JACK
I
quietly follow Daniel quietly up the steps and sneak over to the jeep
and the emergency phone while he heads over to the camp and
Rayner. Time to check in with ‘Dr Sam’. My time, that
is. I check my watch as I dial Carter’s ‘family only’ number.
It’s
around five am in Colorado. If she’s not already up, she soon
will be. I’ve got no sympathy. She got me into this damned
mess in the first place.
“Sam
here,” a bright voice greets the crack of dawn.
“Carter?
Can you talk?” I snap.
“Sir?”
Carter is startled. “Yes, of course. Is – is everything all
right?”
“No,”
I say flatly. “Couldn’t be more wrong.“ I hate that I
compromised Daniel in front of someone whose opinion matters to him,
hate that Rayner saw enough of my intent to leap straight to the more
or less correct conclusion about what was going on between Daniel and
me. What the hell could I do but back Daniel up? It’s his
reputation on the line, not mine. He chose to confront Rayner
head on and I have to admit it seems to be working. Daniel didn’t
know what it would do to me to have to play along with this
charade. He has no idea just how much self-control it’s going to
take to have to be that close to him, yet still not have permission to
touch. I owe it to Daniel to make it work. I have to try to
make it work, yet I’m morbidly aware of the risk I’m taking with our
friendship if I step over the line. I still have no idea what –
if anything - Daniel is feeling.
“I’m
sorry,” Carter murmurs sympathetically, “Have you said anything to
Daniel, Sir?”
“What
can I say to him, Carter?” I have no idea how I’m supposed to
convince Daniel that I love him. I’ve never told a man I was in
love with him, never imagined it, but then, I’d never met a man like
Daniel. I’m conscious of the differences between us in ways I
never was before. Daniel may not judge, but I do. If
Colonel Jack O’Neill walked up to Dr Daniel Jackson in the museum of
the Oriental Institute in Chicago and asked him out, what chance would
he stand? I suspect none. I’m an average guy with a bad
attitude who excelled at a filthy job and failed to make a success of
the good suburban life. I’m Bud, pizza, hockey, Showtime.
Meat and potatoes.
Daniel
is – extraordinary. he never ceases to amaze me; he knows so
much, he can do so much. He’s capable of so much. I can see
every single thing about him that makes me want him so badly it’s
hurting us both, but when it comes to looking at myself all I see is
the Stargate brought us together in a way that life would not, and that
SG-1 has kept him by my side. I can’t see my way clear to
persuading him to give me a chance – give me time - to convince him it
would work between us. I don’t know that myself.
“Sir?”
Carter prompts when I don’t break the heavy silence. “Is there anything
I can do? I’ll help if I can.”
I
glance up the dune. Daniel is coming out of our tent, and headed
over towards Rayner, who’s venting his spleen all over his tent.
“Sir?”
“I
know you want to help, Carter, but I’m not sure you can. Daniel
has committed us to a course of action I didn’t expect,” I
hesitate. “I’m not in control of events here.”
Things
are moving too fast. I’m not sure I can be as close as I’m going
to have to be to Daniel and not give myself away completely.
Hell, I’ve known the danger I was in for months, that’s why I pushed
him away. He knows me too well, he sees too damn much. I
don’t want him seeing before I know I’m ready. I still don’t know
if I can open up to him in the way I opened up to Sarah, if I can make
myself vulnerable to him. Loving Daniel – wanting him – is not
enough if I can’t commit to him, and he won’t be convinced to give me a
chance if I offer him anything less.
“You
know Daniel better than anyone, Sir. Whatever this course of
action is, he wouldn’t have pursued it without good reason, especially
if it put you in a difficult position.” After an awkward silence Carter
realises I’m not going to give her specifics. “What Daniel says
isn’t important, Sir. It’s what he DOES,” she states emphatically.
“You
mean I should go with the flow, try a little covert surveillance?” I
ask wryly. Get close to Daniel physically, while he’s permitting
it, and just see how he reacts? Daniel is lousy at disguising
strong emotions. He ‘talks’ with his body. I remember his
reaction to Hathor. Even if the snake hadn’t decided I was the
host with the most, there was no way I was handing over one of my
kids. Daniel is no coward. His courage - moral,
emotional AND physical - scares the shit out of the rest of us more
often than we’d care to admit. Daniel’s body language has stuck
in my mind to this very day. Hugging himself, face blank, taking
careful steps towards Carter and me. The first time I can
remember seeing Daniel truly afraid. He was the same when Carter
was taken over by the computer ‘entity’. Shut down,
expressionless. Had to get away from us and be alone.
“Trust
your instincts, trust how well you know Daniel,” Carter suggests
gently. “And trust yourself, too. This will work out, I
know it will.”
“You’re
a good friend, Sam,” I mutter gruffly. Dry throat. Um –
desert. Yeah. Or maybe I’m just getting all girly and
sentimental in my old age.
“Thank
you, Sir,” a soft sigh echoes, “I do try.”
As
much as I let her try, I guess. I glance up the dune, check on
Daniel again. “For cryin’ out loud! Now he’s
fighting! Gotta go!”
DANIEL
When
I get outside, Steven is venting his rage on a perfectly innocent
tent. It occurs to me anyone looking in OUR tent would be
justified in thinking the ‘thrill’ had gone. I sneak in and
remedy a little separation anxiety. I suspect Jack will find it
much harder to avoid me when I’m in the sleeping bag WITH him.
It’s
a lot of fun playing dirty.
I
walk the short distance over to Steven’s proto-tent and silently offer
assistance. There’s not much Steven can do other than keep
throwing hissy fits. He won’t leave until he’s been convinced
there’s nothing here for him, and he can’t ride roughshod over
us. We were here first, and unlike him, we have permission to be
here.
I
don’t need Jack to fight my battles for me, but I hate to disappoint
him. He does so enjoy being the colonel at people, especially ones who
don’t know he’s a colonel and just think he’s some kick-ass
head-case. He adores being dangerous.
After
my tactical redeployment of the sleeping bags, we’ll see just how
dangerous he can be tonight, snuggled up next to me.
“How
long have you known him?” Steven demands after we work on the tent in
silence for a while, his tone stiff and resentful.
“Five
years.”
“FIVE?
That means – you must have met him right after – after –- “
“My
lecture?” I say lightly. “Pretty much.”
“You
went right to him from Sarah,” Steven can’t hide his bitterness.
“Onwards and upwards, huh?”
Steven
never approved of my relationship with Sarah, and his snide asides did
nothing to make a difficult break-up any easier. Neither he nor
Sarah approved of the direction my work was taking. Sarah
couldn’t let it alone, pushed and pushed me to abandon my quixotic
theories and to toe the conventional line. Think of my
career. Think of her. I know I drove her crazy.
I refused to fight about it, and I refused to listen to her. I’ve
never forgotten the tirade that sped me on my way to L.A. She
KNEW how sensitive I was even Nick didn’t support my theories.
