One Bare Hour

by Dorothy Marley 

The writing blurred in front of Daniel's gaze again, the tantalizingly familiar hieratic characters swirling into gibberish for what seemed like the hundredth time. He squeezed his eyes shut, making a vain attempt to clear his vision, then took off his glasses to rub his aching eye sockets, tossing the glasses onto the cluttered surface of his desk. It was no use. Normally, this was the kind of linguistic puzzle that would keep him occupied for days on end, but this time, it wasn't working. He'd been sitting here staring at the photographs from P9R-475 for an hour, and he'd been aware of every minute of that hour, all but counting off each second as it ticked by.

Daniel took a swig from the gritty dregs of the long-cold coffee sitting on his desk, hoping it would help focus his mind. It worked. For a split second, his mind was completely focused on how utterly horrible the stuff tasted. Grimacing, he took another swallow, draining the last of the awful sludge from the mug, then set it down with masochistic satisfaction.

It wasn't, after all, like he hadn't been through this before. Another lead, another clue, another possibility that might bring him closer to finding Sha're. Since Daniel had started this search, it had happened more times than he cared to count.

It was always the same, beginning with the faint spark of hope, then the mix of longing and dread as one more thin lead was pursued until it became a possibility, and finally the bitter taste of disappointment when the mission turned out to be for nothing. After all these months, all those hopes, the quest had become nothing but a history of false leads, missed chances, and fruitless tangents. Only this time, it seemed, the possibility was more real than it had ever been.

Before he could stop himself, Daniel found himself reaching for the folder lying on his desk, for the mission report that he'd been given only a few hours ago. It fell open in his hands, all the information that SG-5 had managed to collect before escaping through the Gate. He sorted through the thick pile, scanning over pictures, coordinates, scans, and geological surveys until he came to the section he wanted, the photographs thumbed over so many times in the last few hours that the edges of the heavy paper were already wrinkled and worn. Here was a chart of the DHD, with a sequence of seven lit symbols circled and numbered. Next, a map of the area around the Stargate, with Apophis's Serpent Guards highlighted and marked. Last of all, a fuzzy, roughly enhanced digital capture of a woman, dark hair coiled around her head, her face turned in profile. Daniel's fingers traced the outline of Sha're's face, sketching the remembered shape as if it hadn't been almost a year since he'd been able to see it himself, since his hands had touched her soft, warm skin.

"Daniel?"

Daniel started from his reverie, nearly dropping the file. He'd been so preoccupied that he hadn't even noticed the door open, hadn't sensed Jack's presence until the other man spoke. "Oh, hi, Jack," he said, trying in vain to be casual. He shut the file and put it down. "Just getting a little work done before the briefing."

"Yeah." Jack stepped inside, glancing at the papers scattered over Daniel's desk. "Still working on that language from 475?"

"Uh, yeah. I was." To prove it, Daniel picked up a photograph and scowled at it fiercely.

Jack waited a beat. "Any luck?"

"A little," Daniel said airily, then, with a sigh, gave up the pretense and tossed the photograph back with the others. "No, not really. I've been having a hard time concentrating."

"Yeah, I can't say I've been a shining example of usefulness myself." Jack cast around for his usual chair and hitched himself into it, folding his arms over his chest. "Talked to Doc Fraiser on my way down here. She says Major Shipley's going to be fine in a couple of days, the rest of SG-5 should be released tomorrow."

Relieved, Daniel pounced gratefully on the change of subject. "That's good. A geological research team against Apophis...they were lucky they got out at all." He felt his mouth twist into a grim smile. "So much for our reconnaissance mission."

"Hey, it's not our fault. Those Clockwork--"

"Kachlas."

"--Kachlas guys said 'the gods'--" Jack mimed quote marks with his fingers. "--hadn't come through the Stargate in three generations. How were we supposed to know they were just fashionably late?" He paused, scanning Daniel for a thoughtful moment. "Anyway, SG-5 saw the address where Sha're went to. That's the important thing."

Right back where Daniel had started. "Yeah." He turned to the folder, but didn't touch it, not this time. "And in about sixteen hours I guess we'll find out whether that address is any good." He frowned. "I wonder where she was going?" he mused aloud. "Why did she leave by herself?"

"Lover's spat?" Jack suggested, then clamped his mouth shut as if he could take the words back, his expression turning so quickly to contriteness that Daniel's anger faded almost before it began. "Sorry," Jack said quietly, and the genuine apology in his voice--a rare commodity, Daniel reflected wryly--made the last of his anger slip away. He said nothing, though, merely nodded, and was relieved when Jack took his cue to let it drop.

After an awkward moment of silence, Jack looked at his watch and slid off his chair. "Look. We're not due for the briefing until 1500. Leave that stuff for a while, take a break." When Daniel hesitated, he made an impatient noise and gestured. "Come on. You going to sit here and mope for the next half hour?"

Put that way, a break did sound slightly more appealing, and a break with Jack was, if nothing else, guaranteed to be distracting. "Okay," Daniel finally agreed, and gathered up the folders he'd need for the briefing, resolutely tucking them under his arm without looking at them. Jack gave him a grin and clapped a hand around his shoulder as he steered him to the door.

"That's the spirit. Come on. I'll buy you a cup a coffee."

"The coffee's free," Daniel felt obliged to point out.

"So much the better."

In the cafeteria, Jack was uncharacterisically solicitous, not only bringing Daniel's coffee to him, but fetching the whole carafe to their table. One of the perks of being a colonel, Daniel supposed, was the ability to hijack Thermoses of coffee from hapless airmen. Still, he knew Jack was hovering, and it didn't take a PhD in Jackology to figure out why.

"I'm fine, you know," he said as Jack sat down across from him. "You don't have to treat me with kid gloves."

Jack paused, Thermos poised over his half-filled cup. "Kid gloves?" he repeated. "Bringing coffee counts for that?"

"You know what I mean, Jack."

That got him a shrug, then Jack seemed to capitulate. "Yeah, okay. But, come on. This is hardly the kind of mission we go on everyday."

Speak for yourself, Daniel almost said, but held the unexpectedly bitter words back with an effort. The truth was, this was exactly the kind of mission he went on everyday. Going through the Gate, wondering if Sha're was there, wondering if this time they'd find some sign of her on the other side. It didn't matter how often he did it, how routine those trips became, there was always that hope.

