All publicly recognisable characters and places are the property of MGM, World Gekko Corp and Double Secret Productions. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. Previously unrecognised characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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What you need to know is:

SUMMARY: Daniel gets some unexpected help in regaining his memory

CATEGORY: Jack and Daniel friendship/humour/angst

SEASON/SEQUEL INFO: A missing scene from Fallen

SERIES: Part of Scribe’s Shower Scenes – Season 7

RATING: PG

SPOILERS: Fallen and The Light

Thank goodness. TPTB have finally scene the light and given Daniel his body back. A whole year without the need for a shower – sheesh! My thanks as always to the wonderful Jb for her excellent beta-reading.

*****************

Scent of a memory

He tried not to let it show, but the SGC was kind of overwhelming. So many people. So much noise. Lights that came on at the flick of a switch. Machines that hummed and whirred and spewed information faster than you could read. Or swallowed you whole like that Em-Are-Eye machine. That had something to do with magnets. But absolutely nothing to do with eyes. Jim had mumbled something it being a snake catcher, which had made even less sense, and in the end he’d simply trusted that everyone knew what they were doing and allowed himself to be delivered into its gaping maw. Another strange experience to add to the catalogue of weird things that had happened to him over the past couple of days.

At least the medic had told him the truth this time. He hadn’t felt a thing. Unlike with some of the other tests he’d endured. Or the ride through the Stargate – that had been incredible. Terrifyingly so. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined the giant circle was a portal to other worlds. He could’ve studied it for years and never realised, if it hadn’t been for the strangers stepping through it.

Except they weren’t strangers. They were his friends. Or so they said. And apparently he was the one responsible for them knowing how to use the Stargate. He couldn’t remember doing the things they said he’d done. In fact, if he told the truth he still couldn’t really remember them. It was true there was something familiar about the woman. Some kind of connection buzzed at the back of his mind like an insect trapped between the panes of glass in a double-glazing unit. The thought made him pull to a halt. Double-glazing? Odd that he could remember things like that, yet he couldn’t remember that Jim was his best friend.

Jack. Not Jim. The correction drifted out of the muddle of memories and experiences. Colonel Jack O’Neill. His friend. His commanding officer, at least as far as the whole civilian adviser thing allowed. A right pain in the Mik’ta. Whatever the hell a mik’ta was. He wished he could remember that. Wished too that he could recall the things Jack told him about – things that Jack obviously held dear, like sitting together on Jack’s roof watching the stars and drinking beer. Laughing together. Fighting together. Dying together.

//

“You’re a friend of mine. Last year you died.”

“I’m dead?”

“Obviously not. Actually you ascended to a higher plane of existence.”

//

It all sounded too impossible to be true. He shook his head, and tried not to let his amnesia bother him. His frustration must’ve shown on his face, though, because the small dark haired woman at his side squeezed his arm and smiled sympathetically.

“Don’t try to force it,” she said.

He nodded obediently, and returned her smile with a shy one of his own, but the frustration continued to gnaw at him. He’d quickly realised there was a pattern to what he did and didn’t remember. For example, he could remember what a doctor was, could even hazard a pretty good guess at how many years of training it took to become one. What he couldn’t remember was the intimate details associated with this doctor. She seemed kind of familiar, but she’d had to tell him her name was Janet Fraiser, and he had no recollection of her daughter, Cassandra, nor of his role in saving her life. And he’d found it more than embarrassing to stand buck naked in front of her. Being told she’d seen it all a thousand times before didn’t help. It felt like the first time to him, and he’d never realised how much comfort underwear could provide.

“Will this take much longer?” he asked.

He’d lost track of time, but his stomach was telling him it was time to eat. It wasn’t a particularly welcome reminder. The meal Major Carter had brought him earlier had been slices of soft chewy bread glued together with some kind of salty brown paste that stuck to the roof of his mouth. She’d told him it was one of his favourites, so he chewed and swallowed politely, all the time hoping it wasn’t some kind of test to see if he really was suffering from amnesia. Then again, maybe he’d just grown accustomed to the fibre-rich diet of the nomads. After all, he remembered nothing else.

The doctor gave another smile. “I’m nearly done, Daniel.”

Daniel. God is my Judge. The name still seemed alien to him, as though it belonged to another person, and he shivered at the thought of its meaning. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d done something wrong. That he was better off not knowing who he was, despite protestations to the contrary from Major Carter, J... Jack, and the Jaffa, Teal’c. Still, it was an improvement on the name Shamda had given him. Arum - ‘the naked one’. Surely the nomad could’ve come up with something slightly less literal. It wasn’t as though he’d been naked through choice.

