever safe, especially in the bathroom."

"Yes, Grandpa." Daniel shook off his hand. "Now step out of the way before I—"

"Sorry." Jack jumped to the side. "I'll be right out here."

"Sure you will," Daniel mumbled.

Daniel was taking longer than any peeing had a right to. Jack knocked on the bathroom door.

"Are you okay in there?"

There was hesitation before Daniel answered. "Yeah, I'm fine."

The problem was Daniel had been a hell of a lot finer when he'd goneinto the bathroom than when he came out. Covered in a fine sheen of sweat, his son looked as if he'd just run a marathon instead of taking a piss. "Bed?"

Daniel glanced down the hallway towards his room then towards the three steps leading to the living room. "Bed." He turned slowly and began to thump down the hall, Jack dogging his heels, ready to catch him should he teeter, totter or fall.

"Oh." Daniel entered his room and stopped dead.

Jack caught himself before he plowed into Daniel. "Oh?"

Daniel glanced down. "I'm still wearing my soccer uniform." The light bulb above Daniel's head flickered then stayed on. "I need to change. Where's my backpack? I have homework. I'm having a test—"

"I'll get you a clean pair of sweats. Your backpack is in the truck. And there's no school tomorrow." Jack was pretty damn positive this was going to be a fight. One. Two. Three. Four. Five... Jack managed to get to five and a half before Daniel got him on the no school tomorrow.

"It's not a holiday, why is school closed?"

"Well." Jack searched through the basket on the dresser for a clean pair of sweats. "If you consider keeping off your feet on Thursday and an MRI appointment on Friday holidays, then yeah, then the next two days can be considered a holiday."

"I'm having a test," Daniel repeated slowly and a touch louder as if Jack were deaf as well as stupid. "I can't be off, I'm having a test."

"Tired?" Jack laid the clean sweats on the bed.

"Stop doing that. I don't need a nap. I'm not a baby."

"Nap?" Jack looked over his shoulder, and cocked his head towards the window. Only darkness was visible through the blinds. "Thought maybe you were going to sleep for the night."

"Sleep? It's early." Daniel glanced at his bedside clock. "Really?"

"Really," Jack said. "Game. Ambulance ride. X-ray. Hospital. Fast food. Talking with the entire world. See? Time sure flies when you're having fun."

Daniel rattled the crutches. "This is fun? I'm having fun? Fun?" His voice was thick with emotion. Anger. Frustration. Sadness. Take your pick.

Crap. Jack had hoped to lighten the mood but it had sort of backfired in a huge way. "Hey," he said softly, placing his hands atop Daniel's tightly clenched ones. "No, this isn't fun. I'm sorry."

Daniel drew a breath and exhaled slowly.

Jack waited while the fingers under his slowly relaxed enough for him to remove the crutches from Daniel's death grip. "I'm just going to put these over here, okay?"

Daniel lowered himself to the edge of the bed, his left leg bent and right leg was straight out and stiff. His gaze and fingers assessed the damage.

"Stop touching." Jack moved Daniel's hand from knee. "Does it hurt?"

Eyes huge, Daniel's head shot up. "I don't want a pain pill."

"Daniel..." There was no distortion of the knee anymore, but the bruising was horrific and extensive.

"No. Pain. Pill. I don't care what the doctor prescribed."

Damn. Damn. Damn. Jack had never even had the prescriptions filled. "How about an Aleve? Motrin."

"Motrin's fine." Daniel grabbed the hem of his soccer jersey and began to pull it upwards, growling in frustration when it got caught on his glasses.

"Hold it. Hold it." Mindful of Daniel's leg, Jack carefully reached into the shirt, untangled the glasses, removed them, then stepped backwards. "Now try it."

Up and over and the shirt was off. Daniel shivered once, shrugged in embarrassment and reached for his sweatshirt.

"What the hell?" Jack slapped Daniel's hand to the bed, stunned. Daniel was sporting some damn impressive bruising besides the knee.

"Wow. I didn't even..."

Yeah, Daniel's knee probably hurt so much it had overshadowed every other ache and pain. Tomorrow was going to be a different story, of that Jack was sure. "How about, we get you into those sweats and I'll bring you some Motrin."

Jack checked on Daniel an hour after the Motrin and found him up. Twenty minutes later he was still up, staring at the ceiling. By the dim light of the bedside lamp, Jack could see the tracks his tears had made. "This isn't working, is it?" Jack sat at the edge of the bed

Daniel squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

This must be torture for Daniel, who always had been a restless sleeper. Lying perfectly still was probably more painful to him than his knee. Jack had an idea. "How about relaxing on the recliner?" He wasn't going to mention sleeping, because right now, Jack was pretty sure, short of drugging Daniel to the gills, his son wasn't going to get any sleep.

"Recliner sounds good." No, it didn't. Daniel sounded resigned as if there were no other options left open to him.

"We'll just try that. If it doesn't work, they'll be something else. I promise."

"No pain pill. No sleeping pill."

"No. No," Jack said quickly.

Daniel opened his eyes and turned his face to him. "Promise?"

"I promise." Jack made a tiny cross over his heart. "Come on, let's try this."

He was restless. Talking in his sleep. Dreaming out loud. But at least Sarah was grateful that John appeared pain-free. "The Valium worked."

Charley looked up from packing his bag and he opened his mouth to say something when his radio crackled to life. He tossed a saline bag onto the nightstand. "Hook this up when the first bag runs dry."

Mutely, she nodded. "Charley."

The radio's statically call cut in again. Car accident. Charley listened. "I have to leave."

"I know."

Suddenly angry, Charley switched from methodically packing to just shoving everything in his bag. "He needs to be in the hospital. Monitored."

"No," Sarah replied, shaking her head.

He stomped off towards the doorway, then doubled back towards Sarah. "I treated the symptoms. The fever. The cramps. I can't..." He inhaled, then exhaled slowly. "John needs to be in a hospital." Heartbroken, he glanced back towards the bed. "I don't want to leave. I'd feel better if he were in..."

"That would be impossible," Cameron answered as she entered the bedroom. "John can't go to the hospital."

"For once, I have to agree with the machine," said Derek, bringing up the rear.

Sarah caught up with Charley by the front door. "Please."

He slammed the door then turned. "How dare you do this to me? In that room is the closest thing to a son I'll ever have. I'm leaving. He's going to—" Charley choked on the word, unable to say it. Frustrated, he scrubbed at his eyes.

"I won't let him die," Sarah said. "I promise."

"I guess now's not the time to say that you haven't kept many promises to me."

Bastard. "Go to work, Charley. Then go back home to your wife. Your house—"

"You called me."

She opened her mouth to dispute what he'd said, then realized it wasn't worth it because in Charley's world, she had called him. "John needed you."

Charley dropped his case and grabbed her. In a romance novel, the author probably would've written it as the heroine being swept off her feet and it left Sarah breathless, annoyed and more than slightly embarrassed to know that her brother-in-law and tin girl were probably getting an eyeful as Charley hugged her. "I'm sorry," he whispered in her ear. "For everything. Me. You. John."

"Life in general," she whispered against his chest, "sucks."

Cameron appeared out of nowhere and stepped between Charley and the door. "You can't leave." With a hand to his chest, she stopped his departure. "John needs you."

Charley made a futile attempt to dislodge her hand. "Move, missy."

"If you care about John, why are you leaving?"

"Because he has to." Sarah plucked Cameron's hand from Charley's chest.

"I'm confused. You claimed that John is the son you'll never—"

He tried to shove her aside, but Cameron was unmovable.

"Remember, I'm the very scary robot."

The radio crackled again and Sarah saw how much it took for Charley to turn to her for help. "I. Have. To. Leave."

"Move your ass," Sarah threatened, "or one day I'll take that chip out of your head myself using my bare hands."

Cameron canted her head; she truly didn't get this. "John's sick. Isn't your job caring for sick people?"

"John is not his job, metal."

"Can it, Derek." Sarah turned her anger on Cameron. "Move. Now. I'm not telling you again."

Two steps to the side and Charley was able to fit through the door. "Call me," he whispered. "I'll try—"

"Go," Sarah said, basically pushing him out the door. To safety and normalcy.

"I'll be back."

And on his face, Sarah saw Charley's guilt and his belief that maybe the tin miss's accusatory words weren't far from the truth.

Sarah locked the door and came out swinging, using words instead of weapons, spraying anger and frustration at Cameron and Derek. "John may be your mission, tin girl, and, Derek, he may be your general in the future, but right now, he's my son and nothing else. And for the first time, I don't give a shit about Judgment Day. Do your jobs, both of you, I'm going to do mine and go be John's mother."

It took another dose of Motrin three hours later for exhaustion to finally overcome Daniel.

It took until the sun rose for Jack to admit that sleep was out of the question for him and he quietly rose from the couch and dragged himself into the kitchen to begin an infusion of caffeine.

Jack was on his second mug of coffee, feet on the coffee table in front of him, paper opened on his lap, his cell phone on one side of him, the cordless on the other side, when Daniel began to stir. With the mug frozen inches from his lips, Jack was afraid to breathe. A sleeping Daniel was a Daniel who wasn't uncomfortable, who wasn't in pain and who didn't require a hovering father.

Daniel smacked his lips, rubbed his nose, then groaned in deference to the limitations of the recliner, he shifted only slightly and settled back in with a heavy sigh.

"Good boy." Jack went back to his morning coffee and paper, except two hours later, the coffee pot was empty, he'd read the paper, done the crossword puzzle and drew in a moustache and blackened out a tooth or two in the comics.

And Daniel? Daniel hadn't moved. Never mind, scratch that, he'd burrowed under the blanket Jack had covered him with until nothing was visible except the top of his head.

"You're going to suffocate, you know," Jack warned.

Daniel didn't answer.

"You're going to make me old before my time." Jack rose, complaining to the thin air about how stiff his muscles were and tread softly over to the recliner. Daniel's grip on the blanket was for dear life and he wasn't giving up the cover without a fight.

Leaning over, he kissed the top Daniel's head. "Not worth the effort, Icky. Sleep to your heart's content."

God, the coach has worked his ass off today at soccer practice. There wasn't a part of him that didn't hurt and all Daniel could think of was a hot shower and a huge bowl of cereal and milk. Or maybe the cereal first and then the shower. He groaned. Loudly. Loud enough that he woke himself up.

Daniel opened sleep-encrusted eyes, blinked and brought into bleary focus the living room ceiling. Damn. A tidal wave of memories washed over him and he reached down towards his right knee. It hurt to touch, a deep ache, but nothing like he remembered from the field.

"Hey."

Daniel looked backwards. His father was standing at the head of the chair and even upside down, the smudge of lost sleep was visible under his dad's eyes. "Hey, yourself," he said softly.

"How're you feeling?"

Like he'd had the soccer practice from Hell. Like someone had beaten the shit outta him. "I have to pee," which was the only thing he could come up with that wouldn't make his dad worry any more that he was already worrying. Though getting up and out of the chair was the last thing Daniel felt like doing.

He'd peed, then leaned heavily against the sink for support while he washed up a much as possible. A shower, he really needed a shower, but he thought maybe he needed to sit and have something to eat. Something good and filling like pancakes and...

"Are you okay in there?"

"Yes. Dad. I. Am. Okay. In. Here." Daniel flushed the toilet. "See, I didn't go down the drain."

"God's going to punish you, Daniel," his dad growled through the door, "and you're going to have a dozen children just like you as payback."

Daniel situated the crutches under his arms, wincing at the already tender, abraded skin. He hobbled on over to the bathroom door, flinging it open. "I may be the father of a dozen children but you'll be a grandfather."

"I'm glad you find this amusing."

Daniel gently pushed him aside with the rubber tip of the crutch. He kissed his father's cheek in passing. "Sure do, Grandpa."

Getting to the kitchen was hard work and he shrugged off his father's help, because he may have been out of it yesterday, but he remembered something about five weeks and there was no way he was going to accept coddling for weeks on end.

"Sit down before you fall down." His dad kicked out one of the kitchen chairs.

"Thanks." With a winded sigh, Daniel placed the back of his knees against the chair and using his hands, walked down the crutches until his ass made contact with the chair. "I'm sitting," he groaned. "See?"

"Seeing."

Daniel saw his father reach for the Motrin, unscrew the top...

"I want pancakes."

He turned to face Daniel. Eyebrows raised, the opened bottle of Motrin in one hand, the top in the other. "You do, do you?"

Daniel nodded. "Pancakes before Motrin."

"For someone who can't run too fast at the moment, you're pretty keen on giving me orders."

Two pills appeared on the table in front of him. "Can I have sliced bananas on the pancakes?"

"Pushy kid."

Daniel glowed. "Does that mean you're making me pancakes?"

Somewhere after his third pancake but before his fourth, it came to Daniel that he was no longer in a good mood.

"Tell me now if you're full, because I won't make—"

"It's ten-thirty."

His father turned off the electric griddle, put down the spatula and sat in the chair opposite Daniel. "Not reading between the lines, Icky, want to fill me in?"

Ten-thirty was math. Cassie sat in front of him, Alexandria to the right... He rubbed his head, then pushed the plate away. "I think I have school work." He could feel the anxiety begin to build. "Five weeks," he stuttered. "I can't play catch up. Not again."

"Whoa. Jumping the gun there much? Let's hear what Chadway has to say before you—"

"He already said!" Daniel yelled. "Weeks. Lots of weeks." He dropped his voice. "Lots of work. Again."

"Are you okay?"

Daniel lowered himself into his desk chair and placed his crutches within reach. "Don't take this the wrong way, Dad, but please stop asking me that question."

"You know, we could set up the dining room table." His dad walked around his room. "I could maybe—"

"No," Daniel said simply. "I work better here. Honest."

"Two hours, that's it."

"What? Two hours isn't—"

"For today. For now. Two hours is just right." His dad dropped a kiss on the top of his head. "Just yell if you need something."

He sent a text message to Alexandria. One to Cassie. Settled his books in a coherent order within arm's length and then tried to get comfortable. The position worked for ten minutes. Then he moved again, stretching his right leg out under the desk.

A few keystrokes and he was into the Global History website, scrolling through the current work and future assignments. Scarily, considering that Global History wasn't one of his favorite subjects, Daniel was in pretty good shape. He made a nice sized dent on the research for the paper due in six weeks. "Score one for me," he whispered.

Daniel jumped when his cell phone vibrated across his desktop. "Fuck." He grabbed his knee when his leg spasmed in response to the sudden movement. Tenderly rubbing his right knee, he picked up and flipped the phone open with his left, without checking the caller ID.

Alexandria. Who passed the phone onto Cassie, onto Corey, onto Nate and so on and so on. A short, hi, hello, howdy conversation meant to make him feel better, which it did while on the phone, it was after they'd hung up that he felt cut off and left out.

Concentration lost, Daniel cautiously spun his chair around and closer to the bed, braced both his arms and did a sort of hop, skip and jump onto the bed. Much better. Wiggling his ass into the mattress, Daniel gave a huge sigh of relief as bruises proficiently thanked him by relaxing.

Without looking, he located his iPod on the nightstand. Earbuds in place, Daniel found the song de jour and hit the play button. The fact that his crutches were across the room, closer to the desk than the bed dawned on him just as he was closing his eyes.

"Is it safe to come in here?"

"Are you asking if I'll bite your head off?" For the first time in what seemed like hours, Sarah turned her attention away from John, focusing on Derek.

"Yeah, that was my first question."

"Depends. What was your second?"

"How's John doing?"

Sarah dipped the washcloth she'd been using to wipe John's face into the now tepid water. Gently, she wiped his face again. "In what capacity are you asking, because you care or because he's your commanding officer?"

"He's my nephew," Derek answered simply.

And there it was. The truth was out in the open and she neither denied nor agreed with Derek's revelation. "That doesn't answer my question."

"I care," Derek said softly, walking up to the bed. "Besides my memories, John's the only tangible evidence I have of my brother's existence."

Sarah said nothing; Derek spoke the truth. Kyle lived in John.

The hand Derek placed on Sarah's was heavy, rough and calloused. A warrior's hand. "Let me help you. Help John. Tell me what to do."

Sarah was standing in her bedroom, shivering despite the warm evening. This was call number three. The first two calls to Charley had gone unanswered. She damned sure hoped that the third one was the charm. She needed help. John needed help, and for a woman who'd faced off a cyborg or two in her life and held her own, right now she was one short step away from panicking.

John had woken, and she'd been heartened at his lucidity. Weak and feverish, but he'd been coherent. And she should have left well enough alone, but she tried to give him another dose of Tylenol with a chaser of Snapple. It hadn't been pretty. She, Derek, John and the blankets had ended up wearing the drink and the meds so they had to change everything. Moving John had been his undoing, and by the time they got him back into bed, his screams of pain were as painful as a sharp knife.

"Charley's here." Cameron opened the door, stuck her head in.

She stared at the phone in her hand, snapped it shut, and stuffed it into her pocket. "Tell him I'll be right there."

Charley brought food, supplies, instructions and his presence. He came with drugs that finally quieted John's screams and suppositories to hopefully bring down his fever. He came with ice for the hot spots on John's body and he was a helping hand in quieting John when the ice packs were placed by his groin and armpits. And Sarah was grateful that John wasn't aware enough to realize he had an audience to the degradation he was undergoing.

Sarah caught Charley checking his watch. "You'd better leave, before..." She didn't even know his wife's name.

"My wife is working the seven to seven shift. She thinks I'm sleeping, she won't—"

"She might," Sarah said, tugging at his shirt. "I don't want that."

Charley remained rooted, staring at John. Derek was sitting on a kitchen chair that he'd dragged into John's bedroom, arms crossed, legs extended outward, sleeping, his chin resting on his chest, bobbing up and down with every snore.

Cameron was sitting by the head of the bed, gently wiping John's face. Sarah must really be tired because she could swear that the tin girl was humming. Nothing that sounded familiar, just a soothing, restful melody.

"You need to leave, Charley," she whispered.

"John's going to sleep for a while," Charley said, speaking as if Sarah hadn't said anything. "Hopefully, a long while. I pumped as much meds as I could into him. Valium. Tylenol. IV's still going. I shoved an antibiotic in there as well. Steroid for the swelling for his arm and leg." Charley scrubbed at his face. "Sarah, I really don't—"

"You're tired."

"I'm—"

"You're tired," Sarah insisted, not wanting to hear any more.

Charley glanced at her and smiled. "Tired. Yeah."

"Want me to make you a coffee for the road?"

"No, thanks, though. Last thing I need is caffeine at the moment." He shouldered his case and headed out of the room. Sarah followed, stopping when they got to the door. When Charley bent her head forward and kissed the top, tears of surprise sprung into her eyes. "I'm sorry," he mumbled into her hair. "I know you called but I couldn't answer because—"

Sarah threw her hand up, pressing against his chest, separating them. "No apology necessary."

Charley reached over to touch her face and she backed away, rubbing her forearm across her eyes, embarrassed.

"As soon as I can—"

She just nodded, then pointed over her shoulder towards, John's room. "I need to go back."

"I know you do." Charley opened the door, stepped outside into the dark. Sarah waited until the door snicked closed before heading back to her son's room.

Jack stayed away for the two hours. It was hard, but he'd promised Daniel the two hours to work. What he hadn't expected when walking into the room was finding Daniel snoring and drooling. "Yeah, that's what I thought," Jack said, covering Daniel with the quilt bunched up at the foot of the bed.

Twenty-twenty hindsight, Jack should've woken him and would've if his mother hadn't stopped by and warned Jack on threat of death he'd better not disturb Daniel.

"He's sleeping."

"He's spent too much time sleeping—"

"Ehhh," his mother said, stepping through the doorway into the bedroom. "Sleep heals all wounds."

"Yes, Florence Nightingale." Jack slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, planting a kiss on her temple. "Now let's let Sleeping Beauty—"

His mother slapped him lightly on the chest. "You making fun of me?"

"Never," Jack whispered, tugging her out of the room.

And his mother was the reason Daniel slept into hour number three and part of hour number four. Past lunch and approaching mid/late afternoon, Jack was beyond antsy. He settled on the couch with an old, familiar, dog-eared best seller, something that was well loved. Something he didn't need to concentrate on. Something he could read without paying attention.

The crash was loud. The book was thrown to the side and Jack took off at a run to his son's room, calling his name as he ran, waiting for him to answer back.

Jack burst into the room, breathless. Daniel was sitting on the bed, the desk chair flipped onto its side, wheels spinning. Slowly, Jack's heartbeat returned to normal. The visual so much less frightening than his imagination. "You're fine." Jack said it more to placate himself than to ease Daniel's angry frustration.

"I'm not fine. I can't even get from—"

Jack threw a hand up. "Whoa. Didn't mean that the way it came out. I'm just glad..." Jack pointed to the chair. "I mean, I thought—"

"That I'd fallen on my ass?" Daniel challenged.

"No," Jack said softly, trying to bring the tone of this down a notch or two. "I thought you'd gotten hurt. Sick."

"Sick?" Daniel scrutinized him as if he were one sandwich short of a picnic.

"You came in your room more than a few hours ago to do some homework."

"And?"

"Check out the time, Icky."

Daniel adjusted his glasses, stared at his bedside clock and paled. He glanced at Jack, horrified. "Why the heck did you let me sleep that long?"

Like a baby who'd overslept, Daniel was cranky, hungry and out for blood. Jack knew he could feed him and give him space, but damn, the kid was hurting. Crutches or not, Daniel was dragging, Opening the fridge. Closing the fridge, he was grumbling about the lack of food choices. "Is it too much to ask for... Oh," Daniel hobbled backwards, the packages of cold cuts and the brace bar of his right crutch gripped in his hand. With an awkward toss he managed to get the cold cuts onto the counter.

Without drawing too much attention to the fact he was helping out, Jack quietly placed two slices of bread on the counter. Then he stood to the side, safely out of harm's way, two Motrin and glass of water at the ready.

Daniel slapped a sandwich together and Jack held his tongue as Daniel ate, belly up to the counter, crumbs raining down on the plastic wrapping to the cold cuts. Bravely, Jack pushed the water and Motrin towards Daniel.

Suspiciously, Daniel eyed the two orangey pills.

"It's Motrin." Jack hid his exasperation behind a tight smile. "Honest."

"I know." Daniel scooped up the pills, shoved them in his mouth and chased them down with half the glass of water. "You promised."

"I did, you're right."

"This should've happened to someone else." Daniel brushed the crumbs onto the counter and slowly began to clean up.

"I know." Jack felt no guilt in agreeing with his son.

Daniel eyes widened in surprise. "You're not going to tell me to suck it up?"

"I never have." Angrily, Jack tore the cold cuts from Daniel's hands, wrapped them up with quick, sure movements and slapped them back on the counter.

Daniel thumped from the room as fast as one leg and two crutches would take him and Jack watched him go with a mixture of relief and sadness.

Leg stretched out on the coffee table, Daniel sat with his laptop in his lap, but the absence of anything that resembled a textbook had Jack believing the productive thing Daniel was doing was chatting with friends.

"How's everyone doing?"

Daniel slammed his laptop closed and slid it onto the couch. "I wouldn't know, everyone's busy. Homework. Soccer. School things. You remember that place, don't'cha?"

Jack sat silently. Experience had taught him that placating Daniel with words was akin to adding fuel to his anger.

"Are you even listening to anything I'm saying?"

Okay, maybe silence wasn't golden. "Yeah, Daniel. I hear you. I understand—"

"No. You. Don't. You don't understand. Not any of it." The anger was dying down to just a simmer.

"Wanna talk?"

"It's sorta..." Daniel leaned his head back on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. "What's the saying? Beating a dead horse? I know it all. The memories. The drugs. The appendicitis. I'm middle-aged in a teenager's body."

"Knowing isn't understanding, is it?"

Daniel shook his head, blinking furiously.

"I'm always here, Icky," Jack said softly. He expected some type of acknowledgement. Maybe a hint of a smile. Something. What he didn't expect was for Daniel to stuff his laptop into his backpack, maneuver himself up onto his crutches and thump towards the front door. "Jeezus."

Jack clunked the recliner into an upright position and in a handful of steps put himself between Daniel and the door. "I'll take you wherever you want to go."

Daniel rubbed his nose on his shoulder. "I don't know."

"Dria? Want to go to Dria's house. Cassie? Corey?" Jack knew he was pulling at straws. "Janet? Grandma's?" He took a few steps forward, placed his fingers under Daniel's chin and gently forced eye contact. "Do you want me to leave you alone for a little while?"

Daniel swallowed.

"I think we need some fresh milk. Cereal. Probably a few other items. Maybe pick up dinner. Might be gone for a little over an hour. You'll be okay?"

"Thank you," Daniel whispered, turning his head so its weight rested in Jack's hand.

Oh God, his kid was slowly breaking his heart into tiny miniscule pieces.

So he got what he wanted, which was breathing room? Solitude? The time alone to hold a pity party for one?

Daniel had crutched around the living room and kitchen, he wasn't stupid enough to attempt the steps without another person in the house but he felt claustrophobic, confined to just these rooms, so he ended up on the deck, gulping down lungfuls of fresh air.

God, he felt like he'd been holed up for years and he eyed the deck chairs with longing, but he was well aware of his own dexterous shortcomings on the crutches. Once down, Daniel was pretty damn positive he was never going to be able to get out of the low slung chairs without a crane or a helping hand, neither of which he had at his disposal at the moment.

He stood there, head tilted upward, soaking in the afternoon sun. Storing it up. Eventually, the cold leeched the joy of his freedom and reluctantly he hobbled back inside. Being outside had granted him a slight reprieve. No longer did he feel as if the walls were closing in around him.

"I'm fine," he said to no one. With the slightest of nods, as if he confirming his words, Daniel lowered himself into the recliner and sat there, staring at the blank television screen, his crutches resting between his legs.

"What are you hiding?" Rose watched her son fidget uncomfortably while she put on her sweater.

"Nothing." He shrugged under her scrutiny. "Really."

"Really?" she repeated.

"Really." Jack planted a kiss on her cheek. "Can't a son just pick up his mother to have dinner with him and her grandson?"

She grabbed her purse. "If that's all it is..."

"Stop being paranoid, honestly, that's all it is."

Rose waited until they were halfway to the house before bringing up the subject of Daniel. "How's he feeling?"

"Fine."

Annoyed, she fiddled with the catch on her purse, turning it round and round, trying to rein in her anger. "Stop bullshitting me, son. I'm not so old that I can't see through the crap you're trying to shovel at me." So much for holding back, she really needed to work on that.

Jack stole a quick glance at her. "Physically, he's doing better than I expected."

"That's wonderful news." Rose hesitated, waiting for Jack to continue. "There's a but, isn't there?"

"Yeah, there's a but. With Daniel there always is." Jack tapped the steering wheel with his pointer finger. "He's reached the end of his rope."

"Daniel's fourteen, he's got a lot of rope left." Rose reached out, placed her hand on her son's shoulder and squeezed gently. "He's a strong boy."

Jack raised his shoulder, bringing her hand up to his cheek. "I'm just afraid, given enough rope, Daniel's going to hang himself."

Abruptly, Rose tugged her hand away. "Did you mean that how it sounded?"

Jack's eyes widened. "Crap. No. No. No. I just meant..." Viciously, he scrubbed one handedly at his face. "I just meant that the poor kid needs a break. Something. Anything. Strong or not, Mom, I'm just afraid..."

"I know, but don't ever let him see your fear. Daniel needs you. He needs your support and your outlook on life."

"Tough job."

"The toughest, but eventually there will be perks."

Jack snorted. "I'm hoping I'll still be young enough to enjoy the perks."

"Believe me, you will be." She smiled at her son. "I am."

She held the door open for Jack, whose arms were laden with two pizza boxes, a bag of garlic knots, and four heros. "Are you inviting the neighbors over for dinner?"

He shrugged, almost offsetting the precarious balance of food. "Oops."

"Careful," she said, righting the overabundance of dinner in her son's arms. "Wouldn't want you to drop enough food to feed an impoverished country."

"Or," Jack said, stepping into the living room, turning to her with a huge smile on his face. "A houseful of hungry teenagers."

"Uncle Jack! Grandma Rose." Cassie jumped off the couch, followed by Dria, Corey and a handful of other kids that Rose wasn't too sure of their names. Like locust, they descended on Jack and picked his arms free of the food.

"Whoa," he said grabbing back one of the boxes of pizza. "Take pity on the poor adults, okay? We need to eat also."

"I'm okay, Grandma." Daniel's friends parted like the Red Sea, giving his grandma space to sit down on the couch next to him.

"Really, mhuirnin?" She checked his temperature with a hand to his forehead.

He did a mental eye roll at her insistence, especially in front of an audience of his friends. "Really." Daniel ducked his head. "No fever."

"No fever," she repeated with conviction.

"Told ya."

She winked at him. "I know you did, but I'm just exercising my Grandma rights." Quickly, she kissed his cheek. "Did I embarrass you?"

Daniel slunk deeper into the cushions.

"Ma, leave Daniel alone," Jack said, dropping a stack of paper plates on the coffee table. "Come play with the grownup and let the kids eat in peace."

"Your dad never lets me have any fun." His mother grinned evilly at Daniel before taking the hand his father offered.

'Thank you', Daniel mouthed in relief to his father.

"Why don't you go to bed?"

"Huh?" Daniel had been drifting on the couch in the living room. Pleasantly full, satiated with food and friendship, it was only the deep ache in his knee that stopped him from truly sleeping.

"Why don't you go to bed?" his dad repeated slowly. "I'm going to drive your grandmother home."

"I'll wait until you get back." His hand immediately flew to his knee when he shifted position. Too long in one place had stiffened already bruised and hurting muscles and bones. Alexandria had rebuffed his every attempt to get up and help.

He lifted his head so his grandmother could kiss his cheek. "Make sure your dad gives you Motrin before you head off to bed."

"Yes, ma'am." He mocked her with a salute.

"Dad's not waiting," his father said, turning over his hand and depositing three tablets into his palm. "Take them now; it'll take the edge off by bedtime."

Daniel's cell phone rang and he jumped. While not sleeping, he was close enough to slumber that his heart began to pound painfully in his chest from surprise. He dug the phone out from where it was stuck between the couch cushions, squinted at the numbers then flipped the phone open. "Hey."

"Did I wake you?"

Daniel rubbed at his eyes, patted his stomach until he found his glasses and slipped them on. "No. Didn't wake me."

Alexandria giggled. "You're a horrible liar."

"You didn't," Daniel bristled. "I was just..."

"Lying on the couch, staring into space. Were you starting to drool?"

Quickly, Daniel rubbed at his mouth. "I wasn't drooling." He could feel a smile slowly building. "Honest," he answered in response to Alexandria's giggle. He felt connected and missed. While not great on the academic front, being missed on the social scales had felt, and still felt damn great.

"Want to go out tomorrow?"

Daniel was stunned into silence.

"Daniel, did you hear me?"

"Are you asking me out for a date?" His smile turned into a blush of embarrassment.

"Newsflash, it's the Twenty-first Century. Girls can ask guys out on a date." She tried for huffy indignation, but ended up laughing. "Do you think your dad will let you go?"

"My dad?" he snorted. "Hey, are you mocking me?"

"Mocking you? You sound like a middle-aged guy sometimes. Old before your time ".

Alexandria should only know. "Are you making fun of me?"

"Never," she replied softly. "Ever. Never."

"So who else is coming on this date with us?"

"No one. Me. You. My mother's van."

"Oh." Daniel tried to remember if they'd ever been alone. Out alone. On a date alone.

"Oh?"

"Oh, it sounds nice. Really nice."

"Yeah, that's what I thought also. Movies. Pizza. I figured bowling would be out of the question."

"I could keep score."

"Daniel?"

"Hmmm?"

"Could you just say 'I'd love to go out on a date with you'."

"I love you."

"I swear I'm dating a romantic old guy." Alexandria's contented sigh floated through the phone.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Not on your life, Daniel Jackson."

"I thought you'd be asleep." His dad put the four grocery bags on the table. "I finally ended up stopping at the store."

"It's not late." Daniel avoided his dad's once over, covering up his avoidance by peeking in the bag. He leaned forward and reached in only to have his father pull the bag away.

"Hey!"

"Hey, yourself." His dad pointed at him. "Stop pouting."

"You bought donuts."

"Patience, grasshopper."

"You tell me that all the time," Daniel sneered. "I want a chocolate one."

"You always want a chocolate one."

"With chocolate milk?"

His father kicked out a kitchen chair and pointed to it. "Sit down, okay? Before I trip over you and we both fall."

Daniel sat, then pulled back his crutches when his father almost tripped over the tips. "Can I have the donut now?"

"Give me these." The crutches were ripped from his grip and placed in the corner, out of the way. "I feel safer now."

"Don't trust me?"

"I trust you, Icky, it's your nervous, teenage energy that I'm having a problem with."

Daniel surprised even himself by yawning. "I'm not going to bed unless I can have a donut," he said in the face of his father's raised eyebrows.

"What are you doing?"

Cameron folded the shirt she had in her hands before answering. "I'm folding clothes." She placed it in the opened drawer and smoothed it out. "Putting them away. Organizing."

"I can see what you're doing—"

"Then why did you ask?"

On a good day, Sarah found conversation with the tin girl trying and today was so not a good day. "I asked because..." Sarah drew a breath. "Because I didn't think folding John's laundry fell under the auspices of protecting him."

Cameron picked another shirt from the basket, held it by the shoulders, flicked it then began to fold it with the same robotic, anal precision she'd used on the other shirt. "You're right. This isn't protecting John."

"Then why are you doing it?"

"Because you'd asked John to clean his room." Cameron glanced over to the bed and paused. "Maybe I was wrong. I am protecting John. Protecting John from your anger."

Sarah leaned over, grabbed a shirt out of the basket and began to fold. She'd done more than ask John, they'd argued over it. Well, looking back, she'd yelled, he'd listened then stomped off into his room and slammed the door. Thinking back, they'd been stupid words. She'd treated an overflowing basket of laundry as if the fate of the world had rested on clean clothes. Ridiculous, the fate of the world rested on her very sick, ill son. Talk about getting one's priorities screwed up.

Sometime while they folded, Derek woke, stretched and untangled himself, standing with hands pressed to the small of his back. Sarah watched as he checked on John. He hesitantly reached out to touch his cheek and Sarah held her breath, praying his concern didn't wake up John.

Derek captured her gaze and held it before pulling his hand back. He walked over to her and cocked his chin at Cameron. "Does she do windows also?"

Cameron blinked at Sarah. "Are there windows that need to be done?"

"I'll let you know." Sarah glared at Derek. "Make yourself useful and put up some coffee. You," she said, plucking a pair of boxers from Cameron's hands. "Go do a perimeter check."

The donut had hit the spot. Daniel licked his fingers, then captured the scattering of crumbs on his napkin.

"Oh, jeezus." His dad broke off half of the last chocolate donut in the box. "Take it, Oliver Twist."

Daniel glanced up from his mission of securing the crumbs. "Huh?"

"Please sir, I'd like some more?" His dad shook his head. "Never mind." He placed the donut on the crumb-free napkin in front of Daniel. "Enjoy that little sucker."

Greedily, Daniel reached for it. "Don't worry, I will."

His father grumbled something about teenage metabolism being wasted on the youth before he sat down.

"Alexandria asked me out on a date tomorrow night," Daniel blurted out just as his dad was reaching into the box of donuts.

"She did?"

"Yeah. Movies. Pizza. A date, date."

"Hmmm." His father's head bobbed in contemplation. "I thought you and Dria were already going... What's the word? Steady?"

Daniel rolled his eyes; whoever had said that you couldn't teach an old dog new tricks knew his father very well. "A date. We've never been..." Daniel stopped, saying 'alone' with Alexandria would set off all of his dad's alarms, and that wasn't how he meant it. "We've never been on a date," Daniel said. "We've never been on a date without someone with us. Corey. Cassie. Nate..."

"Daniel..." Slowly, his father put down the donut he was eating.

The donuts Daniel had eaten turned to lead in his stomach. The tone was too familiar and he could feel the 'no' before his father even formed the word. "Why not?"

"Whoa," his father threw up his hands. "Chill."

"I'm not calling Alexandria and telling her that my daddy won't let me go on a date." Daniel wished he could hop out the room and still maintain his dignity.

"I'm not asking you to call her. I was just going to say maybe your decision about this date needs to be done after visiting with Chadway and having your MRI."

"Oh." Daniel deflated. "I..." He wanted to say he'd forgotten, but he hadn't, not really. "We're not going jogging or anything. No bowling. Just a movie. Pizza. Please?"

"What if Chadway wants—"

"To put me in the hospital? I won't go."

His dad crossed his arms and sat back in the chair. "You won't?"

Frustrated, he flailed his arms without thought. "You know what I meant."

His father's sigh proceeded to infuriate him further. "Yeah, I knew what you meant."

"I won't go back in the hospital," Daniel whispered, head down.

"I'm not asking you to. Chadway isn't asking you to, not today. But tomorrow's a different day and I don't want you or Dria to be disappointed."

He lifted his head. "So, if the doctor says I'm good to go?"

"I'm thinking good to go is a little too much to hope for. I'll settle for just good, right at the moment."

He laid in bed, in complete darkness and Motrin or not, here in his room, Daniel could finally admit that his knee hurt. Really hurt. Wished he had a pain pill hurt, but he'd be damned if he'd call for help. Whining wouldn't help his dating case at all.

Gingerly, he placed one of the extra bed pillows under the joint, hissing as he raised his knee and groaning as he lowered the limb into the pillow's softness. He hated sleeping on his back, but right and left didn't make a difference. Back was a dull ache while side sleeping was torture. Daniel tore the pillow from under his head and put it over his eyes. Maybe if he breathed in his own carbon dioxide for a period of time, he'd pass out, not feel the pain and wake up refreshed.

Yup, worked for him.

Daniel grabbed for the pillow covering his face. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself," his father countered, physically lifting his head and shoving the pillow under it. "You're going to suffocate."

"I was sleeping," Daniel complained.

"No, you were suffocating."

Daniel hurriedly bit back a gasp when his father sat on the bed. Close to the edge but not far enough from his knee, his dad clipped the injury with his hands.

"Damn it, Icky, why the hell didn't you—" His father left in an angry huff, flinging the bedroom door against the wall.

And his date shriveled up and died right in front of his eyes. The idea, especially the aloneness of the time with Dria would remain the things of dreams. Wishful thinking.

His father blinded him with the overhead light and Daniel hurriedly covered his eyes, this time with his arm and not his pillow.

Now, Daniel sensed his dad standing over the bed, hesitating as he tried to figure out where to sit and not hurt.

Daniel grew impatient and dropped his arm. "Just sit down."

"This first." He helped Daniel sit up and gave him another dose of Motrin. Probably too much in a short period of time, but Daniel truly didn't care as long as it took away the pain.

"Now sit." Daniel lay back down, trying to find a spot of comfortableness. "Please."

His Dad's hands danced the length of the bed. "I have no idea where to sit and not hurt ya."

Weakly, he patted the left hand side of the bed. "Safe on this side."

Hesitantly, his father picked his way around the room and sat, with great gentleness, the bed barely dipping under his weight. But with even greater gentleness and a side order of tenderness, calloused fingers pushed aside too long strands of hair. Petting him, soothing away the hurts like he was a little kid. When words and band-aids weren't enough for the boo boo or nightmares.

His knee still hurt, Daniel could feel the residual burn and ache, but it was fading into the background almost as fast as he was.

The mug of coffee Derek gave her was hot and strong, but probably even an IV load of caffeine wouldn't help to keep her awake. She yawned yet again and rubbed at her burning eyes.

"Go get some sleep." Derek's hand lay heavy on her shoulder and he reached around and righted the listing coffee mug in her hand.