On the other hand, Jack was right. This was different. This wasn't hope, this was fact. Hard, solid, hold-in-his-hand fact. For one of the few times since she'd been taken away, Daniel was about to go through the Gate knowing that his wife had been to the world on the other side. Knowing that there was something slightly greater than a snowball's chance in hell that she might still be there. Knowing that he might have the chance, finally, to save her.

It was hard to wrap his mind around that. He'd lived with the hope so long, walking that fine edge between desire and reality, trying to get on with his new life while still searching for the old one. There were times when he imagined that this must be what schizophrenia was like, attempting to reconcile those two different lives, living one while doing his best to restore the other. The only problem was, he wasn't so sure anymore which life was the real one, which life he was trying to preserve.

Daniel wanted Sha're back. That wasn't going to change no matter how he sliced it, but for the first time he was confronted with the very real question of "What next?" After he got Sha're back--and after they found a way of getting Amonet out of her--then what? Go home to Abydos? It was still well shy of the year limit he'd set for himself. They could wait until Kasuf and the others unburied the Stargate, and then pick up their lives where they'd left them a year ago. But that would mean leaving the Stargate Command, and SG-1.

Daniel tried the thought on for size. He could envision himself saying good-bye to his job, to his apartment, to his new colleagues, even, with somewhat more than a pang, to Teal'c and Sam. But then he thought of saying good-bye to Jack, of turning and walking through the Stargate for good, leaving Jack on the wrong side of it, and his stomach felt like he'd swallowed a lump of cold lead.

"How's the coffee?" Jack's voice dropped into his train of thought like a small, quiet bomb, scattering the threatening spiral of self-pity. Daniel became aware that he was sitting with his mug in his hand, the coffee half-raised to his mouth for a sip he'd never finished taking.

"Sorry," he said, and put the coffee down, untasted. "I was thinking."

"Uh-huh." Jack took a healthy gulp of his own coffee, made a face, and put it down. "Let me guess."

Daniel felt a smile tug at his mouth. "Yeah." He ran a hand over his hair, suddenly frustrated. "I just wish we knew now. That we could go now, and get it all over with."

"Yeah. I know. But you know why we can't."

"Yes." The word came out cold, clipped and resentful, but Daniel didn't much care. "SG-5 nearly lost their lives," he went on, reciting the reasons by rote, repeating out loud what he'd told himself in his head over and over. "We can't just barge in to what might be a dangerous situation. I know that." He sighed in frustration. "That doesn't mean I still don't want to."

"Hurry up and wait," Jack muttered. "Welcome to the military, Dr. Jackson." He drank more coffee, swirling what was left around in his mug while he regarded Daniel across the table. "So, you thought about what you'll do? If we find her?"

There was no way, Daniel told himself firmly, that Jack O'Neill was reading his mind. "Not really," he lied. "I'm trying not to, I guess."

"Don't want to jinx it," Jack affirmed. "I understand. Still, you must have some idea."

"About what?"

The bottom of Jack's coffee cup must have suddenly manifested an object of great interest. "Well, whether or not you're going to stay with the SGC, for one."

The wave of exasperation was almost a relief. "Is that what this is about? A nice chat over a cup of coffee so you can find out if I'm going to be a security risk?"

"Oh, for crying out loud. No! I was just--" Jack flapped a hand. "I was making conversation. Excuse me for trying to be sociable."

"Oh." There was, after all, something to be said for the attractive powers of the bottom of a coffee cup. "Well, to be honest, I haven't really decided yet."

"Really?"

Daniel looked up. "You sound surprised," he said warily.

Jack's eyebrows twitched up in a brief effort at nonchalance. "I suppose I always assumed that you'd be out of here like a shot. Back to Abydos. Or Egypt. More coffee?"

"Well, part of the decision will be Sha're's," Daniel pointed out. "I hope." He took his steaming mug back, risking a too-hot sip while he considered his next words. "I think," he said slowly, "that I would like to go back to Abydos. For a while, anyway. It's Sha're's home, and if--" He couldn't quite finish. "I think it would be a good idea to take her home. I guess I'll have to decide the rest when the time comes."

"Fair enough." Jack looked at his watch. "Whoops." He started to push his chair back. "We'd better haul tail if we don't want to be late."

Daniel picked up his coffee and rose. "Right behind you."

Truth be told, he was relieved that the conversation was over. Normally, he could count on Jack to be, if not exactly chatty, then at the least good company. He wasn't used to probing questions about his life, his plans...him.

Maybe it was the circumstances, Daniel's own worries working to assign the worst motives to innocent questions. But that didn't explain the worry on Jack's own face, the anxious set of his jaw, the studied indifference of his oh, so casual, questions. Jack was looking for something, fishing around in his not-entirely-subtle way for information. Information about Daniel. About his plans.

About whether or not he was going to leave.

Before he had time to mull that revelation over, they were in the elevator, and Jack had punched the number for the briefing room. The elevator started moving, and Jack took up his usual position in the center of the floor, hands in pockets, staring up at the ceiling as if to hurry the journey along.

"Got any plans tonight?"

Preoccupied with his own thoughts, it took Daniel a moment to catch on to the question. "What? Uh, no. Not really."

Jack's gaze remained focused on the ceiling, never so much as glancing in Daniel's direction. "Well, seeing as this might be your last night on Earth--so to speak--I thought I could treat you and the rest of the team to dinner."

What could he say to that? Apart from, "Yeah, sure. Thanks, Jack. I'll need to go home first, take care of some stuff--"

"Sure, no problem. I'll pick you up at, say, seven?"

"All right." The elevator doors opened and Jack strode out, leaving Daniel to follow behind, staring at the back of Jack's head and wondering what he was up to.

-----

Daniel escaped from the SGC as soon as it was decent after the briefing, convinced that if he had to endure one more sympathetic look, one more well-meaning inquiry about how he was doing, that he would very quietly lose his mind. Or maybe just his temper. It was hard enough trying to sort out his own feelings, and mumbling the polite reassurances to every Tom, Dick, and Makepeace on the base was a little more than he was willing to tolerate right then.

The clock in his kitchen read 5:42 when Daniel walked in. He scowled at it while he poured a glass of water and stood by the sink to sip it. He had almost an hour and a half until Jack was supposed to come for him, and suddenly the thought of being here, alone, wasn't quite so appealing.