“You can finish getting dressed now,” the doctor said, nodding towards the clothing folded neatly on a chair at the head of the bed. Alarm prickled at the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure he was ready for this. Another random thought spilled out. Clothes maketh the man. His intellect told him that wasn’t true. Yet he still sensed that the action of pulling on a uniform would somehow make him less of whoever he wasn’t. And he still wasn’t sure he wanted to be who he was.

Janet followed his gaze and a flicker of understanding crossed her face. “I’m sorry, Daniel. I had to send your robe to the decontamination unit.”

“Decon…” A sharp pain at the loss of the familiar garment stole his breath from him.

“It’s routine procedure. I’m sure they’ll return it to you as good as new.”

He nodded. Tried not to mind. Slowly he pushed himself to his feet and picked up the starched cotton all-in-one outfit. The material was rough and scratchy against his bare skin as he pulled the pant legs up over his knees. Cold and alien compared to the warmth of hand-spun wool. Yet his fingers seemed accustomed to the action of pulling up the zip and slipping the buttons through their holes. The top half felt taut across his back, the sensation unpleasant compared to the loose flowing robe. He stretched his arms out to the front, hoping the fabric might give a little, and suddenly caught the scent of detergent.

An image flashed into his mind. A washing machine. Down in the basement of a building. His building. The one that housed his apartment. Buttercup yellow walls. A dog-eared sheet of instructions taped to the rough brickwork. Four machines sitting in a row. And three big tumble dryers. The last time he’d been down there he’d been accosted by Mrs Bruckheimer, who’d insisted on telling him all the latest news about her daughter’s teenage son.

“Daniel?” Janet was looking at him, concern on her face.

“I remembered something!” He suddenly felt light headed with excitement, and he sank back onto the bed. “I smelt the detergent and I remembered Mrs Bruckheimer.” Janet raised her eyebrows. “She’s my neighbour. Or at least she was before...” He made a circular gesture with one hand as his tongue refused to keep up with his thoughts.

Janet smiled. “Of course. Scent is one of the strongest triggers of memory. Every time I smell a cigar, it’s Christmas Day.” Now it was Daniel’s turn to look questioning. “My dad only smoked cigars on special occasions. Christmas Day. His birthday. At weddings.”

“Ah.” Daniel raised his right arm and sniffed at the fabric of his sleeve. Yep, definitely Mrs Bruckheimer. There was some other scent, though. He sniffed again. Then wrinkled his nose as he realised the source of this particular scent was coming from a few inches further up his arm. An entirely different memory slid into his mind. “I think I could use a shower.”

She didn’t deny it, but before she could respond, Jack O’Neill burst through the door, his face full of questions. Fraiser straightened her shoulders, her demeanour suddenly brisker, more military.

“Well, I’m happy to say, Sir, that he’s in perfect health, except for one small exception.”

He recognised the glasses and knew instinctively what they were for. However, he wasn’t expecting the sudden sharpness of vision. “Wow, that’s different,” he said, trying to adapt to the way the floor suddenly seemed to be rushing up to meet him.

“You recognise me now?” O’Neill asked eagerly.

Daniel pondered for a long moment, trying to decide whether the soldier’s face was any more familiar than it had been an hour ago. It wasn’t, but absurdly he felt he owed the man something more than a straightforward no. Without even thinking about it, words blurted from his mouth. “Has your hair always been that way?”

“What way?”

Since he had absolutely no idea why he’d said that, he merely shrugged. “Never mind.”

Janet was watching them with a fond amusement that Daniel found rather odd. Anyone would think they had these weird conversations all the time. He pushed himself off the bed again.

“Can I go now?”

She nodded. “Colonel, why don’t you take Daniel down to the locker room and then get him something to eat.”

“The locker room?” Jack frowned in puzzlement.

Janet lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I think Daniel would appreciate the chance to wash up before dinner.”

“Ah.” Jack sniffed at his own armpits. “Thought it was me.”

“Apparently smells are good for bringing back memory,” Daniel said, in the vain hope he could divert the conversation away from his current state of personal hygiene.

“Really?” Jack leaned closer and offered his own armpit to Daniel. “Go ahead. Get a lungful. Maybe then you’ll remember my name.”

