THERE IS A SEASON (Part Two) BY DARCY & KALIMYRE

Jack and Danny sat in the truck in front of the mysterious Corey Mitchell's house at precisely one o’clock on Saturday afternoon. "Do you want me to go in with you?" Jack finally asked. He wished Daniel would say 'yes'. His personality was a great icebreaker with kids and he'd do anything to make this easier for Daniel.

"No, I can go by myself," Daniel slowly decided. "Do I look okay?"

"Do you look okay?" Jack pretended to study him intently. He resisted the urge to kiss the worry line off of Daniel's brow in case any of the other kids showed up to witness it. Instead, he patted down a piece of uncooperative hair. "There. You look terrific. Now would you quit worrying? You're going to have a great time."

"And I'll call you when I want to come home, right?"

"Yep, I'll be home all day. If you're having fun though, stay as long as you want to. I have Corey's number so if it gets too late I'll call and check on you. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Well, you have your present and the card; did you bring your inhaler?"

Daniel nodded and patted his backpack. "And the invitation," he added. "In case they forgot they invited me."

"Well, looks like you're all set and I'm sure they remember who they invited." Jack patted Daniel's thigh to urge him on. "You better get going or the party will be over before you get in there."

Daniel gripped the car door, opened it and stepped out.

"Hey," Jack yelled out the window. "Have fun, buddy."

A nod of the head was the only response. Jack watched Daniel as he slowly, reluctantly made his way up the walk to the front door. He looked more like a prisoner keeping a date with the electric chair than a boy celebrating a friend's birthday. It took Daniel a few seconds to build up the courage to ring the doorbell. Jack waved as Daniel turned around, checking to see if he was still there. Before Daniel had a chance to wave back the front door opened and he was ushered inside.

Daniel Jackson was not anything at all what Jack expected a ten-year-old boy to be. He didn't really have a handle on this yet, but he would. One thing he did have a handle on was the depth of his feelings. He loved the boy, plain and simple. It took everything he had not to run up to the front steps and ring the bell, check on Daniel's breathing, give him a hug, and calm his nervous anxiety.

Someone's mom answered the door to the house. Daniel could tell it was a mom; since he had lost his own, he’d had a radar for moms and could always tell. "Hi, I'm Mrs. Mitchell, Corey's mom, come on in." For a second he hesitated, fighting down the urge to run back to the safety of the truck and Jack.

They wouldn't invite me if they didn't want me to come. He silently repeated the comforting mantra Jack had given him and turned his back on his last chance to escape. At least Mrs. Mitchell seemed nice.

"Come on, the party's this way," she encouraged. "And you are?"

"Daniel Jackson, ma'am. I have an invitation." He dug around in his backpack.

Mrs. Mitchell chuckled. "It's okay, I'm sure you do. Here, I'll take that for you," she said reaching for the present.

"It's for Corey." The gift was Daniel's lifeline and he was reluctant to let it go.

Mrs. Mitchell smiled. "I guessed that. I'm just going to put it in there," she pointed to the family room, "with all the other presents."

Daniel's eyes went wide as he spotted the number of gifts piled on the table, his confidence in the car wavering slightly.

"The boys are out back by the pool," she informed him.

He waited, not sure if he was supposed to know where that was.

"I'll show you, hon." Corey's mom led the way to the backyard. Daniel paused at the sliding glass doors, taking a minute to summon his courage. "Corey, Daniel's here." The introduction spurred him on to follow her out on to the patio.

There were six boys lounging out there, none of whom Daniel would categorize as particularly friendly towards him.

"Hi." The birthday boy himself offered a surprised greeting.

Daniel smiled hopefully at the tone. He wouldn't invite me if he didn't want me to come.

It helped that Mr. Mitchell was outside too. They were talking about birthdays and it wasn't long before Daniel relaxed enough to divulge that he was born in Egypt. That fact fascinated Mr. Mitchell and he was even more intrigued when Daniel revealed he spoke fluent Arabic. Daniel was chattering so happily with Mr. Mitchell he failed to notice none of the boys were joining in the conversation. When he finally did notice, it was too late to include them. But, Mr. Mitchell was Corey's dad, so now Corey would like him. He was sure of it. If Jack liked someone, Daniel would certainly do his best to make friends with that person as well.

As soon as Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell went into the house the atmosphere abruptly changed. "Show off," Ryan Danvers accused. "Do you think you're smarter than everyone else?"

Surprised at the speed of the turnabout Daniel immediately flushed pink and looked down at the ground. "No," he whispered, his stomach beginning to churn with the old familiar fear of rejection. He waited, hoping Corey would say something to stick up for him, but deep down he knew better. He'd been in this situation before and understood all to well where this was heading.

"How do we even know that was Arabic? You probably made it all up."

"I'm not making it up," Daniel said a bit more loudly. He hated being told he was wrong when he was right. "Ask me anything."

"Okay, I'll ask you something," Jason Hawthorne jumped in. "Why did you come to the party?"

He wished he hadn't, if that counted for anything. "Corey invited me," Daniel said as bravely as he could. He knew it was probably a trick question but couldn't think of a better response. Corey was his only hope.

Corey himself spoke up. "Moms and teachers," he said ominously. "That's why I invited you."

They wouldn't invite you if they didn't want you to come. Jack had been wrong. Moms and teachers was the answer that had been eluding him. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Do you see Albert Castleberry here?" Ryan asked with a hint of sarcasm. Before living with Jack Daniel might not have recognized the inflection.

He hadn't noticed. "No," he whispered after a quick look around, unsure of the significance.

"You want to know why?"

Not really. He was sure there was a joke at his expense in there somewhere.

Ryan answered for him. "Because he's smarter than you, Jackson. That's why. He got invited, but he wasn't dumb enough to actually show up." His tormentor stood over him and pointed his finger into Daniel's chest. "But you, the Arabic speaking geek genius came running right over." That brought peals of laughter from the other boys.

Moms and teachers. The weight on Daniel's chest grew heavier with every taunt.

"Did you at least bring Corey a gift?" Jason questioned.

Forcing himself to breathe slowly and deeply became Daniel's top priority.

Ryan snickered at the question. "What did you bring? A stupid book? A pocket protector? Oh, wait, I know, an Arabic dictionary so you can pretend you speak another language."

"I can speak another language, lots of them," Daniel said stubbornly to his shoes.

"Yeah, right."

"If it's not a video game or something for my Gameboy I don't want it," Corey said dismissively.

So much for 'it's the thought that counts.' Daniel blinked back stinging tears that were quickly gathering and threatening to fall. Three hours. That's how long it had taken he and Jack to find the remote control race car, the not so perfect gift after all. Three stores and the entire mall. Jack would feel so bad if he knew what a dumb gift it had turned out to be. Right then and there Daniel decided not to tell him. Plus, Jack had initially thought the car was too expensive for a birthday present. Please, Jack. Daniel remembered pleading his case until Jack had relented. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"You know what would have been the best present?" Corey continued to taunt quietly, making sure his parents were out of earshot. Daniel wondered what his nice mom would think if she knew how mean her son was being. Of course, she'd never know.

"The best present would have been if you'd have stayed home." That brought another round of hurtful laughter.

He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't. Instead, he resorted to his tried and true method of escape. Still managing to hold back the tears he calmly opened the sliding glass door. Once inside the house, he reached into his backpack and took out his trusty inhaler. It only took a few seconds to convince Corey's mom to call Jack to come and pick him up.

Daniel sat as still as he could on the bench in the front hall watching out the screen door for Jack's truck. He didn't want anyone to see him or talk to him, or be nice to him. If someone was nice to him he might cry, and he hadn't cried yet and wasn't about to now. All he wanted to do was to go home, not to Jack's house, but home to Egypt where he didn't have to try to be a 'normal' boy like Corey or Ryan or Jason or... Charlie. Egypt was the only place on earth where it had been okay to be Daniel Jackson.

When Daniel looked up he saw Jack opening the door of the truck and hurrying up the walk, carrying the nebulizer in one hand and looking terribly worried. "Bye, Mrs. Mitchell," he yelled politely and shot out the door to head Jack off. He ran to greet him and grabbed his hand trying to tug him back toward the Avalanche.

"Are you okay?" Jack was down on one knee, his hand already reaching out to feel Daniel's chest.

Daniel didn't trust himself to do more than nod. As he suspected, it was much harder to hold back tears in the face of kindness than in the face of cruelty.

Apparently satisfied with his breathing sounds Jack stood up and to Daniel's complete dismay, announced he wanted to speak to Mr. or Mrs. Mitchell. The last thing Daniel wanted to do was go back inside that house.

Mrs. Mitchell saved the day by appearing in the doorway and walking towards them. "I hope he feels better," she offered sympathetically.

When she was close enough, she held out her hand and introduced herself. "Diane Mitchell."

"Jack O'Neill. What happened?" Jack sounded so worried.

"I'm not sure. He seemed fine one minute and then he asked me to call you and said his asthma was bothering him. I did notice he sounded a bit wheezy when he came to get me." She held a bag out to Jack, but smiled at Daniel. "The party favors and a big piece of cake for you when you're feeling better," she explained. "I'm so sorry you couldn’t stay for the food and the gifts, Daniel. It was so nice to meet you."

She meant it, she liked him, he could tell. Grown-ups always liked him. Kids were another story. Kids had no use for him.

"So there was no trouble?" Jack asked hesitantly, still giving Daniel a visual once over.

"No, he was no trouble at all."

Daniel was relieved she had misunderstood the question. Jack looked relieved too. Daniel was glad, he didn't want to be any trouble; he could take care of himself, just like always.

Sitting alone outside the principal's office a few days later gave Daniel plenty of time to think about his actions. He was still shocked the principal had called Jack at work to come and pick him up. For the first time since the incident, his chest tightened slightly and he began to doubt himself. His asthma rarely acted up when in the midst of an angry display of temper; scared or stressed was another story.

His history teacher, Mr. Reynolds, had corrected him on one of his answers and some of the kids had silently mocked him. He'd heard Corey and Ryan snickering that he probably didn't speak Arabic either. Daniel wasn't going to yield, not this time. So what if Mr. Reynolds was a teacher, that didn't mean he knew everything.

"But I'm right," Daniel had insisted defiantly. The disagreement had deteriorated quickly.

"Let's move on and discuss this after class, shall we?" Mr. Reynolds had finally suggested.

"It doesn't matter when we discuss it," Daniel had responded hotly. "I'll still be right and you'll still be wrong." Okay, that might have been over the imaginary line. A nervous, universal gasp had gone up from the class and that's when Daniel had first noticed that Mr. Reynolds was mad. Very mad. It had taken a while for the easygoing teacher to get to that point but he was definitely there, and for some reason, Daniel didn't care. He had decided he hated this school and these kids and this teacher, and yes, he was angry and he was not about to calm down and let everyone think he was wrong when he wasn't. Instead, he offered up a suggestion of his own. "Let's look it up on the Internet and then we'll see who's right." It had gone downhill from there. He guessed it was the attitude more than the words that had set Mr. Reynolds off and landed him in his current situation.

It seemed like a victory at the time, but now sitting in the outer office, he wasn't so sure. To combat the nervousness, Daniel found his inhaler and took two deep pulls to calm himself and loosen the vice that was slowly tightening. He wondered if Charlie had ever been in enough trouble to warrant Jack being called away from his important job at Cheyenne Mountain. If he had been in trouble, Sara had probably come so Jack didn't have to bother.

Forty minutes later, Mrs. Duncan, the secretary, showed Jack into Principal Evans office while Daniel waited outside, unable to hear what the adults were saying behind closed doors. Daniel took heart in the fact Jack had stopped to say hello to him and ask if he was all right. He wondered exactly what Mr. Evans was saying. It wasn't fair. Mr. Evans wasn't there; he didn't even know the stupid question much less which answer was correct. The longer Jack was inside the farther Daniel's heart sank. He scuffed the toe of one shoe with the other. Jack didn't condone disrespect in any way, shape or form; he considered disrespect and lying to be very serious matters. Daniel comforted himself with the fact that he didn't lie, he was right; they could all look it up. Jack would believe him, he thought confidently.