"Snap out of it, Jackson," he muttered to himself. He put the empty glass down in the sink, and had the refrigerator half open before he remembered that he and Jack were supposed have dinner. He shut the door again and moved out into the living room, strolling over to the bookcases to stare sightlessly at the words on the spines. This was not working.

He considered, for a moment, trying to call Jack, tell him that he'd changed his mind, that he'd rather spend tonight by himself after all. Except that wouldn't be the truth, either. Far from it.

Daniel turned around, staring at now-familiar surroundings. God. This might actually be his last night on Earth. His last night going out with Jack and Sam and Teal'c, his last night sitting around the table with Jack and arguing about sports and politics and who'd borrowed whose razor in the locker room and not put it back. Daniel felt a quiet surge of anxiety at the thought, not unlike setting off on a long trip and realizing that he'd forgotten to say good-bye.

It seemed that his brain had gone ahead and finalized the decision without him. Fine. He'd go. With that settled, Daniel headed for the bedroom, to change clothes and maybe take a shower, if there was time.

Showers were a luxury he still hadn't quite gotten used to again. On Abydos, he'd come to appreciate the cleansing powers of a handful of sand, but there was still nothing quite like the indulgence of complete immersion in gallons and gallons of clean, hot water. He closed his eyes as he stepped under the spray, letting it stream down over his hair and his face, feeling the soft, liquid heat spread over his shoulders and chest, flowing down his body.

For the first time that day, Daniel felt some of the tension actually leave him, draining away with the flood of warm water down his back. It was, he realized, his first real moment of privacy all day, the first time he could truly call his own, when no one would disturb him, when even the phone and the doorbell were no longer his problem.

Daniel leaned his arms against the tiles, letting the water pound on his back, the heat stinging his skin. No more showers if he went back to Abydos, he thought idly. No more phones or doorbells, either. No supermarkets, no restaurants, no movies. No traffic jams or superhighways. No books. No coffee.

Yeah. Like showers and books and coffee would keep him from taking Sha're home. Like they would keep him from ever leaving her side again.

There were so many things he would never miss about this planet.

There were so many things he couldn't conceive of never seeing again.

So many people.

Before he could censor the thought, Daniel suddenly remembered that afternoon in the cafeteria, sitting across the table from Jack and thinking about what it would be like to never see him again. Jack, who'd been part of his life as long as Sha're had--longer, if he wanted to get technical about it. So strange, that within the same short span of time he would meet the two people who would prove to have the most profound impact on his life, changing his life forever if he really wanted to get down to it.

He almost couldn't believe, now, that he'd let Jack walk away from him on Abydos, that he'd let him go through the Stargate, thinking, at the time, that he would never see him again. If he had the same choice to make now, whether to leave with Jack, or stay behind with Sha're--

Daniel shook his head, hearing the water splatter against the tiles and shower curtain as he slung it from his hair, violently denying the thought that had, uninvited, passed briefly through his mind. Not fair. Sha're was the best thing that had ever happened to him. If he had it do all over again, he'd choose Sha're again, of course he would.

But now, maybe for the first time, he realized that she wasn't the only choice.

Daniel knew what he was thinking was wrong. It was stupid, insane, and selfish. Sha're was his wife. He still loved her, still wanted her back. He'd spent all this time searching for her, learned to do things he'd never thought he'd have to in order to be allowed to keep looking for her. He'd fought and bled and died trying to find her, trying to bring her back so that he could be with her. And now, now that he was less than twenty-four hours away from what might be his best chance for getting her back, all he was thinking about was that finding her would mean that this might be his last chance to be with Jack.

It wasn't true, anyway. With the Abydos Gate open again, it would be foolish not to keep it open, not to maintain relations between Abydos and Earth. He'd get to see Jack again, and Sam and Teal'c, get to visit Earth every now and then, maybe even show Sha're and Kasuf around. A comforting thought, but it didn't make much difference. It was, after all, hardly the point.

The point was that once Sha're was back, once she was at his side again, with him, then the last slim wisp of excuse would be gone. There would be no grief, no loneliness, no pain of separation to absolve him, no despair or crushed hope to pardon his actions. Once he was with Sha're again, all the other possibilities would close off. Most of him was glad for that. He wanted her back, wanted the safety and security of her love again, wanted to be with her and hold her and protect her and never leave her side again. But having his heart's desire would mean setting another desire aside.

It was all academic anyway. The list of reasons why he shouldn't even think of doing what he was beginning to think he was thinking of doing with Jack O'Neill started somewhere around "Don't ask, don't tell" and ended in a complicated algorithm of things like friendship and love and trust and loyalty and honor. Things he owed to Jack and Sha're both, and which he'd have to sacrifice, for one or the other, if he ever went through with it.

The scary thing was, right here, right now, he was that close to not caring.

Daniel finished his shower quickly and got dressed, grabbing the top shirt on the pile and the first pair of pants in the closet. He was going out to dinner. Period. He was going out with his friends, and they were going to eat and drink and be merry. And whatever other problems Daniel might have, they could wait until tomorrow. He hoped.

-----

For dinner, they went to a steakhouse of Jack's choosing, his logic being that since he was the one paying, he got to pick the restaurant. Prodded by Jack, Daniel ended up reminiscing through most of the meal, mostly about the first mission to Abydos. The excuse, apparently, was that Sam and Teal'c hadn't been there, and, as Jack pointed out, most of the really interesting stuff couldn't be found in the reports.

Of course, the Jack O'Neill definition of "interesting" was more along the lines of "embarrassing to Dr. Daniel Jackson," but Daniel found himself enjoying the memories. It probably should have been painful, to be reminded now of how he'd first met Sha're, of all the trials and pitfalls and dangers they'd shared in those first few days. But somehow, here, talking with Jack and Sam and Teal'c over the remains of a good meal, watching Jack's sly grin as he recounted, in detail, every single awkward moment he could think of, it didn't seem quite so bad. They had to couch their conversation in carefully neutral words to make it fit for public ears, but it didn't make the memories any less vivid.

Finally, though, it was Sam who turned to the one subject they hadn't discussed, the thing that they'd all been avoiding talking about through the salad and the steaks and the coffee. "Are you feeling all right about tomorrow, Daniel?" she asked. "I haven't really wanted to bring it up, because I know you've been asked about a hundred times, but I know you have to be worried."