****

The locker room was two levels up from the infirmary. Which meant using the elevator and navigating a seemingly impossible amount of corridor length. Daniel tried not to mind the curious eyes of the people he passed. He’d apparently made a habit of coming back from the dead, but the novelty of it clearly hadn’t worn off for the SGC staff. Fortunately, judging from the cheery greetings he garnered, most of them seemed pleased to see him. Perhaps Sam was right and he really didn’t have anything to fear in his unknown past. Just maybe he’d been an okay kind of guy after all. Not perfect – after all, who was? But, at least not a serial killer or worse.

Ahead of him Jack O’Neill pushed a door open. “No luxury spared. Enjoy.”

Daniel stepped into the cool, tiled space. Mirrors. Lockers. A sharp, medicinal fragrance in the air. Muscle rub, his brain supplied helpfully. There were other aromas, but they’d mingled together into a unique entity that defied identification, but could probably be safely labelled as Eau de Unwashed Male.

Jack tapped on a locker door. “Here you go. Next but one to mine. Just like old times.”

Daniel caught the object that was tossed to him. It was a key, presumably for the locker. Jack was still talking as he stepped closer.

“Of course, we had to empty it out, after you… you know, went all glowy on us.”

“You put my name on already,” Daniel said, surprised at the efficiency.

“Actually, we – umm – we never kind of got round to taking it off. You know how it is. All that paperwork and stuff.” He looked away. Shuffled his feet. Gave a small cough.

“Paperwork,” Daniel repeated softly, oddly comforted by the obvious lie. He slid the key into the lock, turned it to the right and felt the door ease free. The locker was empty except for a boonie, which he lifted out. It was stiff and starchy, as though never worn. “Somebody’s left a hat.”

“Actually that’s yours. A little welcome home present from the store master. You’ll need to sign for everything else you need, but he said he could swing you that one for free.” Jack hesitated as Daniel turned the hat over in his hands. “You seemed to like them before, but if you’d rather...”

“It’s fine,” Daniel said quickly. “More than fine. It was a nice thought.” He put the hat back into the locker.

Jack had opened his own locker and was rooting through its contents. “You can borrow some of my stuff.” He started handing things to Daniel. “Shower gel. Shampoo. Razor. Comb. Toothpaste. Toothbrush.”

Daniel stared at the small, blue-handled brush uncertainly.

“What’s up?” Jack asked, following his gaze. “Oh. Don’t worry about it. We’ve shared a dozen times before. Remember when you dropped your entire pack down that ravine on P3X-257?”

“Actually, no,” Daniel said. This was so awkward. He didn’t want to offend Jack, but as far as he was concerned he’d just been offered a used toothbrush by a virtual stranger. He decided to do the polite thing – accept the toothbrush, and hope Jack didn’t notice he hadn’t used it.

“I guess not.” Jack looked lost for a moment, but then he brightened again. “So, what Fraiser was saying about smell...”

“Washing wasn’t exactly a priority amongst the nomads,” Daniel said defensively.

“No, I didn’t mean that,” Jack said impatiently. “I meant about it triggering memory.”

“Oh. Yes.” Daniel nodded. “I had some kind of... I’m not quite sure what to call it. Flashback, I guess. I smelled detergent and I remembered Mrs Bruckheimer.”

“Mrs Bruckheimer?” Jack asked, managing to combine hurt, disbelief and puzzlement.

“I think she was a neighbour.”

“Attractive? Blonde? Young?”

“Blue rinse. Mid-70s. Had a poodle called Mabel.”

Jack grimaced and complained to the mirror glued inside his locker door. “Doesn’t remember me, but he can remember a poodle called Mabel. Should’ve got a perm.”

“Sorry,” Daniel offered.

“Not a problem!” Jack said with false good-humour. He moved to another locker and hit the door with his fist, just below the lock. It sprang open. “I was just thinking that if Fraiser is right maybe you should try a little aromatherapy.” He tossed Daniel a bottle of shampoo from the second locker. “By the way, Carter doesn’t know her locker isn’t secure. Don’t feel obliged to tell her. Her shampoo is way nicer than the cheap stuff I buy.”

Daniel raised his eyebrows at the casual confession, but was too busy catching plastic bottles to actually respond.

“Oops,” Jack tossed something back into the depths, and shot Daniel a wry look. “Hair remover.” He slammed Carter’s locker shut again and moved to the next one. “Getting into Teal’c’s requires a bit more finesse, however.” He pulled out a multi-purpose penknife, selected a blade and carefully began to pick the lock. Seconds later the locker was open and he began to riffle through its contents. “Here you go.”

