First Contact 3

I'll Stand By You

by iiiionly

URL: http://www.area52hkh.net/asi/iiiionly/first03.php
Summary: Someone's practicing arpeggios up and down Daniel's spine every night when the lights go out, ghostly fingers that are wreaking havoc on his new relationship. Staying in it will require the courage to dig until he finds answers to questions he doesn't want to ask
Info: Jimmy Hoffa - for our non-US readers - was a well known labor leader in the 70's who was believed to have had ties with crime syndicates such as the Mafia. He disappeared, presumed dead, in 1975, but his body was never found

"What's wrong?" Jack gave the covers an exploratory tug. It wasn't that his partner was a blanket hog, but invariably, Daniel's tossing and turning played havoc with the sheets and blanket.

"Go back to sleep." Daniel sighed. He turned over again, this time on his side, yanked the feather pillow out from under his cheek and mashed it into something resembling a pyramid.

"Haven't made it to sleep yet," Jack mumbled, resigning himself to at least another hour of tossing and turning. It had become the pattern.

"Then go to sleep," Daniel mumbled back. The pillow was finally in a shape he could live with, but the darkness was congealing around him like a sticky cocoon as he slid his elbow out from under his chest and dropped back down on the pillow.

A heartbeat later, he abruptly rolled off the bed. "Ow!" He jerked instinctively as long fingers bracketed his wrist with just enough force to pull him back down. "Let go."

The tone of voice should have been warning enough; Jack disregarded it.

Daniel yanked free, rebounding to his feet as the light came on, instantly dispersing the viscous, claustrophic darkness.

"What the hell is the matter with you?"

"Nothing." He winced, massaging his shoulder. "I was just getting up to go to the bathroom."

"You went to the bathroom five minutes ago."

"You're keeping track?" Daniel huffed, doing a perfect impression of an about face. He crossed the room quickly and shut the bathroom door, flipping on all the lights as he made for the toilet and closed the seat. Sinking down, he slumped forward to prop his elbows on his knees and slid his fingers into his hair, massaging ineffectually at the sleep deprivation headache hammering at the back of his skull.

He was beginning to come to the realization he couldn't do this.

Atlantis had been a time out of time. Their tower abode, Jack's flying his resignation through the Gate on a paper airplane, time to find their rhythm as partners without censorious eyes detracting from the pleasure of the process - it had all been bit surreal, especially looking back now.

Earth side reality was a lot different. He'd assumed if there were going to be ghosts, their presence would have been immediate, particularly as the ghosts he was most concerned about were born of his own insecurities. Either they'd been unable to follow him through the Gate, or something in the rarified air of the Pegasus galaxy had boosted his immunity to lingering self-doubts.

They had, however, made up for lost haunting time in the three weeks since arriving home.

He stretched an arm along the counter and laid his head down. Most nights he managed to feign sleep long enough to lull Jack's spidey sense; tonight the cold fingers had begun stalking his spine the moment the light had been extinguished.

An ancient fear of the dark that had resurfaced with a vengeance on his descension appeared to have reared its ugly head again, along with the return of the Living Nightmare. Combined, they were an indefatigable foe.

Turn out the light and that old feeling of claustrophobia was crawling up his ankles like fog in a bad horror flick. Let sleep catch him in the dark and he was ring transported into the middle of a seething mass of intertwining, overlapping, mixed together traumas aided and abetted by the timeless fluidity of the netherworld to shift through ages and planets and tragedies between a toss and a turn.

But there was an added dimension this time, a lurking presence that literally crawled into bed with him as soon as the light went out.

Perhaps because this was the one part of his psyche he could not bare to have touched, he was resisting mightily even trying to follow the twisted thread down to its roots. He knew instinctively he did not want to reencounter whatever lay at the end of the journey.

To make matters worse, Jack was exhibiting a patience Daniel would never previously have given the man credit for. There had been no counter moves, no cornering, no entrapment, not even confrontation when he'd backed away from physical intimacy the first week they'd been home. Jack had always had an uncanny knack for reading his team, in particular, the team linguist, but over the course of their stay in Atlantis that uncanny knack had somehow married up with uncanny perception. It was as if he'd inhabited Daniel's shoes during those six months.

Intimacy, Dr. Jackson supposed, could do that for you, if you were perceptive enough. And he'd never had reason to accuse Jack of being dull-witted.

Jack knew more about him than anyone living or dead, but there were still secrets festering in the nadir of his past, secrets he'd buried and erased as successfully as someone had disposed of Jimmy Hoffa's body.

Back on Earth, with the ghosts rising like steam from city grates on a wintry day, it seemed worse than futile to try and fight for something ordained from the start to burn itself out. For all his book learning and people skills, Daniel had found himself repeating Relationships 101 several times.

It would be far less painful to put this down to yet another breakdown in a long line of relationship failures and go back to his solitary existence. Alone was convenient and familiar and - oh, yeah - easy. Contentment, fulfillment? Overrated if the cost was this kind of constant inner turmoil.

A quiet knock, not exactly asking permission, more like announcing I'm coming in preceded the door opening.

"I sleep better with the light on."

"O-kay," Jack drawled. "But can we leave the light on in the bedroom and sleep, horizontal maybe, possibly on the mattress on the bed?"

"Why are you up?"

"Hmmm -" Jack scrubbed both hands through his short, silvering hair. "Cause you're up? Come on, Daniel, I was never as dense as you liked to think."

"Don't kid yourself, you might have fooled me once with that ridiculous act, but I never underestimate an enemy twice."

"Enemy?"

In his mind he could see Jack standing in the door, more than likely slumped against the frame, though the shoulders had squared with the last query. He could hear the man's posture in his tone of voice. "Any unknown quantity is the enemy until proven otherwise," the archaeologist quoted verbatim. "You were certainly an unknown quantity on that first trip out, though I admit I didn't know then, that made you the enemy." Daniel opened his eyes.

Jack relaxed fractionally; his eyelids drooped and he yawned again, turning his chin into his shoulder to cover it. The brown eyes remained vigilant. "And now?"

"Go back to bed. These are my demons; you can't slay them for me."

"Hey, I don't mind giving them whack."

He could cope with surly Jack, commanding Jack, even arguing Jack; in fact, he could cope with just about any Jack that wasn't being supportive. He didn't have a handle on supportive Jack and the man showed up at the oddest times. Like now - at 12:30 a.m. - in the bathroom, for crying out loud.

Daniel sighed again.

"What happened?" Jack shoved off the door frame and wandered over to slide down the tile wall in front of the archaeologist. He pulled his cranky knees up to his chest and propped his elbows on them.

"Happened?" Daniel echoed. He hated it, but he always folded in the face of the truly supportive. There had been so little of it in his life prior to SG-1, it had taken him a long time to recognize it. Maybe he'd be more successful if he kept reminding himself support in the moment could never change the past.

"Are you getting grief at work?" Jack had noticed the tension start to build right around the time Daniel had realized their time on Atlantis was rapidly drawing to a close. Even though the withdrawal hadn't been unexpected - he was after all a strategist - it had hit much harder than he'd anticipated. Which spoke directly to the fact that he'd found more in this relationship than he'd ever expected or imagined.

"Grief at work?" Daniel parroted. "No more than usual." There was always someone who thought he didn't belong and wanted to remind him of his place in the natural order of things. That too was a lifelong pattern.

"Then what?"

Daniel had tossed his own paper airplane through the Gate, with a request to be replaced on SG-1, and found Mitchell and Vala, as well as General Landry, waiting for him in the gate room, even though it had been the middle of the night by the time they'd exchanged farewells with the Daedalus crew, corralled their immediate stuff, and gated home.

He had not, Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell had informed Dr. Jackson, worked his tail off getting the band back together for nothing. Laundry, when appealed to, had merely shrugged and informed the good doctor that Colonel Mitchell had been most persuasive in his arguments against allowing Dr. Jackson to be reassigned, starting with the fact that Jackson, having opened the Stargate, would never fit in on another team. He was an icon, a byword, a symbol of ...

With Jack smirking an I-told-you-so over his shoulder, Daniel had capitulated with more alacrity than politesse.

Vala had tagged along to the surface, carrying Daniel's backpack as an excuse to accompany them, nattering on in her normal barely-less-than-intergalactic-speed-of-light fashion. In the space of a few hallways, two elevators, and the car waiting to take them home, she'd managed to cover shopping trips with Sam, the highlights of Mitchell's highly amusing version of a weekend with General Landry, Chaka's unexpected contact of the SGC - to which Daniel, who'd pretty much been zoning, had swung around and demanded to know why they hadn't contacted him - Teal'c's latest internet craze, and oh by the way, had she mentioned she'd missed Daniel to death, inserted without taking a breath in the middle of every scenario.

She'd foiled Dr. Jackson's attempt to get into the car by handing off his backpack to the general and throwing her arms around him as she'd declared, yet again, how glad she'd been to have him back, that SG-1 hadn't been the same without him, they'd needed their conscience, their voice, their talisman - okay, her talisman - she'd been afraid for her life every moment without him on her six and she'd been SO glad he was finally back.

Daniel had been touched, despite wondering what angle she was running, and extracted himself more kindly than he might have under the circumstances.

Jack's insistent voice hooked him back into reality and present space and time.

"Earth to Dr. Jackson. It's usually helpful, at least in most conversations, to have two parties involved." Jack rocked forward onto his toes. "Though there are exceptions to every rule." He laid his hands on Daniel's knees. "Come back to bed. We can leave the light on. Maybe if you get some sleep, this will look different in the morning." Unlikely, but if he could shoehorn his way into the linguist's cogitations he might be able to follow the convoluted course Daniel had taken on the way to this particular decision, and Jack was relatively certain a decision had already been made, consciously or not.

He'd been kicking himself from the moment an unreachable Daniel had walked in the front door several hours ago. He should have known better than to let the archaeologist stew in his own juices for this length of time; he'd definitely waited too long.