Jack strode out of the office amazed at the report of Daniel's classroom behavior the principal had just shared. He gathered up Daniel and headed for home, using the drive time to figure out the best way to handle this. The ride was uncomfortably quiet. The one time Daniel tried to explain, Jack shushed him and strongly advised him to wait until they were home. He noticed the reprimand only seemed to add fuel to the fire of Daniel's growing anger.

As soon as the truck pulled into the driveway Daniel jumped out and hurried into the house.

"Daniel Jackson, get back here. Right now." Jack had quickly followed through the door and Daniel had only made it halfway to his bedroom when the booming voice stopped him.

All the pent up pain and frustration exploded as Daniel returned to the living room. "I was right! My answer was right! He didn't want to listen to me!" Daniel shouted as he folded his arms across his chest.

"Sit down and we'll talk about this. You're not going to shout at me," Jack said very calmly.

"I don't want to sit down," Daniel insisted loudly, stomping around for good measure. "You never listen to me either. No one ever listens to me."

"Stop acting like a brat and I'll listen." The tone indicated Jack's calm façade was in danger of slipping into major annoyance.

"You won't. No one does. And, I'm not a brat. I'm not. And you don't know everything either, Jack. You're wrong too. You're wrong, just like Mr. Reynolds."

"Me? I wasn’t even there. And I didn't say you were a brat. I said you were acting like one and you are. Now stop shouting at me and calm down so we can talk about this."

"No," Daniel sputtered defiantly.

Jack was at the end of his rope. "Fine, then you can go up to your room and stay there until you're capable of being civil. I won't be..."

"J-Jack." Daniel's hand went to his chest and the blue eyes went wide with startled panic.

"Shit! Hold on, Danny." Jack jumped up from the couch and ran to Daniel's room for the nebulizer, grabbing the cordless phone along the way.

By the time he returned Daniel had collapsed on the couch and was panting frantically for a breath of air. Jack sat down and pulled Daniel into a sitting position between his legs. He repositioned Daniel's head and neck as Fraiser had suggested and slid the mask over the gulping mouth, praying the green mist in the little yellow machine would get the job done. The phone was beside him, just in case.

"Daniel, that's enough. You can breathe if you try. Nice and slow, in and out," he said with more confidence than he felt. Keeping up a steady stream of encouraging words seemed to help. Through trial and error, Jack had discovered that in the throes of an attack, Daniel responded best to his firm, reassuring command voice. After twenty fear-filled minutes Daniel's breathing evened out and Jack's heart once again resumed its normal rhythm.

"Better?" Jack removed the mask and continued to stroke through Daniel's sweaty hair with trembling fingers.

Daniel nodded shakily. The small chest was still raspy and Daniel was exhausted from the effort. Jack gently rocked him back and forth, not willing to let go.

It was Daniel who spoke first. "I'll go to my room now," he said quietly.

"Let's just sit here for a few minutes," Jack whispered, placing a kiss on the boy's head.

"You don't have to be nice to me."

"Nice to you?" Jack asked, confused.

"Because I'm sick," Daniel blushed. "Everyone's always nice to me when I'm sick."

"How about we save that for later?" Jack squeezed Daniel possessively. The poor kid sounded so worn.

"No one listens to me," Daniel sighed.

Jack decided no ten-year-old should ever sound that tired.

"My real dad listened to me," Daniel corrected sleepily. "My real dad always listened to me. He thought I was smart."

Jack froze at the words.

Daniel continued in the same quiet voice. "It's okay, Jack. I understand you're not my real dad. You don't have to listen to me if you don't want to."

It took Jack a few seconds to find his voice. "I want to listen, Danny. I do. What do you want to tell me?"

"That I was right. I told Mr. Reynolds he had the dynasties of Egypt wrong but he wouldn't listen. He showed me in the book. But the book was wrong." Daniel paused for a minute before adding, "My dad said it's a common error."

"The book is wrong?" Jack shook his head in amazement.

"Yes, because it's an older book." Daniel looked up to see Jack's eyes. "You know that books aren't always right, don't you, Jack?"

"Sure," he said slowly, continuing to hug Daniel close for his own comfort as much as Danny's. "Daniel," he started gently. "It's still wrong to yell at a teacher and contradict him in front of the class, even if you're right. You must know that, don't you?"

"The kids were laughing at me." Daniel buried his face deeper into Jack's chest.

"Why?" Jack asked simply.

"They w-wanted me to be wrong because they don't l-like me." The stuttering made it clear how difficult that admission was.

"Even after the party? I thought you made a few friends," Jack questioned.

Red-faced, Daniel came clean. "They didn't want me at the party, Jack. You were wrong. They didn't invite me because they wanted me to come. They invited me because of moms and teachers." The little body trembled against him. "But moms and teachers can't make kids like you," he observed sadly.

Now it was Jack's chest tightening uncomfortably. "How do you know that?" His gentle tone belied his anger.

"Corey told me."

Jack nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The kid told Daniel, to his face. That explained a lot.

"I tried to make friends. I was nice to everyone. Really, I was."

Remembering the long week of excitement and the thought and care that went into picking out the perfect gift slammed into Jack and caused him to blink back angry tears. "Shh, I know. I know you were, Danny. It's okay."

"Jack, why don't kids like me?"

It was a loaded question so Jack gave it careful consideration. He thought about the huge brain housed inside the skinny little body and the big round glasses, that, coupled with the inquisitive, unusual questions and the rare, serious smile, not to mention a stubborn streak the size of California and it all added up to the aura of being different. Different has its advantages as an adult, but as a child, it was the kiss of death. Poor kid might as well walk around with a sign that said 'kick me' on his back.

"You just haven't met the right kids yet, that's all. Let's get you to bed." Jack kissed the blonde hair beneath his chin.

The fact Daniel didn't put up a fuss about going to bed in the middle of the afternoon proved how worn out he was. He barely woke up when Jack carried him to his room and gently laid him down on the bed. He only stirred to whisper "goodnight" when Jack changed him into his pajamas and propped pillows underneath his head to keep his airway as clear as possible.

Worried about a secondary attack brought on by the first one, Jack stretched out on top of the sheet beside a sleeping Daniel, his senses on high alert for any stress or break in the steady, slightly wheezy breathing pattern.

Tossing and turning, Jack found himself restless, unable to doze. Something was nagging at him, something Daniel had said about moms and teachers. After a while it came to him and made him wish he'd forgotten. Charlie's last birthday party... "Do I have to invite him, Mom? He's weird."

To his shame, Jack had sided with Charlie. "Sara, let him invite who he wants, it's his party."

Sara would have none of his ignorant nonsense. After giving him a scathing look, she informed Charlie, in no uncertain terms, that he would invite all the boys in the class or none of them. God bless moms and teachers. Try as he might, aside from Charlie's closer friends, Jack couldn't recall the other kids at the party. Now he wondered if the 'weird' boy had come, and if he had, had he cried himself to sleep that night? He doubted Charlie had it in him to be as mean as Corey had been behind his parent's back. Still, it bothered him and he wished he could live that over again, he wished he could live his entire life over again; it would be different because he was different. He would make it a point to be home more, he would listen better to his wife and son, he'd take more care, and he'd hug Charlie more often, like he tried to do now with Daniel.

Maybe Sara was right. He was using Daniel to try to fix something inside himself that had shattered into a million pieces. He needed to quit struggling to do the impossible and fix the past; he needed to move forward for his own sake as well as for Daniel's. Of course, recognizing the facts didn't automatically change them. He rested his hand on Danny's back, feeling the congested rattling of the boy's lungs through the thin pajamas. For Danny's sake he vowed to try.

Daniel sighed and shifted in his seat. Mr. Reynolds was still writing on the chalkboard, his clear block letters listing that week’s spelling words. Spelling! As if Daniel hadn’t mastered all those words years ago. Now, if he’d been asking him to spell them in Greek, or Hieratic, that would be something else. That would be a challenge.

At least spelling was better than History, or as this school called it, Social Studies. Which was the dumbest name Daniel had ever heard. Not only was the majority of the world woefully neglected in favor of American history, or more accurately, US history, the books that they were working from were at least twenty years old. Did no one but him understand that their understanding of the past was constantly evolving? Did they think that everything there was to know had been learned by 1982?

Daniel dutifully wrote the spelling words down, sighing again. Then he shut his school notebook and dug his journal out of his backpack, relishing the scent of old leather from the binding. This journal was one of the few possessions he had from Before. He divided his life into two sharp halves, Before and After. Before was living in Egypt with his mom and dad. After was... not.

“Everyone write the spelling words out five times,” Mr. Reynolds said, dusting his hands together and turning back to the class. Around Daniel, kids broke out pencils and paper and began the process of learning by rote repetition.

Daniel tilted his head to one side and considered his journal. He ran his fingers over the thick, heavy paper. It had a high linen content, almost more cloth than paper, and if he pressed his nose to the pages, he could still catch a whiff of the desert. The scent was baked in by the hot Egyptian sun. Sand and camels and rich spices, and sometimes, when he really wanted it to be there, he could smell his mother’s perfume. Water lilies, rare and delicate.

He turned the pages, smiling slightly at the different languages he’d tried, the elegant stretches of Latin, the beautiful and ornate hieroglyphs, drawn with such care. He looked back up at the spelling words and wrinkled his nose. English was not a pretty language. It felt bare and functional to him, chunky and mechanical. It lacked the fluid sound of French and the familiar warmth of Arabic.

He would write the spelling words, he decided, but he would do it his way. Mr. Reynolds didn’t like him anyway, not since he’d contradicted him in class about that error in the book. And he’d been right, Daniel thought fiercely. Not that it mattered. Jack, at least, had believed him. Eventually. Jack liked him. But the people at this school didn’t, and the feeling was definitely mutual. Why should he bother trying to make them happy? Why should he do the stupid assignment when he already knew the words back to front? Wasn’t he here to learn something?

Right. If they weren’t going to teach him, he would just have to teach himself. Grinning, Daniel turned to a clean page in his journal and wrote the spelling words, once in English to use as a base. Then he translated to Arabic, which he was most comfortable with. The familiar characters made him swallow and think of home, as it had been Before. The ten words were done all too quickly, and then he paused, considering. Hieroglyphs would be challenging, both because he was still learning them, and because some words did not translate well. Computer, for example, or aeronautics. These were not things that ancient Egyptians had needed to write about.

French, then. Modern and archaic, he decided, for that extra level of difficulty. Then Greek, also both modern and ancient. He loved Greek, both for the interesting shape of the letters and the unique alphabet, and for his fond memories of a summer spent in Crete when he was six. The Mediterranean Sea had been so blue that his first sight of it had taken his breath away. Such a beautiful place, and with so many happy and generous people.

He was leaning back in his seat, daydreaming of happier times, when his journal was suddenly jerked out from under his hands. He reached for it automatically, a protest dying on his lips when he saw Mr. Reynolds standing over him, frowning.

“What’s this?” the teacher asked, running his finger over Daniel’s careful script.

Daniel tensed, wanting to snap at the man to not touch it. He’d get his smell on the pages, wipe out the lingering traces of the precious desert. “It’s mine,” he said, fiercely controlling his voice. He couldn’t let himself get in another fight with the teacher. Jack had been very clear about that after the last time, about being respectful even if he was sure he was right.

“Did you do the assignment?” Mr. Reynolds asked patiently.

Daniel was now the center of attention. Everyone was staring at him, and he could see Corey grinning, rolling his eyes. He whispered something to one of his friends and they snickered together. Daniel gritted his teeth. “No,” he replied. “I already know those words.”

Mr. Reynolds shook his head. “That doesn’t exempt you from the assignment. I’m afraid I’ll have to take this until you can focus on the work.” He closed the journal and tucked it under his arm.

“No!” Daniel shrank when everyone’s stares became a little sharper. He swallowed and tried for a calmer voice. “Please. I’ll put it in my backpack and I won’t touch it anymore. Please don’t take it away.”

Corey laughed again, and Daniel heard the whispered comment this time. “Hey, the weirdo’s gonna cry about his book!”

