WORLD ENOUGH, AND TIME: AN ALTERNATE REALITY NOVEL BY BIBLIO
CHAPTER 7: DARK AND LIGHT

CHAPTER  7: DARK AND LIGHT

Sam Carter was sitting rigidly resisting the comfort of a deeply padded blue chair when George arrived at the Air Force Academy Hospital. Her hands were jammed under her armpits. She was psyching out the duty desk clerk, her gaze icy, unwavering on the female sergeant.

His eyes were drawn to the denim jacket Carter wore buttoned high, despite the stifling, enervating heat in the ER waiting room. His heart sank. Carter must be hiding bloodstains on her clothing beneath. Or she'd discarded whatever she was wearing. As he came forward, Carter spotted him, her pretty face twisting for a moment, then she was up, unconsciously standing to attention. George understood the comfort of the familiar rituals they were trained to complete no matter what, to connect them to their fellows. To themselves.

"They won't let me see him, Sir."

Her eyes said, 'fix this'.

"What happened, Captain?" he asked calmly.

"Someone beat the shit out of Dr. Jackson," Sam reported, her voice clipped. "I found him in front of my house."

"Have the MPs been informed?"

"After the ambulance, before I called you." Sam wrapped her arms around herself, tight. She was trying to keep a lid on her feelings but it was hard. She was prepared for injury, death and loss in the line of duty. She was trained to handle that, to function well under extraordinary emotional, physical and psychological pressure. None of her training helped her to deal with tearing home to find a friend she was very fond of face-down in a pool of his own blood.

She was very upset.

She was very angry.

She fucking wanted to hurt someone.

Sam looked up self-consciously. "I was somewhat impolite to the doctor treating Daniel," she confessed stiffly.

"That's an understatement," a rich, strong voice retorted.

Sam turned to glare at the tiny woman who'd threatened to have her escorted off the grounds if she didn't get her ass in that chair and keep it there. It was amazing the warm voice and the beautiful, eloquent brown eyes could belong to such a bitch.

"Doctor?" George asked questioningly.

"Janet Fraiser," the doctor responded readily. "This way please, General, Captain Carter."

"How's our boy?"

"Dr. Jackson has a concussion, his left shoulder is dislocated, and three ribs are fractured. He's suffering from a renal haematoma - there's blood in his urine. He also has extensive bruising to his face and torso," Janet rapped out her report as she led the way to her office. "He's in shock and will be in ICU for at least seventy-two hours. We're treating him conservatively - broad spectrum antibiotics, observation for altered consciousness, monitoring for hypertension, pain meds," she explained rapidly.

"Can we see him?" Sam asked the moment she could get a word in edgeways.

"He's resting," Janet responded smoothly.

Janet the bitch meant no. Sam dropped into the proffered chair, scowling. It bounced right off Fraiser. The woman had a bedside manner that made rational, reasonable, responsible - dammit, Sam wanted to smack her one!

She - she should have been there. She needed to be there now. Daniel was too alone. He needed to be with people, needed it so he could believe in it, that he was cared for. Sam had been there herself, a little, when her mom died. Enough to recognise the same need in Daniel. She'd pushed him into the role of little brother, he humoured her…allowed her to nag and coax him out of his shell and into her life. She adored him.

She should have been there, dammit! He'd needed her.

"He's conscious?" George prompted. He wanted to take a look at the boy himself. He was furious a civilian under his command, a quiet, serious scholar whose safety and welfare he was responsible for, had been assaulted. He was here to ensure Dr. Jackson had the best of care and he wanted the perpetrator behind bars. Yesterday. This would be made clear to the investigating team assigned by the MPs when he got through with them.

"He was conscious throughout," Fraiser reported icily. "Whoever attacked Dr. Jackson knew exactly what they were doing. His shoulder was deliberately dislocated. The concussion is a direct consequence of his fall. This wasn't a mugging," she told them angrily. "It was a surgical strike. Moderate injuries were inflicted."

"Moderate?" Sam snapped, straightening up sharply.

"Medically speaking," Fraiser retorted, her face softening approvingly at Sam's protective ire. "Someone wanted to hurt Dr. Jackson, hurt him in such a way he wouldn't forget the lesson, not any time soon. None of his injuries require surgical intervention and all of them will bring him excruciating pain for a prolonged period." Janet took a deep breath, struggling to hold on to her professional composure. "Whoever did this isn't an animal, Sir," she assured Hammond with earnest conviction. "He's a sociopath. He was in control throughout, making calculated choices."

This silenced Sam and General Hammond.

Sam turned to the general in bewilderment. "Who would do such a thing to Daniel?"

"I intend to find out," George replied grimly. He was horrified. From what Fraiser was telling him, it sounded as if Dr. Jackson had been attacked by one of their own. If it were true, it went against everything George believed in, everything the Air Force stood for. They prided themselves on the ethical conduct of their officers and men. To have an airman use his training in a calculated, vicious assault on a civilian he took an oath of service to defend was intolerable.

"There's something you need to do first, Sir," Fraiser interjected smartly. "Find Dr. Jackson this 'Jack' he's asking for."

"Daniel?"

Daniel's eyes were leaden but he knew the voice, the feathering touches smoothing matted hair from his brow. Shaking with relief, he was fumbling weakly on the bedcover with his free hand when it was taken and held gently. Moist heat pressed against his palm for a moment. He wanted to speak but it felt as if he had someone standing on his chest. The room was spinning from the effects of the morphine, making him bitterly sick.

He could only squeeze Jack's hand as best he could.

Jack was careful, watchful, settling the oxygen mask more comfortably. With the pain from his ribs - well, from pretty much everywhere really, it was hard for him to breathe.

"Carter is fine," Jack reassured him without needing to be prompted Daniel was concerned, his voice warm and calm. "Pissy as hell, but what's new there? She and that pint-sized dictator they allege is your primary healthcare provider have burned their regulation-issue bras and bonded over their shitty exes, blue Jell-0, something called the glass ceiling and hatred of all men, especially men who are me."

Daniel heard clinking, the mask was lifted clear and icy droplets trickled over his lips, slipping down his parched throat when he eagerly opened to Jack's fingers. Jack was a good soldier and a sublime nurse. The dear, dear man was telepathic!

"Miss me?" Jack delicately stroked something deliciously cool over Daniel's brow as he suckled the ice cube.

"Yes," Daniel whispered hoarsely.

"Christ," Jack grated out.

Daniel managed to get his eyes open at that, for a few moments. It exhausted him, the room wavered and spun and he had to choke down bile, but he tried again. He peeked for a second or two to see Jack grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Look - shit," he offered by way of a welcome home.

"I think that's supposed to be my line," Jack told him dryly.

He smiled faintly in response, hissing as his split lip pulled. "I hurt." Jack's hand closed carefully on his bruised one and didn't let go as he drifted. "Knew you'd come," he whispered contentedly.

"Not soon enough, Danny, but I'm here now," Jack soothed him. "I've got you."

Always had, Daniel thought muzzily. "No'Danny."

"Daniel?"

"M-mama."

"I understand." Jack comforted him to silence, his voice rich with empathy.

Jack eased the oxygen mask back over Daniel's face as per Fraiser's instructions, being careful of his swollen, bruised cheek. It seemed to quieten Daniel when Jack held his hand, though he found it almost impossible to keep his grip comforting when he was so goddamned tense he was climbing out of his skin.

He was lucky everybody was looking out for Daniel because after the way he barged into the ICU, going through a couple of nurses who zigged when they should have zagged, he may as well have a big tattoo across his forehead; 'in love with the guy'. Eighteen hours straight and all he could do was sit here with his gut in knots, watching Daniel suffer. He couldn't bear to see anyone innocent hurt like this, anyone he cared for. It was - dammit, Charlie was still too close. Jack was too close, to anger, to panic. Impossible now to deny the reality of his feelings for Daniel, with this fist squeezing the crap out of his chest every time he couldn't not look at Daniel's beautiful, battered face.