Sarah shook her head, then shifted in the chair. "No, I need to—"

"You need to get some sleep, not going to do anyone any good if you pass out."

"Maybe I'll put a blanket on the floor..."

"No, go to bed. I'll knock on the wall. Blow an air horn. Shoot off a flare. I'll do whatever you want to wake you up."

"No," she said softly.

"Look." Derek tapped the IV bag. "Looks like there's two hours or so in there. John hasn't moved one iota in a while. I promise that I'll—"

"Twenty minutes."

"Sure."

"Twenty," she insisted with more force.

"I said sure."

"I'll clean the toilet bowl using your toothbrush if it's a minute longer."

"I thought you did that already?"

Sarah was so tired she couldn't even manage a snort. "I didn't." She stood and handed him her mug of coffee, not sure if she could even make it to her room without dropping the cup. "Twenty."

"Twenty."

The machine walked past the room and hesitated a moment too long for Derek's liking. Without a word, he got up and closed the bedroom door against her prying eyes.

"Sorry," he said settling back into the chair. "She just creeps me out."

John moved in response, mumbled some unintelligible then tugged at the neck of his tee shirt.

"Come on, guy," Derek begged. "Give your mom at least twenty, okay?" He held his breath, waiting until John finally settled down.

The street was waking up and Derek leaned back, closed his eyes and listened. This was pure entertainment to him. Everyday sounds that people took for granted - a car starting, birds singing, kids arguing, horns honking - they were all little pieces of heaven, providing nourishment to his deprived senses.

Someone was watching him and he opened his eyes, ready to spare no expense in letting the machine know he wasn't thrilled with her intrusion. But it wasn't her. "Hey, John."

"Derek." His name rode the crest of an exhalation.

Quickly, Derek stole a glance over his shoulder. IV bag still had a while to go. With fear in his heart, he checked his watch. Thirty minutes. Ten minutes over the ordered timeframe and his toothbrush was now history. Might as well go for the gusto.

"Your mom's sleeping." Derek answered the question that wasn't asked. "The metal is doing her walk around which leaves me and you. Can I get you something?"

John tried to raise his injured hand. "Ow."

"Don't." Afraid to touch John, Derek moved his own hand, hoping that his nephew would pick up on the mimicry.

John nodded, and lowered his hand. "IV? What for?"

Derek nodded. "All yours. Drugs and everything. Good stuff."

"Oh. Guess that explains the—" John closed his eyes and licked his lips.

"Loss of concentration?" Derek filled in the blank space.

"Yeah." John shifted with a groan. "Can't think straight."

"Then don't. Go back to sleep."

John didn't answer, but closed his eyes and turned his face towards Derek.

It was an invitation, it really was, and without Sarah's protective hovering, Derek reached out and pushed the sweaty strands off his forehead. Still hot. Very hot. "Here, this might help." The basin of water was cooler, but not yet warm, but still, as a precaution he only dipped the tip to the washcloth into the water.

John jerked and Derek pulled back in shock when the cool water made contact with his over-heated skin.

"No, s'okay." John's tongue flicked at a droplet of moisture left behind.

With a steady, gentle hand, Derek ran the washcloth over John's face, his neck and his uninjured hand. His nephew made no movement, no acknowledgement, and Derek was pretty damn sure this wasn't doing anything but making him feel better than just sitting and staring at John. Derek kept it up until eventually he dropped the washcloth back into the water. "Better?" he asked, slowly pulling the blanket up to John's uninjured side.

John didn't answer and Derek couldn't help but feel a momentary surge of pride akin to rocking a crying baby to sleep. Derek relaxed back into the chair, sliding down until the nape of his neck was supported by the back of the chair.

"What were your parents like?"

"Huh?" Confused, Derek studied John. Eyes still closed, he appeared to be sleeping.

"Your parents. My grandparents." Lethargically, he opened his eyes, blinking as if he were unsure where he even was.

Derek's parents had occupied his mind for about two weeks after the machines dropped the bombs. Once was in anger and once was in sorrow, though even now, years later, the anger was the stronger of the emotions. Workaholics, they'd spent too much of their time at their place of business. Too focused. Too intense. Too preoccupied. Kyle had been an oops baby and his formative years had fallen on Derek to be both his mother and father.

"They died on Judgment Day. They worked in the city. They left early for work that day. We never had a chance to say..." The word got stuck in his throat. "Your dad cried for them."

"And you?"

"I couldn't cry." It wasn't a lie. Derek couldn't cry for the parents who'd left him responsible for his little brother. He could hate them and be angry, but he couldn't cry for them. Derek scrubbed at his burning eyes; thirty minutes of sleeping on an uncomfortable chair didn't really count as rest.

John was staring at the ceiling, tears pooling and sliding from the corner of his eyes.

"Whoa." Derek leaned forward and used the pillowcase to wipe up the wetness. "Do you want me to get your mother?"

"I'm sorry," John stuttered.

"Hell, this isn't your fault. The tinny bitch should have—"

"You were orphans. You and—"

Derek didn't want to get into this. Not now. Not ever. It was all in the past. His past. Or maybe his future. He wondered, not for the first time, what would be John's future if Judgment Day never happened. Would young Derek and Kyle live happily ever after at the expense of John's existence?

"Go to sleep, John," Derek ordered. "This is a discussion for another time, when you're not drugged to the gills and I'm not functioning on too little sleep."

With a sigh of reluctant defeat, John turned his head away from Derek and closed his eyes.

In response to the water dripping on his head, Derek jerked awake, flying off the chair. "What the—"

"Your toothbrush," Sarah said, shoving the wet object up against his shirt. "Toilet bowl is now sparkling clean, as promised."

"So you slept a little longer than twenty minutes." Derek tried to figure out how to hold the toothbrush without actually touching it.

"A little longer? Four hours and forty minutes longer." Through narrowed eyes, Sarah glanced at the IV bag. "It's full."

"I changed it," he smirked. "I'm capable."

Her anger changed to a slight smile and Derek couldn't help but smile in return. "Thank you for taking care of him. How's he doing?"

"He was awake. Not all connected, but aware." Derek stepped in front of her. "I know you don't want to discuss this, but we're not safe here."

"We're not going anywhere. Not now. Not yet." Once again anger took up residence. "Go shower. Brush your teeth." Her smile was wickedly evil. "There's Chinese left over from what Charley brought yesterday. Enjoy."

Derek knew when he'd been dismissed and he saw, when he gazed at her, reflected in her eyes, her stance and the set of her jaw, her son, years from now. He acquiesced to her demand, as he would to John.

John ran, or tried to, but the halls were crowded and he was going against the flow of teenage humanity. The terminator on his tail was tall, heads above the high school students, easy to pick out. John's timing had sucked, he'd literally bumped into the cyborg when he'd exited the lunchroom.

He'd made the connection quicker than the machine had, which had bought him mere seconds. "Cameron!" he yelled, glancing this way and that, trying to find his protector, but it was Cheri who appeared by his side, grabbing his arm and tugging.

"Come with me if you want to live," she offered.

John didn't even have time to process; he just nodded and followed her through a classroom door into a warehouse. A huge warehouse. A huge, very cold warehouse. He began to shake, wrapping his arms around his midsection in an attempt to hold in his body heat. "Close the door." His teeth were chattering so much it was hard to even utter those three words.

Cheri's fingers skimmed his neck à la Cameron and he shivered at her touch.

"You don't feel cold. Hot," Cheri said. "You feel hot." Her fingers moved from the side of his neck and slid to the front, her eyes glowed red as she tightened her grasp around his windpipe.

John gasped, struggled, but his arms refused to respond.

Cameron came out of nowhere, side-checking Cheri, who flew into the cinderblock wall from the force.

John fell to his knees, more intent on breathing than the outcome of the battle.

"You're supposed to run."

John was hauled to his feet. His mother's fingers were wrapped in a death grip in the front of his shirt.

"I was," he stuttered.

"No, you didn't. You took the easy way out."

"I was trying to—" John looked over his shoulder at the door Cheri had led him through. "I thought it was safe."

"Well, you thought wrong." She waved a bottle of white powder in front of him. "No one is ever safe. You should know that."

John had failed. Unsure exactly what he'd failed at, he just knew he'd let his mother down. Derek. Cameron. Disappointed them all.

"I'm sorry." John spoke to her, but his gaze was transfixed on the bottle she held in her hands. "Please. Next time—"

"Don't you get it, John?" One-handed, his mom shook him. "In your life, there is no next time. One fuck up and you're dead and the world's destruction will be your glowing yellow brick road to Hell."

"I'm sorry."

"Too late." His mom released her hold on his shirt the same time she let go of the bottle.

John fumbled for it, but his reflexes were slow and unresponsive and the glass slipped through his fingers and shattered on the cement floor. The powder exploded up and out of the bottle like a miniature mushroom cloud.

"Ooops," she said with a not so innocent chuckle. "Look what you did."

"Me?" John pushed her away. "You dropped it."

"But I'm not the one dying, am I?"

"I'm sorry." John took a step backwards. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—" He turned his face so he mother wouldn't see him cry. "Die. I don't want to die."

John was caught in the throes of a nightmare. In the beginning, Sarah sat back, stupidly thinking that his demons would work themselves out. There was mumbling and indecipherable words spoken out of context. She'd soothed him, wiped his head. Closed the blinds. The curtains. Talking. All the time talking to him.

"I'm sorry," John sobbed.

She stopped her pacing and stared at the bed. "John?"

"I'm sorry."

The plaintive little boy quality broke her heart. "No reason to be sorry," she said while gently lowering herself next to him. Sarah offered an innocent pat to his chest, a motherly stroke of comfort.

John mumbled something then jumped at her touch. Opening his eyes, he stared at her and weakly shoved her hand to the side. "You dropped it."

She gripped his uninjured hand tightly in both of hers. "You're dreaming."

He blinked at her. "I don't want to die."

Her tears were instantaneous, surprising her to the core. "Not my John. I won't let you die."

"Mom?"

Sarah answered with a distracted, "Hmmm."

"You're crying."

She laughed, released his hand then wiped at her face with the hem of her shirt. "How embarrassing, I got caught with my emotions showing."

John was curled on his side and he looked better than he had. Sarah managed to get him to swallow some Motrin and Tylenol, but he turned green at the mention of food and made her turn around when he had to use the bedpan.

"I changed your diapers, John." Thankfully, she was facing the window and her son couldn't see the broadness of her smile.

"You're laughing."

Sarah raised her right hand. "Honest, I'm not."

"Liar."

John was in pain, it was etched on his face and Sarah knew she was to blame. He'd been awake and coherent so she'd done what she always did with him. She pushed. And he'd let her.

He'd already had the Motrin and the Tylenol. The IV was still running. His hand and leg were packed with ice and she'd schooled her expression at their swollen, bruised condition.

"Derek? Cameron?"

"Keeping busy."

"You threw them out of here?"

"I'm your mother. I have that right."

"Not exactly thinking those were the words Derek used." He tried to smile, but it turned to a grimace and the 'ow' slipped out before he could help it.

"It's okay." Sarah soothed. "I'm right here." She closed her eyes and from memory, and though the words where spoken haltingly, the language rusty and awkward sounding, Sarah began to recite the Wizard of Oz.

Even though he slept, the pain was still etched in his face, making him appear older, battle worn, and she saw John's future as he tossed restlessly in bed. Years full of pain. Hurt and anger surged through her, settling in her gut. How dare he? And for the first time, after all these years, she was overwhelmed by the betrayal towards John's father for bequeathing such a heavy burden to the child who wore his face.

"I hate you," she raged, grabbing a bottle of Snapple and flinging it across the room, taking pleasure when it smashed into the opposite wall with a shatter of extreme satisfaction. Sarah was in the process of looking for something else to throw and settled on a plate with hours' old toast when Derek walked into the room and stepped into her line of fire.

"Do you want me to duck or would it be more satisfying for you to hit me?"

"I'm not sure." Sarah lowered her arm but didn't put the plate back on the night table. She reached out and touched John. "I didn't wake him."

"Try throwing the plate, maybe you will."

Guiltily, she put the plate down.

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

Sarah balked. "Depends."

"Who were you hating when I walked in?"

Betrayal dissipated into thin air, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared, leaving in its wake a terrible longing for Kyle. "No one in particular. Everyone in general."

Derek kicked a shard of glass. "Especially a bottle of warm Snapple."

She stood with a sigh. "Guess I have to go clean up my temper tantrum."

John opened one eye. "Are you fluffing my pillow?"

Cameron gazed downward, blinking at him. "Isn't that what's done for patients? I've already straightened your blankets. Emptied the bedpan."

John groaned.

"Are you in pain?"

John shook his head. Embarrassment plowed through any pain and grogginess, making itself comfortable as it took over the top of the list. "Fine," he choked. "Just fine."

She skimmed his neck and John shuddered as a not so nice visual of Cheri touching him in the same manner flittered through his brain.

"Don't do that." He couldn't do more than speak words; she basically had him pinned to the mattress.

"Your mother asked for an update on your vitals every two hours."

"And what do my vitals say?"

"You'll live."

"There were some doubts?"

"Do you want me to lie to you?"

"I'm not sure," John said slowly.

"I am. Lying will be much more beneficial. I can't see how telling you the truth will help in your recovery." She patted the pillow under his head. "I've fluffed."

"Thank you."

"I've also folded your laundry."

"What?"

"Your laundry. All your shirts, jeans, socks, and boxers have been—"

"Am I going to die?" Asking that question again was so much better than even thinking of Cameron touching and folding his underwear.

"You were."

"Was?"

She gave an all too human tug on her bottom lip with her top teeth as if contemplating the logistics of the asked question. "The danger of your dying has passed."

"I'm glad." Surprised that he actually had the strength to place a sarcastic spin on those few words.

"Me, too."

"You are?"

"Yes, if you'd died, I would've failed—"

"In your mission to protect me," John filled in for her. Cameron didn't speak, but she blinked at him, wide-eyed and innocent as if he'd offended her. "Stop that. Stop looking at me as if I'm something more than a mission. Stop looking at me like you care."

"The mission failure would've been my doing. I should've mentioned the powder and its dangers to humans."

"You feel guilty," John snorted.

"No, I don't."

"Yeah, you do."

"I don't," Cameron insisted. "I'm just stating a fact. I should've been aware there would come a time we'd encounter this powder. Being forewarned is an excellent defense."

"Keeping my hands to myself would've been a better idea."

"You'll get no argument from me."

John shook his head. "Have you been talking to my mother?"

"Yes. Remember I told you that she wanted your vitals? Are you confused? Is there a need to wake her up—"

Wake up? John turned to the window. "It's dark outside."

"It's night. Both your mother and Derek are sleeping. Your mother fell asleep while eating at the kitchen table. Derek is asleep in front of the television."

"What time is it?"

"Four in the morning."

"Oh."

"You've been sleeping a lot." Cameron began to plump the pillow under his head again. "Is that better?"

John shifted to the side. She was too close. He was too uncomfortable.

"Dorothy vivía en el centro de las grandes praderas de Kansas con tío Henry, que era granjero, y tía Em, que era la mujer del granjero. Su casa era pequeña, ya que la madera para construirla tuvo que ser transportada en un carro muchos kilómetros—"

"What did you just say?"

"Dorothy vivía en el centro—"

"Stop. What the hell are you doing?"

"It's from El maravilloso Mago de Oz—"

"I know what it's from," John said angrily. "How did you know about that?"

"You told me that the story brought you comfort and at the moment you appeared in need of comfort."

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine, John. Your temperature is elevated. You're—"

Suddenly exhausted, John closed his eyes. "Go fold laundry. Fluff someone else's pillow. Walk the perimeter. Clean a gun. Go do your job."

There was a pause. A hesitation. Then a light touch to his shoulder. "I am. I'm taking care of you."

"Nervous much?"

Daniel practically snarled at his father and checked his watch for the zillionth time. Of course, today of all days, his dad was driving with caution. Staying in the speed limit. He had plenty of time to get to the doctor, but the sooner they got there, the sooner Daniel would have an answer.

"I'm not nervous. I just want to get there."

"We're early."

"Nothing wrong with being early."

"Daniel, there's early and then there's early. We're the second one." His father flashed him a smile. "How about we stop for some breakfast?"

It was a losing battle. "Sure. Breakfast. Why not? Drive thru?"

"Diner?"

Daniel wanted to beat the dashboard in frustration. This was his father's way of paying him back because he hadn't wanted breakfast at home. He'd just wanted to get going, payback was going to give him an ulcer, and he was way too young for an ulcer.

Daniel stared at the ceiling above the MRI machine. He knew the drill. Don't move. Don't breathe while the machine was cycling. The headphones the technician had given him to mask the banging were more of an annoyance than a distraction. The music choices probably would've made his dad break out into song, but it was killing him and he wished he could just rip off the headphones and chuck them across the room.

There was a silver lining to the music though, twenty-five minutes the tech had told him, so he was counting down his time in the damn machine with the songs. Three and half minutes per song.

Yeah, that worked to a point. Daniel hated MRIs. He thought he always did. Enclosed places, no matter what age Daniel had been or now was, never bothered him. Something about the cold metal tubing of the MRI was too coffin-like, and even though only Daniel's right leg was in the machine, there was no missing the feeling of impending claustrophobia.

"Five more minutes, Daniel." The warning cut into some Beatle song.

Daniel exhaled. Five minutes, he could do five more minutes. The worst was over. Concentrate instead on his date tonight. Alexandria. Closing his eyes, he pictured the movies. Their seats. His hand doing a slow walk up and over the chair dividers to hold her hand. She'd smile at him in the dark then drop her head on his shoulder.

"Okay, Daniel, we're done."

Damn, that was a much better way to pass the time than counting stupid songs from the sixties.

Daniel fingered the brace. It felt strange and cumbersome. Mid-calf to mid-thigh wasn't one of his better looks and he felt clumsier on the crutches with it than without it.

Once the Avalanche stopped at a light, his dad turned his attention to Daniel. "Good news, huh?"

Daniel had to admit, with a sharp nod, that it had been good news. Not great. But good. No ligament damage. Nothing torn. A week of the brace and crutches. Then just the brace and PT. And if he was good and did all his exercises, there was a strong possibility that he'd be back on the soccer team in a month. Give or take a week or two. A lifetime. "Yeah, good news," he sighed.

"Well, it's about time," his father commented when the light finally turned green.

"I'm going back to school on Monday."

"That's what Chadway said. Personally, I think Monday might be too—"

"No. Monday's good," Daniel insisted. "I want Monday."

"Focus on the here and now. Like tonight and your date with Dria."

Daniel smiled. "Think you feel like buying your poor injured son a new shirt?"

"How about a haircut?"

Daniel scowled and held onto ponytail for dear life. "I don't want a shirt that badly."

Okay, this was ridiculous. Why was she nervous? This was Daniel. Daniel. Dria caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror then ripped off the blouse she'd just put on. Too dressy. She didn't want to look like too much of a jerk.

Impatiently, she went through her closet one more time, sliding the hangers back and forth over the bar.

No.

No.

No.

She tossed a maybe onto the bed.

No.

No.

She hesitated over a purple tee then realized that she'd worn that on a date with Tony. Dria ripped it off the hanger and tossed it into the garbage by her bed. Definitely no.

No.

No.

Oh. A definite maybe. A blue peasant blouse, buried in the back of her closet. Tags still on. An impulse buy. She slipped it on, looked in the mirror and laughed at her image. Oh God, her shirt was the color of Daniel's eyes,

She turned sideways, adjusted her bra, her pants and grimaced at her image, hands pressed against her stomach. Sometimes she hated Cassie for lightning speed metabolism and she stuck out her tongue at the mirror.

Bending over at the waist, she wrapped a scrungie in her hair then stood. Her curls, even pulled up high, cascaded down her shoulders. Hoop earrings. A heart necklace and a few bangles. She moved her arm and 'bangled'; no, not conducive to a movie night. They joined her discarded clothes on the bed.

Just a bit of makeup. Eyeliner. Lipstick. Mascara. A little more mascara. Some blush. She fluffed up her hair and tossed her head. Her hoody just didn't look right, even though it was her favorite, most comfortable piece of clothing, and settled on a black shrug.

Fuck it. She shrugged out of the shrug, letting it fall to the ground, kicking it into the corner. Grabbing the originally discarded hoody, Dria hugged it her like an old familiar blanket. Okay, that was better, more comfortable and immediately, the feeling of nervousness disappeared.

"I won't be home that late." Dria scooped the keys out of the bowl on the table by the door.

Her mother looked up from her book and smiled. "You look very pretty."

"Thank you." She knew it was a thing that mothers always said, but it made her smile all the same.

"Be careful. Damn, did the referee not even see—"

Dria just sighed and took the time to step into his father's line of sight. "I'm always careful." Quickly, she kissed his cheek.

Her dad tugged on a curl. "I know you are, and," he admitted with the tiniest of smiles, "I know Daniel is also. It's just that the two of you sometimes don't always have the best of luck."

"Mom!"

"Ben!" Her mother made a move to grab the remote. "Tell you daughter how pretty she looks. To have a good time—"

"And make sure she doesn't screw up with the geek. Or screw the geek." Her brother didn't even look up from his video game. Where the hell were all the pointy objects when she needed them?

"Tom, apologize to your sister right now."

"Tommy," Dria asked demurely, "did Suzie from the down the block have a good time keeping you company on Tuesday. You remember, after school. When mom was out shopping?"

Dead silence as her parents contemplated her words. Ahhh, revenge was damn sweet. She left the house just as her parents were ripping her brother a new one.

Hoody or not, butterflies took up residence in her stomach the closer she got to Daniel's house. Even her favorite sing-out-loud songs on her iPod were doing nothing. Disgusted, she unplugged it and tossed it into her purse.

Two more blocks. Why hadn't she realized how close they lived to each other?

One more block and then she was there. Pulling down the visor, Dria checked herself in the lighted mirror, applying a smidge more lipstick and color to her cheeks. Her hair was her hair and it had taken her sixteen years to like what genetics had blessed her with.

"Good evening, Dria."

His formality made her blush. "Colonel Jack."

"You look very pretty this evening."

"I bet you say that to every girl who picks Daniel up for a date."

"I tell his grandmother that every time." He winked at her. "I'm not stupid."

"Alexandria."

"Oh." Daniel was younger than her. She caught grief from people, robbing the cradle and all that. But oh. Those eyes were full of wisdom. And tentativeness. An old soul. She felt it to her core, that there was more to Daniel than she knew.

It was ridiculous. Of course, there was the fact that he was totally clueless of how good looking he really was. Glasses, ponytail, eyes, crutches and... "Brace? Something new?"

"You look amazing," Daniel stuttered.

"Thank you," she answered softly.

"Truly amazing." He swallowed, his Adam's apple visually bobbing with the effort of maintaining control. "Beautiful."

"The brace supplements the crutches. One more week on the crutches and then the brace is a solo effort," Colonel Jack answered when Daniel didn't.

Daniel was so quiet Dria began getting nervous. "My iPod's in my purse, why don't you..." She took one hand off the wheel and pointed to the floor.

"I'm okay," he replied tonelessly.

I'm not, Dria wanted to scream. She was uncomfortable. Daniel was uncomfortable. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I wanted this to be fun. It's not fun."

"You're so beautiful."

Dria sighed loudly. "You're not having fun either."

"Fun?" Daniel smacked his thigh. "You're out with a kid who's got a brace on, and saddled with crutches. You're... Damn it, Alexandria, you're gorgeous. What the fuck are you doing having fun with me?"

Fun was the last thing on her mind when she swerved across two lines of traffic and pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall. Dria slammed the van into park, unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to face him. "You take that back, Daniel Jackson."

"No. I'm not. It's the truth." He shook his head, the fingers of his right hand idly sneaking their way under the top of the brace. "Which part do you have a problem with? That I'm a kid?"

"So am I."

The glance he slid her way was evil. "You're not. I'm still a pimply faced kid and I wear glasses."

"I didn't realize you were having a pity party, am I invited?"

Daniel snorted.

Dria spread her fingers of her right hand and began to tick on the appendages. "You're smart. Oh, wait, you're not just smart, you're brilliant. You're gorgeous—"

Daniel laughed.

"Shut up." Dria smacked his shoulder. "If I can be gorgeous so can you."

"Dria..."

She was on the precipice. Angry, yet so close to tears. "Why can't you believe me? Why do you want proof?" Dria threw herself across the console. The wheel dug into her hip, the gearshift into her midsection, but she was too focused. It was awkward, and she really wasn't tall enough to do this without feeling like an idiot. Fumbling, she grabbed the front of Daniel's hoody and jerked him into her personal space.

She kissed him and for minute, Dria hated Daniel for hesitating before he wound his hands under her hoody and pulled her closer. Now, she hated Daniel for an entirely different reason. For the warmth spreading through her body, for how great he smelled. How wonderful he felt and now for the whisper of butterfly kisses he was feathering up her neck.

He captured her face between his hands. "Are we having fun now?"

Her snort was unladylike. "I think so."

Daniel kissed the tip of her nose. "Just checking."

Without a word, except for a look of extreme disappointment, Daniel understood when she pulled back and settled in the driver's side seat.

Dria drove slowly, concentrating on the road, trying to not concentrate on the curls brushing her shoulders that Daniel was winding around his finger. He was humming, distracted, his glance trained on the road through the windshield.

"I bought the tickets online."

"Hmmm."

"Don't you want to know what we're going to see?"

He tugged on a curl then released it, then the bastard used his fingers to walk up her neck, then down, spider-like. "I don't care."

Dria shivered and resisted the urge to slap Daniel's hand away. "So I guess you have no objection to seeing High School Musical Three."

Daniel's fingers stopped.

Score one for the girlfriend. Dria did a mental tick off. "So you do care."

"No," he answered hesitantly. "If that's what you'd like to see."

"No. Actually—"

"We're not going to see that dog in California movie—"

"Twilight." By osmosis, because she'd lived and breathed the books for months at a time, Daniel knew the story about Edward and Bella.

"Cool soundtrack."

Okay, that was probably as close as she was going to get that her choice was acceptable.

"You're pouting." She stood over Daniel, watched him try and get comfortable. She'd chosen an aisle seat so he could stretch his leg out, Director's Cut theatre in the multiplex to guarantee a more comfortable chair, waiter service so she didn't have to get up for a candy/food run.

"Sit down," he ordered. "Please."

"Are you—"

"I'm fine. Honest." Daniel glanced over at the empty side of the love seat and patted the cushion invitingly.

Carefully, Dria stepped over Daniel's extended leg into the seat. "I'm sitting." She turned so she was staring at him. "You're still pouting."

"Director's Cut. Movie..." He lowered his voice, "it's expensive—"

"Can I help you?" asked the waitress who'd appeared by the aisle, too close to Daniel's brace-enclosed leg for comfort.

"I'm fine."

Dria rolled her eyes, hating when he went all macho boy on her. "Popcorn. Extra butter. Medium. Two cokes and a box of Nonpareils." The server nodded and disappeared. "My date, my treat." She played with the buttons on his shirt. "So shut up and accept it like a man."

Dria smiled in the darkness as Daniel's arm snaked around her shoulder. He was worse than a little kid, finding one of her curls and rubbing it between his thumb and pointer finger. Annoying to the point of distraction, until she realized that Daniel was fidgeting in his chair every few minutes and his right hand was absentmindedly rubbing his injured leg.

As a toddler, she remembered her brother rubbing the satin edging of his blankie against his cheek when he'd been upset. Her mother had explained to Dria that the sense of touch was a powerful thing, offering him comfort. Right now in the darkened theatre, she was pretty damned sure she was Daniel's blankie. Whatever worked for him, because asking if he was okay would be futile. He'd lie. And being an Edward girl, she really didn't want to leave the movie, so she slid even more to the right. Gently, she laid her head on his shoulder. Daniel adjusted, released the curl and settled for rubbing his thumb along the neckline of her shirt.

"It was great, wasn't it great?" Dria was literally bouncing and skipping around Daniel as he thumped along with his crutches and brace. "Didn't you just love it?"

"Music was great."

Dria rolled her eyes. "Didn't you think it was romantic?" She sighed and stopped in front of Daniel, halting his forward progress. "Come on, you didn't think it was even," she pinched her thumb and forefinger together, "a teensy bit romantic?"

Daniel groaned. "If I admit to romanticism, will you be quiet?"

"Would you just be placating me?"

Daniel shrugged. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Okay," he admitted. "I did think when what'shisname—"

"Edward," Dria hissed.

"Right, thanks. When Edward kissed Bella was pretty..."

"Romantic?" Dria asked hopefully.

"Hot?"

Playfully, she smacked his shoulder then skimmed her lips across his.

He leaned forward, searched for more.

Dria stepped back. "Romantic," she insisted. "Admit that it was a romantic movie."

Daniel's glance raked over her body. Then he slowly licked his lips, his top teeth worrying his bottom lip.

Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn him. He had no right to look like that at her. Not in the middle of a brightly lit movie theatre lobby. What the hell was wrong with her? Wasn't it supposed to be teenage boys that had problems keeping their libido in control?

"Hot," she admitted shakily. "When they kissed, it was..."

"Hot, I know." Daniel grinned evilly at her. "I knew you'd see it my way."

"Next time," she said, poking his chest, "maybe we need to see High School Musical."

Dria was reminded how much Daniel was hurting when he got slowly into the van. His muffled grunts and groans made her feel terrible. Before he could object, she stood on the running board, grabbed the seat belt, extended it over Daniel's chest and buckled him in.

"Nice." He wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Whoa." What the hell was it with them and parking lots? She swallowed up her objection as he methodically, and with leisurely precision, kissed her. Her resolve, as if she'd ever had any, dissolved as Daniel's kisses traveled from her shoulder to her neck. With his teeth, he carefully tugged on her bottom lip, drawing her impossibly closer.

"Now, this," he whispered in her ear, "this is romantic."

She groaned and collapsed against him, a puddle of goo in his lap. "I hate you." Dria kissed his chin, dying from embarrassment when the bulge in Daniel's groin pressed into her thigh. "Oh," she giggled nervously, "I guess this means you're feeling okay?"

Dria drove in silence, mortified at what she'd said. How could she? Erections were a fact of life in boys. She stole a sideways glance. And Daniel was a boy, therefore... Oy. She dropped her head on the top of the steering wheel at the next light.

"Maybe we need to stay out of parking lots?"

Dria turned her head. He was smiling at her, showing off his dimple and she giggled again, so thankful that at least one of them was mature.

"Alexandria?"

"Hmm?"

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "They're honking at you."

"Shit." She sat up, glanced to make sure the light was still green and drove, ignoring Daniel's snickering.

"Your knee's bothering you." Dria made it a statement rather than a question, because it was harder to dispute that way.

"It just aches."

Yeah, like it had ached in the movies, or when he first got into the van, or now, as the heel of his hand pressed against the top of the brace.

"McDonald's okay?" Dria asked, putting on the blinker, turning into the parking lot before Daniel could say yes or no.

"Dinner?"

"Drive thru."

"Oh." Daniel looked confused. "That's fine."

Time for her to be the mature one. "You're hurting. Getting in and out of the van is painful. Sitting the entire movie wasn't great..." She sighed. Daniel looked like a wounded puppy. "I'm just taking care of you."

"By using the drive thru? At McDonald's?"

"Shut up and let me take care of you." Dria glared at him. "Okay?"

Daniel raised his hands. "Okay. Just make sure you order me a chocolate shake."

Alexandria balanced the bags and the drinks, staying glued to his side as he hobbled up the walk, and Daniel felt all the good feelings drift away. To make matters worse, his father opened the door before Daniel had a chance to get out his key or knock on the door.

"Hey."

Damn. His dad's glance slid over the two of the, imperceptibly hesitating on Daniel, picking up what Alexandria did, that he'd sell his soul for half a bottle of Motrin. "Movie good?" He held the door opened, allowing the two of them to enter.

"I loved it," Alexandria said. "Daniel, on the other hand—"

"The music was good."

"That bad, huh? It was a chick flick?"

Daniel couldn't help but smile. "No," he said glancing at Alexandria. "It wasn't that bad."

"Watch it, Daniel," she warned. "I'm holding your chocolate shake."

His dad sniffed the air. "Smells good."

"I got you an apple pie, Colonel Jack."

"This girl's a keeper, Daniel. Remember that."

"Don't worry; she's never going to let me forget it."

Thankfully, his embarrassingly salivating father took his apple pie, along with some stolen French fries, into the den to watch sports game de jour. Impatiently, he sat while Alexandria fussed, laying out napkins and ketchup packets. "Alexandria."

She totally ignored him.

"Alexandria," he hissed while she folded pre-folded napkins. "Dria."

Finally, she stopped and stared at him. "What did you call me?"

"The first two times I tried to get your attention or the last time?" Daniel laid his hand atop hers and moved it off the napkin. "Sit down. Please."

Alexandria sat, primly and stiffly in the chair across from Daniel. "Stop that," he ordered, waving a fry at her.

"Stop what?"

Daniel threw down his fry, sat up as straight as he could, then folded his hands. "This is you."

"Oh." She dropped her head, studying the food in front of her.

"Hey." Daniel rubbed his sneaker across the top of her foot. "Look at me," he said softly.

Slowly, she made eye contact.

"Where's the girl from the parking lot?"

Alexandria blushed then flung a fry at him.

His laughter and smile was instantaneous as the fry caught his shoulder and skidded across the kitchen floor. "Much better." Daniel dragged one of fries through his pyramid of ketchup. "Though we really need to work on your aim."

This time the fry hit him in right on the nose. "Is that better, Daniel?" she asked innocently.

Alexandria leaned over, scooped up his wrappers then kissed his cheek. "Wanna tell me where the Motrin is?"

He held onto his chocolate shake for dear life. "I'm okay." Daniel stole a glance at the digital clock in the stove. It had been way too long between pills and his knee, along with his entire leg, was screaming in agony.

"Don't make me go get your father, Daniel."

That's all he needed. A hovering father as well as Alexandria. Hell, maybe someone should call his grandma over as well. "Cabinet to the left of the sink. Three."

She stuffed the remnants of their dinner in the trash then brought three Motrin over to Daniel. "Water?"

He raised his shake. "I'm good."

"Yeah, tell me another one, Daniel."

"I meant," he said testily, "that I had something to drink."

She hugged him, pulled him into her space so the weight of his head rested just above her hip. "Sorry."

His need for the Motrin warred with his need to stay just like this.

She patted his hair, making these strangely soothing, mothering noises.

Daniel nuzzled against her. God this was...

"Kids?"

Alexandria jumped back, offsetting Daniel's balance but he quickly caught himself, latching onto the table.

"Colonel Jack," Alexandria fumbled. "I was... I was just giving Daniel Motrin."

Daniel raised his hand with the Motrin, popped the three into his mouth, then drowned his embarrassment and the pills with the rest of the shake.

"I was just getting a beer."

Great, it sounded like his father was just as embarrassed as Daniel was, which made it a million times worse.

His father got his beer then left, but the mood was broken, even though Alexandria was behind him, with her arms draped over his shoulder and her chin resting on the top of his head. "I should be going," she said, sighing.

She couldn't go. Not now. There was no way Daniel could even get his ass up off the chair, get his crutches and hobble her to the door. "Stay for a little while longer?"

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"I had fun tonight." The pain had settled back down to a dull ache, and even though he really didn't want her to leave, it was time. He tried to hold steady on the crutches. Leaning his right shoulder against the door helped maintain his balance.

"Me, too." She stood on tiptoes and gave him a kiss.

"Parking lots are better than front doors and kitchens," Daniel said huskily, slowly bending forward to capture her lips. "I wish..."

Alexandria pressed her fingers to his lips. "Me, too."

"You better go. Your mom," Daniel rolled his eyes, "and your dad, will kill me if you're out past curfew."

"Yeah, they really get pissed when the car turns into a pumpkin." Alexandria smiled.

Daniel didn't. "Huh?"

"You're kidding me, right? Glass slipper. Clock striking midnight. Coach. Pumpkin... You don't have a clue, do you?"

"Should I? Want to explain?"

"No," Alexandria said with a roll of her eyes. "It totally loses something in the translation."

Daniel tugged on a curl. "If you say so. You'll text me when you get home?"

"Yes."

"Don't forget."

"I won't."

"Promise?"

Quickly, she popped up on her toes, kissed him one more time then glanced at his arm leaning against the door. "I promise, though if I don't get out of here soon, I'm never going to see the light of day, compliments of my parents' idea of breaking curfew."

John came awake slowly. He hurt all over, but nowhere like the hurt of before. Moving around, at the moment, felt like too much of a feat, so he lay there, listening, wondering where everyone was. Wondering why he was so tired. Wondering why he just wanted to sleep.

After a moment, he heard soft rustling close by.

He opened an eye, blinked, and beheld a sight that he thought he'd never see. Cameron, sitting in a chair next to his bed, knitting needles held awkwardly in her hands, and two pieces of yarn dangling from a tangle through which the needles were poking through.

If he weren't so tired, he'd have laughed. Still, he felt his lips twitch as he closed his eyes. The sounds she made were soft, and it was comforting to know he wasn't alone.

He must have drifted, because his mom's voice sounded close by and he hadn't heard her walk into the room.

"What are you doing?"

"Knitting."

"Is that what you call that?"

"Several of the girls at school say that it relaxes them."

"I'm sure it does." There was a hint of laughter in his mom's voice. "Here, don't hold the tension so tight, or you're going to break the yarn again."

"The yarn is too flimsy. It keeps breaking."

"Relax. You're holding it too tight."

"Isn't relaxing the purpose of knitting? Although I have to admit, these would make formidable weapons."

Unable to resist, John cracked open his eyes. His mom was leaning over Cameron, showing her how to hold the knitting needles. It was such a homey scene that he blinked, wondering if he was dreaming.

"I didn't know you could knit."

John hadn't known his mom could knit, either.

"I used to knit when I was a teen." His mom fiddled some more, and then Cameron seemed to get the knack of it. The needles clacked in her hands, and her hands were a blur.

Then his mom turned to glance at him, and her face softened as she smiled.

"Hey, there."

"Hi." His voice didn't sound anything like himself. He cleared his throat, and tried again. "What happened?" Nope, not any better.

"You've been very sick." The needles continued to clack in Cameron's hands.

John swallowed. "So Cameron wasn't joking," he mumbled. "How long?"

"You've been pretty out of it for four days."

He forced himself to think back. "Wednesday. It was Wednesday when we went to the warehouse. So today is..."

"Sunday evening."

"School?" He shook back a lock of hair that had fallen into his eye. He tried to lift a hand to brush it away but only managed to bring his hand up to his chest before he had to let it drop, too exhausted to do more.

"Officially, you've got mono." She pushed the strand of hair aside.

"Mom, that takes weeks to get over."

His mom's face grew serious. "I know." She kissed his forehead, and her lips paused against his skin. "Fever's down." Her breath was warm as she whispered the words. She didn't move away, but simply rested her forehead against his. "Thank God."

"Are you sure?"

Daniel tampered down his anger. This conversation had begun Sunday evening when his father began to second, third and fourth guess the decision that Daniel could attend school on Monday.

Today.

Here he was, dressed, ready and eating breakfast and he was starting that crap again? Daniel dropped his spoon into his unfinished cereal then pushed the bowl into the center of the

table. "I'm sure," he sighed. "Really," Daniel added at his dad's 'you've got to be kidding me' raised eyebrows.

"I'll pick you up."

"Alexandria's driving me home."

"Call me."

"Dad. Cell phones. School. It's a big no-no. Especially if I want to keep my cell phone. Come on. You know the drill." Daniel tried to keep the exasperation out of his voice. "I need to be in school. I'm not doing gym. I'm leaving class earlier to beat the rush of the bell. I'm getting a lift home. I've got all bases covered."