There was no use denying it. "Yeah, a little," Daniel admitted. He cast a glance over at Jack, remembering their conversation in the commissary. "I guess I'm trying not to think about it too much."

Teal'c nodded gravely. "There is a saying on Chulak, that there is little purpose in counting the stores until after the harvest."

It didn't take long to work around the gist of the proverb. "Meaning I shouldn't make plans until we find Sha're. Yeah. I thought about that."

"It's only natural to think about it, though," Sam said loyally. "I know you must have, even before now."

Oh, only every night, two or three dozen times. But Daniel didn't say that. "Yeah," he said. "I have. But I'm trying not to get my hopes up too much, I guess."

"That is probably wise, Daniel Jackson."

The waiter returned with a coffee pot, and re-filled Daniel's cup, and Jack's, but Sam and Teal'c refused.

"It's getting late," Sam said reluctantly. "I've got a couple of things to clear up at the base before tomorrow."

"I will return with you, Major Carter," Teal'c said. "I wish to retire early, to ensure that I am sufficiently rested in the morning."

"There's no need to rush off," Jack told them. "It's only--" He looked at his watch. "Oh. Yeah, I guess we might want to think about breaking up the party."

Sam smiled. "Yes, sir." She stood up. "Thanks for dinner, sir."

"My pleasure."

She turned to Daniel. "See you in the morning, Daniel." Her hand rested briefly on his shoulder, then she picked up her jacket and shrugged into it.

"See you, Sam. Good-night, Teal'c."

"Good night, Daniel Jackson. Rest well."

"You, too."

They walked away, and Daniel and Jack were left alone, sitting at the table with their coffee cups in front of them.

"This is familiar."

Jack shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so." He wrapped his hand over his coffee cup, swirling it lightly, and cleared his throat. There was an odd expression on his face, one Daniel couldn't quite place. He waited for a beat, waited for Jack to say something, but when he finally spoke all he said was, "So, you want to catch a movie or something, hang out a while before I take you back home?"

Judging from Jack's face, that wasn't at all what he'd been about to say, but Daniel was willing to let it slide. "No, I'm not really in the mood for a movie." He checked his watch. "I forgot I needed a ride home. I guess we'd better go soon."

"Hey, that's not what I meant. We don't have to go to a movie. We could just go back to my place, have a couple of beers, hang out. Be like old times."

Yes, it would. And those were old times Daniel wasn't sure he wanted to re-visit right now. Not that Jack's impulsive hospitality, that first night he'd returned to Earth, hadn't been a lifesaver. Simply knowing that he wasn't alone, knowing that there was still at least one person on the planet that he could call his friend had made a huge difference in those first awful hours. Daniel was afraid that being at Jack's, lounging in the familiar spartan tidiness of the living room, would be just another reminder of what those hours had felt like, another reminder of what he'd lost.

Or, maybe, he was afraid it would remind him of what he might be losing in the future.

That was the only explanation he could think of, anyway, when he heard himself say, almost without hesitation, "Okay."

They didn't stay long after that. Jack paid for the meal and they left the restaurant, then walked back to Jack's car. Jack spoke very little until they got back to his house, and Daniel was grateful. He followed Jack inside the house, wandering into the living room to stare out the window while Jack fetched two beers from the kitchen. Daniel accepted his, then Jack flopped into his favorite chair with a relieved sigh and took a long drink. Daniel took the couch opposite him, wrapping his hand around the cold bottle while he stared out the darkened window.

"We'll get her back, Daniel."

Why did it always sound so much more believable coming from Jack? When anyone else said it, it always sounded like what it usually was: a feeble attempt to console him, to pat him on the head and reassure him that everything would be all right. But when Jack said it, Daniel couldn't help but know that he meant every word.

"I know. Maybe not tomorrow, but we'll get her back."

If Jack was startled to hear Daniel voice his doubts, he made no sign. "We'll find her," he said with easy confidence. "We'll find her, and then we'll find a way to get that snake out of her. Then you can--" Jack waved a hand, apparently belatedly remembering their earlier conversation. "Well, you can do whatever you want to, I guess."

"Yeah." Daniel looked down at the untouched beer in his hand. "I guess so."

Something in his voice must have sounded odd, because Jack tilted his head, drawing his brows together. "What?" he asked.

Daniel shook his head. "Nothing," he lied, even as his mind screamed Coward! Liar! He took a deep breath. "Nothing," he said again. "Except that, well, it's also going to be an end."

"End to what? Your stellar career in the military?"

Put like that, Daniel had to smile. "Yeah, sort of. I mean, I'll have accomplished what I set out to do when I joined the SGC. Put that way, there's not much reason to stick around." But the words sounded fake and hollow, even to him, and he saw Jack frown once more.

"Pardon me, Daniel, but you don't sound very sure. And anyway, who says you can't do both?"

Don't tempt me. "Well, I do, I guess," Daniel said reluctantly. "I didn't go through all this to find my wife, and then spend all my time half a galaxy away from her. That's not what I want." I think.

He was surprised, though, when Jack nodded, as if he understood. "Only one marriage at a time, right?" He took a pull on his beer. "Most of us learn that the hard way. You're lucky."

"Thanks." Daniel looked at his beer again, and decided that he might as well try drinking it. He took a cautious sip, then carefully set the bottle down again. "Although," he went on, "I can't help but wonder, a little."

"Wonder about what?"

Daniel shrugged. "Well, if we find Sha're, there's a part of my life that's going to change. If I do go back to Abydos, then I'll be leaving a lot behind. My work, my friends...you. There's a lot that I'll never know."

"Jeez, Daniel, you sound like you're going to die."

Daniel didn't smile. "Well, in a way, I am dying. I'm leaving a life behind, just like I thought I was leaving this life behind when I chose to stay on Abydos the first time."

"That's a rather pessimistic way of looking at it, don't you think?"

"Maybe." Daniel wrapped his hands together, letting them hang clasped between his knees. "But the fact is, now that I'm facing the real possibility, I find myself thinking about the things I didn't do while I had the chance. Wondering."

Now Jack was looking puzzled. "Like what?"

"Well, I always wanted to get you to teach me how to parachute, for one."

That got a laugh, and a sly smile. "Oh, if only you knew how many times I'd have liked to push you out of an airplane."