It was hard to think of Daniel, to keep his focus here, to be gentle when he was so angry. He needed to be out dealing with it, out there finding the bastard who did this, only Daniel needed him here more. The enforced inaction was driving him to screaming point, only the sight of Daniel keeping him in this chair.

Daniel was in severe pain, finding it hard to breathe even with his arm splinted across his chest to support his shoulder and the fractured ribs. The oxygen mask was helping with the whatchamacallit - the dyspnoea, but his linguist wasn’t going anywhere for another couple of days.

Jesus. How could this happen?

Jack's fist clenched involuntarily. Daniel's face, shoulder, right hand and torso were a sullen, swollen mass of bruises. Oddly, it was Daniel's hand that had Jack and Hammond so mad. And scared. It was as much a mess as the rest of him but none of his bones were broken. The bastard who did this had used just enough pressure to hurt Daniel, really hurt him, to make his point - whatever the fuck it was - without putting him permanently out of commission. Two or three days in hospital, two or three weeks at home resting up, then Daniel would be back at work.

Hammond had it all in hand. Anything Daniel needed. Anything.

Doc Fraiser was tight-lipped and angry over the whole thing. They all were. The control this took from Daniel's attacker, keeping him conscious, inflicting pain that would stay with him for weeks without irreparable damage? Hammond, Carter - his guys - all of them were horrified. Feeling guilty as sin. They weren't there. They could all have done something, all of them, and none of them were there when Daniel needed them. Every one of them carried guilt for letting him down.

Jack had experience of not just the physical but the psychological effects of injury. As sensitive as Daniel was, this was going to hit him hard. He didn't need Fraiser's tactful warnings to know that. Jack could take it. He was ready. Waiting. He'd be there while Daniel needed him, then whoever did this to Daniel was going to pay, whatever it took. He knew torture intimately. Daniel's injuries were right out of the textbook.

Fraiser and Carter were talking counselling. The guys were talking beer, pizza, hockey. Just being there for the boy. It was all they could do when Daniel would let none of them in on what he was feeling, going through.

Daniel stirred restlessly, his already pale face greying.

"Aww, crap!" Jack straightened up quickly. "Fraiser!" he hollered, letting go of Daniel's hand to snatch up the top kidney bowl from the stack they kept ready by the bed. As Jack was lifting the oxygen mask clear, Fraiser flew over to the bed, her white coat snapping, helping him to roll Daniel enough he didn't aspirate when he threw up.

"He doesn't react well to morphine," Fraiser snapped as Daniel opened pain-and-drug-hazed eyes and retched distressingly, wrenching his whole body.

"Can't you give him something else?" Jack demanded angrily. He held Daniel in place until he quieted, then he helped Fraiser to roll him onto his back again. Daniel was crying helplessly, tears spilling down his cheeks, gulping snot, quaking under Jack's careful, supporting hands. "Even with that Phenergan you gave him, he's still throwing up!"

"We can try him on Tramadol," Fraiser mused, running a quick mind over the possibilities of the drug. "He won't be so nauseous." She looked at Dr. Jackson, who was trying very hard not to cry, deciding there were a couple of things she could immediately do for his welfare. Give him some privacy to be with his friend while he pulled himself together, and alleviate his pain. "Could you?" she gestured at Daniel's face, the colonel nodding grateful understanding. Leaving him to clean Dr. Jackson up and get him calmed down, Janet tactfully went over to the door, calling for ice packs as she pulled her drenched shirt away from her. Bless him, she thought indulgently, he did try to hit the bowl.

Jack hitched his butt up on the bed and bent low over Daniel, cradling an arm around his head. He looked around shiftily then leaned in. "Hey," he said softly.

Daniel mouthed something, a tad resentfully.

"Prick?" Jack sought confirmation.

Daniel blinked.

"That's what I figured," Jack said sadly. It was kind of tough to have to cry in front of another guy. And snot was never a good look. Not that he wasn't used to it. He skimmed the tears away with the barest brush of his fingers, failing to fight his grin as Daniel flushed up, his good eye soft with apology. "I'm not such an insensitive bastard after all, huh?" Jack teased gently, twitching a tissue from the box at the bedside to dab at Daniel's nose. Something he'd done a thousand times or more for Charlie.

A gentle, swollen hand rested on his thigh, which was all of Jack Daniel could reach when his whole body hurt. It was Jack's turn to flush, wondering how much of what he was thinking was showing on his face. Too damn much. Jack cleared his throat gruffly, avoided Daniel's eyes and ruined his macho image by taking his hand.

"You're killing me," Jack complained gently.

"Good," Daniel mouthed with a ghost of a smile. His fingers turned carefully in Jack's.

Forty years old. About to be divorced. Special Ops trained. Happy because Daniel wanted to hold his hand. Because it - he - helped.

Daniel's hair was irresistible. Jack no sooner noticed how rumpled it was than he was smoothing it down. His fingers tangled in the matted strands and he stayed put, staring down at Daniel, hoping what he was feeling didn't come off as crazed weasel lust.

Daniel went red, which looked extraordinary with the bruising. "Jaaa'," he whispered protestingly, looking shyly down.

Jack realised he was coming off as about ninety-percent crazed weasel but Daniel was gullible enough to be glad to see him anyway. He was blushing and bashful, but he wasn't pushing him away and his hand was still in Jack's.

"Do you remember anything?" he asked softly, making with a little surreptitious stroking.

"Thai'foo." Daniel looked up at Jack, who probably didn't realise how much rage was showing behind his tenderness. His heart skipped a beat sickeningly. He wasn't used - people didn't care about him like this. He never saw it coming, the one thing the other person really wanted, the one thing he couldn't give. Or take. The thing that ended whatever it was he stupidly thought he had with them. He'd gotten used to failure very early in his life. To the familiarity of disappointment.

Jack was in his face, demanding everything. Wouldn't rest until he had it, no matter if it were wrong. What did it take to have that kind of confidence? What did it cost?

"Thaas all." Daniel frowned, wincing as his abused cheek throbbed. "Movie." Jack brought another ice cube to Daniel's lips, held it for him as blessed coolness slipped down. "No 'Thel'," Daniel managed to husk out. "Th…" He couldn't get the words out and was too tired to try again.

"Nothing about the attack?"

Daniel blinked hard. There was only a gap, a hole where the memory should be. There was nothing about the attack he wanted to remember and he felt so low he really didn't care at this point. He wanted to go home where he could throw up and cry in privacy.

"Don't worry yourself. We've got time," Jack consoled.

A throat was cleared tactfully behind him, making him jump violently. Daniel yelped, pained tears coming to his eyes as Jack jarred him.

"Sir?"

"Jesus, Daniel, you look like shit!"

Furious at the intrusion when he was so compromised, Jack swung around. One look at his face was enough to make Kawalsky and Ferretti fall back, filled with apology they didn't dare utter. They could only stand rigidly to attention, quaking and grimly holding on to a tasteful bouquet it took both of them to carry.

Flowers? Stupefied, Jack gaped at the offering. Man, that was plain embarrassing. A quick glance reassured him Daniel was as horrified as he should be. Although, Jack had an uneasy feeling that if Danny - Daniel - really wanted flowers…. Jesus, he thought, not for the first time. He truly was going down for the third time. Drowning, not waving.

"It's Carter," Kawalsky muttered, scuffing his foot on the carpet. He was plainly mortified.

"She's like a spitting cobra." Ferretti shuddered visibly. "Not quite the ball-breaker that lady doc is, but still!"

"Doc'or," Daniel whispered laboriously, raising his good hand in greeting.

Even Jack jumped.

