You would think after several nights of interrupted sleep thanks to Osiris and his handy-dandy little Goa’uld Mr. Sandman Torture Machine, I would be comatose right now.
Apparently not.
In my head, I know Osiris won’t be paying me any more nocturnal visits or rooting around in my subconscious. He’s gone. Paddling around in his petite personal prison jar, courtesy of our unfriendly neighborhood Tok’ra. Osiris' fins have been well and truly clipped, but Sarah, my friend, has leapt from host to guest in a single bound. Sarah's cell is a little bigger than Osiris' and has 'VIP' stenciled on the door, but I guess she's just as much a prisoner, at least until we figure out what to do with her.
Realistically, I know we can’t just cut her loose. She's spent three years as Osiris' eyes and ears, acquiring a great deal of knowledge of the System Lords, and particularly of Anubis, along the way. Osiris was privy to much of Anubis’ advanced-even-for-the-Goa’uld technology and possibly whatever battle plans he has in mind for the System Lords and for Earth. So how much of that knowledge does Sarah have? That’s what General Hammond and The Powers That Be want to know.
I can’t even begin to imagine what she’s gone through. I mean, I have an idea – I sort of found out what it’s like to be a passenger in my own body with no will of my own when Pharrin downloaded about a dozen souls into my head. Of course, I don’t remember much about it, but I do know these consciousnesses weren’t evil. They were frightened and panicked, and, according to Jack, one of them was a complete asshole, but they weren’t evil.
Obviously, it’s different with the Goa’uld. It was so hard to hear Skaara speak of his nightmare at Triad on Tollana – to have his body, his... life hijacked and taken for a ride through hell. And no one could hear him scream. Except Klorel. Who probably loved every sick, sadistic moment of it.
But Sarah... Sarah’s not said much at all about what happened to her. I tried to let her know I understand. I tried to get her to open up to me. I even tried to explain a little bit about my ‘passengers’ from Talthus. I told her it wasn’t her fault, although I’m not at all sure she even understands what *it* is. She just looks around warily and cries. And I hold her.
Janet’s called in Dr. MacKenzie. Not my first choice. Not my hundred-and-seventh either. Still, Janet insists he’s a very good psychiatrist. She says he has a great deal of experience in treating post-traumatic stress disorder (obviously, schizophrenia is not his strong suit). Besides, it doesn’t really matter what I think. It’s Janet’s medical decision. All I can do is stay on top of things and make sure Sarah’s being cared for properly.
And that’s all I did all day after Janet cleared me for duty this morning. Yesterday morning. Whatever.
God, I’m tired. Pissed. Oh, and my head hurts, too. There’s a surprise. Probably all that beating my head against Hammond’s cinder block wall. I must have put on quite a show for General Hammond and Jack – waltzing into his office while he and Jack were in conference and proceeding to tilt in vain at an Air Force blue windmill.
They don't mean anything by it. It's not personal.
It’s just that neither of them knows Sarah, and they can’t seem to distinguish between her and the symbiote. Sarah herself isn't talking right now and having me trying to speak for her isn't cutting any ice. Jack and the general made that crystal clear in the post de-Goa'ulding debriefing. As far as they're concerned, there's blood in the water and the NID are circling.
//“General, that can’t happen. You know the NID. You know what they do. Sarah can’t go through that,” I argue. “She’s been locked in her own head for three years while a parasite controlled every thought, every deed. She is – was – in every sense, a prisoner of war. She’s confused. She needs time and therapy and a chance to remember she has choices. She doesn’t need some rogue government agency objectifying and exploiting her. I won’t stand by and watch that happen, Sir. I won’t.”
Jack sits quietly across the desk from the general, one leg crossed over the other, picking at some imaginary dirt on his boot.
“I know, Dr. Jackson. I understand. Believe me, I do,” Hammond says evenly. “I will do everything in my power to see that Dr. Gardner's debriefing is handled here at the SGC, where in time we can see to her psychological rehabilitation. I have a few markers I can call in at the Pentagon. Dr. Gardner will be given some choices, but you understand there aren’t many. At least for now.”
“General—”
“Daniel, yes, she needs all that you say she does,” Jack chimes in. “But there’s a bigger picture here. We need to know what she knows, and she needs to understand what having that knowledge means to this planet. And apparently, so do you.”