The teacher gave Corey a stern look and he subsided, but gave Daniel a mocking smile as soon as Mr. Reynolds turned back. Daniel told himself to ignore Corey. He didn’t matter. He reminded himself that he didn’t care about the kids here, they didn’t like him and he didn’t like them and what they thought of him was meaningless. And he was not going to cry. If Mr. Reynolds took his journal away... well, he’d be okay. Somehow. It was just a book. Sure.

Mr. Reynolds sighed and opened the journal again, finding the list of spelling words in English, and the other languages laid out beside them in a neat row. He raised his eyebrows and gave Daniel a speculative look. “Is that French?”

Daniel nodded uncertainly. He tugged the spine of the book gently, relieved when it was placed on his desk again. He kept one hand firmly on it, holding it there. “That’s modern French,” he said, pointing. “That’s the archaic form. That’s Greek, and that’s Arabic.” He was warming to the subject now, glad that Mr. Reynolds was listening quietly, seeming interested. “It was hard to get the terms in the older languages, as many modern English words were created for specific technologies and while their roots are often drawn from Latin and Greek, like most Western languages, that doesn’t mean that there’s a direct translation. Of course, any translation loses a lot of the meaning in the process, due to context and the evolution of language over time, being linked with culture. A word that may technically mean the same thing in two different languages can’t possibly carry all the same connotations--” Daniel stopped abruptly, realizing he was now delivering a lecture to the entire class. He slumped in his seat, his ears burning.

The teacher was looking at him oddly now, and around him, the class was tittering, murmuring to each other. Daniel swallowed and dropped his head, staring down at his journal, seeking comfort in the safe, familiar languages.

“Daniel, were you given aptitude tests before being placed here?”

He nodded. He’d taken the tests, and they’d wanted to skip him ahead. Drastically ahead. Eighth grade had been mentioned, and it was only that low due to his more limited math skills. Jack, however, had insisted he be placed with kids his own age. That he be treated like a “normal” boy. He remembered Jack saying that a lot. He supposed Charlie had never been stared at as his test results came back, and murmured about behind closed office doors. Charlie had been normal.

Apparently realizing Daniel did not want to discuss this in the middle of the classroom, Mr. Reynolds straightened. “Never mind. I’ll do some checking on my own. In the meantime, you put that book away and do the assignment, is that clear?”

“Yes,” Daniel said eagerly, nodding. “I’m sorry.” Which he wasn’t, really, but it was what he said when he had nothing else to say. And at least Mr. Reynolds was letting him keep the journal. He was willing to be cooperative just for that.

The teacher seemed to accept his words, going back to the front of the class and giving everyone pointed looks until they turned back to their own work. Daniel sighed in relief and carefully closed the journal, running his fingers reverently over the soft, worn leather. He couldn’t resist holding it to his chest for a moment before slipping it into his backpack. When he looked up, he saw Corey, Ryan and Jason all watching him. He scowled at them and then opened his notebook, meticulously copying the words and ignoring the derisive looks directed at him.

Daniel was glad when the day was over. School had been mostly boring and lonely for him before Corey’s birthday party, but ever since that disaster, it had been downright painful. Maybe Mr. Reynolds would talk to Jack about skipping him ahead now? But Jack didn’t want that. And besides, Daniel had been skipped ahead in other schools, when he lived in other places, and it had never helped. The work had been a little more challenging, but the kids had been even bigger, and less inclined to like him.

Sighing, Daniel got to his feet with the other kids, watching as they gathered up books and papers and prepared to go home. The teacher was calling out the homework for that evening, reminding them all about the Social Studies test on Friday. Daniel couldn’t help rolling his eyes. He’d done the homework in class, like he always did, and the test was a joke. The other kids were groaning about it though, so he made a half-hearted attempt to mumble and complain as well. That was what a normal kid would do. Jack wanted him to be normal. He had to at least try.

He picked his backpack up and slung one strap over his shoulder, joining the stream of kids heading out the door. He didn’t like to stand on the street with all of them, waiting for buses and rides. He had a keenly developed sense of his vulnerability at all times, and out there on the road, there were a lot of kids and very little adult supervision. It was not a good place to be.

Since Carla picked him up and he didn’t have to catch a bus, he could afford to duck into the bathroom and wait for most of the crowd to dissipate. Carla never complained about waiting a few extra minutes, and Daniel appreciated the time and solitude to push away the stress of the day and look forward to going to Jack’s house. That place wasn’t entirely stress-free either, but it was vastly better than school.

Daniel ducked out of the noisy hallway, full of shouts and laughter, and entered the empty bathroom with relief. He liked this one in particular because there was a bench against one wall, the dark wood looking odd and out of place amidst the pale green and white tiles. Daniel wasn’t sure why it was there, and he suspected it had something to do with that wall being empty and the school just needing something to stick there so the bathroom didn’t look so lopsided. Didn’t matter, because it made a good place to sit and enjoy the quiet for a few minutes.

He could hear the children in the hall moving away, the bubbling rush of noise pouring out the big double doors and into the open air. He leaned back and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Shrugging his backpack off, he pulled out his journal and held it to his chest again. The scent of home wafted to him and he sighed, feeling muscles in his back and shoulders unknot. It could have been worse, he thought. Mr. Reynolds could have taken this from him. He had so little left now. It was probably foolish to even bring the journal here, to risk it, but he couldn’t bear the thought of trying to get through the isolation and mocking laughter of each day without something to hold onto.

He decided to take a few extra minutes today. It had been a bad day. He needed time to put on a happy face for Carla, who talked to Jack. If he looked upset, Jack would find out, and want to know why. He might tell Daniel to stop writing other languages in class. Or maybe even to leave the journal at home. Either way he’d be upset that Daniel hadn’t been doing the assigned work. He’d sigh, and look disappointed, which was somehow so much worse than getting angry. That disappointed look on Jack’s face made Daniel’s stomach twist every time.

Daniel heard the pneumatic hiss of the door and his eyes snapped open. He sat up straighter, swallowing and clutching his journal when Corey came in, closely followed by Ryan and Jason.

“Oh look, it’s the genius,” Corey began, stalking toward him. Daniel was aware of the other two boys fanning out, and how they loomed over him, standing while he sat on the bench.

“You just couldn’t stop, could you?” Jason taunted, shaking his head. “Had to go showing off again. Making up all that language crap.”

“It wasn’t made up,” Daniel muttered, glaring. He stood up, only to be shoved back down, Corey making it look effortless.

“Let’s see it,” Ryan said, reaching for his journal. “Let’s see what you were scribbling.”

“No!” Daniel clutched it harder, twisting away from the grasping hands. “It’s mine.”

“You gonna cry if we take your precious book?” Corey asked, and they all laughed. Daniel shook his head, gritting his teeth.

“C’mon, geek, let’s see what you’ve got.” Jason grabbed his wrists, forcing them apart. Ryan pried the journal from his weakened grasp, holding it up triumphantly.

“No!” Daniel shouted again, kicking and twisting. Jason looked surprised at the sudden struggling but stood over him, pinning his shoulders down, using his superior weight and height.

Ryan passed the journal to Corey, who opened it, his smile fading when he saw that most of the entries were in Arabic. Daniel never wrote his secrets in English, and he was suddenly grateful for that small mercy. At least they wouldn’t be able to read how he felt. He’d written about Jack, about how he hoped that Jack would keep him. He hadn’t even dared say that out loud to anyone, or to himself, but it was safe to write it in the journal. He had letters to his parents in there, saying how much he missed them, how much it still hurt that they were gone. He’d written of how lonely he was, how much he wished for a friend, and the journal had listened to all of it. He couldn’t bear the thought of those words being mocked.

“This is trash,” Corey sneered, shaking his head. “More scribbling.” He grasped a chunk of paper and pulled hard, the old binding giving with sickening ease. Daniel watched, feeling like he’d just been punched in the stomach. He stopped struggling, his eyes wide, his throat closing to a pinhole. He could hear his breathing whistling distantly.

“Tear it up,” Jason said.

Corey twisted the papers, beginning to tear them, and then paused. Daniel allowed himself a brief moment to hope that this was a reprieve, that Corey was going to return his precious words to him, that it could be taped together, fixed. Then he met the other boy’s gleeful, hard eyes, and the hope disappeared.

“Nah,” Corey said indolently. “I’ve got a better place for this crap.” And he turned toward one of the stalls.

Daniel closed his eyes, biting his lip. He heard ripping, and then several flushes. His breathing was beginning to wheeze badly now, his chest locked. He felt like he had a heavy weight on him, pinning him to the wall, like gravity was working triple. Sweat broke out on his back and forehead, and his heart hammered painfully.

“Hey, Corey...” Ryan’s voice was worried. Daniel heard it distantly. He began scrabbling in his pocket for his inhaler, but that was distant too. Automatic. Most of his focus was on those long, vicious ripping sounds.

“What?”

“He’s choking or something, man. He doesn’t look good.”

There were footsteps, and Daniel slowly opened his eyes. Corey stood over him, frowning, holding his journal in one hand. Or what was left of it. Nothing but the leather cover now, the paper entirely gone. Long brown threads dangled from the eviscerated binding, and as Daniel watched, a final scrap of paper fluttered to the floor. He closed his eyes again, his mouth opening and shutting like a fish out of water.

“He’s probably just faking,” Corey said uncertainly. “Hey! Quit it.” He shoved at Daniel’s shoulder.

Daniel felt his inhaler in his pocket but didn’t pull it out. They might take it from him.

“His breathing sounds weird,” Jason said. He sounded like he was far away, but Daniel wasn’t sure if that was because he’d moved or if it was just that everything seemed far away at the moment. “We should get out of here.”

“Yeah.” Corey gave him another half-hearted shove. “Here’s your book.” Something slapped on the bench beside him. Daniel didn’t open his eyes.

When he heard the door close, he whipped the inhaler out, pushing hard on the plunger and shooting medicine into his throat. He took two shots of the mist and then forced himself to put it down, to control his breathing and give it a chance to work. His free hand crept over to his side, and he felt the smooth, familiar leather. It was wet now, half the cover sodden and squishing under his fingertips. Corey must have... god, he must have actually dipped it, since it was too big to flush.

Daniel bit his lip and forced some more deep breaths. Just a book, he told himself. He could get another one. With a leather cover and thick, rich paper. Just as good.

It wouldn’t have the scent of Egypt, though. The subtle whiff of his mother’s perfume. The pages in the beginning, where his parents had written, had showed him the hieroglyphs, the Greek characters, and his own careful hand mimicking them. He remembered how his father had held his hand, guiding it across the paper. The paper that was now somewhere in the school’s sewer system.

Daniel sniffed hard and shook his head. His throat was trying to choke up on him again and he forced it back, holding onto his control with everything he had. It was just a book. He still had the memory, and that was what mattered. He’d lost plenty of things that reminded him of Before, and he’d gotten over them. He’d get over this, too. Didn’t matter. What was one more thing?

His breathing was slowly easing, leaving him shaking and tired, his back unpleasantly cold and itchy with drying sweat. His heart still thumped hard and fast, his throat sore, his mouth tasting of bitter medicine. He took one last breath from his inhaler and put it away. Then he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, focusing on the wheeze of his breathing. He just wouldn’t think about it. If he didn’t think too much, it would be okay.

Eventually, he heard Carla’s voice out in the hall, calling him. He sighed and got to his feet, taking a moment for his legs to stop shaking. He looked down at the leather cover on the bench. Most of it was darker brown than usual, soaked. There was a dry strip along one edge where Corey had held on. He picked it up by that dry place, fingered the leather one last time. Then he dropped it in the trash. Its value was gone now, ruined. Desecrated.

He pushed the door open and found Carla in the hall, looking worried.

“Daniel! There you are.” She hurried up to him and then paused, frowning. “Are you alright?”

Daniel shrugged. He knew his breathing was still audibly wheezy, his chest rattling ominously. There was no hiding the recent attack. “Had an asthma attack,” he said dismissively. “I’m fine now.”

She nodded slowly. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Daniel turned toward the front doors, glad when she followed him without further questions. Carla was pretty nice, but he was very aware that this was her job. Jack paid her to pick him up and watch him in the afternoons. Just as the foster system paid Jack to feed and house him. Daniel doubted Carla would be here if not for the money, and he wasn’t entirely sure about Jack, either. Jack didn’t seem to worry about money much. Daniel thought maybe he was looking for a replacement for Charlie more than he wanted the state funding. Either way, Daniel himself was not the first priority, and that was fine. He understood that. He was used to it.

