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CHAPTER 4: TENSIONS
"Can you imagine living with that?" Ferretti hissed, wincing as he watched
Colonel O'Neill fluently tear strips off some waste-of-space SF who was so
hopelessly raw, inefficient and incompetent, he didn't even know how hopelessly
raw, inefficient and incompetent he was. Until now, obviously. He was quite
clear on that now.
Sam shook her head pityingly. Although she refused to indulge in gossip, she was
in fact dying to know what it was like for Daniel to live with the colonel.
"Poor kid," Kawalsky commiserated with the quaking SF, graciously sliding the
last doughnut over to Carter. "After two weeks of concentrated colonel, Daniel
is still the only one on base who doesn't know O'Neill is a ruthless bastard."
Sam noted his distinctly admiring tone. Kawalsky was a smart, funny, nice guy
who was also a ruthless-bastard-in-training. Sam figured he was in line for a
command of his own, sooner rather than later. O'Neill had confidence in him,
which said a lot. Sam had confidence in O'Neill, which said enough to keep her
awake at night. She didn't need Oprah to diagnose some of her issues – and
patterns - in life. Most of them could be traced in a direct line straight back
to her Dad.
"He's young," Ferretti said excusingly. He straightened up defensively when the
other two looked at him in surprise. "Daniel." He shrugged deprecatingly. "You
know."
Sam nibbled her doughnut and nodded reluctantly. She did indeed know. She'd
managed to coax Daniel out of his shell enough he looked quite pleased to see
her when she got between him and his books, but getting him out of his office
was proving much more difficult. If she talked about linguistics or the little
she knew of archaeology courtesy of Discovery Channel, Daniel was irresistibly
enthusiastic. When Sam talked about physics, he was curious, questioning and
brilliantly intuitive as a problem solver. She usually felt energised after one
of their discussions, as if she'd been plugged into the mains. In the nicest
possible way.
Talk about Daniel and he didn't. Talk that was.
"He's very committed to his books," she observed carefully.
"Tell me about it," Ferretti bitched with a real sense of grievance. "He's
filled two walls in two weeks and I'm the one who has to un-crate those
suckers."
"So your hanging out in his office has nothing to do with you finding out Daniel
gets paid more than the colonel and has never played a game of poker in his
life?" Sam asked innocently, eyes gleaming.
She and Ferretti had unexpectedly bonded when she kicked his butt at pool in
the Rec Room and in the somewhat spirited aftermath, both had revealed an
unlikely shared childhood passion. Apparently they both loved the cool little
backpack that made Major Matt Mason fly, the only doll either of them had ever
played with.
When Sam was able to produce Major Matt and his operational backpack, Ferretti
got positively tearful. He'd been giving her shit mercilessly ever since. She
fully appreciated the worth of this and was planning to get him but good at his
earliest inconvenience as soon as she got the goddamned dialling program
dialling.
They watched O'Neill stalk over to the food counter, SFs and airmen prudently
scattering from his path, various conversations respectfully dipping as he
prowled between the tables. The cook handed him two submarine sandwiches, packed
with tuna mayo and salad, two café lattes and two huge wedges of maple pecan
cheesecake.
"Yes," Kawalsky said abruptly. "I'm just as pissed as you two are that the
colonel won't share."
"I'm more pissed the cook won't share," Ferretti contradicted tartly, shifting
uncomfortably at this unqualified declaration of friendship on his behalf. "Did
you see cheesecake on the menu?"
"Speaking of sharing," Sam took an opening. "Who do I have to thank for the
'Bunsen! Barbie' screensaver doing the rounds, Ferretti?"
Kawalsky sniggered meanly. "She packs one helluva…"
"Sir!" Sam protested loudly, blushing. She knew exactly what Barbie was
packing.
One minute O'Neill was with the cook, the next he was way the hell over here,
with them.
"Don't you people have anything better to do?" he asked sharply.
"Yes, Sir," Sam rapped back.
"Then go and do it, Carter."
Sam had to suck it up and get up, feeling rather touched when Ferretti and
Kawalsky gallantly escorted her out of the Commissary, Colonel O'Neill dogging
their heels. She knew it was mostly constructive cowardice, safety in numbers
and all that, and she fully appreciated the gesture meant only that they avoided
the colonel saying anything worse to them by leaving with her.
They prudently turned left when the colonel turned right, deciding as one to
take the circuitous route to wherever O'Neill wasn't.