I start to speak again, but General Hammond interrupts. “Son, you know what we’re up against. Acquiring strategic and technological advances to protect us from the Goa’uld is the standing order for this facility, and the knowledge that might be gained from a former Goa’uld host can only aid us in that endeavor.” The general looks at his own clasped hands. “I wish I could say Sarah Gardner can walk out of here without her ever giving it a second thought, but you and I both know she can’t possibly do that even if she wanted to. She now shares the same burden you, Colonel O’Neill, I and the rest of the SGC do: we are all that stands between the Goa’uld and total annihilation.”//
Of course, the general was right. Jack was right. I knew it before I went into his office. I knew when I walked out and when I went to the infirmary to sit with Sarah and let her cry on my shoulder again.
She’s changed now. Irretrievably changed. She’s no longer the Sarah I once knew. I don’t know why I thought she would be. You don’t crawl out of three years of a living nightmare without being... transformed. I suppose it remains to be seen what the end result of that transformation is. I just hope one day she can be happy again.
Well, she’s free anyway. Free from Osiris, at least. It’s a start.
I don’t want her in the hands of the NID. I don’t want to see her effectively ‘conscripted’ to work for some clandestine government agency behind fortified walls, electrified fencing, and razor wire probably for the rest of her life. I don’t trust the Powers That Be to do right by her. I don’t trust them to remember she’s a human being, a woman who stumbled onto something she couldn’t possibly fathom, let alone control. I don’t trust them to treat her as anything but a repository of information to be rooted out and collected by any means.
But I trust George Hammond. He’s Sarah’s best chance to get some semblance of her life back. I’m counting on him. I’m counting on him to do his damnedest to keep her out of their hands, to see that in the end, a place is found for her where her skills can be put to use, where she’ll be doing something meaningful to her, and she’ll be taken care of. I believe in him.
I turn over and re-adjust the pillow under my head, looking for a cool spot.
What time is it?
Nope.
Nosirree.
Not looking at the clock. It’ll only reinforce how long I’ve been lying here failing to go to sleep.
There's just so much on my mind. I’m glad Sarah is free. I’m glad I could be a part of freeing her. I just wish the way it happened… I guess I romanticized. I glossed over the parts where I never really knew Sarah all that well, never really let her in to my life. I don't know how to feel about any of it. I mean, come on! Osiris knew *me* better than I knew Sarah.
I really was an idiot.
Then there’s Jack.
Jack isn’t at all pleased I nearly got ribboned to death – again – in our plan to trap Osiris, but I had to do it. I had to try. Jack knew I couldn’t *not* try. I’m actually pretty impressed he trusted me enough to let me see if I could also find the address for the Lost City. He says I have an over-developed sense of responsibility. I tell him he’s full of shit, but he’s right.
“Daniel.”
Funny, even the blinds rustling in the breeze from the open window sound like one of Jack’s whispered admonishments. God knows, I’ve heard enough of them. I certainly heard plenty in the infirmary earlier. Only, this time...
His tone...
//“Don’t ask me to do that again, Daniel,” he whispers in my ear before the nurse comes back.
“Okay, Jack,” I whisper back irritably.
“Don’t ask me to sit back and watch you put your life on the line for someone else again. Do you get it?” he grits out.
“I get it, all right?” I’m reminded of another time in the infirmary. A broken arm, a dead android child, Jack’s angry – or was it anxious? – face. And angry words.
“I won’t say good-bye to you again,” he says, interrupting the thought. Then he straightens up, turns and walks out of the infirmary saying, “It hurts too much and I suck at it.” Then he's gone.//
Don't Jack's goodbyes only hurt other people?
The thought erupts out of nowhere and leaves me shaking with reaction to its shocking intensity.
I remember the incident, and I remember waiting for Fraiser to set my arm. I was so angry at him and he was royally pissed at me. And just like today, he had stopped by the infirmary, we exchanged words, and he gritted out something... and left.
Funny, I remember the exchange, but the details are... they’re just... I don’t know. There’s some hole there, some... blank spot I have about that exchange that I can’t quite work out. Maybe it’ll come to me.
Someday.
“Daniel.”
“Jesus!”
Oh my God, I think my heart has leapt through my chest as Jack’s voice and a brisk shove jolt me bolt upright and into full, cotton-mouthed, gritty-eyed wakefulness. I glare into the dark and find him peering down at me.
“You awake?”
“Wha—?” I wheeze. “What the hell, Jack?!”
“Hey, Daniel,” he says.
“What are you doing in my bedroom?!?”
“Oh, uh...sorry,” he says, not-at-all apologetically. “You were sleeping.”
Ass.
“Yes!” I yell. “Uh, no. Er...almost.” I lie back down, grasping my chest while I wait for my heart rate to slow down. “Why are you here?”
“I’m protecting you.”
