“I am so sorry, Dr. Jackson,” Dinarra says, handing Daniel a handkerchief. “Hallen is allergic to many things and all the flowers in the hall have probably aggravated his condition.”

Daniel smiles at the embarrassed woman, wiping at his face. Young Hallen peers at him from his mother’s arms. He doesn’t seem at all sorry to have sneezed all over an off-world guest.

“It’s fine, Dinarra. I have allergies myself.” He looks over and sees Jack waving at him, looking pointedly at his watch. “Unfortunately, it’s time for us to go.” He hands back the handkerchief and smiles to take any possible sting out of his words. “We’ve enjoyed our stay here.”

“Will we see you again?”

“Probably not us specifically, but my government will send a team of diplomats to discuss trade relations with your leaders. There is much our peoples can learn from one another.”

Dinarra smiles. “There is indeed. I look forward to it.” She holds out her hand in the way Jack showed her the day before. Daniel shakes it.

Then he makes his way through the reception hall and back to his team. Twenty minutes later, they step through the stargate.

XXXXXXXXXX

“Seriously, Doc, you should have seen it. One minute we’re all staring at each other at gunpoint, and the next Daniel’s sweet-talked them into throwing us a feast.”

Daniel rolls his eyes as Janet runs her hands down the sides of his neck, checking for inflammation and God knows what else during his post-mission exam. “It was hardly that easy, Jack.”

The Colonel swings his feet back and forth as he sits on the cot, one arm in a blood pressure cuff being run by one of the nurses. “It was close enough. They were eating out of your hand within half an hour.”

Daniel sighs loudly, his objection interrupted when Janet sticks a tongue depressor halfway down his throat. “Ahhh.”

He hears Sam’s voice from behind him. “Don’t deny it, Daniel. It was pretty impressive.”

“Indeed,” says Teal’c, although the word is somewhat muffled behind the thermometer the Jaffa has in his mouth. Janet still insists on checking him thoroughly too, despite his symbiote. Just as well. The thermometer almost covers the amusement Daniel can still hear in his voice.

Daniel suffers a scope in his ears, then a penlight in his eyes, before Janet finally looks directly at him, rather than at whatever part of him she’s currently inspecting. “You’re fine.” She tucks the penlight in her pocket and surveys her infirmary. Everyone seems to be behaving to her standards, and she turns back to him, hands on her hips. “So, tell me. How did you convince them you were friendly?”

He blushes. This is embarrassing. “I, uh, I swore.”

She cocks an eyebrow. “You what?”

“I swore. In Abydonian.”

Janet keeps staring at him, clearly awaiting further explanation.

“The entire situation was just so reminiscent of every bad first contact we’d ever had. The first thing anyone ever does is stick a gun in our faces. It’s very frustrating. I’d had enough. It was just a coincidence that they understood me and found it amusing.”

“What did you say?” Janet asks.

Daniel clears his throat. “It was a curse that became popular on Abydos after Jack killed Ra. Roughly translated it’s ‘May your head bow under the waste of your camel’.”

Teal’c snorts with suppressed laughter, just as he did on the planet.

Janet continues to stare. “And this made you new friends?”

He nods. “You see, in Abydonian it sounds almost exactly like the phrase ‘Blessed is the Almighty Ra’ which was part of the devotions they were once forced to give. They’ve turned it into a blasphemy against a false god. Turns out our recent hosts were once ruled by Ra and appreciated the sentiment. So we settled down to talk.”

Janet shakes her head and then moves on to explore Sam’s throat and ears.

Daniel doesn’t even think to mention Hallen’s sneeze.

XXXXXXXXXX

After the debriefing, Hammond sends them home for the week of downtime they have coming. For once, Daniel doesn’t begrudge being kicked off the base for seven days. He’s just brokered the first stages of an alliance and trade agreement by losing his temper. It worked out in this case, but it speaks of him desperately needing a break.

He stops on the way home at a grocery store. It’s been a while, and anything that was in his fridge last time he was home is probably well beyond the edible stage.

He’s pondering the steak choices at the meat counter when he feels tiny arms suddenly wrap around his leg. He looks down to discover he’s acquired a toddler. The girl smiles up at him, before starting to cry when she realizes that Daniel is not, in fact, Daddy.

Daniel looks around the aisle, but can’t see anyone who seems to be missing a child. He crouches down so he’s almost at the little girl’s level. She looks to be about three. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

She scrubs at her right eye with a tiny fist. “Chelsea.”

He smiles at her. “Hi, Chelsea. I’m Daniel. Did you lose your Dad?”

Chelsea nods solemnly.

“Okay. I’ll help you find him. We’ll go to the help desk and have them make an announcement. Can I hold your hand?”

Chelsea seems to think about it for a minute, but then instead of offering her hand, she throws her arms around his neck.

Daniel is taken aback for a moment, but then shrugs and goes with it. He hoists her up and settles her on his hip. She snuffles into his neck, not releasing him in the slightest. He can feel what he hopes are tears sliding over his collarbone.

This is new. Cassie is the only child Daniel has had any experience with lately, unless you count the Urrone of Orban, and Cass is fifteen now, going on twenty-five. Still, it’s kind of nice to be so instantly trusted by someone he hasn’t just tried to insult.

He makes his way to the service desk at the front of the store, carefully keeping an eye out for a frantic-looking father figure. They almost reach the desk when he spots one. Or rather is spotted by one.

“Chelsea!” The man rushes over, clearly unsure of Daniel’s intentions. He reaches for the little girl.

Daniel hesitates to release her until she returns the greeting with a joyous “Daddy!” Then he lets go and watches the happy reunion proceed.

After a moment, the young father looks up. “I’m very sorry. I merely turned around for a moment and she’d vanished.” His accent is English. Southampton, if Daniel’s not mistaken.

Daniel nods. “I understand.” He looks down, noticing the man’s loafers. “We just happen to have the same taste in shoes.”