It revolved around intimacy, sex to put it baldly, and neither of them was ready to tackle that subject in conversation. They'd figured out the no frills, standard fare relatively quickly and had quite a lot of fun experimenting with some of the ideas in the literature - if you could call it that - Daniel had found in the extensive and unique Atlantis library - without the help of any of the holographic librarians. The Ancients, apparently still in their corporeal bodies, had known a thing or three about pleasure.

"Come on," he repeated. "Come back to bed."

"I can't."

"Can't? Or won't?"

"It amounts to the same thing," Daniel responded wearily.

"I beg to differ. Won't pretty much means - won't. Can't, on the other hand, has a whole plethora of unexplored connotations."

"Two big words in the same sentence." He straightened, which, he realized a moment too late, was poor strategy. It meant he had little choice but to look down into those usually fathomless eyes; what he saw made his heart clench. "Showing off won't change the options." He still had a right to make a choice; even it was a bad one. Daniel raised a hand to his aching head. "I can't sleep here."

"Will you answer one question?"

"Please, Jack -"

"Just one question."

"Maybe."

"Honestly."

"If I can give you an answer, I'll be as honest as I can." For a moment Daniel thought he wasn't going to ask. It was another moment before he realized Jack was bracing himself for the response.

"Is it me?"

"No." Daniel closed his eyes rather than face the pain in the gaze slanted up at him. He felt the silver head bow for just a moment against his knees, then the fingers that had leaned so quickly how to pleasure them both were sliding along his jaw, feather light, but insistent.

"Honesty."

Swallowing painfully, the archaeologist shook his head. "It's not you," he whispered hoarsely, forcing the words through silken-thread clogged air passages. The darkness might be gone, but the cold fingers of his nightmare were still crawling caterpillar-like up and down his spine. And no amount of intellectual hocus pocus had managed to keep those fingers from attaching themselves to Jack's hands in his mind. It was ridiculous, stupid, totally without cause - and impossible to control.

He tried desperately, for weeks now, to eviscerate the ghost without channeling it. He was certain the end of that rattling chain led only to additional heartache and he had more of that than he could handle kneeling in front of him.

The fingers brushed through his hair, stilling as they came to rest lightly cupping his cheek and his skin crawled with the contact.

"Then we'll figure it out. Just don't shut me out. Please?" Jack tapped his index finger against the sculpted cheekbone.

Daniel opened his eyes, fighting the nearly uncontrollable urge to flinch back from the insistent touch. "I'll try. But don't count on it working."

"That's good enough for me. Come on, if we're not going back to bed here, are we sleeping at your place tonight?" Jack levered himself up, borrowing the archaeologist's younger knees to compensate for his own.

"Jack -" he tried again.

"Daniel." Jack folded his arms over his chest. "I can give you space." He paused briefly, looking down now, brown eyes tracking blue with the intensity of a honing missile. "But I can't give you up. And I won't give up on you."

He wanted to whimper. Unfortunately, not only was it undignified, it was neither productive, nor appropriate. Especially in the face of Jack's enormous sacrifice - introducing feelings into this sordid ménage et tois he wasn't even aware of.

"This would be much easier if you would," Daniel mumbled instead.

"What? And break our world record? Nothing's ever easy with you." Jack executed a left face and strolled out of the bathroom, adding over his shoulder, "I was fully aware of what I was getting into when I walked on to that ship. Now, where are we spending the rest of the night?"

He was an adult - capable of making his own choices - an adult, Daniel reminded himself, capable of asserting his will. "I'm going to my house." He swallowed around the tiny feet now tickling the back of his throat. "Alone."

Jack paused in the act of opening the dresser drawer containing sweats. He'd pushed hard, perhaps too hard; it was always a fine line with the linguist.

Daniel came to the door of the bathroom, wrapped up in one of his most impressive self-hugs, and Jack straightened. They stared at each other for several seconds before Jack took a step forward, then two, then covered the distance between them.

"Come here."

Resisting the hand curled around the back of his neck would have been futile. Daniel was compelled forward into Jack's personal space, but he went willingly, the infamous Space Monkey hug blazing like a falling star across his consciousness.

"I said I'd give you space. I meant the space of the bed between us," Jack whispered, enfolding his partner in a loose embrace. "Clearly you need something different right now." God, this kid made him crazy. He resisted an impulse to kiss the ear near his lips. "There's no law says I have to like it, but I'll do..." He had to clear his throat before he could continue. "Whatever it is you need me to do. I need you to understand I have no intention of sitting back and letting this run its course. I'm gonna be in your face every day until we've resolved this."

"So, no easy road," Daniel murmured on another sigh, keeping his arms firmly crossed over his chest.

It was the perfect note to revert to colonel mode. "Right," Jack scoffed, stepping back. He plucked a pair of sweats and a t-shirt out of the open drawer, slammed it shut, and threw the bundled clothes at the archaeologist. "Like you ever do anything the easy way. I'll see you in the morning."

Daniel stood holding the clothes; clothes that smelled like Jack. The man had probably done it on purpose, but he was grateful anyway. If he couldn't sleep with him, he'd still have Jack wrapped around him in his own solitary bed.

"Oh, by the way?" Jack was already horizontal, pulling up the sheet and blanket; they kept it cool in the bedroom on purpose. "The package on your desk is from me." He clicked the light off, turned on his side and balled the pillow under his head.

"A package? On my desk?" Daniel shook his head. He was really sounding like worn out recording tonight.

"You'll know when you see it. Goodnight, Daniel."

A package.

Maybe he wouldn't go home after all. Curiosity had always been his besetting sin. Besides, he had no idea if sleeping alone would keep the nervy little nightmare at bay.

Daniel yanked Jack's t-shirt over his head, found his BDU's in the dark, collected his boots and tiptoed out of their bedroom.

The night was cool enough to whisk away the latent tendrils of sleep still hiding in his befogged brain as he closed and locked the front door. He slid his mind into neutral as he backed the car out of the driveway, flicking on the radio and rolling down the windows in an attempt to distract the thoughts wriggling up through his self-imposed shroud of gloom.

He went through the checkpoints on automatic, wondering what Jack could possibly have left for him at work.

"Dr. Jackson," the shuttle driver greeted him with a raised eyebrow. "Kinda late for you to be coming back, isn't it?"

Daniel smiled slightly. A year ago, no one would have thought it strange for him to turn up at 1:30 in the morning. "The Mountain never sleeps, Herb."

"'Course not," Herb winked. "And neither do you. How was your trip, Dr. Jackson?"

"Trip?" He was still in neutral.

"Abroad? Haven't been in much at night since you got back. No chance to ask you if you enjoyed it."

"Oh. Yeah. It was great."

"Met somebody, did ya? Keeping you home at night finally."

"General O'Neill," Daniel drawled, not sure if he was doing it for shock value or because he was still edgy and bad tempered.

Herb glanced up to shoot him a grin in the rear-view mirror attached to the lowered visor. "Bout time the two of you figured that out. Good for you."

Daniel's jaw dropped. He shut it quickly and stared at the reflection still grinning at him. "Uhm ... thanks - I guess."

The shuttle driver chuckled affectionately. "Don't ask, don't tell, that's my motto, sir. Secret's safe with 'ole Herb, here."

"Thanks," Daniel repeated weakly, suddenly aware of all he'd risked. "Really, thanks, Herb. That means a lot and I'm sorry I just dropped it like that."

"Not a problem, Dr. Jackson. I'm happy for you both. Here's your stop. Maybe I'll see you later this evening, since I'm sure you're not planning to stay long."

Oh, God. What had he unleashed? Yet another mother hen? "Uh, I don't expect to be going home again until this evening. A... a problem's come up."

Herb nodded sagely. "That deep space telemetry equipment acting up again, then. Well, you take care, Dr. Jackson. Don't let them keep you here once the problem's solved."

"I won't. Thanks, Herb."

"Sure thing, sir."

Daniel sucked in a deep breath as he exited the shuttle and headed for the Quonset hut entrance. Stupid, stupid, stupid, Jackson. He signed in, had his palm scanned, and literally ran into Teal'c at the elevators.

"Sorry." Daniel shoved his glasses back up on his nose. "Sorry, Teal'c. I wasn't paying attention, I guess."

"Daniel Jackson. What brings you to these hallowed halls at this advanced hour of the evening?"

"It's morning already. Jack called you, didn't he?"

Teal'c raised an eyebrow. "I have not heard from O'Neill in several days. He is well, I presume?"

In all their years as teammates, Daniel had never been able to figure out if Jaffa never lied, or they were so good at it they never got caught. He eyed the towering alien morosely. He'd never have a moment's privacy again if he left Jack. "He's fine. If Jack didn't call you, why are you out here at one-thirty in the morning?"

Teal'c turned just his head, stoic face firmly in place as he studied the archaeologist until Daniel backed down on another sigh.

"Sorry." He slid his access card through the reader, despite the fact Teal'c had obviously already done so. "None of my business."

"Indeed," the Jaffa murmured, returning his gaze to the numbers lighting up over the top of the elevator. "However, as you seem quite agitated, I will inform you that I have been 'painting the town' with Vala Maldoran." His tone of voice supplied the quote marks without having to raise a finger.

"Vala?" The elevator doors opened and they both stepped inside. "You took Vala out?" A quick glanced registered a sport coat, nice slacks, and a leather jacket, in combination with a black fedora.

"Indeed," Teal'c repeated, stretching an arm across the opening to keep the doors from closing.

Rapid, staccato footsteps, highlighted by clip clipping heels, formed an instant picture of Janet hurrying toward the elevator and Daniel looked up expectantly, then shook his head. Never mind neutral, his mind had apparently taken a little trip if he expected Janet to board the elevator.

"Daniel! How lovely! Perhaps we should wake Cameron and invite him to the party as well. He'll be disappointed if we don't."

Teal'c withdrew his arm and Vala, slipping out of her shoes, used a stiletto heel to punch the button for the VIP suites.