I squint up at him. “What?”
“Protecting you,” he says.
“Protecting me from what?”
“Scoot over.”
“Huh?"
"Scoot over."
"No!” I holler as he lifts the covers. “What are you doing?” I sit up to bat the blanket back down.
“Getting in bed with you. Like it or not, we’re roomies now.” He yanks up the covers again. “And what the hell’s with the Baby Bear bed, Goldilocks?”
“Huh?” I say again stupidly, grabbing the blanket back and trying to figure out what he’s looking at. “What’s wrong with my bed?”
“I suppose it could be worse,” he says to no one in particular, snatching up the blanket again. “Come on, Daniel. Scoot over.”
“No! And stop it!” I yank the blanket down again and, naturally, being us, we wind up wrestling for it.
"Scoot!" Jack hollers.
"Scoot where?" I demand furiously. "Next door?"
Momentarily thwarted of the blanket, Jack glowers childishly.
"As you so aptly pointed out, Jack, this bed ain't big enough for the both of us!"
"This bed," Jack kicks it for emphasis, "ain't big enough for the mayor of Munchkin City, that little guy on Fantasy Island, none of the Seven Dwarfs. Not Sneezy, not Dopey, not—"
"I get it, Jack!" I interrupt loudly. "It’s not as if I expected to share it!" Out of nowhere, I'm disoriented by an intense feeling of déjà vu. A fragment, just a sense of Jack and me, arguing. It's gone before I can even begin to make sense of it.
“I’m serious, Daniel,” he says, scowling.
“So am I." Pissed, too. "Look, Jack. You break into my house, you scare the shit out of me, and now you’re trying to climb into bed with me?" Déjà vu strikes again – more than a fragment, an image now. We’re arguing...arguing in *bed*. Oh, my God! "T-tell me," I stutter in shock, blushing, "Tell me why I don’t need protection from *you*!”
“Daniel, it’s really simple," Jack explains to me as if I'm a child. "Osiris came here to see if she could get the location of the Lost City from your brain.”
“Yeah.”
“On Anubis’ orders.”
“I was there, Jack.” Images...dozens of them, crowding thick and fast, faster, giddying, wheeling through my mind. But we’re not arguing. We’re laughing. And we’re in bed. Together. I sit up and rub the bridge of my nose. “Jus- just give me a minute.”
“Fine. I’m timing you.”
I sigh and close my eyes. We’re laughing, and we’re in my bed. More than snapshots, more than a sense...This is memory. We're together. My bed. My bed in my apartment. Jack’s bed. In Jack’s house. Together. Jack...and me.
My God, what *is* this?
“Daniel?”
“Jack, that can’t possibly have been a minute!" I bitch, my mouth on autopilot while I can't even look at him.
“Okay, shutting up,” he says putting up his hands in mock surrender.
There. He’s done that before – held up his hands like that as I moved closer to him. On his sofa, a Bronze Star matted in a picture frame on the wall behind him, a crocheted blanket draped on the back of the sofa – a gift from his mother.
Is this some...fantasy? Or—or a memory? Of us? Together? How can that be? No. No, it can’t be. I know there are still holes in my memory, but...Jack and me...together?
Impossible. I could *not* forget that. I couldn’t.
“Time’s up. Now, scoot over.”
I shake my head at him. He so exasperating. So obnoxious. So cute when he—. Oh my God. Something’s happening here. What is this? More images. More images and more. Feelings. We’re laughing. We’re playing. It’s so warm and so comfortable. We’re...we’re embracing. We’re sharing...sharing food – ice cream. In bed. He’s kissing me. I’m kissing him. We’re making lo—
“What the hell?”
“Daniel?”
Jack and I never made love. Did we? He... We... No. No, that’s not... that’s not possible. Why am I thinking this? Why is my head going there? Is this...is this a memory?
“Daniel, are you okay?”
Everything is so clear, so...real. These – these... memories – and yes, I think they *are* memories – are flooding all over me like... just like all the other memories had when I first came home.
The bedside lamp switches on, blinding me with light.
“I’m calling Fraiser,” Jack announces tersely. He sounds...concerned.
“No.” I put my hand on his and he lowers his cell phone. “I’m...fine.”
“You were ribboned today, Daniel. Again.”
I still can’t look at him. I just can't. “I know.”
Jack puts the phone down. “What’s going on?”
I shake my head, not sure about what to say. I don't know where to begin.