“What am I supposed to do with all this stuff?” Daniel asked, his arms dangerously full.

“Wash with it, of course,” Jack replied, draping a thick cotton towel over Daniel’s right shoulder.

“All of it?”

Jack smirked. “Trust me, you could you use it.” He pointed to an archway. “Showers are right through there.”

With a snort, Daniel headed through to the archway, managed to put the razor, toothbrush and paste on the shelf above a sink, and then went into the first cubicle. He set the bottles on the floor and sighed to himself. Despite the colonel’s teasing he was fairly sure he didn’t need to use six different types of shower gel or shampoo his hair four times. He hung the towel on a peg by the cubicle door, then shucked out of his clothes, once again feeling a pang of longing for the simple slip-on, slip-off robe.

As he turned on the water, he pondered again the reason for some memories seeming to be just below the surface – like knowing the shower controls turned right for cold, left for hot –while others seemed blocked. It was as though his brain had been scrambled so that he could function in this world, but all that was most precious to him was locked away. Unreachable. Forbidden to him.

He was becoming morbid again. Something he’d decided not to do once he made up his mind about returning to Earth. Somehow it didn’t seem right to indulge in the dark thoughts that had plagued him over the past few weeks. Not here, amongst people who not only knew him, but who seemed to respect and care for him. Sam Carter. Teal’c. Jack O’Neill. They’d all gone out of their way to tell him how much he meant to them. It would be wrong of him to deny their words, given they were offered with such sincerity and passion, even though he struggled to believe there was so much good inside of him.

He sighed again and picked up the first bottle. Strawberry swirl shower gel. He was trying to remember which locker it came from as he unscrewed the cap. Whoa! An explosion of fruit snatched him up and carried him into the past. A summer party. Smoke rising from a barbecue. Strangers smiling as they ate and drank. It was his birthday. Major Carter was carrying a cake, decorated with fresh strawberries, his named iced across the frosting. She popped a strawberry into his mouth as she passed. Wished him a happy birthday. There was the colonel, shaking up a bottle of champagne so that the wine exploded into the air, raining down on them in a shower of sweet, golden bubbles. And there was General Hammond, laughing and joking – something to do with preferring spilled wine to broken windows.

Broken windows? He stepped closer, eager to hear the story behind the anecdote. And felt himself being sucked and pulled away from the memory. A wave of dizziness almost made him fall. He thrust a hand out, felt steam-slick tiles beneath his palm. Muscles bunched along his arm and quivered across his shoulders as he braced himself against the strident call of gravity. He was not going to go ass over head if he could help it. A groan of distress escaped his lips as nausea roiled in his stomach.

“Daniel? You okay?” Jack’s voice sounded hollow as it bounced off the tiled walls.

He sucked air into his lungs, battling vertigo as he forced words past his lips. “I’m fine,” he lied. And then, the symptoms vanished as abruptly as they’d arrived. Slowly he straightened up, his fingers shaking as he snapped the lid back on the bottle. What the hell had that been about? His heart was still beating faster than it should be, the unexpected adrenaline rush making his breathing shallow. For a few moments he simply stood beneath the shower, letting the water cascade over his bare skin, the hot needles a welcome distraction from the sudden rush of memory.

Jack’s voice sounded again, a hint of uncertainty in his tone. “’Kay. Just holler if you need anything.”

His equilibrium was returning now, and with it an irrational irritation at the interruption. “I’m in the shower. I have enough shampoo and soap for an army. What else could I possibly need?”

“Someone to scrub your back?”

Daniel ignored that, fairly certain the comment was evidence of the bizarre O’Neill humour he’d been warned about. Slowly he picked up the second bottle and steeled his nerve against the fear that curled in the pit of his stomach. He could do this. He wanted to do this. The bottle was unlabelled. He realised why when he opened it. Inside was a clear fluid perfumed with the scent of herbs no Earth botanist would recognise. He felt a flutter of pleasure and excitement at knowing that much, and deduced immediately that the lotion belonged to Teal’c. Taking a second breath he waited for the memory to deepen.

Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada.

He inhaled the perfume deep into his lungs, still hopeful. Then, when that failed, he poured a generous measure of the fluid into the palm of one hand, set the bottle down, and began to work up a lather. A rich, thick fragrant foam quickly formed, and he swept it across his chest in a single smooth stroke from right clavicle to left, then diagonally down over his left nipple to his right hip, and finally across his pelvis to the other hip. Exotic aromas swirled around him, sweet like vanilla, pungent like bergamot. Heavy, heady scents. Iridescent bubbles shimmered with rainbow colours before exploding like miniature supernovae. But his mind remained in the present. With a sigh he slowly rotated in the cubicle, allowing the powerful jet of water to wash away the foam from his body and the disappointment from his spirit.

