The Company You Keep

by Sori

URL: http://www.area52hkh.net/ass/sori/coukeep.php
Summary: Life is all about the company you keep

Jack,

So here I am.

I always said that pen would never meet paper to write this particular letter. But like everything else in my life, time has changed this opinion as well.

I remember the first time I saw your letter. It was in a plain manila envelope, just thick enough to hold a few papers. From across the room, I could see the outline of some strange, irregularly shaped object that tented the envelope in the middle. Even after all these years, I have no idea what it was in there. I don't believe I'll be asking you anytime soon.

I saw you hand the envelope to General Hammond, quietly, without a word, with just a slight nod of your head, and that half-smiling smirk that seems to be your face's constant companion.

It was one of our first missions together as a team. I wondered, but didn't ask. It took me the entire two-day mission to figure it out. When I finally did, I stumbled over a rock, dropping my field notes and my three extra 9mm magazines. It was on P39-542. Not important to the SGC, but somehow a turning point in my life.

Finally, I did ask you what was in the envelope, more to confirm my suspicions than because I didn't know. Your answer was simple and matter-of-fact, such an unobtrusive part of the life you've spent endangering for your country. You only said, "My letter." It was one of those half sentences that even then we used to communicate.

***

"Colonel O'Neill. In my office."

Jack watched as Hammond turned from the briefing room table and walked through the door to his office.

He clenched his fists and followed, taking slow, deep breaths. Jack knew he had to just get through this one final meeting. One hour, at the outside, and the mountain would be behind him. He could change out of his uniform, grab his keys, and drive the winding hills of Colorado Springs while memories were given rein in the safety of his truck.

"Sir." He tried to cover the fatigue in his voice, but Hammond's look spoke of knowledge beyond what Jack was comfortable with.

"Jack, I have.I have something I need to give you." Jack wasn't all that surprised when Hammond reached into his bottom desk drawer and handed him a beat up manila envelope with his name scrawled across the center in a familiarly messy hand. The front of the envelope was splotched with brown patches, streaked in some spots, where what looked like coffee spills had been hastily wiped away.

"Daniel's letter." Why Jack spoke, he couldn't say. Hammond knew what the envelope was; Jack knew what the envelope was. But all that knowing didn't erase the need for some kind of oral acknowledgement of all that the SGC had lost.

"Dr. Jackson gave me the letter several months ago."

Jack's expression remained unchanged, except for the slight lifting of the scarred eyebrow.

Hammond rose from behind his desk, walked to Jack's side, and placed a hand briefly on his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

It was the only comfort Hammond could offer, and the only comfort Jack could accept. But more then words and a fleeting touch had been exchanged. Regret for a comrade lost, sadness for a friend departed and acknowledgement that the sacrifice would not be forgotten. It wasn't enough, but it was all they had.

"Dr. Jackson was a good man."

"Yes. He is."

As Hammond left the office, Jack stood, staring at the envelope in his hands. Running his fingers carefully across the inked name on the front, he folded the envelope in half, carefully put it in his front cargo pocket, and left the office.

The hills of Colorado Springs were calling to him.

When Jack left the mountain, he drove - through the side streets, past the Academy, into the hills and down into the small valleys. He drove until he realized that he couldn't out distance his memories. Eventually, he headed home.

It was dark when he finally pulled up in his driveway. The streetlights were lit, casting a glow in his neighborhood that only gave an illusion of safety in their brightness.

He'd picked up a Big Mac earlier, and now it sat, untouched on the front passenger seat. He couldn't remember when he'd last eaten, but the rumbling in his stomach made him think it must have been several days. He knew he needed to eat, but just the smell was making his gut clench in protest.

Jack knew Daniel was gone. Dead for all practical purposes, but actually not really dead. Just floating around like the glowy thing from Keb. Knowing that Daniel still existed didn't make it any easier. Carter was devastated, Teal'c was stoic, and Jack was duty bound. There had been no time to grieve.

But right now Daniel's letter had to be read, so Jack got out of the car and headed into the house. He could avoid this no longer.