"Thank you, dah'ling, for holding the elevator." She bestowed a dazzling smile on her escort and turned to the linguist. "To what do we owe this wonderful surprise? I didn't realize your keeper let you out at night anymore."

Daniel slanted a look at her that quelled her instantly.

Though not traumatically. Vala zipped her lips and widened her eyes at him, then rolled them comically. "If you need to talk about it, you know where to find me," she whispered out of the corner of her mouth, adding a saucy wink for good measure. "Coming in for a night cap, Muscles?" she inquired, sashaying off the elevator at her stop.

"I have had an exceptional evening in your company Vala Maldoran; however, I believe I will retire. Another time perhaps."

There was an implicit promise in the farewell Daniel couldn't fail to miss, but he kept his mouth shut and his humor to himself as the elevator doors closed on Vala offering a miniscule wiggle of her fingers to the smirking Jaffa. And Teal'c was definitely smirking as he got off at his own stop and bade the archaeologist goodnight.

Daniel tipped a two-fingered salute and slumped against the wall as the elevator took him on down to eighteen. It jolted to a stop, dinging as the doors slid open and a nasally voice in his head droned, Level 18, Ladies undergarments, please keep your hands inside the car at all times until we've come to a full and complete stop.

"You can run," he muttered to himself, "but you can't hide - dammit." Daniel rounded the corner to his office, slid his card through the reader, pushed the door open and was nearly bowled over by the darkness slithering out of the opening.

He slapped the lights on, all of them, artifacts be damned, and stopped on the threshold, beleaguered on all sides.

He should have pulled the pillow over his head and tried a few deep breathing exercises, maybe given that astral plane stuff a whirl. Although going straight home might have been the best choice of all.

The thought crossed his mind no where was safe anymore. He refused to let it take root, weeding it out ruthlessly as he marched around the office turning on every lamp as well.

The circuit took him back to the counter he used as often as his desk, where space had been cleared for a large manila envelope stamped in bold red - For Eyes Only - and bright blue - Confidential - and dark green - DO NOT REMOVE FROM SITE.

He knew immediately what it was.

An inconsequential purple sticky sat blithely atop the envelope, oblivious to the fact it should be totally awed by the top level security clearance required just to touch its current abode.

Daniel peeled it off and discovered a note on the opposite side.

He picked it up, the weight of it heavy in his hands, and moved to the desk and his personal laptop he'd purposely left behind when he'd gone home.

Jack's place would always be home, no matter what happened to them. Somewhere between his initial exposure to the house, the first night back from Abydos, and moving in for good on coming back from Atlantis, he and the house had imprinted.

Bonded. Connected. Linked.

For Daniel, Jack's house meant safety and security, but most of all it meant home in a way he hadn't thought of home since he'd been eight years old. Yeah, probably because Jack was there, but the house itself had enfolded him, made him welcome, and claimed him as a son of its roof and walls and floors. It was one of the few places he felt like he belonged unconditionally. And he'd been in and out of that house more times than a repeat offender was remanded into custody.

He tapped the enter key and waited as his computer powered up, then typed in his password and opened the encryption program before opening his email.

You've got mail, Vala's voice informed him, making him smile and roll his eyes at the same time. He hated changing his password. Because of her, it was frequently required, though he'd freely offered her own password protected space on the laptop. He tapped a couple of keys, hit the enter button again, and Jack's email opened like a flower in time dilation.

There was no header, no salutation, just a terse -

And that was it, no signature, not even the initials that usually accompanied notes between them.

Daniel pushed back from the desk, propped his elbows on his knees and sat for a long time just holding the manila envelope in his hands. The longer he held it, the heavier it seemed to feel - the weight of Jack's life - given into his hands for better or worse.

The computer powered down in sleep mode. The Gate klaxon clanged for off-world activation. Gravity sank his hands, and the package, lower between his knees. The night janitor and his mop wafted the smell of Mr. Clean into the office as they swished by in their nightly line dance, leaving behind clean floors and mountain fresh scent.

The flap bore Jack's name, rank, and serial number and was wax-sealed across the width. He broke it cautiously, expecting every second to be the recipient of a Mrs. Weasley Howler, and drew out a sheaf of folders dating back to 1977.

Jack would have been twenty-five.

Every folder was stamped CONFIDENTIAL and every file but the first had the mission designation hand-written on the tab. The first file was O'Neill's dossier, documenting from birth to the time he'd entered the military. They were the only typewritten notes in the file. The notes inside the remaining folders were handwritten as well, reinforcing the fact these were closely held secrets.

Dr. Jackson put everything back in the manila envelope and placed it carefully on his desk before getting up to start the coffee maker. He closed and locked his door from the inside, despite the immediate feeling of claustrophobia sealing him off from reality, and waited for the coffee to perk before pouring a cup and taking it back to his desk.

He sat staring at the repackaged file folders, wondering how it would feel to have his life documented inside a manila envelope, forgetting, in the moment, somewhere in the bowels of the mountain, another one bore his name.

He read until the words blurred on the page in front of him. Made more coffee and read until his eyelids began to twitch. Paused long enough to make a run on the night Mess, downed some No Doz, a sandwich and more coffee, and read until he reached the end - Jack's folded and creased resignation letter, stapled to the back page of the binder that contained all the folders.

No novel could have captured the essence of the memoirs of Jack O'Neill encapsulated in the hard-won victories and bitter defeats recorded - not for posterity, but for the sake of keeping old soldiers honest - like sound bytes in those mission files.

In fact, Daniel thought, it would have been hard for anyone to imagine the depths of hell Jack had been called on to navigate, repeatedly, in the service of his country. Insanity disguised as orders, little shops of horror masquerading as command units, torture camouflaged as questioning, degradation shrouded as honoring one's country, agony on a scale nearly impossible to comprehend - all of it blazed from the smudged black and white pages in living color.

Daniel shuffled the contents into order and shoved them back into the envelope. Carrying it with him, he hobbled over to the couch, groaning at the stiffness several hours of sitting in one place had imbued, and lay down, folding his hands carefully over the package.

Sliding an arm up over his eyes, he sank into the thoughts racing around in his head and began to separate the threads into various patterns, the better to glean the overall picture, but also, to come to terms with the insanity that had been Jack's life until he'd been recruited for the Stargate program.

Not that their lives weren't equally insane now, just in a different way.

Daniel fell asleep contemplating his own demons, who seemed, in light of what he'd just read, barely impish by comparison.

On the other side of town, Jack tossed the crossword puzzle on the nightstand, turned out the light, turned over, and reached to lay a hand on Daniel's pillow. He fell asleep contemplating the connection that every day seemed a little more intense, a little more infallible, a little less like the fragile thing it was.

* * *

Daniel knocked on the general's door and stuck his head around the frame.

"Ahhh, Dr. Jackson. Come in. Coffee?" Landry offered, holding up his cup.

"Thanks, I'll pass." He'd had experience with the general's coffee. He liked his strong, just not strong enough to stand a spoon in it. "I think-" Daniel held out the manila envelope. "I'm supposed to return this to you, sir?"

"Yes. Thank you." Landry took the package, slid it into a bottom draw, locked it and pocketed the key just as Vala waltzed in.

"Hey,you." She draped herself over Daniel's shoulder. "I've been looking for you. Want to take a girl to breakfast? Good morning, General. Could I interest you in breakfast, sir?"

"Had mine an hour ago, thank you," Landry informed her, smiling pleasantly. "And here's your access card back." He opened his middle desk drawer, sorted through the paraphernalia and with an ahhhh, plucked out the key and handed it over.

Vala undraped herself to reach across the desk, glancing thoughtfully between the general and Daniel. "Secrets passed already, boys? That was rather fast, if I do so say myself." She tapped the reacquired card against her bared teeth as she contemplated.

"Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome, Dr. Jackson," the general returned simply. "Why don't you take the lady to breakfast? You look like could use some sustenance yourself."

"Not particularly hungry, sir." Besides, he had other plans for his morning since they weren't scheduled off world.

"Then palm her off on Mitchell or Teal'c. By the way, how was your date last night, Vala?"

Daniel slipped his hands in his pockets and tried not to find it interesting Sam's name hadn't been on the general's list. Maybe he knew she wasn't in the Mountain yet.

"Dazzling, General. I could have danced the entire night. My escort, however, had other ideas. He kept mumbling something about Cind'rella and glass slippers. Now I ask you, gentlemen - rhetorically, of course - how does one dance in glass slippers? But thanks for asking, sir. Do you dance?"

"Not in years." Landry cocked his head in the general direction of the mess. "You were headed for breakfast?"

Daniel took the hint and herded Vala towards the door, receiving a silent, "Thanks," from Landry behind her back. He just nodded and pulled the door closed behind them.

"Why aren't you going to breakfast?" Vala demanded two steps down the hall. "And you look horrible, Daniel. Don't smell like a bed of roses either, you know. Did you sleep any last night? Or were you up all night working on Landry's secret project?"

"It's not a project," Daniel answered vaguely, realizing the moment the words were out of his mouth, if he didn't pay attention she would know exactly what he'd been doing all night before they'd reached the elevators.

"Not a project, then. Hmmmm." She validated his thought immediately. "What could have been so top secret as to have locked me out of your office? You're not hoarding treasure are you? Without telling me?"

It was absurd and he knew she knew he knew it. So he just smiled and winked. "Can't tell. See you later."

"Where are you going?" Vala pouted. "I hate eating alone."

"To shower, m'lady, and change. You've already made it clear my presence offends." Daniel slapped a hand across the closing elevator doors and grabbed Vala by the arm. "Your carriage awaits." He gave her a gentle shove to help her on board.

"But Daniel -"

He didn't hear, he'd already headed for the stairwell and was rapidly ascending the concrete stairs up to level 18.

He showered, put on clean clothes, made a phone call, grabbed a new cup of coffee and headed for the surface, wondering all the while what had possessed him to make the phone call in the first place.