Her attack was unconscionable. I’ll never know if she forgave
me. Osiris used that memory, amongst many others, to try to
extract information from me.
“I
don’t get it,” Steven bursts out, eyeing me in angry disbelief.
“What does a man like YOU see in a - a middle aged dullard like
that?”
“WHAT?”
How DARE he- “Jack is worth TEN of you! I love him for ALL the
ways he’s different from people like you! Jack might not be a
PhD, he might not measure up by YOUR petty, rigid, small minded
standards, but unlike YOU, the one thing he’s NOT is unoriginal!”
Steven
lunges at me, swinging. I block the blow automatically, pushing my
weight into his outstretched arm as I trip him and force him smoothly
down to the sand, my knee pinning him flat. I’m amazed it worked
so well. Jack will be amazed too. We thought he’d been
failing to teach me that move for years.
“Not
bad,” Jack judges, looming up behind me suddenly. He’s a tad out
of breath. “That knee should be a little further up though.”
Wouldn’t
that cut off his air supp- “Jack!”
“What?”
Jack gives me his patented ‘who? me?’ shit-eating grin, spreading
innocent hands to the heavens.
Right.
I
turn my attention once more to Steven. “Are you going to be
reasonable -- ” my voice is swallowed by the avid brown eyes fixed on
mine. “You were jealous!”
“Of
YOU?” Steven snorts derisively.
“Of
Sarah,” I’m dazed. Why did I never see it before? In point
of fact, I’m so dazed, Steven knocks me on my ass and scrambles to his
feet, standing over me with an ugly look on his face.
“Please,”
a menacing voice invites. Jack. Please give me a reason to
hurt you. Steven might be a PhD, but that doesn’t make him
stupid. He backs off. In fact he storms off, tearing down
the dune towards his truck.
“It’s
like the goddamned ‘Young and the Restless’ out here,” Jack complains,
clearly jaundiced. He stoops and yanks me to my feet, surprising
me by slipping his arm around my waist. “Gotta keep up the act.”
He becomes enthralled by the desert landscape as he leads me
unresisting over to the tent. “Pit stop,” he explains. “Or
should I say reality check? Any particular reason why I’ve been
cast as love’s young dream?” The instant Jack dips his head
beneath the flap he freezes.
Ah.
The moment of truth. “Verisimilitude,” I say casually, heart pounding
sickeningly as I await his reaction to the – um – adjacency. What
were once two are now one, courtesy of a little creative zipping. “We
are supposed to be – er – sleeping together.” I have to nudge
forcibly Jack to get him to step into the tent.
I
don’t blame him for being such a fraidy cat. The fact we can
stand up in this tent suggests it probably sleeps about twelve, taking
into account the Air Force’s usually mean spirited assessment of
exactly how many metres squared the average man requires, square or
not. Even I would have to admit the sleeping bag zipped for two
is blatant. A little oasis of snug olive drab adrift in a sea of
canvas. Even Jack can’t misread this signal.
“Sleep?
Don’t think there’s any danger of that,” Jack murmurs so softly I can
barely make out the words. He refuses to look at me. “With
Rayner here, I think we should set a watch. Turn and turn
about. Just in case.”
Oh
no you don’t, Jack O’Neill! “In case of what?”
“Um
–“
Get
over it. I close the gap and lay a hand on his shoulder.
“There’s nothing incriminating whatsoever in that temple, and I’ll have
enough data by tonight to be sure if there are additional chambers to
worry about. There is no reason to set a watch. The worst
he could do is let the air out the jeep tyres,” I play up the
sarcasm. I’m not giving him anything he can use to wriggle out of
this.
Good
thing most of his available blood supply is now pooled in his
groin. I ease my hand over to rest against the warm skin of his
neck. He shivers reflexively, unable to tear his eyes from mine
as I move closer. Lean in. Looking like he’s reaching into
a fire, Jack leans towards me too, lips parting. Kiss. He’s
going to kiss me. Right now. Oh God – GOD! JACK! Get
BACK here!
“Wuss!”
I snarl, “What in hell do I have to DO?” I grab a fistful of T-shirt
before he gets more than two hasty steps away from me, insinuate my
foot between his ankles and hook his leg out from under him as I throw
my not inconsiderable weight at him. Another move I’m happy to
say he only has himself to blame for. Jack tumbles bonelessly to
the ground beneath me, instinctively relaxing. He’s a credit to
his Black Ops training. Technically, he’s already gotten me into
bed: he landed on the sleeping bag. Before he can utter a word of
protest or denial, I fuse my lips to his in a stormy, LIVID kiss that
pins him flat under the onslaught until I’m good and ready to let go.
“Get
it!” I snarl breathlessly, backing off a couple of inches.
“Got
it,” Jack confirms equally breathlessly.
“GOOD!”
I bite his lip for emphasis, making him yelp.
He’s
also stuttering with suppressed laughter, eyes velvety warm.
Someone is growling. Oh. It’s me. I’m - um -
growling.
Then
squawking as his arms lock ruthlessly around the small of my back,
pulling me close, his eyes darkening, glittering with too-long
suppressed desire. I feel the ardent heat of Jack’s arousal
pressed against me as he moves his hips against mine, one long leg
lying heavy across my butt, crushing me to him. Satisfied I’m
going nowhere, Jack pulls off my glasses and raises his hands to cup my
face, pulling me into a passionate kiss, his tongue thrusting deep into
my mouth, gentling as I flinch back reflexively from the overwhelming
intimacy. Stroking now, his tongue sliding sensuously over mine,
under, teasing, flicking at the tip. Diving deep again.
Groaning with pleasure as he fervently tastes and explores every inch
of my mouth, finally easing back, both of us panting for breath.
Sucking my tongue gently into his mouth, inviting me to share, to taste
him.
Now?
Now I have to go and get nervous. Where he was all confident
passion, I’m hesitance. Willing but – nervous.
Unmistakeably so. Jack gentles his response even more; a
sweetness to the kiss now, generous, warming. Encouraging.
I gain in confidence but feel woefully inadequate. Comparisons
are truly odious. Finally I have to release him, raise my head
and face him.
I
see a tender warmth in Jack’s eyes, a tiny, almost shy smile playing
about his lips. A look I’ve seen on his face before, when we
rescued Teal’c and Jack from Apophis’ death glider, and his brush with
death in lowered his guard for a few moments. His hand cradles my
head as he caresses his forehead against mine.
“Hey,”
he whispers.
“H
– hey.”
“I’m
not putting out until you tell me you love me,” he teases, heaving
beneath me and rolling us onto our sides, wrapping himself around me.
“Steven,”
I begin.
“Screw
him. Worst he can do is slash the tires and sit on a dune eating
his heart out, so stop avoiding the issue, Daniel,” Jack orders
crisply. His fingers seem to be magnetically attracted to my
hair, just like his tongue is attracted to – to –- o-oh. “If it
helps at all,” Jack pauses in his assault on a hitherto unsuspected
erogenous zone behind my ear, “I’M in love with YOU.” He holds my
gaze. My rapidly blurring gaze. Oh no, NOT again.