Jack sits down on the edge of the bed and puts a hand on my forehead and I’m looking at his eyes. The color of dark roast coffee, hardened by the burdens of duty but... tender with worry. For me. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, I’m just...” I look away from those eyes. They’re the eyes of the Jack in these visions, the Jack in bed with me. I can't bear them. I hardly know why. I whisper, “I’m just tired, Jack. I can’t seem to sleep.”
“Well, that’s no surprise, considering you’ve been sort of... stalked by Osiris for the last week.”
I shrug, then it dawns on me. “You’re here because of that?” I'm pathetically grateful for the distraction.
“At your service,” he nods.
“Jack, Osiris is gone and hopefully fermenting in a pickle jar somewhere on the Tok’ra home base. I think the crisis over.” Why do I want him to stay?
“Um...okay, let’s go over this again: Osiris was sent by Anubis to excavate your brain and dig around for the location of the Lost City.”
I roll my eyes. “For God’s sake, we really don’t need to go over this ag—” I’m suddenly hit with a memory of Jack going down on me at my desk at the SGC. I gasp.
“Daniel?”
“Uhh...” I shake off the image and rally. “Look, Jack. I was just about to fall into blissfully undisturbed sleep for the first time in a week until the cardiac arrest I had ten minutes ago thanks to you. I’m safe, Jack. Okay?” I hope this sounds more convincing to him than it does to me.
Jack sits there for a moment, weighing this, then stands up and grabs the blanket again. “Scoot over.”
Okay, so now it’s back to the tug of war at – I glance at the clock – 3:22 a.m. “Jack, dammit—”
Jack is not giving up. “Think about it, Daniel. When Osiris doesn’t come back, Anubis will send someone else or come to get you himself. You need protection.” His knee starts jabbing at my hip. “You need me.”
“I- I...” Yeah. Yeah, I think I do.
“Come on. Scoot over.”
I blink at him stupidly. “I can’t believe you want to get in bed with me.”
“We’ve done it before.”
“We—” I’m sure I’m doing a great imitation of a trout as I sit there with visions of being in Jack’s bed with Jack, of being in my bed with Jack, off-world in a tent with Jack, the cab of Jack’s truck, Jack’s kitchen table.
These are memories. Memories!
I think.
And…and dammit, now I’m aroused. I quickly draw my knees up to my chest.
“Daniel, your face is flushed.”
“Huh?” I say distractedly. Flushed? I look up at Jack. Was it just sex? Were we…what do they call them? Buddy-fucks?
Jack is peering down at me. “That’s it. I’m calling Fraiser,” he declares and makes another move for the phone. I grab it before he can get it.
“No! No! Jack, I’m fine. I’m just—”
“Tired, yeah, yeah. Sorry, not gonna work.”
“Wait, really, I’m—” I look up at him. His expression is... Oh, God, it’s here. I can feel it. It’s beating in my chest. He said good-bye. He ended it.
Ended it? Ended what?
“Daniel?”
Years of warm friendship that turned into something more, but then suddenly chilled. Duty called. Our standing orders.
//“Shut up, Daniel. That clear enough for you?”//
And somehow, it became easier to be apart than to be together.
//“You stupid son-of-a-bitch.”//
I said that?
//“I’ve grown to…admire you.”//
Admire. No longer even friends.
//“Jacob... Stop.”//
“Daniel. Say something.”
Oh, God... It hurts like nothing ever has. It’s got my stomach in knots. Am I even breathing? “I’m remembering something and I’m not sure...”
He sits down on the bed again and gently asks, “What, Daniel?”
Can he see it? Does he know what I’m thinking?
“I’m not sure it’s...real or...a figment of a sleep-deprived imagination.”
He cups my cheek. So familiar. He murmurs, “Tell me.”
//“I won't say goodbye to you again.”//
There it is. I stare into his beautiful brown eyes again. Hurting, because I wouldn't remember. All these months, I've been hiding from myself. From him. Burying the memories, the pain, holding Jack back from me. I wouldn't let them touch me, any of them, from the moment I laid eyes on him. Arrom and amnesia were only my first place of safety. I ran from him then and I'm still running now.
“It wasn’t just sex, was it.” It’s not a question.
I feel a thumb brushing my cheek.
“No, Daniel,” he says so quietly. “It wasn’t.”
I finally exhale the breath I didn’t know I was holding. I can’t stop staring at him.
"Then why did you let me go, Jack?" No. No. That's not right. That's not how it feels. "Why did you *make* me go?"
His hand stills. “Daniel...” He opens his mouth to speak again, but not a sound escapes his lips. He lets his hand fall and looks away. “I...I don’t know.” He rubs a hand across his eyes. Is he-? No.