Daniel's smile was twisted and brought tears to his eyes but it was real and there.

Is this the part, he thought, where you guys try to convince yourselves you aren't scared of her?

He was becoming exceedingly familiar with macho posturing and the tidal influx of testosterone.

Recovering slightly from the fright, Ferretti snorted. "Nice try, Daniel, but you can hear those little pixie heels of hers half a mile away on these tiled floors," he said disdainfully.

"Not when she isn't wearing them, you can't," Janet smoothly contradicted, stepping out from behind him with her usual impeccable timing.  She was now wearing surgical scrubs, running shoes and an air of slightly smug feminine superiority. She was touched by the way the men responded to sudden danger, instinctively getting between her and Dr. Jackson and then getting right back out of her way again with more haste than dignity.

Janet felt this was exactly as it should be.

Five minutes alone with the bastard who attacked this lovely boy and a rusty scalpel?

Not that she was vindictive.

"Sowy," Daniel apologised remorsefully to Dr. Fraiser, regretfully remembering the size of the bowl and just how sick he felt.

"No problem," Janet said matter-of-factly as she headed briskly over to the bed. O'Neill was currently all over her patient, which she guessed made a change from being in her face. "Could you throw up on the colonel next time?" she asked Dr. Jackson teasingly.

Janet looked at the colonel.

Jack removed his hands from Daniel and his butt from the bed.

Janet switched her smile back on. "Cold application?" she tempted Dr. Jackson, making a mental note to brief the colonel on switching to heat applications after a few days at home. It would help with the swelling. "Visiting hours are over," she announced sharply.

"Than'u," Daniel husked gratefully.

"Charming," Ferretti complained, grunting with effort as he failed to flourish the bouquet he and Kawalsky were labouring under. "We totally humiliated ourselves for nothing?"

Daniel flushed guiltily. He tried to speak but his voice had given out completely. He looked appealingly to Jack for help.

"Yes, he did mean you," Jack translated liberally, settling himself back down in the chair by Daniel's bed and making like the immovable object while the irresistible force tapped a small, impatient foot at them all.

"No pain, no gain," Ferretti muttered distractedly, eyeing the flowers dubiously. He peered around Dr. Fraiser. "Hey, Dr. J, if you don't want these suckers?" he hinted broadly.

"I'm not carrying them out again," Kawalsky flatly stated his refusal.

Ferretti ignored him. "Can I have them for my wife? She's giving me hell for our anniversary."

"Why do I not think that's a figure of speech?" Kawalsky asked no one in particular.

"Easy, Daniel," Jack ordered.

Daniel glared at him, but did as he asked, allowing Jack to take his weight as he slid slowly down from the passenger seat of the jeep into Jack's arms. Jack made like a crutch, saying nothing, was just there to be leaned on as Daniel shuffled up the path, getting paler by the second. The fact he did lean was enough to make Jack grit his teeth reflexively.

Three days in the hospital had seen Daniel declared a national treasure by his adoring gaggle of nurses, the dream patient, good as gold.

He was impossible with Jack.

Jack wasn't the least bit offended. He'd spent a lot of time with young Dr. Jackson, enough to know he was scared shitless of the kind of intimacy Jack wore like skin, the kind that came from little more than sharing his life with other people. Daniel was very afraid to let Jack get close, more than that, to have to depend on him.

Sometimes a fair man, Jack had to admit Daniel's resentment might have something to do with the fact he was looking forward to spoiling him rotten for two weeks. He wasn't choosing to hide this.

It took some careful balancing to get the front door open and Daniel through it, but they managed, mostly motivated by the way Daniel's face was greying again. Jack had never known anyone to get so sick from painkillers, even with the anti-nausea meds. They covered the short distance to the bathroom with more haste than Daniel's ribs could strictly take, barely making it in time for Daniel to puke.

Kneeling on the floor at Daniel's side as he hugged the john, Jack held him impersonally, the way he'd seen nurses do, while he threw up his insides, trying to be there but not there at the same time. He hung on grimly until the paroxysm passed and Daniel sagged, limp, shaking and deathly pale, face buried in his good arm as he gagged. Jack left him for a moment, darting over to the sink to run some warm water onto a face cloth. He carefully eased Daniel upright to wipe his face with the soft cloth, wishing Daniel would say something, not just fix those eyes on him.

Daniel turned fearfully into Jack's heat, huddling into him as he shivered abjectly. Jack held him, his hands deft and practiced, cradling him carefully, close. Daniel wasn't comforted by medicated numbness; the hole in his memory shook him. "I can't remember," he said anxiously. "I can't - I - I have to get scared now?" he blurted.

"Reaction," Jack assured him matter-of-factly. "What you don't know, you'll imagine."

"I don't want to," Daniel said bitterly. "I don't." He looked down at himself, moving his head slowly but not slowly enough, his body was raging. "Someone did this to me." He hated the little-boy bewilderment in his voice, reflected back at him in Jack's soft, knowing eyes. "There isn't even any point asking why, is there?" he asked wearily, rubbing his hand across his aching stomach.

Daniel was exhausted, mutely allowing Jack to help him up, glad of the man's strength and surprising patience. Jack apparently completely understood Daniel's need to clean his teeth before he took another step, stood braced behind him and brushed them for him without fuss, then steered him in the direction of the john to pee and loped out making promises about iced water. Daniel was rushed and awkward as he relieved himself, grateful of Jack's quiet, self-effacing tact. His timing, too.

Jack was there to lean on when Daniel wanted to wash his hands, coaxing him step by painful step along the hallway into his bedroom. His legs trembling, Daniel stood stoically while Jack carefully peeled his sweater off. He didn't question Jack knowing right where to look for all his things, just rested his good hand on Jack's shoulder as he pulled his sweats down to pool at his ankles. Daniel stepped out of them, annoyed with himself he needed Jack there to balance against. He was longing for his bed too much to care about modesty.

Jack straightened up and hooked his fingers in the waistband of Daniel's skin-tight, soft-knit black trunks. He tried to keep it impersonal, but his fingers still stroked down over the narrow hips and soft skin. He tried not to look at Daniel but did, his gaze skimming over the taut belly, the crisp pubic hair, velvety balls and rosy cock, as elegantly proportioned as the rest of Daniel. Jack was edgy, unnerved to be looking at Daniel's body when he was in this state, to be turned on by it in a way he barely remembered. Even the smell, the rich musk. Jack wanted to bury his face in Daniel's groin, test his own reactions.

He looked up at Daniel uncertainly, feeling guilty he couldn't control himself when Daniel was right in front of him, a mass of bruises and bewildered exhaustion.

"It's okay," Daniel reassured him, sounding as if it weren't okay at all.

"No," Jack sighed. "It's not. It's embarrassing as hell for both of us. It's not like I've never seen another man naked, Daniel." Jack shrugged, reaching up to tweak the pyjama bottoms off the bed. These were simple grey jersey sweats, very light, and he hoped comfortable.

There was a mottled boot print on Daniel's thigh.

Daniel balanced against him, stepping into the bottoms, passively allowing Jack to pull up the sweats and smooth them over his hips.

"It's just," Jack pulled a wry face. "You're the first man I want to make love with."

Honestly, he didn't have any idea how to feel about this. He had the will and the desire but he also couldn't help thinking making love with Daniel would change him forever, and not just as a man. He - they - would never be the same again.

Daniel turned carefully and walked slowly over to his bed. He stopped, staring at his bedside table. There was a lurid plastic drinks cup, the kind children used, with a lid and a curly straw. "Malibu Barbie?" he asked after a moment, eyeing the near-fluorescent pink in mild disbelief.