After being thanked with a handshake, Daniel quickly finishes his shopping and heads home. The day hasn’t turned out too badly.

XXXXXXXXXX

Two days later, Daniel wakes up freezing. He checks the thermostat in his apartment, but it’s exactly where he set it.

He has a hot shower and pulls on a sweater before tackling some more of the archaeology journals he’s been catching up on.

It isn’t until three misinterpretations of obviously Goa’uld-wrought hieroglyphs later that a headache starts to hit him full force. At first he thinks it’s due to the ignorance of his academic colleagues, but when coupled with the chills he’s still feeling, he’s forced to admit he’s probably getting sick.

He gives up on the journals and makes himself some soup, taking a couple of Aspirin while he waits for it to heat up. He spends the afternoon resting in front of the History Channel and goes to bed early.

XXXXXXXXXX

The next morning Daniel is feeling ten times worse. The headache is now more of a full body ache, and his sinuses are congested and sore. Great. He rummages around in the bathroom medicine cabinet, coming up with some slightly out of date Nyquil. It might be less effective than normal, but he knocks it back anyway. It’s better than nothing.

He heads back into his room, grabbing his cell phone from the dresser on the way. He punches in a familiar number as he crawls into bed.

“Hi, Daniel.”

“Hey, Sam.”

“You okay? You sound awful.”

“Nice to talk to you too.”

“Sorry,” she says, though he can hear her smile. “Anything wrong?”

Daniel shrugs, a bit stupidly since she can’t possibly see it over the phone. “I’ve caught a cold. I’m going to have to renege on lunch.”

“That’s too bad. I was looking forward to it.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“You want me to bring you anything?”

He’s tempted, since he’s now out of cold medicine, but he doesn’t want her to get sick too. He’ll drag himself to the drugstore later. “No, I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, then. Get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow to see how you’re doing.”

“Thanks, Sam.” He flips his phone closed and succumbs quickly to sleep.

XXXXXXXXXX

Oh, God. He’s feeling oh-so-much-worse than a cold can explain. It takes him three tries to get out of bed and stagger to the bathroom. He shakes two Aspirin into his palm, hesitates, and then adds another two, swallowing them with the help of water sucked straight from the tap.

Daniel peers at his blurry image the mirror. His eyes are bloodshot and runny, his nose is red, and his face is covered with a thin sheen of sweat. He shivers, clutching at the counter as the trembling gets beyond his control. He slips to the floor and waits for his body to calm before crawling back to the bed. But he can’t for the life of him work up the energy to get back up and into it.

He lies on the floor beside the bed for what seems like a long time. He thinks he may have fallen asleep for a little while, but since he doesn’t feel any more rested than before, he can’t be sure. His headache, if anything, is worse, despite all the Aspirin he took. He wonders how much more he can have before risking an ulcer, but decides it’s a moot point since he’ll never be able to make it all the way back to the bathroom.

Daniel reaches up and grabs the covers, determined to make one more effort at getting back into bed. He fails, accomplishing nothing more than dragging the blankets to the ground. Which works, he realizes. He can sleep just fine on the floor if he has blankets to cover him, to keep out the chill that threatens to shake him apart.

He pulls on the covers and encounters something hard under them. It takes him a while to extricate it, but he’s not an archaeologist for nothing, and he’s eventually rewarded with his cell phone. Good. That could be considered good. He can use it to call Janet, and she can come over and jab him full of something that will help him kill this un-cold of his.

The problem is he can’t remember her number. Any of her numbers. They’re all stored in his phone somewhere, along with Jack’s and Sam’s and Catherine’s and all sorts of others, but he can barely see the screen and doesn’t trust his luck not to accidentally call the Chinese place down the street. Which, in his fever-driven confusion, is the one number he actually does remember.

Daniel squints at the phone again, but this time at the keypad rather than the screen. He comes up with a plan. He hits redial and waits. The phone on the other end rings. And rings again.

Then there’s a click. “Hey, Daniel. How you feeling?”

He tries to answer Sam, but he didn’t test his voice before calling, and finds that it isn’t working. He coughs instead.

“That good, huh? You should have let me bring you some soup yesterday. Or maybe some Contac-C.” Her voice is light. Sympathetic, but teasing. “Only you would spend your first on-world downtime in months sick as a dog.”

Daniel wheezes a bit more and finally manages to clear his throat. “Sa— Sam?”

“Daniel?” Sam asks, sounding more focused now. More concerned. “Are you okay?”

“No. No, I don’t think so.”

“Where are you?”

“At home. In my bedroom. The floor’s cold.”

“The floor? Why are you on the floor?”

That is a silly question. “Can’t get up.”

“Shit,” Sam says. It’s a very un-Sam-like thing to say. “Stay put, Daniel. I’m coming to get you.”

“’Kay.” There. Sam will take care of things. She always does. Daniel shivers uncontrollably again, gasping as his abused muscles protest and his head throbs.

“Daniel?” Sam calls through the phone. “Daniel, stay with me.”

He tries to. He really does. But it’s too difficult and he fades out.

PART TWO

He wakes abruptly as a sharp sting pierces the back of his hand. His eyes fly open, and he can see Janet looking down at him.

“Easy, Daniel. We’ve got you. I’m just running a little saline into you. You’re dehydrated from your fever.”

Sure. Whatever.

He trusts Janet. Trusts her to do what’s best for him, despite the Linvris and MacKenzie, because Janet has more than made up for it in her ceaseless efforts to keep him and the rest of his team alive. Also, she makes a mean Singapore Sling.

So he trusts Janet. Just as he trusts his team.

He trusts Jack, despite the lies for the Tollan and the failure with the Eurondans, because Jack is human and flawed, but still his closest friend.

He trusts Teal’c, despite the death of Sha’re and the past service to the Goa’uld, because Teal’c is Teal’c, and as loyal as it is possible to be.

He trusts Sam, despite the blind faith in technology and the thrill with explosives, because both are driven by her love of knowledge, and Daniel understands that as well as anyone.