His dad took the Motrin out of the cabinet and plunked it on the table in front of him. "Take this with you."

"I've already taken three. I'll take more when I get home." Daniel forced a smile, trying to get his father to smile. "With my luck, a teacher will catch me with these, and send me down to the principal's office."

"Are you telling me I'm going overboard?"

"You? Never."

"Finish your cereal."

Daniel moved the Motrin to the side and slid the bowl back in front of him. Okay, the cereal was now totally soggy and unappetizing, but he ate it without complaining, just because he had let his dad believe he had some control over the situation.

"Here you go!"

With the spoon halfway to his mouth, Daniel stopped and stared in horror at the brown paper bag presented to him. "What's that?"

"Lunch." Proudly, his father put the bag next to Motrin.

"As inmy lunch?"

"Yup."

"As in, youmade this?"

"Well not me, technically."

Eating soggy cereal was one thing, eating his father's brown-bagged lunches was another matter all together. "No." Daniel inched the bag away from him. "I'll buy."

"No?" His father pushed the bag back at him. "It's roast beef with American cheese, extra mayo, lettuce, tomato, on a fresh hero. And chips." He opened the bag and peered inside. "And two of

Frank's Deli, no, make that three mini black and white cookies." His father crumpled up the top of the bag. "But if you don't want it..."

"You went to Frank's?"

"I went to Frank's."

"When?"

"Early this morning."

"For me?"

His dad opened the fridge and pulled out another brown bag. "Also for me. Meetings. All day. Boring meetings, so I figured I'd treat myself," he paused, "and you, to a better lunch. But if you don't want it, I'm sure Carter or hell, even Fraiser would appreciate it."

"No. That's fine." Daniel pulled the bag to him. "This is fine. I think I can brown bag it."

Daniel would rather sell his soul than admit to his father that going to school today had been one of the worst decisions he'd ever made. Okay, maybe not the worst but definitely falling within the top ten.

Alexandria had seen it, had even offered to leave school and drive him home on more that one occasion, but he'd just shook his head, placed a smile on his face and tried not to clock watch.

Once home, he downed three Motrin, half a bottle of Snapple, a banana and three Oreos before hobbling off to take a shower. A stupid thing to do when he was home alone but even through his jeans, he could feel the irritation from the brace.

He showered with a slowness that would make an old man proud, holding onto the wall, praying to whoever resided wherever to keep him upright. Naked and in the shower was not how he wanted his father to find him when he came home tonight.

Every movement was done with exaggeration. Turning off the water. Stepping out of the tub. Toweling off excess water. Hissing when even the soft towel skimmed along his reddened skin. Things usually accomplished within minutes were taking so long that Daniel was getting annoyed with himself, but his body refused to cooperate.

Hopping on his good leg, it took him three tries to open the cabinet under the sink and pull out the baby powder which he sprinkled liberally on his thigh. Awkwardly, he managed his socks and his sweats.

Standing, Daniel held onto the sink then took an experimental step. "Oh." Surprisingly, the sweats seemed a better barrier than the jeans.

The next morning was better. Not great. But better. All powdered, Daniel had put on a pair of sweat pants instead of jeans, and if his dad noticed a deviance from his usual wardrobe, he said nothing. Daniel took three Motrin and when his dad left the kitchen to get the newspaper, he pocketed an additional three Motrin for dessert with lunch.

Alexandria placed a sorry looking hamburger and sliced potatoes in front of Daniel. He picked up one of the potatoes and showed it to Corey.

"I know," Corey said, raising a potato of his own. "Hamburgers call for fries, not potatoes."

"Newsflash, Corey." Cassie slapped his arm when he didn't acknowledge her. "Potatoes and fries are the same vegetable."

"Vegetable?" Corey asked.

Cassie dropped her head to the table with a groan.

"What?" Corey's head whipped from person to person.

"I think this is Cassie's way of telling you that you're an idiot," Daniel said, trying to keep the smile off his own face. He patted Cassie's bent head. "There. There."

Alexandria laughed and linked her arm through Daniel's. "Stop picking on Corey, you two."

Cassie sat up with a huff, pushing her hair off her face. "Killjoy," she spat good-naturedly at Alexandria. "You're no fun."

Daniel settled in the chair then used two hands to extend his leg out of the way of people traffic. The Motrin at lunch had definitely helped, taken the edge off the throbbing, but he felt draggy and out of sorts, glad this was the last period of the day.

Cassie leaned her head all the way back until it was resting on Daniel's desk and she looked him straight in the eye. "I'm driving you home today, right?"

Driving home with Cassie was an adventure, a toss up between being better than the scariest rollercoaster or puking up his guts. "Yes, you're honored with my presence."

"Do you want to go straight home?"

"Yes, Cassie," he said, pushing her head up. "I need to go straight home."

Alexandria leaned over. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "but my mom—"

He kissed her quickly, before the teacher could catch them. "Text me tonight."

"Would Ms. Fraiser, Mr. Jackson and Ms. Montalbano please put away the drama and open their books."

By dinner he was yawning up a storm and after the thirteenth time of trying to hide how tired he was, Daniel just gave up.

"Tired?"

Daniel kept his eyes closed for a few seconds after the yawn ended. Tired was probably an understatement, thankfully he'd done his homework earlier this afternoon when he'd been awake and coherent. "Tired?" he repeated. "Yeah, I am."

"Why don't you get ready for bed?"

"Too early," Daniel answered around a yawn. "I'll be up at five if I fall asleep now."

"Maybe you won't."

"I will."

"Try it."

"All right, I will!" Daniel yelled, surprising himself with his vehemence.

His dad waved a finger at him. "You're really not doing a great job convincing me that you don't need to go to bed."

"Shut up," Daniel said quickly, the two words blending together in an exact replica of a two year old's claim of independence.

"Go to bed, Daniel." The weariness in his father's voice drew his attention but he was too tired and cranky to feel sorry for anyone else but himself.

Great. So he was tired at the kitchen table and now he was wide-awake in bed. Awake as in staring at the ceiling, a really uncomfortable awake. He could text Alexandria, Corey or Cassie. Or he could just stare at the ceiling, and since calling required stretching out his arm and reaching for the phone, staring upwards was his activity of choice.

The ache was there, just on the edge of his consciousness, slowly building until it moved from throbbing to downright pain, kicking his ass completely out of dreamland.

"Shit." He flopped onto his back from his side. The wrong side. The side he shouldn't have been laying on. His right side. Slowly, Daniel turned his head to check out his bedside clock, afraid to see if his prediction of five o'clock had come true. "Fuck." Two minutes before his alarm was due to ring was a million times worse than a five am wake up call.

John had slept through the next day, waking only long enough to eat, use the bedpan, exchange a few words, and fall back asleep.

Today, though, he felt stronger. More awake. He pulled himself up in bed until he was half-sitting, careful of his bruised hand and thigh.

Derek must have heard him because a minute later, he popped his head into his bedroom. "Hungry?"

"Yeah." He pushed the blankets away when Derek went into the kitchen and made himself sit up all the way. The room lurched violently to the side for a moment and righted itself before he could fall over. Still, he sat there, one hand braced against the mattress, the other resting in his lap, until he was sure he wouldn't keel over before moving his legs over the side of the bed.

There was a bruise on his thigh that was nearly as bad as the one on the back of his hand. He poked at the edges of the bruise, hissing in pain. Slowly he inched forward, preparing to stand. He only made it partway up when he realized his leg wouldn't hold him up and he fell back, sideways, onto his bed.

Teeth clenched against the pain, he dragged himself back up onto the bed, his underwear suddenly damp with sweat from his exertions.

Derek came in carrying a tray, seconds after he'd pulled himself back up against the pillows.

"I wouldn't try getting out of bed just yet," Derek said as he put the tray on John's lap.

"What day is it?" John reached thirstily for the juice.

"Tuesday. Late afternoon. School's nearly out so it'll be home soon. Your mom's gone to do some research."

"What happened to Monday?"

Derek raised an eyebrow and John shook his head. Time had all become a jumbled blur.

"What happened at the warehouse?" he asked Derek, taking his time to sip the juice before digging into the grilled cheese sandwich. He was getting better at using his left hand.

"Nothing much." Derek sat at the foot of his bed, staring out the door, down the hallway. "The place was full of bits of metal the triple-eight was putting together."

"I remember. Spare parts," he said with his mouth full.

"That's right. Your mom got the machine to destroy everything once we packed up."

"What happened to me?" He licked greasy fingers after he put the sandwich down and drank some more juice.

"The machine forgot to warn us against possible poisons in there. You opened something—"

"A bottle full of white powder—"

"It was poison to humans, some sort of antibiotic to cyborg skin."

John swallowed the suddenly cloying mouthful of grilled cheese. "She couldn't have known the stuff would be there—"

"She should have anticipated. Hell, you should have known better than to touch something in there."

"You're right." The bottle was yet another vague memory, interwoven so often with dreams that he wasn't sure which was reality and which the nightmares. "My hand?" He raised his still swollen and bruised right hand.

"The powder touched your skin there. And you wiped it off on your leg. Stuff went right through your pants."

"How did... Nobody else got hurt, did they?" He looked Derek over quickly, checking for signs of bruising or swelling. "My mom—"

"Is fine. The machine saved your life." This was said grudgingly.

"She did?"

"The nanocytes in the powder are attracted to its kind. She got to you fast enough to pull them out of your bloodstream and into her."

"And this—?" He waggled his fingers, relieved that despite the pain and stiffness, everything seemed to work.

"Toxic and allergic reaction to the nanocytes."

"Is Cameron okay? Did the nanocytes harm her?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "The stuff healed the burns on its back while it nearly killed you." Before he could say more, there was a knock at the door. Derek was out the room and hurrying into the kitchen in a flash, while John struggled to push the tray aside and tried to sit up. He relaxed again when he heard a familiar voice.

"Hey, there," Charley said, coming into the bedroom. He had his uniform on and was carrying a small black bag. John guessed he was still on duty. "You're looking pretty good, considering."

John smiled back at Charley, inordinately pleased at the visit. "Did Mom call to tell you I was sick?"

"Actually," Charley said as he sat down next to John, "I've come to visit a couple of times. You've been pretty out of it." He took John's bruised hand and began to gently palpate the area around it, slowly moving his fingers back and forth.

"You did?" The whole concept of having been so sick he'd lost days seemed odd, and he still hadn't quite wrapped his head around it. But hearing that Charley had been here and he hadn't known...

"We needed his help," Derek said quietly.

John laid his head back on the pillows, staring at the ceiling. He ran the fingers of his good hand through his hair and was surprised to find it greasy and dirty. Then he remembered how long he'd been lying in this bed.

"I want to take a shower." He tried to sit up, tugging his hand away from Charley's.

"Not so fast, Johnny." Charley let go of his hand and with his hand against John's chest, pinned him to the bed with what looked like very little effort.

"Please. Let me up."

"You're too weak."

"I'm filthy. I want to take a shower."

"Your mother gave you baths—"

"Please." John felt his ears heat up in embarrassment at his uncle's comment. "Let's not even go there." He turned to Charley. "I want a shower."

A heavy sigh preceded Charley's answer. "Give me five minutes to check you out, and then we'll see what we can do. Get him some clean clothes," he told Derek, "and you may as well change his bed while he's showering."

"You're going to let him do it?"

"I know John." Charley gave him a quick smile as he removed his stethoscope from his bag. "If we don't help him, he'll find a way to do it himself."

Five minutes later, John endured the embarrassment of being assisted to the bathroom, practically dragged on legs that were rubbery and unsteady, having his tee shirt and underwear removed by Charley, and then helped into the tub and seated on a small stool sitting in the middle of it.

The heat and rush of water was dizzying and he was forced to throw out his good hand to keep his balance until he adjusted to it. "Do you need help?" Charley had pulled the shower curtain partly closed and was sitting on the closed toilet seat.

John shook his head, swallowed the last of his embarrassment and accepted the dollop of shampoo Charley squeezed onto his upturned palm. He rubbed the floral scented, whatever must have been on sale this week stuff, and worked the lather over his scalp, eventually leaning forward into the stream, keeping his eyes closed and sputtering water until he was sure the residue had been rinsed away.

"Doing okay in there?" Charley's voice was loud and echoey, cutting through the running water.

"Fine," John shouted, reaching over with his good hand to capture the bar of soap in the soap dish. He started washing himself, but by the time he'd done his upper body, his left arm was leaden and his back ached from sitting up unsupported.

When he reached down to rub the soap over his leg, the small, enclosed area spun and for a second he thought he was going to topple over. He yelled out for Charley even as he felt hands grab onto him.

"It's okay, I've gotcha." The shower stream stopped suddenly, and he was engulfed in a large bath towel. Before he could get his bearings, strong arms pulled him out of the tub and seated him on the toilet.

He opened his eyes, seeing two of Charley. It took him a moment to figure out that both Charley and Derek were in the small room with him, both of them stripped to their tee shirts. While Derek held John close against his chest, taking his weight, Charley wiped John down, threaded a pair of boxers up his legs, and a tee shirt over his head. Too spent to help, John felt like a rag doll.

There was no embarrassment as they helped him back to bed. One of them began toweling his hair dry as he snuggled into his pillow. Embarrassment melting away as he settled in, holding back a sigh of grateful appreciation. "Thanks," he mumbled sleepily. The smell of clean linens was comforting.

"His mother's gonna kill us," Derek grumbled from the foot of the bed.

"No. Was worth it," John said with a sigh.

"Morning sleepyhead. Did I not tell you that you would sleep - What's wrong?"

His dad must be falling down on his mother henning capabilities if it took him almost the entire sentence to register that Daniel looked like hell. He basically collapsed on the closest kitchen chair. "Slept." If he gently put counter pressure on the ache it felt better. "Wrong."

"Daniel," his dad softly. "I have—"

"No!" He lowered his voice, so the ordered word lost some of its bite. "It's fine."

"Bullshit."

Daniel closed his eyes. This was taking too much effort. "It'll be fine with Motrin. I'll be fine with Motrin."

He opened his eyes when a cool bottle of water smacked his hand. "Thanks." Daniel practically inhaled the Motrin, half the bottle of water and managed two bites of toast before giving up in defeat. "I don't think I can go to school today."

"How about you lie on the recliner. I'll do some work from home and we'll give it an hour or so?"

Daniel nodded. He'd say that he felt like a failure, but right now, he felt nothing but his body's betrayal. Two steps forward, a half mile backwards.

Seconds after he settled in, his father came to him with the rest of the toast and the bottle of water. "Motrin's hard on your stomach."

Without protest he did as he father requested.

"How about I call Chadway, see if you can get in to see him?"

"I just slept wrong." He handed the water back to his dad. "Can I have the remote?"

Daniel surfed through the channels - up, down - and ended up watching Sponge Bob on Nickelodeon because out of the hundreds of channels, the cartoon was actually the most appealing, distracting entertainment he could find.

The Motrin dulled the ache, but not enough for him to even contemplate getting dressed and dealing with maneuvering through the hallways. He felt old. Tired. Middle-aged. Which was funny. Not funny, ha ha... just funny.

His dad appeared in the living room, blocking the Crabby Patty Shack moment on the cartoon. "Hey," he said pointing the remote at his father, "I'm watching that."

Quickly, his father glanced over his shoulder at the TV. "I'm sure you are."

"I am."

His father moved to the couch grabbed the afghan and covered Daniel. All without asking.

"Thanks." Daniel pulled the cover up to his chin.

"I'm calling Chadway. See if he can take a look see at you today." Before it had been a question, now it was a statement.

Daniel tolerated his father's hand skimming his forehead. "I don't have a fever." Based on the way his father studied him, Daniel realized, in his father's eyes, his behavior would better be explained if he was running a temperature. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"It's okay that you didn't go to school. I'm not disappointed."

Daniel sighed, disappointed that his father didn't get it. "You made me miss the end of the show."

"Before I go lose myself in paperwork, can I get you something?"

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"I've been taking Motrin." Daniel squirmed on the examination table. He'd slept out of boredom, had woken up feeling a million times better and had argued with his dad that he'd needed to go to school for the afternoon, rather than Chadway's office. It was no surprise that Daniel had lost the battle and the war.

Chadway glanced at his father. "The pain killers I prescribed would keep the pain level—"

"No. Motrin's fine. I'm sorry, I told my dad I'd just slept wrong. Yesterday at school I had no problem. Honest."

"Daniel doesn't do well with pain killers," was his father's lame excuse.

Chadway gently prodded, humming and nodding as he examined Daniel's right knee. His dad leaned forward as if he understood the noises the doctor was making. Chadway stood with a slight smile on his face. "I have to say, Daniel, you're doing really well."

Impatiently, Daniel waited for the but.

"But..."

Here it came.

"We're going to compromise."

Daniel severely doubted if the doctor was going to be affected by any type of compromise.

"Half days of school for the rest of the week—"

"No!" Daniel glanced at his father for support, immediately getting pissed when he saw his father wasn't watching his back.

"I'm going to give you a prescription for PT starting next week."

"After my half days of school?" Daniel asked sarcastically.

Chadway sat on the chair by the door, crossed his legs and leaned back. "Listen to your body, Daniel. Today your knee was telling you to cease and desist because you were pushing your injury beyond its capability. If you can handle full days next week, that's great. If you can't, that's okay also. You're young. In good physical condition and PT's going to make all the difference in the world."

"Can't I begin PT this week?"

"Doctor Chadway said not to push."

"I heard him." Okay, that was obnoxious and the second the three words and the tone they road in on were out of his mouth, Daniel was filled with remorse. "I'm sorry." He felt the weight of his father's hand as it settled on the nape of his neck.

"Look, Daniel." Chadway stood and rested his hip against the side of the examination table. "I understand that pain killers aren't something you want to take—"

"They don't agree with me." Daniel kept his head bent, unable to see his lie reflecting in the doctor's expression.

"There are other things. Stronger than Motrin—"

"Motrin's fine," Daniel objected, his father's fingers tightening around his neck.

"No, Daniel. The Motrin's not fine, not if you're struggling like this. Pain management is—"

Daniel tucked his chin tighter against his chest, tears pricking his eyes, blurring his vision and his father's supportive hand suddenly became an arm, snaking around Daniel's shoulders, pulling him closer.

"We understand about pain management."

"It's not the same thing," his father said for the millionth time on the ride home.

"Feels like the same thing."

"It'll relax you—"

"I'm relaxed."

"Daniel..."

The tears that had been threatening spilled over. "You promised me." Frustrated, he slammed his elbow into the door. Again. And again. And again.

He didn't remember his father stopping the car, or when his father pulled him with a gentle firmness into his arms but he struggled, angry and hurt at his father's betrayal. "You promised," he repeated.

"I know I did, but you're in pain. You're hurting."

"I'm afraid." Weakly he beat at his father's shoulder. "Your fault."

"Shit, Icky. I know. I'm so sorry." Were those tears in his father's voice?

"Please, Daddy. Don't make me."

"Shush," his dad demanded, petting the top of his head continuously, as if he were soothing himself as much as offering comfort for Daniel.

Great. So now not only did his knee hurt, but his nose was stuffed, he had a headache and his eyes burned. Barely inside the door, his father drew him into a one armed hug, kissing his temple.

"I'm not going to change my mind."

"You can't keeping taking Motrin. Chadway gave you three prescriptions. One for physical therapy. One for the Tylenol 3 and one for... It's a prescription-strength anti-inflammatory. Stronger than Motrin—"

"Fine," Daniel said, "that'll work." He stared right into the skepticism on his father's face. "I'll make it work."

Alexandria agreed with Chadway with too much enthusiasm for Daniel's taste. "You looked like crap yesterday."

"Thanks," Daniel said indignantly. "But I didn't feel bad yesterday."

"I was worried when I didn't see you in school."

"I'm sorry, I should've called." Responsibility of remembering to do the right thing, at the right time, to the right person was suddenly overwhelming and he must've remained silent a heartbeat too long.

"Hey, I just worry."

"I'm sorry," he repeated, pretty much because he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"So, tomorrow, morning only?"

"Yeah," Daniel sighed. "I really haven't gone over the particulars with my dad."

"Can I drive you?"

"Taxi?"

"I can get you early and we can stop for breakfast."

"I'd like that."

And he slept. He hadn't meant to. His dad had pried him with lunch and handed him a pill. Daniel remembered opening up his book, powering up his laptop and then nothing. He opened his eyes to a pitch-black room and it took him more than a minute to realize it was early evening and not early morning. He was starving, he felt pretty damned good and he was damned pissed.

"You lied," Daniel yelled the second he hobbled into the kitchen. "You gave me—"

"Sodium Naproxin," his dad answered calmly, his anger expressed only when he slammed the pill bottle on the counter. "I promised you, Daniel. As much as it kills me to watch you suffer and be in pain, I. Promised. You."

"Dad—" He couldn't get the apology out fast enough.

"Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, my boy genius, that you were overtired, and your body was just catching up on sleep?"

Daniel studied the kitchen floor.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," his father continued. "I made you a promise, Icky."

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

"Damn, so am I." He pointed to the bottle. "Good stuff? You seemed to hobble in at breakneck speed."

"I love you, Dad."

"I know you do. You just gotta remember to trust me."

Daniel didn't know how to answer that. He did trust his dad. Maybe it was himself that he needed to trust.

His father broke the awkward moment by lifting the lid to a deep pot on the stove and pushing the steam towards Daniel.

Daniel sniffed the air. "Is that stew?"

"Yup." His dad replaced the lid then opened the oven, and the odor of freshly baking rolls filled the kitchen.

"Oh." Daniel's mouth began to water.

"You're drooling."

Daniel touched the corner of his mouth before realizing his father was kidding around. "It's not good manners to tease a starving teen."

When he woke up, John could hear the sounds of cutlery clinking against dinner plates. His stomach grumbled, adding to the reminder that it was suppertime. "Mom?"

He heard a chair scrape along the floor and a moment later, his mom was smiling down at him. "Hungry?"

"Yeah." He turned around lazily and stretched, until his thigh reminded him it wasn't a good idea.

"I'll be right back."

He took the time to try and shove his pillows up against the wall and dragged himself so that he was sitting. When his mom returned, she had two plates on the tray. One was half-empty and he realized she was going to finish eating her own meal with him. He eagerly dug into his roast chicken, which he made no comment on the fact that she'd shredded his piece into small strips, mashed potatoes with gravy and vegetables. He gave Cameron a small, awkward wave with his fork when she walked into the bedroom and stood next to the door.

"I heard you decided to get out of bed today."

"I wanted a shower." He sucked gravy off his fork, then carefully moved carrots off to the side, giving them more attention than they warranted.

"Derek said you almost passed out in the shower."

"I didn't pass out."

"All you needed to do was ask and I'd have given you a bath—"

"Mom. Please. It was embarrassing enough with Charley and Derek."

"I would have given you a bath if you'd asked." There was no flirtation or guile in Cameron's voice, and that was what made her comment so funny. John chuckled, and his mom joined in a moment later.

"So." John paused, a forkful of speared chicken held just before his mouth. "Derek said you were out doing research?"

Mouth full, still chewing, his mom nodded. She swallowed and fluffed out her potatoes before pulling the fork through gravy. "I went to research the addresses you found."

"I have a perfectly good computer over there." John waved towards it with his fork.

"Which no matter how much I fiddle with it, I wouldn't find the information I need. So I did what people used to do before computers existed."

John blinked at her innocently. "Went hunting for saber toothed tigers?"

He was rewarded with a gentle smack to the shoulder. "Very funny. No, I braved the dinosaurs and went to the library."

"Did you find anything?"

She nodded. "I was right. It's military. The coordinates correspond to NORAD, in Colorado Springs."

Considering he'd slept the afternoon away, Daniel had expected to toss and turn the entire night, but by ten-thirty, his eyes were crossing in the middle. Exhaustion? That seemed almost impossible, so he got up, took a shower, changed into sweats, said goodnight to his dad and literally fell into bed, daring sleep to overtake him. Which it did.

For the next few days, Daniel's life fell into a comfortable routine and he begrudgingly admitted to only himself, that the half days of school and the prescription-strength anti-inflammatory medication was working. Alexandria. Breakfast. School. His grandma would pick him up, feed him lunch, hover for an acceptable period of time then head back to her house. Daniel spent the remainder of the afternoon doing schoolwork, enjoying the peace and quiet with only his iPod or TV for company.

Saturday, Daniel overrode his father's better judgment and he spent the morning at the mall with Alexandria and Cassie. That was bad enough, but the afternoon? Daniel spent the afternoon sitting in the bleachers and watching his soccer team.

Between periods, Coach Dawson squatted in front of where Daniel sat, his glance sliding from the brace to Daniel's face. "You should be sitting on the bench, Jackson."

An invitation. Part of Daniel wanted take the coach up on his offer, lend his support as a teammate and not part of the cheering crowd. But he hesitated, and the coach misinterpreted his pause.

"I understand," the coach said as he stood. "I'd like you to come to practice, okay?" He winked at Daniel. "I could use your expertise."

His team squeaked by with the win and by the time they walked back to Cassie's car, soreness that he hadn't experienced for a few days settled painfully around his knee.

"You're limping." Alexandria linked her arm through his.

"No. Not exactly limping. I'd consider it dragging," Cassie said.

Daniel was in so much pain, that walking and talking was out of the question. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. All the good he'd done this week was flushed down the toilet.

"Stay here," Cassie ordered with a hand to his chest. "I'm going to get the car and bring it closer to the exit."

Daniel shook his head, standing and waiting was just as bad as walking. Wordlessly, he surged forward, Cassie caught on and sprung ahead.

"You're damned stubborn," Cassie hissed. "I wish I could throw you over my shoulder and carry you—"

"Me. Too." Daniel huffed. "Me. Too."

Daniel was sure his father was keeping his temper in check until Cassie and Alexandria left. He waited, standing by his father's side, a smile pasted on his face as they exchanged goodbyes. Daniel waited until the front door was closed and locked. He waited until Cassie's car drove away. He waited for the explosion when he father went into the kitchen.

"Daniel!" his dad yelled from the kitchen.

Here it came. He drew a deep breath, counted to ten, pressed the palm of his right hand into his thigh muscle then shuffled into the kitchen.

The second Jack had laid eyes on Daniel, he'd wavered between tearing him from limb to limb over his stupidity and holding him down and forcing a bottle of pain pills down his throat. Instead, he pasted a smile on his face, said goodbye to his son's partners in crime, waiting until they left before going into the kitchen.

He counted to ten, expecting his son to be hobbling right on his heels, but he didn't. So Jack worked backwards and laid on the counter one anti-inflammatory for the knee, two Tylenol for the headache, a Snapple, a few crackers with peanut butter and a partridge in a pear tree. The only thing missing was his son. "Daniel? Can you come in here?"

"Yeah?"

Damn. "Why don't you go lie down? Bed? Recliner? Couch? I'll bring you..."

Daniel collapsed into the closest kitchen chair.

"Or there is fine," Jack amended, pointing to the chair Daniel was sitting in. "Good. Settled?"

Daniel glared at him.

The pills, Snapple and snacks were all set before Daniel, who ate and drank before taking the pills. "Just say it, okay? Get it over with."

"I don't have to, you've punished your body enough today. Anything I would say would just be icing on the cake and the way you look, the last thing you want is dessert."

"You were right." Daniel's began to systematically peel off the Snapple label with his thumb.

"Believe it or not, Daniel, this is one of those times where I don't want to be right. Or to tell you I told you so."

The pile of label shreds grew. "I... We... went to see the soccer game today."

Great. Bleachers. Cold. Damp. Reason number two why his son was moving with the speed of a ninety-year-old man. But he could do supportive. "So did they win?" See? He could do supportive.

"Barely. Henderson was in goal." Daniel shuddered. "I mean he's good, but he's not fast. I think Coach Dawson should—"

"Did your coach see you?"

"Yup." Daniel shook his head, a wry smile touching the corners of his mouth. "He wanted to know why I wasn't sitting on the bench." Daniel shrugged, never answering the question. "Coach wanted me to come to practice—"

"Is he kidding? Holy shit, is that man—"

"To lend my expertise. Don't have cow, Dad."

"Oh, I guess that was me jumping to conclusions?"

"Yeah." Daniel made a pyramid shaped pile out of the destroyed label.

"Think maybe tomorrow you want to spend the day with your old man?"

"I'm under house arrest?" Daniel flattened the pyramid.

"If you can get past me tomorrow, then you're allowed to leave the house."

Daniel snorted. "I'm always up for a challenge."

"We'll see," Jack said, wondering if he should wager a bet on this.

Daniel wasn't up for anything, never mind a challenge. Not even a slow wind down, he'd gone to his room after talking to his dad, and the rest, shall they say, is history. Based on the bedside clock he'd slept over fourteen hours, which was fine, well and good. His brain was alert, refreshed but unable to convince his body to move.

Sitting up. He could sit up. And he did. Slowly, cautiously and after four attempts he was up and going... absolutely nowhere. Ten minutes later, Daniel admitted defeat. "Dad?" He rolled his eyes at his own feebleness. "Dad!" he yelled even louder, flopping backwards on the bed in frustration.

"You yelled?" his father walked into the room, wiping his hands on a dishtowel.

Daniel groaned, waving his hand in the air. "Help?"

"Breakfast in bed? Pills. Tylenol? Give them a chance to kick in and I'm sure your body will be willing to cooperate."

His dad was right. Breakfast, followed by, believe it or not, a ninety-minute nap, and Daniel felt human. Awake and moveable, enough that he showered, changed, rebraced himself then shuffled into the living room, holding tightly to the handrail for the few steps.

"Hey," his dad looked over the rim of his glasses. "Better?"

Daniel nodded.

"Good." His father cocked his chin at the pile of papers on the table.

Ahh. The Sunday paper filled with ads. And the comics. Lengthy editorials. Want ads. Daniel leaned forward, snagged the Sports section then slowly settled in the recliner. Okay, this was totally geeky, reading the paper, starting with the Sports section, then reading the remaining parts cover to cover then ending up fighting with his dad over the crossword.

But today, Daniel made it through half the Sports before tossing the paper to the side.

"Daniel?"

He plunked the chair into the down position, his leg balancing awkwardly without support until Daniel slowly lowered it to the ground. "I need to get up and move around."

"A walk?"

Daniel glanced down as his threadbare sweats and sock-covered feet. "Outside?"

"No, around the living room, with a side view of the kitchen would work well."

Daniel blinked at this father, he hated, no, abhorred, when his father thought he was being funny. "You're not funny," he said while struggling to stand.

"No?"

"No, Dad, believe me. You aren't."

"Really?"

"Do you want me to call Grandma and ask her?"

"Feel free to grab the phone on your walk, okay?"

Fifteen minutes sitting in front of his computer and John's head was pounding, his back was aching, and his typing was atrocious because his right fingers were still stiff, painful and barely cooperative. He began to type with his left hand, hunting and pecking, while his right hand rested in his lap. It took him longer than he'd wanted to hack into the computer system at school but he now had Cheri Westin's home address, and ergo, Sarkissian's.

He printed the address out and handed it to his mom before pushing the chair away from the table. He lurched to his feet and then Cameron was there, holding onto his arm as he limped the few steps to his bed, into which he tumbled gratefully.

"Don't take any unnecessary chances," his mom ordered Derek. "Watch him and don't try to break into the house unless you're absolutely certain there's nobody there."

"Don't worry." Derek reached for the piece of paper she held out to him.

"Go with him," she told Cameron.

"It's not coming with me."

"You're taking her along, or," Sarah said, pulling the paper back, "she's going there alone."

His mom and uncle stared defiantly at one another, until his uncle backed down.

"Fine."

His mother slowly extended her hand, waiting until he took the paper, and turned back to John as Derek stormed out of the room. Ignoring the way his uncle was slamming drawers in the other room, his mom smiled at him.

"You don't have to stay here with me."

His mom simply raised an eyebrow and John relented. This weak, he was a sitting duck should something happen, and he knew it.

Cameron stepped forward, holding something in her hands.

"I made you a get well gift." She held out something bright pink and fuzzy. She opened her fingers, and a long piece of material unraveled, the pink end falling to the ground, the other end, a sick yellowish green, still clutched in her hands. "It's a scarf." Stepping closer, she laid it across John's chest. About eight feet long, the green end was so tightly knit that it was bunched unnaturally together. A few inches down, the stitches eased off into a more normal knit pattern. There were holes here and there where stitches had been lost.

"Thanks," John said, pulling the scarf towards him until it lay in a heap on his chest. "Just what I always wanted." He glanced up at his mom, who was trying not to laugh.

"Do you like it?"

"Yeah."

His mom looked away, one hand held over her mouth.

"It'll come in handy if we get a cold spell. And you know, I can always use it as a restraint, if we get attacked or something. Thanks."

Cameron stared at him for a few seconds before seeming satisfied with his answer. She left the room and a moment later John heard her in the kitchen, checking their weapons.

Throwing herself face forward onto his bed, his mom's shoulders went up and down as she laughed silently. "Cold spell? We've got a heat wave going on right now."

Shrugging, John fingered the material. "I can always use it to tie someone up, right?"

His mom started giggling again, and it was such a strange sound, that he couldn't help but laugh right along with her.

"Where's Derek?"

John came out of a half-doze at his mom's almost-angry sounding question.

"He followed Sarkissian." Cameron entered his bedroom and stood at the foot of the bed.

"Dammit. I said to watch him—"

"How can Derek watch Sarkissian if you won't let him follow him?"

"You should have gone with him."

"We need to find the Turk. Searching Sarkissian's house was more important."

"What did you find?" his mom asked with a resigned sigh.

"Sarkissian's not Cheri Weston's true father."

"He's not?" John blurted.

"He married Cheri's mother five years ago."

"What's this got to do with the Turk?"

"Nothing." Cameron gave John a frank stare. "I thought John would like to know."

"Yeah," John said quickly as his mother narrowed her eyes at him. "Thanks."

"What about the Turk?"

"It's not in the house. The house was empty."

"Empty, as in, nobody home?"

"Empty. As in there were signs that they'd packed hastily, taking only the essentials. Sarkissian knows we're looking for him."

"He doesn't seem like the type who'll run easily. He's probably got some plan in the works; he'll be back. We'll keep an eye on the house. Derek's got contacts. Maybe they'll come up with something."

The rest of the day was spent pretty much the same and Daniel was embarrassed to admit that after lunch, his body talked his brain into another nap. Sleepiness ambushed him when he least expected it and he slept until late afternoon.

He turned over with a groan. So much for his last day of the weekend. Thankfully, he'd been on top of his work, because today had been an actual waste of productivity. Blindly, he reached towards his cell phone, squinting at the number of unanswered voice messages. Without seeing clearly, he hoped for the best and hit the first one.

"I was getting worried."

Alexandria. "Sorry, my bed and I were one today."

"It was because Cassie and I dragged you all over yesterday, wasn't it? Your knee must be—."

"Fine." And it really was, he wasn't lying to her or himself. "Think it was just a lazy day and I took advantage of it." Daniel paused, then chuckled, "Big time."

"Full day tomorrow?"

"Yeah, then my dad is picking me up and I'm going for a PT consult."

"Daniel!"

Even through the closed door, with his cell phone pinned to his ear, his father's voice had wings.

"I think you have to go," Cassie giggled.

"Yeah, my dad isn't exactly subtle, is he?"

"I'm not answering on the grounds I like your dad a lot."

There was a knock and before he had time to answer with a 'come on in', his father strode into the room. "Tell Dria you'll talk to her later."

"Tell Colonel Jack I heard him."

"She heard you, Dad."

"Good." His father stood at the foot of his bed, slowly dragging down the blanket.

"I'm thinking he wants me outta bed."

"I'm going out to dinner with my grandparents. I'll see you in the morning. Breakfast is my treat."

"Starbucks?"

"Daniel."

He hated when his dad stretched his name out into a multi-syllable word.

"Starbucks," Alexandria hurriedly agreed. "Daniel, there will be no espresso shots in any coffee drinks, do you understand me?"

"Yes, I understand," he slowly repeated. "I think I really have to go now, because my father doesn't look..."

"Love you," Alexandria said.

Daniel tried not to smile, tried to clamp down and hold back the embarrassed grin attempting to fight its way out, and with his father glaring at him. "I have to go. Now."

There was a giggle. Then a dial tone.

Daniel waved the disconnected phone at his father. "I'm off."

"Company tonight for dinner."

Dismayed, Daniel glanced down. He was comfortable. He didn't want to change. Heck, he barely even wanted to get out of bed.

"You're pouting." His dad tugged the blanket down even more. "We're having Greek."

"Who's we?" he asked suspiciously.

"Carter. Teal'c."

For them he didn't have to change out of his 'seen better day sweats'. For them, he was dressed appropriately. His grandma, on the other hand, would take one look at him and drag him clothes shopping, something that he hated on a good day, never mind with his grandma holding his hand.

Lazily, he stretched, careful not to extend or push unwilling muscles. "What time?"

"Time for you to set the table."

"Was that a hint?"

"Does Mrs. Peterson's dog pee on our lawn?"

"Hint. Okay. I got it."

Daniel dragged a fry through the yogurt sauce. "I love Greek food," he answered blissfully.

"I never would've guessed," Sam said with a smile plastered on her face. "I think you licked your plate clean."

"And he stole my last fry." His dad feigned indignation, holding up his empty plate. "See?"

"Would you care for some of my fries, O'Neill?" Teal'c grabbed a handful from his plate.

His father held up his hand, waving away Teal'c's offer. "No, that's okay."

Daniel stuck his plate under Teal'c's hand. "I'll take them."

"I hate teenage metabolism," Sam complained.

When Sam entered the living room with dessert and his pills, Daniel was going to turn down the offer, until he realized it wasn't an offer.

"Your dad said you have to take these." She pushed them back to him, after he'd put them down on the coffee table. "Please," she said looking over her shoulder. "I'll never live it down if I can't get you to swallow three little pills."

"Beaten by a teen?"

Sam shrugged, embarrassment coloring her cheeks. "Yeah, something like that."

With a sigh, Daniel swallowed them. "Happy?"

Sam smiled at him. "Relieved. Thanks."

"Glad to be of help."

"You know..." Sam sat on the couch next to him, tugging at the rip in his sweatpants. "I think I need to take you shopping. Wanna go with me?"

Daniel hesitated. Shopping with Sam was a mere step above shopping with his grandmother.

She laughed, taking his hesitation for what it is. "Should I be insulted?"

"No, I..." Daniel fumbled.

"I'm not cool anymore?"

"You are."

"Your son called me old," Sam complained to his father when he walked into the kitchen carrying a tray of coffee and a glass of milk.

"I did not!" Daniel cried indignantly.

"You said I wasn't cool enough to go shopping with you."

"I never said that."

"MajorCarter. DanielJackson. Stop behaving like children."

"I am not a child." Daniel stuck his tongue out at Sam who, in turn, crossed her eyes and screwed up her mouth.

"That's it," his dad said with a laugh. "No dessert for either of you."

"He started it." Sam bumped his shoulder

"I'm innocent." Daniel gave his father a beguiling smile. "Can I have a bigger piece of chocolate cake than Sam?"

His father placed a hand on Daniel's stomach just as he was stretching. "Easy, big guy."

Daniel glanced up and gave what he thought would pass as a smile. "Time to get up?"

"Give or take ten minutes."

He rubbed his nose, sneezed, sniffed then glared at his dad who was still standing over him. "I need to shower. Get dressed." Daniel turned towards his beside clock, squinting at the numbers. He licked his lips. "Alexandria's taking me for breakfast."

"And I'm picking you up after school. PT."

Daniel surprised himself. Really and truly surprised himself, because it wasn't until the last bell that he actually would admit that he'd had serious doubts about making it through the day without falling flat on his face.