"I got Ken," Jack complained, grinning as he stepped around Daniel to twitch back the quilt. He hooked his arms under Daniel's armpits, holding his weight steadily as he eased him down inch by inch to sit on the bed, then helped him swing his legs up. Then he pulled the quilt up, smiling as Daniel sighed and snuggled his head gratefully into his firm, cool pillow. Jack walked over to turn off the main light, switching on the reading lamp on the bedside table. Daniel's bruises weren't so stark in this softer, flattering glow giving a sheen to his skin.

"Can I stay?" Jack wasn't ready to let Daniel out of his sight. He hardly knew when he would be.

Daniel nodded tiredly, his eyes already closing. "A little while."

Jack came back over and sat on the edge of the bed. "I do," he said softly.

Puzzled, Daniel opened sleepy, pain-hazed eyes.

"I want to make love with you, Daniel," Jack promised. "Very much. I think about us all the time," he admitted gruffly, looking anywhere but at Daniel. "Being together, you know?" he asked awkwardly. "But wanting you, well, I just want you to know it's nothing to do with this, okay? You need help and I'm it. I'm just," Jack cleared his throat self-consciously. "I'm trying to get a handle on this whole you and me thing, so cut me a little slack, okay?" He was greeted with the sound of silence. "Daniel?" he whispered, mindful of the closed eyes and slightly open mouth.

Typical. Jack grinned. For once he made like Mr. Sensitive and the selfish, stubborn little bastard fell asleep on him.

Jack took Daniel's hand in his, felt and saw the last tension melt away from the slim, straight body. Daniel's lips curved in a faint smile. Jack sat right where he was and watched over Daniel while he slept. A couple of hours and he'd have to wake him to eat, so he could take his Tramadol along with the anti-nausea meds to help keep the Tramadol and hopefully a few bites of food down.

Jack would wait.

"How's Dr. Jackson?" Hammond asked.

"He's slept just about non-stop since I brought him home." Jack carried the phone outside with him, wandering down the steps from his deck out into the garden. "Two days now. I called Fraiser but she said that was just about what she expected. The pain he's in, it's the best thing for him."

"Has he remembered anything more about the attack, Colonel?"

"Nothing more than he already told the MPs in the hospital." Jack shrugged. "He remembers talking to Carter on the phone. She was out buying Thai food. Daniel doesn't remember anything, the neighbours didn't see anything and Carter doesn't know anything."

"I share your frustration, Colonel," Hammond said soothingly, "As well as your concern."

"I can't shake the feeling there was nothing random about this attack," Jack readily responded to the implied invitation to spill. "Fraiser nailed it when she said it was a surgical strike - a controlled, methodical infliction of pain. The attack itself may have been opportunistic in execution, Sir, but it was planned. My conclusion is the attacker was after either Daniel or Carter. "

"Captain Carter does not disagree with your assessment, Colonel, although she has observed nothing out of the ordinary." Hammond paused. "Sergeant Brown confirms Carter's phones aren't tapped. Captain Ferretti is watching her house and Major Kawalsky is tailing her car. None of them report anything out of the ordinary."

"See the week out," Jack suggested, "then ease off on the surveillance. If the perpetrator is one of ours, we need to play along, follow the expected procedures. Carter has enough field training I'll trust her judgement if she does think she's being followed."

"And Dr. Jackson?"

"Disliking me just fine, Sir," Jack said dryly. "When he can brush his own teeth he may remember we're friends, but at this point I'm not holding my breath."

"Does he have any inkling as to why the Air Force is financing this two-week vacation of yours?" Hammond asked, a suspicion of amusement in his voice.

"Although he'd die before he admitted it, he's too grateful to have me around as a mobile pillow-fluffing and tooth-brushing service to care," Jack cheerfully responded. "Unless I actually shoot someone right in front of him, I doubt it will even cross his mind he's under guard. He's somewhat naïve in that regard."

The long silence that followed was one of mutual understanding. Neither of the men had a problem with working that much harder to help Daniel keep his belief in people.

"The investigation will not be dropped," Hammond promised grimly. "I'll see to that. We have no way to tell at this point if the attack was motivated by some personal grudge."

"Daniel was upset even considering it, General. Doc Fraiser tossed the MPs out on their ear as soon as his blood pressure started to climb," Jack reminded Hammond dryly.

"He's somewhat naïve in that regard also," Hammond tartly observed.

"Are you checking out the civilians we dumped from Project Blue Book?" Jack demanded.

"Shore and her team come up clean," the general answered briskly. "Gary Meyers is still a question mark and Catherine Langford is in Martha's Vineyard, vacationing. The MPs are pursuing every possible avenue of investigation, including questioning our personnel on base. Captain Carter is proving quite adept at accessing computer records. She's checked out Dr. Jackson's educational and employment records and background checks are being performed on his former colleagues."

Jack's curiosity was piqued. "Daniel never talks about this fancy-pants Oriental Institute he worked at."

"He was quite wasted," Hammond told him seriously.

"Yes, Sir."

"Take care of Dr. Jackson, Jack," Hammond ordered.

"I plan to, Sir," Jack said flatly.

"Fraiser said you needed to rest," Jack insisted as inoffensively as possible, gently but inexorably pushing Daniel flat again.

"I've done nothing but rest for three days," Daniel snapped. "I'm going out of my mind with boredom."

"How is that possible?" Jack politely queried. "You've barely been conscious for about thirty minutes tops out of those three days."

Peering past Jack towards his desk, Daniel eyed his laptop hungrily. "Sam installed voice recognition software on it for me," he informed Jack. "So I can work from home."

"No, Daniel. N-O. No," Jack refused emphatically, chuckling inwardly as Daniel rewarded him with a sullen pout. "On account of I don't want to be going out of my mind with boredom," he said crisply. "And on account of it's 2300 hours," he added, looking significantly at Daniel's alarm clock.

Daniel eyed him with dislike, his pout distinctly mutinous.

Correctly deciphering these signals, Jack prudently decided when he left the bedroom, the laptop was coming with him. "I could read to you," he offered brightly. "Send you to sleep with a smile. I've been doing some research," he said proudly. "Extensive research. I found some excellent primary source material."

"Research into what?" Daniel asked at last, intrigued and alarmed at once.

Jack beamed at him, trotted over to the desk and flourished a neat sheaf of what looked like cue cards. Jack selected one, apparently at random, and sat down in the chair, stretching his legs out to rest his feet on the bed.

"You'll enjoy this. It's educational. Some of it's even historical," Jack assured Daniel happily. "Just remember, I'm only thinking of you. Promises to keep and all that," he added vaguely, quickly skimming the card contents before taking a suitably deep composing breath and launching right in. "Masturbation has always been common among humans. In some ancient western cultures, it was connected with religious worship. For example, in Egyptian mythology the god Osiris 'creates all living creatures by an infinite act of masturbation'."

Jack looked at Daniel to see how this was being received. Open-mouthed shock, pretty much as expected.

"Gay Sex 101," he prompted, in case Daniel hadn't grasped this. Then he smiled and went confidently on.

"This was also seen as the source of the Nile river, and the cause of its annual flooding, that was the backbone of life in Egypt. The ritual developed of pharaohs masturbating before the god's image at the time of their enthronement. This led to public masturbation during religious worship, 'to expel evil and honour the gods of generation', and became a part of ancient Egyptian, Phoenician, Babylonian and Assyrian sacred ceremonies. Masturbation was also done for its own sake, without any sacred meanings; the Bible gives us several instances of the 'spilling of seed'."

"I know!" Daniel feebly protested, seeming stunned. "Tell me something I don't know."

"For an unusual experience, you can be lying upside down in a chair or car seat, so your head is down and your knees bent over the back. Your friend, meanwhile, stands behind the chair or in the back seat and bends way over on his stomach between your legs."

"What?" Daniel bleated. "Why?" he asked dizzily.

Jack flipped his cue card over, frowning. "I have no idea. I must have pulled this one out of sequence."