The drive over to the base hospital took ten minutes less than it usually did and the second hand on his watch was suddenly racing far too fast for his peace of mind - what there was left of his mind anyway. He pulled into a parking space and slumped forward over the steering wheel, debating whether he really wanted to do this.

A moment later, he straightened and shoved both hands through his still wet hair, trying to flatten the cowlick, all the while wondering why he cared. Because he didn't - care that is - about his hair.

"Quit stalling," he told his reflection in the rearview mirror and opened the car door.

The waiting room was unexpectedly empty, though the little sign on the office door said, Quiet Please, In Session.

Daniel paced the length of the reception area, picked up a magazine and flipped through it, then paced back to the window and stared for several minutes out over the hospital grounds. Turning, when his eyes began to water from staring unseeing, he slumped down on one of the uncomfortable, hard plastic chairs.

He was about at the end of his wait-ability when the door opened and Dr. MacKenzie stepped into the waiting area. "Hello, Dr. Jackson," he greeted pleasantly. "Are you looking for someone?" he inquired, heading for the reception desk.

"You."

MacKenzie paused mid-stride and looked over the top of his glasses. "Me? You wanted to see me?"

The flash of surprise was erased so quickly, Daniel wondered if he hadn't imagined it. "Yes."

"I'm rather booked today and my secretary had to leave early." The psychiatrist closed the distance to the reception desk and leaned over the high counter. "I'd be happy to make an appointment..." He trailed off as he picked up the appointment book. "Ah, I see I've had a cancellation and you have an appointment." He put the book down and turned back, removing his glasses as he leaned an elbow on the counter and studied his newest client.

Daniel shoved his hands in his pockets rather than cross them defensively over his chest. "She asked it if was important. I accepted the spot before I could think about it."

"I see. Why don't you come in? Or have you changed your mind?"

"No." The last time he'd had dealings with this physician he'd wound up on the psyche ward in a padded cell. It wasn't a feel good memory, but he was desperate and desperately in need of help.

MacKenzie eyed him thoughtfully before waving a hand toward the open doorway. "I was just prepping for my next client, but since they cancelled, please, come in. Are you here personally, or professionally, Dr. Jackson?" He ushered the young man through the open door, but remained standing in the doorway.

"Meaning?" Daniel darted a quick glance around the office, cataloging the unusually non-military décor.

"Can I get you some coffee?" MacKenzie offered.

"No, I already have too much caffeine in my system." At least it was a good excuse for his shaking hands. What in the world had possessed him to seek out this man for help?

"Juice perhaps? Or water?"

"No. Thanks." Daniel's chest was constricting with every step further into the room and the feeling of claustrophobia he'd been encountering recently, crawled right inside his skin as the door closed behind him. "What did you mean is this personal or professional?" he repeated, wincing at the edge in his voice.

He'd been aiming for a bit of clinical detachment, not emotional desperation. He mentally body slammed his apprehension back in the closet and shoved a towel into the crack across the bottom. Unfortunately it oozed right back out the top. So he gave it up as a bad deal and crossed his arms. He was feeling defensive; why try to hide it?

"I meant are you here because of personal issues?" Dr. MacKenzie lingered by the door. "Or because of something that's happening at the SGC? Would you like to sit down?"

"Do I have to?"

"No. Make yourself comfortable. Do you mind if I sit down?"

"I'm not..." Daniel hesitated. "Not nuts, if that's what you're thinking. Well, not in so many words." He flinched and shook his head. He was an adult - an adult who had made a rational choice to seek help. He could do this. He would do this.

Dr. MacKenzie took a seat on the sofa, leaving both chairs free. "Why don't you tell me why you're here, Dr. Jackson?"

The use of his title, again, calmed him a little and allowed his thoughts to coalesce with slightly more continuity. "Why would you think I was here for personal reasons?"

Dr. MacKenzie met his gaze steadily. "It's a question I ask of all my SGC clients."

There was something - some niggling little seed planted by tone of voice or maybe the slight hesitation before the psyche doc's response - that started the trickle-down awareness effect. Daniel started paying attention. "Has Jack been here?"

"I'm sure you're aware, Dr. Jackson, whether or not General O'Neill has been to see me, client confidentiality precludes my sharing that information with you."

"I don't need to talk about Jack. Want," Daniel quickly corrected. "I don't want to talk about Jack. Though I have to wonder if you can give me some insight into how someone who's been through-" he closed his eyes briefly, "what he has, could still be sane."

"Insanity grounded in reality is the best some of us can hope for, Dr. Jackson. I don't suppose I'm sharing anything classified or confidential by telling you General O'Neill is firmly grounded in both reality and his own unique insanity. I'm sure you're well aware of that, having known and worked with the man for the last ten years."

"So you have seen Jack recently." He didn't make it a question.

"That information is confidential."

"Which means the answer is yes." Daniel began mapping the room with his feet.

MacKenzie merely watched him.

"Was he here because of me?"

"What would make you think that?"

Daniel shrugged. "He's worried."

"Suppose you tell me what's worrying you," MacKenzie offered.

The sofa and two wingback chairs were grouped in the middle of the room on a muted eggplant purple rug laid on top of the non-descript military carpet.

Daniel circled the conversation area again, picking up and putting down any object that came to hand.

The office was spacious and comfortable, neither over or under decorated. The shell-purple wall had surprised him, and the standard bookcases contained considerably more than the usual egalitarian tombs on psychology. Dostoyevsky sat cheek by jowl with Edgar Rice Burroughs, Descartes next to Uncle Tom's Cabin, Martin Luther King shelved on both sides of The Art of War by Sun Tzu. A series of etageres along the wall opposite the bookcases housed a number of small objets d'art and an antique roll-top desk, open, with its pigeon holes neatly labeled and filled, sat against the purple wall.

MacKenzie would wait him out; he knew it, but could not bring himself to the sticking point now that he was here.

Daniel smiled briefly as he put down an extremely rare piece of Ming Dynasty jade. "That's an artifact, you know, it should be kept out of the light or it will fade. You should have it in a case..." he trailed off, glancing over his shoulder.

"I know," the psychiatrist agreed. "But it's one of those feel good pieces clients like to handle. Its worth is more intrinsic than monetary."

Daniel picked it up again, horrified and exhilarated at the same time. Horrified such a priceless artifact was left out to be so casually handled; surprised, yet exhilarated, by the physician's recognition that the soul of the piece belonged to everyone and his willingness to leave it accessible despite its monetary value. Which was likely in the six-figures-before-the-decimal-point range.

It did feel good in his hand, calming, soothing. His erratic heartbeat smoothed out and his pulse slowed. He could feel the ribbon of time flowing between him and the small artifact. It was a traditional Buddha, with protruding belly and deep sunk eyes, but this one was standing, arms akimbo, short robe carved for eternity hitched up on one side, exposing a sumo wrestler thigh. Daniel ran his thumb over the underside of the jaw, feeling the carver's delineation of the double chin.

Consciously denying the desire to sigh, he turned to look squarely at the doctor. "You know Jack and I are living together?"

MacKenzie stretched an arm along the back of the sofa. "Is this a new development for you?"

Daniel put the little jade Buddha back on the shelf and wandered over to sink down in the chair furthest from the sofa. "Yes and no."

"How about if we both put our cards on the table?" Dr, MacKenzie leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands loosely between them. "I have no idea why you're here, Dr. Jackson, and if I have to drag it out of you one sentence at time, I can't help you. It's clear you're nervous about this. Are you nervous because of what happened - what - six, seven years ago? Or about the subject matter you want to discuss?"

On some level Daniel was aware the pose was supposed to reassure him the man was interested and sincere. What it did was make him want to shrink back in his own chair. He made a concerted effort not to squirm and took a moment to consider, long fingers stretching without volition. "Both, probably." He curled them, purposely, into fists.

"Well, that helps at least. Why don't I begin then?" MacKenzie sat back, casually crossing his legs. "I never made the effort to apologize to you for what you went through both on base and here-"

"I understand you were just doing your job," Daniel interrupted, surprising himself.

"I'm not apologizing for what happened, we didn't know enough at the time to have handled it any differently. However, I am sorry you were traumatized by the situation. And I should have made the effort to follow-up and see you through it. I assumed you would rather not work with me under the circumstances and I apologize for not following through, whether or not I assumed incorrectly."

"Uh, no." Daniel rubbed a stiff finger in his eye. "No, I wouldn't have been particularly cooperative if you had tried. But years of further trauma have downgraded that particular one and..." he trailed off on another sigh, glancing up in time to see the involuntary smile the doctor failed to suppress. "What?"

Dr. MacKenzie spread his hands in a gesture of apology. "I'm sorry; it's interesting to hear you say that trauma has been downgraded due to other traumas inflicted over the years. Frankly, Dr. Jackson, I've often wondered how any of you at the SGC manage to maintain sanity. Suppose we start with something innocuous? Why don't you tell me how you feel SG-1 is handling the change of leadership at Stargate Command?"

Daniel blinked warily and sucked in his breath as inconspicuously as possible. "Uhm, well, it's evening out again, finally. Weir was a bit of a..." He hesitated, searching through his verbal lexicon for an appropriate summary. "Mixed bag, I guess, a little unpredictable as a civilian. Jack was... well - Jack - for the most part. We were all comfortable again; at least we knew there would be back up if something went down badly. Landry's certainly better than a civilian, but he's still pretty much an unknown quantity to me. Nor have I had much opportunity to ask Sam or Teal'c how they feel."

"And Colonel Mitchell's integration into the team?"

Daniel shrugged. His pulse was slowing again, incrementally, he could no longer feel it pounding in time with the headache he hadn't managed to eliminate, despite a fistful of aspirin. "Sam and Teal'c seem to be doing okay with Mitchell; but again, I haven't had much exposure to him."

"I heard he very determinedly kept your spot open for you while you were gone."

"Yeah."