Alexandria was by his side in an instant, grabbing his hand and playing defense against the hallway crowds. He should've left earlier to beat the crush of kids, but this sorta felt good. "I'm okay." He tugged on her hand. "Slow down."

She slowed down when they got to his locker and not before. Alexandria dialed his combination, opened the locker and stood there waiting for him.

Daniel kissed her, pinning her to locker next to his opened one. "I'm okay," he whispered in her ear. He felt the pressure of her hand on his chest and he stepped back, disappointed.

"I know you're okay."

Daniel reached for a loose curl and wound it around his fingers.

She sighed.

"Am I distracting you?"

"Your father's going to kill you. PT. Don't be late."

Now it was Daniel's turn to sigh, hating PT even before it started.

"I can do this, Dad," Daniel hissed.

"You skipped the second question in the third section." His dad tapped the clipboard Daniel was trying to fill out.

Gently, so as not to draw attention to his father's interference, he shoved his father's hand off his paperwork, then answered 'no' to the question his father had pointed out. "Thank you," Daniel mumbled.

"Just trying to help."

"I know." Daniel handed the entire clipboard over to his father. "Here. For you. Information on insurance cards and you have to sign." Daniel tapped the paperwork his father now held. "Right there," he said sarcastically.

"Not funny," his dad said, slipping on his reading glasses.

"What position do you play in soccer?"

Manipulation of his knee made it hard to concentrate and Daniel just sort of gave a mumbled answer in response.

"Sorry, I'm a bit distracting, aren't I?"

Daniel gave a quick nod and there was the possibility of a smile, also, he wasn't too sure. Shannon was a big guy, not Teal'c big, but still a formidable person. Probably in his thirties, military style hair cut, he sorta looked like he belonged more in the halls of the SGC than in a physical therapist's office. Sure, gentle hands manipulated Daniel's knee with confidence.

He'd already done an ultrasound on Daniel, explaining to him and his dad, who was hovering, that the machine heated the gel spread on his knee, increasing the blood flow. It had felt okay, nothing special, accepting Shannon's assurance that it was beneficial.

Shannon wrapped a pillow, placed it at one end of the treatment table and patted it. "How about you lie down."

"Sure." Daniel laid down, and listened intently when Shannon explained the exercises. Strengthening the muscle, taking pressure off the knee. Good, he got that, understood the reasoning and everything, but forty minutes later he was crabby and his mind was filled with stretches and the command of three groups of ten.

"You may be a bit sore tonight."

"Tonight?" Daniel bit back a groan as Shannon helped him into a sitting position. "Think I'm sore right now."

Shannon chuckled, a low rumble. "Make sure you take your anti-inflammatory.

"Yes, sir."

"Don't worry, I've got it covered," his father said, stepping into the picture, throwing an arm over Daniel's shoulders.

"I want to work on one more thing, Daniel, before we call it a day." Shannon helped Daniel off the table and guided him to a chair in the office. "Have a seat."

Slowly, Daniel lowered himself in the proffered chair.

"A little bit of ice, stim and then I'll let your dad take you home."

"Defense," Daniel blurted out. "I play defense for my school team."

"Don't worry," Shannon said as he placed the ice-cold stim pads on Daniel's knee. "You'll be playing again before the season's out."

The sensation of the stim pads had been strange but it had felt good, but now sitting in the Avalanche on the drive home, Daniel's knee and the surrounding muscles hurt.

"You're quiet."

Daniel stole a quick glance at the dashboard clock. Almost six. Great. Three days a week of this. Shannon was a nice guy and all, but this was going to get old fast. Really fast.

Daniel ate dinner with one hand, did his homework with the other.

"Take a breath."

Daniel looked up at his dad. "Huh?" A pill was placed on his opened book.

"Take it."

"When I finish." Daniel flicked the pill off the book with the end of his pen.

"Now."

Daniel found himself blinking in confusion at his father. "Why?"

"Because Shannon said it—"

"I know what Shannon said," he shot back sarcastically. "What I meant was why now? Right this exact second."

"It's a ridiculous thing to argue over."

"Yeah, it is."

"So just take the pill now and be done with it."

Frustrated, Daniel shook his head then turned his attention back to his homework, only to jump back when his father slammed the pill down on the page he was studying. "What the heck, Dad?"

"Just take it."

Daniel was tired, hurting, pissed and not in the mood for his father to play his 'because' card, which he knew was going to be next. So he took the pill, downed the rest of his Snapple, slammed his book and notebook shut, leaving the table in a huff, wishing he could move faster and with more dignity than his leg and brace permitted.

Shit. His father was on his ass, passing him in the narrow hallway, overtaking him and standing in front of him, blocking his way.

"I'm sorry."

Surprise overtook Daniel, and he stopped short. Too short, and his balance was compromised. He caught the wall which kept him upright, but at the expense of his books, which fell to the floor.

"Don't you dare," his dad ordered as Daniel bent down to retrieve his work. "I've got this." He grabbed Daniel's shoulders, propped him upright then gently turned him back in the direction he'd just stomped off from. "Go finish your dinner."

Slowly, he turned to face his father, waiting, accepting his fallen books with opened arms. "Dad, I'm really not hungry." There was no answer so Daniel skirted around his father to his bedroom and got as far as lowering himself to the bed before his father entered.

"I'm sorry," his dad repeated, getting no further than the doorway.

"I don't know what made me... I should've just taken the pill and—"

"I'm the parent. You need to remind me about that sometimes."

Yeah, not if Daniel valued his life. "I'm going to go shower. Finish my homework." He opened his book, hoping his father would get the hint.

"Before you know it." His father pointed at the brace on his leg.

"Too long already," Daniel answered without even looking up.

Physical therapy was three times a week. Monday. Wednesday. Friday. Soccer, sit on the bench, cheer his team along practice was Tuesday and Thursday. He ate dinner with his books and his father. Took his pill before dessert. Showered right after, and most nights he managed to call Alexandria before becoming incoherent and falling into bed.

Saturday morning, Alexandria picked him up brighter and earlier than he would've wanted and dragged his butt to an away soccer game.

"Look," she said with a sickening, sweet voice.

Daniel didn't want to look. Not at her, not at anything but the inside of his eyelids. Didn't she even understand that this was way too early in the day to be even upright, never mind being conversational?

Daniel tucked his hands inside the sleeves of his hoody, leaned against the window and closed his eyes.

"Hell, I don't care. Though your attitude is going to lose you your coffee."

"Coffee?"

"Yup. Hot. Three pumps of espresso Starbucks' coffee which will be ice cold when we get to—"

"Gimme," Daniel said, shoving his hand out through the sleeve and waggling his fingers.

"Open your eyes and be pleasant."

"I hate you," he grumbled. He opened his eyes, yawned, sniffed, then slowly, carefully stretched.

"Much better." Alexandria flashed him a smile before turning her attention back to the road. "Though the 'hate' comment, not so nice. I'm thinkin' you've lost your chocolate chip mu—"

Daniel leaned over. "I'll make it up to you," he whispered in her ear.

"Stop it!" She shouldered him away, giggling. "I so don't want to explain to my dad that I had an accident with the car because you were breathing in my ear."

"Where's the muffin?" Daniel walked his fingers up her arm. "Please."

"I wonder if your name is written on the bathroom wall at Starbucks. 'Will do anything for a coffee and muffin'." Alexandria shook her head. "It's in the glove compartment."

Alexandria picked up Cassie, who was once again on the outs with asshole Dominic, and Lena. Daniel felt more awake, the food and espresso working their magic, but their chatter was getting on his nerves. Even though he fought to keep his annoyance under control, he obviously failed big time because the second Alexandria parked the car, and Lena and Cassie were out of earshot, she was in his face, all full of concern and apologies.

"The coffee and muffin didn't make up for them, did it?"

No, it didn't, but he couldn't tell her that. "I'm okay."

Alexandria did a wonderful imitation of his father's 'yeah right' expression.

"Payback," Daniel whispered huskily, pushing against Alexandria, who backed up willingly, with a knowing smile on her face which slid from her face just as Cassie's voice carried over the din of the parking lot.

"Jeeze, come on, you two."

"I'm going to kill her. Slowly."

"Stand in line," Alexandria said, planting a quick kiss on Daniel's cheek. "Maybe we can leave her here."

"That's a possibility, though I volunteer you to tell her mother," Daniel agreed amicably, snarling at Cassie behind Alexandria's back as they passed her in the parking lot.

Mature as always, Cassie stuck out her tongue in reciprocation.

The coach had pulled his ass to the bench, leaving Cassie, Alexandria and Lena in the bleachers. Daniel hadn't been thrilled, and he'd been quite vocal about his unhappiness. Being a bench warmer during practice was one thing, doing it for a game was something completely different. That was until the ref blew the whistle, signifying the start of the game.

Five minutes into the game, Daniel's left foot began to tap the grass in agitation. Five minutes after that, he grabbed the coach's playbook and began to scribble in the margins. Ten minutes after that, the coach stood directly in front of him, blocking the field.

"Something you want to share, Jackson?"

"Linderman's intimidated." Okay, so much for the diplomacy Daniel had hoped to go for.

"He is?" The coach turned and observed the field. "Really? I wonder how come I didn't notice that."

There was no hiding the Coach's sarcastic tone, which sorta pissed Daniel off. He could've stayed home. In bed. Sleeping. Instead of sitting on the bench obviously wasting his time. Bullshit. "Yeah, really. Watch him. He's holding back. Switch him with Li. Put Li on defense. Linderman on offense." Li wasn't a tall kid, but what he lacked in height, he made up for it in balls. As in brass set. Living with Lena, the poor guy had no fear of anyone. No matter how big.

The coach stared at Daniel and Daniel stared back. Almost twenty minutes into the game and they were already down by three goals.

Coach Dawson called for a time out.

"I'm impressed, Daniel."

Daniel picked up the clipboard and handed it to Coach Dawson. "Impressed?"

"You've got a good eye. Saw what I couldn't see, and you weren't afraid to tell me."

Daniel ducked his head, embarrassed. "I didn't mean to overstep—"

"Overstep?" Coach Dawson's laugh was so loud that people turned and stared. "You didn't overstep, Jackson, you stomped."

The heat of blush worked its way into his face. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. We won because of you."

The blush deepened.

"I think I'm going to have to get you a whistle and a clipboard." The coach clapped him on the shoulder, winking at him. "Going to put you to work until that brace comes off."

"Why is he still sick?" Sarah asked, watching her son doze on the living room sofa, huddled beneath a blanket.

"John's alive."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" she hissed. While John had doggedly taken his slow recovery a day at a time, Sarah was beginning to worry. It had been close to two weeks now, and the bad days were still worse than the good days.

"Most people infected with the nanocytes don't survive."

"Still not bringing me comfort, tin girl."

"Fever is better than dead."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Thanks so much for putting things in perspective for me."

"My pleasure," Cameron said.

Weeks fell into a routine of school, physical therapy, soccer and homework and by Sundays, Daniel was spent, tired and crabby. It took his father about two Sundays to realize the best way to deal with him on the seventh day of the week was to leave him alone, speaking only when it was time to call him for meals.

"Grandma's going to take you to PT tomorrow."

He finished the sentence he was writing before looking up. "Are you going offworld?"

"No, going to Washington. I'll be home very late."

Washington was a million times better than offworld, and Daniel exhaled slowly. "Grandma just has to pick me up. Alexandria can drive me there."

"She wants to do. Just let her do, okay? Bad enough you haven't seen her in a while. Let her enjoy your company for a day."

"I've been busy," he said indignantly. Jeeze, it wasn't like his father didn't know. "I have two tests on Tuesday, so it's not like I'm going to be spending a whole bunch of time—"

"You'll eat dinner with her. And for your own sake, close the books."

"I have two tests on Tuesday."

"I've let you do this." His father gestured to the books opened in front of Daniel.

"I'll explain it to Grandma, she'll understand."

John smiled at her, turned his attention back to his monitor and Sarah withheld the urge to ask him how he was feeling. The fact that he was up and around was enough confirmation that he was doing better than the last two days, when getting out of bed to use the bathroom was all he'd been able to manage.

The sheets on his bed had more color than he did, but again Sarah resisted the urge to comment. Hell, she even held her tongue at his half-eaten lunch. Half was better than nothing. Half was much better than vomiting up everything that had passed his lips the past forty-eight hours.

"I'm fine." Chin resting in his cupped palm, John didn't even make eye contact.

"I didn't even ask," she said indignantly.

Shaking his head, John looked up at her, tired resignation made him look older than fifteen. "You don't have to ask. You're hovering."

Quickly, she plopped down on the edge of the bed. "I'm not hovering. I'm sitting."

"You can hover from a sitting position."

"Really?" Opened mouth, she feigned innocence. "I didn't know that."

The smile was gone in the blink of an eye, the dimple left in its wake slowly fading into oblivion. "I'm up."

"I can see that."

"I'm even doing research." Quickly, he slid the laptop over so Sarah could get a view of the monitor. "Look."

"Very nice," she nodded, clueless at what she was looking at.

John repositioned the laptop then tapped the plate on the desk. "I ate half my sandwich."

It was very hard not to ask why he hadn't eaten the entire thing, but she was being good.

"I might even ask for a Snapple or something in like half an hour."

"Got a fridge full."

"Maybe a banana?"

"Tin miss can make a grocery store run."

"I like the crunchy cheesy puffs."

Sarah bowed. "I'll add that to the list."

John peeked through the blinds. "Looks like a nice day outside."

"It is."

Slowly, John stood and held onto the desk until he was upright, ignoring Sarah's outstretched hand.

He said nothing.

Sarah remained silent, grabbed the plate with the half-eaten sandwich and just followed him.

"No, I don't understand, Daniel."

Daniel had a horrible day at school. Shannon had been running late and besides the two tests, he had reports due and to top it off, his grandmother had been breathing down his neck over everything and she hadn't been happy that PT had run late. And now? She was giving him grief because he was eating and writing. "Please, Grandma, I have to—"

"Mhuirnin, you have to eat."

Daniel held up his forkful of spaghetti, swiftly using his elbow to wipe away the splatter of sauce that fell on his opened book. "See, I'm eating." He shoved the fork into his mouth, stripping the prongs of the spaghetti.

She wasn't happy.

With a sigh, Daniel closed his books and moved them out of the way, then slid his plate in front of him. "I hated that Shannon ran late today, I'm sorry."

"Does he hurt you?"

Daniel shrugged. "Sometimes." He glanced up, caught the horror on her face and quickly amended the sentence. "I tell him when it hurts and he always says not to push. Pretty soon, the brace will be off for good."

"And you'll be done?"

"No." Daniel twirled his fork in the mound of spaghetti. "Still need PT probably only twice a week."

"And soccer?"

Daniel shook his head. "Not yet."

"Soon, though, right?"

"Hopefully really soon."

John sat on the swing, face raised into the sun. "Damn, this feel good."

"I'm sure it does."

He stuck out his hand and waggled his fingers at her.

Smiling, because sometimes even the mothers of messiahs know best, she gave him the remainder of the sandwich.

"Maybe next time," John said, peeling back the bread before taking a bite, "I'll be able to go a few more days before feeling like shit."

One could only pray. Recovery was like a see saw. Good days and bad days. Driving John semi-nuts with being cut out of the real world and driving her nuts with worry.

"Did you hear what I said, Mom?" John asked.

"Um, no, sorry."

"Do you think you could bring in pizza tonight for dinner?"

Pizza? Sarah wanted to say no, cleaning up puked pizza wasn't fun. "Sure, no problem."

"Order extra," John said, "in case I feel okay tomorrow, I'll have leftovers."

"Okay." How sad, Sarah thought, that like everything else thrown his way, John was taking this in stride. "I'll order extra."

Daniel dreamed of playing soccer. Shannon was on the sidelines yelling something that Daniel couldn't understand. His grandmother was there. His father. Alexandria. General Hammond. Teal'c. Sam. Cassie. Suddenly, he wasn't sixteen anymore, he was forty, and the goal wasn't a net but an active Stargate. He was running, trying to get there before it disengaged, but he couldn't. The brace was hindering his movement and—

"Hey, buddy, wake up."

Daniel woke with a gasp, his heart pounding out of his chest.

"You were dreaming."

Slowly, he opened his eyes, staring into the concerned face of his father's. "You're home."

"And you're sleeping in your clothes."

"That's nice," Daniel said.

"Hold on."

He felt his father untie his sneakers, drop them to the ground then cover Daniel with the quilt. "Better?"

"Much." He turned on his side, wrapping his arms around his pillow.

"Was it a bad dream?"

While the dream was taking place, it had felt bad, scary and foreboding. But now it just felt ridiculously stupid and he was pretty sure that by tomorrow he wouldn't even remember it. "Not bad. Soccer. Gate. Silly."

"It sounds silly." There was a gentle kiss to his temple. "No more silly dreams, okay?"

"Okay," Daniel answered, but it didn't work. The rest of the night he tossed and turned, slumber interrupted to his inability to reach the Stargate in time, until finally, around five thirty, he just got up and went to shower.

"Colonel?"

"Rodney." Jack, up to his ears in paperwork, continued typing even as Doctor McKay entered his office. "What can I do for you?"

"Remember the computer software I helped build?"

"The one that was stolen?" Jack remembered something about Rodney's friend murdered and the computer stolen. He continued typing, letting Rodney speak. He grimaced as he made a typing mistake and backspaced to erase the word.

"Yes. The Turk. I've just gotten wind that someone's trying to sell it to the highest bidder."

"Are you positive it's the same computer?"

"Yes, I'm positive. Well, I'm pretty sure it's the same computer. I mean, they haven't come out and said it's the same computer and until I actually see it in action and take a look at the software, I can't be positive, but my source is pretty reliable."

Jack stopped typing and looked up at Rodney. "Why wait all these months before trying to sell it?"

McKay shrugged. "Waiting for some of the heat to die down? The police investigation on Andy Goode's murder has pretty much died down; they have no new leads. I guess the murderer thinks it's safe now to come out of hiding."

"I thought they caught the murdered."

"He escaped. Weird set of circumstances, too." Rodney stared at Jack, obviously lost in thought.

Jack reached for his mug of coffee and took a sip. "And you want the military to approach the person selling the Turk and buy it from them?"

"He murdered Andy for it. For something I helped build. He's trying to sell a piece of software whose applications could be invaluable to the military."

"Aren't you already putting those applications to use in your work?" Jack put the mug down and stared at his report.

"Colonel, Andy Goode was my friend. And while that may come as a surprise to some because I'm not the type of person who makes friends easily, he was murdered, and finding his murderer is the least I can do for him. This lead with the Turk is probably our best chance of finding his murderer. I really would... appreciate... your help."

Jack nodded as he saved his document. "Let me speak to Hammond. It's probably also in our best interest to get our hands on that computer as well."

"Thank you."

"How about you go give Carter the details. If Hammond agrees, she can work with you on setting up a meeting with this guy who's selling... What's his name?"

"Sarkissian. Margos Sarkissian."

Daniel made it through the remainder of the week on autopilot; the only good news was that he was now brace-free. And he felt great. Freedom was a wonderful thing. School sucked. Soccer sucked. But now, at least, he could move without feeling as if he were dragging a ball and chain around.

The soccer game on Saturday was a home game but Alexandria couldn't drive him, so his father ended up playing chauffeur, which really wasn’t great because there was no chocolate chip muffin or coffee with some extra pumps of espresso waiting for him.

"You're staying?" Daniel asked, horrified when his father got out of the truck with him.

"Not in the mood to drive back and forth."

Daniel kicked a pebble in his way, resigned to the fact that his father was going to literally be watching his back while sitting in the bleachers. He forgot about his father the minute the ref signaled for the start of the game.

Daniel blew his whistle before Coach Dawson could blow his, signaling for a time out. He switched Corey and Nate's position, which he knew would drive them nuts but so be it. They grumbled for a second, but that was it. Experience had taught them, even in the past few weeks, that Daniel was usually right.

"Good call, Daniel," Coach Dawson said. "Next time, though, how about you discuss your idea with me first."

"Sorry."

"You can apologize after the game, okay?"

Daniel pasted a smile on his face, feeling like an idiot.

"Only if we lose. If we win, no apology is necessary."

They won. Barely, but Daniel still felt the need to apologize to Coach Dawson because he'd overstepped his boundaries. "I'm sorry, Coach."

"No need to apologize. I told you if we won—"

"I understand that, but I just..." He closed his eyes and sighed. "I miss playing."

"I know you do, Daniel. I miss you on the field. Your team misses you and hell, if you don't get out there soon, I'm going to lose my job to you." The coach looked around the field. "Go. I see you dad's waiting for you."

Daniel handed his clipboard to the coach, then began to head towards his dad.

"Jackson?"

Daniel turned. "Yes?"

"Thank you," the coach said. "For everything."

A week later, he was back on the field, this time playing defense. He was allowed half the game. That was it, no more, no less. And those twenty-two minutes were exhaustingly invigorating. Goddamn it, being back to normal felt great.

"Where were you?" Cameron strode into the living room even before the door slammed shut behind John and his mother.

"I took John to the pier for some air. Why? What's going on?"

"Derek got a tip from Moishe. Sarkissian's back in town."

"He came back?" His mother froze near the door. John headed for the nearest chair; exercise and fresh air still tired him out immensely.

"He's back, but not for long. Something's going down; he's trying to sell the Turk. Derek followed Sarkissian, while I broke into the house again. I found this." Cameron held out a piece of paper to his mom.

"What is it?"

"Phone numbers. The area code is from Colorado."

"NORAD?"

"Yes."

"Mom, you don't think Sarkissian is selling the Turk to the military?"

"It's starting to look that way, isn't it?"

The argument in the kitchen woke John up.

"What were you thinking?"

"Doing my job," his uncle replied almost as loudly as his mother.

John sat up, curious as to what was going on.

"You went out alone, without Cameron."

"I don't need the machine—"

"I don't care. You shouldn't have split up."

John stood and limped to the doorway. He hung onto the doorjamb, resting a moment before going on.

"What's your problem?" Derek blurted as he went to the fridge and took out a bottle of beer. "We went out there to try and find out what Sarkissian was up to. If you're done yelling, I'll tell you what I found out." He twisted off the cap and took a long drink.

"Mom?"

"John. What are you doing out of bed?" The anger on her face was quickly replaced by concern as she hurried over to him. She put a hand on his arm and John walked forward, forcing her to come with him and help support him.

"What did you find out?" He stopped at the table and gratefully lowered himself into a chair. "I'm okay," he told his mom.

"I followed Sarkissian to a hotel where he met with two military stiffs."

"The Japanese got the contract with the military. Would they be interested in the loser also?" He gently rubbed his thigh with his uninjured hand, feeling the muscles throb. The walk earlier today had really taxed him.

"Why not?" His mom spoke softly as she came up behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. "With both computers, they can study them and come up with a mixture—"

"They'll increase the chance of a technological singularity by merging the two computers together," John said tiredly.

"Did Sarkissian finalize the deal with the military?" His mom leaned her chin on the top of John's head and wrapped her arms around his chest, pulling him gently back against her.

Derek shook his head. "I got the impression he was making them an offer. They're meeting him again tomorrow, at one, in the Chinese restaurant in the hotel lobby."

"Anyone feel like Chinese tomorrow?" His mom leaned over his shoulder and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "You can have my doggie bag, okay?"

"The big guy doesn't look military," Sarah said as she leaned her elbows on the table, as if she were involved in an intimate tête-à-tête with Derek while looking sidelong at the two sitting a few tables from them.

"He's military."

"He looks more like a mercenary. And the hat, it's probably hiding a crew cut. Now Blondie, she's Uncle Sam all the way."

Derek leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his beer, looking as relaxed as a vacationer enjoying lunch, except for his eyes, which constantly searched the restaurant's courtyard in which they sat. His gaze fixed on something and his face hardened. Sarah sat back also, taking a moment to adjust her napkin so that when she looked up, she was able to turn her head and look at what had gotten Derek upset.

As she'd suspected, Cameron was coming their way.

The robot had, at Sarah's insistence, donned a large, floppy hat which hid her features, as did half the women who sat outside, the umbrellas over the chairs not quite adequate to protect them from the sun's glare. Her apparel was demure enough that she wouldn't stand out in a crowd, but would blend in, unlike her normal teenage garb. Unfortunately, she strode into the courtyard with such assurance, heads turned to watch her.

Sarah herself had her hair pinned up under a hat, sunglasses adding to the disguise. Derek had a baseball cap and sunglasses; most likely they wouldn't fool Sarkissian for long, but just long enough to hopefully stall the sale of the Turk.

"Sarkissian isn't here," Cameron announced as she came to a stiff stop next to Sarah's chair.

"Hey, have a seat," Sarah said amicably, waving to an empty chair and picking up a fortune cookie. She broke it apart and pulled out the paper inside.

Cameron sat, her posture ramrod stiff, and stared openly at the two people Sarah and Derek were spying on.

"Don't stare," Sarah said between clenched teeth. She glanced at their table from behind her sunglasses and gritted her teeth when the blonde woman looked their way for a second.

"That man isn't human," Cameron said, shifting her gaze to Sarah.

Sarah tensed, but Derek sat up straight, looking as if he was ready to bolt. Or grab the gun he had hidden in the shopping bag at their feet and empty its load into the big, black man.

"He's metal?" His voice rose, just loud enough to carry over a few tables and again, the woman glanced their way.

Sarah leaned forward and placed her fingers over Derek's forearm, feeling muscles as tense as a steel rod beneath the skin. Her own stomach, a second ago pleasantly full, roiled nauseatingly.

"Relax," she hissed.

"He's not a cyborg." Cameron had shifted her gaze and was staring openly at Derek now.

"But he's not human," Sarah said, hearing her tone come out almost sarcastically.

"No."

"Care to elaborate a little?" She felt Derek relax just a bit and she pulled her hand away.

"He's flesh and blood, but there are differences. His pulse, his body temperature—"

"I thought you said you couldn't scan—"

"His respiration, bone density. The woman, however, is human."

It wasn't lost on Sarah that Cameron ignored her comment about the scan. She decided to let it go, not quite sure if maybe Cameron had other means of detecting these differences without using the scanning capabilities the old terminator had had.

"The military personnel have been here for fifty three minutes and have not yet been approached by Sarkissian."

Sarah turned to Derek, swallowed, and forced a smile. "She's got a point."

"Maybe Sarkissian's going to stand them up like he did us," Derek said with a matching forced smile.

"And maybe the man's had a change of plans," Sarah said when the blonde woman's cell phone rang. They stopped talking, all of them trying to listen to the conversation despite the distance separating them. When the woman hung up, Sarah sighed. She hadn't caught one word.

"They're meeting Sarkissian in thirty minutes," Cameron said as Sarah tried to figure out what to do next. "They've agreed to purchase the Turk."

"What?" Her surprise at the fait accompli was pushed aside when the man and woman stood and left the restaurant. Sarah and Derek hurried to their feet, following the pair at a discreet distance to the parking lot. It wasn't until they got into their new Dodge Nitro SXT before she realized she'd forgotten John's doggie bag on the table, then breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the bag sitting on the back seat next to Cameron.

She kept an eye on the two military types as they got into their car, then pulled out slowly behind them onto the road. Her thoughts were running a mile a minute, trying to figure out what had just happened, following the rental car and driving on automatic. So intent was she on her thoughts that it didn't immediately hit her when they drove by a sign announcing the airport. She swore when they signaled the turn and headed for the airport.

"Can you hear what they're saying?" Sarah squinted against the bright sunshine, watching with growing dread from the moment Sarkissian had approached them at the airport.

Cameron's eyes were glued to the three standing next to a gate which would lead them to a waiting military jet. Sarah had a pretty good idea that the jet would be taking the two soldiers away in a few minutes, along with the Turk.

"Sarkissian is demanding payment before he hands the Turk over to them."

"Can we rush them?" Derek tensed in anticipation. "Grab the Turk and destroy it before they get on that plane?"

Sarah gauged the distance and figured that even if Cameron went for it, bursting through the fence separating them, she'd have no trouble getting the computer from them. Maybe this was it; one last ditch effort to save humanity.

Nodding, she turned to Cameron. "As soon as he hands over the Turk, rush them. Your mission is to get the computer and destroy it completely—"

"Sarkissian isn't handing the computer over to them," Cameron matter of factly stated. Sarah turned back and swore when the two men and the woman headed for the waiting jet. Sarkissian hadn't handed them anything, and didn't seem to be carrying anything even as large as a hard drive in the pants and light sweater he was wearing. Instead, he was going with them.

Silently they stared as their quarry stepped onto the plane, and a few minutes later, watched the plane taxi off towards the runway.

Even though his mother had called to say they were on their way home, when the door snicked shut softly, John still jerked, pulled from a fitful sleep. He relaxed when he remembered the call and saw it was just his mom and the others. He started to ask what had happened when he realized, by the way his mother was stomping around the kitchen, things hadn't gone well.

"What happened?" he asked Cameron as she came into the living room and perched stiffly on an overstuffed chair.

"We didn't get the Turk."

"Did Sarkissian fly the coop?" He rubbed fingers over his forehead, trying to ease the headache he'd woken up with.

Cocking her head slightly, she gave a curt nod after a few seconds. "He flew the coop."

"What about the sale? It didn't go down?" His muscles ached and he was cold even with the blanket he'd dragged from his bed.

"Oh, it went down, all right," Derek said as he walked into the living room. "The bastard took off in a jet with the soldiers."

John was pretty sure that when they'd left the house earlier, his mom had had a plan. "What happened to the Turk?" he repeated in confusion.

"Your body temperature is elevated."

"What happened to the Turk?" John asked again, ignoring Cameron's comment. He knew he had a fever; he didn't need to be reminded. He was beginning to feel like he'd never recover. Four days fever-free and now, his body was sliding in the wrong direction.

"He didn't have it with him. He's probably hid it somewhere for safekeeping until the military pay him—"

"John, what the hell were you thinking?" His mother stood in the entrance to the living room, staring down the hall, into his bedroom.

"Why?"

"You've been fiddling with the chip again."

"I was bored," he said guiltily. He'd connected the chip to his laptop in the hopes of passing the time, but working one-handed was not only awkward but time-consuming. After a half hour, he was achy and shaky from sitting up and headachy from watching the flickering feed. He'd moved shop to the couch for a change of scenery.

"You're still sick. You shouldn't be tiring yourself over—"

A horrible thought came to him. "The chip. Did I power it down?" He couldn't remember and now he was deathly afraid it might have been running, unsupervised.

His mom simply rolled her eyes towards Cameron, and she got up, heading towards his room. "John's temperature is elevated," she told his mom as she walked past her.

He tried not to cringe when his mom's gaze pinned him to the couch.

"I'll get the Tylenol." Derek went to the bathroom, leaving John alone with his mom.

He watched her approach and perch at the edge of the couch, next to him. Her fingers were cool on his forehead as she brushed back his bangs. "Want to go back to bed?"

He shook his head. The couch was fine, this way he could participate in whatever was going on. He hated feeling isolated, stuck in his bedroom.

"The chip was powered down," Cameron said as she came out of his bedroom, carrying his ringing cell phone.

"Tylenol, and Snapple," Derek said, coming out of the kitchen.

John sat up, took his cell phone first from Cameron and answered, only to get a dial tone for his trouble.

"You were expecting someone to call?" his mom asked as she took his phone from him and placed it on the coffee table.

"Like who?" John grumbled. "Everyone's here." He swallowed the two Tylenol, drank half the Snapple, and settled back onto the couch. To his dismay, once his mom fiddled with the blanket, making sure he was comfortable, she went into her bedroom. Derek disappeared a moment later, leaving Cameron perched in the chair once more.

"What's everyone doing?" he asked, perplexed.

"Packing."

John blinked at Cameron. "Packing?" He pushed back the blanket, stood, gave his body all of two seconds to adjust to this new position, managed a few steps before he stopped and glared down at Cameron's hand gripping his arm. "Let me go."

"You need to rest."

"You need to let me go." John took a deep breath and tried a different tactic. "I'm ordering you to let me go."

"No."

"Huh? I thought you were programmed to—"

"Protect you."

He tried to jerk his hand free, but Cameron wouldn't budge. "I'm just going to talk to my mother and Derek and since I'm pretty damn positive neither of them is going to try to pull a gun on me, please explain to me, in small words that I can understand, why you holding me back would be protecting me?"

"I. Am. Protecting. You. From. Yourself."

John huffed in annoyance.

"Is there a problem? Aren't the words I used to describe the situation small enough?"

Maybe a different approach was called for. Mohammed coming to the mountain. "You're right," he lied, lifting his free hand and rubbing his eyes. "Think I'm just going to go to bed." John forced a yawn. He took a few steps towards his bedroom getting as far as their arms would permit. "Let me go."

She did reluctantly, stepping away from John and over to the couch where she gathered up his blanket. John pulled it from her grasp. "I don't need you tucking me in. I got it from here." And he left her standing, empty-handed in the living room, while he took his blanket, his achy head and his fever to bed.

Cameron was a tattletale, though if he called her on it, she'd swear it was for his own good. John began the countdown the second he was horizontal - how long it would take for Cameron to snitch to his mother that he was now not only horizontal, but horizontal in his bed under the covers.

Bingo.

Cool hands skimmed his forehead. "You still have a fever." His mom's voice was full of concern, but her eyes were impatiently flicking to the doorway.

"So, I guess we have to postpone running." He sat up in bed and shoved the blanket to the side.

"No."

"But I'm sick. I was better today."

"You know how it's been – fever comes and goes. But it's nothing that a Motrin or a Tylenol can't take care of."

"I don't want to run anymore." He dropped back onto the bed. "I'm tired. Sick and tired of running."

"The Turk's not going to come to us, John, but Judgment Day will."

"I know." John glanced around at the house that had become a home. "I like it here."

"You know the protocol, one bag."

"I'm taking the laptop." This wasn't even up for discussion.

She looked over to his work desk and nodded. "Plus the laptop. Nothing else," she added as if allowing him to take his computer made up for everything else he was leaving behind. His mother got as far as the door before turning. "We're heading to Colorado, pack flannels."

Damn well he knew the protocol. Packing probably was number two on the protocol list, sandwiched between 'no one is ever safe' and 'never get too comfortable in the place you rest your head'.

The duffle bag was under his bed and John dragged it out, shook off the accumulated dust bunnies clinging to its side and packed by rote. Socks. Boxers. Underwear. Jeans. Tees. Sweats to sleep in. A week's worth. No more. No less. Toothbrush. Deodorant. All shit like that got stuffed in the nooks and crannies left in the corners.

John zipped it up, tested its weight then dropped it on the floor. Done. The laptop was going to be another issue. There was no problem with the actual unit itself, but the whistles and bells he needed to read the chips, that was going to take up more than his allotted duffle bag space in the back of the truck. Weaponry took precedence over everything.

"Too friggin bad," John mumbled as he methodically began to disconnect all the pieces. This was his weapon of choice and his mother would just have to live with it.

John wasn't too sure what made him do it. What made him stop packing and pick up his phone? Maybe it was his mother's raised voice in the kitchen. Or Derek's answer. Or the fact that neither of them came to check on him. Stupid. He knew he was being stupid and infantile, but he didn't care. For once in his goddamn life he wanted to say goodbye before he was forced to leave.

There was no preamble. No pleasantries. No 'hi, hello, how are you'? The second the connection was made, John spoke. "We're leaving."

"When?"

"Today."

"Shit. I'm sorry. I wish I could—"

John hung up, disconnecting the call and tossed the phone onto the bed. He felt like a stupid fool. What had he expected? He got what he expected. What he deserved.

Sarah hated this. Hated uprooting John yet again. Hated that he argued with her every time they relocated, when he knew there was no choice. Hated that he made her the bad one in all of this. And damn well hated that he'd pulled a disappearing act when she'd asked him to pack.

The room was bare. The duffle bag was packed to bursting and the computer desk was cleared, the only evidence that something had ever occupied that spot was the dust-free rectangle and square shapes on the top. The box of computer paraphernalia was too large for Sarah's liking and she did a mental rearrangement, trying to figure out where it would fit.

John was sleeping, curled up on his side. She knew without even touching him that he was still feverish.

"We have no choice," Cameron said.

For once in her life, Sarah would like to disagree and say that the Connors did have a choice, but that wasn't the case. Not here. Not now. "I know." She pointed to the stuff in the room. "Bring the duffle bag and the box to the truck. The laptop and backpack will stay with John." She grabbed the tin toy's arm as she skirted past her. "Quietly. I don't want you to wake him. And tell Derek we'll be leaving later than we'd planned."

Derek was in the house within minutes to voice his objection. "Just make sure you pack the Tylenol, John can sleep in the car." He reached out to shake a blanket-covered leg.

"Yes, he can," Sarah agreed. Derek was fast, but she was faster and she blocked his forward advances. "But he can sleep here first."

"We have to leave."

"And we will."

"When?" Derek pushed.

"Go pack John's stuff into the truck—"

"Yeah, about that..."

"Make it work. I don't care if you have to unpack everything to make it fit. Just do it. Then give me another half hour."

Twenty minutes into her allotted thirty, it broke Sarah's heart to wake John. He woke slowly and silently, throwing back the blanket and getting off the bed. She watched as he shuffled out of the room, then listened as the bathroom door closed.

Standing, she took one last look around John's room.

"Rumor has it you're leaving town."

John's handiwork. Oh God, no. Not now. "We are."

The weight of Charley's hands on her shoulders wasn't comforting. His touch was guilt-ridden and stifling. "Running?"

"No."

"Yes," John said, entering the room. "Except this time we're running to something." He picked up his laptop, grabbed his knapsack and probably thought he'd get out of the room with just a quick nod of his head.

Sarah knew differently. She knew Charley. And she knew John. Charley wouldn't let John walk out of his life with just a handshake and a nod just as surely as John wouldn't have left town without saying goodbye.

Charley grabbed John, his height overpowering her sixteen-year-old son, and he wrapped his arms around him, engulfing him. "Take care of your mom," Charley whispered into John's hair, his gaze never leaving Sarah's.

If Sarah would've blinked, she would've missed John reciprocating, quickly snaking his arms around Charley's back, hugging him and then it was over. John pushed away from Charley. "I don't think my mom needs anyone taking care of her."

Charley pushed John's bangs out of his eyes. "Don't let her fool you."

John wouldn't even look at her, he just readjusted the shoulder straps and stuck out his hand, Charley gingerly engulfed the still bruised appendage, this time keeping his distance. "Thank you, Charley."

Charley dropped the handshake first. "Call me, Johnny. Don't be a stranger."

Finally, John turned towards her and she met her son's icy gaze head on. John knew the rules. He didn't have to like them, but he knew them. Charley was a casualty because she'd forgotten the rules and had become attached. She'd been stupid. In love. Longing for stability. And now, Charley and John had paid the price. She'd learned her lesson, it wouldn't happen again.

"This is really goodbye, isn't it?"

Sarah nodded.

"John's not going to call. You're not going to call. You're going to change your cell phone numbers, your names... I'll never know how the story ends, will I?"

"Yes, you will." Tentatively, she reached out and touched his chest. "If we all live happily ever after, then we won." Sarah drew a deep breath. "If you ever look up into the sky—"

Charley touched a finger to her lips. "Not going to happen." He withdrew his finger and let it settle on the pulse point in her neck. "Remember, inside the savior of the human race, is a sixteen year old boy who still needs his mother."

She bristled.

"You don't scare me, Sarah Connor." And Charley smiled in the face of her anger. "Take care of John. He's running a fever."

"Don't you think I know that? That I'd rather toss John back to bed, cover him up and ply him with chicken soup and Tylenol? You're preaching to the choir."

"Please try to remember the war hasn't begun yet."

