Daniel’s the closest to the door when the doorbell rings, so he goes to open it, drying his soapy hands on a kitchen towel that he swiped from the counter as he walks. Tossing it over his shoulder, he swings the heavy wooden door inward.
“Hey, Teal’c…” the greeting freezes on his tongue, and he stares at the image presented to him. Teal’c is, indeed, standing on Jack’s front stoop. That was expected. It’s what his friend is wearing that is searing Daniel’s brain - the jaunty fedora is normal at this point, and the suit is immaculately tailored as per usual. Daniel actually suspects that Teal’c does the alterations himself, because there’s no way that all of the clothes he buys fit him like this off the rack. The ensemble would be normal Teal’c for a semi-formal outing such as the one they have planned for the day - if the suit jacket wasn’t a vibrant, totally unmissable periwinkle.
“May we come in, DanielJackson?” Teal’c proffers a bottle of wine - he’d taken to the hostess gift thing remarkably well. Daniel blinks, noticing for the first time that Sam is standing just behind the Jaffa, trying valiantly to smother a laugh with her hand. It’s not working, and she turns away towards the street.
“Um,” he manages ineloquently, still gazing at the suit jacket with a confusing mix of awe and shock.
“Daniel, I thought I heard the door,” Jack’s voice echoes down the hall from the kitchen, where he had clearly expected to find Daniel and at least one of their friends. His footsteps mark his progress through the kitchen and eating area and out to the entryway, “Well jeez Danny I know that it’s officially spring but it’s a little cold out there to stand around with the door open dontcha think?”
Wordless still, Daniel gestures at Teal’c. Jack is very warm where he has stepped up and fit his body behind Daniel’s, which does give credence to his complaint about the door being open. One of Jack’s hands has settled on Daniel’s hip and he feels the fingers twitch when Jack finally looks at Teal’c. Still, Jack recovers faster than he had, and shifts to step back and tug Daniel with him, making space for Teal’c and Sam to enter.
As they do, Sam finally having control of her giggles, the Jaffa peers at Daniel, face drawn into a frown. “Are you feeling unwell, DanielJackson?”
“Nah, you just pulled him out of an, ah, fascinating podcast, T,” Jack covers for him, and the fond way he pats Daniel’s butt before releasing him softens the blow of the dry sarcasm he delivered the statement in. “I’m sure he’s still thinking about demonyms or phonemes or whatever. That’s some suit, my friend.”
Sam, murmuring some sort of excuse, takes the wine from Teal’c and her own neatly packaged dish and disappears into the kitchen, stealing the escape Daniel desperately wanted out from under him. He’s completely sure that she’s going to go hide in the bathroom and laugh until she cries, while he’s stuck here trying not to embarrass himself.
T, on the other hand, seems inordinately and unironically pleased with what he sees as Jack’s admiration of his ensemble. “This is your nation’s color of the year, O’Neill,” he smooths a hand down one lapel proudly. “The salesperson assured me it was an excellent choice for a ceremony to celebrate life.”
“Color of the year?” Daniel asks, because honestly that doesn’t make anything make any more sense. Teal’c nods sagely, and pulls out a small stack of fabric swatches in the same color stapled white cardstock, handing one to Daniel who doesn’t resist and a little more forcefully one to Jack, who tries to politely refuse.
“It is called ‘Very Peri’,” Teal’c gestures at the swatches as he walks away. “I find it very refreshing. I took these samples because SamanthaCarter had mentioned you were considering a new color for your bedroom.”
Daniel turns around to face Jack. The sight of him standing in the hallway, fully decked out in his dress blues, holding a ‘Very Peri’ sampler and the look of tasting something sour when he obviously thinks of putting it on the bedroom walls is just too much, and he collapses onto the bench, choking on silent laughter. Jack holds up the sample and gives it one more long look before shaking his head, and dropping it in Daniel’s lap with his own abandoned swatch.
“It is a very nice color,” Daniel says impishly when he gets himself under control, pretending to consider it.
“Not on your life, Dannyboy,” his partner says and stalks off, muttering something uncomplimentary. Standing up to follow, Daniel pockets the samples, wondering if he can use them to tease Jack later. It’s a shame, after all, to get him all riled up now when he can’t take advantage of it, but today they’ve got places to be and friends to entertain.
Focus
“-niel?”
The words are swimming in front of him, or rather the pages are, floating just beyond his reach. The current is carrying them away, but any time he moves to try and grab them they just drift farther away. His lungs are burning - he’s going to have to get air soon, but he was so close and this is decades of his work and a dozen others, just gone -
“Daniel!” A hand lands on his shoulder, and turns into two hands grabbing at his shoulders to catch him when he jerks away and nearly toppleds backwards off of the stool. He’s freezing, but faintly aware of his skin being covered in a light sheen of sweat as he blinks, trying to bring his intruder’s face into focus; he’s not quite sure where his glasses went. But he must have already known, subconsciously, because he’s relaxed into the other man’s grip.
“Jack?” a quick brush of his hand across his workstation doesn’t yield his glasses. Jack is close enough that his face is clear, but the rest of Daniel’s office is a blur of soft colors and light.
“You were talking in your sleep,” the general says, though his tone says that it was anything but just ‘talking’. Feeling a flush of mortification steal across his face, Daniel hopes he wasn’t screaming. His office isn’t nearly sound proof. “You okay?”
“I’m f-,” he shivers hard enough to interrupt his own statement and, glancing at Jack’s scowl, reconsiders anyway. “I’m freezing,” he admits instead, wracked by another shiver.
Jack props a hip up on the desk and reaches out to lay his hand on Daniel’s forehead, irritated scowl morphing into a concerned scowl. The different is small, but by now Daniel is an expert in the different meanings of his partner frowning at him. “God, Daniel, you’re burning up. Why didn’t you stay home this morning?” He’s back to irritated, which seems a little unfair.
“This morning, I was fine,” he bats the hand away from his face, though he misses the contact when it’s gone.
Jack’s grunt is skeptical, and he casts a critical eye over the desk surface. “Did you have lunch?”
“I’m not hungry,” he lies. Actually, he’d gone to the commissary, but the smell of whatever was today’s special had nearly brought breakfast back up, so he’d hurried back to his office. This isn’t the answer Jack was looking for, though, since they both know Jack knows he only had coffee and half a chocolate muffin for breakfast which was…Daniel glances at the clock and mentally calculates. Oh. 12 hours ago.
A grumble from next to him indicates that Jack also did the math. “Dinner, then, let’s go,” uncompromising hands lift Daniel to his feet and he sighs, turning back and brushing Jack off.
“Can’t we just go home?” it comes out sounding like a whine, but he can’t imagine eating base food right now. “Have you seen my glasses?”
Jack lets go of him to look, and Daniel spots them on the far end of the desk. He steps around, reaches for them, and realizes halfway to the floor that the room is spinning again. Not good, not good…
The next minute he’s laying somewhere soft and quiet, and the blanket is too hot. The infirmary bed is all too familiar, and he groans and tries to sit up. “Just lay down, Daniel,” Jack’s hands are on his shoulders, pushing firmly but not ungently until Danny collapses back onto the bed.
“Hot,” he complains, picking at the blanket, “thirsty.” Jack obligingly folds it down to his waist and helps him sit up just a little bit, reaching for a glass of cool water on the table by his charts. He only lets Daniel have a couple of sips before he pulls it away.
“Infirmary?” he manages to croak, and Jack runs a quick hand across his forehead and then ruffles his hair.
“Yeah, infirmary. Carter’s sick too, and Mitchell was, though Doc released him to go home this morning. You guys caught some sort of alien bug, but you’re both on the mend and Vala’s symptoms weren’t even severe enough to land her here.” He lets Daniel have another drink, this time longer than before.
“We’ve always been lucky it doesn’t happen more often,” Daniel whispers; that’s all his scratchy throat will allow. “Can we go home?”
Jack gives him an unimpressed look that encompasses both the statement, the question, and the fact that he’s still flat on his back with an IV stuck in his arm. Dr. Lam, sweeping in, is wearing a look quite similar to his partner’s. “You’re not going anywhere until your fever stays down for at least eight hours and you keep some solid food down,” she says firmly as she jots down some readings on his chart. “Definitely not tonight.”
Daniel must look as pathetic as he feels, because Jack’s eyes soften after a minute.