“Should I call Jack?” she asked as he climbed into the car. “Do you feel like you need to use the nebulizer?”

“Please don’t bother Jack,” he replied immediately. “I’m fine. I can use the neb by myself if I need to later.”

She gave him a confused look. “I know. I can help you if you want. I just thought maybe you wanted Jack.”

Daniel shook his head. He wouldn’t bother Jack. He would be very good, and maybe, if he was lucky, Jack wouldn’t make him go to school there anymore. He considered asking Jack if he could switch to another place, but sighed, discarding the idea. It wouldn’t matter where he was. They were all the same underneath, full of kids he didn’t understand, who played by some rules that had never been explained to him. Kids who pushed him, who laughed, who took his things, his precious things and tore them...

Closing his eyes, Daniel hugged his backpack tight to his chest and took a deep breath. He wasn’t thinking about it. It was fine. He would be just fine as long as he didn’t think about it.

Daniel went straight to his room when they got back to Jack’s house. Once behind his closed door, he let himself sink to the floor, his back to the wall and his eyes closed. He could feel his eyes stinging and he rubbed them, swallowing. He was fine. Not thinking about it.

He just needed to calm down. To distract himself. Maybe he could practice languages again. The translation process was soothing and familiar. He could pick a word at random out of a book and then translate it into as many languages as he could think of. It was a common exercise for him, a challenge and a hobby, of sorts. He would copy it all down in his...

Journal. Right. Okay, notebook this time. Not thinking about it.

Daniel nodded to himself and got up, going to his desk and pulling his school notebook from his backpack. He flipped the pages slowly for a while, looking at fractions and ridiculously easy reading assignments and history notes that didn’t deserve the name. He shut the notebook abruptly, shoving it back into his bag. It was part of another world, part of After. He would not put his languages into those mass produced blue lined pages. After would not be allowed to corrupt Before.

Standing, he began to pace, tugging fretfully at his shirt, twisting the material between his fingers. He glanced into his closet as he walked by, and then slowed, backing up slightly. It wasn’t all gone, after all. He still had some things, precious things.

Daniel dropped to his knees in the closet and dug through a pile of winter clothes that Jack had already bought him. At the bottom, pushed into the darkest corner, was his shoe box. He pulled it out and scooted until he was tucked into the corner, the hems of shirts hung above touching his hair, sleeves dangling in front of his eyes. He brushed them aside and carefully, reverently, removed the lid.

There on top, the picture of him, his mom and his dad in Cairo. The bright sun cast his own face into shadow, his parents shielding him from it, but their faces were clear. He was leaning against his father, who had his arms around Daniel’s chest, holding him snugly. Daniel, sitting in the closet and looking, brought his own arms up, squeezing as hard as he could. Sometimes he could pretend.

His mother was smiling, her hair covered with a bandanna and her shirt streaked with dirt. Daniel himself was covered with sand, sticking to his loose cotton pants and bare chest. He was brown with the sun, his hair bright blonde and hanging over his forehead. He’d been seven in that picture.

“So lucky,” Daniel whispered, pressing his thumb to his own image. “And you didn’t even know.”

But it was better, he thought. Better that he hadn’t known. Maybe he would have appreciated what he had more, but he would have lost that surety of happiness, the peace that he remembered with such longing.

Daniel shifted his thumb to his father, tracing the line of his shoulders, remembering what it was like to ride on them, above the world. How strong he had been, how seemingly infallible. The patience he’d had to teach Daniel everything, how to uncover an artifact and to translate hieroglyphs and to write so many languages. He thought of his father’s hand, guiding his own in his journal, and his throat threatened to close up again.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I lost what you gave me. So sorry, dad. I should have taken better care of it. Should never have...” He closed his eyes, shaking his head. He felt moisture on his cheeks and he brushed it away hard. He would not be sad. His mom and dad never wanted him to be sad. He could be strong for them.

“I’m okay,” he told them, imagining that his mother’s smile got a little wider. The way she’d always looked at him, with pride and approval and rich fondness. His father had told him to be strong and brave, but his mother had always said it was alright to be afraid sometimes. From her, he remembered softness. Indulgence.

Daniel took a deep breath and replaced the picture, then closed the lid firmly. He couldn’t afford softness anymore. He put the box back in its place and covered it with a neat stack of winter coats, long underwear, and woolen socks and mittens.

Then he crawled out of the closet and stood, straightening his back, making himself tall. He was a big boy now. He could handle this.

His gaze fell on his bed, neatly made, because Jack liked that sort of thing. He decided that even big boys needed a little help now and then, and he picked up his pillow. Reaching inside the pillowcase, he pulled out a scrap of blue silk and rubbed it on his cheek. The pressure in his chest eased at the familiar touch, and he closed his eyes for a moment, sighing. Opening them again was hard, and he cast another long look at the bed. Maybe he could lie down. Just for a little while. It wasn’t as if he had anything else to do, after all.

Toeing off his shoes, Daniel sprawled on the bed. He brought the spare pillow to his chest, curling around it, and kept the bit of blue blanket close to his face, where he could feel it. He would rest a little, and then be recovered from his asthma attack and calm for when Jack got home. He’d never suspect a thing.

Daniel woke to a warm, wide hand on his back, and for a moment, with the familiar touch of his blanket on his cheek and his dreams of Egypt, he almost thought it was his father waking him. But when he opened his eyes, it was only Jack, who was kind and strong, but not the same. Not the same at all.

He quickly stuffed the scrap of blanket back into his pillowcase, hoping Jack hadn’t noticed it. Sitting up, Daniel blinked blearily, wondering where his glasses had gone. Hadn’t he been wearing them?

“Here,” Jack said, holding them out. “I think they fell off.”

“Oh.” Daniel nodded and took them, quickly slipping them on his face. He always felt naked without his glasses, vulnerable and half-blind. “Thanks.”

“How’re you doing?”

“Fine.” Daniel gave Jack his best smile.

“Hmm.” Jack tilted his head to one side, and then his hand rested on Daniel’s chest, a warm weight. “I heard you had an asthma attack.”

Daniel shrugged. “I used my inhaler. I’m okay now.”

“Yeah?” Jack asked. He was watching Daniel’s face carefully, and Daniel could tell he didn’t like what he saw. He tried on another smile, but couldn’t maintain it for long.

“Isn’t it time for dinner?” Daniel asked, edging away. Jack was too close, and entirely too inviting. If Daniel didn’t watch himself, he’d fall into temptation and crumble, wanting Jack to catch him. He knew he cried too much. Normal boys didn’t cry all the time. Jack was probably getting tired of him being upset and sad.

“You hungry?”

Not really. “Sure,” Daniel said. He hopped off the bed and went to the door, his legs still feeling thick and heavy from his unexpected afternoon nap. He paused, looking back at Jack, who was still sitting on the edge of his bed and frowning. “Jack?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Daniel felt a sudden rush of stinging pressure well up in his throat and he closed his eyes, swallowing hard. Why did Jack have to sound that way? So concerned, so puzzled. So worried for him. Why couldn’t he just buy the act and let it go?

“Daniel?”

When he opened his eyes, Jack was crouching in front of him. A large hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed gently, the thumb rubbing his collarbone. “Don’t,” Daniel said, pulling away. He backed into the hall, watching Jack warily. “I’m fine. Please, just... don’t.”

“Hey,” Jack protested softly. “Easy.” He took a step closer, and Daniel stepped back, maintaining his distance.

“Sorry,” Daniel murmured. “I’m fine. Please don’t worry.”

“Daniel, what happened? Did someone hurt you?” And now Jack looked not just worried, but angry. Daniel took another step back and jumped when he hit the wall.

“No. I’m really fine. Nothing happened.”

Jack paused, standing in the doorway to his room, watching him as he pressed himself against the opposite wall. He seemed to deflate, his shoulders slumping, looking tired and... disappointed? Daniel winced, biting his lip. What had he done now?

“That’s okay,” Jack told him. “You don’t have to tell me now. We can talk when you’re ready.”

Daniel stared at him, frowning. That should be good news. Jack was going to let it go. He should be happy.

“Okay,” Daniel said slowly. He hesitated for a long moment, and then turned to go down the stairs. It was dinnertime, after all. He should go eat dinner. That was the normal thing. He would make himself swallow whatever they were having, and he would smile at Jack’s jokes, and Jack would think he was fine. Which was what he wanted. Yeah.

“Hey.” Jack caught his shoulder, turning him back. “C’mere.” He knelt on the hall floor and tugged Daniel close, giving him a loose hug. “I wish you would talk to me,” Jack said.

Daniel closed his eyes. His hands came up and curled in Jack’s shirt, fisting the material tightly, and he slowly lowered his head until his chin touched Jack’s shoulder. He took a deep breath, and it was the scent that undid him. Not the desert, not his mother’s water lilies, not sand or spices, but Jack’s smell, which was somehow familiar and safe anyway. The green soap he used and the leftover tang of aftershave and something dark and rich that made him think of the oil his father had used to protect their delicate digging tools from the harsh sand.

Daniel stood very still, breathing hard, aware of Jack’s hands on his back, stroking him. Jack was murmuring something, and rocking them a little, and still, the only places Daniel was touching him were his hands in Jack’s shirt and his chin on that broad shoulder. He allowed his knees to buckle, and Jack caught him, as he’d expected. That was better, pressed against his chest, his face lower now, hidden in Jack’s neck.

“Don’t make me go back,” Daniel whispered. He tugged hard on Jack’s shirt, feeling his arms trembling at the effort. “Don’t make me. Please.”

“Go back where?”

Daniel drew in a deep breath, feeling it trying to hitch in his chest, and then he sagged, letting it out in a rush. “School. They hate me there, and I hate them too, they all laugh at me and Mr. Reynolds wants me to do assignments that I don’t need to do and I already know all the stuff they’re doing and Corey, he... he found me after school and him and Jason and Ryan, they took my journal and he... he ripped it, Jack! He ripped it and he took all the pages and he flushed them and they’re gone! He ruined it and it was mine and now it’s gone and I’ll never get it back and they were laughing like they always do and I can’t... I can’t. Please don’t make me go back there, I can’t...”

“Okay, okay... easy...” Jack made shushing noises, one hand stealing up his back to thread through his hair. “I’ll get you another journal, alright?”

“No!” Daniel shoved back abruptly, glaring at Jack, fiercely biting back his sobs. “You can’t just... it was from Before!”

Jack blinked at him, his mouth slightly open, his head shaking. “Before? I don’t...” He drew in a sudden breath, and his eyes turned impossibly sad. “Oh, Daniel. You had it in Egypt? Is that what before means?”

Daniel folded his arms and nodded, gritting his teeth, his chin jutting out. He sniffed and then shuffled forward a little, hoping Jack would pull him close again. But Jack stood up, groaning and rubbing his knees. “Come on,” he said, waving Daniel toward the stairs. “Let’s talk somewhere more comfortable.”

Daniel trailed him down the stairs, wiping his face on his sleeves, ashamed that he couldn’t seem to stop sniffling. Jack eased himself onto the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table. Daniel stood, shifting his weight from side to side. He gave Jack a hopeful look from under his eyelashes, and then winced when he realized Jack looked sad again. Was it because he was crying again? He was really trying to stop, but it was hard sometimes, once he got going. That’s why it was better not to start in the first place.

“Sit with me?” Jack asked, lifting one arm and indicating the place by his side.

Nodding rapidly, Daniel tucked himself into the spot, glad when Jack pulled him tight against his chest. He couldn’t ask for that sort of thing, but as long as Jack wanted to do it, it was okay to let him. Because it made Jack happy.

“I’m sorry this happened,” Jack said quietly, his fingers threading through Daniel’s hair again. “I know that journal meant a lot to you.”

Daniel nodded, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He’d just been getting a handle on this, and then Jack had gone and set him off again. “In the front pages, my dad was showing me how to write other languages,” he whispered. “I remember. And the paper always smelled like the desert. Even if...” He shrugged, dropping his head. “Even if it really didn’t.”