"That's where you're wrong, Charley." She removed his hand, gently kissing the fingers. "The war began the second John was conceived."

John stood, arms crossed, watching Charley leave. Cameron stood watching him watch Charley.

"You're never going to get it, tin maiden. So don't waste your time trying," Sarah hissed as she walked past her.

"It's important to John."

"Yeah, so it's important to you. I get it. Six degrees of separation and all that. But knowing why it's important and understanding why it's important are two different things." Sarah opened up the rear door. "Come on, John, your chariot awaits."

John waited until Charley drove away before sliding into the back seat. Derek was already behind the wheel, and while Sarah preferred to drive, she allowed Derek first dibs. "We got everything?"

"Yup. Guns. Ammo. Everything."

"Lets go—"

"I'll be right back," Cameron said, opening the door and jumping out.

"Holy shit." Derek pounded the steering wheel in frustration.

"What's the matter, Derek," Sarah asked sweetly, "the family not cooperating?"

"Are we there yet?" John asked from the back seat.

Derek growled. "Not funny, John."

Cameron crawled into the opened back door, and passed over to John the pillow and blanket from his bed. "I thought this would make the journey more comfortable."

At that moment, Sarah hated the machine for knowing and understanding what was important.

John huddled under the blanket for warmth and with the pillow bunched up against the window, he was spared having to watch the passing scenery.

"We need to stop for gas."

"We still have a quarter tank."

"We need to stop for gas."

John closed his eyes, the same discussion had been going on for the past twenty minutes. Actually, if he thought about it, this probably was the same discussion that had pulled him from sleep. Time to put an end to it. "I need to pee."

The gas station had one of those mom and pop luncheonette thingies.

"I'm going to use the bathroom," John said, pointing to the corner of the restaurant as the chatty grey haired owner showed them to a booth. He left them and without even turning around, he knew Derek was dogging him. John blocked the door. "Contrary to recent circumstances and whatever my mother has told you, I'm more than capable of taking a piss on my own."

Derek snorted. "I'm glad to hear that."

"Oh," John blushed. "I just figured—"

Derek reached around John and pushed the door in. "You figured wrong."

The confession came as he and Derek were washing their hands. "Your mom did happen to mention since I was using the facilities the same time you were, that I should..."

John ran his wet hands through his hair. "You should help me?"

Derek dried his hand on his pants. "Make sure you remained upright. Didn't want to come in and find you passed out in a urinal."

John flung the bathroom door open with such force that it hit the garbage can behind it and sent the can skittering across the bathroom floor. "Crap," John said, gazing down at the trail of paper towels.

Derek rolled his eyes, kicked all the paper towels into a pile then turned the garbage pail over to cover the mountain of paper. Quickly, he rewashed his hands, again drying them on his pants. "And this," he said, clapping a damp hand on John's shoulder, "is the reason you keep me around in the future."

John snorted. "Because you follow me to the bathroom?"

"No," Derek said with a serious undertone that sat heavily on John's stomach. "Because I do a good job cleaning up your mistakes."

In all the years John and his mother had ever gone out to eat, whether it was the two of them or when they'd added Charley to the mix, his mother never sat with her back to the door. Ever. John never thought anything about it while Charley had joked about it and acquiesced. Now? John sucked in a laugh. Obviously, Cameron and Derek were cut from the same cloth as his mom.

"You look ridiculous." John slid into his side of the both and stretched out his arms along the back of the padded seat. "The three of you squished into one side."

With a curse, Derek stood and John was stunned to think the man was going to give in and come to his side of the table. "You. Move," he ordered, pointing to Cameron.

She rose without question and walked to the side where John was sitting. "You. Move," she ordered, pointing at John.

"What?"

"It makes more sense for me to sit by the window."

"Sure. Whatever." John slid out of the booth and let Cameron slide in, following right behind her.

"Done playing musical chairs?"

Four pairs of eyes turned as one to the waitress who stood hugging the menus to her chest.

"Just give us the menus," Derek growled as he put his hand out.

John cringed over this uncle's rudeness and tried to make up for his behavior with a smile and a polite thank you as he accepted his.

"You know, it wouldn't kill you to be nice. Just once," John hissed before he opened up his menu and hid behind it.

"Out of the mouth of babes," his mother added sweetly.

John downed the chocolate milk seconds after the waitress put it down, then smiled guiltily at his mother's widened eyes. "Thirsty."

"Oh, bless you, honey," the waitress crowed over John's empty glass when she returned with their food. "I'll refill that for you, just give me a second."

Derek ate without joy. Cameron ate her sandwich slowly so not to draw attention to herself by not eating at all. His mother ate distractedly, more absorbed by what was going on around them than the food on her plate.

The turkey sandwich platter John ordered was good and filling. But he only managed half the sandwich and a handful of fries before he was uncomfortably full.

His mother pushed two Tylenol and a Motrin across the table the same time Cameron's hand skittered across his neck. "Don't say it," John warned her as he reached for the pills, downing them with the rest of his chocolate milk.

"Say it," his mother told Cameron, overriding John's command.

She'd pissed him off. Sarah apologized before they got back into the truck, but John wasn't cutting her any slack. She grabbed John's arm as he went to open the back door. "You, drive." She flipped the keys to Cameron and silenced Derek's objection with a glare. "Ride shotgun and navigate." The tin toy and the stubborn SOB read her body language loud and clear. There would be no argument or discussion over her decision.

Sarah reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind John's ear. "Sometimes I forget you're sixteen."

"Yes, you do, and that's okay. That's a mother thing. Perfectly natural. It's the messiah thing I have problems with. Just once, I'd like you to view me as your son and not the savior of mankind."

"John—" She reached for him but he stepped back, waving away her concern.

"I want to go home. To a home. Any home. For good. I don't want this—"

"Newsflash, mister." Sarah stepped into his personal space and poked him in the chest. "I don't want this either. I don't want to drag your butt from here to eternity when you don't feel well. I don't want to send your big badass uncle to hold your hand in the bathroom, and I certainly don't want you playing with tin soldiers now or in the future, but guess what? Tough shit. For you to get to choice number three you have to endure choices one and two, whether or not you want it."

He deflated right before her eyes, and immediately Sarah realized she'd been yelling. Loudly. Damn. She didn't want to win this argument because she yelled louder, she wanted to just make a point and based upon her son's body language, her sharp words had penetrated and done injury. Good job, Sarah.

They traveled for hours. Stopped again for gas and grabbed food on the run. John had gotten out, used the bathroom and made no comment when Derek followed him. He'd come out with eyes at half-mast, taking another cocktail of Tylenol and Motrin without complaint before crawling into the backseat under the blanket.

John slept. Sarah slept. Derek slept. Cameron drove without complaint, her internal GPS keeping them on track. Sarah and Derek woke as the sun rose.

"I need coffee." Inactivity in the backseat of the car made for excusable crankiness.

"Ditto."

And John continued to sleep. Longer than Sarah was comfortable with, and she lost count of the number of times she adjusted the blanket or felt his forehead while they drove in search of a anything serving hot coffee at this time of the morning.

"McDonalds," Derek pointed out. "Use the drive thru."

The coffee was fresh and hot, the only two complimentary adjectives Sarah could think to describe the contents of her Styrofoam cup. John turned his nose up at the small container of OJ she'd bought for him, but made a good dent in the bottle of water. Liquid was liquid, though the mom in her would've preferred the vitamins in the juice.

He was snuggled under the blanket before they went two more blocks. Sleeping and snoring by block number four.

It had been a good game, a team effort, and he'd scored the winning goal. Life didn't get much better than that. There wasn't even a twinge in his right knee even though he'd played hard today, which was almost as good as scoring that goal. Daniel endured the backslapping, the laughter, and the disgruntled 'lucky shot' with a shrug, embarrassed by the attention.

He hated away games, hated leaving the field in a pool of sweat, riding an uncomfortable yellow bus back to school either freezing or dying of the heat, there was never any happy medium.

Combing his unruly, sweaty mop with his fingers, he pulled it tightly back in a low ponytail, squeezing out the extra moisture and giving it a quick shake for good measure.

"When are you going to cut this, Jackson?" Lyons asked, leaning over the seat and grabbing the ponytail.

Lyons was their goalie, a good kid, annoying as shit, but on a tolerable level, and Daniel happened to like him. He tugged the ponytail from Lyons' hand. "Does it bother you?"

"When you shake like a dog and shower us with your sweat, yeah, it bothers me."

"Hey." Corey sat next to Daniel and he turned sideways in the seat, so he was facing Lyons and Daniel. "Daniel's ponytail is like our lucky charm."

"Yeah?" Lyons didn't sound convinced.

"It is?" Daniel didn't sound convinced either.

Corey nodded vigorously. "Definitely."

"Like a team mascot?" Daniel asked.

"Mascot works. Lucky charm. Either one. Like the pair of socks the player doesn't change because he wore them the day he scored his first goal and he's never washed them—"

"Whoa." Daniel threw up his hands. "I wash my hair," he said indignantly.

Corey waved away Daniel's comment. "I know you wash your hair, you idiot, I was just trying to make an analogy."

"You were? I must've missed it."

Corey slugged him on the shoulder. "Put your genius away for a second and just follow along."

"Follow along what? Were you trying to make a point?"

Corey stood up and before Daniel could stop him, he opened up his mouth to ask the entire moving busload of their teammates. "Can I have a show of hands how many of you refer to, think of, or believe that Daniel's ponytail is the team's good luck charm?"

"And it smells good, too," Li yelled.

Daniel ducked his head, he was never going to live this one down.

"I don't think I want to know how you've come upon the knowledge that Daniel's hair products are sweet smelling," Corey answered distractedly while counting a show of hands.

"Sit down," Daniel hissed, tugging at his friend's shirt. "Please," he begged.

"Majority rules." Corey turned around, rested his hands on the back of their bench seat and leaned into Lyons' face. "Sorry. The ponytail is here to stay."

"Middleton, please sit down." Coach Dawson's voice was full of resignation.

"Sitting, Coach." Corey plopped down in the seat with enough force that Daniel bounced. "Saved your ponytail."

"Thanks," Daniel groaned, sinking low in the bench seat. "With friends like you, who the hell needs enemies?"

Daniel and Corey were the last two in the locker room. Retrieving their backpacks from their gym lockers, the place was basically deserted, the lacrosse team had just left, the last vestiges of the soccer team had disappeared while Daniel was hunting through his locker for a sweatshirt to throw over his tee shirt.

"Let my mom give you a ride home."

"No, thanks." Daniel slipped the prized sweatshirt over his head. "I have my bike and I'm going to my grandma's house tonight, my dad's doing an overnight."

"My mom won't mind driving you."

Yeah, but Daniel would mind accepting a ride. He didn't mind the trip to his grandma's, the bicycle ride there was actually shorter than the route home. Give him time just to let his mind wander. Not that he didn't mind the Middletons but sometimes between Corey and his mom, their constant chatter made Daniel's head hurt.

"Jackson. Middleton."

Daniel slammed his locker. "Sorry, Coach, we're leaving now." Daniel flashed the man a smile.

"Both you boys played very well today."

"Thank you," they said in unison.

"Really well."

Daniel nodded dumbly, unsure of where the coach was taking this conversation.

"Well enough for me to consider moving the two of up to the varsity team." The coach's smile was Cheshire Cat-broad.

Daniel was speechless. Corey, on the other hand, let out a hoop and holler that reverberated in the empty locker room.

Coach Dawson's smile dipped slightly as he studied Daniel. "Jackson?"

"I'm younger than everyone else on the team..."

Corey added. "You're always younger."

Daniel glared at Corey before turning his attention back to the coach. "I'm a lot younger than everyone else."

"But no less talented, Daniel." The coach dropped a beefy hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. "You're good. Very good. You and Middleton. Age isn't a factor, but if your dad has any concerns or questions, let him give me a call." He gave Corey a quick once over. "That goes for either of you. Parental concerns, just call."

It was hard holding in his enthusiasm but he couldn't bring himself to tell his grandmother the news before telling his dad. That just felt so wrong. And his dad wouldn't be home until late tomorrow afternoon so...

"You're smiling," his grandma said as she placed the overfilled dinner plate in front of him.

Okay, maybe he wasn't doing such a great job keeping a check on how excited he was. "I had a good day. We won the soccer game. I scored the winning goal."

"Good day," she repeated with a kiss to his temple. "You're right, that sounds like a good day.

Dinner was comfortable, familiar, and Daniel knew he was luckier than most of his friends. His grandmother pried in her usual style and Daniel avoided and parried in his usual style. She cared and he loved her without question. There wasn't any hidden agenda in her love for him and for that reason alone Daniel loved her sometimes even more than he loved his father.

He stood, ready to clear off the table when his grandmother grabbed the dish from his hands. "Go do homework."

"No, it's okay." The argument was futile, a little dance they always played whenever his father wasn't around. She babied him. He let her. Enjoying his lack of chores, his only responsibility was doing what he needed to do. Homework. Chat with his friends. Join her for milk and cookies before bedtime. The lack of pressure in this house cocooned Daniel and he kissed his grandmother's wrinkled cheek, smiling that, for once, he'd taken her by surprise by his affection.

Daniel walked into the kitchen, yawning and stretching. He hated mornings. Didn't make a difference what house he woke up in, if it were pancakes or waffles, cereal or eggs on his plate, mornings sucked.

His grandmother gave him space, greeting him with just a kiss and nothing else and Daniel was more than grateful. He ate by rote, finishing two waffles and half a glass of chocolate milk before coming up for air and acknowledging her presence.

"Morning."

"He speaks."

"Do you and Dad have the same script writer?"

His grandmother's answer was cut short by the ringing phone and instantly, Daniel's stomach twisted, tightening around his half-eaten breakfast.

"I'm sure it's just a stupid telemarketer. You know, something about my vehicle's warranty." She patted his hand, flashed him a reassuring smile and went to answer the phone.

Her reassuring smile didn't reassure Daniel until the smile broadened and she mouthed the words 'your father' at Daniel.

"Dad?" He was by her side in an instant, clamoring to grab the phone, pouting when she gently slapped his hand away, finishing her pleasantries. She handed the phone off to Daniel, tapping the face of her watch, reminding him that the clock was ticking for him to get to school.

"You're home?" Daniel hissed into the mouthpiece, looking over his shoulder as he and the phone left his grandmother in the kitchen with her cup of tea.

"Yup, home. Finished what needed to be finished."

"Glad."

"Me, too."

There were voices in the background and Daniel knew his time, for now, with his father was drawing to a close. "Coach Dawson asked me to be on the varsity soccer team."

Silence.

"Dad, did you hear me?"

"We'll talk about it when I get home."

That certainly wasn't what he expected and now it was Daniel's turn to remain silent.

"I'm very proud of you," his father amended.

The enthusiasm was slight, but it was there and Daniel latched onto that, refusing to allow his father's mother henning to burst his balloon. "I'm proud of me also." Quickly, he glanced at the clock on the mantel. Shit. "Dad, I gotta go. Tonight?"

"Tonight." There was a pause. "And Daniel, I really am proud of you."

He grabbed his lunch off the counter, opened the brown paper bag and 'hmmm'd' at the contents. On the rare occasions his dad went Martha Stewart and made him lunch, it was usually two slices of turkey, a piece of cheese stuck between two slices of white bread and a moment of silence for the mayo. His grandmother didn't just make him lunch, she made him lunch. Turkey. Cheese. A fresh roll. Tomato, lettuce and spicy mayo. Ring Dings. Or freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. Or chips. Or Doritos. An apple, a pear, grapes or whatever was the fruit of the season. And always, always a tiny chocolate kiss. Daniel remembered the kids in elementary school had been willing to trade whatever they had for the lunches his grandmother made. Gently, Daniel shook the bag and noticed the tiny silver candy.

"You're going to be late." His grandmother placed her hands over his and crunched up the top of the bag. "Don't pick."

"Not picking." Daniel dropped his backpack on the chair, shoved the lunch bag in and zipped it back up before slinging it over his shoulder.

"I could drive you."

"I have my bicycle. I'll be fine."

"Daniel... I could load your bike in the back of the car..."

Since by proxy, his dad now knew about the soccer team, there was no reason Daniel couldn't share the news with his grandmother and divert her attention away from driving him to school. "Coach Dawson wants me to go on varsity soccer."

"That's good, right?"

Daniel smiled. "It's great, Grandma."

"It makes you happy?"

"Very."

"Good," she said, laying her hands on his shoulders and steering him towards the door to the outside. "Then it makes me happy. Now have a good day and I'll talk to you tonight."

Daniel's cell phone rang as he was locking up his bike, thinking it was Alexandria or his dad, he didn't even check the telephone number before answering.

"Hi."

"Jackson?"

"Yeah?" The voice was familiar in a vague sorta way.

"It's Steve. Steve Brughman."

Daniel was still blank and his silence must've clued the guy at the other end of the phone into his confusion.

"Varsity. Soccer. Right wing."

It clicked. Like turning on a light bulb, and Daniel could feel the heat of a full-fledged blush work his way up from his neck to his hairline. "Bruggie, hi," Daniel said softly. He was a big guy, big enough to scare Daniel with his presence. Popular. Very popular, but he'd never, ever been anything but nice to Daniel, which made him feel incredibly stupid right about now. "Sorry about that."

"No apology necessary, dude. Rumor has it that congrats are in order."

"Congrats?" Daniel looked around wondering if he were on that stupid show where someone was going to jump out with a camera.

"Yup. Heard that the coach offered you and Middleton a place on the varsity team."

Trepidation with a side order of suspicion sat heavily in Daniel's stomach. "Yeah, yesterday after the game." There was no way Daniel wanted to know how Bruggie had found out about this.

"Tradition has it that all new members to the team are welcomed with a party."

"Really?"

"Really. Friday night. My house. Bring your girlfriend. Around seven."

"Thanks," Daniel stuttered.

Daniel waited by the doors, watching the stream of kids flowing out of the school, anxiously looking for one particular person. He and Alexandria had been like two ships today, missing each other, too bogged down with testing and class work to do more than kiss in the hallways. She'd been tutoring during lunch, so he hadn't had a chance to talk to her then. Now, he was waiting to corner her before they left school grounds.

"Alexandria," he yelled when he spotted her and hurried into the flow, bumping past several students when Alexandria paused as she heard her name. Smiling at Daniel, she threaded her arm into his as they walked out together.

"You won't believe this." He was bouncing with excitement and unable to hold back a grin. "I'm on the varsity team."

"Coach Dawson put you on the team?" She stopped walking to stare at him, then started up again when someone jostled her.

"Yeah!" He laughed out loud. "I couldn't believe it when he asked me."

"Are you sure about this? Look at all the school you missed this year—"

"Of course I'm sure."

"You'll have to play or practice after school—"

"I know. Isn't that great?" Out of the sea of students, he slowed as they headed out the doors. Taking her hand, he threaded his fingers through hers. "Oh, and Steve Brughman invited me and you to a party at his house this weekend to celebrate—"

Alexandria stopped suddenly and Daniel had to stop and turn around to face her. "A party?"

"Yeah." Things were going so well, he was afraid this might be a dream. He rubbed his thumb against her fingers, feeling the smoothness of her painted nails against his skin. "He said since I was going to be part of the team, he might as well welcome me in properly."

"Lewis Bloch is on the team. Is he going to be at the party?"

Daniel shrugged, suddenly realizing that Alexandria wasn't sharing his enthusiasm. "I don't care about Tony's brother. You were invited also," he repeated after a moment.

"I don't want to go to the party. Do you have any idea why they invited you?"

Daniel looked at her, confused. "Because they wanted to celebrate my joining the team," he said slowly, in case she hadn't understood him the first time.

Alexandria laughed sarcastically. "Yeah, right."

"What?"

"Never mind. We're not going to the party."

"Why are you upset?"

"I'm not upset—"

"I thought you'd be happy for me—"

"Happy because you'll be playing against another team that are all older than you are—"

"Coach wouldn't have asked me if he didn't think I was good enough."

"Oh, right. And you have no problem accepting a position on varsity but you couldn't face skipping a grade? Which is more important, huh? School? Or sports?"

Her words floored Daniel. He felt a cold chill take him while his cheeks grew hot as he dropped her hand. "I told you why I didn't want to move up. I thought you understood." He turned around and started walking stiffly towards where his bicycle was chained up.

"Daniel, wait." She ran to catch up to him and he shrugged her arm aside as she grabbed it. "Daniel, I'm sorry. That didn't come out right. I understand why you were upset with your dad, and why you didn't want to skip a grade. I just meant that learning was more important than playing sports and maybe you should think about this. You'll be away more, and if the team makes the finals, you won't have time to hang out."

"And if I'd skipped a grade, I'd probably spend all my time doing homework, and I still wouldn't have time to hang out." Without another word, he ran to the row of chained bicycles, ignoring Alexandria yelling his name. When his cell chirped a few seconds later, Daniel turned it off without checking the caller ID, knowing it was her.

"No."

"But, Dad—" Daniel bit back his next words when his father raised his index finger and stuck it in front of his face.

"No arguments. You're not going."

"But they're having a party because I'm on the team—"

"Do you honestly think they planned a party just for you?"

"Of course not. You know what I meant. But everyone on the varsity team is going and they wanted to celebrate—"

"While I'm proud you made the team, Daniel, you are much younger than the rest of the players and I'm not letting you go to a party by yourself."

His father had made it abundantly clear in the first part of this conversation that it was Daniel's age that was holding him back from giving him his full blessing. "Alexandria is coming with me—"

"Oh, that's really smart. Take your girlfriend to a party where there's going to be booze and most likely drugs. I thought you were more intelligent than that."

Daniel felt the pulse in his head suddenly go from idle to racing in a split second as fury coursed through him. "Are you saying I'm going there to get drugs? I thought you knew me better than that."

"We both know you've had problems in the past—"

"I'm going to the party to spend time with my teammates," Daniel said between clenched teeth. "If they choose to drink or do drugs, that's their business."

"Not when you're involved. Then it's my business."

"I'm not going to drink—"

"You're not going, and that's final."

"Corey's going to be there," he shouted. "And Nate. Nate's already on the team. Nate wouldn't do anything—"

"They're not fourteen."

"You don't trust me, do you? You never trusted me—"

"Daniel—"

"You don't give a shit about what I want. All the trouble I've had, whose fault was that? I never asked for any of this. A year ago, I thought I was your son. I was happy – and then you pulled the rug out from under my feet, threw all these weird, alien things into my life and you won't even let me go to one stupid party? Well, fuck you!"

Trembling in anger, Daniel stormed to his room. He was about to slam the door when his dad grabbed his arm.

"What the hell's gotten into you?" his father yelled.

"This is mine," Daniel yelled back, trying to free his arm. "Not the other Daniel's. Not Charlie's. Not yours, or Sam's, or Teal'c's. It's mine, something I want. Something I'm good at. But it's never enough for you, is it?"

His arm was released suddenly and Daniel fell back against the doorjamb.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Soccer. He never played sports, did he? He always studied. He always worked and never had any fun. Look what it got that other me. I don't want to be like him. I don't want to grow up into someone boring like him. I'm good at soccer. Coach Dawson thinks I'm good enough to be in the varsity team, and this is my chance of not looking like a geek whose father treats him like a baby and locks him up in his room so he'll finish his homework. But you still see me like that stupid five-year old you adopted and won't even let me learn how to drive."

"Maybe that's because you're acting like that five-year old you used to be."

"Maybe I'm acting like a five-year old because you never listen to me—"

"I listen—"

"You listen to what you want to hear. You want me to be a kid, and I'm not. I'm fourteen. And I've got the memories of someone more than twice my age. How can I be a kid, Dad, when I'm not really one, in here?" Daniel slammed his palm against his forehead and the force of it hurt, making him even angrier.

"You want to be treated as an adult, Daniel? Let's start with you learning to speak with respect around here—"

"I didn't—"

"And if you even thought there was any iota of a chance that I'd let you go to that party, you just blew it."

"That's not fair—"

"And you're grounded for the rest of the week."

"What?"

"I think you heard me."

His dreams suddenly went up in smoke. The elation he'd felt coming home was suddenly replaced with despair. "But I have soccer practice this week."

"Then you go to practice and you come straight home afterwards."

Relief at this slight reprieve wasn't enough to satisfy him and Daniel found himself pushing once again. "See what I said? You don't listen to me—"

"Oh, I listened very carefully, and I sure as hell didn't like what I heard."

"You've got no right—"

"I'm your father. I have every right—"

I'm the Colonel. I'm in charge... The words echoed eerily in his head and Daniel had a sudden attack of déjà vu. His adult self had often argued with his father, and he sensed that Daniel had pushed only when he felt he'd be able to get through to his commander. Otherwise, he'd find another solution. Without a word, glaring at his father for all he was worth, Daniel stepped back into his room and slammed the door in his father's face.

"You keep that up, and I'll take away your internet and cell phone," his dad said through the closed door.

Daniel threw himself on his bed and picked up his cell phone. His call to Alexandria went to her voice mail and he swore.

"Where were you last night?" Daniel demanded, marching up to Alexandria as she was getting books out of her locker.

She turned to look at him and arched an eyebrow.

"I tried calling you," he said, forcing his voice to a more polite tone.

"My aunt Nicole came to visit unexpectedly and we went out for supper. We got in late, and if you'd checked your phone, you'd see that I answered your calls before I went to bed.

"I needed to talk to you." He leaned against the metal rows of lockers and hung his head.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," she said softly, grasping his arm and leaning forward to give him a quick peck on the cheek. "Do you want to talk about it at lunch?"

The warning bell rang and Daniel sighed as he pushed off the lockers. "Yeah." Without even a goodbye, he joined the river of kids swarming through the hallway and headed for his first class of the day.

When Daniel reached the cafeteria, he was disappointed to see Alexandria sitting at their table, accompanied by Li, Nate and Corey. He joined them reluctantly, quietly greeting them and opening his lunch bag. He ate his lunch without joining in the conversation, listening to his friends talking about the upcoming party and speculating on who was going to attend with whom. He kept his eyes on his lunch, slowly tearing pieces of his sandwich apart and eating them distractedly, feeling Alexandria's gaze on him.

"I'm feeling greedy. I want a brownie," Alexandria suddenly declared. She stood up slowly, and when Daniel didn't move, kicked him under the table and rolled her eyes towards the dessert display.

"That sounds good. I'll go with you." Scrambling to his feet, Daniel walked with her towards the display.

"My father grounded me," he said the moment they were out of earshot.

"So the party...?"

"He said no."

"I won't lie and say I'm sorry. You know how I feel about it."

"And you know how I feel about it. I really wanted to go."

"I know you did."

"I wanted to take you there. I never get to take you anywhere. We've only been on one real date; we just hang out. If you came with me—"

"Everyone knows we're dating—"

"But we never get to go anywhere together." They stopped in front of the desserts and Daniel looked at the selection with no appetite.

"Of course we do, silly." She stopped, turned to face him, put her two palms on his cheeks, and kissed him right there, in front of everyone to see. The feel of her lips and the tease of her tongue sent all thoughts southward. Then she pulled back and he felt himself sway forward, silently seeking her touch again, until the roar of applause and cheers registered. He realized everyone had been staring and he felt himself blushing.

"There aren't any brownies left," Alexandria said as if the kiss had never happened. There was color in her cheeks, though, which Daniel wondered was from embarrassment or from their kiss. "Guess I'll have to make do with rice pudding. Want one?" She shoved a small plastic bowl into his hands and headed for the register.

"I don't know what you want from me, Daniel," his grandmother said over the phone. "Your father grounded you—"

"That's not the problem, Grandma. It's the party on Friday that I want you to talk to him about." Daniel opened the fridge door and peered inside, looking for a snack to tide him over until suppertime.

"But he already said no."

"But you can change his mind. Come on, Grandma. This party means a lot to me." A cold slice of pizza would do, he decided, pulling out the cardboard box tucked into a corner on the bottom shelf.

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea, mhuirnin. Your dad's made up his mind and I can't think of any good reason why I should even get involved."

"But it's important. Everyone on the varsity team will be there. I'm the youngest one on the team and if I don't go, it'll just show I'm different from everyone else. It's hard enough proving I'm as good as they are when I play; I don't want them to treat me as a kid." He dropped the pizza box on the counter, opened the top and slid a piece onto a piece of paper towel.

"You're a great player. Just have some confidence in yourself and you'll do fine."

"Thanks for the pep talk, Grandma," Daniel said sarcastically, the food before him losing its appeal.

"Well, you are. And no, I'm not going to try and change your father's mind because I don't think a party with a bunch of older teenagers is where you belong right now."

"And what about what I think?"

"You're thinking too much on appearances and not enough on your skills. So what if you don't go to the party? You are younger, there's no denying that. You might look just as foolish trying to emulate a seventeen year-old instead of just acting your age."

"Okay, you know what?" Daniel tossed the pizza slice back into the box, and slammed the cover shut. "Never mind. Forget I asked."

"Honey, you brought this up. I'm just telling you what I think. I'm sorry you're upset but I've always been honest with—"

"I've got another call," Daniel lied, "I gotta go." He disconnected the call before she could say anything else.

After shoving the box back into the fridge, Daniel went back to his bedroom. He paced angrily for several minutes until he calmed down a little, then he went to his desk and stared at his homework.

"This is a waste of money," Derek complained.

Sarah glanced over a John, sprawled across one of the two queen sized beds in bedroom number one of the two-bedroom suite. "No, it's not." She smiled at the memory of John's moan of appreciation at the size of the shower. "Cut him some slack, Derek."

"You coddle him."

She dragged him out of the bedroom by the front of the shirt and slammed him into the wall. "How dare you walk into my life and tell me what I'm doing wrong. Done wrong. Will do wrong. You know how the movie ends. I don't. John doesn't. Don't let jealousy cloud your judgment, Derek, otherwise you'll be no help to anyone."

Disgusted, she dropped her hand. "I'm going to take a shower, get dressed and present myself as a respectful and an upstanding member of society. You are going to do the same thing. Leave your attitude here while we go house hunting."

A week of living in the luxurious suite agreed with John and he settled in, enjoying a run of fever-free days, while Derek and Sarah, after a week, couldn't agree on where to get their morning coffee never mind where they should be living.

Sarah's head hurt. She was on her last nerve and she was more than tempted to pull out her gun and end either the realtor's misery or Derek's life. Both choices were appealing.

"No."

Her finger itched; her gun was so damn close. "Yes."

Sarah and Derek stood on the sidewalk of a quiet, tiny, dead end, tree-lined street. The real estate agent was waiting a discreet distance away while she and Derek discussed the pros and cons of the house.

"Know your exits. Those are your words, Sarah. There's exactly one. Unacceptable."

That was the only negative. The house had a basement, an attic and a garage behind the house. Two bathrooms. Living room. Kitchen. Fully furnished. Four bedrooms. Each of them could have privacy. That in and of itself was heaven. Already wired for cable. A dishwasher that didn't walk on two legs or rely on bribery to get it to produce. There was privacy. And quiet. Not enough people around to draw attention to their strange coming and goings.

"We're taking it."

Derek snorted and shook his head. "I know what this is."

"You do? Why don't you share with the class?"

He stepped into her personal space but she didn't move. She had no fear of him. Of his quick temper and action before he thought attitude? Yeah, that scared her, afraid he'd bring their fragile house of cards down around them. But physically? Sarah had no fear of Derek at all.

"This is you trying to give John a normal life."

"No, this is a mother trying to give her a son a life. Normalcy went out the window the second I met your brother."

For a second, Derek blanched. "A house on a tree-lined street isn't the answer."

"Neither is living in a hotel room. Or out of a car." She drew a breath and softened, reaching out a tentative hand to touch his arm. "Your life is our future and I can't begin to know the horrors you had to endure. That John will have to endure. Who's to say that giving him memories in this house—"

"Who's to say living in this house isn't going to get him killed."

"And who's to say that living in this house is a step towards changing the future."

Surprisingly, Sarah got a half smile from Derek. "John always said his mother was a romantic dreamer. Up until now, I have to admit, I thought he was crazy."

"So have you nice folks made a decision?"

"We'll take it," Derek answered before Sarah had a chance to.

The exhausted, exasperated expression on the real estate agent's face was gone in a second.

"Shit!" John sat up with a jerk, pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead to provide counter pressure to the brain freeze type of headache brought on when unblinking, unemotional cold eyes bored right through his brain to peek into his dreams.

"You and my mom," he groaned as the headache peaked, flowed and slowly began to ebb. "Do the two of you take some type of perverse pleasure in scaring the crap out of me?"

"Do you have a headache?"

"I didn't. I do now." His glare was lost on her, a total waste of energy.

"Your mother wakes you this way very often. I thought it was acceptable."

"It's not," John growled.

Cameron patted his leg in a way that instantly made John uncomfortable. "Would you prefer the twelve-hour pain reliever or the every four hour relief?"

"Neither, and you need to stop believing in commercials." The leg-patting thing was just mimicry, John realized, from a commercial. "Where's my mom? Derek?"

"Out."

"Out where?"

"Looking for a new crib."

"A crib?"

"An abode. A home. A slang name for—"

Commercials. MTV. John had to talk to his mother about putting a terminator-proof lock on their television.

John was prowling around the suite. TV on. TV off. He was still tired but had no desire to crawl back into bed. The view from the windows was breathtaking, even after a week, but today it was hard to enjoy anything while Cameron wanted to share his air.

He was short-tempered and angry. From the en-suite fridge he helped himself to an OJ which was probably going to set his mother back twenty dollars. And he didn't care; indignant teenage self-righteousness flowed through his veins.

His cell phone rang and he jumped to answer it. "Mom?" Annoyed when once again, the only voice he heard was a dial tone at the other end. Again. Just made a wonderful day even better. John slid the useless piece of technology down on the countertop, finished the juice in one gulp then dumped the container in the trash.

"Don't do that." He shrugged his shoulder, trying to put up a barrier to stop Cameron's hand from doing the old swipe and scan.

"Why not?"

"Is 'because I don't want you to' a good enough answer?"

"No."

"Why not? Aren't you supposed to listen to me?"

"Not when you're being stubborn and immature."

John stomped off to the bedroom, slammed the door and dropped onto the bed.

John was lying on his back staring at the ceiling. The bed dipped with his mother's weight as she sat at the edge.

"Would you like to talk?"

"No."

"How are you feeling?"

John thought his mother's cool fingers against his warm cheek should be enough of an answer, but he gave her one anyway. "Fine."

"You don't feel fine."

"Fine," John repeated, digging himself in hating his body's betrayal. Once again, he'd been teased into thinking all was well. Wrong.

"Cameron told me that you're being stubborn and immature."

"Well, she was being overbearing. And I'm just not in an overbearing, willing to be smothered mood."

"So," his mother said with a gentle smile, "you were being stubborn and immature."

"I drank an orange juice," John confessed, turning his attention to the design on the quilt. "Sorry."

In mock surprise, his mom threw her hands over her heart. "With vodka?"

John's smile was slow. "No." Though the thought had crossed his mind.

"We rented a house."

A house meant many things to John, but the word never encompassed security or stability. And he never failed to play the game when his mom would tell them about a new home. John would always smile and make the right noises in just the right places. Not today, though. Today, he didn't feel like playing.

She took his silence as encouragement. "You'll like it. Four bedrooms. Attic. Basement. Garage out back."

And he read between the lines. Privacy. Place to hide guns. Destroy terminators. A place to live out their pretend lives while they carried out their mission. John closed his eyes and let his mother's fairy tale of 'happily ever after' lull him to sleep.

"I'm going." Daniel walked nervously around his bedroom, keeping an ear out at the same time to determine if his father was coming this way. "Even if I have to sneak out. I'm going to Bruggie's party tonight."

Except for Alexandria's breathing, there was silence at the other end of the line.

"Are you coming with me or not?"

There was a soft sigh. "I'll go, if only to keep an eye on you."

Daniel ignored her comment, latching onto the fact that she had agreed to come. Grinning, he pumped his hand up and down in victory. "I'll be at your house around seven."

"What if your dad says no?"

"He won't." Daniel tried to sound confident. "I'll see you then."

"Can I go over to Corey's?" Standing at the bottom of the stairs, Daniel waited nervously for his dad's answer.

"I thought I grounded you." His dad looked up at him over his reading glasses.

"You said till the end of the week. Technically, it's the end of the week." He tried not to fidget, tried not to show he was more eager than normal to leave the house.

His dad stared at him for a long time before answering. "Do you need a lift?"

"No, thanks. I'll take my bike." Daniel's legs felt weak with relief. He was going to pull it off.

"Call me and I'll come and get you."

"Alexandria's going to be there. She'll probably give me a lift home." He turned and went up one step, then stopped and peered past the wall. "But if she can't, I'll call."

They heard the music as they approached the house. Daniel grinned at Alexandria, grabbed her hand, and pulled her up the driveway to the front door. The windows were open despite the cool night air, and the stench of cigarettes and something sweeter wafted near the door.

He rang the doorbell and waited, but after a minute, nobody answered. "Guess they can't hear the doorbell over the music," he said nervously, having visions of spending the party here on the front steps while everyone was inside. He tried the doorknob and to his relief, found it unlocked.

They stepped into the house. The music was so loud that it was deafening and the vibrations from the bass actually were painful as he walked past the speakers. The air was thick with smoke despite the open windows, and here and there, someone was smoking a joint.

Something crunched underfoot and Daniel realized he'd stepped on spilled chips. Treading carefully, he did a slow circuit of the house, looking for their host, Alexandria holding firmly to his hand. He finally found Steve sitting in the kitchen with several of the varsity team, each of them with shot glasses in their hands, a bottle of tequila on the table in front of them. A plate of brownies lay forgotten at the far end of the table. Tony Bloch looked at them blearily. Only then did Daniel realize that most of the kids here were drinking; either beer or something stronger.

Already his head hurt from the music and his eyes burned from the cigarette smoke. "Hey," Daniel said, grateful that the music wasn't quite as loud here. "Great party."

"Whatever," Steve slurred as he poured himself a shot and gulped it down with a grimace.

"Look who snuck out of the house," Tony sneered as he reached for the tequila. "Is your daddy going to come break down the door and drag you back home, little boy?"

"I didn't sneak out," Daniel began, but refrained from replying when Alexandria pinched his arm in warning.

"It's nearly past your bedtime." Tony saluted Daniel with his drink, tossed it back and bit into a wedge of lime, all without changing expression. Daniel winced at the thought of the taste of the bitter citrus, his mouth watering in empathy.

Turning away from Daniel, Tony began recounting a story, and the rest of his friends began laughing and making rude comments, laughing drunkenly at their antics.

Daniel stood there awkwardly, until Alexandria tugged on his hand. They left the kitchen and returned to the living room, and this time Daniel went looking for his friends. He found Corey and Nate leaning against the railing of the back deck with a half dozen others, and this time it was Alexandria who tugged Daniel forward, leading him outside.

The chill, fresh air was welcome after the stuffy confines of the house. His friends greeted him warmly, as did the others.

"Want a beer?" Jennifer asked.

Daniel was tempted, but remembered that he'd told his dad he wasn't here to drink. Even though those words had been uttered days before, to Daniel, they still held the echo of an oath. Reluctantly, he shook his head.

"Do you want anything?" he asked Alexandria.

"A Coke."

"I'll be right back." He steeled himself to enter the house again.

"I'll go with you." Nate got up and slapped Daniel on the back. "We need more beers."

"Make sure it's diet," Alexandria yelled as he opened the door.

Nate led Daniel to a cooler full of beers and a few cans of sodas. While his friend grabbed beers, Daniel rummaged through the icy water until he found a Diet Coke. He grabbed a Seven-Up for himself and mission accomplished, began to head back to the deck when he spotted a tray with a few pieces of Jell-O in small paper cups.