Daniel gaped at him. "You - you've been reading up on sex?" He blinked hard. "Homosexual techniques?" Jack was scaring him.

Jack seemed surprised he'd ask. "You can't just suck it and see," he retorted with some dignity. "Although, this guy says when it comes to intercourse you really should just go for it."

"No, you shouldn't," Daniel contradicted positively.

"This writer," Jack tapped the cue card meaningfully, "says you should," he repeated stubbornly. "And since he's gay, he's been around the block enough to have tried and liked all this stuff and he quotes some old guy called Curious."

"Curio," Daniel corrected instantly.

"Whatever! I'm inclined to believe him."

"Caesar, the husband of all women, and the wife of all husbands," Daniel quoted rapidly. "Curio the Elder."

Jack scowled at Daniel. "He had a lot to say about 'harassing me with your cries' too," he bitched. "When I say 'just go for it', I don't mean 'just go for it'," he added coolly. "I'm aware of the logistics, Daniel. I have done this before. I'm well aware prior planning and careful preparation is required."

Jack thought about this.

"I admit some of it doesn't sound massively appealing," he confessed dubiously, wondering exactly what you were supposed to get out of licking another man's ass, one technique he hadn't tried. "But this guy feels you should give things your best shot and if they don't work for you both, stop and move on. No harm, no foul."

He was pleased with this axiom.

"The important thing is just to be together and - you know - feel good. Both of you. I felt better after reading all the mushy stuff," he admitted, looking slightly embarrassed. "I was on solid ground there."

Daniel was almost positive that hadn't come out quite the way Jack had intended it. "You're scaring me!"

"I'm teasing you," Jack contradicted, smiling very gently.

"Do you ever give up?"

"Only when you give in." Jack chose to emphasise this determination by perching himself on the bed next to Daniel, making himself comfy against the pillows.

"You actually did all that research?" Curiosity beginning to get the better of him, Daniel eyed the sheaf of cue cards.

"All for you," Jack promised solemnly, crossing his heart. "I figured it was time we started correcting your erroneous assumptions and debunking all the conclusions you're leaping to about having sex with me."

"You can be incredibly offensive."

"You are terribly defensive. Hence the research," Jack said mildly. "This guy is pretty good, y'know. He knows what he's talking about and he says it far better than I could. You should give him a chance."

"You want to sleep with someone who needs cue cards?"

"Before, during, after," Jack swore extravagantly.

"I can't believe this is happening."

"You keep saying that," Jack commented idly. "Does it help?"

Daniel fumed at him. Nothing helped!

Jack slithered down the bed, stretched his long legs out and rolled onto his side to face Daniel. "You don't need to be scared all the time."

"I'm not!" Daniel denied furiously, feeling his face beginning to burn under the bruises.

"You're not going through this alone." Jack's hand slipped across to comfort Daniel's shoulder, thumb stroking softly over his throat. "I'm with you."

Daniel wanted to say this was what was scaring him but Jack's tenderness pulled at him, drew him to the man before he knew where he was. He shied back but a careful arm cradled around him, exactly where it wouldn't pain him, a warm mouth murmured, melted against his. Scared of hurting, scared of letting down, he held on to Jack, believing Jack would see he was nothing special. Nothing at all.

"How is he, Sir?" Sam asked quietly, hovering in the hallway.

"Feels about as good as he looks," O'Neill commented wryly. "Go on in. His room is the second door down the hall."

"I'm sorry he wasn't awake the first time I visited."

"Speaking of which, did you have to while away your time loading Daniel's laptop for bear?" he groused ungratefully. "It's driving him crazy I won't let him use it. Which means he's driving me crazy."

And now it's my turn, Sam thought wryly. "He'll appreciate it when he feels a little better, Sir," she said lightly. She knew this because in some ways, she and Daniel were like two peas in Podsville. She couldn’t not work either.

Sam had taken only a few steps when the colonel softly called her name. She glanced back enquiringly.

"Ferretti was watching your house?" O'Neill's face was a picture.

Sam grinned appreciatively. "Did the general tell you Ferretti almost got himself arrested?" she snorted. "My neighbour thought he was stalking me."

The colonel closed his eyes, looking acutely pained.

"General Hammond figured that was the perfect time to call off the surveillance," Sam added on a point of information, though she was pretty sure the colonel had been informed of the decision before she was.

"Watch yourself," O'Neill ordered, without any humour at all. "It's still possible whoever attacked Daniel was after you."

"I will, Sir," Sam soberly assented. She certainly hoped so. She didn't want any more harm coming to Daniel. Sam also wasn't above believing she had a score to settle. Daniel was her friend just as much as he was the colonel's.

When she slid silently into the serenely blue bedroom, Daniel was slumped against his pillows, neatly tucked up under his duvet, adorably drowsy and sullenly pathetic. Sam had a primal 'awww' moment, pounced and kissed his forehead tenderly, his bangs tickling her nose.

"Hi," she said softly.

Daniel grunted something Sam chose to interpret as a positive greeting. She took the seat by the desk, eyeing him searchingly, wincing. If he was feeling anything like he looked, she wasn't hanging around too long. Daniel seemed lethargic and heavy-eyed, obviously fighting the effects of the painkillers.

"Thanks for 'Dragon'," Daniel mumbled, with something approximating gratitude in his dull, slurred voice.

"It's the latest version of the software," Sam replied easily. "You can word-process, check your email and browse the internet with voice commands."

"No, I can't. Jack confiscated the microphone," Daniel complained, showing faint signs of resuscitation. "He's the most infuriating man who ever lived. He doesn't listen to a word I say and he taught 'Dragon' a whole bunch of new ones."

Sam chuckled. "Two-am or three-am?" she asked slyly.

Daniel's ears went pink. "Excuse me?" he said stiffly.

This comment was apparently addressed to the window, because he sure as heck wasn't looking Sam in the eye. "When the colonel caught you trying to make up for lost research time," Sam dulcetly prompted him.

After a moment, Daniel relaxed, his good eye twinkling ruefully.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," Sam apologised, her smile slipping. "It might have made a difference."

"Yes," Daniel said bleakly, holding out his good hand to her. "It might have been you."

Daniel hovered hesitantly at Jack's bedroom door, which was slightly ajar. It was ridiculously early - barely five-am. Desperation kept him rooted to the spot. He was sweaty and sticky. He smelled. His hair felt as if it were crawling off his head. Even if none of those things was strictly true, he still felt as if they were.

Dammit, he needed warm, soapy water.

He needed this more than he didn't want the embarrassment of having Jack in the shower with him. Helping. Daniel hated the helping.

With a deep sigh, he tapped on Jack's door.

"Just a minute!" Jack called.

Rustling sounds followed, then a few moments later, Jack came bounding out into the hallway. "What's up?" he asked brightly.

Daniel was glad he was a morning person or he'd kill Jack where he stood on general principle. "I need you to wash my back," he announced grimly.

"Cool!" Jack hooted, perking up outrageously, ignoring the scorching glare Daniel fired at him.

"I'm sick of this," Daniel complained as he was escorted tenderly into the bathroom like someone's elderly, infirm aunt.

"I'm trying to look sick," Jack offered supportively.

"It's not working," Daniel observed critically. They went through the usual complicated rigmarole necessary whenever Daniel had to be extracted from his clothes, requiring him to lean heavily on Jack, balancing first on one foot and then the other as he was stripped.

Accepting the towel Jack handed him, Daniel hugged it defensively round his hips, waiting impatiently while Jack started the shower to heat the water, humming with nerve-shredding tunelessness under his breath. Busying himself with a little mental Latin verb conjugation, Daniel allowed himself to be inserted under the steamy spray and kept his back turned while Jack happily discarded his very brief briefs, which Daniel had been trying not to notice since Jack had bounded out of his bedroom wearing nothing else but a crocodile smile.