Jack was quiet for a long time, idly stroking his back. “I had a shirt,” he said eventually. “One of Charlie’s shirts. He’d worn it, and it hadn’t been washed yet when he...” Jack swallowed and Daniel felt the arms around him go very tight for a moment. “For a long time, I kept it in my dresser, and when no one was looking, I’d pull it out and...”

“And remember?”

“Yeah.” Jack kissed the top of his head, lingering there for a long moment, breathing him in. “And then one day it was gone. Sara had gone through, cleaning, and she’d put it with all the other things to give to the Goodwill people. I think she just thought it was in there by mistake. She didn’t know it was... important.”

“You didn’t tell her?” Daniel asked, turning his face up toward Jack. He was startled to see Jack’s eyes shimmering, and he looked down fast. Jack probably wouldn’t want him to see that. Had he done that, made Jack sad?

“We weren’t really talking then.” Jack gave a short huff of laughter, shaking his head. “I should have told her. If she’d seen that I was...” He looked at Daniel with a small, rueful smile. “Never mind. Too late now. But I know how you feel, losing that journal. And I’m glad you told me.”

Daniel nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Why?”

“You don’t like to talk about this stuff.”

Jack snorted. “You got that right. Talking is not my long suit. But it’s okay, Danny. Sometimes it’s good.”

Daniel thought about that for a while. He did feel better now, although that might just be from Jack holding him, which always helped. And Jack had looked sad, but he seemed okay now, smiling a little, his cheek resting on Daniel’s hair. Maybe he could try talking sometimes. If he really needed to.

“Jack?”

“Hmm?”

Taking a deep breath, Daniel blurted, “Please don’t make me go there any more.”

Jack tilted his head, frowning down at him. “I know you had a bad day, kiddo, and believe me, those boys’ parents will be hearing from me--”

“No!” Daniel interrupted. “I mean... don’t do that. Please. They’ll be so mad, and it’ll only get worse.”

“You really hate it there?”

Daniel nodded seriously. “It’s not just today, Jack. It’s every day. I know you wanted me to be in the class with all the normal kids, but I can’t... I’m sorry. I just don’t know how to be normal.”

Jack shook his head, sighing. “Oh, Daniel, I’m sorry. I never meant for you to think... look, you don’t have to change who you are, okay? I like who you are.”

Closing his eyes, Daniel pressed against Jack’s side, surprised at just how much he’d needed to hear that. “Even though I’m not Charlie?”

“Even though,” Jack replied gravely. “Hey... did I tell you about the idea Major Carter had?”

“No...” Daniel looked up at him, blinking curiously. “What idea?”

“She’s really smart, you know. Kinda like you. So she understands about being the smartest kid in class.” Jack gave him a wry grin. “Something I’m not particularly familiar with. Anyway, she said I should send you to a school for gifted kids.”

Daniel wrinkled his nose. “Gifted?”

“It means smart.”

“Oh.” He considered that, frowning. “Why don’t they just say smart?”

Jack chuckled, ruffling his hair. “Good question. Maybe gifted sounds better. Would you like to try that out?”

Daniel nodded immediately. Any place that didn’t have Corey and his friends would be an improvement. He doubted the kids in the gifted school would like him any better than the ones in the normal school, but maybe the class work would at least be more interesting. “That would be so good, Jack. Thank you.”

“Okay. But I can’t keep hopping you to different schools, so I want you to try hard to like the new one, alright?”

“I will,” Daniel promised. He always tried his best. It was just that usually, his best wasn’t good enough. “Can I go there right away?”

“Well, I have to get you enrolled first, buddy. It doesn’t just happen overnight.”

“Oh.” Daniel fisted his hands in Jack’s shirt again, rubbing his cheek absently on the soft material.

“Daniel?”

“How long will I have to stay at the regular school?”

Jack sighed, rubbing his shoulders a little. “You really don’t want to go back there, do you?”

Daniel shook his head, lifting his shoulder toward Jack’s hand when it pulled back. The rubbing started again and he wriggled, leaning into it.

“Well... okay, tell you what. I’ll pull you from your school, and you can stay home during the day with Carla until I get you enrolled in the gifted school.”

“Really?” At Jack’s nod, Daniel beamed, bouncing on the couch and giving Jack a quick, gleeful squeeze. “Thank you, thank you, that’s so great Jack thank you! I’ll be really good for Carla and I’ll help clean the house up and I swear I’ll try hard in the new school and... and...”

“Slow down before you hurt yourself,” Jack said, laughing. “And you’re welcome.”

Daniel grinned at him, and then wiggled away, running into the kitchen. “Jack, the phone’s in here!”

Jack raised one eyebrow. “And?”

Daniel stood in the kitchen doorway, holding the phone handset and looking at him expectantly. “Don’t you need to call and tell them I won’t be there tomorrow?”

“It’s after six, buddy. Nobody’s there. I’ll call in the morning, okay?”

Daniel eyed the phone dubiously but hung it up. “Okay.” He glanced toward the oven, realizing the light was on inside and the kitchen smelled richly of roasting chicken. “Hey, I think dinner might be ready.”

“Hmm.” Jack sauntered into the kitchen, nudging Daniel’s shoulder with his hip as he walked past. “Ya think? Feel like eating?”

“Yeah,” Daniel said, already pulling plates from their new home in a lower cupboard to set the table. The pressure in his chest was gone completely now, and his stomach was growling hungrily. He never ate much at school.

Jack pulled the chicken from the oven and poked it a little, smiling when it oozed juices. “Looks like we managed to avoid overcooking it. Grab the milk, okay?”

Daniel nodded and poured the milk, carefully supporting the heavy jug in both hands. Jack took it from him and put it away again when he was done, then caught his shoulder when he went to sit down.

“Hey,” Jack said, crouching to meet his eyes. “I know it’s not the same, but I’d still like to get you another journal. Would that be okay?”

Daniel thought for a long moment, and then nodded slowly. “I can start a new one.”

“Yeah,” Jack murmured, squeezing him a little. “Starting new is good.”

“Alright, Danny, find a study group and join right in.”

Daniel grimaced slightly at the use of the nickname, but decided not to correct his teacher. He had promised Jack he’d be on his best behavior in his new school. It was supposed to be for gifted students, which Daniel thought was kind of a funny term. Gifted. As far as he knew, being smart meant being a target for kids who weren’t, and that was hardly a gift.

“Okay,” he said quietly, flashing a polite little smile at Mrs. Carlisle. “Um... which one?”

Looking up distractedly from the stack of papers she was grading, Mrs. Carlisle waved at the room in general. “It doesn’t matter. Any one. They’ll be able to catch you up on today’s assignment.”

“Oh.” Daniel frowned and took a deep breath, surveying the room.

It didn’t look like a typical classroom. There were no individual desks, but instead small, round tables haphazardly scattered around. From the tour of the school he and Jack had gone on earlier, he knew this was a “study room,” one of many where the students could work together in small groups, or individually on their own projects. Rather than remain in one room all day, his class would move around depending on what their current subject was. They’d started the day in a home room, where they were told what the day plan was, and then everyone had come here.

The plan had indicated math would be their first subject of the day, and Daniel had to admit the room certainly had a math theme. Graph paper, rulers and protractors were available at each table. Bookshelves lined the walls, and he could see titles with words like algebra, geometry, statistics, trigonometry. He liked the words themselves, the Latin roots, the suffixes, the elegant stretch of syllables. The numbers, however, were not so friendly.

But then, the room wasn’t particularly friendly either. Each table had four chairs, and each one was either completely empty or completely full. Daniel supposed he could add a chair from an empty table, but no one was giving him particularly welcoming looks, and he wasn’t sure what would happen if he tried to intrude. What if four was the maximum number in a group? What if there was no space for him? Would he have to sit alone?

Daniel could do that, he could do the work alone, except this work was a bit baffling to him. If it had been English or History, he’d simply form his own group. But this, with the strange proliferation of letters mixed with numbers, of x equals y and so forth, this was over his head. He could grasp it, probably, hopefully, but not without help.

Clutching his notebook to his chest, Daniel began to slide between the tables, casting vaguely hopeful looks at some of the students. Most deliberately ignored him. Some shook their heads subtly. A few looked curious, or at least not openly hostile, but their tables were full, and Daniel couldn’t quite bring himself to push his way in. He kept going, turning around to walk backward, still looking across the room as if he had somewhere to go. As if he wasn’t lost.

His back hit a bookshelf unexpectedly and he jumped away, startled. A low titter of laughter ran through the class. Daniel ducked his head, feeling his face heat up, his ears burning.

“Danny?” the teacher called, frowning. “Do you need some help?”

“No,” he replied immediately. That was the last thing he needed, for her to force some group to take him. He wouldn’t go where he wasn’t wanted. “I’m, uh... I’m just looking for a book.” He swept his glance over the bookshelf beside him to lend credence to his words.

She looked unconvinced, but nodded anyway. “All right. Find your book and sit down.”

Daniel nodded rapidly, pretended to search the bookshelf for about five seconds, and then pulled a book out at random. He looked down at the title--Calculus, more Latin, but definitely way over his head--and then flicked his eyes around the room again. He decided to just take an empty table. Maybe Jack would help him with the math after school.

There was a table half-hidden by a bookshelf in the back corner, and he could see two empty chairs. He headed toward it, then stopped short when he cleared the bookshelf and found the table occupied by one other boy. The boy raised his head slowly and narrowed his eyes, watching Daniel with palpable suspicion. Daniel swallowed, raising the thick calculus book slightly, like a shield.

Glancing over his shoulder, Daniel saw the teacher watching him again. In fact, most of the class was watching him. As he stood there, hesitating, two girls put their heads together and murmured something, and then giggled softly. Daniel hunched his shoulders and shot forward, dropping into the seat across from the boy. If he had to, he’d move later. At least sitting down would make everyone stop staring at him.

Daniel kept his head down until the sensation of being watched stopped prickling the back of his neck. Then he raised his eyes, smiling nervously at the other boy. He was much bigger up close, with heavy, meaty arms, a thick neck, and round, pudgy cheeks. He had close cropped reddish hair, flat on top in a crew cut, and wide shoulders. His hands, lying on the table, looked twice the size of Daniel’s.

Daniel swallowed again. Why hadn’t he just taken one of the empty tables? Why had he lingered? Now he was stuck with the biggest, and probably meanest kid in class. Why else would he be sitting all alone, half hidden in the back of the room? Daniel fumbled in his pocket and grabbed his inhaler, taking a quick breath of the medicinal mist even though his chest only felt a little tight. The last thing he needed was an asthma attack.

The boy kept staring at him, and Daniel noticed a sheet of notebook paper beside one thick forearm, covered in neatly written math problems. The boy had already completed the assignment in the time it had taken Daniel to find a seat.

“You’re done?” Daniel blurted in surprise.

The boy blinked, and then frowned down at his work. “Yeah. I’m good at math.” His eyes found Daniel again, and Daniel’s breathing eased a little when he saw his own uncertainty reflected back at him. This boy didn’t have the swaggering bravado of a bully. For all his size, he held himself as low as possible, his shoulders hunched and his arms tucked in close. He was watching Daniel with the same wariness that Daniel himself felt.

“Oh. Um... I’m not.”

The boy shifted uneasily. “I, ah... I’m not supposed to let people copy.”

Daniel stared, and then shook his head. “No, no, I wasn’t asking. I was just...” He trailed off, shrugging.

“Usually, if someone sits with me, they want to copy,” the boy explained.

“Oh.” That was something he could understand all too well, actually. Daniel frowned, looking down, and realized he was still holding the calculus book. He set it on the table beside his notebook.

“We’re not doing calculus.”

“I know,” Daniel replied. “I just thought it looked interesting.”

The boy raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Calculus is pretty hard.”

“So is that,” Daniel said, pointing to the completed sheet next to the boy.

“This? Nah.” He shook his head. “This is just pre-algebra. Factoring quadratic equations. It’s actually easy once you get the knack.”

Quadratic, Daniel’s mind supplied. Quad being the root word, with a modifier meaning pertaining to. Of, relating to, or containing quantities of the second degree or resembling a square. He could define the word, but he still didn’t know what it meant.

“Do you think you could show me?” Daniel asked, edging a little closer.