Overflowing here. Tears trailing down my cheek. Sniffing
for God’s sake. I could DIE. I shoot Jack an utterly
embarrassed look from under my lashes.
“God,”
he groans wrenchingly, “You’re KILLING me! Do you have ANY idea
how sexy that is? Trying to be a gentleman, here!” His thumb
gently brushes my lashes clear. He shoots ME an embarrassed look.
“Wanted to lick them off,” he admits gruffly.
“I’ve
been waiting forever for you to admit that,” I say simply. “I
love you too.”
Jack’s
pleasure falters as his face stills. “Admit?” he asks carefully.
“I’ve
known since you returned from Edora.”
Jack
shudders away from it, unable to think of a word to say, condemned by
his own judgement. “God,” he whispers.
“Some
days I’ve known you loved me,” I amend. “Others -- I’ve
seen you watching me, knew what you wanted from me but I’ve never been
sure of why. Until now,” I say gently. “I – HOPED –- hoped
you could make that leap of faith, and now you have.” I smile
tentatively.
“I
can’t undo the past, Daniel,” Jack says grimly.
“I
don’t ask you to!”
“All
I can do is show you I’m HERE, I’m WITH you. I do love you.
I’m ashamed I fought so hard and so long against it, but please believe
me, Daniel. I admitted it to myself BEFORE we came here. I
was just waiting for the perfect time to tell you,” Jack’s fervent
embrace speaks volumes of remorse and determination.
“Th
– there’ll never BE a perf – Jack! Breathe –“
“Hmm?”
“Need
to!”
“Oh!
Shit. Sorry, Danny,” Jack runs agitated hands over me.
“There’ll
never be a perfect time. I finally worked that out. I
decided to – um – I – “
Jack
goes still again. “KILL me! You sneaky little sonovabitch,
you’ve been winding me up on PURPOSE!”
“It
worked too,” I gloat, grinning. “And I still had to throw myself
at you.”
“Shoulda
dumped you on your delectable little butt. HARD,” Jack says
unconvincingly. As soon as his mind goes there, his hand
follows. Then the other one joins in enthusiastically.
Squeezing, kneading, stroking. Moaning – me – smug – him –
pinching – me – yelping – him – soothing better. “God, God, you
are so damn HOT. Lead me not into temptation, kid.”
My
hand freezes on its careful exploration of the contours of Jack’s
back. “Wh – what?”
“Daniel,
one SHIT HOT kiss apart, can you honestly say you’re ready to make love
with me? ‘Cause I have to say I don’t think you are. I got
some experience long story long time ago not telling so don’t ask
okay,” Jack rattles through at top speed, then takes a deep relieved
breath, apparently reading my silence as acquiescence. He’s
mistaken. I’ll get it out of him sooner or later. “And I’m
telling you there’s no rush. Love ya, not gonna quit on you now,
ya know? So don’t get your hopes up. Gonna haunt you
forever,” he chuckles malevolently.
He’s
– he is right. I’m not ready for intimacy. I’ve been
celibate since Sha’uri was taken from me, and making love with Jack is
fraught with so many tangled emotions right now I know it would be
wrong for me. Too soon. “You want to,” I say doubtfully.
“Of
course I do. I’ve wanted it so badly for so long I’ve scared the
shit out of you about it,” Jack says flatly. “You can’t make the
leap from me not wanting to get within ten feet of you for your own
safety to me being buried inside you,” Jack laughs a little as the
colour floods my cheeks, “in one day. Right now, I’ll settle for
you being COMFORTABLE with me touching you.”
“And
vice versa,” I say eagerly.
“You
betcha!” Jack’s eyes glitter. “Let’s see how far we can push the
kissing envelope tonight. Maybe graduate to a little skin,” he
tempts.
I
pull up my shirt and unbutton rapidly, “A little something on account,”
I suggest hopefully.
Jack’s
eager hand hesitates as he looks to me for permission, sending his
reverent fingers dancing over my abdomen when I nod. Quite
vigorously, I’m ashamed to say. He massages deeply into my
muscles, the steady, rhythmic pressure sending a shock of erotic
pleasure clear through me. I – arch. Involuntarily.
Jack swallows with obvious effort.
JACK
Why
is it every single time I agonise over Daniel he blithely takes me out
the knees with a head on attack I just don’t see coming? I could
live with him forever and still never know all of him. He
finessed me. Manoeuvred me into the perfect position from which
to take me out. Maybe I should worry about the rocks and let him
lead the team for a while?
Talk
about the past is another country. There’s a pitch of excitement
and denial here I haven’t felt for closing in on thirty years.
God but he’s sweet. Sweet, sensuous, scared to death.
Scared I want him, scared if I don’t have him I’ll drop him like a hot
brick. Weaved one hell of a tangled web here.
He
knew I wanted him, and now he knows I love him. I look at his
eager face and into anxious eyes. Correction. He’s heard me
tell him I love him. I think I’ve got a long way to go before he
believes me. I WANT Daniel, and Christ, but he knows it.
Has known it all along. For all he knew, he was risking
everything for a quick fuck. NOT gonna happen. No
way. When we make love he is going to KNOW I love him. I’ve
hurt him. He can’t disguise the pain, or his fear, and I can’t
deny I’m the cause of it.
Daniel
is putting his faith in ME, and I know whatever it takes, whatever it
costs me, I can’t let him down again. He’s stronger than he ever
was, yet he’s more vulnerable to me than he’s been to another living
soul. He surrendered up to me the power I have over him, and I
abused it. I abused his trust, yet still he offers it up to
me. I can’t undo the past, but I can and will do everything I can
to prove to him I’m with him NOW.
“So
beautiful,” I admire, making him blush. He’s lucky I’m not some
young stud like loverboy out there. I’ve got some stamina, some
self-control. Some patience. Gonna need every single
scrap. Daniel is my downfall, I’ve known that from the moment I
realised I was in love with him. From his perspective, he’s all
gentle persuasion. From mine, he’s force majeure, irresistible,
irrefutable.
The
FEEL of him beneath my hands. Satiny skin smooth and subtly
ridged with muscle. Remember, O’Neill. Just his
stomach. Gentle massage, ease away some of that tension.
That’s all. Hands not wandering up or down. Got
expectations to live up to here. Trust to repay. Stick with
soothing. Ignore him arching into your touch, ignore the
moaning. Ignore his fingers slipping under your T-shirt,
carefully tracing every inch of your spine. Touching.
Holding.
Concentrate
on making HIM feel good, not you. He’s not ready and you know
it. Don’t be the selfish bastard you’ve been so far.
Daniel
snatches me to him for one last exuberant kiss, fends off my hands,
which seem to have developed a decided will of their own, and
emphatically buttons his shirt. He has to redo a few buttons
because my hands won’t get with the programme, but the teasing makes
him chuckle delightedly.