It took two shots of bourbon and a bottle of beer before Jack could take the manila envelope from his pocket and break the seal. The stains on the front were coffee, obviously. It was such a little thing that was so very Daniel that Jack had to smile. The envelope had probably sat on his desk, unlabeled, for weeks before it had finally been handed to Hammond.

He pulled out three sheets of paper - heavy bond - written in a black ink scrawl. Daniel's handwriting was understated, with no wasted loops on his letters or space between the words.

Jack started to read. "Jack.."

Minutes later, when the last word had been read, and reread, Jack carefully took the pages of the letter and folded them in half once, then twice, then again until the pages were the size of a credit card. He pulled out his wallet and carefully placed the letter directly behind his driver's license and military ID. He tossed the wallet onto the coffee table.

Jack picked up his empty beer bottle and stared at the label. He wondered if another beer would dull the pain or just make him puke. He wasn't sure, and he didn't really care.

"Shit!" With a satisfyingly hard throw, the bottle sailed across the room and smashed into the wall. Broken pieces littered the floor, so fragmented, so shattered, that he wasn't sure if he would be able to pick them all up.

He looked at the broken glass on the floor and the beer splatters on the wall; he looked at his medals over the fireplace and the pictures on the mantel; he looked at his wallet on the table, and he remembered how the letter had felt in his hands. And like the shattered glass on the floor, he had no idea how to make this better.

And he was glad that no one was there with him.

Sometimes the wrong company was worse than no company.

***

Your death letter. Wonder what it says? The last HOORAH, as the Marines would say? Or as you would so succinctly put it - the final fuck you? Better question, who would you choose to read those final words?

Through the years, I saw that same envelope pass from your hands to General Hammond's on many occasions. I could never find any rhythm to your system. Sometimes it was after a traumatic mission. Sometimes it was after a night of good times at a bar.

I figured you updated the damn thing every now and then, maybe a new page added, or an old page rewritten. The odd shaped object disappeared and then, inexplicably, it reappeared a year later. The third year the envelope was as thick as a children's book, while the next year it was so thin it could only have contained a single sheet of paper. Two months ago, I watched you seal that envelope up while sitting at your rarely used desk.

The strangely shaped object had returned, joined by a small square box, about the size of a ring box. It was morbid curiosity of course, to wonder. I'd fall asleep at night with visions of that envelope in my head. I want to know what's in there but pray to God that I never have to find out.

We came back from Euronda yesterday. Not our finest hour. Luck let us all walk away from there.

Like I said, I'd decided that a death letter was really not my style. Perhaps, I figured I'd will you a set of books that would sum up my life and our friendship, but I never managed to find what I was looking for.

We walked back through the gate from Euronda/Gadmeer, and you looked at me, shook your head, and walked away. It was the look in your eyes - anger, fear, hurt - that made me realize that I owed you something.

An apology, of course. As surely as you owed me one. I knew that would come, because it's just our way. Anger and disagreements have been part of our relationship from the beginning, but the `sorrys' were always there as well. Maybe that's one of the reasons we've managed to stay close.

I owed you a goodbye. If luck hadn't been on our side, our final words might have been in the middle of our `disagree, argue, get mad, make-up' cycle that we do so well, with no mumbled apologies possible. No back slaps and beers to follow.

I can't allow that. In a life filled with regrets, that would have been the biggest regret of them all.

***

"You were wrong." Jack stood in the doorway of Daniel's office, hands deep in his pockets, looking for the entire world like he'd just asked, `coffee?' He hadn't asked `coffee?' of course; instead Jack had dared to revisit the argument that had brewing for the last eight days.

"No. I wasn't." Daniel didn't even bother looking up from his computer screen. "You were being an ass."

Well, Jack had to - maybe, just kind of - agree with that particular statement of Daniel's. Maybe he hadn't been at his charming best at the time of `the incident' - as a recent off-world fight had become known among SG-1 - but really, who the hell was Daniel to talk about diplomacy? Sure, the man was diplomatic as hell around aliens, but put him around his own team, and he could bring new meaning to the words sarcastic pain-in-the-ass.