"Feed 'em and weep," Ferretti snorted when they were safely out of earshot and
around a corner.
Sam looked at him questioningly.
She was under O'Neill's supervision, which mostly consisted of him turning up
unexpectedly to ask really annoying questions she had no answers for, but she
wasn't really part of his unit. She wasn't accepted. This had been made clear to
her.
Not that this was anything she wasn't used to.
Despite logging all those hours in enemy air space in the Gulf, despite her
weapons training and Level Three in hand-to-hand combat, her years of commitment
and experience, the archaeologist made the cut and she didn't.
"The colonel is going hand-to-hand with Daniel. Full combat training, the
works," Kawalsky supplied, wincing sympathetically. "On the general's orders."
"Daniel is extremely talented at getting out of things he doesn't want to do,"
Sam noted. It was the way he looked at you with those soulful blue eyes, batting
his ludicrously long lashes, utterly unaware of the impact he was having on your
hormones.
"He'd have got away with it longer if he hadn't told Hammond it was a ridiculous
waste of valuable translation time," Kawalsky said ruefully.
"That got him weapons training," Ferretti supplied.
"More hands-on with the colonel," Kawalsky sighed.
"Siler's started a pool on which of them cracks first," Ferretti added.
"The sergeant is in my lab right now," Sam observed gently.
"Need some 'assistance'?" Ferretti offered innocently.
"Yep. Can you lend me fifty bucks until payday?" Sam said sweetly.
"Hey," Jack called softly.
Daniel looked up, his serious expression replaced by wariness as he eyed Jack,
trying to read his mood.
Jack didn't blame him. After waking up more or less in his arms the night they'd
had the new couch delivered, Daniel was slightly defensive. Jack didn't think
he'd done anything overt, but Daniel still somehow sensed he needed to keep his
distance from him. He didn't like hurting Daniel's feelings or having the guy
think he was crowding him but it was safer for both of them if Daniel did keep
to himself.
Daniel appeared to agree with Jack's assessment. He came home the night after
their entanglement with the laptop Hammond provided for him and was basically
living in his room while Jack got the run of the rest of the house.
It was crappy.
Last night Daniel hadn't come home at all. Pulled an all-nighter and stayed on
base.
Bringing Daniel lunch was the only apology Jack was willing to make for being a
selfish bastard. It would be easier all around if Daniel wasn't so damned
sensitive. He took things hard and Jack really didn't want him to feel like he
was in the house on sufferance. If he could just keep a lid on the touchy-feely
crap until he got his balance back, they'd be fine.
Right now, he was so edgy the whole damn base was on permanent alert. Hallways
emptied as soon as he stalked out his office door. Having to quit smoking for
the sake of Daniel's allergies only added to his joy.
"Coffee!" Daniel gloated, his wariness dissolving into happy greed.
"You're welcome," Jack retorted sarcastically. Daniel placidly ignored him,
reaching for the precious java. It annoyed Jack at times Daniel was so accepting
of his moods. Even Jack knew it was totally irrational to hold Daniel at arms'
length and then go postal because Daniel appeared to take him at face value and
stayed away. Daniel had seen enough of who he really was, though, Jack had no
difficulty blaming him for it.
"How are you doing?" Daniel asked compassionately, with an inquisitive look at
Jack's upper arm.
No one, in the history of ever, had had the balls to buy Jack O'Neill
nicotine patches.
"Are they helping?"
Insist that he wear them.
"Jack?"
Expect to live.
"Eat!" he roared, forestalling another round of Daniel-flavoured supportiveness.
His shredded nerves couldn't stand it.
He divided up the food, pulled up a chair and dropped down, tearing into his
sandwich without finesse. The cook had a soft spot a mile wide for Daniel, hence
the treats. Jack had wolfed down most of his tuna-mayo in three huge bites when
he finally looked up to catch Daniel quickly looking down. He swallowed
heroically. "What is it?"
Daniel glanced up, flushed miserably and looked back down, taking refuge in a
bite of his sandwich.
He could hardly blurt out what was on his mind. Which was thinking he'd said
'no', being pretty sure about that, but a very persistent airman appearing to
have heard 'maybe'. Or even 'later'.
The airman in question had four inches in height and about a hundred pounds
in weight on him and he was at a loss to know how to deal with the situation.
He had never, ever been directly propositioned by another man before.