“I’ll bring you some food to try, and a book to read,” Jack offers.
“Coffee?” Daniel asks hopefully.
“Soup and juice,” Carolyn counters. “No book, he needs to be resting.”
Daniel wrinkles his nose at the proclamation. “Tea?” he bargains, “and reading is resting. Can I at least shower?” He thinks he can smell himself.
“Tea if it’s decaf,” she props her hands on her hips, “and by resting you know I meant sleeping. You can try a shower tomorrow if you’re still feeling better.”
Daniel turns pleading eyes on Jack, who he knows is the weak link. “All I’ve done is sleep! Jack can make sure I don’t fall in the shower, right Jack?”
The General looks from his partner to his CMO, and offers another compromise. “Soup, tea. We skip the shower but I’ll bring you a change of clothes, and I’ll read you a couple of chapters until you fall back asleep. That okay, Doc?”
“Decaf,” she says again, pointing at Jack, “and you stop reading anyway if he’s not asleep an hour from now and let me know.” Not phased at all by Jack, she holds his gaze until he nods his agreement. And then, finally, she softens as well. “Goodnight, Daniel. General,” she says and then sweeps back out of the room.
Jack brushes his hand across Daniel’s hair again, which is all he can do here on base. “I’ll be back in a few.”
“Thanks, Jack.”
Stars
“Horoscopes are rubbish,” Sam say frankly and then looks up from her notebook, realizing she’s spoken aloud, and adds a hurried, “Sir.”
Daniel, one of the people to whom Jack had been reading the horoscope with faked gravitas, catches the hint of mischief that flashes across Jack’s face as he turns to look at Sam; by the time he’s facing her, his face is impassive and unimpressed. He’s a better actor than Daniel originally would have given him credit for, and he doesn’t pass up opportunities to heckle any of them. Sam and Teal’c because, Daniel is guessing, he wants them to loosen up and get comfortable with him. Daniel, because he can’t seem to help himself.
He couldn’t the first time around, either, though Daniel has to admit he likes it better now that he knows Jack’s mostly teasing than he did in the very tense first few days after he’d led that first Gate team offworld and he wasn’t altogether sure Colonel O’Neill wasn’t going to let his men make a punching bag out of the weird geek who’d stranded them there.
“You think horoscopes are rubbish?” Jack asks Sam, with a tone of disbelief.
She looks startled and a little bemused. “Yes, Sir. It’s…well, silly, sir, to think that someone can predict your future based on the stars in the sky when you were born.” Sam looks to Teal’c and Daniel for support. Daniel shrugs; he’s not sure where Jack is going with this, because he’s pretty sure Jack doesn’t believe in horoscopes either. But they were on the back of the comic strips he had shoved in his pack this morning, and it’s not like they have much else to do until the sun comes back up and they can see what they’re doing in the ruins. Plus, it’s been kind of fun trying to determine what Teal’c’s star sign would be, given that he wasn’t born on Earth. Despite Jack’s nearly encyclopedic knowledge of astronomy they’re stuck, though Daniel suspects they might be able to figure it out if Sam put her mind to the problem too instead of being so uptight about it.
“Many cultures believe in things not easily explained away by science, SamanthaCarter,” Teal’c rumbles, and his censure on top of Jack’s is enough to make her flush, visible even across the campfire. Daniel shoots Jack a glance, thinking this is heading into hazing territory, but Jack isn’t looking his way. He certainly isn’t expecting what comes out of his friend’s mouth.
“Horoscopes opened the Stargate for us, Carter,” Jack tells her. “You could probably stand to be a little more open minded about them, considering.”
“What?” Sam questions, disbelief heavy in the single word, even as Daniel sits up and says, “That’s not exactly—”
“Daniel, you realized that the Gate symbols were constellations after you saw a man reading the paper with the horoscopes on the back, yes or no?” Jack interrupts him.
“Well yes, but—”
Jack gestures him rudely to silence, and gives Sam a little smirk that is so smug Daniel just wants to smack him. “No buts. See, Carter? Horoscopes are why we are on this planet right now, in this galaxy far, far away.”
Daniel defends himself, “I would have realized they were constellations eventually,” feeling stung; at the same time that Sam says, “Actually, Sir, we haven’t left our own galaxy.”
Jack pulls a long-suffering face and throws his hands up. “Acht, give the proper science a rest will you?! Carter, it was a figure of speech, a joke,” he looks hard in her direction until she sighs and quirks a little smile, relaxing back into her seat. “Yes, sir. Loosen up; message received. I’ll do my best,” she say sheepishly.
Daniel, though, is still feeling a little betrayed by how that whole analogy dismissed what a breakthrough he’d actually made. He wasn’t expecting that sort of feeling tonight, isn’t ready to let it go. “The horoscope constellations aren’t even all the same ones that are on the Stargate,” he mutters, not realizing Jack was listening until the colonel’s hands in his hair, giving it a rough but affectionate ruffle.
“They could have been exactly the same ones, and you’re still the only one who would have made a crazy leap like that, kid,” he says frankly. “Everyone who is worth your time knows that. I didn’t mean to say otherwise.”
He gives Daniel a smile that warms him right up from the inside out. It says clearly, you might be a pain in the ass but you’re my pain in the ass and you’re important to the team. Daniel doesn’t even shrug off Jack’s hand like he usually would, just beams at him from under the touch, and looks up at the stars with a newfound appreciation. Who knew they could give him everything?
Legend
Okay, I admit it. I wasn’t paying all that close attention to the briefing. I had other things on my mind! Hockey season is ramping up, promising some close contenders to keep an eye on, and I’m knee-deep in planning the next trainee orientation scenario with Teal’c. I didn’t have time to commit Daniel’s lecture to memory - that’s his job, anyway.
Ah, not that I’m planning to say that out loud. Or I wouldn’t, anyway, if he was speaking to me.
(He’s not.)
I glance around - it’s hard to make out a lot of details in here, it’s quite dark, but he appears to still be sleeping, tucked up against Carter over there in the corner most hidden from the doorway. Teal’c is standing where he has the best viewpoint out of the cell, comfortable in his parade rest in a way that I’ve always envied.
As quiet as I can, I walk over to T. It’s not very quiet at all - the restraints chaining my ankles together prevent any sort of stealth. Teal’c glances my way and Carter stirs. I can see her eyes glitter as she cracks them open. Nobody else is chained up - a privilege just for me. One I earned because I may have gone a little berserk on the guards who brought Daniel back the last time; they’re not interested in me getting the drop on them again, so I’ve been booby-trapped with noisemakers and I can’t reach the door.
Oh, no, Daniel’s not mad at me because I didn’t listen to his briefing. Or he might be, I don’t know, but the silent treatment is because I almost got myself killed. I’m well aware that if they didn’t still think we might give them information on Earth’s defenses, I probably would be dead. It was really stupid - but in my defense, it was Carter who’d cried wolf and said, ‘Sir, I don’t think he’s breathing!’ when they dumped Daniel back in here a few hours ago. In her defense, he wasn’t breathing when she said it, though he started again shortly thereafter. Apparently, whatever sarcophagus-like device these people have, it’s got a lag time.
I’ve reached Teal’c, and glance out the cell door, following his gaze. It’s too dark for me to make anything out, but T’s hearing and eyesight are still better than mine. They left us a very dim lantern in here, but there is no light except windows in the hall and it is the darkest part of night.
“There is no change, O’Neill.” I didn’t think so, but there was no harm in checking. I nod and open my mouth, but before I can get the words out, he continues, “I am not tired. I will keep the watch until there is light for SamanthaCarter to see.” I can’t argue with that logic, so I nod again and clap him on the shoulder before turning towards the other half of the team.
Sam’s got Daniel propped up against her side, and her jacket is draped over the both of them. It’s not particularly cold in here, but our archaeologist has been shivering since he started breathing again, and is still even with the extra layer. Sam doesn’t think he’s running a fever, but it’s not like we have a thermometer handy to check for sure. He doesn’t do more than wiggle restlessly as I clank my way over, indicating for Carter to switch me places.
She raises an eyebrow at me - her facial expressions are so often borderline insubordination she doesn’t let go audibly - and I know why she’s hesitating. Yes, for the very brief moments that Daniel had been awake, he and I had been shouting at each other. Yes, he said he didn’t want me to help him. Yes, I feel terrible about shouting at my best friend after he’d just been tortured and presumably briefly dead. No, I’m not going to let him freeze to death now just because he’s stubborn. I gesture again, impatiently.