I
need to hold onto him for a little while longer, hug him close to
me. “Okay?” I ask gently, smoothing back the soft wisps of hair
from his brow.
He
leans back a little and smiles, candid gaze not wavering from
mine. “Better,” he confides shyly. “Looking forward to
tonight. Can’t wait to see how ‘gentlemanly’ you can manage to be
with me – um – “ Eyes very definitely twinkling now.
“Winding
me up?” I say dryly. He hasn’t shared his bed since he lost
Sha’uri. “I happen to like the idea of having you right where I
can keep an eye on you. In fact, I have every intention of
sleeping with you as often as possible when we get home.” I have
to grin as Daniel’s naughtiness shades into apprehension. “SLEEP,
I said.”
“And
kissing?” Daniel’s eyes go soulful on me.
I
lean in close. “Tonight,” I whisper. Holding is great, kissing is
better. I think it will cause me actual physical pain to have to
stop at that, and I also think I’ll have a lot of jerking off in my
future. So I CAN stop at that. I don’t think Daniel has ANY
idea how sexy or desirable he is. That’s a learning curve it will
be my pleasure to mentor him through. “Up and at ’em, kid,” I
smack his butt, earning a scowl as we untangle ourselves reluctantly,
then scramble up and out of the tent. Daniel stands right in
front of me, taking my hand in his.
“Ja—ack?”
Uh
oh. “DAN-iel?”
“I
think you should,” wide, ingenuous eyes fix themselves on mine, “leave
Steven to me.”
I
smile and rest my hand at his waist. Lean in. “No.”
“Oh.”
Daniel’s index finger gently caresses my palm. “Steven requires
tactful handling.”
“Are
you implying I’m not tactful?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
My hand eases around and gently caresses his back. “I’m not the
one who knocked Rayner on his ass. For which I’m very proud of you,
kid.”
“No,
you’re the one who called him a plagiarist and got him so riled I had
to – um – dissuade him from - ”
“Knocking
you on YOUR ass,” I snap, ignoring irrelevancies like
culpability. “A position I’ve no doubt he’s wanted to see you in
for a while.”
“That
isn’t Steven’s style,” Daniel says soothingly.
“He’s
a lover, not a fighter, that what you’re trying to tell me?” I
say witheringly. Hel-lo? Rayner? Jealous? Hots?
Gorgeous yet stunningly naïve rival with big blue eyes? Big
empty tomb? Compute? No. Guess not. “Allow me
to elaborate. He would like to see you on your back while he
FEELS your ass!”
“Jack,
are you JEALOUS?”
After
a slightly uncertain look, if anything, Daniel seems rather pleased by
the idea. I think he thinks it’s – cute.
“Of
STEVEN?”
The
sheer incredulity in Daniel’s voice makes me grin despite myself.
“I’m not jealous at all, Daniel. You can spend time alone with
anybody you want,” I say sweetly as his face falls a little, “just so
long as I vet the applicants, you wear one of those plaid shirts in a
colour that doesn’t bring out your eyes, I choose the public venue and
drop you off, you observe the two feet ‘no physical contact’ exclusion
zone and stick with formal salutations. Oh, and I pick you up
again at curfew.” I turn Daniel around and steer him gently down the
dune while he’s still striving for a response. “Re the
venue? No candles, no flowers, no ambience. If it’s a
movie, you sit one seat over.” He’s laughing, which is sweet, and
proves I’m distracting him just fine. I’ll be inside before he
knows it. “No-o. On second thoughts, sit in the row
behind. Museums and lectures are okay,” I add by way of softening
the blow. “You don’t go anywhere or do anything that would involve you
removing items of clothing.”
“So,
what you’re saying is that you’re obsessive, possessive and jealous on
a GOOD day?” Daniel seeks clarification.
“Nasty,”
I agree happily, angling us obliquely at the tomb entrance.
“Special forces trained too, so no sneaking around when you think I’m
not looking.”
“Because
you’re always looking,” Daniel muses thoughtfully. “I’m looking
too, Jack. Nice try, sneaking us up to the tomb entrance. I
still want you to leave Steven to me.”
“I
won’t say a word to him, I promise.”
“You
promise?”
I
do my best to look trustworthy. My best shot cranks up the level
of suspicion to rampant paranoia. Daniel heaves a heart-rending
sigh as we head down the steps to the main chamber.
“This
is such a bad idea.”
“Don’t
worry, Daniel. I’ve got your six.”
“You
certainly have,” Daniel agrees. “Could we make that ‘got’
figurative, not literal?”
“Huh?”
I know what he means.
“Get
your hand off my ass, Jack.”
Rayner
is over by the altar deal making free with Daniel’s files. He
hears that comment and flinches. That’s one to me and I haven’t
said a word to him yet.
“Therapy.”
“I’m
sorry?” Daniel looks blank.
“Daniel,
how could you?” I give him my best wounded look. “How can I work
on overcoming my haphephobia if you won’t let me touch you?”
Three months of enforced Latin tuition has to come in handy for
something.
Daniel’s
outraged eyes promise all kinds of vengeance as I slip my arm
comfortably back around his waist and give Rayner hell without saying a
word.
“I
don’t mind you looking at my field notes,” Daniel tells Rayner
sincerely, making him flush and shift uncomfortably. Another one
for our side. “As you can see from the surveys, there are no
subterranean chambers to explore. The Stewart Expedition removed
all artefacts – “
“EXCEPT
the ones secreted within the altar, Daniel!” Rayner pounces.
“Those
the artefacts Sarah Gardner took?” I ask casually, hating the shock
that shudders through Daniel’s slender frame, and tightening my grip so
he can’t step away from me without a blatant struggle. “Bet
they’re sitting in some rich guy’s private collection right now.
Must be worth a fortune if she was prepared to fuck over her whole
career and kill three people for them.”
That
hits home. Hard. The only thing Rayner has admitted to remembering of
the attack was that Sarah was the perpetrator. Osiris hadn’t
gotten his hands on the ribbon device at that point, thank God, and had
to rely on brute Goa’uld enhanced strength. Rayner had severe
blunt trauma to the head, severe enough to cause short term memory
loss. Still, it’s my job to make certain, to assess the threat he
represents and take the appropriate proportional response to neutralise
him.
“Sarah
wasn’t exactly doing cartwheels when my book made the bestseller list,
but I never thought – “ Rayner hesitates. “Daniel, you know how
important academic reputation was to Sarah. You guys,” he falters
awkwardly, ”you fought over it all the time. Especially when you
were breaking up.” Rayner’s eyes are on me.
“Yes,”
is all the response Daniel makes.
He’s
pissed as hell with me, don’t need a linguist to translate that.