MacKenzie waited a moment, then stated, "I gather, from your tone of voice, that didn't exactly endear him to you."

Daniel shrugged again. "Not especially, I had different expectations when I came back."

"Different from..." the psychiatrist trailed off, leaving the field open for an answer without having asked a direct question.

"Oh, I suppose different from when I started in the program. Different, even, from when I left for Atlantis. We're facing different enemies, different problems. Though Jack would say same song, just a different verse."

"I understand General O'Neill has retired. For good this time?"

Daniel smiled at the non-sequitur, but lifted a shoulder. "He says so. We'll see."

"How do suppose his retirement has affected your expectations at the SGC?"

Dr. Jackson swept a quick glance around the chaotic interior of his mind. MacKenzie had brought the subject neatly around to why he was here, managing to settle his nerves in the process, and he'd completely missed the subtlety of it.

Damn, the man was good.

"It's not something I've consciously spent time thinking about, but I suppose - a lot."

"Fair enough. Do you want to explore how those expectations have changed, here?"

"No," Daniel replied definitively. He'd bounced the board enough, it was time to dive in. "I'm here because I'm having trouble sleeping with Jack." Except he had no idea if he was going to be able to tread water, let alone swim.

Dr. MacKenzie waited without comment for several long moments before asking, "Are you speaking euphemistically in regards to function or..." Again, he trailed off leaving it to the linguist to decide how far he wanted to go.

Heat bloomed in his cheeks. Daniel could have cheerfully crawled under the chair. What in heaven's name had made him think he could tackle this subject with anyone other than Jack?

"No euphemism, it has nothing to do with dysfunction, though it might very well if I could make myself engage. We were fine on Atlantis, but it seems like our feet no sooner hit the Gate ramp when out of nowhere a dozen different ghosts materialized. They're climbing into bed with me at night; I can't turn out the light without practically hyperventilating. And if I do manage to sleep, it's instant nightmare city."

"Ghosts... interesting terminology. Any idea why you've used it?"

"Ghosts." Daniel lifted a hand. "You know, ghosts - from the past. Things that are buried under layers and layers of self-insulation. Hard to get to. Ghosts," he repeated. The fact that those ghosts were wearing Jack's hands would never be articulated to anyone.

"You believe the ghosts are from your past?"

"Yes. I'm relatively certain they're old."

"What makes you think that?"

Daniel made a determined effort to tamp down the panic pushing at the edges of his mind. The voice in his head was screaming, Don't go there, don't go there! "A face. A face that keeps coming up."

"Just one?"

"No," Daniel sighed. "No, there are lots, but for the most part they're just layers of years of trauma, padded cell included. But this face in particular, keeps recurring in every nightmare, while the others seem to come and go."

MacKenzie raised an eyebrow. "Nicely pitched, Dr. Jackson."

The response raised another smile from the anxious linguist. "I thought I slid it in there quite smoothly myself."

"Your score." Dr. MacKenzie returned the smile, inserting a minimal pause before continuing. "All right. I'm hearing you say you're having trouble sleeping with your partner, but more than that, you're having trouble sleeping period. That there is a particular recurring - not necessarily theme... maybe concern? - running through your disturbed sleep patterns. Have I got it right so far?"

"That sums it up pretty well."

"So then, am I to understand you're here looking for help unraveling what might be at the bottom of that particular concern, or do you just want to sleep again?"

"I could have gone to Lam for sleeping pills."

"I'm aware of that, I just want to be sure we both understand what you want."

"Touché. You're right, I'm not a hundred percent committed to this, there's a huge part of me that wants to get up and walk out, go back to just being Daniel, and let sleeping dogs lie."

"What's keeping you from doing that?"

Daniel hesitated. "This comes under patient confidentiality too, right?"

MacKenzie produced another slight smile. "Nowadays we refer to our clients, rather than our patients, Dr. Jackson. But, yes, anything you tell me is strictly confidential. Unless you tell me you're going to kill yourself or someone else. At which point, I'm required to report it to the authorities."

"Civil or military?" Daniel wondered, and then realized he'd voiced the thought. "Sorry, immaterial. I don't really care."

MacKenzie half shrugged and responded anyway. "In this situation I would be required to report to both, as you're employed by the military and could be a potential hazard to your coworkers, but aren't bound by military regulations beyond your contract with them."

Because it was the way he processed, Daniel filed the immaterial response under B for Both in his already chock-full brain box immaterial file folder.

"So what's keeping you from walking out of here?" MacKenzie repeated.

"Oh - yeah. Jack gave me his dossier to read."

"I see."

Daniel glanced over curiously. "Landry told me the military frowns on that kind of disclosure to a civilian."

"Yes, they do. There could be several layers of repercussions if it was to become public knowledge." MacKenzie's tone never changed, but Daniel clearly heard the implicit warning. "What do you think it was in the general's dossier that compelled you to seek answers to your own concerns?"

"Are you asking why I'm not talking to Jack about this?"

"No."

Daniel wondered if psyche docs had classes in how to sound so completely impassive. The only time inflection had entered MacKenzie's voice had been when they'd bantered briefly. That wasn't right; there'd been inflection in the voice when the man had apologized as well.

As surely as he knew his own name, he understood he was incapable of a letting a total stranger analyze his most intimate thoughts. MacKenzie was at least a semi-known quantity. It helped that the physician had been willing to expose a sense of humor; it notched up Daniel's level of trust.

"I suppose..." Daniel rose and began to pace again. "No, start over. This began the first night we were home from Atlantis. I've barely slept in three weeks and I know I'm making Jack crazy." He stopped and picked up the jade Buddha. "I went back to the Mountain last night because I was driving myself crazy too, and Jack's dossier was on my desk. I spent the rest of the night reading it."

MacKenzie hmmmed, but made no comment.

"He's an honorable man, Dr. MacKenzie, no matter what he's had to do. I don't understand how he can live with the juxtaposition his work life has required of him, but that's irrelevant to this discussion as well. He let me see into his darkest corners." Daniel curled his trembling fingers around the carving. "It made me...ashamed...I suppose, to even be thinking of running away from this. If Jack can face those demons every day, surely I'm capable of hauling a few of mine into the light of day. And maybe - just maybe - the idea of living out the rest of my life alone won't be so... enticing."

"You understand, Dr. Jackson, that some of us are wired differently. We feel things, see things, I would go so far as to say - understand - things more intensely. There is no dishonor, no shame, in wanting to run away from that. Shame, if it must be allocated in this situation, should be saved for the actual running."

Daniel took a moment to analyze that statement. He hadn't been ridiculed as weird or unusual for feeling it so intensely, nor singled out. Whether or not they were literally being used as personal pronouns, the pronouncement had included the words us and we, and there'd been no judgment.

On a deep sigh, he sank back down in the chair, propped his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Oh - confirmation? Corroboration? Validation? This has happened to me before, but never in a situation where so much was at stake. I don't want to lose Jack because I'm a wuss and it sometimes takes me a long time to process things. Especially stuff I don't want to deal with. It's always been much easier to bury myself in work and ignore it until it either resolves itself or goes back into hiding."

"Welcome to reality, Dr. Jackson. And you are the last person I would assign the definition - wuss - to. I have a couple of thoughts before we go any further with this."

Daniel straightened and leaned back. His fingers wandered up to explore the slight indentation the little carving had left in his cheek. "I think I'd like to hear them."

"There are a number of ways we could go about this, but I want to suggest an option I suspect has eluded you because you're too close to the situation, before we explore any other avenues."

"Okay."

"Because you were under such duress last time we spoke at length, I doubt you'll recall telling me that one of the ways you controlled your stress was through kel'no'reem. You mentioned Teal'c had taught you how and you'd found it very beneficial. Do you still practice?"

Daniel tilted his head and everything in him stilled momentarily. It felt like every screeching nerve ending, every hurrying blood cell, every expanding capillary ceased its job in hushed expectation. "I haven't in quite awhile, but I see the possibilities."

"Would you like to catalog the rest of the options you might explore?"

"Yes, please."

"I have some colleagues who've done extensive work in the area of dream interpretation. Have you ever done any reading on the subject?"

"A long time ago - in college. I studied some Jungian theory, but most of my exposure came from a psyche major I dated for a very short time."

The side of MacKenzie's mouth quirked.

"Yeah," Daniel verified. "until it occurred to me I was more of a test rat than a boy friend." He shrugged, adding, "She was fascinated by my dreams."

"I should tell you, dream therapy has made great strides since you were in college. It's not necessarily well accepted in the world of psychiatric medicine as yet, but I've referred several clients who've made significant progress in subduing old ghosts."

"That could take forever," Daniel observed.

"It could certainly take awhile. But the fact that you say you've got a handle on a face could jump start the process for you. I know very little about it beyond the fact they'd ask you to keep a dream diary. However, this too, is something you could work on yourself; there is a lot of information on the internet these days regarding dream interpretation. A professional could probably help you sort through what's viable versus what's trash and very likely offer assistance in speeding the process along."

"I don't know, that doesn't sound particularly reliable. If I'm going to make the effort to do this, I want it fixed, not patched."

"I can offer you two other options. If this is something from your past you think is buried that needs uncovering before you can move forward, I would recommend traditional therapy. It may be closer to the surface than you think, but there are reasons these things are buried and uncovering them - just like in archaeology - requires some finesse. You don't want to bulldoze where a brush is appropriate."

"Which could take forever, too."

"There is always the possibility the mind will resist if you don't really want to uncover it."

"Right. So the final option?"

"Hypnosis."

"Oh."

"In your case, I wouldn't recommend it. At least not to begin with. And if you do choose that route, I would refer you to a colleague who has much more experience in the field than I do."

"But, Sam..."

"We weren't rooting around in Colonel Carter's mind for a memory she had suppressed." Dr. MacKenzie straightened and leaned forward again. "Perhaps a better analogy would be emptying the storage units versus cleaning out the garage. The garage might be messy and cluttered, but you usually know what's in there. Storage units, on the other hand, often take on a life of their own. Especially in our minds. If this memory - this face - you're looking for was buried because of trauma, a brush would be much better than a bulldozer."