The boy shrugged. “Sure, if you want.” Then his eyes narrowed again. “But I’m still not letting you copy.”

“I won’t,” Daniel assured him. “Um, I’m Daniel.”

“Oh. I’m Dudley.”

“Anglo-saxon, meaning from the meadow,” Daniel responded, and then winced. Why did he always say things like that when he was nervous? Like this kid really cared what his name meant.

Dudley was frowning prodigiously. “What?”

Daniel shook his head. “Nothing. It’s what your name means... I was just... sorry. I say dumb things sometimes.”

“It’s okay.” Dudley said. “Is that your thing?”

“Thing?”

“Yeah, the thing you’re good at. Like I’m good at math and probabilities and stuff like that. I really like geometry though, that’s my favorite, because the symmetry of it is really amazing when you break down the basic rules. Something as simple as a perfect circle has so many amazing properties and no matter how big it is or how small, the relationships between the diameter and circumference are always the same, and did you know that pi is a never ending number? They’ve calculated it to thousands of decimal places and you can never reach the end just like you can never reach the end of a circle which is kind of--” Dudley cut himself off abruptly, then ducked his head. “Uh... never mind. You probably don’t care, huh?”

Daniel began to smile. “Actually, that sounds pretty interesting. Did you know that several thousand years ago, there was a pharaoh who wanted a great mural painted in his court? All these artists came to him and tried to get the job, showing him their work and drawing beautiful pictures for him, but one man didn’t do that. He came forward with nothing but a single piece of charcoal and a sheet of papyrus, and he drew a perfect circle, freehand. The pharaoh said he didn’t want false grandeur, but simple perfection, and the man got the job.”

Dudley was gaping at him, and then he, too, started to smile. “That’s cool. See, that’s why math is so great. Everyone understands numbers, no matter where they’re from. It’s like a universal language.”

“I like languages,” Daniel replied eagerly. “I guess that’s my thing, languages and history.”

Dudley nodded, and his eyes darted to his math paper and back to Daniel. “I’m not so great at history. Maybe... I could help you with math, and you could help me with history?”

Daniel got up and switched to the chair closest to Dudley, sliding it over until they could both read from the math workbook. “You’ve got a deal. Now how does this work?”

“It’s really quite simple,” Dudley began. And it was.

They had English next, in a different study room that reminded Daniel of a library, rich with bookshelves, comfortable chairs, thick ornate rugs and the pervading scent of binding glue and old paper.

The current assignment was to spend the hour reading Huckleberry Finn, a book Daniel had read for himself a year ago. According to the teacher, they were in the middle of a Mark Twain unit, and had two weeks to finish this story and write a five page report on it before going to the next. Daniel figured he could do that easily, and he spent the hour sitting with Dudley, explaining some of the period language used in the book to him in a low voice.

After that, they had morning break, which was, according to Dudley, a way to give sixth graders recess without calling it that. He, like Daniel, had been skipped ahead. He had only turned eleven in September. Most of the kids in the class were twelve, but Dudley was still by far the biggest, so the age difference wasn’t as obvious as it was with Daniel.

Morning break came complete with a trip to the cafeteria, where they could buy a small snack if they so chose. Daniel had been too nervous to eat breakfast that morning and got in the food line eagerly, his eyes on the chocolate chip muffins. Dudley got in line beside him, still talking about why calling the year 2000 the millennium was actually incorrect, because the new millennium hadn’t started until 2001. Daniel was nodding, already formulating his response involving the basis of the current calendar with the Christian religion, when someone shoved Dudley hard, knocking him into Daniel, who stumbled forward and hit his hip on the food counter.

“Move over, fat ass,” a boy said in a loud, sneering voice. Laughter rang out in the cafeteria, echoing off the high walls.

Dudley’s naturally pink complexion flushed to a deep red, and he ducked his head, cutting off his calendar diatribe mid-word. Daniel rubbed his stinging hip and looked behind him.

A tall boy with straight, sleek black hair, expensive designer jeans and a cold, mocking smile walked past Dudley, elbowing him aside. “Come on guys, get in line before the fat ass gets all the food.”

Even with his head down and his back slumped, Dudley was taller than the laughing boy. Daniel frowned, edging aside uneasily, not wanting to make himself a target. He was pushed along with Dudley as three of the boy’s friends cut in front of them. Daniel looked at the serving lady behind the counter for help, and got only a tired, slightly guilty look and a shrug. Apparently, this was not the first time this had happened.

Dudley was retreating, backing away from the food line altogether, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. Daniel was pushed aside again as the tall boy walked past him. On an impulse he couldn’t really explain, Daniel stuck his foot out, tripping the boy and sending him sprawling.

“Nice,” he called out loudly, causing Dudley to turn and stare. “Walk much?”

One of the boy’s friends laughed, and then cut himself off sharply when the boy shot to his feet, glaring. “Sorry, Rob,” he muttered.

“You’re so gonna get it now,” the boy, who was apparently called Rob, growled, advancing on Daniel.

Daniel leaned casually against the counter, crossed his arms, and raised one eyebrow. “Oh? Let me guess. You’re going to beat up the smallest kid in class. Wow. I’m impressed.”

More snickers sounded behind Rob and he whirled, his fists clenched. No one would meet his eyes. Daniel watched, forcing his face to remain casual, inwardly wondering what the hell he was doing. Why hadn’t he just kept quiet? It was his first day, and already he was making enemies? What was he thinking? Daniel felt his throat get tight and he willed himself to breathe. This was absolutely the wrong time to panic.

Rob took another step closer, looming over Daniel, standing at least a head taller, his mouth set in a hard red line, two patches of color high on his cheeks.

“No, no, let me make it easier for you,” Daniel said. He pulled his glasses off and slipped them into a pocket, then squinted, exaggerating his poor vision. “Now I can’t even see you coming. Think you feel brave enough to take me? Or should I put my hands behind my back? Maybe then you’ll feel safe picking on someone so much smaller.”

Daniel couldn’t see the expressions around him, but Rob was close enough for him to make out the confusion, the uncertainty. The boy kept looking around, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other. Daniel realized he was holding his breath and forced himself to breathe normally. If this worked, he would have won a rare victory. But if it didn’t work, he was going to be pulped.

A voice came from behind Rob, and Daniel assumed it was one of his cronies. “Man, forget him, he’s just a baby.”

“Yeah,” Rob said slowly. “Forget it. I don’t need to waste my time.”

“Sure,” Daniel agreed, sugary sweet. “That’s okay. I understand. I’m sure no one thinks you can’t handle a little geek with glasses. No, you’re just a busy guy. Right.”

Crap. Daniel closed his eyes for a moment. Why couldn’t he just shut his big mouth? The boy had been about to back off. Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone?

There was more laughter, and Rob spun, his hands on his hips. “You all shut up!”

“Not so fun on the receiving end, is it?” Daniel taunted.

Rob moved close, leaning down, putting his face within inches of Daniel’s. “You’re so dead, and you don’t even know it.”

“Oh, say it louder,” Daniel shot back, raising his voice. “Did everyone catch that? He says he’s going to beat me up later, when no one can see him. Because he’s just so big and strong. He can beat the little kid. Wow. That’s just... brave.” He affected an awestruck voice, widening his eyes. “What are you going to do next? Go push over some kindergartners? Maybe kick a few dogs? What, you never heard of picking on someone your own size?”

There was more derisive laughter, coming from all around them, and Rob lunged forward, grabbing Daniel’s shirt in one hand.

“Here we go,” Daniel called loudly. His mouth had completely gone off on its own. Somewhere in the back of his head, in the calm place that wasn’t flooded with the sound of his pounding heartbeat and the white noise of adrenalin, he wondered if he’d somehow lost his mind. “He’s got to lift me up first, so he can hit me. Everyone look at the big, strong kid, about to beat the little boy who can’t even see him. Everyone take a good, long look.”

“Put him down, Rob,” another kid called from the side. “Pushing the fat ass around is one thing, but this is just... he can’t even fight back.”

“Yeah, come on, that isn’t fair,” someone else said.

The hand on his shirt clenched tight for a moment, blazing eyes looking into his, and then Daniel felt a hard impact on his chest. He went down, landing on his butt and staying there, blinking myopically up at Rob. He could feel another smart remark on the tip of his tongue and he bit it hard, staying down. Daniel was good at reading people, and he was pretty sure if he said one more word, Rob was going to squash him, contempt of his friends or not.

“Later,” Rob said ominously, pointing down at him. Then he turned and stalked off, his little group following uncomfortably behind him.

Daniel closed his eyes and slumped against the side of the counter. He could hear the vaguely worried murmur of the other kids, and the ineffective admonition from the serving lady that there was no fighting allowed. Then a warm, heavy hand landed on his shoulder and he opened his eyes, looking into Dudley’s shocked face.

“Hey,” Daniel muttered. “That was fun.”

Dudley gave a startled little gasp of laughter and shook his head. “Fun? Are you nuts?”

“Probably.” Daniel stood, putting his glasses back on. He veered away from the food, which now looked rather nauseating, and sat at the nearest table. Then he took three rapid shots from his inhaler.

“You okay?” Dudley asked, sitting beside him.

“Sure.” Daniel ran a hand through his hair, and then gave Dudley a sideways smile. “Think he’ll kill me later?”

“Rob?” Dudley looked in the direction he had gone, swallowing. “Yeah. He’s not just talk. If he was anyone else, he’d have been expelled already. But his dad is really rich, and he donates a lot of money to the school, so Rob gets away with stuff.”

Daniel nodded, then crossed his arms on the table and rested his head on them. His breathing was settling, but his heart was still racing, partly the scare and partly the asthma meds. He could feel all the big muscles in his legs trembling, and his stomach fluttered, trying to rise up his throat. “Great,” he muttered. “Me and my big mouth.”

Dudley was quiet for a long moment. “Even if he gets you later... that was so cool. I’ve never seen anyone talk back to Rob like that.”

“Why don’t you?” Daniel asked, lifting his head. “You’re bigger. You could get away with it.”

Shrugging, Dudley dropped his eyes, twisting thick fingers together. “I dunno,” he mumbled. “I always thought he’d go away eventually if I just didn’t say anything.”

“It’s a nice theory, but bullies aren’t that easy.”

Dudley gave him a sidelong look. “Do you always talk back to them that way?”

“Nope.” Daniel snorted and shook his head. “Which is why I’m still walking and not eating through a straw. I can’t believe I just did that.”

“Me neither. But, you know... thanks.”

Daniel grinned. “You want to make it up to me? Come visit me in the hospital after Rob finishes pounding me into the parking lot.”

Dudley gave a thin, forced little laugh, and Daniel made himself smile, but it wasn’t funny. Not funny at all.

Daniel and Dudley stuck close together for the remainder of the morning, mostly because Daniel had the uneasy feeling there was a big, glowing target painted on his back. The theory of safety in numbers was old and comforting, but while Dudley was reassuringly big, he didn’t seem all that confident in himself. Daniel would have loved a little back up from Teal’c. He bet Rob would take one look at Teal’c and run the other way.

Dudley was growing on him very fast. His heavy, ponderous gait and thick, fumbling fingers tended to make most people overlook what was an amazingly quick and agile mind. Dudley could listen to one of his historical babbles and, if not entirely comprehend everything, he could at least grasp the concept and come back with ideas and thoughts of his own, with a more rational, numerical spin.

Jack had told Daniel a few battle stories, seeming to enjoy the wide-eyed gasps and edge of his seat attention that the more suspenseful tales had elicited. He’d also explained how being in a battle together, fighting for your life beside someone, and having to rely on them to cover your back created fast, strong bonds that people who weren’t soldiers didn’t fully understand. Daniel thought some of that warrior bond thing was going on with he and Dudley, because they were constantly on guard against Rob and his minions.

If he wasn’t so nervous, Daniel thought it would have actually been pretty cool. He and Dudley even slunk around the soccer field together during gym, back to back, Daniel repeating the terms that he’d heard Jack use such as securing the perimeter and viable line of defense. It was turning into a slightly dark game, fun with an unpleasant tinge of not-really-playing.