It’s clumsy, but we manage to switch places without Daniel hitting the ground. The first thing he does is burrow into my warmth, and I give Carter a smug look. She rolls her eyes - she thinks he’s still asleep, and it’s a subconscious thing. He’s not asleep; he’d half-opened sleepy eyes and looked right at me during the transition. If he wanted to protest, he had his chance. He waits until she’s moved away, going to sit back down in a more strategic place across the cell, before he shifts again.
“I’m still mad at you,” he grumbles, but his complaint is belied by the fact that he throws throw an arm across me and lays his head on my shoulder, pressing as much of his body against me as he can manage. I lift a hand to his hair, teasing it back into its short curls where it’s plastered against his head. I don’t say, I thought you were dead. He knows - it’s one of the things I shouted at him earlier. He doesn’t say I’m sorry for being the one who got grabbed, partially because none of us could have changed that and partially because he wouldn’t mean it. In Daniel’s mind, better him than any of us. We both sigh, which is enough to get a glance over from T, but he just smiles and looks away.
“I think you better tell me the legend of this place again,” I say instead, quietly.
“You weren’t listening the first time,” he answers. It’s almost worse that there is no heat behind it, just resignation. Jack tugs him closer in silent apology.
“I’m listening now,” he assures him.
Fight
“Why are you here, Sir?”
“Catching up on flight hours,” Jack turns, holding up a weird piece of alien tech that must have come back with some other team. “What’s this doohickey?”
“We think that one is an alien razor, Sir. Used.” Carter smirks at him when he makes a disgusted face and drops it back on the table, wiping his hands on his pants. “You just logged most of your hours on that training flight with Teal’c last month. Why are you really here?”
Yeah, the training flight with Teal’c is the problem. Or, rather, it’s whatever happened while they were gone between Daniel and Sam that neither one of them will talk about, and which had Sam requesting to be temporarily assigned to this research project at Area 51. Jack hadn’t made any progress with getting Daniel to spill the beans in the past two weeks, so in a redeployment of resources, Teal’c agreed to go to some museum exhibit opening with Daniel for the day. Jack had dropped them off in Washington before flying here, so unless their archaeologist is planning to catch a commercial flight home, T has a captive audience.
And Jack’s assignment is to try and get an answer from Carter. Short of just ordering her to talk, he’s not sure he’s going to get anywhere, judging by the mulish look on her face. Which feels like it should tell him something - because Sam still looks angry, while Daniel has been moping around and miserable.
“Your temporary assignment is over next week,” he says casually. “You got a ride home, or you need me to get you some wings?”
“I asked for an extension,”
“That’s not gonna happen, Carter.” Jack shoves his hands in his pockets. “Hammond wants you home, and so do I. We’ve got missions we need SG-1 at full strength for.” She says nothing, and he scowls at her. “Oh for crying out loud, whatever happened with you and Daniel can’t be that bad.”
“If you need me back, I can be professional.”
“Not good enough. You’re friends. Love it or hate it, it’s part of what makes SG-1 work.”
Sam just picks up the piece of technology she came into the storeroom for and walks away, back out into the lab. Jack follows her, slamming the door shut just to express his frustration. She tries to go back to work until his looming presence becomes too much. “You’re not going to go away, are you?”
Jack shrugs. “Nope,” he doesn’t have to glance at his watch to know it’s about 10:00. He doesn’t have a wheels-up time until 20:00, so he has time to sit on Sam for a while and then even take her to dinner before he goes, as her friend if things go well or as an apology if he has to get mean to get his answers. He receives an icy look in response and she ignores him for more than an hour before she decides he’s serious. She shuts down her computer entirely and turns to face him, still looking mad.
“It’s personal,” she warns him.
Jack shrugs. What isn’t anymore, on their team?
“I got into an argument with Mark,” she says quietly, “and didn’t get to see the kids, after I’d promised to take them somewhere. Daniel told me it served me right, and I was being selfish.”
“Sometimes he says things before he thinks them through,” Jack acknowledges carefully, “but that doesn’t sound like Daniel.” He hadn’t intended to take sides in this fight - but he just is having a really hard time imagining Daniel doing anything other than being supportive and sympathetic. Sam crosses her arms, but she looks uncomfortable. He decides to give her a little more push. “You’re mad,” he says quietly. “But whatever happened, Daniel is downright depressed.”
In fact, the way Daniel’s been acting, Jack would suspect their by doesn’t believe that Sam is ever going to forgive him; which just hadn’t tracked with nobody on base having any idea what had happened, and didn’t track now with an argument that just doesn’t seem that world-ending. They’ve certainly had bigger disagreements.
It works, anyway. There’s a flicker of something on Sam’s face that isn’t just stubbornness. “It…it was definitely out of character. But then I was angry, and I didn’t give him a chance to explain or apologize.”
“Did he try?” Jack asks, and then finds his resolve to stay impartial kind of flying out the window because Sam’s grimace is answer enough to that question; he just waves her quiet when she starts to try and formulate a response. Something else is bothering him, a nagging sense that he’s missing a piece of the puzzle. Or several. It’s not unlike Daniel to speak before he thinks things through but rarely anything that offensive, and he’s so guilty afterward few hold a grudge more than a minute or two. It’s equally unlike Sam to be so sensitive about this sort of thing, or not to leap at the chance to settle a disagreement with Daniel. Heck, she even makes peace with McKay quickly.
They’re still frowning at each other, but it’s more thoughtful now than anything else. Jack’s pretty sure the inkling of whatever was trying to find the surface of his thoughts is gone, and he’s ready to give in and just ask her to come back and let Daniel apologize again, when her mouth drops open and she whirls around, flipping several pages backwards in the calendar open on her desk, running a finger down the page, then putting her head in her hands with a groan. “God, I’m an idiot.”
Jack takes the step forward to glance down at the indicated page, but it doesn’t immediately inspire a revelation. He reads it through again, muttering, “What’s…oh,” at the same time that Sam says, “His parents,”; which seems so simple, but yet it explains so much. Daniel would have had infinitely less patience for Sam letting any sort of argument with her brother keep her away from her nieces and nephews on the anniversary of his parents death, when the hurt of not having any family was raw.
He gives Carter a little sideeye, but she’s already beating herself up about as much as Daniel is, and he’s ready to hazard a guess that his interference is no longer necessary. Just to make sure, he asks, “So we’ll see you next week ready to go?”
“Yes, Sir. I’ll wrap up this project tomorrow or Wednesday, actually, and see if I can catch an earlier ride.”
“Good,” he pats her shoulder, then slings his arm around her and steers her towards the door. It’s not over, really, until she and Daniel get through their mutual guilt spiral together, but he’s confident now that they’ll get there once she gets back to Colorado. And, he knows how better to work on alleviating his partner’s guilt in the meantime. Mission success. “I’m hungry. What’s good around here?”
Oath
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Daniel leafs through his report again, and sets it down on the briefing table. “I’m not…one hundred percent sure what all of this says.”
“Sir, the technology would be extremely useful to us,” Sam argues, though she at least has the grace to glance apologetically at him. “Some of these are major discoveries and even the minor tech might be the building blocks we need to advance projects at Area 51.”
Hammond looks between them and then at the second half of the team. “The weapons the Gronians are offering would be a great boon to us in the fight against the Goa’uld,” Teal’c offers, “but I will swear no oaths I do not understand.”
That being an indecisive vote, everyone looks at Jack. He drums his fingers on the table. “How much of it are you unsure about?” Daniel opens his mouth to answer, only to have their team leader interrupt him with a pointed glance. “As a percentage, not a feeling.”
He has to pause, inhale on his frustration, and then he looks again at his notes. He’s highlighted the passages he’s still working on, and gut feeling aside, it’s true that the highlighted bits aren’t by any means the majority of the document. “Maybe fifteen percent,” he admits reluctantly, “not twenty-five percent. But, Sir,” he turns quickly to plead with the General, before Jack can interrupt him, “I really don’t know what that fifteen percent says. I have no idea, and that’s not an exaggeration. I have a really bad feeling about it.”