Besides, Sam has brought Janet, and Janet will make him better.

Daniel rolls his head to the other side to find Sam there, leaning over him, concern all over her face. He wants to thank her, but the thought of it alone is enough to exhaust him.

She seems to understand, even without the words. She smiles and whispers, “You’d have done the same for me.”

Of course he would have. He just hopes she doesn’t need it anytime soon, because he doesn't think he's quite up to nursing anyone back to health at the moment.

Janet seems to read his mind. “There’s an ambulance on the way, Daniel. It’ll take us back to base, and we’ll get you fixed up.”

Good. That’s good.

Something catches in his throat and Daniel starts to cough, deeply and painfully. The muscles around his ribs hurt, and he realises he must have been doing a lot of coughing lately, though he doesn’t remember it. Sam and Janet pull at him until he’s sitting upright, leaning on both of them as he desperately gasps for air.

He doesn’t remember being laid back down.

XXXXXXXXXX

He’s in a bed again, although it’s hard and narrow and not his own. It rocks back and forth irregularly and seems to have an engine under it. His headache is bad enough that he doesn’t try to open his eyes.

“What’s his temp at?” an unfamiliar man asks.

“106.3,” Janet answers, and he can hear the strain in her voice. She must be worried. “We need to bring it down.”

He feels a cold pack slide under his neck, and another is laid on his forehead. Several more are placed along his body.

The ambulance races back to the SGC and as his awareness lapses again, Daniel knows he should be frightened. But this has happened to him before...

XXXXXXXXXX

He wakes slowly, overheated and aching all over. He turns his head and groans at the impact the movement has on his headache. Something soft and damp slips off his forehead, falling on the headrest beneath him.

“Dan’yel? Can you hear me?” There’s a gentle caress along his cheek, then the sound of water swishing. A newly-dampened cloth is placed on his forehead, and he realises that it must have been what fell. He sighs at the cool relief it brings and slips back into a restless slumber.

Sometime later, Daniel stirs again. He drags his eyelids open this time, instantly regretting it as the half-light in the tent pierces his skull. His wife looks down at him, trying to look calm, but he can see from her reddened eyes that it’s an effort for her.

He says her name, but no sound comes out. He clears his raw throat and tries again. “Sha’re?”

She smiles at him, looking more like herself. “You know me this time, my Dan’yel?”

“How could I not?”

“You have been very ill. In your fevers, you were not always aware of where you were or who I was.”

Daniel looks down at himself and sees that he has a large damp cloth draped over his chest, another across his groin and thighs. He’s not wearing his robes, or anything else, for that matter. With no anti-pyretics and no refrigeration, Sha’re has been trying to keep his fever down as best she can. He raises a shaky hand to caress her face in gratitude but stops, distracted by what he sees.

His arm is covered in irregular spots, some newly formed, some already scabbing over. He turns his arm and sees that they cover the underside as well. “What is wrong with me?”

Sha’re takes his hand in hers and holds it against her chest. “It is Ra’s Penance.”

He frowns. “Ra’s Penance?”

Sha’re nods. “A punishment inflicted by the god on disobedient children. I was punished with it as a small girl after I broke my parents’ marriage cup. It is not usually so serious, and you are the first adult I have seen to suffer from it.”

“Like chickenpox,” Daniel says in English.

Sha’re cocks her head at him. “What?”

“Chicken, uh, pox. Illness. Curse. Chicken curse. It’s a disease on Earth that normally affects children.”

She looks bemused. “Children on Earth can be cursed by chickens?”

He’s annoyed by his mistake, but doesn’t want to deal with it now. He will later, when his head isn’t about to explode and he can summon the energy to explain how the corruption of an old word can begin to sound like a new one.

She hesitates for a moment, tears forming in her beautiful brown eyes. “Dan’yel, what if Ra is not truly dead? What if he is punishing you for trying to harm him? What if he takes you from me?”

“Ra is dead.” Nuclear weapons are hard to duck.

“How can he be dead if he still casts his Penance down on us? Little Kes’ka is ill with it. She pushed her brother down a dune last week.”

“I remember.” Kes’ka is seven and is one of his favourites. She always begs to hear stories of what life is like on Earth, and how things work, and the multitude of questions she asks show an intelligence that astounds him at times. Her brother tumbled down the dune because Daniel tried to explain gravity to her. She probably passed on the sickness when he comforted her after the caning her mother gave her for her ill-conceived experiment. “It’s just an illness, Sha’re. A disease. I wasn’t here as a child, so I never had it and don’t have the immunity Abydonian adults do.”

Sha’re shakes her head. “It always strikes after a child has been disobedient.”

He smiles softly. “Every child is disobedient. You can’t show me a child who has done nothing wrong in the last week. Kes’ka was already sick; she just didn’t know it yet. She gave me the, uh, the virus, and now it will have to run its course.”

“Virus? What is this? You make no sense, Dan’yel.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ll try to explain better later. I’m too tired to argue right now.”

Her fingers trail across his cheek once more, and she makes an attempt to smile. “Then you truly are gravely ill.”

He sends her a mock glare and is relieved to see her smile widen. It’s quick to fade when his eyes unfocus at the renewed pain in his head.

“Do not leave me, my Dan’yel. Please.”

He doesn’t want to, but the fever pulls him back into darkness far too complete to fight.

XXXXXXXXXX

This time when he wakes, there is the constant beeping of a monitor beside him. And the drone of what sounds like a newscaster’s voice.

“While experts are still working on isolating the exact strain of the virus, they have traced the point of origin in North America to Colorado Springs, Colorado. The spread has been rapid, and epidemiologists expect it to affect most parts of the globe within a week. The confirmed death toll has reached 214 in Colorado alone, and is expected to rise dramatically. In a statement issued this morning, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention advised the public to stay at home and minimize contact with others as much as possible until a solution has been found. Frequent hand-washing with detergents and the wearing of N95 compliant masks may protect you and your family. Mandatory reporting of all cases of flu-like symptoms to your local hospital will be enforced. You will then be advised of quarantine procedures. This is a time for caution, not for panic. Further details will be released as...”