It was – it was slightly worrying.
He was never going to know Jack well enough to be able to ask him about
something like this. He shied instinctively from revealing intimate detail of
his life, too wary of Jack's perceptiveness to fail to guard his privacy.
He looked up at the stony face he'd hoped - Well, never mind what he'd hoped.
Jack couldn't make it clearer he didn't want him around, though he watched
every move Daniel made, the force of his mute attention like a physical touch on
Daniel's skin.
Admittedly, Daniel was possibly overly self-conscious. The first evening they
hadn't spent sitting on the stairs, he'd fallen asleep thinking how attractive
Jack was and woke up sprawled all over him. He had no idea what that told him,
let alone Jack, but the man had enough confusion in his life without having to
shoulder Daniel's too.
Jack asked him to move in because he didn't want to be alone and Daniel accepted
because he had no place else to go and because he'd hoped he could help Jack.
Ironically, it looked like neither of them was going to get what they wanted.
There was no way he could even mention Sara to Jack, let alone ask why he'd cut
her so completely out of his life. The man who had opened up to him so
unexpectedly was now coolly aloof and watchful, making everything so much more
difficult at the house for Daniel than it needed to be.
He couldn't even think 'home'.
Jack let his linguist eat his sandwich and silently stew, waiting until Daniel
bit into his cheesecake before he announced his reason for being there. The
hand-to-hand combat baseline skills assessment.
Daniel straightened up, scowling at him.
Jack was about as enthusiastic at the prospect as Daniel. If Hammond hadn't
insisted, Jack would have let Daniel go right on talking him out of it
indefinitely. He didn't have enough balance back he was eager to test it rolling
around getting sweaty with Daniel.
"It's an order," he snapped irritably as Daniel muttered something. "What?" he
asked sharply.
"It's fine."
"That's what I thought you said."
Jack watched Daniel steadily as they both ate their cheesecake, which was very
good. Daniel went red under his scrutiny, which Jack figured was not so good.
"Suddenly self-defence isn't a ridiculous waste of your time and mine?" he asked
pleasantly.
Daniel shot him a snarky look.
"Any particular reason?" he asked casually, taking a long drink of his latte,
giving Daniel time to figure out whatever lie he was going to tell. He felt a
bit mean about going up against an unarmed opponent, figuring a sporting
head-start was the least he could give. Daniel was the worst and possibly the
most inexperienced liar he'd ever met.
"No reason," Daniel insisted defiantly.
"There isn't a man on the base who doesn't know exactly how highly Hammond
values your hide, Daniel," Jack said easily, figuring this was obvious enough to
work as a blanket reassurance if any of the SFs or airmen had been getting
pissy. If anyone pushed Daniel the odds were he would choose not to push back.
He was setting himself up for the putative SFs to keep right on pushing until
they got a rise out of him.
If it was something more - someone - Jack would deal with it. Daniel was his
linguist and the sooner he – they...The sooner they - he meant they, not...Shit.
"I'll see you in the gym on Level Thirteen at 1500 hours," Jack ordered
brusquely, deciding to quit while he was ahead.
As Jack pushed his shoulder, Daniel simply moved with the force of his hand.
His usual approach to conflict was to remain calm and rational. It was extremely
difficult to escalate a fight if one side wouldn't engage and if the other guy
did push it, Daniel was probably going to get his ass kicked regardless.
Jack pushed him again.
"Based on your current level of skill I'm recommending a twenty-four hour
guard," Jack said snidely.
Daniel kicked him in the shin. Hard.
Jack didn't so much as whimper. He fluidly closed the distance, fingers clamping
on Daniel's wrist in a tight, firm grip as he tripped him, taking him down to
the floor in a smooth, controlled fall. Daniel surged back up, thwarted as
Jack's weight settled over his body, his wrists were snatched and he was slammed
back into the thick, padded mattress. Hard.
"That fucking hurt," Jack commented conversationally.
Daniel flexed his wrists, which got him nowhere. Jack tightened his grip,
leaning into him, confident weight pinning him flat. Daniel thought about
kneeing him in the balls - he might need the practice - but Jack was way ahead
of him, rolling easily, his knees forcing their way between Daniel's, roughly
parting his legs. He was disconcerted by the oddly impersonal intimacy, freezing
up involuntarily. He had never been held down like this before, never been held
this way at all. He wanted Jack off him, now. He was too heavy, too close.