I know he cared about this woman – still cares – but unfortunately hers
was the face Osiris was wearing and I can’t let Daniel’s feelings or my
desire to protect him prevent me from ensuring the security of the
Stargate programme. This is the quickest and best way to get that
job done. It’s also the hardest on Daniel. The fact it’s
THIS hard on Rayner is an unexpected gift. He couldn’t resist the
temptation to needle me. What chance has a ‘middle aged dullard’
of keeping Daniel when a beautiful, clever woman couldn’t? When a
man like Rayner never stood a chance with him?
I’ll
check back with Rayner this time tomorrow. Daniel is bound to
have a lot to say about me using him to gather enough information to
hang Sarah out to dry. He can’t argue with the need to shut
Rayner down, and he’s learned to accept how pragmatic I am, but he
hates the lies. Sarah is actually an innocent victim in all of
this. Even if she’s beyond caring, Daniel isn’t. He’s tense
against my side. Hates I used him to add the small element of
truth that will help this particular lie go a very long way.
Hates I didn’t tell him this was the way I was planning to go.
“With
the black market in antiquities the way it is, there’s not much chance
of ever finding those artefacts again, Steven. You know that,”
Daniel backs me up regardless. “Can you remember any of them
clearly? We can get some sketches drawn up, run them through the
usual channels.”
“I
only looked at it for moments, Daniel. I’m real fuzzy on the
detail. There’s not enough there for a sketch. Sarah – I
was by the altar,” he turns and gestures vaguely. “Used the key –
unlocked - Sarah came up from behind as I was examining an ornate
gold –- gauntlet is the best way I can describe it.”
The
ribbon device.
“Worth
someone’s career?” I pursue my role as resident philistine.
Rayner
forgets his attitude for a moment and nods sombrely. “Worth the
lives of three people to Sarah.”
“Including
Professor Jordan’s,” Daniel says sadly. “There’s nothing to stop
us working together to complete the site survey, Steven.” Daniel
slips away from me and over to Rayner’s side.
“Like
old times,” Rayner says softly, holding Daniel’s gaze.
“Don’t
mind me,” I say chattily.
“Who
the hell are you, anyway?” Rayner snaps. “It’s obvious YOU’RE the
reason Daniel hasn’t published a paper in five years. It’s damned
obvious your interest is in Daniel rather than archaeology.
Dilettante? I can think of another name for it,” he sneers.
“I
can think of several, and if you say any of them I’ll happily shove
them back down your throat,” I smile pleasantly.
“Jack.”
Daniel warns. “Steven. Stop being so infantile. Let’s
try to stay focused on the – “
“What
exactly do you DO, ‘Jack’?” Rayner demands.
“Pilot.
Retired.”
“Air
Force, right?” Rayner nods, certain now. Guy is not
dumb. “One of those repressed jarhead robots – “
Daniel
snorts and refuses to meet my eye.
“Daniel
hit rock bottom professionally and emotionally and there you were.”
There’s
a lot of suppressed sniggering from Daniel.
“Daniel!”
“And
I just – stayed there,” Daniel murmurs whimsically. “Insecure, jealous
– repressed. Obsessive. Possessive.”
“Nasty,”
I supply with relish.
“Nasty,”
Daniel nods emphatically. “You’ve got no idea what he’s
like. Never letting me out of his sight. Ordering me around
all day every day,” Daniel paints a vivid picture of his complete
emotional subjugation for Rayner.
“I’m
only thinking of you, Danny. You need someone to take care of
you. Doesn’t he?” I appeal to Rayner abruptly.
Rayner
- unfortunately for him - agrees. He just doesn’t think I’m the
man for the job.
“You
never do what you’re told anyway,” I grumble to Daniel. “And what
about YOU? Dragging me off to the ends of the – Earth – to look
at big ‘rocks’.”
“Features,”
Daniel corrects.
“And
little ‘rocks’.”
“Artefacts.”
“AND
squiggles, curly things, spiky things, picture things.”
“Amongst
others, Linear B, Cuneiform, Phoenician, hieroglyphs.”
“Spiky
things?” I query.
“Runes,”
Daniel says repressively.
“And
ya talk incessantly,” I’m getting a good head of steam going.
Rayner looks dazed. I almost feel sorry for him.
Almost. Daniel and I have HISTORY. “About rumours, lies,
fairytales,” I suggest provocatively.
“SEE!”
Daniel picks up on my cue, and raises indignant hands to the high
heavens. “You see what I have to put up with? Mythology is
one of the primary motivations for cultural development! Symbolic
anthropology studies the ways in which people understand and interpret
their surroundings as well as the actions and utterances of the other
members of their society. These interpretations form a shared cultural
system of meaning deciphered by interpreting key symbols and
rituals. Traditionally symbolic anthropology has focused on
religion, cosmology, ritual activity, and expressive customs such as
MYTHOLOGY and - ”
“Yadda,”
I interrupt fondly. Daniel shoots me a thwarted look and
subsides. “Showtime?” I ask hopefully.
“Showtime?”
Daniel parrots cautiously.
“Expressive
custom.” I get it! “HOCKEY!” I gloat. “Hockey is
CULTURAL so you can just quit your whining come game time. AND
symbolically anthropological. Actions – the game -
utterances – plenty of those, most of which you’re too young to
hear – key symbols - teams - AND rituals – beer and pizza!” I go
out on a high note. Almost involuntarily, Daniel and Rayner step
closer together, both archaeologists in temporary alliance as they
stare in disbelief at the philistine – i.e. me - for a moment.
“Sore losers,” I say smugly.
“You
actually listen to me?” Daniel is incredulous.
“Unnerving,
isn’t it?” I smirk at him. “Now you’ll be waiting – wondering –
worrying. Just what ELSE have I been paying attention to?” I try
and hope that comes off as sinister. “And stop avoiding it.
Go on. Admit it.”
Daniel
is a dear and generous soul, and he proves it yet again. His
sweet, mischievous smile quirks across his lips. “For cryin’ out
loud. Have it your way, Jack. Showtime and hockey are
classic examples of modern cultural symbolism.” Daniel senses I
want more as I wait expectantly. He sighs.
“I’ll even buy the pizza for the next game.”
He
hasn’t been over for a game in months. I brighten up.
That’s a good sign. He must have forgiven me for taking the path
of least resistance yet again. “Cool!”
Daniel
grins and beckons Steven to join him down in the depths of the
tomb. Guess it’s time we started with the radar thingy
again. I resume my seat and watch.
Rayner
gets the message. He isn’t happy, but he gets it. Daniel
and I are together. Daniel isn’t gracing me with his presence in
return for underwriting his research. I bicker with Daniel like I
used to bicker with Sara, and that’s on a good day. Daniel and I
do come off as a couple, most of the time and to most people. I
only realised this after Ferretti got blindingly drunk during the
play-offs a year or so back and started rambling on about
sparkage. Turned out half the base thought Daniel and I were
together way back when. I never said a word to Daniel. He
would have died. Fortunately, Ferretti didn’t remember a damn
thing either, otherwise I would’ve had to help him die.
