The Beginning of Healing Pt 3/3
Jun. 26th, 2010 02:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
marzipan77The Beginning of Healing Pt 3/3
by marzipan77
GEN Sooo angsty, but mostly it’s a team story.
Rated: T+ for repercussions from Hathor and some decidedly strong language. Maybe M for Daniel’s memories, but, then again, I have a strong imagination.
Tag for Hathor.
Feedback: Oh, yes please.
See Author’s Note on Part 1
God, he hadn’t felt this good in years. Jack pushed himself as the narrow running track started winding its way up the side of the hill. His knees moved smoothly without a twinge or an echo of pain. When he awoke this morning – well, almost this afternoon – fully clothed, face down on his bed, he’d expected the familiar backbeat of a headache somewhere behind his eyeballs. Beer and scotch – yep, that combo worked every time. After five Tylenol and about a gallon of water he’d realized that he’d been able to get out of bed joint pain-free for the first time in ten years. Man, that gaudy Goa’uld box did more than cure evil bitch gut pouches. He’d take a dozen.
Halfway down the other side of the hill, the stitch in his side reminded Jack that, knees or no knees, he wasn’t a kid anymore, and a ten-click run the morning – afternoon – after one of the squirreliest missions yet – without even leaving the base – might have been a bad idea. It was supposed to be the first down day for SG-1 in way too long when the red-haired goddess wannabe showed up and everything went to hell. If it wasn’t for Carter and Frasier and the rest of the female Air Force personnel he’d have his own “junior” in his belly like Teal’c and the SGC would have become ground zero for the Goa’uld invasion of Earth. Nice first command for Carter: for an egghead she did a fine impression of a combat veteran.
Jack purposefully breathed evenly to calm the rebellious pain in his side, but kept his pace, determined to take advantage of his newfound agility. The fresh forest air smelled great after too many days in the underground warrens of the SGC. He adjusted his damp watch cap with one hand as the fine drizzle that had been with him since mile six turned into a steady rain. ‘It never rained but it poured,’ Kawalsky had often said. “Yeah, you weren’t kidding about this job,” Jack breathed out to his absent friend into the foggy air.
The only thing Jack hated about running was all the free time it gave his brain. Images flipped by and he quickly filed them away into the dark mental cabinets where they belonged. Charlie’s tousled blonde hair and shining eyes stayed with him though, always there, a comfort and a bright shaft of pain. Today his son’s face morphed into a bespectacled archaeologist’s, blue eyes shifting away to hide some deeper darkness of his own. The car sitting outside Jack’s door this morning reminded him of the awkward silences between the two last night. His teammate had been quiet – and for Dr. Daniel Jackson, that was a warning sign as big as Cheyenne Mountain.
One thing at a time, Jack, he chided himself. Let’s just try to survive this last mile home before you take on the problem of one damaged archaeologist. Carter was on it. He’d check in with her later and see if between the two of them they couldn’t browbeat Daniel into a nice, team-building steak somewhere.
~o~
The slim pen flew from Daniel’s fingers when the next flash of memory struck and the strangled cry burst from his throat. Fire seared along his nerves as her mouth moved down his neck, across his chest, calling him back from his hiding place within his mind with a jolt of pain as she closed her sharp teeth over his skin. Her face rose above him again as she arched back licking his blood from her smiling lips. “So sweet,” she hissed, and then leaned down to share the taste of his own blood. “Do you taste it my beloved? Oh, it is a flavor that stirs the desire, that fuels the yearning in your goddess’s loins.” She ground down against him mercilessly.
His panting breath ended in a thin wail, Hathor’s glittering eyes and bloody smile stretching across his vision until it filled his entire world. Daniel closed his hand and pressed his fist against his desk, realizing that the throbbing pain wasn’t enough to totally banish the hideous memory. He flung his chair back, stumbling to his feet and rushed from the room, cracking his shoulder against the narrow door as he fought for breath. The doors to the balcony finally surrendered to his awkward movements and he found himself leaning against the railing in the light rain, eyes wide in panic as the rain mingled with the tears that streamed down his face.
~o~
A couple of hours, two sandwiches, and a shower later and Jack found himself pacing across his deck dialing Daniel’s number for the third time. The persistent busy signal didn’t fool him for a minute – Daniel had gone to ground. His escape last night after Jack fell into a doze was the first clue that the scholar intended to wrap himself up tightly in his latest hurt until it had sunk so deeply within that he could raise his usual ‘I’m fine’ face convincingly to his friends. But Jack knew, better than most, he mused as his mind tugged at the locked cabinet that held his memories of his time in the Iraqi prison, that the broken glass and razor blades of that bitch Goa’uld’s rape would leave some damned deep and bloody gashes in his friend’s soul on the way down.