Daniel stirs slightly, and the broadcast is immediately silenced. He opens his eyes to find Teal’c frowning down at him.

“How are you feeling, Daniel Jackson?”

Good question. How does one describe a feeling of complete lethargy combined with a skull-crushing sinus headache and a ton of weight in his chest? “Not great.”

Daniel looks around and finds he’s in one of the isolation rooms at the base. A speaker sits on a table nearby, along with several books that Teal’c has obviously been reading. “How long was I out?”

“You have not been this lucid since you were brought in three days ago.”

Daniel doesn’t miss the ‘this lucid’ part. He wonders idly what he said while he wasn’t lucid, and decides he doesn’t want to know. His thoughts are interrupted by a violent coughing spasm, after which Teal’c tilts the head of his bed higher and brings him some water. He sips it gratefully. “Is it your turn on sentry duty? Where are Jack and Sam?”

Teal’c frowns and Daniel realizes he isn’t going to like the answer. “I am here because my symbiote protects me from the virus. Major Carter is ill, as is Doctor Fraiser. O’Neill was ordered back to base when the situation in the city became severe. He is unable to visit you at this time due to quarantine procedures.”

“When the situation...what’s happening outside?”

Teal’c’s frown deepens, as does Daniel’s concern. “There has been an outbreak of influenza. Colorado Springs is what the radio announcer has called the epicentre. There are thousands of sick and hundreds of dead.” Teal’c’s expression turns from sadness to disgust. “Others who are healthy rampage in the streets, stealing and causing destruction.”

“Looters. And rioters. Bastards.”

Teal’c inclines his head in agreement, and then lets Daniel hang onto his arm as another coughing fit tears through him.

“Do they know the cause?” Daniel asks once he’s able. “Of the influenza, I mean.”

Teal’c shakes his head. “The medical scientists are still attempting to ‘isolate’ it. They only know that the first confirmed fatality was a small girl four days ago. She has been referred to as Patient Zero.”

And suddenly Daniel has a very bad feeling about the whole thing. A feeling of foreboding. And imminent guilt. “Did they say what the girl’s name was?”

Teal’c nods. “She is known as Baby Chelsea.”

The bottom drops out of Daniel’s stomach as he wishes it would out of his congested lungs. The girl in the supermarket. The one he held in his arms less than a week ago.

Oh, God. Hallen’s sneeze. Daniel brought back an alien ‘flu and it's now sweeping through the population. Killing little girls who’d done nothing more than hug him when they’d lost their fathers.

A shudder runs through him, the first that wasn’t induced by fever chills in days. Poor dead Chelsea isn’t Patient Zero. He is.

Why didn’t he tell Janet about the sneeze? Why didn’t she catch that he was carrying something?

And where is Janet, anyway? Daniel mentally backtracks in the conversation. Oh, God.

“Janet’s sick? And Sam, too? When? How long? How are they?” He needs to know. Badly. There isn’t anything he’ll be able to do for them, but he needs to know.

Teal’c watches him carefully and seems to read his need in his eyes. “Doctor Fraiser became ill yesterday. She is in one of the other isolation rooms. Major Carter joined her this morning, though her symptoms do not appear to be as severe.”

“And Jack? What about Jack? And the General?”

“Neither O’Neill nor General Hammond have contracted the disease at this time. It is unlikely that they will in the future due to the quarantine procedures now being practiced on this base.”

Daniel nods distractedly. He’s glad that he hasn’t infected Jack or Hammond, but his mind is still on Chelsea and Janet and Sam. And Chelsea’s father. And the cashier who served him at the supermarket. And the other sickened thousands and dead hundreds and everyone who will follow them. “This is my fault.”

Teal’c frowns again and Daniel can see he is trying to figure out the logic, no doubt hampered by the memory of three days of non-lucid ramblings on Daniel’s part. He gives up eventually and says, “Explain.”

So Daniel does. About being sneezed on by Hallen and being hugged by little Chelsea. About a lot of other things too. His guilt over Janet and Sam. His memories of his bout with Ra’s Penance, when Sha’re kept him on the healthy side of the line between life and death through sheer force of will.

He realizes about halfway in that he may not be done with the non-lucid ramblings, though Teal’c is far too much of a friend to tell him so. Eventually he winds down and collapses back against his bed, exhausted.

He coughs one more time and Teal’c finally calls for a nurse. He probably should have done so to start with, but Daniel is grateful that he didn’t. He doesn’t want to face them once they learn that this is all his fault. Doesn’t want to see their eyes hate him over the masks he’s forced them to wear. Teal’c can be the one to tell them.

The nurse arrives and asks Daniel a couple of questions, but he’s not really paying attention. He hears Teal’c take his leave, promising to return after he’s spoken to General Hammond. Hears the hushed tones as the nurse reminds Teal’c to wash before leaving the infirmary.

It all becomes too much and Daniel voluntarily retreats back into oblivion.

XXXXXXXXXX

“How’s he doing, Teal’c?” Jack asks. His voice sounds tinny to Daniel’s ears.

“There has been no change that I can detect,” Teal’c answers. He sounds normal and close-by. “Has there been word from the Asgard or the Tok’ra?”

Tinny-Jack mutters a curse and a sigh. “Of course there hasn’t. We need their help, therefore they’re nowhere to be found.”

“I do not believe they do so purposefully, O’Neill.”

“That makes one of us.”

Daniel lets out a soft snort of agreement.

“Is he awake?” Tinny-Jack asks, his voice softer somehow, more...reverent. Which is an odd thing for Daniel to think. Jack has never been reverent of anything.

There is a pause and then Teal’c answers, “I do not believe so.”