They anticipated some kind of ambush after school, in that vulnerable time waiting at the curb for their rides. They planned accordingly, putting their heads together with their backs to the building, scanning the field regularly. The gym class was just before lunch, and according to their teacher, it was a free activity day, which meant that some kids were walking idly around the track in little clumps, talking, a handful of others had organized a game of kickball, and a smaller, more intent group practiced passing a soccer ball. They could do whatever they wanted provided it looked like exercise.

“We’ll wait until the kids who ride the bus are already gone before we come out of the school,” Daniel said, speaking out of the corner of his mouth, his eyes never leaving the roving groups of possible enemies. He decided he liked pretending to be like Jack.

“I ride the bus,” Dudley pointed out.

“Oh.” Daniel scrunched his face up, considering. “Maybe Jack will let you come home with me.”

“Who’s Jack?”

Daniel shrugged. “He’s the guy I live with. Um... actually, that might be a bad idea. Sometimes he has to work late and...” Daniel trailed off, waving a hand. He had no idea how Jack would react to a strange kid in his house. It was probably best not to push his luck, because so far, Jack seemed nice.

“You sure you can’t walk home?” Daniel asked.

Dudley shook his head. “I don’t go home, I go to after school care. My mom works evening shift and she won’t let me stay home alone. They’ll notice if I don’t show up.”

“Oh.” Daniel frowned again, tapping his fingertips against his chin.

“Sorry.”

“Not a problem,” Daniel replied easily. “We can work around it. Stay close to a teacher, talk about, you know, something to do with math, you’re good at that,” he tossed Dudley a grin, pleased with the way the other boy seemed to grow with his casual praise. “Then get on the bus at the last possible minute. Does Rob ride it too?”

“Nah, somebody gives him a ride home. One of his dad’s people.” Dudley curled his lip as he spoke, and Daniel hunched his shoulders a little, wondering if Carla was one of Jack’s “people.” She did work for him, and he supposed that meant she was, but it wasn’t like Jack was rich and snotty or anything.

Deciding to leave the subject of how he got to Jack’s place from school in case Dudley found that distasteful as well, Daniel said, “Well, you should be fine, then. As long as we stay together and make sure a teacher can see us, Rob shouldn’t be able to do anything.”

“Sometimes teachers don’t do anything,” Dudley said quietly. Daniel gave him a sidelong look, but the other boy was staring moodily out at the running, laughing kids, who all fit into their gym uniform a great deal more easily than he did. Daniel supposed running was not a big part of Dudley’s life. Or laughing.

Daniel nodded and said nothing. It was true that adults sometimes pretended not to see when one kid hurt another. Maybe they thought the kids could work it out on their own, or maybe they were under the mistaken impression that small people couldn’t really inflict pain. Sometimes Daniel thought that adults were not infallible creatures, that maybe they were afraid to get involved. Maybe they thought their commands to stop would be ignored, and then what could they do? In many ways, they were powerless. Daniel had learned to depend on himself first, and adults when he had no other choice.

“We’ll be alright,” he murmured after a long moment.

Dudley nodded. Sure. They’d be fine.

Daniel brought his knees to his chest and hugged them, sighing. Their little soldier game had lost its appeal. Games you couldn’t win weren’t much fun.

“Boys! Why don’t I see you exercising?” the gym teacher called over to them, hands on his hips.

Daniel and Dudley exchanged a long, put-upon look and rose to their feet. They were saved from actually joining the other kids when the bell rang, making Daniel jump. He still felt jittery and tense from his encounter with Rob and the little shots he’d been taking from his inhaler all day. He knew he wasn’t supposed to use it so much, but his chest kept threatening to tighten up on him, and he really didn’t want an asthma attack on his first day of school.

They went into the locker room with the other boys, a place that was unpleasant for both of them. Showers were thankfully not required, but they did have to change from the generic blue shorts and white tee shirts the school provided back into their normal clothes.

That much exposure was hard for Dudley, who was obviously very conscious of the rolls of flab around his waist and the way his upper arms jiggled, judging by the way he tried to hide behind a row of lockers. Daniel, on the other hand, was very aware that he was the smallest boy there, pale and hairless, the two years between his age and theirs painfully obvious.

They were both occupied with changing as quickly as possible, Dudley with his head down and his cheeks red, Daniel hunched over so his shirt hung down, covering as much as it could.

The attack, when it came, caught them completely unaware.

Daniel was just pulling up his jeans, relieved that the hardest part was now over and all he had to do was change his shirt when a low kick swept his feet out from under him, throwing him against one of the low benches, its edge impacting his ribs hard enough to knock his breath out. He was still struggling to get some air when two hands wrapped around his upper arms with frightening strength, hauling him upright and pushing him against a row of lockers with a shuddering clang.

“Hey!” he heard Dudley say, his voice sounding choked and uncertain. “Don’t!”

“Shut up, fat ass, or you’re next,” someone snarled close to his face.

Daniel blinked several times, trying to reconcile the blur of movement and color in front of him into something recognizable. He pulled back, and the blur turned into a close up of Rob’s face, his eyes bright and excited, his lips skinned back from his teeth in a tight snarl. Daniel felt a rising sense of the surreal when he realized Rob’s teeth were perfect in a way that must have cost a great deal. He was about to be beaten bloody by a boy with expensive orthodontic work and elegant, intelligent features. Oh, and a neatly buttoned polo shirt with a designer label. How... absurd.

Knowing it was suicide, Daniel couldn’t stop himself from laughing anyway, the sound bubbling up from some hard, cold place inside that had weathered the death of his parents, the cruelties of the foster system, the uncertainty of his future. He was supposed to cower at this boy? This polished, pampered child who had never known what real pain was? It was preposterous. Ludicrous. So Daniel did the only thing he could--he laughed.

He had time to see Rob’s eyes widen in shock, in disbelief and confusion, then there was a blur of dark green lockers and gray concrete floor, and he hit the ground hard. He threw his hands out, trying too late to catch himself, and the impact jarred his wrists, sending a wave of shocking numbness all the way up to his shoulders, followed by low, burning pain. A sharp blow landed right in his belly, where he was soft and unprotected, and he curled around the place instinctively, bringing his arms up to protect his head.

Daniel was dimly aware of Rob grunting something low and menacing with every kick, and he was still thinking clearly enough to be glad the boy was wearing sneakers and not boots. He made himself a tight ball, and the kicks no longer hit his throbbing stomach, which felt heavy and hot and swollen, but instead his ribs, back, and legs.

“Stop it!” he heard Dudley yell, not in a tiny, pinched voice this time, but with real threat. The kicks paused for a moment, and then continued with even greater intensity.

“Or what?” Rob scoffed, breathless and gleeful. “Whatcha gonna do, fat ass? Make me?”

A particularly hard shot hit the base of Daniel’s ribs, not from the side, but from above. Rob was stomping on him now, and Daniel couldn’t help a low bleat from escaping his lips, a breathless little whimper of pain. He held his breath and braced for the next blow, but it never came. Instead, there was a low, furious growl and the sound of thudding feet, and the boy over him made a “whoof!” sound, as if the breath had been driven from him.

Daniel felt a whoosh of air as something hurtled past him, and then he just laid still for a while, grateful that the kicks had stopped and listening to muffled grunts from somewhere on his left. His curiosity soon overcame his unwillingness to expose his belly and he uncurled, sitting up and adjusting his glasses. Miraculously, they were unbroken.

Even more miraculously, Dudley had Rob cornered where two rows of lockers met and was pounding him relentlessly with his ham fists, shrieking something high and unintelligible. Rob had his hands up in self defense, but was mostly helpless, his whole body rocking back and forth with the force of Dudley’s strikes.

They were in a secluded section of the locker room--which had been their mistake in the first place. Wanting to avoid being seen as they changed, Daniel realized they’d set themselves up as easy targets. The noise of the fight was now attracting the other boys, though, and Daniel could see a loose semi-circle formed at the end of the corridor between lockers, all staring wide-eyed at the fat kid finally fighting back. Several of Rob’s friends were in that group, but none came forward to defend him, and Daniel wasn’t surprised. Dudley was scary in a way Rob had not been, scary because this wasn’t a game to him, this was something he’d held inside for a very long time.

Wincing and gritting his teeth, Daniel stood and walked tentatively up behind Dudley. If he didn’t stop soon, he was going to go beyond hurting Rob. He was going to do something that meant Daniel would never see him again, and Daniel wasn’t prepared to give up his new friend. So he put a hand on Dudley’s shoulder and spoke quietly in his ear.

“Dudley. Stop.”

For a moment nothing happened, and then Dudley allowed his grip on Rob’s shirt to ease. Rob folded to the floor, moaning, and everyone stared. Then their eyes wheeled to Dudley, who was gaping at his shaking hands, turning them over and over in wonder, as if he didn’t recognize them.

“Daniel?” he asked, giving the smaller boy a pleading look. “What...?”

“It’s okay. You got him, it’s okay.” Daniel kept his voice low and soothing, and inwardly wondered where all his calm was coming from. He should be frightened, shaking, having an asthma attack, shouldn’t he? Instead he felt cold, numb, empty. His ribs ached, and his stomach continued to throb, but it was distant. Disconnected from him somehow.

“What’s going on here?”

The boys who had been watching so avidly all scrambled to answer the gym teacher and make it clear they had not been involved in the fight. Fingers were pointed at Dudley first, at Daniel, and more than a few at Rob. Conflicting stories about who started it and why they were fighting clambered over each other, high, excited voices echoing off the concrete walls.

Daniel sat down on a bench, his arms wrapped tight around his sore spots, which were too many to count. His head was beginning to hurt as well, and the noise wasn’t helping. He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and looked up. Dudley was frowning down at him, his face still flushed, breathing hard, but his eyes soft and worried. Daniel noticed for the first time that they were a rather nice shade of hazel.

“Hey,” he murmured, giving Dudley a wan smile. “You kicked his ass, didn’t you?”

Dudley lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “He was hurting you.”

“Yeah,” Daniel nodded. “Thanks.”

Dudley’s knees came unhinged and he sat heavily beside Daniel, his color fading, worrying at his lip. “I’ve never done that,” he whispered, seemingly to himself. “I’ve never... but he was kicking you and you looked so... I couldn’t just...” He shook his head, then examined his hands again, as if they might belong to someone else.

“All right, that’s enough!” the teacher shouted, his voice cutting through the excited babble. “You, you and you,” he pointed at Daniel, Dudley and Rob, who was standing now, looking both furious and humiliated, “come with me. The rest of you go to lunch.”

Daniel felt the first cold flutter of fear shoot through him, chasing away the echoing numbness. He stuck close to Dudley’s side as the three boys marched grimly to the principal’s office. They were going to call Jack. Jack was going to know he’d gotten in a fight. And he had no idea what Jack would do.

Dudley nudged him gently in the side, his eyes concerned when Daniel met them. “You okay?”

Daniel swallowed, hunched his shoulders, and shook his head. He wasn’t okay.

“I expected better from you.”

Daniel nodded and slid lower in his seat. Beside him, Dudley was staring at the floor, his fingers twisting together nervously. Rob was on the other side of the office, looking bored, openly sneering at the principal whenever his back was turned.

Mr. Blakely stopped in front of Dudley and sighed, shaking his head. “Dudley, I’ve never known you to use your size against a smaller boy. Why start bullying now?”

“He wasn’t!” Daniel interrupted hotly, and then he sank back down when the principal turned to him. “Rob started it,” he muttered.

“I did not!” Rob countered, leaning forward in his seat. “You tripped me first--”

“Only because you were cutting in line,” Daniel argued, his voice overlapping Rob’s. “And you called Dudley a fat ass.”

“Boys!” Mr. Blakely waited for silence, glaring at all of them. “Daniel, I will not tolerate language like that in my office.”

Daniel’s mouth dropped open. “But--”

The principal held a hand up, cutting him off. “That’s enough.” He sighed, frowning down at Daniel. “When I agreed to place you with your academic peers, I trusted you to behave accordingly. However, if this disruptive behavior continues, I will have to reconsider your placement.”

Daniel shrank on the seat, drawing his knees up. He was going to be pushed back? Not skipped ahead, as he’d always been, but actually sent to a lower grade? One without Dudley in it? Jack had been so proud that he’d been sent ahead, even in the “gifted” school. What would he say now?