It made no sense. The strawberry gel, which he figured must’ve come from Major Carter’s locker, had triggered a strong reaction. So why not the same for Teal’c? From what he’d been told he shared a deep friendship with each member of SG-1. Each friendship unique of course, but not so different as to explain the complete lack of reaction. Unless... what if the birthday party fit the pattern somehow. It was a happy memory, but of no real consequence – until he’d tried to recall what Hammond was going to say. And then he’d suddenly been blocked again. Damn! Did that mean he’d never remember anything of importance? That he was doomed to be a man without a past except for snatched memories of birthdays and poodles?

There was only one way to find out. Less confident now, he picked up one of the four shampoo bottles. Herbal Essences with Botanical Shine. With a shrug of his shoulders he flipped the lid and sniffed. Rosemary, jasmine and orange flower blended together in a trio of sweetness that was too light to invoke anything other than the thought that he probably wasn’t, and never had been, a Herbal Essences kind of guy. He snapped the lid shut again and pushed the bottle to the far corner. Next up was an anti-dandruff shampoo that smelt like it belonged in Fraiser’s infirmary. Okay, those were probably memories he could live without. Scratch two. The remaining options were both brand names that boosted an astonishing range of benefits. He weighed one in each hand, putting off the moment of truth by trying to decide whether he wanted bounce and shine more than he wanted fullness and control. A quick sniff of the contents of each informed him that the ubiquitous bland perfume of a non-herbal, non-floral, non-medicated shampoo probably wasn’t going to provide a key to his amnesia, so he opted for the bottle in his right hand on the grounds that he liked the look of the label.

It was a good choice. As he’d suspected, it did absolutely nothing for his memory, but it produced a great lather. He washed, rinsed, and washed again, scrubbing his scalp with relish as he removed weeks of accumulated dust and grime. So this was what clean hair felt like? That was definitely something worth remembering.

The shampoo joined the other discarded bottles. That left four bottles of shower gel. He certainly wasn’t going to wash his way through all of them, and since the ‘pick a label’ method had worked for the shampoo, he couldn’t think of any reason not to use it again. Which meant the bottle with the black and gold label was the winner. Besides, he was suspicious the lime and grapefruit would make him smell like a fruit basket, and that Blue Mimosa and Rose Blush were likely to earn him even more unwelcome attention in the corridors than his recent return from the dead. Just in case, he gave both an experimental sniff, and was secretly relieved that the only memory they stirred was one of sharing an unexpected treasure trove of citrus fruit with Shamda.

The black and the gold, then. A shower gel called Flight. What sort of stupid name was that? The lid flipped back with a crisp snap and Daniel sniffed warily. He smelt spice, cinnamon, nutmeg and ginger. All underlain by a golden warmth, like hot fudge. Or was it warm rum? Whatever it was he felt comforted. Safe. Secure.

And suddenly the vertigo was back. This time far worse.

//

He was looking down, watching the traffic hundreds of feet below him. Miniature cars stopping at traffic lights. Pedestrians as small as ants. Warm concrete beneath his heels, cool air blowing past his toes.

‘Daniel. Come inside.’

A familiar voice sounded in his head. The name came unbidden to his lips. ‘Jack?”

‘Yeah.’ An arm snaked around his shoulder, holding him. Keeping him secure. He smelt ginger. And toffee. And musk. Recognised the scents, and knew who was holding him. Thank God. He could relax now. He could let go. Jack won’t let him fall.

More voices. This time coming from afar. Insubstantial. Muffled.

‘Colonel? Are you all right?’

‘What kind of dumbass question is that? My friend is lying here on his deathbed. I’m fine.’ The sarcasm was dark, bitter. Deadly.

Paralysed, he tried offer reassurance, to say he’d be okay, but the words wouldn’t form. Darkness was pressing in. Irresistible. Even more deadly.

‘He’s coding!’

He lost the scent. Realised he was in real trouble. That he wasn’t okay. That he’d never be okay again. Lemon replaced the toffee, just as sweet but far more feminine. A weight crushed his chest. Please, no. He couldn’t breathe.