“Have the Gronians given us any other indication that they have less than honorable intentions?” Hammond asks the table at large. Jack’s ‘Nope’ and Sam’s ‘Not at all, Sir’ are the audible backdrop to Teal’c solemnly shaking his head. The General pins Daniel with the full weight of his gaze, eyebrows raised, and Daniel is forced to agree, slowly shaking his head. The people of Gron have been nothing but warm and welcoming and open, in every way except providing a full translation of this oath they insist the Tau’ri must take to get full access to their scientific records. George sits back, with a decisive nod. “I’m sorry, Dr. Jackson, but I’m going to have to overrule you. Colonel, I don’t want any more people to make this oath than strictly necessary.”
“Yes, Sir,” Jack agrees, and they all stand as Hammond does.
“Make it happen, people. Godspeed.”
—
“I’ll give you once for free. You can say it once.”
He leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, and looks down at Jack sitting on the infirmary gurney. Rather than speaking, he lets his gaze travel slowly and obviously all the way up and down his best friend’s body twice before he meets Jack’s eyes.
“Say what, Jack?” he asks, affecting a falsely confused tone.
Jack’s scowl is rather less intimidating than usual - he’s covered nearly head to toe in flowery blue and green tattoos, and the outfit the Gronians had insisted be worn to the oath ceremony and into the archives didn’t hide almost any of it. Even his hair is colored and styled, and his nails. He doesn’t answer Daniel’s question, so Daniel steps into the room and takes up a slightly more aggressive stance, widening his feet and tilting his head.
“I did tell you so, Jack,” he says at last, and he can’t quite keep the tone of amusement out of his voice. “I told you I thought it was a terrible idea, before and in the meeting.”
Jack doesn’t have a chance to respond, because at that moment Janet sweeps the curtain back that was separating Jack’s bay from Sam’s, revealing a disgruntled Major who looked a lot like Jack. Janet comes to stand by Daniel, jotting down a last few notes on her clipboard. “I think you’re going to have the opportunity to say ‘I told you so’ a few more times before the end of this, Daniel,” she offers with a grin, and then gives her patients a considerably sterner look. “Luckily for the two of you, the properties of this substance seem to be very similar to the henna we have here on Earth, and should start to fade from your skin naturally in a couple of weeks.”
“What about…” Sam gesture to her hair, a lovely shade of dark turquoise, at the same time as Jack growls, “...weeks?”
“Henna lasts longer in hair,” Daniel supplies helpfully. “And is resistant to bleaching and lightening. I suppose you could dye it darker.”
“I wouldn’t try to bleach it,” Janet shakes her head. “The samples you brought back reacted quite badly to lightening agents. I believe the term used in the lab was ‘boiling like acid’. They rules out the traditional method of lightening henna on skin using lemon oil too, unfortunately, so you’re just going to have to wait it out. Other than that, you’ve both got a clean bill of health. Enjoy this chance to flaunt the regs for a couple of weeks, I’ve heard there are several younger officers who are quite jealous.”
With that reparte, she sweeps out of the room. Sam, barely sparing Daniel a sheepish glance and Jack a perfunctory ‘Sir’, hurries after her, leaving Jack and Daniel alone again.
“Are you going to tell the General ‘I told you so?’” Jack demands.
“No,” Daniel says quietly. “The General gave the mission an okay because you and Sam said it was okay. You’re the one who decided Sam’s hankering for the tech was worth ignoring my suspicions.”
The quiet accusation hits Jack in a way his earlier smugness hadn’t, and his partner winces, running a tired hand over his face. “Daniel, I’m sorry, alright? Jeez.”
He shakes his head, because right now Jack is mostly just sorry for himself, but takes pity on him anyway. He walks over to hand him the BDUs he’d picked up from the locker room to replace the scanty toga-like ensemble Jack was wearing, taking advantage of knowing exactly where the security cameras are in this room to run curious, gentle fingers down Jack’s tattooed chest.
“They’re kind of beautiful,” he murmurs wistfully, a part of him wishing he’d gotten to experience the process as well now that they’ve determined that the tattoos aren’t going to harm anyone and aren’t permanent. He wants to know if Jack would have enjoyed watching Daniel get his…everything…tattoed as much as Daniel had enjoyed watching Jack, but he probably won’t ever know. Jack makes a soft sound and Daniel lifts his head, meeting brown eyes that are dark and soft now instead of bristling with indignation and embarrassment. He smiles a little, tilting his head to speak into Jack’s ear under his breath. “If you say it again later, and actually mean it, maybe I’ll show you some of the other home remedies to help the fading along. And help you die your hair.”
With that, he pulls back and leaves quickly. Better to let Jack stew in that on his own, and they can revisit the topic later…at Jack’s…without cameras and curious eyes.
Storm
He wakes up alone, which is unexpected. Jack had been in the bedroll next to him when he fell asleep. He’s taken his watch off, because the feeling of it keeps him awake, so he has to grope for it in the dark to check the time. It’s not even two o’clock - he stifles a groan and rolls over the other way to look out into the cave, expecting darkness - but the gloom is lightened by flickering candlelight in the very back corner where Teal’c has the small assortment of candles he keeps for Kelno’reeming lit. Jack wasn’t supposed to take over from Teal’c until around four AM; Daniel wonders what changed.
To his credit, he only considers pulling a jacket over his head and going back to sleep very, very briefly. But Jack hasn’t been sleeping well all week, not since what had happened to SG-8, and Daniel is starting to get worried. He sits up, moving as quietly as he can to avoid waking Sam or disturbing Teal’c as he slips back into his jacket and shoves his feet into boots he doesn’t bother to lace. He doesn’t have to work as hard as he might have, because they aren’t deep enough into the cave system to escape the ambient sound of rain falling heavily outside.
It’s pitch black outside, this planet not benefitting from having any moons to reflect the sun’s light back on it at night, so it gets darker as he moves away from Teal’c’s candlelight and towards the cave entrance. They’ve tucked themselves back around a couple of bends so they could have light in the evenings without giving away their location to any curious natives or wildlife, so he keeps one hand on the wall to mark his place. The sound of rain becoming even louder heralds his arrival at the entrance and he pauses, not wanting to run into Jack since he can’t see anything.
“Jack?”
Daniel isn’t sure if his partner can hear his quiet voice over the thunder of rain on rock, but a second later a flash of lightning illuminates Jack’s silhouette; Daniel leaves the wall and relies on the memory from that brief flash to cross the open area and stand next to him. He’s close enough to feel that Jack hadn’t bothered with his jacket, but he’d strapped his weapon on. The overhang of the cliff above them is keeping them mostly dry, but Daniel can feel a light mist already on his face and hair, and he’s unsurprised to find Jack damp when he touches his side.
“You should be asleep,” Jack says.
“So should you,” he forces himself not to bristle at the unfriendly tone Jack was using as he replies, “I thought Teal’c was on watch until four?”
“I’m not the one who was up half the night still working,” Jack growls.
“No, you were just the one still awake nagging me to stop and go to bed,” Daniel counters. He bumps against Jack gently but then remembering how dark it is and that there is absolutely no one here to see, leans into his side until he has to either step away or take some of Daniel’s weight. Jack doesn’t answer about the sleeping, but he shifts to balance Daniel and puts his arm around him, which is something. “You wanna talk about it?”
He doesn’t say anything for a long time, and Daniel is half asleep standing up, with the soothing sound of the rain acting almost as a hypnotic. But, then; “It was lightning from a storm that knocked their sensors off-track,” Jack says it so quietly that Daniel has to strain to listen. Ominously, the statement is followed immediately by another crack of lightning and roll of thunder, and Daniel has to work not to jump, chewing on this new information. He hadn’t read the report about SG-8, because nothing about their mission had pertained to him directly, but everyone at the SGC knew that they’d lost half of the team to flash flooding in the tunnels they were collecting data in that their equipment should have detected.
It hadn’t been a military mistake, but it had been a young team and Jack had selected and trained most of its military members himself, which is why it had hit him hard. But the information about the circumstances explains a lot about why he isn’t sleeping tonight, in particular. “It was a freak accident,” he says firmly. “You can’t protect everyone from everything, Jack, and we’re as prepared as we can be. The changes you and T are making to the training programs are making a difference. We have fewer injuries and way less casualties.”