"Never said that I wasn't. It's one of my major skills. What I said was - you were wrong." Jack watched as Daniel's fingers stilled on the keyboards and his hands clenched into tight fists. He waited, hoping that Daniel would get it on his own. Even after a year gone, he had to be able to comprehend Jack's language. He had to. But just to be on the safe side, Jack decided to clarify his point by adding, "You were wrong, but maybe I was wrong, too."

Jack schooled his features, trying through sheer facial expressions to convey to Daniel that the argument didn't really have to continue.

Daniel's lips twitched, and his eyes finally lifted to meet Jack's across the room. "Right. I was wrong - maybe. You were wrong - maybe." Daniel pushed his chair back from his computer and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Jack could actually see Daniel's mind weighing the idea of a tentative truce and trying to decide whether the argument was worth continuing or not.

"Oh, yeah. See?" Jack shrugged. "Wrongness everywhere." He raised his hand and pounded a beat flat-palmed against the doorway. A little rat-a-tat-tat was always good for filling in those uncomfortable little silences that existed in Daniel's conversational world. "Want to ditch the rocks and go get a beer?"

"That simple? A week of mostly avoiding each other, hours of calling each other a hundred different kinds of asshole and what? Now it's over? Because you," Jack could hear the word hanging in the air like the accusation that it was, "decided it's time to be over?"

"Well-- yeah. Sure." Jack shrugged his shoulders.

"But.?" Jack could see that a year with Oma hadn't really changed Daniel that much. He always had to be difficult. "Daniel, we're not going to agree. In the end, you're still going to be wrong," At Daniel's muttered curse Jack held up his hand and said, "Wait for it. And I'm still going to be wrong. There's no common ground here."

"Common ground?"

Jack could almost see the words dance in Daniel's head - his own words echoed back to him when he least expected it. It was the first reference Jack had ever made to Daniel's letter. He didn't intend to make another. Sometimes Daniel needed a swift kick in the ass, and what better way to do that than to have your death letter quoted back at you? Daniel needed - no, Jack needed Daniel - to remember how this had all worked between them, because he was long past trying to explain their particular brand of friendship.

"Yes, Daniel. Common ground. None of which exists in regards to this particular topic." And like so many other topics that have come up over the years between them, there really wasn't any common ground. Daniel couldn't convince Jack, nor could Jack convince Daniel. It didn't matter what the subject, Jack had discovered that it really wasn't worth the fight; next month there would be a new issue to fight over, and the month after that.

Jack walked over to Daniel's desk and looked down into the eyes of his friend. Still blue, still irritatingly smart, still with the half-hidden spark of amusement that made you think that somehow Daniel was laughing at the world because he knew something that everyone else didn't. After the whole ascension crap, well, he probably did know stuff that everyone else didn't. Even if he couldn't remember it all.

Jack knew that this argument, the first real argument they'd had since Daniel's return a few months ago, would be a checkpoint. It'd be the first big test to see if their friendship could survive and be rebuilt. Jack had realized that he wanted that friendship back. He wanted Daniel back. It was more then just a shared history and more then shared work. Daniel made Jack's life more then it was, more than when Daniel was gone, more than before Daniel.

Jack lifted his hand to carefully shove Daniel's shoulder in a familiar gesture of companionship. "Common ground's overrated." Jack raised his eyebrows, his eyes never leaving Daniel's. "You know, I haven't had Luigi's pizza since the last time we went - what, a year ago? I'm thinking a sausage pizza sounds good."

And Jack waited for Daniel. He stood there, hands in his pockets, waiting for Daniel to translate Jack's language.

The instant Daniel's mouth lifted at the corners, Jack knew that he'd be stopping at Walgreen's for Tums on the way home. Sausage always gave him heartburn.

"Yeah. I guess you're right. Common ground's overrated." That's all Daniel really had to say.

Jack nodded his head and slapped Daniel's shoulder firmly - just like in days long past. "Sweet."

Jack would eat pizza, drink beer, and enjoy the company of a friend rediscovered. Oh, yeah, it's all about the company.

***

So. Death letter indeed.

What does one say?

That would appear to be the question of the hour.

Loved those "yadda yaddas." Cracked up (silently at least) at the "yellow brick roads" and the "yeah, sure, you betchas." I spent long walks on missions watching your eyes scan the horizon and your fingers tap out a cadence on the butt on your P-90. I watched because it comforted me to know that you were the one responsible for our safety.