He snorted and shook his head as he remembered bits and pieces of Daniel’s words last night. They’d been all about regret and remorse, worrying about Jack and how he was coping. Figures. That sorta defined the archaeologist’s whole being. Gotta make sure everyone else was okay. Yeah. Well, Jack was over the worst of it, and the lingering flashes of fear and disgust would fade. He moved swiftly through the living room on his way to the door, absently pocketing the keys that Teal’c had dropped on the table in the foyer when the doorbell rang.
“General?”
Hammond, dressed casually in jeans and a faded denim shirt, stood hesitantly at Jack’s door.
“Jack.” Pale blue eyes took in the colonel’s tense stance and the jacket that hung from one shoulder. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
First name, huh? “No, of course not,” Jack changed gears and stepped back. He shrugged off his coat and followed his commanding officer down into the living room. Watching as the major general stood beside the wall the room shared with the kitchen, fingers fidgeting over the framed photo there, Jack felt his eyes narrow with worry. It wasn’t every day that Hammond made a house call. “I was just headed out to check on Daniel,” he began.
Shifting to face the colonel, Hammond smiled thinly. “That’s one of the reasons I’m here, Jack.”
Eyebrows rising in response, Jack gestured towards the sofa, automatically waiting to lower himself into the chair opposite until the general was seated. “General?”
Hammond chuckled. “I don’t see any uniforms here, Jack. How about you call me George? You didn’t seem to have a problem with that while you were smashing up my car window a few weeks ago.”
Jack winced at the memory.
“I need your opinion, Jack, off the record.”
Wow. “Wow,” Jack couldn’t help himself. “This is a first, Gen…ah, George.”
Another wintry smile flickered across Hammond’s round face. He clenched his fingers together in his lap. “I’m considering bringing Doctor MacKenzie onto staff at the mountain on a full-time basis. This past…” he hesitated, “I don’t even know what to call it, Jack - has affected every member of my command in a way no other mission I’ve ever been involved with has, and, frankly, I’m out of my depth.”
Nodding, Jack listened. Hammond himself had fallen under the bitch Goa’uld’s spell and had taken arms against his own people. Veteran soldiers were trained to deal with torture, brain-washing, but for the commanding officer of the base, well, the general’s behavior had to wrench at his gut on a whole different scale. “What can I do, sir?”
Hammond rubbed at the back of his neck. “Military SOP requires any individual exposed to enemy brain-washing attempts to undergo a complete psychiatric evaluation before returning to duty. Our men need help, Jack, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.” He sighed. “I’m just afraid *they* will be.”
Jack saw the guilt in the general’s eyes. He knew that exploration through the Stargate had already resulted in some crazy crap – devolution to cave-men, rapid aging, megalomaniac officers setting themselves up as gods – and that was just SG-1’s missions. Frasier kept MacKenzie on speed-dial, and the guy had been helpful pulling Carter’s real memories out of her subconscious from their trip to Oannes, but airmen – soldiers – had a deep and abiding loathing for head-shrinkers. Putting themselves willingly under the microscope would go against their natures, but the backing of Col. Jack O’Neill, two “Ls”, Special Ops trained bad-ass, would go a long way towards lessening the grumbling.
“You want me to be first, George? Set the tone? Show the men that I’m not afraid of a little touchy-feely with MacKenzie?”
Gratitude for his 2IC’s quick grasp of the situation lightened the general’s tense features. “I think if SG-1 stepped up, the other men might feel less self-conscious about getting some help themselves.”
The final penny dropped. “SG-1.”
Hammond kept his gaze level. “Yes.”
Clever, George, very clever, Jack’s appreciation for the man he was lucky enough to have as his commanding officer rose even higher. He’d figured out a way to offer Daniel the help he desperately needed without any criticism or stigma attached. “Daniel’s already hiding, sir.”
“I figured as much.” Hammond sat back against the sofa cushions. “Got a call from Colonel Makepeace. Teal’c requested permission to go off-base to visit Doctor Jackson.”
“Teal’c?” Uh huh. First the general and then the Jaffa. Two guys who were way ahead of him on this one. I’m losing my touch, Jack thought darkly.
“Don’t blame yourself, Jack, you’ve got your own trauma to deal with.”
The colonel flinched. Trauma? That was a bit of an exaggeration. “I don’t think so, sir.”
“I know you don’t, son,” Hammond responded knowingly. “But, if it helps, let me assure you that I’ll be Doctor MacKenzie’s first patient, not you.”
