Wayward Son / Sarah Connor Chronicles – No One is Ever Safe

by devra and JoaG

Authors' Notes: This fic takes place after Wayward Son: Lies to Live by, and Season one of Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles. While we finished writing it around April 2008 and had hoped to have it edited and posted before the September 2008 premiere of the show, we got too caught up in writing the sequel to this story and just couldn't find the time and energy to rush the editing before our self-imposed deadline. While we barely mention the after-effects of the Jeep exploding with Cameron in it, we acknowledge poofing over the reason why it happened.

________________________________________

"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 wasconcerned aboutwas 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.

________________________________________

tbc