XXXXXXXXXX

“Look, I’m feeling much better. I’m not trying to leave isolation; I just want to see Daniel,” Sam’s voice is reasonable, persuading, but Daniel can hear the frustration behind it, even as it wakes him up. He turns his head and opens his eyes. Sam is standing in the doorway wearing a set of white scrubs, one hand on a portable IV stand and the other on her hip.

“You should be resting, Major,” Dr. Warner replies. Daniel can’t see his face, but he can see the straps of his mask striping the back of his head. “And even if you are as well as you claim, Dr. Jackson needs to be resting.”

Sam rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to wake him up.”

“Too late.” Daniel is barely able to recognize the rough croak that’s his own voice.

Sam’s eyes widen as she looks over at him, half-smiling an apology.

“You should be sleeping,” Warner admonishes, as if it’s Daniel’s fault they woke him. “Major Carter was just leaving.”

“No, please,” Daniel says. “Let her stay. I promise I won’t let her drag me back to my office, no matter how much she begs.”

Warner stares at him suspiciously for a moment, clearly not getting the joke, but then nods. “For a little while, then. Not too long.” He makes a note of something on his clipboard and leaves.

Sam pulls up a chair beside Daniel’s bed. She takes his hand in one of hers, and places her other on his forehead. “You’re not as warm as you were before.”

Daniel picks up his other hand, the one with the IV attached, and gives it a gentle shake. “Something in my cocktail, I think.”

Sam nods. “Just enough acetaminophen to keep your fever from reaching dangerous levels. They don’t want to eliminate it entirely; it’s helping you fight the virus.”

The virus. Daniel swallows painfully. “How many?”

She pulls her hand away from his head and wraps it around her stomach. Her other thumb traces the back of his hand. “Daniel, don’t.”

“Sam,” he says, willing her to understand why he needs to know. “How many?”

“About 1200 confirmed in Colorado. Others in London, Vancouver, Tokyo. Just about everywhere.”

He squeezes his eyes shut. She squeezes his hand.

“It’s not your fault.”

Daniel lets out a derisive snort, even as he feels a tear slip down his cheek. “How could it not be?”

“You couldn’t have known, just as Janet couldn’t have known. You followed procedure.”

“I should have mentioned my contact with Hallen, and Janet should have caught the infection, if not in her initial examination, then in my blood work. Both of us are to blame, and the procedures are clearly inadequate.”

“That’s exactly what Janet said, and since she helped write them she’s not feeling very good about herself at the moment. You’re both just going to lie around feeling guilty instead of concentrating on getting better, aren’t you?”

Daniel doesn’t deign to answer that. He’s silent for several minutes, until curiosity gets the better of him. “Why am I alive?”

There’s a pause as Sam processes the non sequitur. “What do you mean?”

He opens his eyes and looks at her. “I was the first person infected. Why are 1200 others in this state dead while I’m still alive?”

“Ah,” Sam says, and her fingers squeeze his hand again. “Well, you’re on a new antiviral which is slowing the progress of the virus. You’re also on antibiotics because of the secondary infection you picked up. Pneumonia.” She chuckles humourlessly. “You were never one to do anything half-assed.”

“So, what?” Daniel asks, aware of how bitter he sounds. “You’re saying I’ve survived because I’ve got a better health plan than the others? Because the SGC has access to classified drugs the public doesn’t?”

Sam sighs. “It’s not classified. We just have a well stocked pharmacy. And before you ask, no, the SGC doesn’t have enough to share. There’s enough for you and Janet. Just.”

Daniel nods tightly. His eyes land on the inside of her elbow, and he notices the cotton ball there, taped over her vein. “Why aren’t you iller?” He flushes as he realizes how that must sound. “Not that I’m not glad you aren’t.”

“Iller, Daniel? I thought you were a linguist.” Sam smiles gently, and he’s relieved.

“I’m sick, remember?” His lungs decide it’s a good moment to seize up and cough, just to prove his point.

She waits it out and then answers his question. “I don’t know why I’m not as sick as you and Janet. Probably something to do with Jolinar. The docs are working on it. They thought it was the naquadah in my system, but it didn’t have any affect on the viral cultures.”

It’s Daniel’s turn to squeeze her hand. He’s relieved that at least one person will get through this. But he doesn’t want to be morose, so instead he asks, “What’s Jack doing while we’re in here? I assume they didn’t let him go fishing.”

Sam tilts her head to the side. “In a way, they kinda have.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Daniel’s feeling worse again. He’s started coughing up blood. Warner’s taken a throat swab, and a couple of other samples Daniel doesn’t really want to think about.

He’s also put Daniel on oxygen. As a rule, Daniel hates nasal cannulas, but since his nails and apparently his lips are starting to turn blue, he doesn’t think it’s wise to complain.

He really does wish Janet was treating him rather than Warner, though. A smile would be nice to see once in a while. Maybe even a joke or two. Or at least some form of bedside manner.

He’s just starting to doze again when he’s interrupted by Jack’s voice through the intercom. “Daniel?”

Daniel turns his head towards the observation window. It’s still a mirror. “Can’t see you.”

“Crap, sorry.” Jack flips the light switch and Daniel can make him out through the glass. He looks good. Healthy. “How you feeling?”

Daniel cocks an eyebrow at him. “How do you think?”

“Like a million bucks?”

“Worth of fertilizer.”

“You certainly look it.”

“Thanks, Jack. You’re bored I take it?” Daniel’s not sure how long he’ll be able to stay awake, but he’s thankful for the company.

“I went back to the planet.”

That gets Daniel’s attention. “You what? Are you nuts?”

“We spoke to them by radio first. No one there has been sick. Not even the kid who sneezed on you.”

Daniel frowns. That doesn’t make sense. “Maybe they’ve acquired an immunity and just carry the virus?”

“Maybe,” Jack says. “Their docs gave me some blood and some other fairly disgusting-looking samples, including some from your sniffly little friend. Warner’s got ‘em. He’ll work it out.”