"Damn," Daniel said succinctly, sliding down in the chair.

MacKenzie waited.

"I just want this over and done with so I can get on with my life - our life."

"I can refer you."

"That doesn't work either. I don't do well with anyone poking into my life, but it's even worse when it's strangers. Too many growing up, I think."

"Perceptive insight. But you hardly know me."

"Well, I guess you'll be getting to know me - even better." Daniel rose and carefully replaced the fat little Buddha. "If you ever want to sell that piece, can I have first shot at it?"

"Certainly, if I ever consider selling it. Which would be unlikely. Are we through?"

"I assume you don't have time to start digging today."

Dr. MacKenzie rose as well. "Would you like to make another appointment today, or call?"

"The first test." Daniel chuckled, breathing deeply, though the pull of panic had subsided. "I'd like an appointment before I leave." He crossed the room and opened the door, feeling a bit like a bird suddenly freed from its cage.

"Curiosity question?" Dr. MacKenzie followed him out, fishing his glasses out of his breast pocket as he went around behind the reception desk and flipped the appointment book open again. "You don't have to answer." He glanced up.

Daniel shrugged. "Okay."

"Will you tell General O'Neill what you're doing?"

"I'm debating."

"Fair enough. Would next Tuesday work for you? I have an opening first thing, at 8:00, or I can slide you in a little later at 2:30?"

"We're off-world Tuesday. It's only a day trip and I can probably get out of it."

"Let me look at Wednesday. No, booked solid." Dr. MacKenzie turned over a couple more pages. "The next opening I have is Friday at 11:00. I can schedule you and have Cheri call you if we have someone cancel."

"We're a needy bunch, huh? If I have to wait a week, you won't see me again. I can't keep this edge that long."

Dr. MacKenzie removed his glasses once more. "Dr. Jackson -"

"I know it's not going to resolve overnight, I get that. But it took everything I had to call over here, much less get in the car and make the drive. And I'd appreciate it if you call me Daniel."

Dr. MacKenzie gazed at him a moment longer, than apparently came to a decision, because he closed the book. "What are you doing Saturday?"

"Early or late?" Daniel accepted the lifeline for what it was and didn't quibble, though he hated the exception he knew was being made. He could probably last two days.

"Early works better for me. My wife likes to sleep in on Saturdays. She usually saves her honey-do list for the afternoon."

"What time?"

"9:00 o'clock?"

"I'll be here."

"Daniel -"

Daniel, in the act of turning toward the exit, looked back.

"If I give you a prescription for anxiety medication, would you consider taking it? It might help the situation at home and it would most assuredly would help you sleep."

Pills? Pills that might let him stay with Jack at least? "I don't know. Would they make me loopy, so I can't do my job?"

"No, this particular medication affects the anger center of your brain - the part that drives the fight or flight syndrome. You would take it at night, because in most cases it does make you sleepy."

"Does it require a build-up effect?"

"It has some build-up effect, in that the longer you take it the more affective it is; however, it is usually affective to a lesser extent immediately. You can stop it at any time without risking any harmful side effects as well."

"Okay, so what's the drawback?"

Dr. MacKenzie chuckled. "There are some side effects. Let me get you some samples. If it works - great. If it doesn't - no harm, no foul." He opened a desk drawer and rummaged around, pulling out a key. "I'll be right back." He returned carrying several sample boxes and handed them to the archaeologist. "This is a relatively low dose, you may find you need to take two, but start with one and see how it works. The side effects are in fine print on the side. The higher the dosage, obviously, the stronger the side effects."

"Thank you." Daniel shoved the boxes in one of the pockets on his BDUs. "I feel a lot better."

"Good, I'm glad to hear it. I'm confident you will work this out."

Daniel glanced at his watch, surprised to find less than an hour had passed, and even more surprised to realize his rhetoric had been true. He did feel better - a lot better. "9:00 o'clock on Saturday."

"I'll see you then."

"Thanks again."

"You're welcome."

In the space of an hour, three weeks worth of new trauma had lightened considerably, though he still wasn't looking forward to this new dig he'd agreed to undertake.

He was halfway back to the Mountain when that trickle-down effect really hit him. Bulldozer rather than a brush. He made a U-turn at the next intersection.

* * *

It didn't matter that he couldn't find his house keys; Jack met him at the front door.

"Where the hell have you been? Are you out of your fucking mind? You can't just walk out of the Mountain, Daniel, without telling anybody! They had a lock down situation today and couldn't find you anywhere! How do you do this? You got some fucking in with Nerti? She loaning you her invisibility technology? And why weren't you answering your cell - you want to tell me what the fuck you were doing?"

"Three fucks in one tirade, I think that's a record for yelling at me." Daniel slumped against the cedar siding. "I went to see MacKenzie."

"MacKenzie?" Jack grabbed an arm and dragged the archaeologist inside the house, slamming the front door violently. "MacKenzie?" he repeated, when the name finally registered. "You went to see MacKenzie?" The edges of his anger started curling in on themselves. "Why?"

"Because you left your dossier for me to read."

"Whoa - back that train right up. You went to see MacKenzie because I left my file for you to read?"

"Can I at least sit down? I'd rather lie down, but if I don't sit down you're likely to be dragging my sorry ass around tonight."

Jack stepped aside to let him pass, snatching at an arm again when Daniel staggered. He sniffed deeply. "Have you been drinking?"

"No, but it's a good idea." Daniel changed direction mid step, slamming into Jack as he swung around. "Sorry, tired. Coordination's a little off. Where do we keep the good stuff?"

"Sit down before you fall down. I'll get it." Jack steered the archaeologist in the direction of the couch, waited long enough to make sure he didn't land on the floor and went to find the whiskey.

He grabbed the first glass that came to hand, poured a shot and drank it in one gulp. The call from Landry, when they couldn't find Daniel on base, had sent him into controlled panic. Controlled only because he knew from the phone call, Daniel actually had made it to the base last night, had returned the package to the general around 8:00 in the morning and then apparently disappeared. Vala, reportedly, was the last to have seen him when he'd told her he was going to shower and change.

It was 6:30 p.m.

Jack had been to every known Daniel haunt in three counties, including a number of used books stores, every Starbucks within a ten mile radius of the Mountain, five Borders and two Barnes & Noble's. He'd checked Daniel's apartment several times during the day - a quick recon on the fourth pass revealed missing photo albums, but no Daniel - and rung his cell phone almost nonstop.

He tossed back a second shot and filled the small glass with crushed ice from the fridge door before pouring in the Jack Daniel's - it amused them both - straight. He probably should cut it a little more, the linguist was extremely susceptible to alcohol, but he looked as though he needed it, and the ice would have some watering down effect.

Daniel was propped against the arm of the sofa, half-lying, half-sitting, with one foot under him and the other planted on the floor. He had a pillow snugged to his chest, his glasses were on top of his head, and his eyes were closed when Jack came down the steps.

He sat down on the coffee table and held out the glass. "Here."

Daniel lifted his hand. Jack put the glass in it and Dr. Jackson opened his eyes in surprise at the cold. He looked at the glass, looked at Jack, and downed the contents in one swallow. "Get rid of the ice. Better yet, just bring the bottle."

Jack took the glass back. "I don't think so. I don't particularly want a puking archaeologist on my hands tonight. I'm not in a very good mood."

"Really? Makes two of us." Daniel closed his eyes again and debated getting up to get the bottle himself. The debate was short - both debating and getting up required too much energy.

"So, you saw MacKenzie, where else have you been today?"

"Just a minute." Daniel put up a finger, raising the other hand to his splitting head. The pillow tumbled to the floor. "Why did you go see MacKenzie?"

Jack was momentarily paralyzed. "Who said I went to see MacKenzie?" he huffed indignantly.

Daniel lifted a page out of the good doctor's book and merely waited out the heavy silence.

"So shoot me," Jack sighed. "I was worried. I'm not always the best at being patient and supportive. And the A.F.P.R. didn't have any touchy feely refresher courses for old generals on their class schedule."

"AFPR?"

"Air Force Public Relations. They do all kinds of crap like that; supposed to help us get in touch with emotions other than the righteous indignation and god awful wrath that drives war. You know - the human stuff." Jack put down the glass. "I suppose if you saw Mackenzie, you must have been out chasing demons the rest of the day. Look, I'm sorry I yelled. I was frantic, Daniel. Landry and the rest of SG-1 aren't far behind me. I was ready to tell Landry to use the locater implant."

"Glad it doesn't work like a homing beacon." Daniel slid an arm over his eyes. "I was on my way back to work when I figured it out. MacKenzie, unknowingly, gave me the key to unlock what's been bugging me."

"Yeah, that's nice, but you disappeared without telling anyone," Jack reiterated.

"Tough shit. You all lived. If you don't get me the bottle, I'm gonna get up and get it myself." He had no intention of getting up, though he thought it might motivate his partner.

Jack's debate was slightly longer; it was the uncharacteristic behavior that got him up off the coffee table. He returned with the bottle and nudged the archaeologist with it.

Daniel dropped his arm to take it, unscrewed the top and took a swig straight from the bottle.

"You gonna share?"

"Probably, eventually. When I'm drunk enough."

"I meant the bottle. You're damn well gonna share the rest and I'm not waiting until you're drunk enough." Jack repossessed the whiskey, pouring a generous measure over the ice. If Daniel was getting drunk, he'd best keep his wits about him.

Daniel rolled to his side, fished his cell out of the pocket of his BDUs and hit a speed dial number. "Hey, Teal'c. Call off the S&R and let everybody know I'm home... yeah, Jack's here... thanks. See you tomorrow." He deleted six dozen messages and tossed the phone on the coffee table beside Jack. "You might not want to hear this."

Jack was silent for a moment. "I seriously doubt anything in your past could compete with mine."

