Title: Taking Care Of Daniel
Author: Wonderland
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em, wish I did, you know who does, yadda, yadda, yadda
Summary: A sick Daniel.
Season/Spoiler info: none

Author’s Notes: This is in answer to Magnavox’s ‘Taking Care of Jack’

Taking Care Of Daniel

I grit my teeth and take a long breath before ringing the doorbell. I’m not surprised that it goes unanswered. I wait and ring again. Again, nothing. Hoping that he followed Fraiser’s instructions, I insert my emergency key and trip the lock, smoothly opening the door. Yep, looks like for once he listened when the doc told him not to put the chain on the door, in case we needed to get in to him.

“Daniel?” I call out quietly. A wise man once said something about letting sleeping archaeologists lie; I only wish I could have convinced Fraiser of the wisdom of that piece of advice. My keen sense of hearing detects sounds coming from somewhere in the apartment so I head off to investigate, draping my coat across a chair at one of the two dining room tables so the snow can melt off. Who but Daniel would have two dining room tables? Maybe the Waltons, if you had like a dozen kids, but Daniel?

Following the noise, I make my way through his bedroom, eyeing the badly rumpled bed with a sinking feeling. That is in no way a good sign. “Daniel?” I tap on the bathroom door. My reply is the vivid and unmistakable sounds of retching. Oh, yes, good old Earth flu. And good old Daniel, naturally, had a horrible allergic reaction to the first antibiotic, leaving him even more miserable than he should have been. Hence, my determination to give him his much-needed and pleaded-for space.

This is something that Fraiser doesn’t understand, even after I’ve told her like a million times. Daniel does not like to be hovered over, he wants to be left, in his words, ‘the hell alone’ when he is sick. But she is thinking with a doctor’s brain and she thinks he should be monitored, even though she deemed him well enough to depart the infirmary. I’m not sure if it was the well part or the patient-from-hell part. But she dismissed him from the infirmary with the mistaken impression that someone was going to help her home-sit him.

I told her he’s a big boy, he can take care of himself, but I don’t think she’s buying it. Or it could be because she stopped to check on him yesterday, thoughtlessly offering him a suppository for the vomiting. From what I heard, he offered to return the favor, suppository-wise. I kinda wish I’d been there to see that conversation.

Anyway, he’s numero uno on her list at this point in time, so I got the call to do today’s Daniel check. With a deep sense of foreboding, I ease the bathroom door open, catching my breath at the smell. “Ooh, Daniel, you might want to open a window?”

“Bite me, Jack,” he growls through the towel his face is buried in. I step around him and open the window as wide as it will go. Cold and snow immediately swirl in but the smell cranks down a notch. Glad he’s got such a spacious bathroom, I perch on the edge of the garden tub. “So, ‘bout through there?” I ask pleasantly.

“I have no digestive tract left. Nothing. Anything I eat is simply going to float around inside me.” He informs me as he slides down to curl up on the cold tile floor.

“Glad I wasn’t thinking of eating anytime soon. Gross, Daniel. Thinking about getting up from the floor anytime soon?”

He eyes me around the towel. “Maybe.”

“Need me to pick you up?” I ask helpfully.

He snorts derisively. “You couldn’t pick me up. I weigh more than you do.”

“I don’t know about that. I’m taller than you are.”

“And I’m broader than you are.”

“Okay, why don’t you pick yourself up, maybe take a shower and get back into bed so I can report to Fraiser that all is well?”

I get the benefit of both eyes and a gleeful expression. “She sent you instead of coming herself?”

“Yeah, something about dueling suppositories just pissed her off for some reason.”

He actually laughs. “You gotta admit it was funny.”

“Woulda been even funnier if you’d gotten a shot of her expression. I’m just saying.”

He manages to sit up, frowns at the toilet before closing the lid and flushing. “Yuk, that stinks.”

“That’s not the only thing. Think you can manage a shower? I’ll hang around long enough to make sure you don’t crack your head open or anything.”

“That actually sounds like a pretty good idea.” He starts stripping before I’ve made it to the door.

“Don’t close the bathroom door.” I order as I dart back into his bedroom, scout out clean clothes that I deposit on the toilet lid. “Holler if you need me.”

He is notorious for his long showers; comes, I suppose, from a year on a planet without real showers. I investigate his linen closet, strip and change his bed because clean sheets are a known therapeutic healing aid. Or so said Nana O’Neill. I step back in the bathroom, collect the dirties and haul them all to his washer and start a load of whites.

His kitchen is next, I put the few dishes in the dishwasher, knowing it’s wasteful to do a partial load, but I set the machine to disinfect, too. He needs to get rid of the germs, not keep passing them around.

I’m in the living room, catching the end of a hockey match when he finally emerges. He lands on the couch beside me and snuggles down, pulling the blanket off the back and wrapping up in it. “Feel better now?”

Yep.” He wriggles around until he is situated in his corner, his feet braced against my thigh.

I look down at the sock and blanket covered feet. “Comfy?” I ask sarcastically.

He beams at me with a fresh scrubbed, pale face that looks about twelve without the glasses and with the long, wet hair dripping on his towel draped shoulders. “I’d be even more comfortable if I had…” His look is nothing if not hopeful.

“No way do I incur the wrath of Fraiser by making you coffee.” I shudder with exaggeration. “I like my body parts right where they are.”

His toes tap my thigh. “You’re not afraid of Janet.”

“Scared to death of her.” I disagree. “You might take a lesson from me and not alienate the woman who has free rein over your body.”

“Whatcha watchin’?” He thinks this will distract me. He’s wrong.

“Hockey. And please promise me you won’t piss Fraiser off again.”

“Or...” he yawns broadly.

“Or I’ll send Teal’c over to take care of you next time.”

“Okay.”

“You’d rather have Teal’c?” The hurt expression isn’t a complete act.

“Teal’s won’t make me behave; he lets me get away with shit and stuff. You know, ‘cause I’m sick and all that.”

“Teal’c is a wimp.” I consider that statement. “Where you’re concerned, anyway.”

“I know,” he answers smugly, serene in the knowledge that we’re both right.

I watch until the match ends and Daniel is snoring in his corner of the couch. I roust him and point him toward the bedroom, watching until he climbs in. “Okay, there’s a load of laundry in the dryer.” Or there will be when I move it from the washer. “Clean dishes, clean clothes…”

“Clean sheets,” he mumbles, sniffing the covers.

“Need anything else? No? Then my work here is done.” I pause as he finds a comfy spot and stretches out. “I’ll lock the door behind me.”

“Night, Jack, and thanks for tucking me in.”

“Behave, Daniel, or tomorrow you get Fraiser.” He laughs softly, because he knows I’m bluffing. If he needs someone tomorrow and the day after and the day after that, he knows who it will be. I stand there until I’m sure he’s asleep then I slip in and turn off the lights before I transfer his laundry, start the dryer, turn out the rest of the lights and lock up as I head home.