"With a parachute, I hope," Daniel qualified, and got another shrug.

"Well, usually," Jack confessed, and took another pull of his beer. "It's not a bad idea, actually. You, me, Carter and Teal'c. We'll take the whole team. It'll be fun." He waved the bottle. "What else?"

"Oh, I don't know." Daniel thought a moment. "I'll never be able to prove to the academic community that I'm not a complete crackpot, that all my theories were actually true and that they're the ones who are full of it."

"That's a worthy goal," Jack conceded. "Go on."

"I'll never be able to have a crack at that language from Ernest's planet. That's a big one."

"Pretty big," Jack agreed. "Anything else?"

"I'll never find out what it would have been like to make love to you."

For a moment, Daniel wasn't sure if he'd even managed to say it out loud. Jack's expression didn't change one iota, and it wasn't until it continued not to change that Daniel realized that he'd probably said it after all. Finally, though, Jack blinked, and leaned forward to set his beer on the table between them.

"I'm sorry," he said. "But either I've had way too much to drink, or--"

Daniel aimed for indifference, for the kind of casual off-handedness that seemed to come so easily to Jack, and almost succeeded. "I said that I wondered what it would be like to make love to you."

Jack nodded once, then looked away. "Okay. That's what I thought." He wiped a hand down his face. "Wow. You don't go much for little goals, do you?"

Sarcasm. Daniel felt a rush of relief, as if a weight had been lifted. "Jack, it's not what you think." Jack turned to look at him, one brow raised in eloquent disbelief, and Daniel felt obliged to amend himself. "All right, it is what you think. But it's not--I still love Sha're," he said, picking his words carefully, trying to find the right way to say what he wanted to say. "She's my wife." He shrugged. "But all this time, while she's been gone, I guess I started...thinking. About what might have happened. About things I think I've always wondered about."

That got Jack's attention, or would have if every scrap of it wasn't already focused on Daniel to start with. "By 'always,' I assume you mean--"

"Pretty much since I met you. Well, since I got to know you," he amended conscientiously.

"Ah."

"But you had your wife to go back to, and your life on Earth, and then I had Sha're, and...." Daniel trailed off. "Well, I think you get the picture."

"Yeah, I think so." Jack scrubbed his hands over his face again, running his fingers through his hair until it stood on end. "Any reason you're telling me this now?"

Faced with the blunt, inescapable question, there was nothing to do but tell the truth. "Yeah," Daniel said. "Yeah, there is. Tomorrow, we're going to go through the Stargate, and there's a good chance that when we come back, I'll have my wife again." He had to swallow. "But before that happens, I wanted you to know. I guess I feel like I owe it to you, in case I never--" He couldn't finish it, not with Jack sitting there looking at him, the words, "in case I never see you again," even unspoken, hitting him like a punch in the gut.

Jack stood up, and paced over to the windows that faced the back yard. It was pitch black outside, but Daniel suspected he hadn't gone there for the view. Jack shoved his hands in his pockets, staring out at the flat black night. He was there so long that when he finally spoke, Daniel jumped as if he'd been pinched.

"Let me get this straight. You're saying you want to--" Jack stumbled for a moment, then picked himself up and soldiered on. "You want us to--" He gestured helplessly, and Daniel finally took pity on him.

"Jack, I'm not coming on to you." Daniel paused. "Well, yes, maybe I am, technically, but not really. I was only telling you, well, because I wanted you to know. This might be the last chance I have to tell you, and I guess there was part of me that couldn't leave it unfinished. It's selfish, I know it's selfish, and I certainly don't expect you to--" Daniel groped briefly for the right words. "To indulge me."

Jack turned to face him, his eyes dark in the dim light by the windows. "Let's say I do," he said quietly. "What happens then?"

About a hundred hours later, Daniel managed a strangled, "Huh?" He shook his head, knowing he must look like a dog trying to clear its ears. "I'm sorry, Jack, but what did you just say?"

Jack shrugged. "What if I...indulged you. What are we talking about? One night, no strings, in the morning we forget it ever happened?"

"Uh, I don't...I guess...." Daniel forced himself to stop, to organize his thoughts until he could speak in something more than disjointed, meaningless dithers. "Jack, are you serious about this?"

Jack actually had to stop and think about it, which Daniel somehow found reassuring. "Yeah," he said. "I am. Are you?"

Am I? Daniel closed his eyes. This, he thought, must be why people gamble. Taking the risk, setting oneself up for failure, for ruin, for ridicule, preparing for the worst...and then having the risk pay off with rewards beyond their wildest dreams. It was a rush like almost nothing he'd ever felt before, the heady, giddy release from the fear he hadn't even realized was there. The fear that he would lose Jack's friendship over this, lose his respect, lose him. Then he realized what Jack had said, felt the full meaning of the words finally soak into his consciousness, and knew that whatever happened, there was no way he could refuse.

"Yes," was all he said, though. He swallowed again. "I think so--Yes, I'm serious, but--are you sure this is what you want?"

Jack stepped away from the window, hands at his sides, his face solemn. "Come here and find out," he said.

It suddenly seemed like the few yards that separated them were the equivalent of a galaxy away. For a split second, Daniel considered taking it back, saying he'd been wrong. Considered, even, bolting from the room altogether. It would, he reminded himself, be the right thing to do. He was married, he was in love with Sha're. He had no excuse not to be faithful to her. But, even as he thought it, he found his feet moving him closer to Jack, until after a few steps he found himself standing in front of him, looking in his face and wondering what the hell he thought he was doing. Jack opened his arms, spreading his hands out in invitation, and Daniel pushed the small voice of doubt aside, abandoning it for the chance to have at least this one moment in Jack's embrace.

Their arms fit around one another as if they'd been made for each other, Daniel's hands sliding over the soft knit fabric of Jack's shirt, hesitantly at first, then feeling the unfamiliar shape of Jack's broad back mold to his touch as if he'd known it all his life. A moment later, Jack's arms slipped around his waist in return, enfolding Daniel in warm, solid comfort. Daniel felt something catch in his chest at that touch, a lump of longing and dread and desire rising in his throat. He had to close his eyes, his chest hurting from the ache, from having wanted so long to feel this, to have Jack's arms around him, his arms around Jack, holding him, and being held.