Daniel turned his head and met the silent stare, though he was first to look away. "Are we in competition?"

"I'm not. Are you?"

"No. Pass the bottle back."

Dr. Jackson's limit was about two drinks. Much more and he became quite happy. Anything beyond that and by morning he was sick as a dog. Jack handed over the JD, deciding he wouldn't mind keeping the archaeologist home tomorrow.

Daniel chugalugged half of it.

Jack figured it was a damn good thing the bottle had been half empty already. He sipped his own drink and worked on the patient and supportive thing - especially the patient part.

Full dark had set in, so the room was lit only by the iridescent, mist-surrounded street lights. It lent the darkness an eerie quality and Jack, for something to do, leaned forward over Daniel to turn on the lamp on the sofa table behind his head.

"Leave it off."

"I thought you didn't like the dark."

"It's not the dark; it's what the dark was doing to me. Now that I know what it is..." Daniel trailed off, wondering if putting a name to the face would also restore Jack's hands to their proper owner.

Patience could take him only so far. Jack uncurled one finger at a time from around the neck of the whiskey, thankful that Daniel let him, and set it aside. "You haven't bothered to tell me what it is the dark is doing to you. If you're looking for some place to start, that'd be good." He leaned back on his hands, though there wasn't much width to the coffee table and he found it uncomfortable within moments.

Daniel twitched the sofa pillow up off the floor. "I'm tired of feeling guilty about everything." He hitched it high enough to rest his chin on the edge and crossed his arms over it. "Especially things I have no control over."

"Good."

"And from today forward, I'm quitting."

"We'll hunt on line for a Guilt-a-holics Anonymous."

"Stop. That crap doesn't help."

Jack was stunned into silence; Daniel very rarely made his feelings this clear. "I'm sorry," he offered after a long pause, wondering where he'd come up with the idea he could do patient or supportive. Sarah hadn't been too fond of his sarcastic dark side either. "I'm sorry I yelled in the first place. I'm sorry I couldn't let go of it. And I'm sorry I made light of the situation. Did I cover it all?"

"Close enough," Daniel grunted.

Strategically, Jack let the second hand on his watch sweep past the 12:00 position several times before he tried again. "Can you tell me what happened with MacKenzie? Or would you rather crawl into bed and call it a night. You look like shit."

"That's because I've been wallowing in it all day. No, I don't want to go to bed." The past was clinging to him like slime from a Louisiana swamp.

Jack leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, and waited. He would wait until it killed him, which he guessed would be in about ten minutes. Fortunately, at nine, the linguist started to talk.

"It was the bulldozer analogy MacKenzie used that turned the key in the lock. I had to go home and search through some old photo albums, but I found his picture."

Sweat instantly beaded at Jack's temple. Every muscle in his body tensed and his blood pressure spiked. "Whose picture?" he inquired as mildly as possible, mentally reviewing first aid procedures for stoke victims.

"Koci."

There were none. Jack waited, though he could feel nerve endings popping with the strain, and hoped the doctor of linguistics, archeology and Egyptology lying on his couch would remember that and haul his ass to the nearest trauma center when his brain threw a blood clot from the pressure.

"I'd forgotten him." Daniel heaved a sigh. "Sometimes..." he trailed off, then started again. "Have you ever thought sometimes - there's such a thing as too much honesty?"

From the beginning, even in their fumbling attempts to figure out the mechanics of different ins and outs, Daniel had felt it. Initially, that honesty had been daunting. Always before there'd been pieces he'd held back, spaces and places that belonged only to him. He'd been ill-equipped to yield that ground to anyone; had, in fact, never considered having any desire to yield it. So it had taken him by surprise when a bit of yearning to drop those barriers snuck through all the obstacles he'd kept in place for so long.

Jack was prepared for the question, he'd been thinking about it for quite some time as well. "I don't want secrets between us; especially old ones that might feed ancient fears that could drive us apart. So, yeah, to answer your question directly, been there, done that, got the t-shirt. But you know, I've discovered one of the best things about hanging with you is not having to keep secrets anymore."

Daniel continued to chew his bottom lip. "If I start this," he stated emotionlessly, "you have to hear the whole thing."

"Should I get comfortable?"

Daniel shifted so both sock-covered feet were shoved under the middle sofa cushion. "Probably."

Jack moved to the corner of the sofa, picked up Daniel's feet and dumped them in his lap.

"Don't." Daniel jerked forward over the pillow and grabbed Jack's hand when he automatically began to massage the nearest foot.

It was reflexive - it had become part of their foreplay. Daniel had spent a lot of time on his feet in Atlantis and one evening early in their stay had been rubbing them wearily. Jack had taken over the job and discovered a natural segue into even more interesting pass times.

Daniel let go as Jack lifted both hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Sorry," Jack repeated, "wasn't thinking." He settled one wrist over Daniel's ankles and propped the other elbow on the arm of the sofa. "I'm hoping you're going to tell me who Koci is."

"Was." Daniel shoved a second pillow behind his back and slumped down again. "He died."

Another death in Daniel's long history of loss. Jack swiped a hand at the sweat trickling into his right eye. "How?"

"In his sleep. He lived across the hall from me in the attic at Anna and Albrycht's."

That statement conjured up all kinds of ugliness, and not just of unwanted furniture and out-of-fashion clothing.

"Albrycht owned a construction company. He'd remodeled the attic so it was bright and airy, with skylights and these great windows in the dormers with seats in them. It was..." Daniel trailed off. "Well, for a kid who'd grown up in tents, it was like staying at one of the four star hotels in Cairo."

"And Albrycht and Anna were?" Jack prompted, when Daniel didn't go on.

"The first foster family I lived with; Koci was Anna's father. He told me he and Albrycht built the company from scratch when they first came to the United States. He was too old to work by the time I knew him; his hands were already gnarled with arthritis."

"Construction company, huh? That would mean bulldozers, heavy equipment? The key?"

"Bingo."

Jack counted to fifty silently - and slowly - before trying again. "So, construction company, nice room, dead guy?"

"I think they probably took me in to be company for the old man. His real name was Koselj."

If Daniel had buried this for thirty plus years, it wasn't because it was the best placement he'd been in during those years he'd been fostered.

"Then what? They ditched you when he died?" It was the absolute best spin he could put on it and Jack was praying, like he'd never prayed before, that would be all there was to it. The devil on his shoulder was cackling manically.

"What? Oh, no. I was in college by then. No, Anna tracked me down when he died."

"Why?"

"He'd left me some money. She was the executor of his estate." The pillow was getting more affection than Jack had since they'd been back from Atlantis.

"Hmmm." Jack made supportive noises, all the while wondering why an old man would leave a kid he'd only known as an 8-year-old, money. But he wasn't going to ask.

"Did I mention I'm tired of feeling guilty?"

"Briefly. Want to share what it is about this scenario that could in any possible way make you feel guilty?" See, he could do it. Jack mentally patted himself on the back. That was supportive and leading and not the slightest bit edgy.

Daniel sighed again and Jack patted his ankle - supportively - no wiggling fingers in the mix at all.

"Koci liked to putter in the kitchen; he always had some concoction waiting for me to try when I came home from school. He had an eclectic taste in ingredients, so you never knew what might end up in his creation. We both had chores we were responsible for and he'd wait to do his until I came home and we'd do them together. He'd ask me all about my day at school; share the little things he'd done around the house. Then he would start supper while I did my homework at the kitchen table."

"Where was Anna?"

"She ran the office on whatever job site Albrycht was working, they weren't usually home until after dark. The long and short of it is I got to know Koci well. He was delighted to have a companion and I was... well, I was a kid just coming out of a long period of sensory deprivation. I've tried to back track and I think I must have been in that first orphanage seven or eight months."

Jack felt his heart bounce in his chest and his stomach drop to his toes

"You have to understand ..." Daniel stopped and started again. "I'd had parents who were very physical with each other and with me. At eight, I still thought it was normal to... to be cuddled by my mom and dad. We'd all be in bed together reading, individually or collectively. I missed that, I missed my parents; I missed... being the center of someone's world."

Charlie's laughing face superimposed itself over an imagined picture of Daniel as a child. Jack propped a foot on the coffee table and ground his teeth as quietly as possible.

"You want to lighten up on the ankle? You're going to leave finger prints."

"Sorry." Jack eased the pressure of his fingers, but kept his hand in place, hoping it was anchoring Daniel as much as it was grounding him.

"I suppose I was starved for affection and nothing felt unnatural to me when he'd hug me or drape an arm around me as I was doing my homework. Sometimes he'd pull me on his lap and we'd do my homework together. He was good at math and it was the one subject that defeated me. He'd laugh when I whined about it and tickle me and kiss my ear, all the things parents and grandparents do. And then he'd tell me I had so much potential he just knew someday I would touch the stars."

Daniel's voice had softened on the last sentence; clearly the remembering wasn't all bad, though Jack could feel goose bumps rising on his arms.

"He'd go to the library while I was in school and just wander the stacks, randomly pulling out books he thought would interest me. He challenged me to let go of the past and live in the present. God, Jack, he woke places in my soul that had gone into hibernation, he made me happy again. He couldn't work construction anymore, but he remodeled the world for me. He took elements of my old life; the passion for learning, the curiosity that had been my besetting sin, the love of all things old, and framed them in a new context. He made me happy," Daniel repeated. "Something that eight-year-old kid thought he would never be capable of again."

Daniel fell silent, unable to force the words out. They sounded too ugly inside his head, too ugly to speak out loud. And then he showed me how to make him happy.

"I get the picture," Jack said quietly, though it required every ounce of willpower he possessed to remain seated on the couch when he wanted to pop off like a bottle rocket. "There's no need -"

"No!" Daniel bolted up, dragging his feet out of Jack's lap. "I warned you, and you promised to hear all of this, even if it was only implicit." He wrapped his arms around the pillow, and his knees, and began to rock. "You don't understand. I loved him. He made me feel cherished and safe and good about myself. Jack, he made me feel ... good. It was... good. He never hurt me! It was wonderful, it was exciting and mysterious and a secret we shared! He made me feel alive again! He made me want to live again."