Thinking that Alexandria might enjoy the dessert, he put the drinks next to the cups and picked up the tray. Nate had gone on ahead while he'd gotten the Jell-O and was holding the door open for him. He tried to hurry, but the crowded room made walking with a tray in his hands a bit difficult. He was nearly at the door when he spotted a plate of brownies on a side table. It didn't look like anyone was interested in them so he added them to the tray, and grabbed a half-empty bag of chips as well.

"I got munchies," Daniel announced as he placed the tray on the table, pushing several empty beer bottles aside to make room.

"Oooh, look who's living dangerously," Corey said with a laugh as he opened his beer. He saluted them with the bottle and took a long swig while Daniel fumbled with the tab on his soda.

Everyone was drinking. He felt awkward and out of place. Truth be told, he'd rather be hanging out at Corey's house, all of them gorging on sodas instead of him watching his friends drink. Suddenly they seemed grown up, and he truly was the little kid next to them. This party certainly wasn't what he'd expected it to be. He was a nobody here, and most likely everyone inside the house was going to be so drunk by the end of the night that they wouldn't even remember he'd been here. For this, he'd lied to his father?

Randy and Jennifer were devouring the chips so Daniel grabbed one of the Jello-O cups and squished it into his mouth, since nobody else was eating them. It slid into his mouth faster than he'd expected and ended up swallowing it whole. He was sorry he hadn't looked for spoons, so instead, he turned to the brownies, which Alexandria was already enjoying.

The brownie wasn't bad and at least it gave him something to do with his hands. He licked the crumbs off his fingers, gulped down half his soda, and reached for another.

"Are you sure you want to eat that?" Randy asked as Daniel brought the sweet to his mouth.

"Why? You want some?" He shoved the plate towards the middle of the table.

"No, thanks." Randy saluted Daniel with his beer. "Just don't blame me if you get sick, okay?"

"They're not that bad." This one he ate more slowly, trying not to wish he were anywhere but here. He'd never felt so out of place before, his age difference standing out so starkly between him and his friends. What wasn't helping were the memories that started leaking into his brain, how the other Daniel had often felt ostracized because he'd been a loner, immersed in his work in his earlier years, and then because of his academic beliefs. He hadn't liked the feelings then, he hated them even more now.

Several kids came out of the house, five boys and three girls. At first Daniel didn't pay attention to them until one guy, tall, almost as tall as his dad with long, shaggy hair, kept staring at Alexandria. Daniel straightened, giving him a glare, then stared down the other four when they glanced his way. One of them had blue streaks in his lengthy hair, one kid was sporting multiple piercings and enough chains to weigh even Teal'c down. The guy who loved Goth ignored him while another with a buzz cut was too busy trying to kiss one of the girls. While most of the kids in the house he'd seen either at school or at various soccer games, these five were total strangers to him.

He got up and stood behind Alexandria, leaning between her and Corey, trying to join in while at the same time trying to put himself between her and newcomers. Still he missed bits and pieces of conversation, making it difficult to keep up with everyone. For once, he was uncomfortable among his crowd of friends, unable to join in with their fun and acutely aware of the tall guy behind him ogling his girlfriend.

After thirty minutes of constantly turning to glare at Alexandria's would-be admirer, Daniel was just about ready to jump down the guy's throat. It was with extreme relief when the guy sporting the chains and earrings said, "Brughman's an asshole. Let's get the hell out of here and go some place more interesting."

"Hey, Brad." Corey gave the guy with the blue streaks in his hair a wave as they squeezed past, heading back inside.

"Middleton." He and Corey spoke a few words before brushing their knuckles together as he departed.

"You know them?" Daniel asked, but his words were lost in a blast of music as the back door opened.

Relieved that they'd gone, Daniel tried to enjoy himself again but soon gave up, lowering his forehead against Alexandria's neck. He let his fingers fall against her back and up behind her light jacket, moving his fingers up and down her ribs. She felt good, really good.

She stopped talking and raised a hand, threading her fingers against his nape. She titled her head backwards and Daniel took advantage and kissed her lips. He felt her smile against him. "Wanna go?" she breathed into his mouth.

"Bye, guys, gotta go," Daniel said quickly as he straightened up, his hand reaching for Alexandria's wrist. Alexandria stood a little more slowly and said goodnight, but snuggled close to him as they entered the house and threaded their way slowly through the still crowded rooms.

They walked down the street towards Alexandria's van, until the music was a dull rumble behind them. Alexandria unlocked the doors but before she could get in, Daniel tugged on her hand, pulled her to him and kissed her again.

"What's that for?" she asked, leaning close against him.

Daniel sighed. "For not saying I told you so."

"Was it that bad?"

"Worse. I should have listened to you."

"Well, we're here now. What do you want to do?"

"Come over to my house? We can tell my dad that Corey decided to go to the party."

"That's kinda lame. He's going to know."

"We'll just say we stopped for a snack on our way back. Which if you think of it, isn't exactly a lie."

"You're bad, you know that?" She kissed the tip of his nose before pulling away and climbing into the van. A moment later, the party was behind them.

They made a stop at the next corner and Daniel laughed out loud when a police car turned onto the street. Alexandria slowed down and they watched in their mirrors as the cop car stopped in front of Steve Brughman's house.

"Now that's timing," Alexandria stated as she sped up again.

The streetlights seemed brighter than normal tonight, throwing alternating shadows across Alexandria's face. When her face was illuminated, it shone like it was covered with translucent powder. When her face was shadowed, it shone like perfect marble. For a few blocks, he was mesmerized.

She turned her head towards him quickly, smiling. "What?"

"You're so beautiful," Daniel whispered.

She held his eyes a long moment before turning back to the street. In those few seconds, her eyes had seemed fairy-like. Her hair was like spun silk and Daniel found himself needing to touch. He clasped a long strand of hair and twirled it gently around his index finger. He'd never felt anything like it before; it even felt like silk.

"Daniel?"

"So beautiful." He needed to touch her skin, to see if it was as smooth as it appeared in the lamplight. With fingers still caught in her hair, he stroked the pads of his fingertips across her cheek. He leaned across slowly, forcing the seatbelt to move with him, until he could put his lips to her cheek.

"Okay, hold that thought just a second." He felt the van lurch to the right as Alexandria pulled into a corner of the mall's parking lot. She switched off the motor and turned towards him even as he struggled with his seatbelt with fingers suddenly gone clumsy.

Then she was leaning towards him and their mouths met. Her lips were liquid fire, cool and warm at the same time. He pushed her shirt up so he could touch her abdomen, her ribs, her back, slowly making his way upwards while his tongue explored hers. The sounds of their harsh pants excited him even more, a part of him knew he was losing control and warned him he should pull back. He thrust that voice aside, locking it into a small box in the back of his mind and throwing away the key. He'd face the repercussions later; right now, he needed relief. He needed Alexandria.

He fondled her breasts as she moaned. Then her fingers were against his stomach, reaching for his belt. He gasped in anticipation, for a moment the intensity of what they were doing overwhelming him. Nothing else mattered except his erection, his anticipated release, and Alexandria's body against his.

Cold air and a stranger's voice demanding what they were doing was enough to pull him back to his senses – barely. He turned in confusion towards the opened door of the van, trying to catch his breath. It took a moment for him to recognize the uniform.

"Officer?" Alexandria's voice was shaky.

"Mind telling me what you kids are doing in here?"

Daniel snorted, trying to hold in laughter. It was pretty obvious what they'd been doing. He turned his head away from the policeman, trying not to laugh and failing. The lights in the parking lot seemed to leave trails behind his eyeballs as he moved. The sensation was vaguely familiar. He knew it should have been disturbing but couldn't remember why.

"We, um, stopped for a moment, to..."

"Have you been drinking, Miss?"

"No, sir."

Daniel snorted again, unable to stop himself. "No, she did drink. She had a Coke." When the officer didn't say anything, Daniel made a quick twirling motion with his hand. He did it again because it felt like his wrist wasn't attached to his hand and it felt odd, and nice. "She drank a Coke, so yeah, technically, she was drinking. Get it?"

"And what about you? How old are you?"

"Fourteen," Daniel managed to say between snorts of laughter.

"Mind telling me what you had to drink?"

"We didn't drink anything. Honest." Alexandria punched Daniel's arm. "Stop it. What's the matter with you?"

"What about drugs?"

"No. No Drugs. Daniel, stop it."

He tried, honestly, he tried to stop laughing. Even when the cop told him to get out of the van and he stumbled to one knee, which made him laugh even harder. Even when the cop made him walk a straight line and he lost his balance. Even when the cop tried to drag him to his feet and he laughed so hard, his legs were like wet noodles and he flopped back onto the asphalt.

He rolled onto his back, letting the laughter dissolve into giggles, staring at the pulsing colors of lights on the patrol car's hood.

"Yes, we came from a party," Alexandria was saying. "But we had soft drinks and some snacks. We didn't drink any alcohol or do drugs. I don't know what's wrong with him. Please, let me go to him."

He must have let her because the next thing Daniel knew, she was kneeling next to him. She was talking, he could hear her voice but couldn't make out any of the words. Then she laughed. That Daniel understood perfectly. Snorting through her nose, she fell forward face first against his chest. Her puffs of laughter tickled, warm breaths of air which sent sensations across his chest that went directly to his groin. He put his arms around her, and she grabbed at him and tried to tug him upright. Too comfortable where he was, he didn't help her and she collapsed against him again, giggling.

The cops got the job done instead, separating Alexandria from him and hauling him upright, where he stumbled on feet that felt like they were floating two inches above the ground. The cop holding his arm was talking but just like Alexandria, the words were nothing more than noise.

Daniel didn't realize his legs weren't quite supporting him until he was physically placed against the side of the patrol car. He plastered himself against the metal, stretching his arms against the roof, taking advantage of its support, feeling his body mold to the car and take its shape. Tantalizingly, the colored lights on top threw bits of sparkles into the air, floating for a few seconds before disappearing. He reached his fingers towards the sparkles, feeling them tingle against his skin until he was pulled away and his head forced down so he sprawled into the back of the patrol car. The sparkles followed him down, falling to the ground with a dry sizzle.

"Please? What's going on?" Alexandria sounded scared. "Where are we going?"

For a moment Daniel was able to focus on her face as she climbed in beside him. Then someone picked up his leg and put it into the car, shutting the door and locking the sparkles outside. He thought it hilarious, imagining his leg sticking out of the car while the car was driven away. He pictured arriving home with his leg a half-mile long. The whole idea seemed ludicrous, and he started laughing again, slapping his leg.

"I'm Mr. Elastic," he announced between snorts. "Just call me Stretch."

"Daniel, stop it. This is serious." For a moment she looked solemn, then ruined the moment by starting to giggle.

"See? It's made of rubber." He raised his leg, pushing his foot against the back against the driver's seat. He laughed, letting himself slide backwards until he was leaning against Alexandria.

She pushed him away, forcing him to sit upright against the seat. The sparkles drifted over the windshield, catching his attention. They drifted onto the hood of the car where the paint reflected the pulsing lights and he stared at them.

What seemed like several hours later, suddenly things weren't so funny when a sickening flush of heat spread over him, forcing his gaze from the light show. He looked around the car desperately, needing to open a window. He lurched forward, scrabbling at the controls, but his fingers met only vinyl.

"What are you doing?"

"Hot." He ran his hands over the door, then reached over Alexandria, trying to open her window.

"We're in a police car. We can't open the windows or the doors from here. Daniel, they're taking us to the police station. My dad is going to going to be furious, and your dad is going to kill you."

The heat got worse, making him nauseous. "Hot. I need air." He abandoned her side of the door and tried his again. There had to be a lever, a control, a handle, something. Anything.

"Please, Officer. He needs help. I think he's sick."

Alexandria's words were garbled, not making sense. Daniel pressed his forehead against the window, trying to cool his overheated face. The air in the car suddenly became heavy, making it hard to breathe. He could hear his lungs wheezing as he inhaled, the sound filling the car, making the windows rattle. He pressed his nose next to the edge of the window, hoping that some air was leaking in from the outside. His face was sweaty and he slid against the window, making it difficult to stay next to it. He fought to take another breath, and felt himself flying, soaring, into the dark.

Calls from the police and hospitals were two things Jack could do without. Still without much of a clue as to what had happened to Daniel, Jack, accompanied by his mother, walked through the Emergency Room, counting the cubicles. Sixth on the right, that was where Daniel was.

"Colonel Jack!"

Dria jumped off a small bed and pushed aside the partly closed curtains. The policeman, who'd been sitting on a chair inside, made a grab for her arm but stepped back when she threw herself into Jack's arms.

"Dria." He held her close, her whimpers quickly threatening to turn into sobs. "What happened, sweetheart?"

"Daniel," she sobbed. "He got sick. The police brought us here. He wasn't... He was having trouble breathing."

"Are you Daniel Jackson's father?" the policeman asked.

Jack nodded. "What happened to my son? Do you know how he is?"

"He's doing better. The doctor's running a tox screen. Would you step this way with me for a moment so I can ask you some questions and—"

"No, I need to see Daniel—"

"Jonathan. Go talk to the Officer. I'll see if I can find a doctor and get some information."

"Ma—"

"I'll be right back." His mom turned to Dria, who was still huddled against Jack. "Sweetie, did you call your parents?"

Dria nodded wordlessly. She turned to look at Rose, her face pale, her eyes watery and bloodshot. "My dad's going to kill me."

"Come on." Jack gently urged her back into the cubicle and sat with her on the bed. She huddled against him, seeming to need reassurance. Shivering, she sobbed into his shoulder.

"What happened?" Jack asked the policeman.

"Thank you. I'm Officer Burt Reide. This young lady hasn't been very forthcoming and only provided your phone numbers—"

"He wouldn't let me see Daniel or tell me how he was doing," Dria interrupted.

"We spotted a van pull into a parking lot and we checked it out, half-expecting an illicit drug transaction—"

"We weren't doing anything wrong."

"We discovered your son and his girlfriend making out; normally we'd have sent them on their way—"

"We were kissing!" Indignation and anger were quickly replacing Dria's distress as she turned her head towards Officer Reide.

"But your son, Daniel, was acting a little strange so we began to suspect he was intoxicated. We were taking them back to the precinct when your son fell ill and passed out."

This last piece of information seemed to deflate Dria's growing anger and she sighed heavily, hiding her face against his shoulder again.

"Dria? Did you and Daniel go to the Brughman party?" Up until he'd gotten the phone call from the police, Jack had totally put the party out of his mind. He'd said no to Daniel, and he'd trusted him to obey. It was only until his mother had reminded him of tonight's party that he put two and two together.

She nodded against his jacket.

Anger warred with worry. "Did Daniel talk you into going?" he asked curtly.

"No!" She managed to gain some control and pushed back, staring at Jack intently. "I went because I didn't want Daniel to go alone. I'm not stupid, Colonel Jack. Daniel's incredible – he's smart and kind and funny, but he's still fourteen. I know that. I just wanted to make sure he'd be okay and that—" She started crying again. "I don't know what happened. We didn't take anything. We didn't drink anything."

"Alexandria," the policeman said gently, "the doctors said they suspected you had taken cannabis."

"No. I don't smoke!"

"What about food? What did you eat?"

"Just a soda and some brownies."

Realization came to Jack then. He'd enjoyed space brownies a time or two in his younger years. Dria's glassy, bloodshot eyes and wavering emotions suddenly made sense. "And Daniel?"

"He ate a couple." Alexandria gasped. "Stupid. I'm so stupid!" She turned to the policeman. "We didn't know. They knew," she snarled, the tears and the trembling gone as she stiffened. "Randy knew what they were and he didn't warn us."

"Dria, honey, are you all right?" The Mantalbanos pushed back the curtains, entering the small, enclosed space. Dria let go of Jack and with a heart-rending sob, she fell into her mother's arms.

Mr. Mantalbano stood there, looking as uncomfortable as Jack felt. He stood.

"I'm going to go see my son." The police officer nodded, obviously expecting to talk to the Mantalbanos. Jack motioned for Mr. Mantalbano to accompany him away from the crying teen and said softly, "Go easy on her. It wasn't her fault."

"We'll talk later."

Jack nodded. "You have one incredible young daughter."

Mantalbano nodded. "I know."

Continuing down the emergency ward, Jack found the sixth cubicle. His mother was already inside, sitting on the single chair, watching him as he entered. "How is he?"

Daniel turned his head towards him, his eyes as glassy and bloodshot as Dria's, his face much paler in the harsh light. "Daddy?"

The dopey expression on his son's face caught at Jack's heart. He'd see this too many times; was this what they would be facing for the rest of their lives? Even with the knowledge that the intoxication hadn't been Daniel's fault, he couldn't curb his irritation. If Daniel hadn't disobeyed him, this wouldn't have happened in the first place.

"How is he?" he repeated, ignoring Daniel's outstretched hand.

"A little, no, make that a lot out of it. The nurse said that his life's not in danger. She said the doctor thinks Daniel had an anxiety attack in the police car which was exacerbated by the drugs. Did you know? They think he took drugs?"

"No." Daniel's voice was thick with unshed tears. "No. No. No drugs. I didn't."

"Yeah, I know." Jack raised his chin and nodded at Daniel. "I know you didn't take anything." He turned back to his mother. "Someone slipped him some brownies that were laced with something, probably marijuana."

"Sorry. Dad, I'm sorry." Daniel started to cry, sliding over to the edge of the bed, pressing as close to the safety bars as he could, and shoved his arm between them, reaching for Jack. "I'm sorry."

Despite his anger, Jack relented and took the few steps separating them and grasped Daniel's hand. "We'll talk about it later," Jack said as he leaned over the bars and kissed Daniel's forehead. Daniel clutched at him and Jack pulled his son into an awkward hug, half supporting him when Daniel obviously didn't have much motor control. The tears abated around the time Daniel's hold on him began to go limp, and Jack and his aching back gratefully eased Daniel back onto the bed. His son laid there, eyes at half-mast, more asleep than awake, a slight smile raising one corner of his lips as he stared at the wrinkled curtains.

There wasn't an ounce of his self-respect that wasn't filled with guilt and shame. During the last hour in the hospital, Daniel had remained quiet, answering only when spoken to, determined to stay under his dad's radar for, oh, say, the next thirty years.

He was tired and his head felt a little fuzzy, but at least he was able to think coherently. He'd trailed his dad and grandmother to the hospital's parking lot and then paused when he opened the door to the Avalanche. The memory of what felt like hours spent suffocating inside the police car made him uncomfortable, so he slid in and made sure to crack the window an inch before shutting the door. He now sat there, leaning as close to the window as the seatbelt would let him, breathing in cold air streaming in from the open window.

"Are you feeling sick, mhuirnin?"

"No. I'm fine."

"Then close the window. Your grandmother's getting cold."

Reluctantly Daniel raised the window, and immediately felt hot and closed in.

"It's all right. Leave it open."

He didn't answer. His father would insist he keep it shut if he tried to open it again. Instead he lay his head back and concentrated on breathing. It felt as if the air he was pulling into his lungs held no oxygen. He drew a deep breath, and another, but felt lightheaded despite it all. His pulse was racing, he could feel his heart beating in his chest and in his temples. Despite his controlled breathing, he found he couldn't maintain the rhythm and pretty soon he was all but gasping for air.

Then all four windows went down simultaneously, blasting him with cool, clean, cold air. He drew in a breath, and another, feeling his panic begin to abate. He caught his father's gaze staring at him through the mirror and he wanted to cry, both from relief and from shame.

"Do you want me to pull over?"

Daniel just wanted to go home. He shook his head and turned away from the mirror, staring out the window. It got cold fast inside the truck and he felt bad for his grandmother, but she seemed to not feel the cold. She kept twisting in her seat to check on him.

It felt like forever, but they finally reached home. Daniel got out of the truck and tiredly walked up the steps beside his grandmother. She unlocked the door and went inside. Daniel followed, intent on heading for bed and a good night's sleep. He flipped his bedroom light on, entered, and shut the door behind him. He tossed his jacket on a chair, too exhausted to go back and hang it up in the hall closet.

A moment later his pants and sweater joined his jacket. He put on a pair of old, comfy sweats and headed for his bed. He was about to get in when he heard a light tap on the door.

"Yeah?" he said, really not wanting to talk to anyone. He hoped it was his grandmother, and his heart sank when he saw it was his dad.

"Going to bed?"

"Yeah." To prove the point, he took his glasses off and placed them on the nightstand. He felt stupid just sitting there so he got into the bed, hoping his dad would get the message. Instead his father entered the room.

Daniel watched him with trepidation as he came up to the bed and sat down.

"We'll talk about this tomorrow. Right now, you get some sleep."

Daniel bit back a retort that that was exactly what he was trying to do. Then immediately felt guilty at the thought when his father leaned over and kissed his temple. When his father got up, shut the light behind him and closed the door, Daniel wiped ineffectively at a tear that slid down his cheek.

John didn't want to like the home. Didn't want to become attached to something that would never be his. To a life he'd never have, but damn. Damn. Damn. He sat on the bed in the back bedroom on the second floor with his legs drawn up to his chest in shock. This was a home. The type of place other people lived in. Not some out of the way, barely above condemnation hovel.

DSL line. Router. Wireless connection. All up and running. Sitting on the floor, he gently rubbed his bruised thigh, willing the ache to subside as he shifted and stretched out his legs, trying to get feeling back.

Derek walked into his room with a knock and a laugh. "I told your mom you wouldn't be unpacking your clothes anytime in the near future."

"Huh?" Then John caught his uncle's gaze at the unpacked duffle at the foot of the bed. "Oh," he laughed. "Priorities."

"Yeah, priorities," Derek said, sobering. "This is for you."

A gun. John always knew where the arsenal was kept. Which drawer. Behind which wall. Under which bed. A million hiding places. Now a million and one. His room.

Derek stared at him.

He stared at Derek who offered him the gun.

John had a healthy respect for weapons. He learned about their care and feeding in the jungles of Central America, before being able to ride a bicycle.

"Just in case," Derek said, "your first line of defense fails."

Translation, in the event a terminator got through Cameron, his mother, and him. John stood and took the gun, shoving it between his mattress and box spring.

Derek took it out and shoved it under John's pillow. "That's better."

"Makes for sweet dreams?" John asked.

Derek dropped his hand on John's neck and squeezed, ever so lightly, before pulling back, embarrassed. "Don't mention it to your mother, okay?"

Crap. He so did not want to get into the middle of this between his mother and his uncle. "Take it back."

Derek reached under the pillow, removed the gun then shoved it back between the mattress and box spring. "Keep it, please," his voice gently beseeched John to do his bidding.

John crossed his arms, but didn't move towards the bed.

His uncle patted the mattress above the spot hiding the gun. "This makes for my sweet dreams, okay?"

He acquiesced.

"Thank you," Derek said with a broad smile.

Daniel often slept in on Saturday mornings, but by eleven and no sign of life from his bedroom, Jack began to get worried. He tiptoed to the bedroom door and opened it, peering inside. Daniel lay sprawled on his stomach, one sock-clad foot sticking out over the edge of the bed, one hand curled under his pillow, the other tucked under his chin. When Jack leaned over him to see if he was okay, Daniel opened his eyes.

"You going to sleep all day?" Jack's resolve almost crumbled when Daniel blinked sleepily at him, turned onto his back and knuckled his eyes like a toddler waking from a nap.

"Time?"

"Long past breakfast, just before lunch." Jack shook his shoulder when Daniel's eyes began to slide shut. "Rise and shine," he said roughly. "Go shower. I'll make something that's a reasonable facsimile for a meal. You have twenty minutes."

Thirty minutes later, all resemblance to a five year old was replaced with a moody, sullen teenager who was doing nothing but tearing apart the turkey sandwich rather than eating it.

Jack moved the plate out of his reach. "If you're done, there's a hamper full of laundry that needs washing."

"Okay." Daniel stood and went to walk out of the kitchen.

Jack's hand flew out and grabbed Daniel's arm. "Okay? You just said okay? You hate doing laundry."

"I figured this was punishment."

Jack nodded. "It is, but I thought there'd be resistance."

"Why would I resist? You're fair. I'm sure the punishment will fit the crime."

Daniel had disobeyed him. Ended up not only in police custody but also in the hospital. So pray tell, why did Jack feel so incredibly guilty just making him just do laundry? "What else do you feel would be equitable punishment, may I ask?"

"Yard work?"

There was nothing Daniel hated worse than working in the yard. "Yard work as in mowing? Raking? Clearing the beds?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yard work is acceptable."

Daniel nodded.

"For the entire year. Until I say otherwise. Yard work and laundry." Jack patted the arm he'd just released. "Make sure to take your antihistamine before you rake."

John's mother had dragged his ass to lunch, put two triangles of pizza on a plate then shoved them in front of him.

"Eat," she ordered.

He picked up a slice, managed one bite then dropped it back onto the plate once his mother and Derek began conversing. Maybe conversation was too kind a word. They'd been snarling and sniping at each other since his mother had asked Derek if he wanted a pepperoni or a plain slice.

Cameron leaned over, snatched the second slice off John's plate, then took a bite. She chewed, never taking her gaze from him. John tuned out his mother's and Derek's conversation over various leads and watched Cameron.

He pushed his plate towards her. "Feel free to help yourself, I'm not hungry."

"You'll feel better if you eat something." Cameron moved the plate back towards John, complete with her slice minus one bite.

Her words immediately silenced the bickering.

"John?"

"I'm just not in the mood for pizza." He shoved the plate back to Cameron.

"Me neither." Cameron slid the plate to the middle of the table.

John was being difficult. He knew he was. "Sorry," he mumbled, hanging his head.

A minute later, a peanut butter sandwich appeared before him and he lifted his head, ready to thank his mother, but she still was sitting at the table watching Derek screw the cover back on the jar of Jiffy. He took a bite of the sandwich and smiled. Much better. John broke off a little piece and handed it to Cameron. "Careful, it might stick to the roof of your mouth."

Cameron examined the sandwich from all sides. "Is it better than pizza?"

John looked directly at Derek. "Some days it is, yeah."

Gazing at Daniel through the kitchen doors, once again there was a chink in Jack's resolve. How was it possible to be angry enough to want to throttle the kid yet be incredibly proud at the adult way he was owning up to the fact he'd disobeyed him?

The throttling was normal, but it was the way Jack couldn't get a rise out of his son that worried him. No argument. No justification of his disobedience. Scary, Children of the Corn acceptance.

Daniel worked.

Jack watched.

Daniel came in around fifteen thirty hours, grabbed a bottle of water and downed it without coming up for air. He put the empty bottle of water on the counter, then rubbed his nose, grimaced and gingerly touched the tip. The afternoon sun had colored his cheeks and nose. And there was a slight dusting of freckles across his cheeks.

Loose strands of hair stuck to his face, little pieces that had fallen from the ponytail, and Daniel was becoming frustrated as he tried to huff them out of his eyes. Muttering under his breath, deft fingers released his hair from the elastic band and Daniel did something that Jack hated; he pulled only the top half of his hair off his face and left the back hanging down.

"You're going out like that?" The words were out of Jack's mouth before he'd even thought about saying them and his fingers had a life of their own as they flicked the air.

"Yes."

The flat affect and toneless answer took all the bite out of Jack's question. "Yeah, it's probably hot outside."

"It is." He pointed his thumb over his shoulder towards the door to the outside. "I'm going to go finish—"

"Why don't you call it a day and we'll go out for dinner?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, Dad, but I'm really not in the mood to eat out."

"How about I bring in. You're—"

"I'm going to finish."

"Go. You go finish we'll talk about it later when you're done."

Jack watched Daniel work for about another twenty minutes before he went into the garage, grabbed a rake and joined his son.

And he'd thought he was physically fit? Daniel groaned as he attempted to wash his hair under the shower's spray. "Ow. Ow. Ow." Halfheartedly, he made a futile attempt to scrub at his hair, giving up when the pain was more than the gain. Standing under the water would take care of what aching fingers could not.

There was a knock on the door just as Daniel was donning a pair of well-worn sweats and a tee-shirt.

"Chinese will be here in about ten minutes."

Daniel's response was slowing in coming until he heard his father moving outside the bathroom door, waiting for an answer. "Thanks."

Daniel was fourteen years old. This was the second go around on his life. He'd died. Been married. Traveled to different worlds. Been kidnapped. Drugged. Had appendicitis - twice. Obviously, whoever said they wanted a second chance at life had never walked in his shoes.

Daniel had stolen a few extra minutes before being summoned for dinner and now he was sorry that he just hadn't just thrown on his sweats and set the table. "Repeat that?" Daniel was pretty sure the cell phone connection was wonky, because there was no fuckin' way Corey would've just said what Daniel thought he said.

"Repeat what?" Corey sneered. "That you're an asshole or that you're a snitch and to save yourself, you called the cops. Hero Jackson, is that what you were going for?"

Stunned, Daniel dropped onto the edge of his bed. "I didn't call the cops."

"Bullshit. You left. They appeared. That's no damn coincidence".

"I would never—"

Corey snorted. "You know, all these years I stuck up for you and this is how you repay my friendship?"

Daniel thought it was a question, and actually was formulating an answer when he realized the noise in his ear was a dial tone. "Corey?" Shit. Heart thumping, he hit redial.

"What?"

"I never would've called the cops, Corey. Ever. They showed up right after we left—"

"How the fuck do you know that? Did you have the time pre-arranged?"

"No. No."

"Don't call me back, Jackson, next time I'm not answering."

Daniel didn't call back. What he did do was scroll through the multitude of voice messages. Cassie. Alexandria. Their messages were filled with concern, the others, accusations. Hateful messages from friends and some just as hateful from people he barely knew.

And a familiar, forty year old feeling of failure settled deep into the pit of his stomach.

Slowly, Daniel set the table, hating that his father kept watching him. Waiting for him to screw up. Again.

"I ordered you shrimp with honey walnuts." His dad followed him, folding the paper napkins by the plates, contrary to Daniel just placing them on the table. He smiled at Daniel as he moved the forks back into place atop the now folded napkins.

"Thank you." Daniel didn't have the heart to say that he didn't, well, have the heart, that was, to mention that even the thought of food was enough to make him puke, walnut shrimp or not.

He wasn't sure if it was the smell or the fact that the first taste of food awakened his hunger, but Daniel surprised even himself by eating two complete plates of food, only stopping when he realized he'd captured the last honeyed walnut from the opened white container. With a burp, he pushed it away.

His dad leaned over and peered into the container. "Did you enjoy that?"

"I was hungry." Quickly, Daniel apologized. "I'm sorry, did you—"

"I was just making a comment, it's okay."

Daniel stood up and grabbed his plate.

"What'cha doing, Icky?"

Daniel shuddered at the undeserved use of his nickname. "Cleaning the table."

"I got this." His father began to gather the dirty utensils.

"Please, I have—"

"You disobeyed me. You didn't commit murder. Daniel, I—" His dad sighed. "I'm not angry. Disappointed. But not angry."

"I'm angry," Daniel said softly. "I'm angry 'cause I screwed up again."

His father had banished him from the kitchen not as punishment, just to get him away from kitchen chores. But as Daniel laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, his bedroom sure seemed to feel like a prison cell.

Daniel stared at his cell phone. This little piece of technology was now the enemy. Once again, Daniel scrolled through the voice messages and deleted them all sans one. He pulled up the last remaining call in his inbox and hit redial.

"I was worried."

Daniel couldn't even answer.

"I talked to Nate and Corey." Alexandria tried and failed to hide her emotions behind a sigh.

"Please don't cry," Daniel begged. "Please."

She ignored his words, though Daniel could hear Alexandria blowing her nose. "I couldn't let them be angry. They were angry. At you... They thought you'd—"

"I know what they thought. At least I know what Corey thought. Everyone else," Daniel shrugged even though Alexandria couldn't see him, "I can pretty much guess what they think of me."

"How could they think you'd call the cops. Nate, Corey, how could they ?"

"I never would've done that." Nate was his friend, but Corey? That hurt. A lot. "Ever."

"I tried to convince them."

"You shouldn't have had to." A little bit of anger was starting to seep into Daniel's hurt. "They should've known that. They know me."

"Daniel..."

"They know me," he repeated softly.

Neither of them spoke, the seconds stretching into minutes. Until Daniel broke the silence. "What about you? How are you feeling?"

"My father's not angry with you. Or me," she giggled softly.

"You're obviously still hallucinating." Daniel couldn't keep the smile out of his voice.

"He had a few choice words for Steve's parents."

"Your parents aren't angry at me?"

"There was a slight anger overflow, but I talked to them—no one's angry"

"I'm angry, Alexandria. Me. I'm angry at me. I was stupid to think I was—"

"You said I was beautiful. Before the cops came. You said I was beautiful. Did you mean that?"

The feel of her lips. Her smell. The way her hair felt. The way she looked— "Yes. I did. Though I suspect you're trying to distract me."

"Did it work?"

"I'm sorry I didn't believe you. About the party."

"You told me I was beautiful. I'll forgive you for everything."

Daniel smiled into the phone even though Alexandria couldn't see him. It still felt good to smile.

"You want any popcorn?"

Daniel shook his head. He didn't want anything. He really didn't want to be watching hockey with his dad, but his dad expected the company. Tradition, his father had reminded him, physically tugging him out of his room.

Truthfully, he wasn't in the mood for anything. Least of all this.

"Popcorn?" His father shook the bowl under his nose for emphasis.

Daniel took a handful more to shut his dad up than anything else. "Thanks."

"There's more if you want."

He held up his hand. "This is okay for now."

Some of the wary tension eased and his dad relaxed, settling back in the recliner, the bowl of popcorn on his lap. "Promises to be a good game. Maybe Corey would like to come over and—"

"No." His answer was too short, too abrupt. Daniel hid the awkwardness of the moment behind shoving the handful of popcorn into his mouth. "Corey's busy," he lied.

"We can have a bunch of your friends over to watch—" Thankfully the rest of the invitation was lost in the action on the TV.

Daniel surprised even himself, getting caught up in the action of the game, until the third period when two consecutive goals by the opposing team in a matter of seconds tipped the scales. His dad screamed and yelled, throwing popcorn at the television.

He curled up on the couch, hugged a pillow to his chest and closed his eyes, only to jerk awake when his father hooted in joy. "Well, it's about damn time. Did you see that—why don't you go to bed?"

He closed his eyes without answering.

"Have it your way," his father warned with a chuckle. "But remember, you're a little too big for me to carry up the stairs."

"Not sleeping."

"Of course you're not."

Daniel felt the strong breeze of displaced air as the afghan was settled over his body.

"Not too big for me to tuck you in." His dad tucked the blanket around Daniel. "Never too big."

Sometimes his dad's Hallmark moments were just too much, and sometimes, like now... to Daniel, they felt just about right.

A car door slammed somewhere and the sound jerked Daniel awake. He yawned, stretched then stopped mid-stretch. He was in his bed, not on the couch and he could only hope that he'd walked and that his father hadn't made good his threat to carry him.

Three in the morning rolled into three-thirty. Great. Three-thirty became four. Daniel was tired but couldn't sleep. In the darkness of his room, shadows came out to tease him. Conversations at the party. The brownies. The time with Alexandria in the van before the cops showed up made him smile. Corey's hurtful words. Like a broken record, the words kept repeating in a loop. His friends' mistrust of him. Anger fed him, keeping him awake, burning a hole in the pit of his stomach.

On Sunday he saw his father at meals, discussing without talking about things. Last night's game. The weather. Next year's vacation. And how heavy Daniel actually was to carry up the steps.

Daniel set the table for dinner. Paper plates for the gyros his dad had picked. Napkins. Cups. A mindless task. Fries. Yogurt sauce. Daniel's mouth watered as he put their dinners on their plates.

"Smells great," he said, sliding onto the seat. Daniel snagged a piece of gyro meet from the side and shoved it into his mouth. "Taste's good," he mumbled around the lamb.

His dad reached over and plucked a slice of lamb from Daniel's gyro. "Yup, tastes delicious," he agreed.

"Hey." Daniel slid the plate from his dad's reach. "Eat your own gyro."

Cursing, John flipped away from the opened blinds.

"Sleeping in?"

John groaned and tried to bury his head under the pillow. He'd spent a horribly sleepless night, the gun was like the stupid pea in that ridiculous fairy tale, its hard casing digging into his body the entire night. "Yes." He pulled the covers over his head, but that didn't stop his mother from snaking a hand under the blanket and burrowing under his tee shirt. "You have a fever."

"Sorry." He flipped onto his back and pushed back the covers. God, that was the only word that seemed to be in his vocabulary these days. "I didn't sleep well."

"Don't be sorry, you didn't—"

"Yeah, I did. I screwed up and touched something I shouldn't have." The fact that his mother didn't disagree or protest spoke volumes. "It's a little late, but I learned my lesson."

"We're going out."

John levered himself onto his elbows. "The Turk?"

"A lead. Someone who noticed Sarkissian's meeting with someone completely different than the people..."

John yawned. "Sorry." Damn, there was that word again and he took a momentary pause before rolling his hand. "Go on."

"Tin miss will be here to keep you company."

It wasn't like he had a choice in the matter. New neighborhood. Unfamiliarity. At the moment, he was their weakest link, but he plastered a smile on his face.

She kissed his forehead. "Take two Tylenol, we should be back in a few hours." She gave John an evil, wicked smile. "Maybe I'll drag Derek to the local Walmart and grocery store."

John laughed. "Rather him than me."

"Don't tempt me."

"I'm sick. Fever." He gave a little deathbed cough.

"Don't push it."

"Word of warning. I wouldn't exactly tell Derek where you're going until after you've dragged him into Walmart, I know from experience—" He shut up in the face of his mother's mock indignation.

"Toilet paper, paper towels, they don't just magically appear in the cabinets, John."

He endured another kiss and waited until she was almost to the door. "This house seems nice. Thanks."

"It's good."

His mother was even more afraid than him to get attached. "When do I go back to school?"

"When your fever's gone. Calls from school nurses put you on the radar."

"Mom, it's been weeks. Plus, pulling me out of school for trips puts me on the radar. Keeping me out puts us all on the radar. Last thing we need is CPS breathing down our necks." He'd been there. Done that. He had plenty of memories of foster care that he'd never share with his mother.

"John?"

His mother was on him in a flash, probably because of something he'd been unable to school. Some expression she'd picked up on. "Talk."

"Nothing to talk about."

"I'm not believing you."

"Just sick of being sick." A little white lie, not that he wasn't sick of being sick, he was but this was more of an omission of the truth than an out and out lie. "I'm pretty much fever-free during the day. I can do school." When his mom looked unconvinced, he gave a half-hearted shrug. "Come on, Mom. Admit it. I'm a lot better."

His mom sighed, and gave a reluctant nod. "I'll stop by the school today."

"Before Walmart?" He forced a levity to the conversation just because he couldn't bear to have any more guilt floating around his psyche than he already did. "Not a smart move to drag Derek into a school after shopping—"

"I'll make sure he leaves his weapons in the car. Promise." She made a little cross over her heart.

"Metal detectors, Mom. Remember the last school? Make sure you leave everything except the necessary paperwork in the car. And don't forget to mention Cameron's metal plate."

He showered after his mom and Derek left. Hot water and water pressure both - little bit of heaven on Earth. The house was worth it for this luxury alone. A shower stall in a bathroom that was modern and not decorated in either mint green or pink. John stretched under the spray, loosening up achy muscles, trying to decide how long he could stay right here before Cameron came looking for him.

Eyes closed, he turned, and nirvana turned to hell as he hit his still bruised, obviously still tender hand against the not mint green or pink tiles as he reached for the shampoo. The pain was intense and surprising. He stood under the water shocked, cursing.