They stood there a long time, Daniel wrapping his arms around Jack, feeling the heavy, firm weight of Jack's body against his, Jack's head resting against his shoulder. Jack rubbed his back, his hands soft and soothing, and Daniel tightened his own arms in response.

"This is...strange," he finally said, but made no move to break the embrace.

"That's one way of putting it," Jack said. He hugged him closer for a brief moment, his hand coming up to cup the back of Daniel's head. "Daniel, I want to do this. Do you believe me?"

"Yes, I do." And he did. But there was still more he had to say, painful as it was. "But, Jack, you have to know that if I find Sha're--"

Jack stopped him with a soft squeeze. "I know. One night, like I said. Okay?"

There wasn't much he could say to that. Daniel breathed deep. "Okay."

Jack nodded, and Daniel felt the soft brush of his lips against his cheek. It was such an easy gesture, familiar and warm despite the fact that it was the first time, and Daniel felt a sudden thrill of danger. What the hell was he getting himself into? One night, no strings, forget it happened in the morning? Could he do that?

Did he want to?

Then Jack pulled back, just enough to leave them facing one another, nose to nose, mouths so close it would only take an instant to close the distance. Daniel hesitated a moment, staring into the eyes that were so close to his, feeling the soft beat of Jack's heart against him. He leaned forward, slowly, giving Jack the chance to pull back, to say no, but Jack only closed his eyes, waiting quietly as Daniel finally touched his mouth to his.

At first it was nothing more than that, a gentle pressure of his lips against Jack's, dry and chaste, less a kiss than a hesitant brush of their lips. Jack stiffened, and Daniel almost drew back, thinking that he might be changing his mind. Then Jack shifted, tilting his head, and his lips parted under Daniel's, a slow, leisurely slide of his mouth, and Daniel felt the first tiny thrill of arousal quicken under his skin. It felt good. So good.

After a long, breathless moment, Jack pulled back, gently breaking the fragile bond. Daniel blinked, feeling his mouth tingling from the kiss, his lips still parted in aching anticipation. He stared into Jack's face, scanning the familiar features, trying to reconcile it with the feel of the soft, warm mouth on his, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he'd kissed him, kissed Jack, that he'd held him in his arms, was still holding him, in fact, and, hey, that he'd kissed him.

There was no going back. Up until then, it had all been theory, what if's and maybe's sprinkled with a generous portion of shouldn't's and why not's. And now it was real, no longer a possibility, no longer a guilty fantasy. Admitting the attraction was one thing, admitting it to each other something else, but now...now they were about to act on it, about to take that step that would, no matter how much he tried to tell himself differently, change their friendship forever.

"You look like you got hit by a truck." Jack said, a half-smile quirking at his mouth, and Daniel realized that he'd been standing there, staring, for several long moments. "Don't tell me I kiss that bad."

"No," Daniel denied automatically. "No, I just--" He stopped, not sure what he'd been going to say. He had to stop, start over, and even then his voice sounded rough, a little unsteady with the flood of sudden desire. "I want this to happen. But I want us to stay friends, too."

"Hey. We'll be friends. Trust me. It'll take more than this to change that." Jack smiled briefly. "Promise."

Daniel knew it for a lie, and he knew that Jack knew it, too. But he didn't care. He wanted this so badly, more than he ever remembered wanting anything in his life. He shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't. There was no way he wouldn't be hurt by this, no way that he wouldn't hurt Jack by what they were about to do.

But he was going to do it anyway.

The next kiss was glorious, warm and wet and tingling, growing bolder by the second as they began to explore. Jack's lips, straying briefly from Daniel's mouth, rasped over his stubbled chin, hesitated, then returned, dragging mouth and lips and tongue over the roughness of his cheek, returning to kiss his mouth with lips made warm by the soft friction. Daniel was already gasping for air, sucking in deep, cool breaths in the instants between kisses, hearing the harsh pant of Jack's breath next to his ear as their mouths locked again.

He'd wanted this for so long, wanted it so badly that he'd barely even dared to imagine it. He was hard already, the first kiss sending a flood of heat to his groin, the erection so sudden and intense that it was almost painful. His body was already glued to Jack's, and he knew that there was no way Jack couldn't feel the hard length pressed to him. Then he felt an answering stir from the body welded to his, a gently swelling hardness that firmed right next to his own, sending a fresh jolt of desire trickling from belly to knees. He kissed Jack again, harder, and felt his cock leap between them, Jack's breath catching in his throat with a helpless moan.

The next few minutes were a blur, a flurry of kisses and licks and groping hands. Daniel let himself drown in it, touching Jack wherever he could, pushing and pulling and tugging at his clothes until he could only feel warm, bare skin under his palms. He ran his hands over Jack's body delightedly, exploring the hard-muscled shoulders, the long, lean lines of his back and thighs, the glorious soft swell of his ass. His own body was receiving a similar survey, Jack's stroking fingers sending trails of liquid fire down his spine, the other hand tangling in the back of his hair.

They reached the bedroom somehow, though if pressed later Daniel wouldn't have been able to say exactly how. His body was singing with desire by then, every nerve ending afire with sensation, his penis a heavy, pulsing weight between his legs. Then Jack touched him, his hand stroking once down the length of his shaft, and Daniel felt the last shreds of rational thought sizzle away. He heard himself make a hoarse, desperate sound, and his mouth fastened on Jack's, hands pulling him back until they landed on the bed, wrapped around each other like a pair of clinging vines.

God, this was what he wanted, bare skin to bare skin, his body open and naked to Jack's touch, Jack's hands roaming freely over him, setting his skin on fire. Even better, his hands free to touch Jack, to run delightedly down the whole length of his body, nothing but soft, warm skin to his touch. God, this was going to hurt tomorrow, knowing he'd never touch him again, never feel this again. Right now, though, Daniel had Jack, and he could care less about tomorrow.

"Hey." Daniel tried to protest as Jack finally pulled away, extricating himself from the tangle of limbs. Jack leaned over, and Daniel blinked as the room flooded with soft light. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing." Jack's voice was a little rough, too, slightly breathless. He turned back, and Daniel shivered as he saw the look burning in his dark eyes. His hand reached out, stroking softly along the line of Daniel's chest. "I wanted to see better, that's all."

If Daniel had anything to say to that, it wouldn't have made it past the sudden tightness in his throat. He was suddenly glad of the chance to stop for a moment, to slow down the headlong rush to completion that had almost swept them both away. This was their only chance, he realized with a pang. Their only night together, and it would be a shame to rush a single moment.