“Indeed.” Teal’c has materialized behind them at some point and his voice out of nowhere makes Daniel nearly jump out of his skin, but he can’t find it in himself to be all that upset when his startle draws a short but true laugh from Jack. “I have kelno’reemed a more than sufficient amount, O’Neill, and you have not yet slept. I must insist that you allow me to take the last watch.”
A moment of silence, and Daniel can feel the instant Jack gives up arguing with Teal’c in this mood as a bad deal and acquiesces, turning both of them inwards towards their campsite. “Yeah. Thanks, T.”
“Goodnight, O’Neill, DanielJackson. Rest well.”
Weapon
“Did you see the size of it?”
“I know! And it’s going to such waste. You know the colonel isn’t going to share.”
“Going to share what?” Another voice joined the set.
“Dr. Jackson’s weapon,” explained the first. “Here, I have a picture.” There was a pause, and then an unmistakable noise of appreciation from the group.
A spate of giggles accompanied that, as the soldiers disappeared around the corner. Jack, who had been just opening the door into the corridor and had gone completely unnoticed by the group of women, slowly lowered the file he’d been attempting to plod his way through and stared back the way they’d come, into the infirmary. He was fairly sure he could actually feel his blood pressure rising, and he couldn’t decide which of his feelings was going to come out on top - was he horrified that apparently he and Daniel were common knowledge around base, or furious that apparently half of the base’s female population (who was he kidding, if half had it they all did, and probably a not-insignificant portion of the men as well!) had a picture of Daniel’s “weapon”.
At that moment, the aforementioned archaeologist's familiar laugh drifts out of the open infirmary doors and Jack sees red, completely forgetting the important file in his hand.
He strides into the infirmary, slamming the door behind himself after a quick glance around shows that everyone is gone except Daniel and Frasier. He checks his anger just long enough to ascertain that his partner isn’t here for a medical reason - though if he was, Jack better already know why - before he rudely interrupts them. “Doctor Jackson, a word please?”
They looked up when he slammed the door, but now Daniel’s face is creased in bewilderment while Janet is frowning fiercely. “Uh, sure Jack, what do you need?”
“In private,” he snarls, and Daniel just tilts his head and gives Jack a confused little smile, one that in any other circumstances would probably have softened Jack just like it was meant to.
“What is so urgent that you also can’t talk about in front of Janet? You know, the woman who is both of our doctors?”
Jack steps forward, resisting the urge to shove Daniel down on the nearest bed so he can tower even more, or better yet, shake him and demand to know what the hell he was thinking, letting someone get that sort of picture. “I don’t really think you want to discuss why there are soldiers in my corridors discussing the size of your weapon and why I’m not going to share it in front of the Doc, Daniel.”
Not because Jack and Daniel are a secret from Frasier, because they aren’t - she’s a close friend in addition to their doctor, and an absolute terrier when it comes to any facet of their health and well-being; if they’d thought they needed to hide their relationship from her, they would never have even gotten it off the ground. But Jack doesn’t think she needs all the gory details, either.
“I don’t know why not,” Daniel says, still with an air of patient confusion. “I’m sure if those airmen - er, airwomen? - have seen the pictures then Janet has too. They seem to be making their way around the base pretty quickly,” he hesitates, then, looking concerned. Jack has some idea it’s probably related to the expression he can feel on his own face, but what is he supposed to do? Daniel seems to be taking the idea of having a very intimate personal image shared all over base as cooly as talking about what to have for lunch, but Jack just can’t be that blase about it. Sounding defensive, his partner adds, “I didn’t know it was supposed to be a secret!”
Jack is surprised smoke isn’t coming out of his own ears. He chooses to ignore the way that his partner recoils slightly from him leaning forward and opens his mouth to deliver a scorching rebuke, but before he can decide how to start - WHERE to start! - Janet’s mouth drops open with sudden revelation. He is startled into silence when she grabs his arm and urgently urges him, “Colonel, wait a minute.” She takes a breath, and looks irreverently close to bursting into giggles, but her voice when she addresses them again is almost steady. “Sir, the weapon that is causing such a stir around the base is the one Daniel just brought back from that dig on P8X-391.”
Oh.
“Of course it is!” Daniel throws his hands up, “Honestly, you’re always bemoaning how we never come across any ‘big honking space guns’ and then I bring you one, and this is what happens? What other weapon could we possible be taking about?!”
Duh, you idiot, he berates himself mentally. Jack remembers hearing about the weapon, but as far as he knew it didn’t work, so he hadn’t ventured down to see it yet himself. But it’s everything he can do not to flush at Daniel’s last question, so he doesn’t answer it.
“Jack?” Daniel looks at him, and then at Janet, clued in by the awkward silence that has fallen that he’s missing something. Frasier doesn’t seem interesting in taking pity on Jack, if her arms crossed over her chest and the disapproving eyebrow are any indication.
“I thought they were talking about having pictures of your…personal…weapon,” Jack says lamely, not quite looking at Daniel, “and…us.” He hasn’t felt this ridiculous since probably high school.
“Why would they want pictures of my service weapon?” Daniel’s eyebrows furrow. “I just check it out from the armory like everyone else. There’s plenty to go around.”
Jack, mouth dry, doesn’t have a good answer and looks desperately at Janet, who rolls her eyes. Usually at work that would irritate him, but at this point he knows he doesn’t have any right to be anything but grateful for any help she will offer him.
“Daniel, I believe Jack thought - and don’t ask me how he made this remarkable intuitive leap - that half the base was sharing pictures of your penis.”
Daniel’s mouth and eyes form matching ‘Oh’s of shock, and he turns white and then red. He wraps his arms around himself and takes a deep breath. Jack waits, tense and starting to feel shame, and a glance at Janet reveals she’s Jack with an expression that says she definitely thinks he deserves anything he gets. When he finally speaks, Daniel’s voice is eerily calm - a huge contrast to the way Jack had reacted.
“I would never put you at risk like that, Jack, and if you think I would, I don’t know why we’re together.”
“Daniel…” Jack winces, and reaches for him, but hs partner ducks out of his reach.
“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” he says quietly. “I’ll see you at home.” He’s gone before Jack can think of a way to stop him, and he closes the door behind himself with a quiet click.
“Shit,” is all Jack can come up with as he runs his hands through his hair in frustration. “I didn’t…I’m an asshole.”
“Yes, sir, sometimes you really are.” He tries to pin her with a look that will make her back down, but she is - rightfully - on Daniel’s side and refuses to be intimidated. She gives glare for glare until he looks away. “Luckily for you, sir, Daniel doesn’t usually hold a grudge for very long with his friends. And, he loves you.”
“Yeah,” he agrees solemnly. Despite everything, he does.
“I still think you might be sleeping on the couch tonight, though, Sir.”
Jack thinks she’s probably right.
Anonymity
The notes, at first, have distinct anonymity to them. They say things like ‘I need your report’ and ‘Range practice, 08:00’. The ones he sends in return are much the same, perfunctory messages like ‘Report for P3X-382 is in your inbox’ and ‘Dr. Frasier says if you don’t go in for your physical she’s pulling us from the duty roster’. Or, the notes are long and detailed, full of careful and exact word choice.
Later, the notes might seem only a little more personal, but to those who know them well they’re a dead giveaway. Jack’s might read ‘if you miss another meal I’ll carry you to the mess hall’ or ‘I’m picking up Chinese on the way home. 18:30’. Daniel’s are more often attached to the reports he leaves on Jack’s desk - ‘You do realize spell check comes standard now on your computer?’ on something Jack had given him to proofread - or in Jack’s locker - ‘If you don’t bring your laundry home before it can stand up on its own, I’m throwing it away’.
They don’t ever sign them - they might not be able to deny some of the weirder notes if someone asked, but it’s much less likely to be an issue if they are anonymous. They don’t have to sign them, anyway; they recognize each other’s handwriting easily, as well as Sam’s and Teal’c’s. (The rest of SG-1 doesn’t usually bother to sign their notes either). Sam once told him that when he and Jack were at odds, she had been able to use the tone and frequency of notes they passed back and forth as a relationship barometer, and that was one of the ways she always knew he needed someone to talk to even before Daniel asked.