"You're sure this isn't freaking you out?" Jack asked kindly as he climbed into the shower cubicle behind Daniel and slid the doors closed.

"I-I'm fine," Daniel lied, staring fixedly at the rich marbled cream of the shower tiles. Fine in the never-been-more-embarrassed-in-his-life-since-the-last-shower sense of fine, obviously. The pluperfect passive subjunctive was letting him down badly.

"I'm trying not to look or - you know - touch. Not a whole helluva lot," Jack promised faithfully as he squeezed some of the fresh lime-scented body wash onto Daniel's puff-thingie.

"I'm freaked out," Daniel blurted desperately.

"Lucky I'm not a medical professional here," Jack said dryly, watching water droplets slither and slide slowly down from Daniel's broad shoulders to skim over the ripe curve of his ass. Jack's breathing problems had very little to do with the steamy shower cubicle. "I'm thinking stuff that could get my butt sued." An armful of embarrassed linguist was doing bad, bad things to his libido right along with his never particularly honourable intentions.

"Can we not talk about - that - while you're lathering me?" Daniel complained. It wasn't enough merely being naked. He had to feel naked too.

"I'm the one trying to deal with slippery and pliant," Jack retorted. "You feel good," he added, voice pitched somewhere between hormonal defensiveness and protective apology.

"So do you," Daniel sighed as Jack's hand gently rubbed tingling circles on his belly. His body was tightening responsively and he didn't know what to do with all the feeling. He was far from reconciled to his attraction. "Jack," he pleaded, embarrassed.

"Oh."

There was a pause.

"Sorry."

"My hair!" Daniel ordered, slightly shrilly.

Moments later the sharp tang of citrus filled the shower cubicle and Jack began to vigorously massage the shampoo into his hair.

"J-J-Jack!" Daniel stuttered, his face flaming.

"What now?" Jack grumbled good naturedly. "You getting this stuff in your eyes? I'm man enough to admit we should've gone with the 'no tears' formula."

"Both your hands are in my hair!"

"So?"

"So?" Daniel's voice rose. "So what's poking me in the ass?"

"Oh. That. Sorry." Jack sounded as if he were laughing. He felt that way too, his chest heaving against Daniel's back.

"You are not!"

"Just enjoying the view," Jack observed serenely. He slid both arms around Daniel's waist and drew him back to rest full against him, sleek and strong, muscular, deeply aroused.

Shyly lowering his hands to curve over Jack's, Daniel shivered at the heat and the feel of him.

"Getting real for you?" Jack murmured with all his seductive tenderness.

Daniel turned to touch his cheek to Jack's and let the water fall around them.

"What happened to your hair?" Daniel asked instantly. He'd been pretty out of it when Sam visited him the first time but he would have noticed a change like this, surely?

Sam's bright smile faded to self-consciousness. She ran her fingers through the short, freshly cut strands. "Too much?" she asked, pulling a face.

"Perfect," Daniel said promptly, abandoning the unequal struggle with his short-term memory. He couldn’t ask. If Sam had had her hair like this when she did visit him last, any slack she was cutting him for being gooned out of his tree, as Jack so colourfully phrased it, on pain meds at the time would be withdrawn if he actually suggested he couldn't tell the difference between one style and the other. At least, that would be how Sam interpreted it. Then Sam would Subtly Make Him Suffer. "Just - perfect," Daniel said emphatically, making sure.

Sam beamed at him. "Ferretti sent me to his barber, although he said stylist."

Daniel looked thoughtfully at the short, strangely sexy, boyish crop Sam was sporting. "He lied." Then he smiled and accepted Sam's gentle hug and a kiss on his healing cheek. "But it looks good."

"So do you," Sam grinned, leaning back to look him over comprehensively. The visible bruises were yellowing, even fading a little at the edges. Sam kissed Daniel's cheek again, on general principle. Daniel struck her as a man who deserved all the affection his friends could lavish on him. Speaking of which... "The colonel is taking good care of you."

Daniel grimaced. "Tell me about it," he grumbled. "If I so much as twitch, he knows."

Sam shrugged off her jacket and dropped into the neat wooden chair set on the opposite side of the rustic table to Daniel's. She looked out at the charming, naturalistic garden, sniffing appreciatively. Everything smelled of sunshine and warm grass. "This deck is in a great position," she admired. "South-facing. You must get the sun most of the day."

"Also Jack."

Sam's lips twitched. "I'm sensing bitterness, Daniel," she said teasingly.

Daniel rolled eloquent eyes.

"How's he been?" Sam jerked her thumb behind her, indicating the colonel, safely out of earshot in the kitchen, fussing over cool drinks for the invalid. The invalid seemed to be blushing in a manner requiring further investigation. "Well?" she demanded, aware it only took so long to pour a diet Pepsi, even if she did send the colonel back for ice. Then again for lemon.

The thought uppermost in Daniel's mind was that 'he' had taken to kissing Daniel goodnight. Also good morning. Hello and goodbye. Daniel was taking to kissing him back. Things were indeed getting 'real' between them. "Annoyingly over-protective," Daniel said lamely. "He's talking about massage."

"So is Janet," Sam answered lightly, basking cat-like in the warmth, stretching out her legs to balance her feet on the railings running around the edge of the deck. "The colonel is used to taking care of combat injuries, Daniel," she told him gently. "Janet is happy with his expertise and your progress."

Janet Fraiser, thought Daniel darkly, didn't have to deal with the prospect of Jack's warm, capable hands stroking over her quivering oil-sleek skin. Temptation, thy name is apricot.

"You'll be back to work on Monday," Sam tried to coax Daniel into his usual sunny mood.

"Half days only," Daniel complained, pulling a disgusted, thwarted little-boy face.

"Whining is an identified, medically recognised and possibly even necessary stage of recuperation," Sam said apropos of the invalid, who glared at her, apparently taking this personally. "But if you keep on whining, I won't tell you about your present."

"Present?" Daniel asked, sitting up straighter, barely wincing.

Sam caught the bashful eagerness in his suddenly shining eyes, instantly deciding he would have a real present to come back to work to.

"In fact, I won't tell you anyway. It's a surprise," she lied without a tremor, wanting Daniel to stay in the moment.

She felt a tiny pang of regret for the boy she hadn't known, the echoes of him still lingering in the man who never talked about himself. She smiled warmly at Daniel, the nicest man she'd ever known, delighted when he returned the smile.

"But I can tell you I've got stuff you can work on at home without doing anything but loll on the couch until the colonel comes home and cooks you dinner."

Sam found her mental picture of cosy masculine domesticity deeply appealing.

Daniel brightened up. "The footage from the 1940s project?" he asked hopefully.

Sam nodded, a small, smug smile tugging at her lips. "About sixty hours worth, each impeccably cross-referenced with the files. I've taken a quick look and it seems to only make sense if you view each clip in context, and in sequence. Viewing those and reviewing the files should keep you out of mischief until Janet clears you for active duty."

She heard a light, firm tread behind her and straightened up, instinctively yanking her feet clear of the railing as the colonel strolled out carrying a tray containing drinks and nibbles to tempt the flagging appetite of the invalid and any unwanted guests he happened to be entertaining.

"What are these?" she asked, sitting up and taking a keen interest. She was dying to tell the colonel how cute it was he made milk and cookies for Daniel but she let it go. Senior officers in general weren't noted for their sense of humour, while this one in particular was barely noted for humanity. Honestly, Sam was also annoyed with herself for practically snapping to attention, even though they were both off-duty and she was a guest in the colonel's home.

How depressingly Pavlovian, she thought bitterly. Maybe if I'm extra-good I'll get the milk and cookies too.

Or something.

The colonel looked at her and obviously saw nothing more than a junior officer.

O'Neill didn't dislike her, Sam decided.