I loved that you made me drink beer with you, knowing how I hated the beer but enjoyed the company. I loved that you ate pizza with sausage because to me pizza is not pizza without sausage.

I loved that we fought. And apologized. And continued being friends.

Surprisingly, our friendship is perhaps my most valued accomplishment. Without a doubt, it's been the most difficult. We're not built to be friends. We're different from the inside to the outside. We disagree on everything from the mundane to the philosophical. But friends we are. We have worked and tried and fought for our friendship. We've spent hours searching for common ground, sometimes when there was none to be found.

Six years after we stepped through the gate on the way to Abydos, we find ourselves here. And not so surprisingly, we are still stepping through the gate - together. I still don't understand you. You still can't make sense out of me. But I call you not just teammate, but brother.

I call you friend. And together we go on.

***

"Why wasn't it a tough choice?"

Jack raised his eyebrows as he took in Daniel standing at his front door asking stupid questions. But he'd brought beer - Guinness, Jack's favorite brand - so dumb questions were acceptable. He stepped aside, allowing Daniel to walk past.

"What choice are you referring to?" A raised eyebrow was his only response. "Right. Give me the beer."

Grabbing the beer from Daniel, Jack moved to the kitchen and returned with two bottles and a can of peanuts. Jack had no doubt what Daniel had come to discuss. Jack had made a decision that had allowed the Trust to escape with a Goa'uld ship and enough symbiote poison to kill an army of Jaffa. Of course, Daniel would want to talk.

"So, Jack."

"So, Daniel."

"Why wasn't it a tough choice?"

"You're talking stupid, Daniel. I said it was a touch choice. And it was. Tough choice. Oh, yeah." Jack raised his beer, tossed a mock salute in Daniel's direction, and downed half the bottle.

"Right. That's what you said. So why don't I believe you?"

Jack watched as Daniel's long fingers twirled the beer bottle aimlessly. Half a twist right, half a twist left, and Daniel would suddenly have the words he needed to ask questions. Jack only wished he could find his own solution to verbal idiocy in a Guinness bottle. This conversation should not - could not - be happening. He had sacrificed possibly thousands of Jaffa to the save his team, his former team. To save Daniel. What the hell.

"No idea why you don't believe me. Maybe because Oma sent you back paranoid? Delusional? Definitely annoying."

"Possible."

"So, Daniel, Rockies are playing the Rangers - want to catch the game on TV?"

"No."

Jack picked up his bottle cap and tossed it in the air once, then flipped it across the room off the top of his thumb. "Right. So how about a ride out to Pike's Peak? Marathon's this weekend. We can watch the end. Catch the view. Take our picture in front of the elevation sign."

"No."

"Right. So, anything you'd like to do, now that you've blessed me with your presence on a Saturday afternoon?"

"Yeah. I'd like to hear why it wasn't a tough choice." Daniel picked his brown windbreaker up from his lap and tossed it across the arm of the couch he sat on. Jack watched as Daniel's eyes moved from the pictures on the mantle to the DVDs in the TV center, finally coming to rest squarely on Jack's face.

"Question asked and answered. Next activity."

Daniel stared at him - eyes clear blue and unwavering, watching Jack's reactions. Jack knew Daniel was waiting for a twitch, a gesture, a lowering of the eyes, anything that would signify weakness. Daniel could exploit a person's mental weakness faster then anyone around. He was a lethal opponent. So, Jack raised his face and stared back at him. He had no intention of losing this battle of the wills.

Daniel watched Jack, and Jack, unflinching, watched him right back. After a few moments, Daniel sighed and nodded his head in silent acknowledgment. "Okay. so you say the Rockies are playing today?" At Jack's nod, Daniel added, "We could head out to the ballpark, get tickets and watch in the stadium."

"I could eat a stadium dog."

"Yeah, you get the dogs, with everything. And I'll get the peanuts. Maybe this time they'll still be hot."