Jack kept careful watch on Daniel's tight face, flowed with the defensive twists
of his body, riding every buck and heave, pinning Daniel flat again and again.
Daniel felt good, he felt too good, they fit all the way, a perfect fit, Daniel
slim, supple and strong beneath him. Testing Jack, testing his patience, his
control, his limits. Jack was out of his fucking mind thinking he could do this,
that he could touch and feel nothing. He felt everything, every breath Daniel
took, every quiver of straining muscle, the long smooth planes, the sharp
angles, the sweet unsuspected curves of his body.
He wanted.
He wanted.
Daniel was freaked out and fighting panic, Jack was all over him. In sharp
focus, in his face, Jack's brown eyes liquid, responsive as the fight went out
of him and he quieted at last, breathing hard, frightened by his helplessness
and Jack's mastery of him.
Jack was dropping his head to meet Daniel's, still flowing, energised, aroused
by his beautiful, striving body, by the intensity.
Instinctively he angled his face, staring into widening blue eyes. He was close
enough he felt Daniel's gasp of his name huffing against his mouth. Then he was
pulling away, letting go, rolling easily up as Daniel scrambled out from under
him.
Daniel made it to his knees and no further, wavering like a drunk, shocky and
anxious. He struck at Jack's hand as he reached for him, leaving them stranded
stupidly on their knees facing one another.
"What the?" Daniel gasped breathlessly, his lips thin in a grey, sweating face.
"What the fuck was - was that?" He looked scared to death.
"I wanted to be sure you'd take the training seriously." The lie was out before
Jack could stop it and he wished to Christ he'd stopped himself sooner because
he was way over the line here. Anyone looking in would have been pulling him off
because he didn't know, he had no fucking idea what had just happened between
them, what that was, except he'd needed Daniel so badly.
"Sara's home," he blurted, white-faced and shaking, Daniel convinced enough to
edge closer to him, hesitant hands hooking around his elbows, achingly sorrowful
for him. "I got the call after I..." he broke off. "I love her," Jack confessed
hopelessly. "I love her and I can't...It's over for us. Over. What the fuck am I
going to do, Daniel?"
Jack held on to Daniel, moved only by the sound of his distant voice. He shook
with the force of the kiss he hadn't taken.
Why now? he thought bitterly. When he had nothing, how could he be
falling in love? With a man?
With this man.
Daniel hovered at the top of the steps, watching the eerie blue flicker of
the TV. It was two-am, and even though they didn't have work tomorrow, this was
hours after the latest time Jack had ever stayed up.
"Go back to bed."
The laconic command drove Daniel straight down the stairs to find Jack slumped
on the couch, his long denim-clad legs outstretched, socked feet hooked neatly
at the ankles on the newly acquired coffee table. He glanced up as Daniel
slipped onto the opposite end of the couch, curling up with his arms hugging his
knees, burrowing his bare toes into the gap between the cushions.
"I wasn't in bed," Daniel said mildly.
He was in fact putting the finishing touches to a fascinating research
project on the Norse pantheon. The irony of finally getting from the United
States Air Force unlimited funding to support his studies into the
cross-pollinisation of ancient cultures didn't escape him. It had to be the
first time in the history of archaeology that a paper on the Norse god Thor had
suspected strategic significance.
Jack was staring at him, still pale but looking better than he had this
afternoon during their - whatever it was. Something like an emotional fugue,
Daniel guessed. There had been a long moment there when he'd been shocked into
awareness of Jack, more than physical awareness. It made his pulse race now even
thinking about it. Not that it meant anything, Jack focusing on him like that,
like the world went away. Jack was thinking about his wife, not - not Daniel.
Not that he wanted Jack to.
He didn't know what the hell he wanted, except every time he remembered the heat
in Jack's liquid eyes his heart skipped a beat, leaving him breathless and
shaky. Like a kid with a - a crush.
He had no idea how to deal with this. He had no experience at all. There was
only his brief relationship with Sarah, and his strongest memories of that time
were of his work and her disappointment. The intimacy of kissing was the only
one they'd shared, the only physical intimacy Daniel had experienced.
Jack was married and yet, this afternoon he'd seemed to – he'd acted as
if he – he wanted…
Daniel was afraid with Jack, wholly out of his depth.
"What the hell have you got on?" Jack demanded, looking him over in fascination.