He just didn't waste a minute thinking about Captain Doctor Carter he didn't have to. He led his men well, or he wouldn't command their respect the way he did. Their tolerance of O'Neill's coldness said more to her about what kind of C.O. he was than anything O'Neill did.

She suspected he was one of those officers who only showed to advantage in the field. Not quite an adrenaline junkie, just deeply impatient of protocol and rules, the tiresome, repetitive routine on base. He came close to being openly dismissive at times.  She reluctantly respected the kind of confidence it took for him to no longer care about coming off as professional. O'Neill was strong, skilled enough at his job he didn't need to care how good he looked and while his men might not always like him, they depended on him.

Sam's eyes were drawn back to Daniel, the one exception to this rule.

O'Neill cared how he looked to Daniel. He cared very much. Daniel was known around base as O'Neill's linguist. Sam wondered if it was more accurate to say O'Neill was Daniel's colonel.

The two men had a rapport, a genuine warmth and intimacy that surprised her. She'd certainly never seen either of them quite this relaxed, or comfortable. The difference in both of them was startling. Sam decided she thought better of the colonel because of it. She liked Daniel very much and if he liked the colonel? Well. She shrugged easily.

Optimistically, she was glad she wasn't wasting much time thinking about O'Neill. He was just her type. Unfortunately. She watched him smiling at some mock complaint Daniel was teasing him with, his eyes very soft. Maybe, just maybe, walking away from Jonas and not looking back had been better for her than she knew. It was about time she grew the hell up and stopped looking for approval. If Sam wasn't enough for herself, who was she enough for? It was time to live up to her own standards and no one else's. Try, anyway.

"We miss you at the base," she told Daniel, smiling beatifically as she impulsively tweaked away one of the chunky, oozy cookies. "I still can't get a lock on the seventh chevron." Sighing, Sam took a careful bite, chewed thoughtfully. "Chocolate?"

"Walnut," Daniel finished with something of a snap.

Sam rather liked his sulky pout.

"Those are his," the colonel informed her, his eyes twinkling. "These are yours." He pointed to another heaped plate.

Sam inspected the contents of the plate, sniffing dismissively. Clearly an inferior cookie. She could see berries, not chunks.

Daniel, wise in the ways of this woman, jealously removed his plate of cookies from the tray and set it on the arm of his chair. The one farthest away from Sam. He blandly refused to notice her indignant look, which was so obviously telegraphed it was probably visible from Las Cruces.

"The general sent you his best," Sam told Daniel kindly, taking another deliberate bite of the contraband cookie and chewing slowly, savouring delicious crumbly-chocolatey-meltiness. "Oh, and Ferretti said to say it wasn't him, even if you think it was. It wasn't. He has an alibi."

"For what?" Daniel asked blankly, glancing up at the colonel, his eyebrows raised.

"Whatever," Sam shrugged.

"Did he indicate when?"

"Whenever," the colonel suggested.

"Oh."

"Any news on the investigation?" Sam asked the colonel, knowing he'd been in daily touch with the general.  She was aware Daniel had no idea how seriously the Air Force was taking the attack. The colonel didn't want him bothered by anything he didn’t have to be and for now Sam was happy to play along. She'd been so busy prowling through the CIA and FBI databases she could tell the two men what colour underwear Dr. Gary Meyers was wearing this fine spring morning, while the Stargate was just sitting there, gently gathering dust in the embarkation room. None of them had a clue who'd hurt Daniel. He or they were as elusive as that goddamned seventh symbol.

"No one saw anything, no one heard anything," the colonel snapped, scowling as he took a long slug from his beer. "No leads, no suspects, no nothing. Unless Daniel remembers something?" he shrugged angrily, his frustration evident.

"I haven't," Daniel said quietly.

"You may not," Sam answered him after a quick, questioning glance at the colonel. "According to Janet."

"You two seem thick as thieves," the colonel commented unpleasantly.

Sam smiled at him brightly. "That's not surprising. We're two of only a handful of women at the base," she lightly informed him. Her smile was not nice. "Dr. Fraiser has joined us as CMO. She's looking forward to meeting all your future medical needs," she reported blandly, toasting the colonel's horror with a long refreshing drink.

The colonel was scowling. Sam really liked Janet. As did the general. He was certain Dr. Fraiser would rise magnificently to the challenge of managing the health and welfare of the men of Project Blue Book, particularly the ones who were Colonel O'Neill.  Plus Daniel liked and trusted Janet, as evidenced by his current unsuspecting treachery to the colonel. Daniel seemed quite pleased about the news, innocently expecting the colonel to be as happy to see Dr. Fraiser again as he was.

"Also to monitoring Daniel's progress. Closely," Sam added impishly, ecstatically chewing the last bite of her cookie.

As soon as the implications of Sam's pronouncement sunk in, Daniel scowled too.

"I need ice for this," Sam commented, waving her glass in evidence, struggling not to laugh. "Excuse me," she went on politely, rising gracefully to her feet. She strolled past Daniel, grinning at him as she smoothly extracted a cookie from his plate without breaking stride. "Thank you," she said beneficently.

Innate superiority. A chick thing.

At the touch to his shoulder, Daniel jumped violently, the mug he was carrying falling from his nerveless hand, coffee tiding down his legs and over his bare feet to spill across the smooth wood. He leaned against the wall, speechless with shock, his heart racing so fast he felt nauseous.

"Shit!" Jack berated himself angrily, darting in front of Daniel, stooping to check him for burns. "You okay?" he asked anxiously as he examined Daniel's bare feet.

Daniel made an odd noise in the back of his throat.

With no evidence of injury, Jack realised the coffee was lukewarm, looking up in time to see Daniel's hand starting the slow slide around his waist. He stood up and caught Daniel's hand, held it firmly in his. Daniel was breathing hard, eyes huge in his pale, pinched face. "I can help you with this stuff, if you'll let me," Jack offered calmly.

"Wh-what st-stuff?" Daniel gasped, leaning unconsciously into Jack.

"All of it," Jack said gently, gathering him in. "Not just the self-defence. All of it. I know what it is to be hurt, Daniel, hurt deliberately."

Daniel's face wrenched suddenly at whatever it was he seeing in Jack's.

"Torture is an occupational hazard," Jack commented evenly. "Your body learned a new fear response, that's all that just happened. It's a good thing. You just need to channel it, make it work for you. I can help," he promised, aware of the clutch of Daniel's fingers in his, the warm weight against his shoulder.

"It was just the shock," Daniel said more strongly, sounding more like himself. "I'm fine. Really. I hardly think about it. The - the attack."

"Translation: you're managing not to think about it every waking minute of every day," Jack said dryly. "Not any more," he added smoothly, his smile twisting at Daniel's guilty start. "Been there. Done that. Got the scars as well as the T-shirt." He shrugged carelessly. "We going to spend the night by the front door?" he asked teasingly. "Daniel?"

"Hmm? No. Um - no," Daniel responded distractedly, stepping out of Jack's embrace with an apologetic grimace. "You've been hurt?" he asked carefully when Jack fell into step beside him. Looking at Jack's shuttered face, he almost wished the question unasked.

"Tortured? Sure."

"You couldn't talk to Sara about this, could you?" Daniel asked shrewdly. "You could only tell her you were - "

"Fine?" Jack interrupted snidely.

Daniel flushed. "I wasn't tortured in the line of duty. I was mugged," he corrected stiffly.

"You were tortured. Systematically injured by someone who knew exactly what they were doing, someone playing the game we all learn in training. Don't do irreparable damage to anyone you might need functional later."

The hard, cold voice sounded so like the Jack who'd needed too badly to die on Ra's world, Daniel shivered reflexively.

He followed Jack trustingly, blinking in surprise when he found himself in Jack's bedroom, turning instinctively as Jack closed the door behind him.