Mr. Blakely began to pace in front of them again. “Fighting is not acceptable, no matter who ‘started it’ and what your reasons were. I have called all your parents, and you will remain here until they pick you up. Furthermore, you will be suspended for three days.”

Daniel sucked in a quick breath, and he saw Dudley flinch beside him. Suspended? Only bad kids were suspended. Until he’d come to live with Jack, Daniel had never even been sent to the principal’s office before. Now he’d done it twice, once in his old school when he contradicted the teacher, and now here for fighting. He’d been certain he was right the last time, but now... his stomach churned uneasily, his bruised ribs aching, and he shifted uncomfortably, swallowing.

“Oh, you’re not going to let us come to school for three days? Wow, that’s harsh,” Rob muttered, rolling his eyes.

“That will be enough, Robert,” the principal said shortly. “It is only because Mr. Gordon didn’t see you actually hit anyone that your punishment is this light. You’re in my office much too often, young man. Don’t overestimate the leniency you have here.”

Rob shrugged and flicked a hand, dismissing the lecture. Mr. Blakely sighed again, turning back to Daniel and Dudley. “Dudley, you have always behaved well, and Daniel, you seemed like such a bright, polite young man when I first met you. I hope I don’t see you two in here again.”

“You won’t,” Dudley assured him quickly.

At the same time, Daniel nodded, murmuring, “No, sir, we’ll be good.”

Rob snorted derisively and said nothing.

Mr. Blakely nodded. “Very well. I’ll hold you to your word. Stay here in the office until your parents pick you up. I’ve already explained the suspension to them. You may return on Thursday morning.”

Then he left and the boys were alone in the little room. Rob glared across at them, clenching one fist in what Daniel supposed was meant as a threat. “You two are gonna get it.”

Daniel laughed shortly. “Yeah, we’re shaking. Seems to me you’re the one who got it today. Or were you just letting Dudley win because you felt like getting up close and personal with that locker?”

Rob’s eyes narrowed. “You should watch your mouth. The fat ass won’t always be around to protect you.”

“Don’t call me that,” Dudley said evenly.

Rob opened his mouth, looked at Dudley, his eyes lingering on those big, heavy hands, and then he closed it again without speaking.

“He’s not afraid of you,” Daniel told him, “and neither am I.”

Rob scowled, folded his arms, and flung himself back in his chair. “Gonna get it,” he muttered again. Daniel ignored him. Dudley allowed himself a small, smug smile, and then he turned toward Daniel, the two boys deliberately shutting Rob out.

They forced idle chatter for about five minutes, and then a harried looking woman with dark Spanish eyes and a long braid came in. Rob went with her without a word, glaring over his shoulder at them the whole time. Once he was gone, both Daniel and Dudley relaxed a little, giving each other wry grins.

“Think he’ll get in trouble?” Daniel asked.

Dudley shook his head. “Probably not. He’s always getting detention and stuff. If he got in trouble for it, wouldn’t he stop doing it?”

“Maybe.” Daniel frowned, picking at the fabric of his seat. “Think you’ll get in trouble?”

“Yeah,” Dudley replied dourly. “My mom will have to take off work to come get me, and her boss always gets mad. Plus she’ll have to pay more for someone to watch me until I can come back to school.”

“Oh.” Daniel hadn’t thought of that. Would Jack’s boss be mad at him? He knew Jack had an important job. He was in charge of a lot of people. He certainly had better things to do than picking Daniel up at school. And where was he going to go during the day while he was suspended? Would Jack have to pay Carla more to watch him, like when he left his old school? So much for his promises to be good in the new place.

“What about you?”

Daniel shrugged. “I don’t know what Jack will do.”

Dudley nodded, giving him a curious little sideways glance. “You don’t live with your mom and dad?”

“They died.”

“Oh.” Dudley was quiet for a long moment. “So Jack is...?”

“Foster parent.”

Dudley shifted nervously. “Is he nice?”

“Yeah,” Daniel replied slowly. “So far. I’ve only lived with him a couple months, and I’ve never really gotten in trouble. I don’t know what he’ll do about this whole suspension thing.”

“Oh.” Dudley swung his feet, scuffing his shoes against the carpet. “I just live with my mom. My dad left when I was a baby.”

Daniel nodded, offering him a wan smile. He appreciated that Dudley hadn’t tried to say he was sorry about Daniel’s parents. Everyone was sorry. It didn’t help. “At least Rob won’t bother you anymore,” he said.

Dudley grinned for a moment. “Yeah. I still can’t believe I beat him.”

“I can.”

Dudley didn’t say thank you, but his slow, wide smile said it for him. Then he shrugged, ducking his head. “I just wanted him to stop kicking you. It looked like it hurt.”

“Yeah,” Daniel said. “It did.”

“Are you okay now, though?”

“Sure.” Daniel shifted, feeling the skin over his ribs and belly pull. It felt hot and swollen, tender and puffy in several places. He resisted the urge to pull his shirt up and examine his chest. Doing that would make Dudley feel guilty for not intervening sooner, and besides, he didn’t really want to see. It probably didn’t look good.

The door opened behind them, and both boys turned, Daniel wincing with the motion. Jack came in at a fast walk, his eyes going over Dudley suspiciously before focusing on Daniel. Daniel offered an apologetic smile, not sure what the right response was here. Jack did look angry, his dark eyes snapping, his mouth a taut line, but he also looked a little worried.

“Daniel,” he said. “Are you alright?”

Daniel nodded. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“We’ll discuss it at home. Come on.”

“Okay.” Daniel got to his feet, aware of Dudley’s sympathetic gaze. He mouthed ‘see you Thursday’ at him and got a small nod. Then he followed Jack out the door, hurrying his steps to keep up with the rapid pace Jack set. The spot on his left thigh where Rob’s foot had connected especially hard ached with every step, but he didn’t say anything. This was not the time to complain. Jack was already mad enough.

Daniel got in the backseat when the arrived at Jack’s truck. Sometimes Jack would let him ride up front, but he figured this was not one of those times. Jack didn’t comment on his seat choice, and Daniel kept his head down, staring at the floor as they pulled out of the parking lot. Maybe if he just stayed quiet and apologized a lot, Jack would only yell at him. He was already hurting enough from what Rob had done. He didn’t want anything else on top of that.

But no, Jack had promised he would never hurt him. Discipline, yes, but never actually hurt him. Daniel remembered that very well. Of course, when he’d lived with the Peterson family, Mr. Peterson had promised his wife that he’d stop drinking, and he’d never lose his temper with the foster kids again. That hadn’t exactly panned out either. Sometimes, people broke promises.

No, it was better to just keep quiet. He had the feeling Jack knew a lot more about hurting people than Rob. He probably wouldn’t do anything like that to Daniel, but... better not to push his luck. Just in case.

“I was in the middle of a meeting with the top brass when your principal called me,” Jack said suddenly, making Daniel jump. “I had to explain to all of them that I couldn’t finish the meeting because you’d gotten in a fight at school.”

“Oh,” Daniel murmured. Top brass? What was that? Probably something important, judging by the way Jack sounded. “I’m sorry.”

“I thought we talked about your behavior here. I switched you to this school because you were unhappy in the last one. Was that a mistake?”

“No,” Daniel said quickly. “I like this new one. I even made a friend.”

Jack glanced at him over his shoulder, raising one eyebrow. “Oh? Tell me about it?”

“His name is Dudley. He was in the office with me.”

Jack frowned at him in the rear view mirror. “That big kid? I thought he was the one you were fighting with. He looks like a bully to me.”

“He is not!” Daniel shot back, sitting upright and glaring. “He stopped Rob from--” Daniel cut himself off sharply. “I wasn’t fighting with him.”

“Rob?” Jack questioned. “So he was the one you fought with? Or did this Dudley get you involved in it somehow?”

Daniel scowled down at the floor mat, tugging at his seatbelt in frustration. “It wasn’t Dudley’s fault. Rob was pushing him around, and I tripped him, and then he tried to get back at me.”

Jack shook his head. “I think Dudley can handle himself. You should have stayed out of it.”

Daniel bit his lip and said nothing. Jack didn’t understand.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be friends with this Dudley if he’s going to get you involved in fights.”

“What?” Daniel shook his head, leaning forward, trying to catch Jack’s eye. “Jack, really, it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t ask me to help. I did that on my own.”

Jack was quiet for a long moment. “So you chose to break the rules.”

Daniel blinked, then sank back, wrapping his arms around himself. “I guess,” he muttered. It wasn’t like he’d thought of it at the time. “I’m sorry if your boss is mad at you.”

Jack sighed, giving Daniel another brief look over his shoulder as he drove. “You let me worry about that.”

“Okay.” Daniel rubbed his stomach again, trying to soothe the aching tightness there. It felt hot and tender, especially just above his navel, where Rob’s first kick had landed. He pressed his fingers lightly, testing the edges of the sore place, forcing himself to stay quiet. His head still hurt, and each breath pulled the bruises on his ribs painfully. His face didn’t hurt, though, and the visible parts of his arms, where his tee shirt didn’t cover, were unmarked. Maybe if he was careful, Jack would never see all the other marks Daniel assumed were hidden beneath his clothes. That would probably make him mad, too. Jack wouldn’t have lost a fight like that. Jack could take care of himself. He wouldn’t want a kid who just curled up in a ball and covered his face.

They rode the rest of the way home in silence. Daniel was half drowsing by the time they arrived, and he sat up quickly when the engine turned off. He opened his door and hopped down, gritting his teeth but keeping the movement light and natural. Jack walked up to the house and Daniel followed, wondering what would happen next. He wanted to ask where he would go while he was suspended, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Come here,” Jack said as they entered the house. He went to the couch and sat down, and Daniel followed, sitting across from him, perched uneasily on the opposite couch.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. Maybe if he said it enough Jack wouldn’t be too mad.

Jack sighed, and some of the irritation faded from his face. “I know. Listen, Daniel, I’m going to be straight with you. I’m not happy that you got in a fight. No matter what someone else does, there are always other choices. You could have gotten a teacher, or walked away. Fighting is not an option, and you know it. Doing it anyway is breaking the rules.”

Daniel nodded, swallowing. He butted one toe against the coffee table, watching his sneaker bend up slowly, then smooth back down.

“Daniel.”

He looked up. Jack was watching him, looking tired and a little confused. Daniel thought he should probably say something to agree with Jack, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. Maybe mouthing off at Rob in the cafeteria had been wrong, but what had happened in the locker room had been beyond his control. Of course, if he hadn’t started things in the cafeteria... maybe Jack was right. Maybe this was his fault.

“Sorry,” he whispered. His headache was getting worse. He hoped Jack would be done soon.

Jack sighed and got up, crossing to sit beside him. He rubbed a hand up and down Daniel’s back. Daniel held his breath, forcing himself to be still when that warm, heavy hand bumped against sore places. At least most of the really painful spots were on his sides and chest.

“Can you tell me why you did this?” Jack asked softly.

Daniel shook his head. Jack wouldn’t understand. And besides, he wasn’t entirely sure he understood it himself. He hadn’t thought it out, he’d just done it. He’d seen Rob’s mocking smile, the same smile he’d seen on far too many bullies, and Dudley’s bright red cheeks, his downcast eyes, and he’d just done it. Daniel thought that given a chance, he’d probably do it again the same way. Jack wouldn’t like that. Better to not tell him.

“All right,” Jack sighed. “I want you to go to your room and think for a while. You can come out when you can talk to me about this.”

Daniel nodded and edged away from Jack’s hand, slipping off the couch. “Okay,” he murmured, keeping his eyes down. He hurried away, making the effort to walk up the stairs as if it was easy, hoping Jack didn’t notice how much he was leaning on the banister.

He breathed a sigh of relief once he got into his room. With the door shut behind him, he could relax and stop standing up so straight. The bed looked wonderfully soft and he laid himself gingerly on the covers, suppressing a low groan. Lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, he ran careful fingers over his chest, slipping them under the plain white gym tee he still wore. At least he wasn’t bleeding anywhere. That was something. And at least Jack didn’t seem mad at him anymore. Confused, tired, disappointed, unhappy. But not mad.

Somehow, that wasn’t as comforting as it should have been.

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