Daniel glanced down self-consciously, smoothing his fingers over the soft navy
flannel.
"Pyjamas?" Jack incredulously. "Tartan pyjamas?"
Admittedly, there was a subdued wine-coloured check in them and they were a
little on the elderly side, hence the substitution of a navy t-shirt in place of
what used to be the jacket, but they were warm enough in bed Daniel could take
the ridicule in the living room.
"You're killing me," Jack announced flatly, shaking his head in mild, teasing
disbelief.
"Are you going to see Sara?" Daniel asked gently, taking the risk of an
unpleasant rebuff. It struck him, not for the first time, there were some
uncomfortable parallels between his life and Jack's. Sara and Sarah, the loss of
his parents as a boy mirrored in Jack's loss of his son, even the odd
coincidence of Daniel's name. Jackson…Jack's son…
"She wants to come here," Jack muttered uneasily, surprising them both.
"It isn't real to her," Daniel intuited. Jack frowned in sudden understanding.
"Sara needs to see the house, to see you here to know it's real, it's over."
Daniel went red at the tactless, hurtful comment. It had never occurred to him
Jack wouldn't go back to his wife. If Sara was bluffing, trying to shock Jack
into giving her what she needed, whatever it was he was denying her, he'd called
her bluff. Daniel was still stunned at Jack's ruthless efficiency in shedding
his past.
Not that he could find it in his heart to blame him. Jack couldn't live with
what had happened to his son. He had to live, he'd made his choice on Ra's world
when he'd turned to deactivate the bomb, so he had to close Charlie away in his
mind, just as Daniel had done with his parents, with Nick. Yet there was no
doubt Charlie was with Jack all the time, every moment he wasn't actively
thinking, saying or doing something else. It was tragic Sara was caught up in
the crossfire because Daniel had no doubt Jack loved her and he was hurting over
this.
This only added to his confusion over what Jack was feeling, what he wanted.
Feeling lost, Daniel was scooting down the couch to sit close by Jack's side,
not really making a conscious choice, simply responding instinctively to his
friend's need. When Jack's arm came around his shoulders, he allowed himself to
be drawn closer, hoping it would help.
"You forget how loud a gunshot is," Jack said inconsequentially.
No, Daniel thought. You didn't. You shouldn't. Any more than you could
forget the sound of falling stone and terror.
"Sara was weeding." Jack glanced at him then looked deliberately away. "Those
flowers by the porch."
Daniel remembered the splashes of vivid colour.
"I was teasing her, talking about taking the two of them out for the evening.
Showing them off. We were laughing, close. She'd just shown me his new school
photo when we heard the shot. Sara leaned past me, looking up. She said his
name. 'Charlie'. First a question. Then a scream."
The dry, impersonal tone grated on Daniel but he understood Jack couldn't get
through this any other way. He hitched closer, feeling awkward and useless,
unable to reach out and offer the reassurance of a touch.
"Sara actually beat me up the stairs," Jack went on in the same dead voice. "She
didn't panic, didn't miss a beat. Neither of us - I was kneeling in his blood
giving him CPR, this roaring blank noise in my head while Sara ran for the
phone. His heart was still beating when the ambulance came. When they lifted him
- the entry wound is always neat," Jack observed clinically.
Daniel reached out and took Jack's hand, held it in both of his, held on to Jack
bruisingly, breathless and hurting for him. For him it wasn't the noise, not his
mother's screaming, not the sight of his father turning into her, covering her
body with his. It was the feel of it, the world rocking beneath his feet when
the stones crashed down.
The workmen got to him first. They knew. Bill had carried him away before they
went to his parents. It wasn't until Nick said 'no' in a cramped office slanted
with dusty sunlight and stale with the smell of old paper that Daniel knew,
really knew. He knew then he was alone, knew it in his soul. He'd lived alone in
his mind ever since.
"We did everything right, they kept telling us that. Our son was dying. Dead.
But we did everything right."
"Jack," Daniel murmured distressfully. "You were trained."
"I was trained to secure my weapon," Jack snarled, turning on him, grabbing him
by the shoulders, yanking him up close to face raging eyes. "I left the key. The
fucking key. Tossed it down with the keys to the house, the jeep." He shook
Daniel, hard. "I never let Charlie play with guns. Never. He had no respect for
them. None. They were toys to him."
The understanding in Daniel's eyes was too much for Jack. Hate he lived with,
anger, pity and blame he had in equal measure from everyone who knew them.