"Not likely." Standing up, Jack nodded and grinned down at Daniel's beat up University of Chicago T-shirt, comfortably lived in with its frayed edges and freshly ironed fabric. It was just like Daniel - comfortably meticulous, an odd contradiction that was sometimes annoying but usually just inviting. "Let me grab my jacket, and we can leave."

When Jack returned with jacket in hand, Daniel stood by the door, waiting for him, waiting to drive to the ballpark he hated to watch a sport he barely tolerated. Jack realized they were alike in this - sometimes the company was more important than the activity.

Daniel stood in front of him, hand out to stop any forward movement. Unblinking he said, "This conversation isn't over."

"I know."

"Are you okay - with everything?" Daniel circled his hand in the air, trusting Jack to understand what he was asking.

"Yeah." And standing there, hand on the doorknob, jacket in hand, Daniel in his face, he really was okay. At least, he really was going to be okay.

"You'll tell me later."

"Maybe."

"You will."

The little shit knew, thought Jack. He stood there, arrogant in his `Jack knowledge' and watched while Jack shook his head. "Yeah, I'll tell you later."

A smile, a backslap, and a deliberate brush of the shoulder had Daniel out the door and heading to his car. "I'm driving."

"Like hell you are."

They scuffled back and forth for the chauffeuring honors, and in the end, Daniel was right. He was driving.

Later, after the Rockies had been pounded by the Giants, after beer had been drunk and cold peanuts and loaded stadium dogs had been eaten, the two men drove back to Jack's house.

In the dark car, with a comfortably full belly, Jack could answer the question before it was asked. "It wasn't a tough choice." Jack didn't wait for the response; he knew Daniel was expecting the statement and the explanation that would eventually follow. "I'm human. Sometimes the needs of a few outweigh the needs of the many. You guys - you, Teal'c and Carter - are more important."

"More important than the Jaffa?"

It was a simple question, but Jack thought for a moment, trying to figure out how to make sure Daniel understood the answer. "More important then everyone."

"Yeah." That's all Daniel had to say. Understanding spoke loudly in the soft undertone of the word. Comfort given and accepted.

Sometimes it wasn't about the activity. It was all about the company.

***

We haven't yet spoke of Euronda, but we will. One more disagreement that will let us remember how amazing an accomplishment our friendship is.

If you're reading this, I'm dead. Again. I've died before, but maybe this time is the last. So here it is - the final `fuck you' to my greatest friend.

Keep walking through that gate with Sam and Teal'c. They depend on you; they trust you to make the tough decisions.

Don't retire, at least anytime soon. I need to know that you'll still be fighting our fight.

I refuse to say 'remember me with happiness.' I won't. Not a chance. But I do want you to remember me.

Remember me as one who proudly walked awhile at you side.

Daniel

***

The sound of the lawn sprinklers woke him at 0300. It was still pitch black outside, not even the moon had chosen to put in an appearance, and the soft thumping of the water on the side of the house was the only thing to break the night's silence. Jack snuffled, scratched his stubbled cheek, and quickly rolled over to find the warmth on the other side of the bed. Someone must have forgotten to turn up the heat before bed.

He moved until he was curved around Daniel's back, cock pushed up against his ass, nose pressed tightly between his shoulder blades. Jack rested his hand over Daniel's heart, the soft thump-thump beating a cadence that Jack could hear in his mind.

After two months, Daniel being in Jack's bed was still a new thing. A cool, sweet, weird novelty kind of thing that made Jack wonder when he was going to get his ass kicked back through the quantum mirror. But tomorrow he'd wake up, and Daniel would still be there - in this bed, with Jack, snoring the snore of the allergy prone. Always on his own side, though, because Daniel wasn't a cuddler - he was a sleeper who took his sleeping seriously. Jack didn't often break that bed boundary, but sometimes a man had to do what a man had to do.

Freaking cold was his only real thought as he wrapped his arm tighter around Daniel and moved his freezing nose from shoulder blades to the warm, musky-smelling crease between Daniel's neck and shoulder. Jack's ass was cold where it had hung out of the comforter, and Daniel's body was very warm. Jack wanted to hold onto that warmth and make it his own.