The last sentence almost sounds like a question. Daniel guesses he’s not the only one wishing Janet could be running the show. Still, it’s progress. If Hallen and his people are immune to the virus, then maybe a cure or at least a vaccine can be found for the people of Earth. Daniel closes his eyes. All the people of Earth. How many were there now? Something like six and a half billion? Daniel desperately wants at least partial redemption by having the stargate solve the mess he’s responsible for.

“Daniel?”

“Jack?”

“Just don’t die, okay?’

He’s not sure it’s entirely up to him, but he nods anyway.

Whatever is in Daniel’s cocktail has clearly stopped working, because he can barely focus from one thought to another through the pain in his head and his overwhelming fatigue. He thinks Sam is talking to him, but he’s been having hallucinations and can’t be sure. He’s under the impression for a while that Janet has recovered and is visiting him, until she’s joined by his mother. That tips him off that all is not well in the state of Jackson.

Sam, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, is currently chatting away. Daniel supposes that if she’s not a delusion, it’s in an effort to make sure he knows he’s not alone. That’s nice.

“Warner can’t find anything in the alien samples like this ‘flu, not even antibodies against it. I’m sure you can figure out the good and bad news that tells us.”

Sam pauses for a moment like Daniel is going to answer. He’s not sure she knows he’s awake. Actually, he’s not sure he even is awake. Not that it matters if he is, since he can’t respond with the ventilator tube down his throat. Maybe that’s why he’s been hallucinating. Sedatives. He’ll take that theory over his alternate one which is that he’s dying.

“The bad news,” Sam continues, as if Daniel has told her which one he wanted to hear first. She’s considerately predicted his preferred choice. “Is that this won’t help anyone find a treatment.”

Crap. So much for redemption.

She picks up his hand in hers and gives it a squeeze. “But the good news, Daniel, is that if the ‘flu didn’t come from that planet, then this whole thing can’t possibly be your fault.”

And suddenly Daniel is desperately hoping that this Sam is not a figment of his imagination.

XXXXXXXXXX

Something is different, although Daniel isn’t sure what it is at first. His bed feels more like a table, and he’s pretty sure his ventilator is gone. The gasping of his lungs tells him it probably shouldn’t be.

“What the—?” Jack says, sounding not even remotely tinny. “Thor, buddy. You really gotta learn to call first.”

“Your message did indicate urgency, O’Neill,” Thor says. He’s closer to Daniel than Jack is. Daniel feels something cool touch his chest and assumes it’s Thor’s doing.

“Yes, it did. Daniel’s sick.”

That would certainly explain why I feel like such crap, Daniel thinks. But I think you’re forgetting the important part, Jack.

“There’s a ‘flu outbreak,” Jack continues, because he always could read Daniel’s mind. “It’s killed a lot of people.”

Thor presses down with something on Daniel’s chest. Daniel really wishes he wouldn’t. He’s having a hard enough time breathing as it is.

“Do you suspect that the virus is alien in origin?” Thor asks.

“We thought so at first, but now we don’t know.”

That’s succinct, if unhelpful. He wants to try joining the conversation but there’s an odd warmth deep in his left lung under Thor’s device which distracts him. It quickly becomes painfully hot and he feels his back arch off the table.

“What are you doing?” Jack asks. Daniel feels a pressure on his forearm, almost as if Jack has grabbed hold of it, but it feels indistinct. No feeling of Jack’s skin, just the pressure of his hand.

The pain in his chest moves to a different area as the device moves along his skin.

“I am removing the excess fluid from Dr. Jackson’s lungs. It is uncomfortable for him, but it will improve his ability to breathe.”

Daniel would not have chosen the word ‘uncomfortable’. He opens his eyes, as if it will be of any help.

Jack is holding his arm, and he seems fully prepared to pull Daniel from Thor’s clutches. There’s a weird golden glow emanating from the place where Jack’s hand touches Daniel’s arm, but either Jack has failed to notice, or he’s ignoring it for now.

“Ew. Couldn’t you just, I don’t know, beam it out of him or something?”

“It is unlikely that I could do so without dematerializing sections of his lung tissue as well.”

“Ah,” Jack says. “And that would be...bad?”

Thor blinks. “Very.”

“Alright.” Jack relaxes his grip somewhat but doesn’t let go. He’s offering comfort now instead of protection, Daniel realizes. “Let’s do it your way.”

“As you wish.”

The searing pain moves again and Daniel is thankful for all the comfort he can get.

XXXXXXXXXX

He wakes up drunk.

Or, in the interests of semantic accuracy, and Daniel is a linguist after all, it’s more likely that he wakes up stoned. Or maybe baked, drugged, doped, sedated, smashed and wasted. Or just plain high. It’s kind of a combination of all of them, really, but as Daniel has a lot more experience with being drunk than being high, sarcophagi, alien lights and involuntary commitment notwithstanding, it’s what he decides to go with.

Though maybe buzzed is the best word of all, since everything he hears has to make it through the drone in his ears.

It’s not that he’d not grateful for it; he feels better than he has in days, though by ‘better’ he really means ‘less’. He just wishes Thor could have given him whatever wonderful stuff this is before he’d burnt the gunk out of his lungs, rather than after. He takes a few experimental inhalations and finds that at least Thor was right about the procedure improving his breathing.

“What?” Jack is shouting, which is, not coincidently, the reason Daniel is awake.

“I cannot provide a cure for the virus,” Thor says.

“Can’t or won’t? ‘Cause I have to say it seems pretty unlikely to me that you can’t.”

Daniel opens his eyes. Jack and Thor are standing in front of an Asgard view screen, looking at oblong blobs that Daniel assumes are images of what’s been making him so miserable lately. He wonders if they’re from his own blood, and realizes that they must be.

Asgard symbols fill the screen, and Daniel squints at them, trying to read. It takes him a long time to realize that it’s the same four symbols repeated over and over again in a seemingly random order, and it takes him even longer still to realize that they must be the virus’s DNA sequence. Or is that RNA sequence? Daniel is not a biologist, and unsurprisingly finds that he doesn’t really care.