Empathy killed him. Empathy killed Charlie. Jack knew what guns did, what they
cost. He wanted to keep Charlie safe from that, from understanding what his
father the hero truly was, what he did. Dad took lives discriminately and with
great skill. As long as guns weren't real to Charlie, Jack wasn't real. He was a
hero in his son's eyes, needed to be that to make up for all of the time with
Charlie he missed, needed the reason he wasn't there to be important.
"I killed him," Jack whispered. "She knows I did. I can't bear the thought."
"That Sara blames you?" Daniel's hands curled comfortingly around his forearms.
"That she forgives me." He tracked the tear slipping down Daniel's cheek,
cupping his quiet face to stroke it clear with his thumb. Daniel's skin was
smooth against his palm, stubble exotically chafing. Why couldn't he ever get
close enough to Daniel when it was Sara who needed him, hated him and loved him?
Sara needed him gone. Sara needed.
Daniel...accepted.
It was an answer of sorts.
Daniel gave in gracefully to the restless pressure of Jack's body hard against
his, slipping his arms around him to simply hold him, let Jack know he wasn't
alone, he was with him. Jack's grip on him was fierce, almost angry as he
nuzzled his face against Daniel's with incongruous tenderness.
Beginning to be scared by the unspoken intensity, Daniel leaned back, believing
Jack needed some distance. He appeared to be alone in that belief, winding up
pinned awkwardly against the back of the couch, Jack impossibly close, his
breath against Daniel's skin. If Jack turned, just a little, they'd be mouth to
mouth.
Daniel figured Jack wasn't thinking at all, he was feeling so much he didn't
know what to do with the fury of denial of his loss, the terrible, inescapable
logic of his responsibility for Charlie. He needed some kind of – of release and
Daniel was here, not Sara. Jack - Jack wasn't even seeing him, only reacting in
a way that made sense to the presence of a warm, close body. There was no
control, no consciousness, only drive and a need Jack was giving in to. Daniel
was irrelevant, he couldn't let Jack kiss him this way, unknowing. He didn't
want it. He told himself that, his certainty wavering almost as soon as the
thought was in his head. He shouldn't want it. Even if he - it couldn't be this,
not for them. It was wrong for them. Wrong time, wrong place, everything was
wrong. His cradling hands were pushing now, shocking Jack back to awareness.
Glaring down at him for a blazing moment, Jack's face wrenched and he was gone,
stumbling away from the couch and Daniel as fast as he could. The echoing slam
of the bedroom door made Daniel jump.
Resentment boiled from nowhere, suffocating him with something close to rage at
Jack's selfishness.
Daniel finally realised what had really happened between the two of them back
there on Ra's planet. Jack hadn't been able to let go of him. He could have
walked away from him, walked away and lied, leaving Daniel to live out his life
with Sha'uri.
Jack had proved conclusively how smooth a liar he was. Smooth enough, Daniel
believed him.
It was Jack's choice to bring Daniel back. Was Daniel supposed to be grateful
Jack had waited just long enough their lives were thoroughly entangled before
making his motivations clear? Before making his move? Had Jack planned all of
this?
Daniel had found it easy to forgive the anguished anger of Jack's grief for his
son, his confusion over Sara, his loneliness. He was furious Jack seemed to be
fighting attraction to him. Dammit, if it was this - if it was – was only sex,
Jack had had no right to take Daniel from Sha'uri! He'd never clicked with
anyone as he had with her, as if they were meant. They fit.
Realisation slammed hard.
Jack fit too.
Jack had made himself fit in spaces Daniel would never have invited him in,
become a part of him in ways no one had. Daniel was no closer to extricating
himself from Jack than he had been the day he was brought back through the
Stargate. There were more ties between them now, deeper ties. Jack was his
friend, a man he looked to. Respected. He had given over so much of his
independence – how could he not have seen his life was in Jack's keeping?
He was a fool.
A stupid, blind, trusting fool who'd given Jack every opening and opportunity
he'd needed to tie them both in knots. And even knowing this, he still couldn't
think of walking away from him, because as much as Jack needed him, Daniel
needed Jack.
He didn't know what to do, how to help either of them get clear.
Overwhelmed by it all, exhausted, Daniel sat shivering for a long time, his eyes
fixed on the flickering soundless TV screen, determinedly thinking of nothing.
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