One-handed he turned off the water, stepped out and gingerly dried off. Dressing wasn't easily accomplished and John moved slowly, trying not to jostle and aggravate his hand. He'd forgotten and now he was paying for his forgetfulness.

"Your mom left painkillers on the counter for you to take."

With his good hand, John grabbed the container of juice from the fridge and couldn't down the Tylenol fast enough. He tried to keep his back to Cameron's prying, inquisitive eyes and he wiped up a bit of the juice he spilled with a sock-covered foot.

"You're favoring your hand—"

"I'm fine."

She scowled. "I don't think your fine means the same as mine."

John was saved by the bell and for a split second, he and Cameron stared at each other, then at the door as it rang again.

"I'll take care of it," she said, striding towards the door.

"That's what I'm afraid of." John caught her by surprise, rushing past her only to have her grab him and shove him behind her.

"Hey!"

"You can be civil after I assess the danger."

John held back a snort of laughter. Unless cyborgs now came in the form of grandma-type ladies with spectacles and a warm, very human smile holding a tray of something that smelled downright delicious, he was pretty sure they were safe.

"She's—"

"Probably a new neighbor," John said, glaring at Cameron before turning a smile to the woman standing on their steps. "Hi, my name's John and this is my sister, Cameron." Playing it safe, he stuck to first names.

"My name's Rose." She turned her head and cocked it at the house across the street. "I live right there."

"Nice to meet you." Keep your head down, don't attract attention was their motto, which left John almost at a disadvantage on how to behave around strangers that offered their hand in friendship. He was the first to admit that he was a social misfit.

"Our mother isn't home. We'll make sure to tell her which house you live in and that you came by to see who we were."

Between him and Cameron, social etiquette knowledge could fit on the head of a pin. She had an excuse, he had... his mother to blame.

John stuck out his hand and quickly stopped Cameron from slamming the door in Rose's face and gave an apologetic shrug. "My mom is a bit overprotective. New house, new neighborhood... You understand? My sister sorta takes everything my mom - our mom, says to heart."

"Smart mother. Smart sister." Rose smiled at Cameron.

Cameron flashed her an echo of a smile.

"This is for you." Rose held out the platter. "Just a welcome to the neighborhood."

John hesitated, and the old woman picked up on his hesitation. "Oh, honey," she said, glancing down at his hand, her brow furrowing in concern. "That looks like it hurts."

"Oh. Ummm." John shoved his hand behind his back. "Moving accident."

Rose took a step forward. "Why don't you let me carry this to the kitchen?"

"I'll take it." Cameron moved, plucked the tinfoil-covered platter from the woman's hands and stood there.

"It smells really good." John gave the air an appreciative sniff, trying to cover up Cameron's abruptness.

"Baked ziti. Meatballs. Garlic bread. A favorite of my grandson's."

"I can see why." John began to struggle with a way to end this conversation without appearing overly rude.

"You look to be about the same age as my grandson, Daniel. He's fourteen."

"Sixteen."

"He goes to the local high school."

"Oh." All John could think of was that the woman was going to call his mother and arrange a play date. He was pretty clueless as to what to say next so he nodded politely, smiled even more politely, and glanced over at Cameron who was intently studying Rose. "Thanks again. My mom..."

"Isn't a very good cook."

"Cameron!" Sharing things, no matter how mundane or inconsequential about their life, wasn't allowed.

Wide-eyed and innocent, Cameron stared at him. "It's the truth. You say it all the time."

"That's okay, sweetie." Gently Rose tapped the tinfoil. "Just reheat in a 350 degree oven for about twenty minutes. Keep it covered, you don't want it to dry out."

"Thank you for explaining." Without a goodbye, Cameron turned and headed off towards the kitchen.

"Guess that's my cue, John, to get going."

"Sorry," John gazed over his shoulder. "Cameron's a little abrupt."

"Don't worry. No offense was taken. Enjoy the meal."

"We will."

"Make sure you put some ice on your hand."

"I will," he stuttered.

"Goodbye, and welcome to the neighborhood."

"Being rude attracts attention." John confronted Cameron in the kitchen.

"I was rude?"

With an exasperated growl, John dropped into the chair. "You weren't nice."

"I don't understand."

John peeled back a corner of the tinfoil, stuck his fingers into the platter and fished out a ziti. "Do you understand friendliness?" He shoved the ziti into his mouth, begrudgingly accepting the napkin Cameron gave to him.

"You want me to ask her about the weather? How she's feeling?"

"Yes. No." He shook his head and resisted the temptation to take another piece of ziti. "Yeah, kinda."

"I don't understand."

Pot. Kettle. Black. Blind leading the blind. "You know something? I don't think I do either."

Ninety minutes of sitting on the edge of his bed, with his laptop balanced on a stack of boxes, was not conducive to making headway on anything except his headache. This wasn't working at all. He needed a Snapple and a place to sit where his laptop wasn't in danger of losing its life every time his knee hit the slowly collapsing cardboard.

John lasted another ten minutes before giving up and moved his laptop to the kitchen. While the wireless connection wasn't the best, at least there was a sturdy table and chair but more importantly, he was a hell of a lot closer to the amazing smell of the ziti and garlic bread in the oven.

Cameron had pulled a chair over, sitting at his elbow, staring as intently as he was at the screen.

"You know something?"

"I know a lot of things."

With a quirk of his eyebrows and a shake of his head in frustration, John slammed the laptop shut.

"That doesn't answer the question you asked about me knowing something."

"It's a turn of phrase. Like..." John searched for the right words.

"Have a nice day? Words that you say but don't wait for an answer because you don't care?"

"It's not that you don't care..."

Cameron canted her head like some damn dog.

"You're right. You don't care. You say the words but you couldn't give a crap how the other person's day went."

"Thank you for explaining. I believe I understand now."

John was glad one of them did, because he definitely was lost. Time for a subject change. "How about setting the table for dinner?"

John was showing Cameron a ridiculous skill he'd learned a long time ago. And it took three false starts because of his injured hand before he was able to evolve the napkin from a boring square with orangey flowers to an origami swan.

"What's the purpose of this?" Cameron pulled the tail and the wings popped out.

"Not everything has to have a reason."

"Everything has a purpose, John."

Checkmate. Bested by something that wasn't even human. Inexplicably angry, John scooped up his laptop and left the room.

The table was set. Mismatched plates paired with different sized knives and forks, but it was the flock of paper napkin origami swans that made John smile. The smile was short-lived at the sound of the front door being flung open.

His mom stormed into the kitchen seconds later, Derek at her heels. "Don't say a word."

"I don't have to," Derek countered. "You've said more than enough for the both of us."

His mother opened her mouth, closed it then sniffed the air.

"Hungry?" John asked. "There's..."

Even Derek stepped back as she opened the oven door hard enough that the appliance bounced. "What the hell is in the oven?"

"Rosesziti." Cameron answered. "Did you have a nice day?"

John watched as his mother's storm clouds gathered as she zoned in on Cameron. "What's Rosesziti?"

"Rose's ziti. Meatballs. Garlic bread. A neighbor," John hastily added, "brought that in to welcome us."

"To welcome us?' his mom echoed.

"Rose was pleasant and concerned about John's hand. She talked about her grandson—"

"So basically she was a nosey bitch."

"John said she was friendly."

"Shut up, Cameron," his mother growled, searching the kitchen until she came up with something that would serve as an oven mitt, then reached into the stove, pulled out the tray and literally tossed it onto the counter. "This could be poisoned, John."

"She was an old lady. Terminators aren't old."

"Terminators also aren't sixteen year old girls, are they?"

Point taken. He wasn't going to win this one. Whatever his mother was angry at, John was getting the fallout so he was leaving.

"Answer me."

He stopped halfway out the kitchen. "She was an old woman who was extending her hand in friendship. A neighbor doing something nice. Not opening the door would've aroused suspicion. Hiding under the bed when the doorbell rings... I can't live like that. Greeting someone at the door with a loaded gun... No," John said. "I'm not answering you. You only want to hear your words, and I can't say them. I'm tired of saying them."

"Those words will save your life one day."

"But they won't save the world." John was done. Finished. "I don't want the job. I don't want to be the savior. The Messiah. Leader of the resistance. I can't be. I don't hate people enough to send them into battle. I don't mistrust people. You." He pointed at his mother. "You, on the other hand, can do the job. Feel free to take it, I'm resigning."

"He called me a bitch, didn't he?" She sat at the kitchen table, slowly decapitating the swan napkins.

Derek sat opposite her. "You are. You have to be."

Cameron put a plate of ziti in front of her. "Your strength and anger. Your bitchiness—"

"Thanks, tin girl."

"You're welcome. Because of who you are, John's allowed to be who he is."

"Mind explaining that?" Sarah insisted, using a fork to smash down a meatball.

"John believes the human race is worth saving." Cameron placed a plate of ziti in front of Derek, who waited all of two seconds before digging in.

With an indignant huff, Sarah disagreed. "I believe the human race is worth saving."

"You believe John is worth saving and when you save John, you'll save the human race. John has faith in humanity."

"And I don't?"

"Your faith lies in John and your ability to protect him and keep him safe."

"Go for a walk," Derek said with a dismissive shoo towards Cameron. "Vamoose."

As she canted her head at Derek, Sarah was pretty sure the terminator understood exactly what he was talking about but it was taking cyborg joy in just jerking him around. Maybe if this was another time, it would be funny, but she wasn't in the mood for levity. "Go do what you normally do. Just not here."

With a nod, Cameron left the room.

"The machine listens to you." There was begrudging admiration in his voice.

"If she listened to me, she wouldn't have opened the door for the nosey old lady."

"Eat your ziti," Derek ordered. "It's good." He took another mouthful. "Very good."

"What if I don't want to?"

"Then don't, but stories always go better with a little bit of food in one's belly."

"A story?"

"Eat."

Hesitantly, she picked up a piece of the meatball she'd smushed. "So tell me."

"Once upon a time, someone told me that John Connor, the John Connor I know, had no friends, but that was a lie. He cared... Cares," Derek quickly correctly. "Will care... Damn, I hate this time travel shit."

Sarah speared a ziti and dragged it through the sauce on her plate. "I try not to think about it too much."

"Could drive you crazy."

"Which is a shorter trip for some than for others," Sarah said innocently.

"Funny." Derek waved a fork of ziti at her. "Don't give up your day job."

"As mother of the future savior, I wouldn't think of it."

"Every individual matters to John."

The lighthearted conversation of moments ago disappeared because Sarah hated Derek for knowing a John she had yet to meet. "Get to the point."

"That's what sets him apart. You. Me. We don't give a shit. We're focused. The machine... Focused. One mission and one mission only. Protect John. He's the only individual we see." Derek sopped up the remaining sauce on his plate with an end of the garlic bread. "We see John and John, he sees the big picture. Sees the future, probably in a way none of us ever will. Not now. Not ever."

"This isn't making me feel any better."

"It's not meant to."

"So by being a cold-hearted bitch—"

"You keep your son alive. You insulate him. Protect him."

"We protect him. All of us."

"To the men he commands, he's all you. Hard edged. Tough. Loyal. Expecting nothing he wouldn't do himself. To his friends, he's Kyle, to a tee. Concerned. Caring. All hard edges are softened. And I'm ashamed I didn't see it before. Fit the pieces together."

Sarah raised her fork in a mock salute, pride filling her chest for a man she had yet to meet. "I guess between the Connor genes and the Reese genes..."

"He's done you proud, Sarah."

Darkness was just starting to fall when Sarah decided that she'd cooled off enough and sufficient time had passed to take the wind out of John's temper tantrum. For a peace offering, she heated up a plate of ziti and the last piece of garlic bread she'd managed to snatch away from Derek before he finished it all.

She knocked. Waited. Knocked again then slowly turned the doorknob and stuck her head into the darkened room. "John?" Sarah gave her eyes a moment to adjust then stepped into her son's bedroom. The bed was empty. Completely empty, void of not only John but the pillow and blanket as well.

It wasn't that so many years had passed that she'd forgotten, it was life in general that had clouded the memory. Three years without her, shuffled between friends until the system caught up to him, as it had her and he'd ended up in foster care.

It had been after the previous terminator had died, when Sarah had attempted to put some semblance of stability back into John's life that she'd realized some of John's nightmares had nothing to do with terminators and everything to do with an evil of a different kind - humans.

From pillar to post, as they'd moved across the country, John had spent months sleeping on the floor, dragging his pillow and blanket off the bed to the quickest escape route possible, a window. Always facing the door in slumber, his back pressed up against the wall. And he would never talk. Never explain his reasoning, clamming up when Sarah had asked. Now as she stood in John's dark bedroom, with the plate of ziti in her hand, looking down at her sixteen year old son sleeping on the floor under the window in his room, she felt the rush of guilty heat for giving up questioning why John had felt this was necessary. She should've pushed until he'd fessed up, but she hadn't. Insecure over the stranger he'd become in her absence, her questions had eventually dwindled down to nothing just about the time John had moved permanently to the bed... or so she'd thought.

Gently, she placed the plate on the dresser and crept closer to John, crouching down when she got nearer. "Hey, buddy," she whispered. His left hand fisted the blanket, tugging it up close to his body. His right hand was resting on top of the pillow, the bruises still visible but finally fading.

John woke snarling and fighting the minute Sarah touched his forehead. Fuck, like she'd forgotten this screwed up sleeping habit, she'd also forgotten that it was safer for all concerned to just let sleeping boys lie, and she ended up flat on her ass due to her faulty memory.

His scream of 'no' was deafening as he launched himself at her. As a pre-teen, Sarah had been able to wrap her arms around John with little difficulty, hug the shit out of him, rock him until he fell back asleep and come morning, pretend nothing had happened.

At sixteen, he was stronger and taller, and it was a battle to contain John's nightmare without actually inflicting physical harm.

"Get away!" John bellowed. Though his eyes were opened, there wasn't a hint of recognition. Sarah wasn't sure where the hell her son was at the moment, but she'd pretty much stake her life on the fact that he wasn't mentally in his bedroom.

What a goddamn mess. "Wake up," she ordered, trying to find purchase on the wood floor and gain enough balance to flip John off her. But between his adrenalin-backed anger and her refrain, she was losing the war in her attempt to secure the upper hand.

There was a painful cry of anguish and suddenly John was no longer in her arms. She hadn't noticed Derek entering the room but there he was, holding John back, his hand crushing John's injured one.

Sarah sat up, breathing heavily. "Let him go." But it wasn't her words that Derek paid attention to. It was the machine's actions that spoke louder than Sarah's words as Cameron's hand clamped onto Derek's forearm.

"Please release John."

There was no room for argument. No room for discussion. If Derek so much as hesitated, Sarah was sure he would never be able to use that arm again.

Derek raised both his hands in surrender, glaring at Cameron as he stepped away from John, who tucked his arm against his body before awkwardly scooting backwards, stopping only when he hit the wall.

Sarah crawled over to him, but John would have none of her interference, offering her his shoulder as he buried his face against the wall.

"Go away."

"It was a nightmare," she soothed, skimming the back of his neck with the lightest of touches. "That's all."

"Go away," he repeated, louder, turning to face them.

Derek knelt down in front of John. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."

There were no tears in John's eyes when he lifted his face, but there was embarrassment and a tinge of sadness. "Please. Just get out."

Sarah and Derek were crowding John and incrementally he began to fade into the woodwork.

Sarah turned, fist raised, when Cameron touched her shoulder. "What?"

"I think John wants us to leave."

"I don't give a shit what—"

"Please, Mom—listen to Cameron."

He was begging, pleading. But it wasn't the words John used, it was the sudden moisture pooling in her son's eyes that forced her hand.

John was positive his hand was hurting and he had a fever, but he felt nothing except an all-encompassing embarrassment. It had been years since he'd had that particular nightmare and even now, if he shut his eyes, he could still conjure up the panic that had forced him from the bed to the floor.

He didn't move. Pressed up against the wall, the window was still within reach. That was good. Comforting. Out the window. Onto the roof. Down the drain pipe. Know your exits. Thanks, Mom.

John didn't remember falling asleep. Storming up to his room, slamming his door, yeah, that he could recall. Pissed, he'd dropped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling, watching the shadows elongate against his walls until the room was eventually bathed in darkness, but he didn't remember sleep creeping up on him.

The nightmare was the only evidence that he'd slept. The terror that woke him was the type of terror that even time couldn't dim. Nor would hidden guns under the mattress offer any protection.

As the minutes turned into hours, John buried the embarrassment, covering the emotion with pain. Muscles hurt from inactivity and fever. Flexing his fingers, he grimaced. The need for a Tylenol won out and with a groan, John used the strength of his good arm and leg to push him to his feet.

Every step in this new home was an adventure. Unsure where the squeaky floorboards were hiding, John stealthily hugged the wall, pausing and holding his breath as various creaks announced his arrival.

He should've expected it, but her impeccable timing never failed to amaze and impress him. Cameron was standing at the bottom of the stairs. She was patiently staring at him with such intensity that John quickly glanced over his shoulder just to make sure there wasn't anyone or anything standing behind him.

Nope. Only him on the stairs. He said nothing, concentrating instead on getting to the first floor in one piece and not sliding down the length of the steps on his ass.

On the landing, he faced off against her. She'd never moved. Never budged. Never blinked.

"Feel free to wait here for the next savior." He skirted past her. "I'm going to get some Tylenol."

"Should I laugh? Did you just make a joke?"

"No. No joke," John sighed. "A Tylenol. Or two. A spot on the couch. Watch some TV and I'm good to go. In the morning, I'll get on with the STW thing after the Tylenol kicks in."

"STW?" Cameron questioned.

"Saving the world," his mother said, appearing out of nowhere. Quickly, before John had a chance to object, his mother gently kissed his temple. "Stop pulling the tin girl's leg, it's not nice."

John was hunting for the Tylenol, going through the kitchen cabinets, getting frustrated.

Two pills magically appeared on the counter. "All you had to do was ask," his mother said, producing a bottle of Snapple to wash the capsules down. Opening the bottle was an impossible struggle and he gave up, dry swallowing the Tylenol.

"Damn it, John." The bottle was swooped off the counter, the plastic wrap holding the bottle top in place was quickly disposed of and the bottle was returned with a thump to the counter. "Ask, okay?"

It was ridiculous that tears stung his eyes at the reprimand and he quickly dragged his forearm across his eyes. "Where's Cameron?" John asked when his voice was strong enough not to sound like a pre-pubescent teenager.

"Sent her out for a walk. Get a little fresh air—"

"At three am?" John glanced around, his mother was blocking the only exit out of the kitchen.

"She never sleeps."

"You both have something in common, then."

"Sit down," she ordered as she sat and pointed to the kitchen chair opposite her.

"I'm going to bed."

"Yeah, me too, but first you're going to put your ass in that chair and talk."

John plopped down and threw his arms to either side. "I'm right here. What would you like to talk about? The weather? What the latest terminator will be wearing these days?"

Annoyed, she slammed the table with an opened palm. "Can it. Being an asshole isn't a good look for you, John."

"I'm going to bed," John said and Sarah waited patiently, but he didn't get up. Instead, he pulled the now empty bottle of Snapple over to him and began to peel away the label until he had a nice pile of scrap in front of him. Sarah exchanged the bottle for a stack of napkins and John began to shred them into tiny little pieces.

The sun was beginning to rise when John finally spoke. "I hated you for leaving me."

Sarah wasn't too sure how or if John required an answer or an acknowledgement to his statement. So she just grabbed a napkin of her own and began to add to the pile of shreddings.

"I mean, it wasn't great, but it wasn't bad when you left me with Joseph and Marilyn." John shrugged. "They were sorta cool."

Sarah couldn't help but smile at the mention of their names. John was right; they had been cool. Cool to a twenty-something single mom and John had adored them and they had loved him. They weren't perfect, but they had been pretty damn close.

She'd known what was coming, knew her days of freedom were numbered. Had seen the writing on the wall and managed to be two steps and a hop, skip and a jump ahead of the authorities. Sarah had shown up at the middle-aged couple's trailer. Beyond friends, they'd been a safe haven to both of them more times than she cared to remember. They accepted John and his plastic bag filled with all his earthly belongings with a hug and no questions asked.

She'd given Joseph and Marilyn a quick peck on their cheeks. Enveloped John in a bone crushing hug, and she could remember even now, all these years later, his hot tears on her neck and the fact that she'd left him standing there, book ended by the two people in the world she could consider family.

And that was the last time Sarah saw her son for almost three years.

"I didn't hate you then." He made a pyramid out of the pile of napkins. "Not while I lived with them."

He didn't have to say it, Sarah knew, Joseph and Marilyn had died in a car crash six months into her incarceration.

And John had been set adrift in the foster care system.

"The Dowdy family showed me how to hate you."

"John..." She reached for his hand but he pulled it away, sending the bits of paper to fly off the table.

He dropped his hands into his lap then leaned back in the chair. "Apples don't fall far from the trees, did you know that? Defective parental genes are passed onto children."

"I was speaking the truth."

John shook his head. "I know that now. Hell, I've seen the future with my own eyes. I got a terminator living in the room across from mine. But back then, there was no proof except your word and... and..." John stuttered. "I was ten," he whispered. "The Dowdys made sure I understood where I came from." John rolled his eyes heavenward and sucked in his lips.

Sarah remained silent and waited until John could compose himself.

"A mother who was mentally ill."

God forgive her, but Sarah hoped that every last member of the Dowdy family would be obliterated should they fail to halt Judgment Day. "Are they the reason you sleep on the floor?"

"No, I lived up to the Dowdy expectations. A few school suspensions. An expulsion. A juvee record and I was good to go." He glanced out the window, his eyes widened at the sunshine. "It's morning."

"Yeah."

John shifted in the chair.

Sarah got up and started the coffeemaker. "Pancakes or cereal?"

"Cereal."

She poured John a bowl, stuck a spoon in it, then as an afterthought sliced a banana. Sarah tried to sneak in a kiss, but John averted his face and she hid her disappointment behind preparing a mug of coffee.

"I sleep on the floor because of the Lacson's. Lucky family number four. Heavy handed with all of us."

Sarah retained her adult composure and resisted the urge to fling the mug of coffee against the nearest wall. "All of you?" she squeaked.

"Five. Two biological. Three foster. They left marks one time too many—"

She smashed her mug into the sink. "Fuckin' sonofbitches." Sarah didn't care if John didn't want to be held, touched, or fussed over. She grabbed him so hard, he nearly toppled from the seat. "I'm sorry."

A second's worth of hesitation before John's arms wrapped around her and once again, her son's tears fell warmed her neck. "I'm sorry I hated you."

Gently, she tugged at the back of John's hair. He sniffed loudly and she managed to keep her comments to herself as he rubbed his nose on the shoulder of her shirt before he looked up at her. "Finish your cereal before it gets soggy."

John's smile was grateful, though a bit wobbly. "Mom..."

"I know. You're fine."

The wobbly smile broadened then held fast.

"Eat. I'm going to make myself some coffee."

John shoved a spoonful of cereal in his mouth. "I thought you already did that?" he asked with a full mouth, ducking his head just before she could catch another hint of a smile.

"The mug met an untimely demise."

"Poor mug."

Sarah glanced at the spot on the wall she'd originally been aiming for. "Believe me, it was an honorable death."

"I'm not tired."

"I rescued you from falling face first in your bowl. I think that falls under the auspices of tired."

Arms crossed, feet flat on the floor, John had shoved himself into the corner of the couch and glared at her. "Ten minutes."

"Ten minutes," she echoed glancing at her watch. "Ready... Set... Go..." Sarah smiled evilly at him.

"Six minutes and thirty seconds."

Sarah's eyes flew open. "What?"

"Six minutes and thirty seconds. You won your bet with John."

She scrubbed at her eyes and stared at the tinker toy who was sitting on the coffee table staring at John as he slept. Examining him was probably a better term.

"Touch him," Sarah warned as she stood and stretched, "and I'll find a short pier for you to take a long walk off of."

Slowly, she turned her attention to Sarah. "I would fall into the water."

"Yeah, you would. Can tinker toys even swim?"

"Our endoskeletons are made of coltan."

"Heavier than water, so you'd sink?"

"I don't swim."

The start of Sarah's smirk disappeared when Cameron went on to say, "But water won't harm me."

"Yeah? But how would you get off the..." Sarah shook her head. "Never mind." She grabbed Cameron's hand as she went to reach for John. "Wasn't kidding about waking him, though. Long walk-short pier type of thing."

"I would fall—"

"It's a warning. A what would happen to you if—"

"Are we making conversation?"

Sarah blinked at Cameron, confused. "I think I need coffee."

John had lied to Derek. Couches weren't really as comfortable as beds. Sometimes, in his life experience, couches weren't even as comfortable as a floor and he turned over, trying to find somewhere where a spring didn't make it its life mission to pierce a hole in a tender part of his body.

Something crinkled as he turned, its crumpled edges adding to his discomfort. He stuck his hand under his ribs and was more than a bit disappointed. He'd been hoping for a ten, possibly a five. Hell, he would've settle for a one, instead it was a note from his mother, he'd recognize her scrawl at ten thousand paces.

Took Derek and iron giant out for a ride before their hard edge snipes drew blood or woke you. See you in a while. If you need anything, call the cell.

He flipped onto his back, crumbling the paper further into a tight ball and began to toss it up into the air. Once. Twice. Mindless, repetitive nothingness until he annoyed even himself.

Truthfully, he could get up and work on his computer. Turn on the TV. Watch a movie. His stomach gave a low rumble, winning out over all the other choices.

There was a note stuck to the fridge door. This one in Cameron's handwriting. Neat. Precise. Completely straight, even without a line for guidance.

Turkey is in the fridge behind the orange juice. Make yourself a sandwich.

Part of him actually felt a twinge of sympathy for Derek for being stuck with the two biggest bitches in the world.

He opened the fridge and actually had the turkey in his hand when he noticed the tinfoil-covered tray. Peeling it back, he smiled. Much better than a bland turkey sandwich. As upset as he'd been, Daniel remembered the offering his mother had brought into his room and had been sorta annoyed that she'd taken it with her when he'd thrown her out.

While it warmed in the oven, John showered, allowing the hot water to wash away the last of the cobwebs. He flipped his brain onto autopilot, going through the motions without any thought, because it was just easier that way.

The shower had run into overtime and the end result was a platter of dried out ziti but that didn't deter John from finishing what was left, using his fork prongs to scrape the bottom of the pan.

Monday came faster than Daniel would've imagined and while standing at the bus stop, he was sorry that he hadn't taken up his father's offer to drive him to school. School was going to be bad enough, but the bus ride was going to be torture.

Nate. Li. Corey. Everyone had called him yesterday. Apologies. Amends. Movies. Mall. Tossing the ball into his court. All friendly and chatty and stuff, but Daniel knew better. He was stuck on their not trusting him.

Daniel walked into the bus head down, fighting the urge to drop into the first unoccupied seat behind the driver. And he would have, if Cassie hadn't been screaming his name.

"Back here."

Downtrodden, Daniel moved down the aisle and dropped into the seat next to Cassie.

Corey leaned forward into their space the second Daniel sat down. "What gives, man? I tried calling you all day yesterday."

"Yeah, and we spoke the day before. That message I got loud and clear."

Corey's face colored in embarrassment. "Aww, shit. Look, I'm sorry. I was just pissed. I mean my mom—"

"So you got angry at me. Said things..." Daniel waved his hand in the air. "Forget it."

"Boys, play nice." Cassie sidled up to Daniel, tugged down his hand and whispered, "Sucks to be you."

"Watch it," Daniel whispered back. "I know where your mother keeps all those embarrassing pictures of you. Remember the one where you're going to that boy band concert and you had—"

"Asshole." Cassie elbowed him in the side.

Daniel was thankful for what Cassie was attempting to do. Remind him that today was no different than any other day. That he was no different. Take a breath. Step back. He could do that. Daniel managed a weak smile at Corey who smiled back to say 'all was forgiven'. And for now, it was.

Until lunch. Daniel was neither stupid nor blind. He could hear the talk. The not so hushed whispers behind opened lockers. Going through the Stargate had nothing on attending high school.

He snuck up behind Alexandria walking into the lunchroom. Hooking her around the neck, Daniel pulled her from the sea of bodies over to the side, away from the opened double doors. "Guess who?"

She turned on him, pushing him backwards, apologizing profusely to the people they bumped against, until his back was against the nearest row of lockers.

"Ow." He squirmed, his backpack caught between his body and the lockers.

"Ow?" Alexandria wiggled her eyebrows at him. "Did I hurt you?" She reached around and tweaked his ponytail. "Need me to kiss it and make it—"

Daniel shut her up with a kiss, more than a little disappointed when Alexandria stepped back, severing the contact.

"Dessert after lunch," she teased. "I'm starved."

Daniel stood staring at their regular lunch table. Their friends were surprisingly absent, maybe it had to do with their table being filled with at least twenty paper plates. Each white plate had a square of brownie right in the center.

"School lunch special, Jackson," someone shouted from a surrounding table.

"Hey, Jackson, heard you had a little problem with the brownies. Maybe these will be more to your liking." A varsity soccer player that Daniel vaguely remembered from the party snorted loudly as he added his own plate of brownie to the mix. "Don't say I never gave you anything."

He could feel the flush of anger from his toes all the way to the top of his head as well as the slight pressure of Alexandria's hand as it gripped his.

"Don't," she pleaded, loud enough for only him to hear. "They're not worth it."

Daniel wanted nothing more than to smash the brownie into the face of the varsity soccer player by the name of Tyler who was sneering at him from the next table. Or clear the table with a sweep of his backpack, but he did neither. He simply left. Turned around and walked out through the double doors, trying to ignore the jibes following in his wake.

Down the hallway, out the doors in the back of the school, Daniel didn't stop moving until he had located a secluded copse of trees to the left of the playing field. The punch he delivered to the nearest tree hurt like a sonofabitch, but not enough to make him stop. Alexandria did that, grabbing his arm when he pulled back, fist raised, ready to go another round with the poor defenseless tree.

"Does it help?" Gently, she wiped away the blood on his knuckles with her thumb.

"At least hitting the tree won't get me in trouble." He jerked his hand from her grip then wiped his bloody knuckles on his jeans. "Are you hungry?"

"I sorta lost my appetite."

Without a word, Daniel shrugged off his backpack, then knelt on the grass, unzipping a number of pockets.

Curious, Alexandria sat down, watching him.

"Give me a second." He rooted around in his bottomless pack. "Got it." Triumphant he pulled out two granola bars, a small bag of Cheese Nips and a leftover from Halloween mini pack of M & M's. "Okay," he said, waving the bag of candy by the well-worn corner. "Maybe this—"

"I'm sure it's still good." Alexandria leaned over to grab it, but Daniel leaned in and kissed her, keeping the candy just out of her reach. "I'm sorry."

"I never heard of anyone getting sick from old M & M's."

"That's not what I meant," Daniel said, handing her the candy. "I meant about the stupid party and the fact that—"

"I know that's not what you meant," Alexandria said as she opened the bag and offered it to Daniel.

Daniel peered into the bag, shook his head and settled on a granola bar.

"I love a picnic lunch."

"This isn't much of a picnic."

She gazed at him, eyebrows raised as if he were crazy. "Oh, you're right. There's not an ant in sight."

Daniel and Alexandria pretended that everything was okay and their manufactured everything-was-okay-in-their-world attitude lasted up until they heard the late bell ring.

"Do you want to go back?"

Daniel shrugged, then stood. "Do we have a choice? Just prolonging the inevitable if we cut."

"I hate it when you're practical." Alexandria stood up, wiped off her pants then glanced at the school then at Daniel. "Are you okay?"

"No," Daniel said, reaching for her hand. "But I will be."

Daniel knocked on the doorframe of the tiny office. "Coach Dawson?"

The man looked up from the paperwork threatening to overrun his desk. "Jackson."

"Can I talk to you for a... ummm, second?" In theory this had been a great idea. In reality, the balls that Daniel thought that he'd grown had shrunk back down to prepubescent dimensions.

"Sure. Have a seat." He pointed to the chairs facing his desk.

Daniel hesitated, then looked over his shoulder, the muted locker room voices making him feel more than a bit uncomfortable.

"It's okay, Jacks... Daniel." The coach got up, gently pushed Daniel into his office, then closed the door. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, sir."

"Sit."

Daniel dropped his backpack to the floor, then sat, staring at the worn tiles between his sneakers. Only when the chair squeaked with the weight of the coach's body did Daniel glance up.

"I know what happened." The coach rustled some papers, unable to meet Daniel's stare. "The two instigators have been benched for three games." Finally, he looked up. "I'm so sorry, Daniel. I never—"

"I was stupid, sir."

"If it were up to me, Steve and Lewis would be off the team, but powerful parents—" He waved a frantic hand in front of his face as if to rid the area of an offensive odor. "Never mind, you don't need to know that. Suffice it to say that—"

"I'm staying on the junior varsity team."

"Excuse me?"

"I've thought it over and decided to—"

"Stay on junior varsity?" The coach cleared his throat and leaned forward. "Daniel, you're—"

"Fourteen," he answered softly. "I'm out of my—"

"What? You're more talented than half the boys on that team. You can run circles around—"

Daniel tried to hide the smile the compliments produced, but he couldn't. "Thank you, sir."

"It's the truth. Fourteen or not, you're one of the most talented players I've ever had the fortune to—"

Daniel threw up his hands. "I need to stay on junior varsity."

"Do you want me to talk to your father, because I'm sure—"

"No." Daniel gave his head a vehement shake. "My dad doesn't... It doesn't make a difference to my dad, as long as I'm happy. I'm happy on junior varsity."

"If you ever change your mind, Daniel, you're always welcome to move up."

Move up a grade. To another team. Everyone was intent on displacing him. Daniel picked up his backpack, stood, then shouldered one of the straps. "Thank you for understanding, Coach." Daniel stuck out his hand, disappointed when the coach hesitated before shaking.

Daniel took the late bus home, sitting in the back staring out the window. He thought about homework, Alexandria, and his failing friendship with Corey and Nate. He thought about everything but the conversations going on around him. Passing scenery replaced whispered not-so-subtle remarks about him.

The flavor of the week. That was him, all right. Another few days and everyone's interests would wane and he could go on. Pick up where he left off, maybe this time working on becoming part of the woodwork and not standing out. It was safer that way. And easier.

Daniel ate a slice of cold pizza while he prepared dinner. Roast beef. Baked potatoes. His stomach growled in anticipation and he was just reaching for another slice when the doorbell rang.

"Damn." He dropped the pizza back onto the opened triangle of tinfoil and went to answer the door. "What do you want?"

"Can I come in?" Corey stood there, hands shoved deeply into his pockets.

"Why?"

"Shit, you're going to go all emo on me because of what happened at lunch? It was a joke, man, can't you take a joke?"

"Did you think it was funny?"

"Well... You know..."

"No, Corey. I don't know. What I do know, is that I ended in the hospital. Alexandria, too."

"Yeah, I know, and that really sucked, but it was an accident. Come on. No one thought you were going to eat... Or that anyone was going to eat more than one brownie."

"Alexandria did, and guess what, so did I." Daniel swallowed. "What do you want?" he repeated. "You want me to forgive you? Say that it's okay about what happened at the party? At lunch today?"

"No one got hurt."

"No, you're right. No one got hurt. Today."

Corey smiled.

Daniel didn't return the smile.

Corey's smile slid from his face. "Daniel..."

"I left the varsity team. So you don't have to pretend, okay? I know I'm still a kid; you made that abundantly clear."

"I didn't mean that."

"You said it." Daniel shook his head. "I'm fourteen. You're sixteen. This isn't about me sharing my toy cars with you." God, this was hard. "This is about me growing up and never catching up. I'm not five to your seven anymore. It matters now."

Corey tapped his temple. "Only in your head, Daniel." He scrubbed at his face. "I came here to say I was sorry. About it all. The party. The brownies at the table. I was stupid—"

"You'll get no argument from me." Daniel stepped into Corey's personal space. "You thought I called the cops."

"I was angry. My parents were pissed at me."

"You thought I called the cops," Daniel repeated. "I'd never—"

"I said I was stupid," Corey yelled. "You know my mom—"

Daniel blinked at Corey, a light bulb going on in his head. "Your mom made you come over here and apologize, didn't she?"

"No," Corey said, but he wouldn't meet Daniel's gaze.

"Go home and tell her that everything's fine. Still best buds and all that bullshit, okay? I can pretend with the best of them."

Jack didn't miss the fact that Daniel spent more time mashing the butter into the potato than he did eating it. "Want some sour cream, because maybe that would help?"

"Huh?" Daniel glanced up at him.

Jack pointed at the potato. "You're killing the poor veggie."

"Oh. Yeah." He flashed him a smile.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Fine." Daniel scooped out a forkful of potato, then turned the fork over and let the potato fall back into the shell. "I'm really not hungry."

"Could it have anything to do with the pizza—"

"Oops. Sorry." He put his fork down and pushed the plate away. "Yeah. I was, umm... Working on a project and sorta missed lunch. I was hungry when I came home. Sorry," he repeated, "I know you hate when I do that."

"It's okay." Jack offered up a smile.

"Can I be excused? I have some homework..."

"Sure."

"Call me and I'll help you clean up."

"I can manage. You go finish up whatever needs to be finished."

Jack read the paper while eating, the sports page held more interest than the meal. He ate by rote, more because he had also missed lunch and was starving than because it was delicious. It could've been two slices of toast for all he cared. Daniel's behavior had sucked all the enjoyment out of the meal.

He had just loaded the plate in the dishwasher when the phone rang.

"O'Neill."

"Colonel O'Neill, this is Coach Dawson."

Jack had been expecting this phone call, surprised that it had taken the man until Monday. "Yes, Coach, what can I do for you?"

"It's about Daniel, sir."

Nothing would've pleased Jack more than to borrow Cassie's favorite term and just go "duh" in response; but he was just too damn polite and grown up for that. "What about Daniel?"

"While I can understand why you're making him take a step back and down, is there anything I can say to reassure you that this won't happen again?"

"Whoa, back up a little. What exactly am I doing?"

"Daniel came to see me today. He let me know that he's staying on junior varsity. Personally I think—"

"Staying on jayvee? Since when?"

"Since today," Dawson stuttered. "I assumed because of Friday's incident and Daniel's age, that this was your decision."

"No. This was entirely Daniel's decision, and as much as you and I might feel otherwise, I would ask that you honor his request."

"I told him that there was always a place on varsity for him. He's an amazing player. So, whenever he wants to reconsider—"

"I'll reinforce that. Thanks for the phone call; I appreciate you taking the time."

His first instinct was to barge into Daniel's room and demand to know what the hell was going on, but that never worked, no matter what age Daniel was.

Jack knocked on Daniel's door, but didn't wait for an answer before he entered. "Hey," he said, holding up a bowl of cereal. "Thought you might be hungry now."

Daniel was lying in bed, surrounded by books; laptop, phone and iPod were conspicuously absent. "Thanks." He levered himself up and put a book on his lap.

Jack took that as an invitation, handed Daniel the bowl then pulled the desk chair over to the side of the bed and sat.

Daniel paused, the spoon halfway to his mouth. "You don't have to watch me. I've been feeding myself for a while now."

"I got a call from Coach Dawson."

"Look, Dad, I just thought it was the smartest thing to do. Obviously, I just can't handle... I just couldn't handle—" His eyes widened. "I disappointed you."

"Oh, God, no Icky, of course you didn't. I just wanted to make sure you were staying on junior varsity for the right reasons."

"I need to grow up."

Jack sighed. "That wasn't one of the reasons I was going to give. If anything, you're too mature for your age."

"It's where I need to be. Where I want to be."

"The coach said if you ever want to—"

"I know," Daniel said, stirring the cereal. "He told me the same thing."