“I like to think I was being...unselfish,” Jack explains to the floor. “I...I want to believe I did it because you asked me to. Because it was what you wanted, what you’d always wanted. And you’d be able to do it without me clipping your wings all the time.”
He raises his hand to my cheek again. “I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want you to go. I wanted Jacob to heal you. But... I’d screwed things up so badly between us. You were dying and I couldn’t... I couldn’t set things right. It was the last thing I could do for you, and I did it.”
My hand finds its way to his where he’s lightly stroking my face. He takes my hand and pulls it to his mouth, lightly kissing the palm. His other hand joins in and begins a study of my fingers. I remember he used to do that: study my hands. In bed.
My heart is heavy with emotion.
“Jack.”
He’s not looking at me. I remember this is what he does when he’s hurting. I swallow hard and fight back tears I wish didn’t come so easily for me. I look away. Hiding again.
I can’t believe I didn’t remember this. Us.
He cradles my hand in both of his, turn it over and caressing the back of it. “Oma wiped your memories, Daniel.”
I must have said what I was thinking out loud. “But this?” I look at Jack and swallow a few more times before I can speak. "I did this."
He looks at me finally. "Self-defense," he tells me softly, understanding.
“What I felt for you...” I manage to say around this huge lump in my throat. “What I’m feeling for you now... It’s so...so intense, so deep... so real.... I...love you.”
The tears are free-flowing now and the next thing I know I’m enveloped in warmth and strong arms and Jack’s scent, mingled with citrus and spice body wash. “I know. I only realized how much when that bastard Ba'al had me at death's door and you turned up wanting to lock and deadbolt the fucker behind me,” Jack breathes into my hair, a hand rubbing circles down my back. “So far as you were concerned, the only way out was up."
"Wh-what?"
"The only help you were prepared to offer was a one-time special death offer – fully paid-up eternal subscription to the Oma Desala Fan Club."
“I’m sorry, Jack,” I say into his neck, bitterly ashamed.
“Daniel, don’t,” he says. “Don’t be sorry you were willing to do whatever it took to keep me with you. I’m not sorry. I got off light. I was the asshole who drove you into Oma's waiting tentacles in the first place, something I remembered even if you didn’t. And I’m definitely not sorry Oma did this. I got you *back*. Alive and well. Whole and touchable. Not hating me. I’m not sorry the price for finally having you here with me was being scared shitless day after day because you couldn't remember us."
I lift my head up from his neck and look at him.
“I swear to God, Daniel, if Oma ever shows up and tries to take you away again, she’d better book a seat for me, too, or she can take a hike. Screw this altruistic shit.”
Suddenly, I’m kissing Jack. Fiercely. And he’s kissing me. And I’m pulling his long, lean body into mine and he’s got my face in his hands and his tongue is darting around my mouth. We tumble into the bed and roll around, each trying to pull the other’s shirt off. The lamp crashes to the floor and we’re bathed in darkness. I’m still eating his mouth and he’s managed to roll us over so that he’s on top and he’s maneuvering his legs between mine.
I remember. I remember I love Jack. I remember he loves me. I remember he loved me enough to let me go so that I could live. I see he loves me enough to wait for me to remember.
We have to come up for air and Jack takes this opportunity to yank down on my pajama bottoms, but we’re breathing hard and teetering on the edge of the bed. He leans in and we’re kissing again. Then after a few intensely arousing minutes of reacquainting each other with our respective g-spots, Jack mumbles into my mouth. “Scoot over, Daniel.”
“Geez, Jack. Why didn’t you just say so?”
Oh, I’m in for it now. He swoops in behind my ear, growling and nibbling and giving me a nasty whisker burn. Bastard. He knows I hate when he does that.
No I don’t. He can do that all night, if he wants. Or the rest of our lives. Yeah. Good plan.
I gasp as a warm hand wraps itself around my cock.
“Jack.”
“Daniel, I love you,” he sighs into the hollow of my collarbone. Just like I remember.
“I love you, Jack,” I gasp out, my hips involuntarily bucking into him.
He’s moving his mouth down my chest, lapping at a nipple. Just as I remembered he used to do it. Gnawing gently along my belly and into the contour of my hips, his hand pulling rhythmically at my cock. As gentle and electric as I remembered it. I’m so hard, I ache.
“Time to create new memories, Daniel,” Jack says quietly and confidently.
“Good idea,” I wheeze, grunting as a tongue swirls the head of my penis. A second later, my penis is enveloped in a warm, wet mouth. Oh, God. Here we go.
And we’re scooting...
FINIS
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