And then suddenly the aroma he was seeking drifted across his nostrils again. He could feel breath against his skin. Strong hands closed around his biceps.

“Daniel. Daniel. Come on. Come on. Damn it Daniel!”

//

Owww! The slap felt all too real.

“Daniel! Damn it. Snap out it!”

“J... J... Jack?” Daniel suddenly jerked back into the present. Jack’s face was mere inches from his. Hot water poured down on both of them, turning Jack’s jacket a deeper shade of blue and plastering his hair to his head. For a moment the world swam sickeningly around him, the floor lurching up towards him the same way it had when he’d put his glasses on in the infirmary. He swallowed hard. Blinked. Swiped foam from his forehead before it could slide into his eyes. Realised his legs felt like jello and the only reason he was still upright was because Jack was holding him. He took a deep breath and forced his trembling knees to lock. “Thank you,” he whispered as Jack slowly let him go, hands hovering to make the catch just in case his body betrayed him.

“You’re welcome,” Jack said, as though bursting into shower cubicles to rescue newly descended teammates was an everyday occurrence. He reached past Daniel and shut off the shower, then smoothly pulled the towel free from its peg and wrapped it around Daniel’s shoulders. “So, want to tell me why you were yelling my name?”

Daniel stared at him in astonishment. “I was?”

“What?” Jack asked, gently steering him from the cubicle. “You think I burst in here because I like the view?”

“I... ummm... well, no.” Daniel reached the nearest bench and sat down. He pulled the towel tighter around his body as the chill of the air made him shiver.

“I should call Fraiser,” Jack said, studying Daniel in a way that suggested he didn’t trust him not to keel over.

Daniel shook his head. “No. I’m fine.” Jack raised his eyebrows, forcing him to continue. “I just... The smell thing... It worked. But it was kind of... overwhelming.” He was beginning to feel better now. The floor had stopped swaying and his stomach had given up its attempt at rebellion. “I remember eating strawberries.”

“Good,” Jack said sarcastically. “Glad to see all the useful facts are coming back.”

Daniel ignored him. “It was my birthday. July 8^th. But then General Hammond said something and it was like, I don’t know, like I was hit in the stomach or something. I couldn’t breathe, and then I felt sick. So I tried Teal’c, but got nothing. Then that stuff with the black label...”

“Ah, the black label,” Jack said, clearly not following a word Daniel was saying.

Daniel gave him a shy smile. “I never thanked you.”

“For giving you the stuff with the black label?”

“For saving my life.”

“Oh.” Jack looked momentarily stunned, but then he shrugged it off. “Which time?” he asked, flippantly.

“There was more than one time?”

Jack shrugged again. “You know how it is. You save my life. I save your life. Kinda goes with the territory.”

“Right.” Daniel absorbed the idea slowly. “So we don’t talk about it?”

“You mean death? Dying? Going to meet our maker? Or in your case doing the light fandango with the Christmas Fairy?” The flippant tone took on a strained edge, and a dark emotion flickered across Jack’s face before he grimaced and answered Daniel’s question by changing the subject. “You sure you’re okay? I don’t need to call Fraiser?”

Damn. He looked away, momentarily frustrated. He wanted to talk about it. The balcony. The sense of despair. Knowing he was dying. Opening his eyes to find himself lying on the ground on a strange planet, Jack’s face hovering anxiously above him. Feeling as weak as a day-old kitten. What was the point of remembering if it didn’t make any sense?

“Jack...” He saw the look again, and suddenly knew that Jack had seen too many deaths and lost too many friends. Some of them more than once. Perhaps some memories were better off forgotten. He swallowed his questions. The answers could wait for another day. Jack was his friend, and that meant giving as well as taking. He managed a wry smile. “I’ll talk to Fraiser if you want. But really, I’m fine. And I’m pretty sure I’ll stay that way so long as I don’t stick my nose in your shower gel again.”

“You’ll definitely talk to her?” Jack asked dubiously.

“Definitely,” Daniel replied, wishing his memories allowed him to offer more by way of comfort. At least now he knew that humour was Jack’s way of coping, that gave him a foundation on which to work. He pushed himself to his feet, adjusted the towel so it was wrapped securely around his hips, and moved close enough to inhale Jack’s scent. “See, doesn’t do a thing for me.”

“But at least you remember my name now, right?” Jack managed to sound plaintive.

“Oh yeah. Got that well fixed.” Daniel tapped his temple, then turned towards his discarded clothes. “So, Jim, any chance strawberries are on the menu for dinner?”

*******************************************

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