What could he say to that? What possible supportive jargon could he even begin to wrap his tongue around when all he wanted to do was spew vituperation all over the old man. It was a damn good thing he was dead, Jack thought, making a determined effort to keep the fingers that had curled reflexively around Daniel's ankle from cutting off the linguist's circulation. "You were eight years old, Daniel. Of course you enjoyed the attention; of course it felt good; of course it was fabulous to share a secret with an adult who meant the world to you. The piece of this I can't wrap my head around is why you feel guilty about it."

"Oh, probably because the adults who took me away from him made me feel, not only like it was all my fault, but some kind of dirty mongrel who'd crawled out of the red light district to beg for handouts," Daniel replied off-handedly, slumping back again and dropping that arm back over his eyes. "An Egyptian upbringing and child prostitution came up during the conversation in the front seat. They probably thought I was asleep."

The string of swear words Jack managed to spew, not only rapidly but with perfect coherence, had Daniel moving his arm to stare in fascination.

"Wow," he offered admiringly, when Jack finally ran out of steam. "You know a lot more swear words than just fuck - and in English!"

"Fuck you, Dr. Jackson."

"Possibly. MacKenzie did give me meds he thought might help."

On a sigh, Jack turned his head to meet Daniel's gaze. "You did it again, you know, just now."

Daniel continued to stare, unblinking. "Fucked someone? No, I think I probably would have noticed that." He dropped his head back against the arm of the sofa and pulled the pillow up higher.

"You just absolved the assholes who left you with this lifetime legacy of guilt, for cryin' out loud."

"Oh." Daniel reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "That could be a hard habit to break."

Jack squeezed Daniel's ankle lightly. "Let me know what I can do to help, would ya?"

The silence that drifted between them was light and airy, very like many of their solitary evenings on Atlantis. They'd had neither aspiration nor need to mix and mingle with the Pegasus galaxy crew and so had kept apart by design and desire.

Jack got up and opened the windows so the night sounds began floating in to keep them company. Instead of waves breaking against pylons and the scent of ocean, they had an evening cricket concerto accompanied by the soughing of the wind through the tops of the pines and the smell of wood smoke and fir trees.

The cricket orchestra was just tuning up, several slightly off-key members missing a beat every now and then, but joining right back in. A feathered soloist, apparently forgetting birds are supposed to sleep from dusk to dawn, trilled practice scales from a nearby evergreen, and a street light popped and buzzed, then fizzed and went dark, deepening the already dense shadows surrounding them

It felt right and good and clean to sit here in the living room with Jack and let the fresh air sweep away the remnants of guilt he hadn't managed to root out during his long painful session chasing the ghost of Koci.

That U-turn had let him backtrack to his apartment where he'd collected his oldest photo albums, gotten back in the car and driven up to the remotest part of Garden of the Gods he could find, then parked and hiked out to a secluded lake Jack had taken the team to once, years ago. He hadn't set out to find the place, but some instinct had urged him on, shown him the way almost like a path opening up in front of him. He'd been too busy excavating his past to pay much attention.

The maddening bits and pieces the bulldozer analogy had dredged up had refused to coalesce into the whole. And there'd been nothing the least bit sinister in the individual snap shots of memory he'd unearthed.

The white, clapboard house, built on the banks of the rushing blue Hudson River, backed by the green of the thickly forested Peekskill Mountains. When he'd put his mind to it, he could recall distinctly the lullaby of the tumbling river as he'd lain in bed at night. The attic room, flooded with sunshine, cheerful and inviting with its handmade quilts and weavings ornamenting the bed and the walls between the dormers. The old barn where Albrycht had stored the heavy equipment during the winter and the barn loft they'd remodeled into a sunny studio where Anna had quilted and woven in her spare time. He'd excavated all the way down to the memory of the loom shuttle clickity clacking away as Anna hummed gospel music along with the eight track tapes on the stereo before his mind had flatly refused to go any further.

So he'd started at the front and worked his way through the photo album again - and again - several times more, in fact, before the edge of the receipt behind the old man's picture revealed itself. He'd pulled loose one of the glued-down corners of the photo and drawn it out.

It had been a receipt from the Children's Corner House in Los Angeles for $5,000; a donation given in the name of Kocelj Wladyslaw. Unfolding it had broken the seal, letting the memory pour out in all its bitterness. He'd been seventeen, a sophomore at UCLA, and desperately in need of money. Anna had flown out to deliver the inheritance in person, and tried to explain. He'd listened politely, refused the money and sent her on her way. The receipt for the donation had come in the mail. He'd folded it down to fit behind Koci's picture, locked away the photo album, and in time honored tradition, stuffed the memories through a chink in his bolted and padlocked DO NOT DISTURB mental filing cabinet, never to be revisited again.

That padlock had held for a very long time.

Daniel shifted on the sofa and pulled one of the boxes MacKenzie had given him out of his pocket. Jack's hand closed over his as he sat up, reaching for the Jack Daniel's still on the coffee table.

"Let's not mix drugs and alcohol tonight. There's no hurry."

Daniel let go of the bottle, but couldn't seem to figure out what to do next.

"Turn around." Jack patted the sofa next to him. "Turn around and slide your ass down here."

There was a slight hesitation, then obediently, Daniel turned and slid further along the sofa. The adrenalin that had kept him going all day was dissipating quickly. He thought he should really try for the bed, but Jack's hands were on his shoulders. He was listing badly, and then his cheek was pillowed on Jack's thigh, his eyes were closed and a warm hand was slowly circling between his shoulder blades. He reached down to retrieve the sofa pillow, bent his knees to accommodate wiggling his cold feet down between the cushions, and wrapped his arms around the pillow again.

He was comfortable enough to sleep. And maybe - just maybe - he wouldn't need the pills after all. Maybe, with the telling, the hands could pass back to their rightful owner. At least there were no ghostly fingers practicing arpeggios up and down his spine tonight.

"Daniel?"

"Hmmm?"

Jack's other hand began to soothe through his hair. "Can I say thank you for what you've done for me today without pissing you off too badly?"

"Hmmm," Daniel repeated. "You did the same."

"No, not by a long shot, pal. I always knew you had a lot of courage, but this was above and beyond. Thank you."

"I'm still going to see MacKenzie. Not gonna go away over night."

"Good idea." Jack tilted his head back over the top of the couch. "Want me to go with you?" He felt the quick hitch of breath under his hand, then Daniel was turning over, looking up at him.

"You'd do that?"

The usual flippant remark instinctively surfaced, but Jack bit it back. Instead, he took a moment to frame his response thoughtfully. "You know I'm not good at this kind of stuff. I'm much better at show and tell than speeches. Somewhere along the neural net, between the planning and the actual saying it stage, everything seems to get sprinkled with a dose of sarcasm, so what I mean to say is never what comes out of my mouth."

"Except when I'm unconscious," Daniel murmured.

"Yes, well, why don't you pretend you're unconscious and maybe this will come out better?"

Dutifully, Daniel let his eyelids droop and made an effort to relax taut muscles. The hand that had been rubbing his back came to rest on his chest, the fingers worrying at a button on his shirt.

When Jack spoke again, the timbre of his voice had softened to match the quiet of the night. "I've tried to unravel this thing we have and finally came to the conclusion it's a universal imperative. I can't manage or control it, so if I want to be with you, I have to be up for the ride. And I did finally figure out that I want to be with you. We've never verbalized this commitment we've made; we've taken no vows, made no promises. Nevertheless, the commitment is there; a deep, abiding thing forged in a friendship that's endured more slings and arrows than any normal relationship is ever called on to undergo." Jack paused. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, I want to be here for you and I'll stand by you as long as you'll let me... Daniel?"

The slow, steady rise and fall of the chest under his hand was as comforting as it was exasperating. Nothing new there; it was Daniel Jackson's mission in life to be Jack O'Neill's condemnation and his salvation, his bane and blessing. Where before the contradictory roles had driven him crazy, over the last six months, Jack had discovered the underlying truth; there was no salvation without condemnation and blessings went unnoticed without bane as a backdrop.

Sighing, Jack relaxed back into the sofa and closed his eyes. "I'll always stand by you," he repeated quietly.

"Never doubted that," Daniel slurred drowsily. "Back to the wall, Jack's always there. Feet to the fire, Jack to the rescue. Drowning..."

"Go to sleep, spacemonkey," Jack interrupted admonishingly.

"...in own stupidity, Jack will save the day."

"Ahhhh, that last one's usually the other way around, but I'll take it this once. Now go to sleep, Daniel."

"My line."

"Hopefully no more after tonight."

"I know that song."

"What song?" Jack tapped his finger imperatively on Daniel's chest. "Doesn't matter, go to sleep."

"I'll Stand by You, by the Pretenders." Daniel tucked his cold hands under his ass and hummed a few bars.

"Never heard it," Jack replied, reaching for the quilt over the back of the couch.

"Nothing you confess, will make me love you less, I'll stand by you."

"As lullabies go, it's a little lacking in the goodnight department. But hey, whatever floats your boat." Jack flipped the blanket to the end of the sofa and had the satisfaction of watching Daniel pull his feet out from under the cushion and tuck them up inside the quilt as he turned on his side again. "Goodnight, Daniel."

Daniel shifted so he could slide his hands under Jack's thigh. "Are we sleeping out here then?" He was warm and comfortable finally, the cold of the day seeping away along with the guilt. But Jack must be uncomfortable. He half levered himself up on an elbow, only to be unceremoniously shoved back down.

"Go-to-sleep, Dr. Jackson, that's an order."

The shimmering darkness kept its distance as Daniel closed his eyes again, thankful there were no ghostly fingers; just Jack's hand draped comfortably over his waist, anchoring him to present reality.

It was more than enough.

Next: Christmas Wrappings