"I figured we could talk some more," Jack suggested, not quite meeting his eyes.

Any urge Daniel had to refuse died unspoken when he saw the almost vulnerable softness in Jack's eyes. "You never gave Sara a chance to understand what your work makes you, did you?" he recognised sorrowfully. "What it does to you."

"How do you know what it does to me?" Jack demanded in a hard, harsh voice as he walked past Daniel to drop impatiently down to sit on his bed.

"When I look at you, I can see," Daniel began. Out of nowhere, Jack's eyes were wintry. Daniel walked over to the bed, then carefully sat at Jack's side, wishing he knew what was going on with his friend tonight.

"Sara couldn't," Jack said tiredly, scrubbing impatient fingers through his close-cropped hair. "She could tell I wasn't really with her but she didn't know why." Jack looked at Daniel broodingly, his hurt bewilderment palpable. "I don't get how you do. I just don't get it."

Putting his hand comfortingly on Jack's knee, Daniel felt as if he should tell Jack he was sorry, but what he was apologising for, he couldn't say. "Don't you have room for us both?" he asked tentatively. "Room for your wife and a - a friend?"

"A friend I want to fuck?" Jack snapped, grabbing crudely at his crotch. "You don't get it all, do you?" he accused Daniel. "When I walk off base, I leave the officer behind. I draw a line I don't cross. Ever. Maybe it's not healthy to compartmentalise. I don't know," he said angrily. "I don't care. It worked. Sara was happy. We were happy." Sometimes, his eyes said.

"Sara didn't know who you were, Jack," Daniel suggested.

He wasn't explaining himself well. It was difficult to make Jack understand Sara had seen a performance from him, that his determination not to blur the line between what he did with who he was had hurt both of them. Jack couldn't ignore the impact his job had on him. Maybe he refused to discuss it with Sara, but the consequences of all the missions, all the losses, Jack carried them with him.

For the first time, Daniel was beginning to see how the gulf between Sara and Jack could keep them from being together. Loving someone was no guarantee you made them happy, whatever things might look like on the surface.

"How could she when you kept a big part of yourself hidden from her? She only knew the man you showed her."

"It worked," Jack insisted again, his voice rising. "Kawalsky doesn't even know I had a kid. I've known him ten years. He doesn't know - she doesn't." He stared hungrily at Daniel, reaching out a trembling hand to stroke his knuckle down Daniel's cheek. "Nothing crossed that line, Daniel. Nothing. No one. I had a place for everything, everyone. Kept them in their place. I had it all." His thumb brushed slowly over Daniel's mouth. "Until I crossed that line. I put that gun in my son's hand."

Sliding his arm around Jack's waist, Daniel sat closer, his heart aching for him. For Sara too. He was desperately sorry for them both, that they could love one another this much and still need to be apart.

"I wanted him to look up to me." Jack's voice was thick with loathing. "To see a hero, not a murderer."

There was nothing Daniel could say to comfort this. He knew as well as Jack the kind of services the Air Force looked to him to perform.

"I was away as much as I was home and when I was home…" He glared angrily into space, into his memories. "I didn't want Charlie to hate me. I didn't want to be the bad cop, the disciplinarian, the threat Sara used to make him obey. So when I did yell at him…" Jack's voice broke as he fought for composure. "I yelled about the gun."

"The gun?"

"A water-pistol. A fucking water-pistol. I just wanted to play catch."

Daniel didn't know what to say, what to do, except be here for Jack.

"Why couldn't we just play catch? Why did he have to get so mad?"

Daniel wasn't even sure Jack was talking to him at this point. He'd lanced a wound; poison was seeping out.

"All I had to do was talk. Talk to him. Tell him guns weren't safe, weren't toys, that they killed people, that his Dad killed people."

Daniel turned into Jack, catching him as he began to fall, as the tears came. He held Jack's shoulders, balanced awkwardly across his lap, his good arm tight over Jack's chest.

"What a fucking coward. Why couldn't I talk? Why couldn't I just open my mouth and talk?" He looked to Daniel as if for an answer then looked as quickly away. "I hate what I did. I hate myself."

In silence, Daniel quietly held onto Jack as the grief broke from him and wore him down.

"There's no crossing back," Jack said at the last, when he was quiet again. "I wish I knew what you were afraid of. I would make it right."

I'm afraid of never being enough, Daniel thought.

He'd loved the life he lived with his parents. He tried hard not to think about what it would have meant if he hadn't, if he'd needed the nine-to-five routine of school runs, batting practice and a dog in place of dirt, disease, poverty and the past towering over him at the dig sites, so real to him he could reach out and touch, his imagination peopling the ruins.

Would his parents have left that life, or him?

Every time he convinced himself they would have put him first, memories of Nick would shake him. Nick, who'd needed his work far more than he needed his grandson, who'd taken Daniel out to eat waffles after the funeral and then handed him gratefully over to the state while he relentlessly pursued his research into the crystal skulls.

There was an ironic symmetry here. The eternal need to know had killed his parents, had ended first Nick's career and then Daniel's own. Daniel looked too hard, asked too many questions of himself. He was as guilty as Jack of holding back, of never crossing lines he knew were closed to him. Or believed were closed, because he never tested them.

Jack saw the familiar recognition, the frighteningly seductive empathy in Daniel's eyes. It scared him how much they shared, two men who on the surface had nothing in common. Daniel was the son who lost his parents to Jack's father who lost his son. They came at one another from opposition, seeking and finding common ground. Every time. They each believed in doing what was right, in justice, in their own determination of what justice was, not what they were told. Sometimes he thought they mirrored one another. Other times, like now, he felt they completed one another.

It scared Jack how deep they went, how easy it was for them to fall, but he let Daniel hold him, find the courage to finally, finally talk.

His father had never played catch. He took Daniel to museums and libraries all over the world, taught him to read and to write, opened for him the world of books and imagination. Left him there. Quiet. Out of the way. Daniel had never learned to rely on anyone's attention. He didn't know love was unconditional; for him, it had always been negotiated. If he was a good and quiet boy, not needing or interrupting, he was sure of his parents love. He understood he wasn't to demand, distract or disappoint. He understood their work came first.

Their work killed them. They died because they didn't allow Daniel to disrupt the work, to claim their attention for even the briefest time in the museum. They died because they never did put him first. It crushed Daniel to say this. To see this.

It hurt Jack to hear. He thought they'd buried a lot of who Daniel was along with them. He'd never learned to trust, not the way a small child should. Carrying wounds from the loving, kindly neglect of his parents, the impact had stayed with him all his life. He'd hidden himself away in his books. He wouldn't even allow Jack to be angry for him. How could he, when he felt no anger, no blame himself?

"How can I fault them?" Daniel argued. "I'm the same. I'm just as passionate about my researches as they were about theirs. Nothing distracts me, nothing interferes."

"Nothing?"

The moment stretched between them, fraught, impossibly fragile.

"You," Daniel breathed, his eyes defenceless.

"I'll make it right if you'll let me." Jack sat up, pressing close to Daniel. "If you'll only let me in."

"Trust you?" Daniel tried to smile.

"I need you to," Jack told him passionately. "I need you. There's only you for me."

"I do trust you." Timidly, Daniel lowered his head to Jack's inviting shoulder, coming to rest with a sigh. " I don't know what I'd do without you."

"No more talking," Jack ordered gruffly, slipping his arms comfortingly around Daniel. Was he sorry this had all come boiling out of them? Sorry he'd bawled in front of Daniel, yes, but not for anything else. He felt cold and bone-tired but Daniel's weight on him was good, and now he was beginning to understand what made Daniel this way and why he was so afraid to let go. He had more to learn about love than Jack had ever imagined.

Jack was certain Daniel loved him and when he trusted the feeling between them, he would come to Jack.

Chapters:  | WEAT novel home | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 |

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