It
kinda reassures me re the logistics of pursuing a relationship with
Daniel, if the people round us have seen it when there’s been nothing –
well, very little – to see, and don’t seem to have given a shit.
Now there will be something to see it shouldn’t make any
difference. I won’t be filling any of those people in on just how
long it took me to clue in. I make it a rule never to disappoint
people unnecessarily, and besides, I have a reputation to consider.
Even
Hammond accepts I’m too close to my team. It’s just the way
things are, and it works for us. We’ve not been so close
recently, and we’ve been off our game most the year. Not enough
that anyone off the team would notice, not enough that anyone on the
team would comment, but still – off. Edgy. The only members
of SG-1 getting along just fine and dandy have been Daniel and
Teal’c. They’re a lot closer than they used to be. A
lot. Not that it’s a cause for concern. It isn’t. Not
at all. Now Daniel and I have reached an understanding, he’ll
come to me. Like he’s supposed to. Nothing to stop them being
friends. Nothing at all. They’re close. Not – too -
close.
Right.
DANIEL
I
glance behind me. Jack is making full use of the one indulgence
he allowed himself for this impromptu vacation, a gift I bought for him
back in the days when our friendship was simple. As simple as it
ever has been. He loves music so much, I was certain he’d find
some use for the portable CD player. It goes up onto his
observation platform with him at night, and it’s keeping him out of
mischief here. The chances of Jack leaving me alone with a man he
dislikes, one whom he suspects of having an ‘interest’ in me, are
somewhere between slim to none.
Steven
is losing himself in the slow, orderly process of systematically
sweeping the chamber floor. He’s thoroughly reviewed my findings
from the other chamber sweeps and is reluctantly accepting there is
nothing here but what we’ve seen. I can’t deny I would have liked
to find more evidence of the Goa’uld occupation of Earth, but I also
can’t deny that I could comfortably trade up the thrill of such a find
for peace of mind. George wants an assurance the SGC is safe from
exposure. Another two chambers to sweep with GPR and I’ll be able
to give it.
There
is something innately inspiring about the practice of my
profession. The calm, orderly science of excavation occupies the
body as surely as it frees the mind. I love Jack dearly, but he
never sees how digging in the dirt sets me flying as high as any
machine can take him.
Steven
understands. He knows how lost I can get in a past I can hold in
my hand and see in my mind. Neither he nor Sarah could pull me
out of that empathy, that stream of consciousness, and as hard as they
fought, they couldn’t compel me to compromise my beliefs. Steven
watched Jack pull me back with one word. Steven understands what
I do, but he’s never seen me for who I am. He’s never understood
ME.
Jack
is the exact opposite to Steven. He knows me through and through,
understands me in a way no one ever has before. He just doesn’t
get what I do. Or why I do it. He doesn’t understand my
connection with the past. As far as Jack is concerned it’s just
part and parcel of ‘me’. A quirk - well, obsession - he
amiably tolerates unless he feels it’s compromising my safety or
interfering with accomplishing our mission objectives. His first
instinct is to protect those he is responsible for, an instinct more
powerful than any rule or regulation.
Jack
is a very unusual Air Force officer. As someone who has often
been on the outside looking in, I think Jack is pretty much the
swiftest thing the SGC has. I know Jack judges himself to be the
most replaceable member of SG-1, but that’s simplistic. The team
doesn’t function without ALL of us. We tried with Colonel
Makepeace in Jack’s place and it was an unmitigated disaster. I
admit the circumstances were far from ideal, given the nature of Jack’s
abrupt departure from the SGC and our lives, but that short time with
Robert Makepeace was enough to show me just how rigid the military mind
set can truly be.
Jack
has never lost his individuality, nor his ability to see and appreciate
the individuality of others. He draws the best from each of us,
something I never truly appreciated until I glimpsed the
alternative. We disagree like crazy, but it’s never been
personal. Not until Jack fell in love with me, and then he took
EVERYTHING personally. I have some hope now we can get our
professional relationship back on an even keel. I can live with
Jack’s worst being a little ignorant and condescending, just as he can
live with my worst being a little – well, okay, from his perspective, a
lot – flaky.
I
suspect this shift in our relationship is going to necessitate a very
steep learning curve for both of us, given how distant we’ve
become. I’m still annoyed Jack used Sarah to shift the blame this
way. I can accept the necessity, but the fact he didn’t tell me
argues a fundamental lack of trust at worst, an inability to
communicate at best. Neither is acceptable.
The
confusion and mass of conflicting, inchoate desires battering us both
this past year have left us unable to carry a conversation. Jack
is being selfless about not pushing for physical intimacy, but I have
to wonder how selfless he’s going to be when he realises that lovers
have conversations, even if one lover is a pissy over-protective
military type and the other is a somewhat ‘eccentric’ and loquacious
scholar. We have to re-learn being comfortable with one another
before we can consider being intimate. I wonder if he can lower
his defences enough, allow me close enough. Intimacy isn’t just
physical, it’s not just sex. We have to learn to be in one
another’s space in a way I suspect neither of us has experienced
before, not with another man.
We’re
going to have to learn to compromise and do things together. As a
couple. I’m going to have to learn not to glaze over when Jack
lives for his hockey, just as he is going to have to dig deep into his
reserves of courage and endurance to survive museum visits and
lectures. I’ll have to eat Chinese takeout and he’ll have to
learn to appreciate the finer points of French cuisine. I’ll
listen to opera, Billy Joel and Sting – Jack is nothing if not eclectic
– and he’ll listen to me playing Chopin or Debussy. I will drink
one beer to be sociable; out of courtesy to me, before sitting he will
first look for fragile items. I sleep on the left side of the
bed. I can only sleep on the left side. I hope that’s not
an insurmountable problem. We can’t be fighting over that every
night, otherwise one of us will be sleeping on the left side of an
entirely different bed in a residence across town. Jack likes a
brisk morning shower, I like a long leisurely bath in the evening,
preferably with candles, red wine and an article from ‘Archaeological
Dialogues’. ‘The Archaeology of Cultural Landscapes’ was a
particularly fascinating –
“Daniel?”
“Hmm?”
Interpreting landscapes through cultural perception and experience, it
has such resonance for our exploration of alien landscapes and
cultures, anchoring our past experiences in –
“Have
you considered dumping Jumping Jack Flash here and coming back to the
Institute where you belong?” Steven challenges out of the blue.
I
freeze and glance cautiously behind me. ‘Jumping Jack Flash’ is
the poster boy for threat assessment. The silence behind me
becomes VERY crowded, weighted down beneath Jack’s focused disapproval.
“Where
the hell do you get off, deciding where Daniel ‘belongs’?” Jack demands
aggressively. “He ‘belongs’ with ME. Get over it.”
On
the other hand, Jack has never claimed to be the poster boy for
logic. Or for tact.
“I’ll
vouch for you,” Steven affixes me with earnest – hungry – eyes.