He ran his hands carefully down Daniel's body, stopping to rest at his waist. He knew that if he looked close enough, he'd see the imprints of his fingers on Daniel's hips. Marks left when Jack had forgotten to be careful, forgotten he was a General, forgotten to be worried about what those marks would say to the rest of the world, forgotten to do anything but feel. He wondered if Daniel's ass would be sore. He knew the rug burn on his own knees hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.

Jack's lips curved into a smile as he softly mouthed Daniel's shoulder. Oh yeah, a little pain was a small price to pay.

His cock was hardening as he nudged up against Daniel's ass, finding a comfortable and familiar resting place. His mind might be fuzzy at that hour of the morning, but his dick responded automatically to memories of Daniel and being pushed into tight, warm places. He trailed his finger down the middle of Daniel's back, smiling a little at the shivers that shook Daniel's body. When his finger met the curve of ass and the beginnings of the crease, Jack's finger stilled.

He waited, lifting his head up so he could see Daniel's face in the semi-darkness. Daniel's eyes were still closed, but a small smile curved his lips. When Jack slid a hand around, he found that Daniel's not-so-soft cock was pushing against the blankets covering them. Jack knew Daniel was awake then - awake and enjoying Jack's touches.

Jack was suddenly pushed and pulled and found himself on top of Daniel, staring down into shadowed blue eyes. When Daniel kissed him with his nasty tongue and wandering hands, it became all about Daniel - Daniel's mouth, Daniel's tongue, Daniel's hands and chest and cock.

And when he felt Daniel push the tube of lube into his hand and lift his legs to Jack's shoulders, Jack leaned down, kissed Daniel hard and long, and remembered that this was about both of them. He pushed his mouth against Daniel's and let their spit swap and their middle-of-the-night breath mingle. He let his tongue roam and taste the texture of Daniel. He got busy with his hands, his body, and his cock, doing all the things that Jack knew Daniel loved.

Unlike their first fumbling attempts, there were no unknowns between them anymore. Jack knew where to bite and where to push. He knew that a moan meant more and a gasp meant wait. He could let himself feel and knew that Daniel would catch him, fill him, take him.

He slid in easily. Holding Daniel's eyes, he began to move. Slow thrusts that started soft and got harder and faster and deeper. Daniel reached down and grabbed Jack's hips and moved him a little up, a little to the side - just a little, until Jack had to smile, as Daniel's moans grew louder.

Jack felt it all - every place where Daniels fingers dug into his hips, every moment that Daniel's eyes stared into his, saying all the words that were never said out loud. He could feel Daniel - in him, around him, with him.

The pressure built until he tilted his head back, gritted his teeth and reached for Daniel's cock. Up, down, up, down, and he felt Daniel quiver, heard him groan Jack's name as he came. Then finally, finally he could let go and feel only the blinding flash of his own orgasm. Daniel was there, with Jack, and Daniel would catch him.

Afterwards Daniel wiped them both down with a discarded T-shirt. He grabbed Jack and rolled them into the center of the bed. Holding Jack tightly, he was snoring again within moments.

Sometimes, when the company is right, everything can be said without words. Silence can be enough.

***

When Daniel woke in the morning, Jack's side of the bed was empty. The pillow was creased and still warm to the touch. From the next room, he could hear the rumble of the shower and Jack's off tune humming. He yawned, scratched his stubbly cheek, and saw the paper lying on Jack's pillow.

He knew what it was before his hand touched the page. He could recognize not only his own writing but also the heavy parchment paper he had chosen especially for this letter. Not that Jack ever cared about paper, but still.

Years ago, true friendship had compelled him to write this letter. Now, something vastly different, deeper, and stronger compelled him to lean over, pick up the paper, and read the painful words again.

As he read, his fingers softly traced the creases of the oft-folded page. The ink was worn and faded in spots. Dirt and fingerprints covered the pages. Daniel could see spots from water droplets, and even a faint imprint of dog tags. When he reached the end of the final page, he saw Jack's hastily scribbled note. Daniel - I love you. Jack

Smiling, he carefully set the letter down on the bedside table and rose quickly from the bed.

Jack was naked, in the shower, waiting for Daniel.

When the company is right, some things should never be left unsaid.

The End