Jack doesn’t always say much, there were things he wouldn’t (or couldn’t) vocalize on base and in public, but he was a great communicator. The notes he left said so many things - so many of them might say something sarcastic or biting, but what they really said was I was thinking of you and I care about you and I love you, just like when Jack leaves him meals and snacks, or drags him to the mess, or freaks out and yells a bit when something happens and Daniel ends up in the line of fire. Just like when he sits in Daniel’s lab to do paperwork because he’d rather be with Daniel than alone in his own office, and when he bullies Daniel into going home and watching television when he thinks he’s overworking himself.
“You ever planning to take a break?” Speaking of…Daniel looks up and grins at Jack, who has propped himself up in the doorway with an exaggerated look at his watch. “Thought you were meeting me for lunch at 12:00?”
“What time is it?”
“It’s past 12:30…why do you look so excited?” Jack asks suspiciously because usually, it’s ‘ten more minutes Jack, I’m on the verge of something’ or ‘I’m too busy to worry about lunch, have you SEEN these pictures that SG-11 brought back?’
“Nothing. Sorry, I lost track of time.” Jack’s wandered over, and glancing down his brow furrows when he looks at Daniel’s work - since Daniel had had him looking at these schematics when he came down earlier, he can clearly see the archaeologist hasn’t made a dent in the translation. Daniel pushes away from his desk and grabs his jacket before Jack can ask anything else about his lack of progress. “I’m starving. What do you say we grab Sam and Teal’c and do to town for lunch instead?”
“Sure,” Jack agrees, distracted by the promise of food - for now. Daniel knows he’ll ask later…but he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Street Art
The night he sees it for the first time, it’s winter. The air is cold, biting at his face. It’s bare-bones, the artist’s thoughts sketched out on the wall in spray paint, but something makes him stop and look. It touches something he doesn’t want to think about, reminds him of someone he doesn’t want to think about, because he’s headed home alone tonight, and if he stopped to think about it he’d have to consider whether that’s his own damn fault.
Daniel’s working late the next night he goes to check the progress. Somehow, he’s not surprised to find that nobody has whitewashed or graffiti’d over the unfinished masterpiece. Apparently, even disgruntled business owners and care-for-naught street punks are more curious to see it finished than annoyed at how much wall space it’s using. The artist seems to have worked mostly on the hair, which falls in careless waves over the model’s forehead, and makes Jack think of how his partner could really use a haircut. But he’s just back from another long offworld stay, and neither of them have wanted to waste any of their precious off-duty time with things as trivial as haircuts.
When summer rolls around, one night he bullies and cajoles Daniel until the linguist agrees to abandon his heavy tome of study that he lugged home from the SGC and take a walk. The days have been hot and heavy, but a late afternoon rainstorm broke the oppressive humidity and the night is pleasantly warm with a nice breeze. On a whim, he takes Daniel to see the mural, wondering if he’ll see the same thing Jack sees. The intrepid artist must work the same crazy kind of schedule they do, because not much has been added. They’ve added detail and depth to the skin, and the middle panel is fleshed out now, and they’ve added a single color outside of the monochrome palette, a shining gold that reflects metallic in the street lights. It streaks across in several places, but in one it looks alarmingly like blood. Daniel frowns at it, and shivers, but seems content to gaze at it until Jack’s had his fill.
Fall comes, and he’s in Washington. He needed the flight hours, and some of the higher-ups wanted Hammond to come to talk about budget, personnel training, and who knows what else. It turned into an overnight stay and he’s sitting on the balcony of a lonely hotel, considering just going to sleep early, when Daniel calls him. I’m looking at your mural, Daniel says, and Jack doesn’t bother saying ‘it’s not mine’ because it feels like his sometimes. They’ve finished the eyes, Daniel continues. I wish I could send you a picture. I feel like I know the subject, it’s kind of uncomfortable. Jack still doesn’t ask the question that’s burning him up inside. Instead, he asks if it’s done. Daniel doesn’t think so.
Winter drifts back in and they wander into town supposedly to see the lights, but Daniel mentions the mural and they end up taking Teal’c, Carter, and Cassie to see the painting as well. Everyone is speechless - the rest of them are impressed by it, but not in the same way that Jack and Daniel are. Jack feels a little bit like someone knocked the air out of him because the essence of the portrait is unmistakable now that the middle section is finally done. Two rough hands cradle the familiar face, its eyes closed, and the thumbs are poised to wipe away the tears that are tracking down the cheeks. There’s a murmur of appreciation for the artistic value of the mural but everyone else moves on after a few minutes, without a word about the remarkable similarity.
Jack has to close his eyes, wondering if he’s in some sort of slightly out-of-sync alternate dimension. He doesn’t open them again until a warm hand closes around his, Daniel having come back to him while the joyful noise of the others fades with distance. “Jack,” he murmurs, and there’s too much gentleness and understanding in the word for him to do anything but meet Daniel’s gaze. In the cool streetlights, Daniel’s eyes are almost washed out enough to match the painting. “I see it, too. But I don’t think it’s sad.”
He doesn’t answer, but his expression must say what he doesn’t because Danny smiles at him a little. “It’s not about the tears. You can’t stop someone from being sad, or suffering, or losing. It’s about the comfort being offered - that’s a love story, but it’s not their story, which is why they don’t see it.” Daniel squeezes his hand and tugs a little. “They’re going to be wondering where we went.”
A last glance back at the wall and Jack lets himself be tugged along. Their friends turn the corner ahead and he takes advantage to stop and yank Daniel to him, wrapping his arms tightly around a startled but unprotesting archaeologist - Danny melts into the embrace, wrapping his arms around Jack in return. Jack takes a deep breath, committing both mural and hug to memory. There are too many dark corners of his mind, and it’s about time he starts filling them up with more positive things. “Uhibbuk, Jack,” Daniel murmurs, “ya rouhi.”
“Enta ‘umri,” Jack offers back, drawing upon a phrase in Arabic he had never needed during his years in the special forces, but which he’d learned just for Daniel. And then Cassie pops back around the corner and runs over, making it a three-way hug with more than a few giggles, and the moment shifts to less somber, but no less special.
Music
Music had always been a well-loved hobby, one of the few things that could draw him out of his academic pursuits. He hadn’t been surprised to find that Jack enjoyed music. Most people did, and his own broad range of taste meant he could share music with almost everyone to both party’s mutual enjoyment. It was rare for him to not be able to find some common ground in music, even off-world; extensive study of Earth’s music meant he could make intelligent conversation with alien cultures about theirs too.
Daniel had been surprised to find out that one of Jack’s genres of choice was opera. Opera, by dint of being more often than not written in a different language, was a genre Daniel had studied extensively. He wouldn’t say it was a favorite, but he certainly enjoyed it. The first time Jack put on an opera, Daniel had been too upset about having lost Sha’re to Apophis to really take note. The next time, he (to his own slight shame) had kind of assumed that Jack picked it to try and make an impression of being more cultured because Daniel had been making fun of him for his love of sports and The Simpsons. By the third time and beyond, he’d slowly realized that Jack was actually playing his operas because he liked them, which gave Daniel quite a bit to think about.
Jack, in contrast, made no secret of his surprise when Daniel finally picked an apartment, and over one of their long weekends off, asked Jack if he’d help him go pick up a piano he’d found for sale a few hours away.
“You play the piano?” Jack had asked, brows furrowed.
“Yeah,” Daniel shrugged, “some.”
“Why haven’t I heard you play?” Jack had propped himself up next to Daniel’s desk, his usual spot, and was absently following what he was doing on his computer screen by reading over his shoulder.
“Well I haven’t had access to a piano, not for years,” Daniel says matter-of-factly. The piano had been worth money - it had been a family heirloom, that was true, but if he lost his apartment because he couldn’t pay rent it wasn’t like he would have anywhere to keep it anyway, so while it certainly hadn’t been the first thing to go, he had sold it eventually. It had hurt at the time, but he thought he was mostly over the pain until the silence drags on and he looks up to find that Jack’s face is drawn into a pitying frown. Jack had clearly heard something in the statement he didn’t like - and he doesn’t, generally, like most of the things he learns about Daniel’s life directly before he was recruited to the Stargate program. Seeing Jack’s disquiet over it is almost like permission to remember it hurts, and he has to turn away to hide his face. “Anyway, are you available Sunday? The lady moves to her retirement home on Saturday and she says she can’t bear to watch someone take it so her son is going to meet me on Sunday after she’s left.”