Oh
dear.
“Slipping
right into the good Professor’s parking spot are we?” Jack is withering.
“I
have been offered tenure, yes,” Steven confirms stiffly. “It puts
me into a position where I can use my influence on Daniel’s behalf.”
“I
don’t require anyone to use their ‘influence’ on my behalf,” I say
calmly. “I’m happy doing what I do.”
“You’re
beyond the extreme fringe, Daniel. The New Age Atlantis cultists
have more credibility with the profession than you do right now.
In fact, they’ve discussed your work ad nauseum. There’s a damn
website out there with your name on it.”
Touché.
That’s information I could happily have lived without. One of the
epithets tossed at me during my swansong symposium – which Steven
attended and at which he did nothing to defend me, lest I forget – was
a suggestion men from Atlantis built the Pyramids.
“Website?”
Jack queries gently, sitting up straight, an evil, anticipatory grin
getting away from him. “Chatroom?” he asks innocently, refusing
to meet my eyes.
I
won’t bet a dime the poor innocent souls won’t be hearing from “Dr
Dweeb” or “Plant Boy” the minute Jack gets back to civilisation.
He’ll have some plausible story about security risks and he’ll flame
them on SGC time and from an SGC computer too. Jack has gotten
clued in to the glories of the World Wide Web since our run in with
Martin, the most paranoid alien in this or indeed any other galaxy, and
even moreso since Maybourne blithely pointed out the NID are running
their covert operative cells via websites and chatrooms.
I
have a slight suspicion Jack thinks he’s not only out of touch with the
Special Ops ‘twilight zone’ but – um – ‘mellowing’ more than he’d ever
suspected. He’s gotten used to accomplishing something in our
missions, to helping people, not hurting them. He made a deal
with the devil – two devils if you include Kinsey - to protect George’s
family and the future of SG-1 and the SGC. It hit him harder than
he’s ever been prepared to say. We – we didn’t talk or anything,
other than the ‘sit reps’ he phoned in to me during his mad dash around
the country in Maybourne’s dubious company, and that was only because
he didn’t want to compromise Sam. Perhaps – He might talk about
it now. If he wants to.
I’m
not sure what he sees in my face, but he smiles suddenly, eyes
lighting. Then he winks. Oh boy. He’s definitely
going to be surfing in the direction of the cultists first chance he
gets. They won’t know what hit them. I glare at him, to no
good effect. Jack is irrepressible. How could I succeed
where the best and the brightest of the Air Force have failed?
I
turn again to Steven, impatiently awaiting an answer from me he can
understand. “You’re offering me a job as your research
assistant?” I ask.
He
gives me an eager look. “I can verify that your theories were
correct, Daniel. The Pharaohs of the IVth Dynasty did NOT build
the pyramids. We can apply for a research grant, start surveying
the Old Kingdom sites. The Step Pyramid Complex of Djoser –“
“At
Saqqara,” I interpose for Jack’s benefit. “Djoser’s Step Pyramid
is generally considered to be the first tomb in Egypt built entirely of
stone. I discussed the origins of the Cheops Pyramid at Giza in
my last public symposium, Jack, and there is no more evidence of my
theories now than there was five years ago. Steven destroyed all
traces of the carbon dating tests that would have vindicated my
research, then Sarah destroyed the back-up. Correct?” I challenge
Steven abruptly. I don’t need his guilty flush to confirm what I
already know. “If you had access to the carbon dating analysis,
you wouldn’t be here looking for corroboratory evidence or trying to
inveigle me onto a research team YOU will control in order to exploit
my research on writing systems.” I turn again to Jack. “I
proved there was a fully developed writing system in place during the
first two Dynasties, Jack, far earlier than had ever been
imagined. Ground breaking stuff. It - um – got lost
in the general mêlée of quips over Martians and men from
Atlantis.”
Jack
cringes and refuses to embarrass me with pointless sympathy.
“Relative
dating of the writing system to the first two Dynasties, taken in
conjunction with the absolute dating of the gold amulet from the carbon
dating analysis – which proved the amulet was over ten thousand years
old – would vindicate my research and invalidate everything
Egyptologists have accepted as proven fact since excavations began.”
Jack
takes a moment to absorb the enormity – relatively speaking - of what
I’ve just told him, then he eyes Steven contemptuously. “No
hidden agenda, huh? What? The Porsche isn’t enough for
ya? You wanna be on Letterman? You wanna move to Beverley
Hills? ‘The guy who changed the face of Egyptology’.” Jack
shakes his head wearily. “You are some piece of work.”
“I
have Daniel’s BEST interests at heart!” Steven passionately refutes
Jack. “I’m not looking to steal the credit for Daniel’s work, but to
share in the research.”
“Bull,”
Jack snaps. “You’d be the guy in charge, the Professor, the guy
with tenure, right? What does Daniel get? A goddamn
footnote?”
“This
is Daniel’s LAST chance to save his reputation and regain his rightful
place in the profession,” Steven snarls.
“Just
so long as his ‘rightful’ place is some place BEHIND you, huh?” Jack is
having none of it.
“The
final pertinent factor is Steven’s interest in my unpublished research
from the past five years,” I suggest quietly. “He’s assuming I’ve
found additional evidence to corroborate my research. That being
the case, Steven, can you explain exactly why it is I’m STILL out
beyond the extreme fringe of the profession, ‘slumming’ it with Jumping
Jack Flash here?” I nod to Jack.
“Thank
you,” Jack drips sarcasm. “The suggestion being if you’d managed
to find one single piece of evidence that would get you outta my
lowlife dilettante clutches, you’d have gotten outta them?” He
manages offended hauteur beautifully, hunching a hurt shoulder at
me. “Really, thank you SO much for that. Makes me feel so
much better.”
Jack
will never make an archaeologist but he’s one hell of a
tactician. I don’t even try to disguise my grin as Jack milks his
wounded dignity for all it’s worth and Steven falls for it hook, line
and sinker. I feel for Steven, truly I do. My status, my
reputation – it means nothing compared to the WORK. I’ve never
been ambitious, other than to be sure I’m doing the best work that I
can. I’m the only judge I need, I don’t require external
validation. Steven is judging me by his standard and as always I
fall short of the mark. In my place, he wouldn’t think Jack – the
‘middle-aged dullard’ - was worth trading my career for. He
certainly wouldn’t do it, and he can’t conceive how I can consider the
trade worthwhile.
I
don’t want to see Steven expose more of himself to us than he already
has. He’s not the only one seeing things clearly for the first
time. This man was once my friend, or so I thought. I
excused his lack of support, just as I excused Sarah’s.
Understood they had to stand apart from me, had to protect their
careers and reputations. I was wrong. Jack or Sam or Teal’c would
have stood by my side and spit in the eye of anyone who treated me the
way Steven and Sarah did.