That decided, Daniel let himself look at his friend, taking the time to re-memorize the familiar features, becoming acquainted once more with the soft brown eyes, the pointed nose, the firm, straight lines of his mouth. Then he let his gaze drop lower, to move slowly over the strong, lean lines of his body, often seen, but never his to admire the way he admired it now. Daniel's own hand stretched out, tracing the line of a surprisingly delicate collarbone, brushing the hard bulge of a bicep. His fingers combed gently through the wiry curls that covered Jack's chest, barely touching the smooth rise of a nipple before tracing down, following the dark-haired arrow that pointed straight to the full, erect cock resting against his thigh.

Jack's hands were on him, too, now, touching him even as Daniel explored in return, tracing his skin in soft, fine patterns that burned with heat even after the touch had moved on. Then Jack's hand was on his cock, stroking up the aching length with delicate fingers, squeezing gently at the tip until Daniel gasped for breath, his own palm sliding around the firm heat of Jack's shaft. It was a wonderful, simple pleasure, comfortable and almost familiar and they lingered over it for a while, trading long, deep kisses while their hands moved slowly between them.

Then Jack was urging Daniel backward, pushing gently with his mouth and hands and body until Daniel was lying on his back, stretched out with Jack on all fours above him. Jack kissed him again, saying nothing, then moved his mouth away and began to plant kisses on his face. He covered Daniel's face with them, warm, soft, dry touches of his lips, each one as light and delicate as the brush of a butterfly's wing. Then he moved down, tracing the line of Daniel's jaw, kissing downward until he reached his collarbone, each kiss even, and regular, the touch as maddeningly rhthymic as the slow ticking of a longcase clock. Daniel was finding it harder and harder to breathe, his skin aching with the anticipation of Jack's touch, the places where he'd already been smoldering under the heat of those deceptively cool lips. Jack finished outlining the shape of his collarbone, pausing to lick, just once, at the pulse pounding in Daniel's throat, then went on to cover Daniel's chest in slow, soft kisses.

Daniel would never in a hundred years have guessed that Jack had a single patient bone in his body. He was beginning to realize, though, that there was a lot he didn't know yet about Jack O'Neill, including the streak of sadism that allowed him to be slowly killing Daniel with nothing more than the light, warm brush of his lips on his skin. Daniel was all but gasping for breath, his cock, untouched, so hard that it was thumping softly on his belly with every beat of his heart. And Jack just kept going, now trailing an unhurried line of kisses down his thighs, pausing every once in a while to deliver a delicate lick to the soft skin, then moving on. His kissed his way down to Daniel's toes, then, slowly, began to work his way back up.

Daniel groaned in a mix of torment and relief as he felt Jack plant a slow, lingering kiss on each of his balls, his mouth almost unbearably hot on the cool skin. He kissed each one carefully, then made his way leisurely up the straining length of his cock. Each touch of his mouth was a match laid to powder, and Daniel felt more than ready to explode on the spot. Then Jack's tongue touched him again, one long, slow lick from the base of his cock to the tip, and Daniel heard himself make a single, incoherent cry. It was too much. Too hot, too fast, too painfully sweet to last.

He must have managed to say something to Jack, or at least communicate his distress. The next thing he knew, the tormening caresses had stopped, and he was lying on his back in Jack's bed, staring up at him in the vague, half-dazed grogginess of arousal. Jack was grinning down at him, his hair sticking up in all directions, face flushed and eyes bright. He bent down to kiss him, then sat up again and began the slow, careful process of rolling a condom down over Daniel's penis.

Daniel managed to find his voice. "Uh, Jack?"

"Mm-hm?" Jack was concentrating on his work, his hands deft and gentle against Daniel's over-sensitized skin, each light squeeze sending another shock of brain-sizzling desire through Daniel's body. It made it hard to speak, but Daniel finally succeeded in forcing words through.

"Jack--" A long, firm stroke from Jack's fingers took the rest of the words away, but apparently the effort had been enough.

"Hey." Jack leaned forward, his hand still caressing Daniel's thighs, long fingers tracing fire along his skin. "One night. One chance. If we're going to do this, I want it all the way." He stroked him again, and Daniel closed his eyes. "But if you don't want to, we won't."

"We'd better," Daniel heard himself say, and pulled Jack down for another long, fierce kiss. He let him go only when he started to get short of breath, then lay back, waiting.

He didn't have to wait long. Daniel groaned as Jack straddled him, his hands warm and slick on his shaft, then the tip of his cock was pressing against Jack, pushing into hard, unyielding muscle. Then Jack suddenly opened to him, sliding down onto Daniel in a heart-stopping rush of hot, glorious friction, surrounding him in smooth, tight heat. Jack let out a raw, unashamed cry of delight, followed by an enthusiastic, "Oh, yeah!" that would have made Daniel laugh out loud if he'd had any breath to spare.

For a long, breathless moment, they were still, Jack's thighs shifting minutely against Daniel's hips as if he were molding their bodies together, making sure there wasn't a single square inch where they didn't touch. Then Jack moved on top of him, a single mind-blowing stroke that brought Daniel almost all the way out of him, making Daniel bite his lip against the cry of protest as he thought he might lose the heated embrace of Jack's body around him. His fists clenched in the sheets, every cell straining not to thrust up, not to bury himself back in that blissful tightness as deep and hard as he could. Then he wondered why the hell he shouldn't, and heard Jack give another groan of approval as he started to thrust.

It didn't last long. Daniel felt orgasm building inside him almost immediately, starting at his head and toes and fingertips, rolling inwards like a tsunami, pushed on by the friction of Jack's body around his cock, by the heat and tightness of every thrust. It swelled in his belly, growing in slow, inexorable waves until his vision went red, his ears roaring with the rush of blood. And then, right at the moment of release, as he began to shiver helplessly under Jack, Jack leaned forward, his breath panting harsh on Daniel's cheek, and he whispered softly in his ear. Then Daniel's brain went flatline, the orgasm pouring out of him, pulse after pulse of pleasure.