They get it back to Colorado Springs without major casualty, though Daniel is going to need a new bench, because they give up the old one as a lost cause. The first leg snapped on the trip, and the second when Jack plunked it down in front of the piano. He’d blinked down at it, looking apologetic but what comes out of his mouth when Daniel walks back in with two cold beers is, “I’m glad I’m not picking you up off the floor after you tried to sit on it.”
Daniel just laughs and hands over the bottle. “Thanks, Jack,” he says as he runs his finger over the keys, admiring the way it fits into his space. It’s not a particularly impressive specimen - it’s only an upright, and by no means new or extravagantly expensive - but it’s good quality and it bears more than a passing resemblance to the one he’d given up.
His friend just looks at him expectantly. “So are you going to play it for me?” he prompts after Daniel just raises a curious eyebrow.
He knows he’s probably unforgivably rusty - it’s been more than three years since he touched a piano, and several years before that since he had an audience to play for. “It probably needs tuned,” he says quietly and then adds, “and I don’t have any music.”
It’s Jack’s turn to raise an eyebrow, and he gives Daniel a skeptical look. “You’re telling me you have all that mumbo jumbo floating around in your head that you’ve memorized and none of it is music?” Daniel’s sigh is answer enough, so Jack fetches a chair from the kitchen table and plonks it down in front of the instrument. “And it sounded in tune enough when Ethel was playing her last serenade.”
(As it turned out, Ethel hadn’t been able to bear giving the piano to a stranger, so she’d come to meet them and played them her favorite song one last time).
“Fine, but don’t complain if it’s terrible,” Daniel snaps, not understanding why Jack always has to push instead of taking the no as final. He hands the smirking colonel his bottle and sits down, placing his fingers on keys that are more worn than his own had been - Ethel must have played more often than Daniel, his mom, or Nick had ever managed. Taking a deep breath, he plays a couple of scales up and down before closing his eyes and starting one of his mother’s favorites.
There’s a few wrong notes, a few places where he misses his phrasing or his rhythm falters, but Daniel loses himself in the music and doesn’t open his eyes until he’s done, the last notes fading away into silence. When he finally looks up, Jack’s expression is blank. But, it’s the sort of studied blankness that really means Jack is hiding pleasure, and Daniel is kind of flying himself on the music, so he smiles wide and it coaxes a brief answering smile out of Jack.
“I’m not complaining,” Jack says quietly, and then the moment breaks and he hands Daniel his beer, clinking their glasses together with a confident, “cheers. Where are we going to dinner?”
Danger
“O’Neill.”
He’d been ignoring Teal’c since the Jaffa came in, even after his friend came over and relieved the airman who had been spotting for Jack (who had fled, looking relieved). “What?” he grunts, shoving the bar upwards and preparing to lower it and do another rep. Instead, it is snatched neatly out of his hands and placed back on the rack.
For a minute, he just lays there anyway, eyes closed and breathing deeply; but Teal’c makes no moves to walk away, so Jack levers himself up with a groan and opens his eyes. Everyone else in this particular gym has either vacated or moved to the equipment on the far side, leaving him and Teal’c in relative privacy. Teal’c offers him a towel and Jack wipes his face.
“SergeantHarriman asked me to inform you that you are scaring off the younger soldiers,” Teal’c tells him, “and requests that you find something else to do. ColonelCarter is worried you are going to hurt yourself.”
Jack wants to tell him that he doesn’t need to be babysat and he’s plenty old enough to know how not to hurt himself, but the way his muscles whine in protest when he stands up off of the bench tells him he is probably going to regret his actions by the morning. And before he came down to the gym he had been on the range, where he vaguely remembers a whole gaggle of young airmen and marines choosing to make themselves scarce. Both Walter and Sam’s concerns, while not what he wanted to hear right now, are probably valid.
He’s glad that the door closest to the showers is back by him, because he doesn’t have to walk past any of his subordinates and worry about military protocols. Teal’c follows him into the locker room, but his usual air of total indifference has given way to a very faint frown as he considers Jack, who feels like an insect under a magnifying glass.
“DanielJackson is no longer in any danger, O’Neill,” he says at last. “In fact, you sent ColonelMitchell through the Stargate to ensure it, did you not?”
Yes, he had.
“He might be in danger when he gets home,” Jack was trying hard to keep his expectations grounded in reality, though he was waiting to pass final judgement on what had happened until he heard from his people firsthand, but SG-16 was a young team with a young Lieutenant in charge. Jack had read between the lines of Wolfe’s tense reports that maybe the team leader was having trouble exerting any sort of authority over one Doctor Jackson, man who opened the Stargate, and he wasn’t the only young officer in the SGC who had that problem. Unable to cut the trip short without potentially causing An Intergalactic Incident, but unwilling to have the situation take a further turn for the worse, Jack had sent Mitchell in to take command. He, at least, stood some chance of keeping Daniel safe from his own worst habits. “From me.”
Slamming his locker and heading into the shower, Jack would swear later that he heard a low chuckle behind him. When he emerges again, their resident gives him a long look and then the solemn air of him seems to ease, the just-this-side-of-invisible little smile taking its place. Whatever Teal’c was looking for in Jack’s bearing, he found it. “The exercise has done you well, my friend. I suspect, however, you will be quite sore.”
“I suspect you’re right,” Jack sits down to tie his boots. “But now I’m less likely to strangle Daniel as soon as I get my hands on him, so I think it was worth it.” Or, it will be worth it if the time in the gym burned off enough of his frustration and fear that he doesn’t lose it on Daniel - because a Daniel who feels guilty about worrying him is likely to cook and give a truly magnificent massage to his best friend’s sore muscles. A Daniel who gets as thoroughly chewed out as Jack was prepared to do earlier isn’t usually in any frame of mind to do anything nice for his partner-and-commander - that Daniel might refuse to speak to Jack at all.
They walk out together, Teal’c with his hands clasped behind his back. He clearly has something else to say, but it’s not until they reach Jack’s office that he offers, “Often, it seems as if DanielJackson could not both fulfill his role in the SGC and avoid all unfortunate situations.”
“Don’t I know it,” Jack grumbles, but sighs lowers himself into his chair. “What’s your point?”
“I do not envy him his role here,” is Teal’c’s serious answer. “Neither do I envy your responsibility to understand him.”
Jack blinks, thrown. It almost sounds like Teal’c is referring to his and Daniel’s personal relationship, but…not in a way that requires confirmation or denial, and in a definite approving tone. He’s considering how to respond - or not respond - when the klaxon goes off and saves him from his shock. He pushes out of his chair and jogs down to the control room, where Harriman gives him a slightly judgmental once-over before he gestures at the screen. “It’s SG-1’s IDC, Sir.”
That sounds about right. If they are following protocol to the letter it should be SG-16’s code, since both Mitchell and Daniel were assigned to support the other team, but Daniel’s never bothered to learn any code except SG-1’s and Jack thinks Mitchell still just gets too much of a kick out that little reminder of being on SG-1 to do otherwise. “Open the iris,” he orders, and wais impatiently as the iris slowly slides open, and then a short pause after Walter gives the okay for the team to come through.
The members of SG-16 spill out first, looking dead on their feet but otherwise okay. They trudge down the ramp and stand in a little cluster, though Wolfe stops halfway and looks back; he only relaxes when Daniel steps through a moment later, shoulder-to-shoulder with Mitchell, who gives the Lietenant a nod and an understanding smile. Wolfe turns back to his own team, but Jack’s gaze is focused on Daniel, who says something absently to Cam but has already looked around the gate room and, coming up empty, lifts his eyes to find Jack’s in the window.
Finally, Jack can breath a sigh of relief. “Welcome home, SG-16,” he leans forward to speak into the microphone. “Get cleaned up, let’s debrief at 16:30.”
Lush
“DanielJackson,”
“Hey,” he looks up, blinking to clear his vision so he can peer at Teal’c in the doorway. “What’s up?”
“I have a question about the usage of a word in your language,” the jaffa responds, walking into the office slowly. Daniel gestures to a chair in front of his workbench and nods encouragingly.
“Sure,” though their new alien friend had come equipped with a rather good English vocabulary of his own, Daniel knows he has been frustrated by words that modern English uses incorrectly, as well as idioms and other unusual phrases. He considers it an accomplishment that Teal’c trusts them enough to ask for the meanings of some now, whereas in the first few weeks he would have suffered in silent confusion.