By Friday, Jack had had it. This wasn't Daniel. This was some pod person who answered to the name of Daniel and lived in his house and ate at his table.

"All right, spill," Jack yelled, throwing down his fork. "What gives?"

"Gives?" Daniel's gaze raked over the neatly set table and the dinner. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong? What's wrong?" Jack's voice rose with each phrase. He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the short strands. "I don't know what's wrong, except that you've been moping around the house like you've lost your best friend."

"I—" Daniel's mouth opened, but he couldn't form any more words.

"Icky?" Jack felt like an asshole. What the hell had he missed?

Blue eyes filled and instinctually, Daniel averted his head.

"Hey... Hey."

"Can I be excused?" Daniel mumbled.

"No," Jack replied softly, "you can't be excused. Talk to me."

Daniel huffed.

"That's not an answer. You know if you—" The phone rang. "Damn." He pointed a finger at Daniel. "Hold that thought, I'll be right back."

Maybe Jack should say that he was grateful that he didn't have to leave and actually go to the mountain, but his 'be right back' was two hours later. The kitchen was cleaned. Table cleared. His untouched dinner was sitting on the counter, but Jack was no longer hungry. Or actually, he was, it was just that at this moment hunger was going to take a back seat to something else he needed to do.

There was laughter coming from Daniel's room and the door wasn't closed, so Jack invited himself in and pushed the door opened. Daniel looked up at him, teenage annoyance had replaced the dinnertime tears.

"Hang on a second." Daniel held the cell phone away from his ear. "Everything, okay?"

"Everything's okay. I was going to ask you the same question."

"I'm fine. Talking to Alexandria." Daniel waved the phone at him.

"Sorry for interrupting." Jack raised his hands in surrender. "I just wanted to remind you that you promised to help your grandmother clean out the garage tomorrow."

The look on Daniel's face was enough for Jack to know that he'd forgotten.

"You promised," Jack said. "Around one. So any plans you have with anyone, make for the evening."

Daniel rolled his eyes and went back to talking. His teenage behavior oddly pleasing to Jack, who gave his son a thumbs up and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"Do you want me to drive you?"

"No." Daniel shoved the rest of the sandwich in his mouth. "I'll ride my bike." He shot a quick glance at the clock over the microwave. "Wish I'd gotten up earlier."

Jack wished Daniel had gone to bed earlier. He'd listened to his son pace the floor into the wee hours of the morning. Daniel looked tired. There were dark circles under his eyes that didn't belong on the face of a fourteen year old. "What's going on, Daniel?" Jack moved to the kitchen door, effectively cutting off Daniel's only means of escape.

"I have to go, Dad."

"Your grandmother can wait a few more minutes."

"I had a crappy week." Daniel shoved his garbage into the pail.

Jack had the feeling his son's week went way beyond crappy. He stuck his toe in and tested the water. "Are you going out with Dria tonight?"

"Told her I'd call her when I got back from Grandma's."

"Why don't you invite a bunch of people over? Get a pizza. Rent a movie. Corey. Nate—"

Daniel snorted in disgust. "Dad, they're sixteen. They don't want to hang out in my basement. They're sixteen, for God's sake. Not little kids."

Bingo. Jack was pretty damn sure he'd touched the exposed nerve causing Daniel's shitty week. He let the statement go with a shrug. "Sure you don't want a lift?"

"Don't need my dad driving me. Bicycle's just fine."

"Hi."

Rose didn't bother turning about, she just pointed to the pile of boxes she'd just stacked in the corner. "It's about time you got here. If you could please—"

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Hurriedly, Rose spun around in response. "John. I'm so sorry. I thought you were my grandson."

John glanced around then placed the cleaned pan on the nearest flat surface he could find. "You're grandson has good taste. This was delicious, thank you."

Rose had never seen a child as skittish as John and it broke her heart as he awkwardly stood there, studying the cement floor. "It was my pleasure. I love to cook for people who enjoy a home cooked meal."

Quickly, he glanced at her under his fringe of too long bangs and there was no shyness in his smile. "I enjoyed it."

A lady-killer this one was going to be. With that smile, girls were never going to know what hit them. Rose smiled back, wiped her hands on her old jeans then took the pan.

The smile faded away as John pointed across the street. "I guess I'll just be going, I don't want to keep you—"

Something Rose had done had scared him. The pan. He thought she was dismissing him and furtively her gaze swept around the garage, settling on a shelf she'd just cleaned. "Just going to move this up here." Rose made a show of sliding the pan onto the shelf. "Don't want it to break, otherwise I can't send anything else over for you to enjoy."

"Yeah, that would be a pity." A blush worked its way up, coloring his cheeks. "I'm sorry, it's just that my mom..." John sighed. "Open mouth. Insert foot."

"Your mom what?"

"Cooking isn't really one of her talents."

Rose wasn't sure how it happened. How they'd gone to talking about cooking and pans to John lending a hand, helping her clean out the garage. She returned from inside with two large glasses of lemonade.

He used the hem of his tee shirt to blot up his sweaty face and Rose felt terrible when she spied the fading bruise on the back of his right hand. John dropped his hand, then reached for the proffered lemonade with his other hand.

"Still doesn't look great," she commented.

"It's okay. Actually, better." He flexed his fingers then hurriedly, John drank the lemonade, handing the empty glass back to her. "I really have to be—"

"Grandma."

John stepped back, stiffened and eyed Daniel with unadulterated mistrust.

"Daniel, this is my new neighbor, John. John, this is my grandson, Daniel."

A bright smile lit up Daniel's face. "Welcome to my grandma's neighborhood."

John nodded sharply, but there was no friendliness.

"Okay," Daniel said sarcastically, elongating the word.

"Daniel," Rose hissed.

"I haven't seen you around school."

John shrugged. "I haven't been there yet."

Rose stepped into the pissing contest. "John just moved in."

"From where?"

Bless Daniel for his inquisitive nature. Rose beamed.

John hesitated, almost as if revealing his previous residence was a state secret. "California." He filled in the blank before Daniel could ask anything else. "Close to LA."

"Cool. I've never been to California."

"We weren't there that long. We sorta move around." He glanced over his shoulder. "I really need to—"

All of Rose's alarm bells began to sound. Loudly. "What grade are you going to be in?"

"Tenth."

"Daniel also," Rose replied with a hint of pride.

With a slow blink, John studied Daniel.

Daniel bristled. From an arm's length away, Rose could feel it. Something about John was rubbing him the wrong way, though based on John's expression the feeling was apparently mutual.

"And your sister?" Rose asked, hoping to defuse the situation.

"Sister? Cameron, she's in tenth also."

"I didn't realize you're twins," Rose remarked with an amicable smile.

"Not twins."

Every word. Every sentence was short. Clipped. Guarded. Yes, that was the word she was looking for, everything John said was guarded. Even the teen's body language was guarded. He appeared as adept as Daniel at hiding things behind the obvious.

"I have to go, Rose."

"Thanks for helping me."

"He helped you?" Daniel interjected. "I told you that I would com—"

"You were late. I wasn't sure if you were even coming." Rose hated herself the minute the words left her mouth. Daniel's self-esteem was somewhere around his ankles and what did she do? Kick the boy while he was down. She could only hope the supportive hand she dropped on his shoulder was enough of an apology.

"I told you that I would be here." His voice was barely above an indignant whine. Obviously, Daniel hadn't understood her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." John swallowed. "Interfere."

"I was coming. I had to talk to Dad first." Daniel shrugged off her hand and squared his shoulders.

"No need to apologize," Rose quickly added. "Either of you."

John's gaze never wavered from Daniel. "Sorry." There was just the slightest hint of sarcasm. "Thanks again, Rose. Daniel." His curt nod goodbye was anything but 'hope to see you around'.

That body language Daniel read loud and clear and Rose pretty much felt that it was her grip on his shoulder that kept him rooted to the spot.

"He was rude."

"You weren't any better."

Daniel blinked at her; the thought had never even crossed his mind. "Me? I wasn't rude. I thought I was being..." He smiled a dimple-less smile. "He wasn't exactly civil."

She could argue the point but at this juncture, Rose was pretty damn sure it wasn't going to get her anywhere. Her kiss to his temple was unexpected, and Daniel's eyes widened in shock and he melted into her with a heavy sigh for all of one minute before stepping back with a self-conscious snort of laughter. "I'm fourteen, Grandma."

"Too bad, you're never too old to let your grandma kiss you."

"I'm fourteen," he insisted with a hint of blush slowly creeping up and coloring his cheeks.

"And I'm a lot older than you are, so I win by seniority. Kisses and hugs have no age boundaries."

"I love you, you know."

"I know." Rose was clueless where Daniel was going with this, if he was going anywhere at all.

His quick hug brought tears to her eyes and before she had a chance to reciprocate, Daniel stepped back and out of her reach. "I'm going to get the boxes from the basement."

"Where the hell were you?"

John didn't deserve his mom's anger, but an afternoon with Cameron and Derek just brought out the evil wickedness in her.

"I returned the pan to Rose."

"She's across the street; I don't imagine that would take—"

"She was cleaning out the garage. I stayed and lent a hand."

Sarah rolled her hand. "And..."

"And what?" John flung open the fridge door with such force all the bottles on the door did a little dance. "Oh," he said as he grabbed a Snapple and slammed the door shut. "You want to know if we talked? Of course we did. Told her that you were a felon, wanted by the FBI. Derek's picture was probably up in the local post office. Cameron is a cyborg from the future. Strangely enough, this nice old woman had no problem believing any of it until I tried to pass myself off as the savior of mankind. That she had a bit of trouble with." John hugged the Snapple to his chest using his bad hand, then tried to open the top with his good hand.

With a mother's intuition, Sarah knew what the outcome was going to be. John didn't have the leverage nor the patience, not after helping the old woman across the street clean out her garage, to perform the task. "John," was all she managed before the Snapple slipped from his grasp.

"Crap." John tried to catch it one handed but failed. His failure diverted the path of the bottle's downward motion and Sarah misjudged its path.

"Fuck." Her language was much more colorful because she saw the future big picture of shattered glass and a puddle of iced tea that would be her responsibility to clean up. For once, a higher deity was on her side as the Snapple hit the floor, gave a little bounce and just rolled between her legs.

She scooped it up, then ran her hands over the bottle, testing for any glass nicks or cracks before peeling off the plastic, popping the top and presenting the Snapple to John.

John took the bottle. Studied her. Studied the bottle. Then slammed it on the countertop. "You just don't get it." He pushed the opened Snapple in her direction. "Hope you enjoy it."

"I'm missing something, aren't I?" Sarah sat on the outside deck chair next to Derek. Nothing in this house was private. Or sacred.

Derek was staring into the distance, concentrating on something Sarah wasn't privy to. What royally pissed her off was the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of Derek's lips.

"Want to share?"

"God, he's so much like Kyle as a teenager. Good luck."

"Really?" Sarah could feel the start of her own smile. "Had your hands full, did you?"

Derek laughed. Coming from him, the sound was strange. Forced. And more than a bit creepy.

"Did you ever think that I'm not the one you should be telling your stories to?" Sarah kept her voice soft. A soothing, non-threatening texture.

"No. Not yet. One day."

"Don't make one day too far in the future. John needs your memories." She placed her hand on top of his resting on the arm of the chair and squeezed, ever so lightly. "Probably more than you do."

Sarah walked across the street, a bag of Chip Ahoy cookies in her hand. She'd bought these as a treat for John but the middle class girl whose mother stressed never to return a dish without some food item in it took precedence over chocolate chips cookies for her son to have with his milk.

"Well, hello there." The woman smiled at Sarah.

Sarah moved the bag of cookies to her left hand and stuck her right hand out in greeting.

"John's mom, Sarah. And Cameron's," she added as an afterthought.

The older woman wiped her hands on her pants, then grasped Sarah's extended hand, her grip strong and sure. "Rose. Rose O'Neill."

Sarah handed the bag over to Rose. "Theses are for you. I would've baked something but..."

"How sweet. You didn't have to do anything, bring anything, John explained."

"Explained what?" Sarah asked suspiciously.

"That you just moved into the neighborhood. I know what that's like."

"Yeah." Sarah tried to refocus, drag her mind back from the direction it had been headed.

"Would you like some tea? Coffee?"

Sarah shook her head. "Thanks so much, but I really need to get back. Unpacking. Scrounge up dinner."

"Pizza."

"Excuse me?"

"Hold on a minute."

Sarah was left awkwardly standing in the garage while Rose went into the house. She appeared a couple of minutes later with a few sheets of different colored papers, shoving them at Sarah.

"Take out menus. Best housewarming gift I can think of sharing. The top three deliver."

Stunned, Sarah shifted through the papers. "I'm sure I can put these to good use."

"I love to cook. My grandson, on the other hand," Rose sighed.

"Teenager?"

"Definitely."

"Me, too."

"You have two. Double the fun."

"Cameron and John. They make life interesting."

"Grandma, about that table..."

The kid burst into the garage. Young. Younger than John but not by much. Long hair in a ponytail. Glasses. Blue eyes that were unfair to belong to a boy and a dirty smudged face which made him appear even younger than he was.

"Speaking of teenagers, this is Daniel. Daniel, this is John's mother... I'm sorry, I didn't catch your last name."

"Sarah is fine. Hello, Daniel." She caught something in his eyes as he assessed her, intelligence, but there was something more, something that Sarah, who was a damn good judge of character, was unable to put her finger on and it pissed the shit out of her.

Daniel looked down at his dirty hands, held them up to Sarah as an excuse and gave her a smile instead. Hesitant and quick, the greeting never reached his eyes. "What should I do about your old computer table?"

Rose just pointed to the curb. "Trash it. The new one will be delivered tomorrow so why don't you just put it out. I'm sure someone—"

"I'll take it." God she hated handouts, but she hated even more the look on John's face in the kitchen and maybe this would earn her a few forgiveness points. "We lost our house in the brush fires. John really needs—" She could feel herself blushing. "Cartons don't make a great desk."

"No, they don't," Rose said softly. "The table is yours."

Last week his mother had registered them in central office. Today was their official first day. Different school. Same routine for a mid-year start. John was pretty much used to it by now. He sat, slumped on one of the wooden chairs in the main office. His backpack was on the floor between his legs. Cameron sat to his right, ramrod straight, her gaze following each and every person exiting the office. His mom? She was sitting with the principal shoveling the bullshit.

John Baum. Cameron Baum. Children of the poor widowed Sarah Baum. For once it was the same IDs so he had the story pretty down pat. Moved from Lawrence, Kansas to LA and from LA to Colorado Springs.

"Don't be a freak," John warned Cameron.

"Have I ever?"

John did a quick double take, but there wasn't a smile on her face. She honestly believed she'd asked a legitimate question.

"Sometimes."

"Do you have an example?"

"Conversations like this."

"You brought it up."

"Yeah, you're right. I did. Forget it." John slumped even further, then hurriedly tucked his legs back in when he almost tripped a teacher. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Don't be a freak, John." Cameron deadpanned.

The guidance counselor finally showed them their lockers and escorted them to their first period class, which thanks to all the bureaucratic crap of paperwork, had started fifteen minutes ago. Great, nothing screamed new kid like walking into a class fifteen minutes late.

Math. Wonderful. The teacher nodded a greeting and for one horrific minute, John thought he was going to make the class yell out a group hello, but the moment passed and the teacher pointed to two empty chairs in the back of the room. "Welcome," was all he said before turning back and writing a problem on the board.

John took the last seat behind a cute girl, then pointed to the other empty chair two rows over when he realized Cameron was just standing there. "That's your seat," he hissed.

"Thank you for—"

"Just go sit."

"Mr., ummm, Baum, does there seem to be a problem?"

"No, sir." He lowered his head in embarrassment. Now would be a good time for Judgment Day.

"Good. Now, Ms. Baum, would you be so kind as to take that other empty seat?"

And Cameron walked two rows over with every male eye in the room, sans the teacher and John, following her.

"Hey, man," the kid next to him whispered. "Is she your sister?"

John nodded.

"Damn. Can I be your best friend?"

"Shut up, Li, or I'm going to tell Jenn." The cute girl in front of him glared at the kid then turned a winning smile on John. "Hi, my name's Cassie. It would be in your best interest to ignore the majority of people within this immediate vicinity—"

"Cassandra Fraiser, I don't believe the answer to this problem is behind you."

Cassie rolled her eyes before turning around. "I'm sorry, Mr. Lexington, but Li was being an idiot again."

"Hey! I was not."

"Ms. Fraiser—"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lexington. I didn't mean to say that out loud."

John found his second period class seconds before the late bell rang. Cameron, surrounded by a gaggle of guys, walked in just as the bell rang. Experience had taught him to let the other students find their seats before he searched for an empty one.

Cameron ended up in the last row second to last seat and he ended up in the fourth row third to the last seat. There were some faces from the period before. He glanced in Cameron's direction and she nodded at him slowly. He wasn't exactly sure what she was trying to convey, but suddenly he didn't feel so alone.

The class was boring. He stole another glance at Cameron who sat with her gaze glued forward, listening in what appeared to be silent rapture, hanging on to every word the teacher was saying. He, on the other hand, was studying the people within the classroom.

"Hi."

In response to the softly spoken greeting, John turned. "Hi," he stuttered to the girl.

"My name's Dria."

"John."

"New?"

"Yeah." Beautiful girls talking to him in new schools brought back not so many nice memories. They also caused him to fidget. And worry. He looked over his shoulder at the teacher, who was about fifty, balding and skinny to the point of emaciation, very non-terminator material, and he felt a tad better.

"You okay?" Dria whispered.

"Fine. Just making sure my sister is—"

"Mr. Baum. Ms. Montalbano. Cease and desist on class time."

He sighed and sunk lower in the chair, at least every teacher was going to know his name by the end of the day.

John wasn't sure how he'd missed the kid, but he had. The same obnoxious kid whose grandmother lived across the street from him was, at this very exact moment in time, in the three minutes between classes, in a very intense public display of affection with the gorgeous Dria girl from last period.

"Oh, please, you two, get a room," Cassie said before she sauntered into the classroom directly across from the room they'd been in and stood in the doorway. "Do you believe them?" She smiled at John.

The kid, Daniel, didn't separate from Dria, he just gave Cassie the finger.

Cassie laughed. "Going to snitch to my mom who's going to tell your dad—"

"You know, Cassie..." With a huff of annoyance, Daniel broke the embrace, then blinked at John, obviously forgetting his beef with Cassie. There was only the slightest hesitation before he gave John a quick nod.

John managed a half smile. "Hi, Daniel."

Dria's gaze bounced from Daniel to John. "You two know each other?"

"Small world," John answered with a shrug.

"Too small, if you ask me," Daniel shot back.

"Play nice." Dria punched Daniel lightly in the arm.

He colored slightly, just enough for John to feel a tad victorious.

"Meow," Cassie kicked in with a giggle.

John stood rooted to the spot, sizing Daniel up. Daniel snaked an arm around Dria's waist, pulling her close. John got the message loud and clean. 'Hands off'.

"The late bell is going to sound in forty-two seconds." While Cameron's words were said to all and sundry, her gaze hadn't left Daniel's face.

As always, the ever-diligent Cameron was watching his ass. "I'm on it," John said. "See ya later?" he asked, deliberately directing the inquiry at Dria.

"Actually I think you'll be seeing me in about forty-two seconds," Dria answered with a smile.

"Twenty-nine."

"Freak," John hissed. "Behave yourself." He nudged Cameron, forcing her to stop staring at his grandmother's neighbor.

As luck would have it, John ended up sitting behind Daniel. Cameron was to his right, sitting behind Dria. Global history. John hated history. Probably for more reasons than anyone else in this room.

He shifted in his chair, uncomfortable. The teacher was young and enthusiastic and if John gave her half a chance, he was pretty sure that she would manage to change his perspective on history, but he'd have to stay focused.

Focusing usually occurred two weeks after settling into a new school and learning what was required of him to blend into the woodwork.

Cameron answered a question. Meticulous, articulate and straight to the point.

"Holy crap," the kid one row over exclaimed, clamping his hand over his heart. "Beautiful and smart."

"Down, Corey," Dria answered back.

There was laughter and Cameron flashed a brilliant program-embedded smile, but John noticed the smile dropped from her face the minute the teacher turned her back.

John watched Dria study Daniel, who had his head bent low. Her hand reached out and touched his arm. For one second Daniel reciprocated then pushed her away. From his seat, John saw what Daniel did not, Dria's expression of hurt and humiliation before turning her attention back to taking notes. Interesting. It would seem that not all was happy in Danny's world.

John was in his element. Computer programming. Knowing his mother's mistrust of his inability to keep his computer knowledge contained to his bedroom, John was more than a bit surprised to find himself in this class.

There was no Daniel here. Dria, Cassie, and two kids named Nate and Corey, the latter seeming more than enamored with Cameron. John was at ease in this class, falling right into step and the teacher, a guy in his late twenties, picked on and honed in on the new kid in class.

John held back, asked questions to which he already knew the answers, because he didn't want to draw attention to himself, or to Cameron.

"Wanna be my tutor?" Cassie asked, leaning over John's shoulder.

"I would be a better instructor," Cameron answered.

"Thanks for the offer, but your brother is cuter."

John dropped his head, hoping his hair hid the blush spreading up face.

"Hey, that's a matter of opinion," Corey announced. "Cameron's definitely cuter than John. No offense, John," Corey quickly apologized.

"None taken," he mumbled.

"Come on, guys. Cassie. Corey. Act your age."

Corey snorted. "Wonderful sentiment from someone who's robbing the cradle."

"Asshole." Dria slammed her textbook shut.

"Alexandria," the teacher warned.

Corey smiled.

Dria didn't, but she offered the teacher a terse apology for her language.

Oh, that hit a nerve, but not enough for Corey to apologize. Cameron opened her mouth, and John nipped whatever she was going to say by kicking her ankle.

"No," he mouthed at her when his tin protector glanced over at him. "No freak show."

The relaxed atmosphere of the classroom was gone and they worked in uncomfortable silence until the bell rang. Dria rushed out of the room, Cassie hot on her tail. Corey and Nate watched their departure with matching smirks. John grabbed his backpack, slung it over his arm and took off. Last thing he wanted was to get involved in some teenage soap opera.

John hated gym class. No matter what town, what city, what school, he detested gym class. Not that he wasn't athletic, but because he was unable to wrap his mind around the entire 'rah rah' attitude.

Except for LA, most of the schools had been football-based. They were the heroes, hell, even the teachers had looked up to the jocks. It had never taken John long to learn the rungs of the ladder of social status within the walls of higher education.

And what really sucked was that John had thought that he'd get a reprieve. No gym clothes. No shorts or tee shirt and he'd be able to sit this one out. Wrong. His mother had covered all bases, reminding him, when she drove him to school, that they were buried in the bottom of his backpack. To her, sending John to school was like sending him on a mission, fully prepared. Lucky him.

Wearing shorts was bad enough. Wearing shorts with a still impressive bruise on his thigh sorta stopped his ability to blend into the woodwork.

"Shit, man," Corey said pointing down at the rainbow hue on John's thigh. "What the hell happened to you?"

Nonchalantly, John looked down. His hand had pretty much faded, to the point if you didn't know it was there, you'd never notice the slight yellowish color. His leg on the other hand. Not so much. "Oh, that? I touched something I shouldn't have." He hoped that his attitude would bring Corey's curiosity to a screeching halt. Nope.

"Did it hurt? 'Cause it still looks like it's damn painful."

"Nah, actually, I actually don't even remember it happening." Not really a lie.

Corey had his mouth opened, ready to ask another question but John had never been so grateful in his entire life to hear a gym teacher's bellow for everyone 'to get a move on'.

A soccer ball. A grassy field and a smattering of orange cones with the instructions to dribble the soccer ball in and among the cones. Corey was a natural. Nate and two other kids held John's attention. Daniel managed the course is if it were second nature. A few other kids were okay. Some were just klutzes. Some just didn't give a shit. Not giving a shit put you on the radar, so when it was John's turn, he dribbled the course, checking his speed but not his maneuverability.

The coach changed the cone formation, blew the whistle, then had them do it all over again.

"New kid... You." The coach waved him over after he'd finished the last go through.

John trotted over to him. "Sir?"

"Have you ever played soccer before?"

In Central America to pass the time, but John didn't exactly think that was the answer the coach was looking for. "Not on a team."

"Interested in coming to a few practices?"

"Excuse me?"

"I think you'd be a real asset to the school's soccer team."

John chuckled, then realized the coach was serious. Deadly serious. "Oh. Me?"

"I'd like to see you in action. And I don't mean a gym period." He blew the whistle. "Set 'em up," he screamed to the kids still on the field. "Friday after school."

"No, I don't think so. I mean, my mom..."

The coach dropped a hand on John's shoulder and squeezed. "Your mom will get all caught up in the game. The booster club..."

"Not my mom."

"Friday, after school."

"No," John repeated.

The coach's glance shifted to John's thigh. "What? You have some medical problem I should be aware of?"

"No."

"Just give this a chance. I don't think either of us will be disappointed." He clapped his hands and headed out towards the field, leaving John standing dumbstruck.

"Pass me the damn ball, Daniel." John wasn't winded, he'd spent his life running, but he was damn pissed as hell. The coach had chosen sides and he and Daniel had ended up on the same team. Nate and Corey on the other. The other kids had almost drifted to the wayside, observing the four of them battle for one single goal.

John had to give the kid chops. Daniel was unrelenting in his desire to keep the ball out of Nate and Corey's possession, as well as John's.

"Jackson," the coach yelled from the sidelines. "Pass the ball."

Daniel gave a quick glance in John's direction and passed the ball with more force than was necessary, but he didn't count on John's reflexes. He trapped the speeding ball, dribbled around Nate and Corey, who hooted and hollered at his ability. Damn, John was pretty floored at how good the cheering felt.

"What the—" John stopped running and threw his hands up in surrender when Daniel stole the ball from him and continued down the field towards the opposing team's goal. "Nice," he grumbled.

The whistle was loud and clear, about as loud and clear as the anger etched on the coach's face as he stomped across the field. "Jackson, what the heck was that?"

"Forget it," John said as he walked past the coach off the field on the way to the lockers. "Don't count on me showing up on any Friday practice."

John ran his fingers through his still wet-from-the-gym-shower-hair and slicked it back, then rolled down the sleeves of his shirt. Colorado was colder than what he was accustomed to and the shower hadn't exactly helped with either the chill or the general feel of annoyance.

"Good game, Baum." Nate pounded him as they passed through the doors leading out of the locker into the hallway.

Daniel was walking out right on their heels, close enough that he obviously overheard Nate. And as much as it killed him to say "It was a joint effort," John was the new kid on the block and had to make nice.

"Not from where I was standing," another kid commented as he bypassed the group. "Looks like Jackson doesn't share well with others."

Nate laughed.

John didn't.

Daniel made a comment under his breath and pushed between John and Nate.

Great. John gave a furtive glance around, searching for some woodwork to blend in with.

Lunch. The one thing he hated more than gym. He was sixteen friggin' years old and his mother still brown bagged his lunch.

He stood in the entranceway, rooted to the spot as people skirted around him, searching the endless tables for Cameron, or at least an empty spot where he could sit, open his laptop and hide behind it while he ate his turkey on white bread with a single swipe of mayo and a sad slice of tomato.

"John."

Over the din, he heard someone call his name. Surprisingly, it wasn't Cameron, but Dria who was sitting at a table with Corey, Cameron, Cassie, Nate and a few other kids who had been in a some of his classes, but whose names had slid from his memory. No Daniel. Nice.

"Hey." He slid onto the bench, sitting next to Cameron, across from Dria, who smiled up at him.

"Welcome to the highlight of the day."

Daniel dropped his tray onto the table, then sat next to Dria. "Yeah, highlight." With familiarity, Daniel reached into Dria's tray and switched his dessert for hers.

John reached into his backpack and pulled out his crushed brown bag and his laptop. He powered up his laptop and opened his bag, sighing. His mom was, if nothing else, predictable.

Without a sound, Cameron got up. Her own sandwich had two bites missing from it, resting on the brown bag.

"Wait, Cam," Corey shouted, trying to untangle himself from the lunch table bench and follow her.

"Cam? Did he just call her Cam?" John snorted.

"She doesn't like the nickname?" Corey reclaimed his seat. John figured Corey thought he probably was a wealth of knowledge about his sister.

"About as much as I like Johnny." One person in this world was allowed to refer to him by that name. Only one.

"Or Daniel likes Danny," Corey added.

The French fry on its way to Daniel's mouth stopped as he glared. "I know too many of your secrets, Core, for you to play with fire."

Corey admitted defeat in his silence.

"Nice laptop." Daniel tapped the top of John's monitor. "Walmart special? One of those two ninety-nine door buster Black Friday specials?"

Corey placed a hand in the space Cameron had vacated and leaned into Daniel's space. "Dayum," he said with a heavy, sarcastic put-on Southern accent. "I gotta get me one of these. Look at the speed on this."

"Move, so I can sit," Cameron ordered.

Corey shot up and smiled at Cameron like a lovesick puppy.

"I bought you a chocolate milk." Cameron handed John the drink before sitting. "It's his favorite," she offered up to the table.

"Thanks," he stuttered, holding up the milk.

"It's your favorite," Cameron repeated.

"I think everyone knows that now." With the milk still in his hand, John waved it over the table.

"Personally," Cassie piped up, stealing a chip from the bag of the person next to her. "I prefer strawberry milk."

"That's 'cause you're a girl," Nate said. "Ow! You kicked me."

"It hurt?" Cassie batted her eyelashes. "How's that possible? I must kick like a girl."

"Is it a bad thing to kick like a girl?"

"Nate's insinuating that because Cassie's a girl, she kicks like a wuss." Dria stuck a food-covered tongue out at Nate.

"John, do I kick like a—"

"No," he answered hurriedly, terrified that Cameron would demonstrate exactly how unwuss-like her kicking ability was.

Daniel tore his grilled cheese sandwich in half. "So tell me about your laptop. I've heard that some of the no name brands can be—"

"It's modified." John didn't want to give any more information than that.

"John's laptop isn't a wuss."

"Did you build it yourself?" Dria totally ignored the look of disdain Daniel sent her way.

"The guts of it. Internal processors. Video card. Upgraded. All of it." John slurped up the last of his chocolate milk and shoved the remainder of his unfinished sandwich into the bag. "I was never one to just accept the manufacturer's parameters of what they believed I needed."

Them were fighting words. Short of drawing a gun, or whipping out his dick in public and marking his territory, John had strengthened the foundation of dislike Daniel had started.

"God, I love to watch the geeks do battle." Cassie gave a tiny clap of her hands. "Who's got the bigger machine? More memory? Speed? Which one is king of the Ethernet?"

It was if he'd been slapped in the face. The beginnings of Skynet in a high school lunchroom. Hurriedly, John powered down, slammed the laptop closed and zipped it up.

"I'm sorry, John." Cassie was truly upset. "I didn't mean to say something..."

"Fine. It's nothing. I just gotta..." He stole a glance at the clock on the wall and on cue the bell rang.

Joy. John was in Spanish with Nate, Li, Cassie, and Daniel. It was safer to keep his mouth shut and he slunk lower and lower in the chair, concentrating on the ditty the teacher had handed out. Spanish was as native to John as English was. He was a fluent speaker and reader... writing Spanish, not so much.

John didn't even look up when the teacher asked him in Spanish how he was managing his first day in a new school. He just answered. In Spanish. Perfectly accented Spanish, only glancing up at the wave of silence that slammed into him when he stopped speaking.

Shit.

Even the teacher was opened-mouthed in shock.

"Well, Ummm... John Baum, you speak Spanish quite well," the teacher commented, this time in English.

John shrugged. "Thank you... I... Ummm... My grandfather was from Central America and he lived with us for a couple of years."

"Impressive."

Daniel, who was sitting to John's left, bent over as soon as the teacher's back was turned and in perfect Spanish, in an accent as good as John's, he whispered exactly one word. "Presumido."

Showoff? Without thinking, John answered back to get lost, the colloquialism, "Pierdete," bringing a frown to Daniel's face.

The last class of the day was science. Chemistry. And his thoughts were of Cheri as he stood in the doorway, perusing the lab tables and the chairs being taken. Cameron joined him in his observation.

"I'll be your lab partner, John."

"Thanks." He was tired of keeping up pretenses. Having Cameron as his partner meant he didn't have to lie and pretend to be someone he wasn't. Smile and make all the right remarks.

"Come on." Cassie grabbed his arm and pulled him into the classroom. "You're going to be my lab partner. Corey used to be mine but we've switched. I got you and he's taking on Cameron."

Cassie was exhausting. Okay, she made him smile. And laugh. And she forced him to let his guard down which was dangerous and all he could think of was getting home, taking two Tylenol and shutting himself up in the quiet solitude of his room.

John dropped his backpack by the front door and trudged into the kitchen with Cameron at his heels. "Mom, we're home," he yelled. "Alive. Aren't you proud of us?" He reached into the fridge, moved aside a few items, then slammed the fridge shut. Frustrated. No Snapple. Just plain milk. He hated milk. Milk belonged in cereal or in a glass with a squirt of chocolate.

His mom didn't answer. He ignored Derek's shout of greeting, grabbed his backpack and stomped up the stairs to his room.

John settled on the bed, spilled out his books, opened his math book and read. Or actually, he had every intention of reading.

"Hey, sleepyhead."

John rolled onto his back and forced open uncooperative eyelids. "I fell asleep?"

"It was unanimous. Derek and Cameron both agreed you really passed out as opposed to falling asleep."

John groaned. "It was school. I'm a teenager. One day of school after being off for..." He flinched from the hand his mother extended.

His mother pulled back, hurt. "You've been sick. Cut yourself some slack," she said curtly.

"Where were you?" he asked, his tone as petulant as a kindergartener.

"Cranky much?" She gave him a gentle poke in the ribs.

John snorted. His mother rarely, if ever, was in a playful a mood. Serious. Stern. Demanding. Those adjectives were more apropos when describing her. John never doubted her love but he'd never categorized her as a fun mom. Kinda, sorta, definitely worried him. "Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine."

This time John allowed his mother to cup his cheek into her palm. He pushed against it. "I was just tired."

"I'm sorry."

"You should be. Came home from a hard day at school and there's no Snapple in the house."

"I brought a roast chicken. Mashed potatoes. Corn."

"Snapple?"

"I don't know," she answered, "come downstairs, set the table and see. Maybe the shopping fairy remembered to buy you a bottle or two."

"Shopping fairy? I wouldn't let Derek know that's what you call him."

"How was school?"

John glanced up from his plate. "Okay."

"Okay?" his mother pushed. "What's okay mean?"

"The day was neither excellent nor poor. It was mediocre," Cameron answered.

His mother nodded at Cameron. "Thank you, Webster."

Cameron glanced at John. "That's not my name."

"You're a machine. Machines don't have names." Derek didn't even look up at her, his attention solely on his dinner.

John banged on the side of his plate with his fork, feeling the need to put a stop to the conversation before it denigrated into something else entirely. "The day wasn't half bad. Cameron has an admirer."

"He said I was smart and beautiful."

"Great. That's wonderful. Tell him you have an overprotective mother who's armed and dangerous."

"Derek," John hissed, turning to his mother for support.

"Shut it, Derek," she said before turning to Cameron. "Don't listen to him. He was being an..."

"Idiot?" Cameron completed the sentence.

Derek growled. Low and deep.

"Children." John was barely able to suppress a smile. "Behave yourself. Do not make me separate you." John winked at his mom. "How'd I do?"

"Good, though you still didn't answer my question about how your day went."

"No one lost their life, but my need to kick someone's ass may increase exponentially as the week progresses."

"During lunch, Daniel insulted John's computer."

"Well then, by all means, kick the crap out of him. I give you my permission."

The glare John gave Derek was lost on Cameron but not his mother, who just glared right back at him. John raised his hands in defeat. "I know. I know. Fighting in school gets you on the radar. I'm not stupid, but damn, that kid so deserves it."

When Mr. Gintz, the Assistant Principal, knocked on the door, the teacher didn't seem surprised. However, everyone else was when they were all ordered to exit the classroom and stand against the walls in the hallway. The students from the class next door were filing back inside, and a policeman was escorting another varsity player from the party away.

There were five police officers waiting for them. And a dog. A pretty, well-behaved cocker spaniel. When they were done lining up, an officer walked down the hallway with the dog, encouraging it to sniff each student. Daniel watched with curiosity as the dog sat down next to Lewis Bloch.

"Please step aside, Mr. Bloch," Mr. Gintz ordered. The dog continued on its way, and Daniel smiled as it approached him, taking its time, sniffing each and every student. A few girls reached down to pet the dog as it passed, and it wagged its tail.

Daniel was tempted to do the same until one of the cops chastised the girls, telling them to let the dog do its work. He was smiling as it came up to him and to his horror, the dog sat down next to him.

"Mr. Jackson, this way, please."

"But I—"

"Jackson. Now."

As Daniel stepped away from his classmates, hands sweaty and mouth suddenly spitless with nerves, the dog moved on and sat down next to Alexandria.

"Ms. Mantalbano."

Daniel stood next to Lewis Bloch, who for once wasn't wearing his usual smart-assed sneer. Alexandria hurried over to Daniel and grabbed his hand, her eyes wide with fear.

"Please come with me," a police officer told them. One of the office secretaries stood waiting and handed the officer a piece of paper. Daniel, still holding Alexandria's hand, followed the officer to the lockers, where they were instructed to open theirs and wait.

Michael Pansini, the school Principal was here, and the looks of disappointment he gave Daniel and Alexandria was something Daniel would probably never forget. There were also several more police officers, as well as yet another dog. As Daniel and Alexandria walked past several students whose lockers were in the process of being searched, another officer was putting handcuffs on Paul Mordina, the center for the varsity team. Daniel remembered him from the party and from the way Alexandria squeezed his hand, he was pretty sure that she recalled his presence there as well.

He reluctantly let go of Alexandria when he reached his locker. It took him three tries to open his combination lock. Then he stood there uncomfortably and waited until the black Labrador retriever approached his locker. He was waved aside as the dog checked out his belongings. To his intense relief, it didn't react.

"Please wait for me in my office, Mr. Jackson."

"Sir, can you please tell me what this is about? I haven't done anything."

The police officer was playing with the lab and it was distracting to hear a squeaky toy being vigorously gnawed on by a tail-wagging dog whose partner upstairs had just accused Daniel of something he was innocent of.

Mr. Pansini looked at Daniel over his short glasses. Daniel swallowed. "I don't do drugs, sir."

"The dogs say differently. My office. Now."

Three other students were being escorted to their lockers, two of them Daniel remembered seeing at Steve's party. As Corey, Nate and Li weren't amongst them, Daniel couldn't help but wonder if someone had fixed this with the cops, had given his and Alexandria's names to the police so that they could give the dogs a signal to single them out.

The squeaking stopped, and Daniel, who'd started to leave, turned to watch as the lab now checked out Alexandria's locker. She was staring at it with one hand covering her mouth, and when the dog moved on to Lewis's locker and Mr. Pansini ordered her to his office, she half-ran down the hall to Daniel.

"I can't believe this," she whispered, leaning against Daniel as a policeman waved them on their way.

"Why us? The party was on Friday. It's been more than three days. How do the dogs know?"

They'd reached the stairs and were about to go up when loud curses came from the vicinity of the lockers. They stopped and peeked back the way they'd come. The lab was sitting in front of Lewis Bloch's locker, and one of the officers was slowly emptying it.

Without a word, the two of them went up the stairs, hand in hand. Alexandria's fingers felt as sweaty as his own.

There were five kids standing around the waiting area, two of them looking belligerent, one of them looking just as scared as Daniel felt. The other two... Damn, just his luck.