Jack drew away from him while he was still limp from his release, Daniel too exhausted to even protest as Jack pulled free and stood up. He left the room for a few minutes, then returned and got back in the bed, spooning himself behind Daniel. He kissed Daniel's shoulder, then moved to bury to his face in the damp mass of his hair, breathing deep while he nuzzled the back of his neck. Daniel simply closed his eyes, smiling while Jack's breath tickled his nape. Jack O'Neill, a cuddler. Who'd have thought?

"Jack, what did you say?"

"Hm?" Jack's voice was filled with sleep, quiet and drowsy against Daniel's shoulder. "Say when?"

"Just a minute ago. While we were--"

"I didn't say anything." Jack yawned. "How about we take a shower?"

But Daniel refused to be distracted. "No, you did. I heard you." He turned over, twisting in the circle of Jack's arms to face him. "You whispered right into my ear."

Jack shrugged. "You're wrong. I didn't say anything."

"I'm sure you did," Daniel insisted.

"Well, what do you think I said?"

That stopped him. "I--I don't know. I was...distracted."

"Oh." Now Jack was looking amused. "Then how are you sure?"

Daniel gave up. "I guess I'm not," he said reluctantly. "Maybe I imagined it."

"See?" Jack kissed him. "Come on. Let's get in the shower."

-----

It was five in the morning. Daniel lay beside Jack in the bed, listening to the quiet rhythm of the other man's breathing, knowing from it that he hadn't slept any more than Daniel had. Every hour that ticked by was one less hour they had together, dragging them inexorably towards the moment when the night would be over, and they would get up and get dressed to go to work...and pretend that none of this had ever happened.

As if reading Daniel's thoughts, Jack rolled over in the bed, sliding his arms around Daniel's waist, his mouth pressing softly to his shoulder. Daniel put his arm around him without even thinking, drawing Jack into a warm, close embrace that was as natural as if they'd done it a thousand times before.

Five-thirty now. One hour to go. Sixty minutes.

There went one of them.

And another one.

And another.

Daniel closed his eyes, tightening his arm around Jack's body, wondering how the hell he'd ever imagined that he could do this, how he'd even thought that this was a good idea. On the one hand, he knew he could stay here forever, spend the rest of his life happy and warm and content in Jack's arms. If he could, he'd push that damn clock back to yesterday, and keep it there so that tomorrow would never come.

But if he did that, then he'd never go through the Gate today. Never find Sha're, never see her again. And that, he knew, was the crux of the whole problem. Stay here with Jack, or go out and find Sha're. Give up one or the other.

Six o' clock. Thirty minutes.

This had been a mistake. Daniel could see it now, saw every step of his folly laid out in the clear certainty that only came after a sleepless night. Not making love to Jack, in itself. God, Daniel would trade his soul to be with him like that again, even just once. No, the mistake was him trying to eat his cake and still have it to look at. He wanted Jack, and he wanted Sha're. He couldn't have both, not like this.

Sha're, or Jack. Hell of a choice, an embarrassment of riches. Only they weren't riches, they were people. Two people he cared about more deeply than he'd ever cared for anyone else in his life. And now he got to choose which one of them he hurt.

Six-fifteen. Fifteen minutes.

Daniel tried to tell himself that Jack was the one who'd agreed to this. Hell, it was his idea. One night, no strings. All Daniel had done was open the door. Jack had made the choice to step through. Jack knew the stakes, knew that Daniel wasn't going to leave Sha're for him, knew that if they found her tomorrow Daniel would be leaving with her. He'd walked into this with his eyes wide open. Daniel looked at the clock. Ten minutes.

"Jack?"

Jack didn't move, his head still pillowed against Daniel's shoulder, their legs twined together under the covers. "Yeah?"

"Why did you do this?"

A long, slow sigh trickled over Daniel's chest. "Does it matter?"

"Well, yes."

Jack lifted his head, propping his cheek on his hand while he looked down at him in the weak dawn light. He studied him for a long, sober moment, and the hand that was around Daniel's waist moved up, tracing a line down Daniel's neck. "Same reason as you," he said at last. "I wanted to know, just once."

Daniel nodded. "And you're okay with it?"

For a second, something flickered in Jack's eyes, so quick and fleeting that Daniel thought he'd imagined it. "Yeah," Jack said, and Daniel willed himself not to hear the lie. "Sure. That was the whole point, right?"

"Right."

The conversation faltered there, and Daniel saw Jack's eyes flick to the clock, his own echoing the motion a second later. Nine minutes. They turned back at the same time, and Daniel looked up to meet Jack's eyes once more. He lifted his head, hesitated, then arched his neck to press his lips to Jack's mouth. Jack's eyes closed, and his arms slid around him, his breath sighing out as he lowered himself next to Daniel again, arms and legs wrapping around him in a new, tight embrace.

They kissed for what seemed like a long, long time, Daniel working to memorize every feeling, every sensation of Jack's mouth on his. The soft slide of his lips, the sharp, even edges of his teeth, the slick, wonderful heat of his tongue as it slipped into Daniel's own mouth. Jack's body, too, he wanted to remember, the brush of curly hair on his chest, the long, smooth lines of his back, the hard shape of his thigh pushing between Daniel's legs. Too much to take in, to try to remember in the few moments they had left.

Daniel finally pulled away, gasping, and stared into Jack's flushed face, both of them breathing hard. "Jack," he said. "If we don't find her, if one day I decide--"

"No." Jack shook his head, the harsh rasp of the single syllable freezing the rest of Daniel's words in his mouth. "No, Daniel."

"Jack--"

"Daniel!" Jack glanced at the clock again. "Daniel," he said, more gently. "We've got six minutes before that alarm goes off. We can spend those six minutes playing 'What if,' making a lot of stupid promises that neither of us wants to see come true, or--" He breathed deep, and Daniel saw the corners of his mouth turn up. "Or, we can see if we've got enough left for one hell of a quickie. Your choice."

Jack was right. Better if there was no room to think anymore, no time. They only had a few precious minutes, and there was no sense wasting them with painful words that could never be taken back, never forgotten. Much better to spend it like this, sprawled over and around each other, gasping and sweating and clinging to one another in fierce, panting desperation, locked tight, belly to belly, driving hard against each other in a hot, glorious race with those last six minutes.

Then the alarm was going off, and Daniel was coming, and so was Jack, and Daniel was rocking in Jack's fierce embrace, his own arms wound so tightly around Jack's body that his shoulders ached.

Then the alarm shut off, and it was time, finally, to let go.

THE END