“I have observed you using the word ‘lush’ to describe dense vegetation in your reports,” Teal’c offered. Daniel just nods, wondering where this is going.
“The female soldiers who have been coming to my hand-to-hand combat sessions have been using it to describe other soldiers,” Teal’c frowns. “It seems quite derogatory in the context they have used it.”
“Um, well,” he pushes his glasses further up his nose to buy a minute. “‘Lush’ could just mean very extravagant, or over the top. Thought they’d be more likely at that point to say, ‘luscious’. ‘A lush’ would be someone who drinks too much, all the time,”
His teammate continues to frown at him, and Daniel isn’t entirely sure what to do, so he waits. Eventually, Teal’c asks, “Is it usual for members of your military to indulge to excess?”
“It’s not generally considered a good thing, no,” Daniel thinks of some people he knows who’ve certainly had a problem in the past. “But as far as the military is concerned, as long as you aren’t reporting to duty impaired or causing trouble because you’re too drunk to make better choices, what you do on your own time is nobody’s business.”
“I see.”
It doesn’t sound like he does see, actually, but rather that he’s passing an unfavorable judgement on the entire practice. Daniel feels called to defend his fellow humans, even though he personally thinks drinking to excess isn’t the greatest idea. “As long as it isn’t an addiction, drinking responsibly is okay,” he explains. “It doesn’t become an issue unless you can’t not drink, or you aren’t making good choices when you are drinking.”
“And is it usual for everyone to know, when a person has this habit?”
“Well, if everyone knows it’s probably a sign that someone has a problem,” he has to admit, “though if it’s just their friends, they might just know more because of their personal relationship.”
“I see,” Teal’c says again, and stands up. “Thank you for your time.” He leaves a very bemused Daniel behind, who makes a mental note to ask Jack if he’s noticed any of the female soldiers having a particular drinking problem.
City
He has to stay late at the Mountain, finishing paperwork and making a lot of calls to finalize the sendoff of the Atlantis expedition. When he finally does slide into his truck, it feels like it’s been a week instead of a very long day. He seriously considers crashing at the SGC, but the chances of getting called back to his office if they know he’s only a few steps away instead of even his short drive away is just too high, so home it is.
Pulling into his driveway, Jack is genuinely surprised to find Daniel’s car there. They had settled the issue of Jack refusing to send Daniel on the Atlantis mission weeks ago, at least as best they could, but Jack wasn’t blind, and he’d seen his partner’s face as the last of the expedition went through the Gate. In those last few moments it hadn’t been the logical part of Daniel who knew and accepted all the reasons Jack wouldn’t sign off on his transfer; it had been only the part of his soul that longed for the discoveries that might lie at the end of the wormhole.
Armed with all of that knowledge, he’d fully expected Daniel to retreat to his own space. On any other issue that caused him pain it would have been Jack the archaeologist would turn to for solace, but it seemed a little much to expect that when Jack was such an integral part of creating the hurt.
He lets himself in the front door quietly; it’s past one A.M. now and chances are Daniel’s asleep. The warm glow of a light left on draws him to the kitchen - a note on the table says there’s leftover pizza in the fridge, and his stomach rumbles appreciatively as he grabs the plate. He’s too hungry to even bother warming it up - he consumes the first slice fast enough to leave doubt as to whether he even chewed, and takes the second with him and eats it in the hallway as he heads for the bedroom.
Daniel’s not there. Jack blinks stupidly at the bed for a moment, but as he’s feeling decidedly sleep-addled, he assumes that he had just missed his partner conked out somewhere less comfortable, like the living room or even over his own work in the dining room. He changes out of his work clothes and into a clean pair of sweats and wanders back out into the main part of the house.
The vague sense of unease starts when he doesn’t find Daniel in the main part of the house, either. He glances out of the front windows just to check he hadn’t imagined Daniel’s car, but it’s still sitting there in the moonlight. Plus the pizza had to come from somewhere, and the note, and Daniel’s bag is in the hallway with his shoes. He opens the back door and stares into the empty backyard, baffled. He’s gone back inside, reaching for his phone as he goes (trying to decide whether to call Carter or the Mountain first) when his brain catches up and he goes back outside. The protest of his muscles against the short climb is rewarded by the sight of Daniel, curled up asleep in one of the tattered lawn chairs.
It’s a warm night, so Jack contemplates leaving him there, but he doesn’t want to leave him alone since he’d clearly come home to be with Jack; and Jack’s body wouldn’t appreciate a night on the roof. He wants his partner in bed. Working quietly he breaks down the telescope that Daniel had set up and stows it in its waterproof box, before crouching next to the younger man. “Hey, Spacemonkey,” Jack runs one hand through the soft brown hair and quirks a smile when blue eyes slit open to peer at him. “You wanna go inside?”
Daniel mumbles something which Jack generously interprets as ‘what time is it?’.
“It’s already tomorrow, is what it is. C’mon,” he levers Daniel up off of the chair, and holds his arms to steady him until he seems to be standing under his own power. Then just to be safe he goes down the ladder first, so he can break the fall if Daniel slips. His partner seems to be nearly sleepwalking and doesn’t say anything as Jack pours him into the bed. In fact, he doesn’t say anything until Jack climbs in beside him; then he rolls over, draping himself over Jack.
“I really wanted to see the secret city of the ancients,” the archaeologist murmurs.
“I know,” Jack says, regretful that he couldn’t do that for Daniel even as he doesn’t at all regret keeping him here for the better of Earth (and for Jack). “They’re not going to blow it up or anything. As soon as it’s safe for you to go, and come home, you’ll be the first person I send. I promise.”
Desert
“I really, really hate the desert.”
He means it to come out grumpy, but even to himself it sounds somewhat less than that. Someone else might say whiny, but of course Air Force Colonels aren’t whiny. Carter looks over from where she is slathering a new coat of sunscreen over all of her exposed parts, and holds out the bottle.
He starts to wave her off, but she gets her how-to-make-my-commanding-officer-see-sense face on and straightens. “Sir, with the intensity of the sun on this planet, we’ve been exposed to the equivalent of eight to ten hours of light even though we’ve only been here four hours. It’s time for everyone to reapply.”
Grudgingly, he clips his rifle to his P90 to his harness and lets her squirt some into his hands, rubbing them together briskly before starting to to rub the lotion into his arms and neck. She waits until he accepts a second small squirt for his face and then adds, “Someone has to go get some on Daniel, too. Remember last time…”
They both glance out of the shelter they’ve erected for shade to where Daniel is half-submerged kneeling in a square of his dig grid, with Teal’c standing ever faithful guard over their civilian even as he occasionally hands him tools or water.
Yeah, Jack remembers. Daniel had worn long sleeves and his wide-brimmed boonie hat, but forgotten to reapply - or apply at all; he denies it vehemently but nobody believes him - sunscreen to his hands or the back of his neck. And Jack had gotten to hear endless times until the second-degree burns had healed about how it wouldn’t have happened if Jack had allowed him to wear what the natives were wearing instead of his uniform.
Well, even old Colonels learn new tricks. He’d let Daniel shed his jacket and vest for some sort of loose light-colored robe with a hood, provided he keep his vest and weapons within arms reach at all times, but he was also going to go make his partner put sunscreen on his hands and face. “I’ll take Teal’c if you take Daniel,” he offers, because their jaffa friend has the same aversion to the sunblock (Different reasons, though: Daniel says he hates the way it feels, while Teal’c is disdainful of the scent. They’ve been issued a supposedly non-scented version just for that reason, but he claims they must just be nose-blind.).
“Sir, I thought you wanted Teal’c and I to report in to the SGC today…” Sam looks hopeful, and he sighs and flicks a hand, feeling magnanimous.
“Fine, Carter, grab T and go.” It’s a few hours’ hike back to the Gate, and the General wants the samples and the report in person, which means it will be too late for them to bother trying to hike back tonight. Sam and Teal’c will get dinner in the mess and a nights’ sleep in real beds. And a shower. “Ask the General if he can send another team back with you. People Daniel will let help him with the excavation. I’m getting antsy about how long this is taking.”
She gives him a salute and grabs her pack, and the bag of samples, eager to leave before he changes his mind. Teal’c seems just as eager, and they’ve disappeared over the horizon in just a few minutes. Jack hefts the bottle of sunblock with a sigh, and heads over to wrangle their archaelogist.