“I’m
sorry, Steven. I can’t and don’t accept your offer. I have
nothing materially to add to the body of research. I have no more
proof of my theories now than I ever have. I can’t help
you. If you want to find your own spot out beyond the extreme
fringe, go right ahead and pursue this. Even a used Porsche will
fetch enough to fund a one man dig for a few months, after which – “
“You’ll
have to find your own low life repressed jarhead robot dilettante,”
Jack’s eyes sparkle as he bites off every insulting syllable with
relish. He looks Steven up and down and shrugs lightly.
Dismissively. “So if there’s nothing else we can help you with?” Jack
rises smoothly to his feet, and strolls suggestively to the steps, an
eloquent hand urging Steven to make like a tree. Soon as.
Steven
is down, but definitely not out. He doesn’t budge.
Jack
sighs. “Quittin’ time, Daniel. I’m taking you out to
dinner.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere
they don’t eat out of cans,” Jack says cheerfully, heading purposefully
over to me. “Speaking of which, help yourself, Rayner. We
got macaroni and cheese.”
“Don’t
let the taste fool you,” I call as Jack takes my hand in a firm grip
and tows me off towards the stairs in what he fondly imagines to be a
masterful fashion, “It’s NOT chicken. Bye.”
“Whatever,”
Jack drawls laconically. Could not be less interested in Steven’s
woes. Could not make his complete disinterest any more obvious.
He
reluctantly releases me when we reach the sunlit upper chamber. I
enjoy the simple pleasure of being allowed to be so close to him again
as we walk side by side, arms brushing.
“Jack?
Were you serious about going out to dinner, or was that just a line?” I
ask curiously.
“Is
there somewhere we can actually go?” Jack cheers right up.
“This
is Abydos, Jack. We’re only a short drive from the Nile and
Dendera. That’s Hathor’s old stamping ground,” I add dryly.
“Bitch,”
Jack snaps reflexively, scowling and easing just a little closer.
Oh Lord. Is he – he’s not going all protective on me, is
he? Life is unnerving enough at the moment. I don’t need
Jack thinking he has to gallantly shield me from a stiff breeze, just
because we’re – we’re – y’know. That is to say, we will be –
y’know.
“Sure
you don’t want to go Dutch?” I enquire innocently, trying to keep a
straight face. Although I have to admit that is a fair
point. “What is the correct etiquette for two men – well –
dating?”
“How
should I know?” Jack grins. “I haven’t dated in – must be – oh,
close to fifteen years, and I’ve never taken a man out to dinner in my
life.”
“We’ve
been out to dinner before, Jack.”
“We’ve
gone out together,” Jack corrects, looking and sounding slightly
embarrassed, “This is the first time I’m taking you out to dinner.”
I
see. For Jack there is a distinct difference between the
two. He’ll die on the spot if I tell him just how sweet I think
that is. I will also refrain from any comments on him being
somewhat old-fashioned in his attitude. I’d never suspected that
Jack was such a gentleman.
“I’m
doing the best I can, Daniel. I never expected to hit forty five
and suddenly acquire a lover, let alone – “ Jack stumbles over whatever
he was about to say and looks a little conscious as he shoots me a
sidelong glance.
“Let
alone?” One like me? I know he’s bored by most of what I do
and say. “I can be more sociable,” I can’t quite cover my
anxiety. “I know I’ve gotten into the habit of working at home as
much as I do on base, but I’m not – it’s what I do, it’s not me.
I won’t spend all my time with my nose in a book or a journal, or – I
mean, we can do stuff. I want to go out and – I want to be with
you,“ I mutter, glad our emergence into the late afternoon sunlight has
Jack blinking furiously too. I think I’m blushing again.
This is so awkward.
“Why
shouldn’t you read if you want to?” Jack is surprised. “Gives me
time to do my own thing without worrying you’re bored out of your
skull.”
“You
think I think you’re boring?” I ask cautiously. “That’s
ridiculous.”
“You
hate hockey, beer and ER,” Jack contradicts as we scramble into the
jeep. “You haven’t bothered to come over to the house for months.”
“I
came over to spend time with you, but you -” I answer
unthinkingly. “Sorry!” I gasp, conscience stricken, “I’m sorry,
Jack. I didn’t mean that the way it – “
“Don’t
fret it,” he assures me, quietly. “I told you, I can’t change the
past.”
“Do
you think I’m boring?”
“You?
No,” Jack smiles, eyes softening. “And I happen to think you’re
sociable enough, given most of the stuff I’m thinking about doing with
you requires us to stay in,” he admits.
“Oh,”
I answer intelligently. “Um – “
Jack’s
hand stills mine as I turn the key in the ignition. “Daniel, have
you thought about sex with me at all? I gotta say, I’m worried
that you’re so uncomfortable with the idea. God knows I don’t
want to force you to do anything you don’t want to do, but lovers do
share a bed, do make love.”
“I’ve
thought, but my imagination usually gives out on me, just when it gets,
you know?” it tumbles out in a mad rush.
“Interesting?”
Jack queries, unholy amusement dancing in his eyes.
I
shrug helplessly. Have I mentioned how awkward this is?
“You’ve done the interesting stuff before,” I accuse.
“I’m
NOT going to tell you, so just forget about it and – er – reap the
benefits as we fill in those blanks,” Jack is definitely laughing at me.
I
scowl at him.
Jack
softens suddenly, disarming me with the warmth of his smile.
“There’s no rush, Daniel. Not for either of us. This is
meaning of life type stuff, we’ve got to allow for a period of
adjustment.”
“For
every hockey game there is an equal and opposite informative lecture,”
I muse.
“Something
like that,” Jack is amused. “For every blockbuster there is some
obscure arthouse movie, probably with subtitles.”
“I
sleep on the left side of the bed,” I confess.
“You
trying to motivate me?” Jack asks hopefully. “I don’t heckle at
the arty stuff and you – “
“Certainly
not,” I quell him.
“You’re
cute when you’re haughty,” Jack admires.
“Cute?”
“Pretty,”
Jack generously amends, a distinctly provocative gleam in his eyes, “We
gettin’ this show on the road or not?”
“Boat,”
I correct absently, still brooding over ‘cute’. And pretty, for
goodness sake! Perhaps it’s time I broke the bad news.
“Your last chance to let me pay for half, Jack,” I warn.
“Nothing
doing.”
“Then
I sincerely hope you’re not maxed out on your credit cards,” I inform
him with relish. “We can get away with the casual clothes, but
only because the food is so expensive.”
“Where
exactly are we going?” Jack eyes the desert vista in mild disbelief.
“Dendera,
to catch the restaurant. It does a circuit between Dendera and
Luxor. I think a short – yet hideously expensive – cruise on the
Nile beats Air Force field rations hands down for a first date.”
“Romantic.”
“And
expensive,” I gloat as I start the engine and the racket swallows any
response Jack might have cared to make. Pretty, indeed! Any
more of that and I’m telling HIM he’s sweet.
Back to Part One / On to
Part Three
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