Thor highlights a section of the sequence, as if it will mean anything to either Daniel or Jack. “I have found no evidence that the virus is of Goa’uld or other alien design or origin. It is therefore a natural event of your planet and falls under subsection 42 of the Protected Planets Treaty.”

Jack cocks his head to the side. “Just for the sake of argument, let’s pretend I haven’t read subsection 42 yet.”

Daniel hasn’t read subsection 42 yet either, a fact which surprises him, as he’s normally very thorough with such important documents. He supposes he’s been pretty busy lately, but doesn’t think that’s any excuse.

“The people of the Protected Planets cannot be artificially advanced through Asgard technological means,” Thor explains. “Curing this virus would be a violation. It would invalidate the treaty and open all Protected Planets to attack by the Goa’uld. The Asgard do not have the resources to protect them all.”

“See, that’s the kind of detail that should be written down somewhere.”

Thor has no comment for that, but Daniel can practically hear him blinking. There’s a reason that Daniel prefers not to let Jack anywhere near anything that might be considered a negotiation.

“What good is protection if there is nobody left to protect?” Jack asks. It’s a good point, Daniel knows, but it’s not going to win anything here.

“It is unlikely that all human life will be destroyed on your planet,” Thor says, moving the controller. The screen changes to an image of Earth. Red dots blossom over major cities as the planet turns on its axis. They grow until they slowly cover every area of land. “I estimate that approximately one sixth of your population will die as a result of the virus. More may perish during the unrest that follows as your societies adjust.”

Unrest. Thor always was good at understatement. Daniel is an anthropologist. He knows one sixth is more than enough to topple most world governments. He knows that those who perish in the chaos that follows may very well outnumber those who died in the plague.

“One sixth. That’s what..?”

Just over a billion, Jack.

“A whole lot of people. Your treaty is worth more than them?”

“It is unfortunate that one billion Earth people will perish. However, if I interfere to save them, it will give the Goa’uld the opportunity to enslave or exterminate the 30 billion people of the Protected Planets. Earth included.”

Daniel wishes he was a whole lot drunker for this conversation. Jack probably does too.

XXXXXXXXXX

“What about Daniel?” Jack asks sometime later. Daniel’s not sure how much later. Two, maybe three drug-induced naps ago. He pushes back the buzzing he can still hear in his ears and concentrates on Jack’s voice. “You just going to watch him die with the rest of the planet?”

Excellent. Jack hasn’t given up. He’s taking another tack.

“I am sorry, O’Neill. I truly desire to help but I cannot violate the treaty to protect Earth.”

“What if you didn’t help Earth? What if you just helped Daniel?”

He’s taking the wrong tack.

“Jack?” Daniel means for that to be much louder than it comes out.

Jack hears him anyway. “Daniel? You’re awake?” He comes over and rests his hand on Daniel’s shoulder. The golden glow again flares between them. A force field, Daniel finally realizes. Thor’s protecting Jack from the virus.

“Of course you’re awake,” Jack continues. “That table can’t be a very comfortable.”

Daniel agrees, but dismisses it as unimportant. “What are you doing?”

“Having a chat with Thor about saving your life. Say hello to the nice little grey man.”

Daniel turns his head slightly to see the Supreme Commander of the Asgard fleet.

Thor blinks at him. “Greetings, Dr. Jackson.”

“I don’t want just my life.”

“That wasn’t hello,” Jack mutters. “And it’s not your choice. You’re not up on the details.”

“I want the billion.”

“Or maybe you are.”

“The Goa’uld would respond to such an action by declaring war,” Thor says.

“Why would they have to know?” Daniel asks.

“It would be far too convenient for Earth to suddenly have a cure dispensed to the population. The Goa’uld would be suspicious. An investigation would take place and my involvement would be revealed.”

“What if you were subtle about it? Do something that would appear natural? There must be something that could be altered just enough to help. A medicinal plant maybe? Something an Earth scientist can ‘discover’?”

Thor watches him for a long moment and then abruptly brings up a view screen over Daniel’s table. The angle is bad, and Daniel can’t see what’s on it.

Jack can. “Oh, no you don’t.”

“It is an intriguing idea, O’Neill. One I believe is possible.”

Good. Thor’s found something already.

“You can’t just go splicing him like some sort of lab rat.”

Him?

“Dr. Jackson is a sentient being with the ability to give consent.”

Oh, him as in him. Fantastic.

“He’s drugged. Look at him. His eyes aren’t even tracking properly.” Jack waves a finger in front of Daniel’s face, and he’s right. Daniel can’t follow it, although he’s pretty sure Jack’s moving fast enough he wouldn’t be able to follow it on a good day, either.

Thor ignores Jack. “Dr. Jackson, I believe I have found a way to help you, though the procedure is somewhat dangerous. Will you consent for me to proceed?”

“No, he won’t,” Jack says.

Daniel ignores him too. “Will it cure everyone else?”

“Your doctors will be able to use it to halt the spread of the virus and to treat those afflicted. It is not a cure, but if used properly, it will save many lives.”

“Then I consent.”

Jack sighs explosively. “Damn it, Daniel!”

“Please,” Daniel says. “Just get on with it.”

“Very well,” Thor picks up another egg-shaped instrument of indeterminable function. “You may experience some discomfort.”

Of course he will. What else is new?

XXXXXXXXXX

“You must inform your experts that Dr. Jackson’s B cells are now fully culturable,” Thor says as Daniel regains consciousness.

“His what are what?” Jack asks.

There’s a flash of light, and Daniel finds himself back in the isolation room. He can see Jack through the observation window, looking confused.

Daniel is not reassured.

XXXXXXXXXX

“Extraordinary,” Warner says, pressing a stethoscope against Daniel’s chest.

What’s really extraordinary is that Warner is making Daniel feel much more like an inferior being undergoing experimentation than Thor ever did.

“I’m supposed to tell you his B cells are now fully culturable,” Jack tells the doctor from behind the mask he now has to wear.

“His what are what?” Warner asks.

Daniel is so not reassured.

XXXXXXXXXX

It turns out that B cells are the part of his immune system that produces antibodies, and the fact that his can now be easily grown in vitro means that Warner doesn’t have to take enough blood from him to dose six billion people. Daniel believes this to be a good thing.

“So, how does it feel to be the freak mutant who’s saving the world?” Jack asks.

Daniel rolls his eyes and sees Janet suppress a smile. They’re both in the main ward now, no longer a danger to everyone around them. It’s much better for their social lives. Or worse, as the case may be.

He takes a deep breath, enjoying the novelty of cooperative lungs even as he suppresses the urge to throttle Jack.

All SGC personnel have been inoculated with a short-term vaccine created with Daniel’s Asgard-tweaked immunoglobulin. The CDC has been informed and is working on perfecting the temporary vaccine for mass usage, though the Food and Drug Administration and its sister organisations in other First World countries have not yet approved the unconventional preparation.

But the spread of the virus is slowing down anyway. Quarantine procedures are holding better than expected; for the most part, people are content to stay in their own homes now that there’s news that a vaccine is on the way. There is hope. There would probably also be an influx of new church and temple-goers too, if public assembly were not still strictly verboten.

Apart from Hammond, Sam, Teal’c, Janet, Warner and possibly the Joint Chiefs, no one knows that Thor is responsible for stopping the virus. It has to stay that way to prevent the Goa’uld from ever finding out. Daniel has therefore been cast as a medical marvel.

He prefers not to hear the term ‘miracle’.

Baby Chelsea is still known as Patient Zero, and no one has been able to determine how she became infected. All that’s known is that she passed it on to her mother in England, and to her father in the U.S. The international nature of her family was just bad luck. As was Daniel’s choice of shoes that day. Or maybe that part was good luck, in the grand scheme of things.

The media has been calling Daniel Patient N, as in the last of a series. They’ve been glorifying him as a hero, though thankfully an anonymous one.

It’s phenomenally irritating.

Jack’s loving every second of it. “Well?”

Daniel digs into the Jell-O in front of him. “It feels remarkably like I didn’t do anything except exist. Oh, wait. That is all I did.”

“Oooh, aren’t we cranky. I’m pretty sure you made friends with a little grey uber-geek who helped you because he likes you.” Jack frowns at him, sits down in a chair and gives him the once-over. “Did you not get your Wheaties this morning? ‘Cause I’m thinking you look like you could use ‘em. Actually, you could probably use a big fat steak. Or maybe a whole cow.”

Daniel has lost weight. About ten pounds, according to Warner, most of it muscle. His arms have lost some of the definition he’s gained over the last few years, and he knows his face is more hollow than it was, both because of the grimace Sam tries to hide every time she visits, and because Janet’s looking a little skeletal around the eyes too.

Janet’s feeling better, though, and she comes to his rescue. “Do you have any reason to be here, Colonel, or have you just come to annoy my patient?”

Jack snorts. “Your patient? No offence, Doc, but you’re looking more like a patient than a doctor these days.”

Daniel still feels guilty about that. Making the entire world sick turned out not to be his fault. But making Janet sick certainly is. He literally coughed all over her.

She refuses to listen whenever he tries to apologize, telling him if he really is sorry he’ll do her a favour and shut up about it. He knows she shares his deep-seated relief that the ‘flu did not come from the SGC.

“Have you just come to annoy me then, Colonel? I assure you, I’ll be back on my feet in no time. You’re overdue for your physical, aren’t you?”

Jack’s flustered attempts at back-pedalling are interrupted by the arrival of Sam. Much to Daniel’s dismay, she’s not carrying his laptop as he requested, but instead has a chessboard. It’s the one she plays Cassie with during their weekly games. Daniel goes in Sam’s place every once in a while when she’s either been caught up with something in her lab, or if she or Janet think Cassie’s in need of a little humility. It happens a lot since Cass turned fifteen.

Cassie didn’t get sick, even after being exposed to one of her classmates who was. Janet and Warner believe that like Sam, she’s somehow protected by the naquadah in her blood. They still haven’t figured out why that’s the case, but whatever the reason, Daniel is grateful for it.

“Where’s my computer?” he asks, knowing the answer.

Sam nods towards Janet. “I’m afraid of your roommate.”

“Coward.”

She smiles at him, and he’s pleased to see she doesn’t grimace at all this time. He must be looking better, despite what Jack says. He picks up his bowl of Jell-O so she can start setting up the pieces while he finishes. Jack supervises. Loudly.

Nearly 100,000 people are dead. The figure is still rising, but it’s a mere fraction of the death toll of the 1918 'flu pandemic, and shows no sign of ever approaching Thor’s projected billion. Things could have been a lot worse.

The military, out of necessity, is highly involved in distributing the new vaccine. They’re going ahead without the FDA’s sanction for both healthcare workers and those who have already been infected.

Tomorrow, the three upright members of SG-1 will be going out into the world to join those making deliveries of the vaccine to hospitals. Every able and immune body is needed.

But tonight, they’re gathering in the infirmary celebrating the survival of their own. General Hammond stops by, with Walter Harriman in tow, to check on his Chief Medical Officer and his lead team’s archaeologist. They don’t stay long. Hammond’s job is infinitely tougher these past couple of weeks. Daniel doesn’t envy him.

Finally, Teal’c arrives, and the team’s all together again. He nods to Daniel, and then takes a seat beside Janet. He’s got Daniel’s Hounds and Jackals game, which he’s promised to teach her.

Jack wanders over to supervise that as well, declaring it should be renamed ‘Influenza and Immunoglubsits’. He insists, though neither Teal’c nor Janet agree, that the name will catch on, even if the game never does. Sam grins. Daniel ignores the whole discussion and opens with the Queen’s Gambit.

Tomorrow, they’ll go back to saving the world. Tonight, there’s time to breathe.

END