~o~
Teal’c continued to knock, listening for any movement behind the blank door of his teammate’s residence. Shuffling steps approached, retreated, approached again, halting just the other side of the thin plank of wood that separated them. He waited patiently, hands swinging back to clasp each other behind his back. He felt the young man’s presence, knew he was torn, considering whether or not to accept compassion, even companionship, during his struggle.
“Daniel Jackson,” he stated simply.
A soft thud sounded, as if a heavy weight had settled against the door. A moment later the lock snicked and the door opened to a pale face straining to hold onto a thin veneer of calm. “Hey, Teal’c.” The young man held himself stiffly, one bandaged hand fisted bloodily at his side.
The Jaffa tilted his head. “Would you allow me entrance, Daniel Jackson?”
“Sure,” the archaeologist mumbled, turning to lead the way into his home. But not, Teal’c observed, into his confidence – the hunched posture that the scholar held as he stood as far from the Jaffa as the small room allowed revealed as much.
“I guess Jack sent you,” Daniel remarked when Teal’c kept his silence.
“He did not,” the Jaffa replied, straightening, his expression bland. He took in the smear of blood against the open doors to the balcony with a swift glance.
Daniel nodded absently. “You didn’t happen to bring my car back, did you?” he toyed with the makeshift bandage on his left hand. Maybe he could lose himself driving through the mountains, the high clear air blowing the visions from his mind. Then again, he snorted to himself, trying to ride out one of his flashbacks while steering around the tight curves of the Rockies might eliminate his problem altogether.
Teal’c moved to the small couch positioned against one wall and sat, his large hands moving the delicate pieces of the ancient game into position. “I merely wished to continue our game of Jackals and Hounds.” He kept his head bowed, gaze fixed upon the board, waiting.
“What?” Daniel blew out his breath in disbelief. Was Teal’c nuts? After… after everything that happened he just wanted to, what, go on? Forget about it? “I don’t…”
“I believe it is your move Daniel Jackson.”
He’d taken a few steps towards the chair opposite the Jaffa before he realized it. “Teal’c.” Daniel’s throat closed before anything else could slip out, frowning at the large man’s strange behavior.
“Did we not speak of finishing the game during our next ‘down time,’” Teal’c repeated the strange Tau’ri phrase with precision, “when we spoke two days ago?”
Daniel tried to think back to a time before he’d seen the red-haired figure draped in a too-large coat in the SGC holding cell, but his mind couldn’t wade through the emotional flood. “Did we?” he whispered.
“Indeed. O’Neill then suggested substituting a game of ‘Twister’ and accompanying it with quantities of ribs and fermented beverages.”
His frown deepening, Daniel perched awkwardly on the chair and watched his hand reach for one of the dog-headed figures as if he were observing from a great distance. Teal’c nodded and made a counter-move, his silence and serenity somehow blanketing the room, a remote, detached feeling expanding over the two as they settled in to play. Daniel didn’t notice the quiet hours pass, the sun making an appearance from behind pervasive clouds just at sunset to send a golden shaft across the balcony and onto the table before him. Murmuring voices from his back did not intrude until, hours later, a warm hand on the back of his neck drew his gaze from the Egyptian figures, up, to meet the smiling brown eyes of Jack O’Neill.
“Hey, dinner’s here. Want to get some before Sam finishes the cole slaw?”
The soft voice brought sudden tears to his eyes and Daniel blinked quickly to try to keep the familiar face in focus. He shifted, realizing his muscles were sore from sitting for so long. “Jack?”
The hand squeezed gently, once, before Jack jerked his chin in the direction of the tantalizing aroma of grilled meat and rich sauce. “Hungry?”
Daniel’s stomach’s response was loud enough to answer the question. “I guess I am.” He found two strong hands guiding him as he tried to stand. Moving towards his living room he was not surprised to find Sam and General Hammond retrieving packets of sauce from white paper bags, laughing quietly as they both reached for a large platter of ribs. Sitting in a cushioned armchair Daniel drew his knees up until his bare feet rested on the seat. Someone dropped an afghan over his lap and he drew it around him, one hand accepting a plate loaded with food as he took in the muted voices and calm faces of his friends. It all seemed so… normal.
He ate quietly, soothed by their acceptance, warmed by the very ordinariness of it all. Somewhere, hovering, there was still pain, and a pair of glowing eyes that waited to snatch him back to relive all the anguish. But, for now, the peace that had arrived with the former First Prime remained, keeping the memories at bay. Daniel raised his eyes to look across the room at his teammate and found Teal’c’s dark gaze calmly waiting. He nodded. Teal’c raised one eyebrow as if to say, ‘Of course, Daniel Jackson, where else would I be but at my brother’s side.’
“No Twister then, sir?” Jack’s whining comment sifted down through the blanket numbing Daniel’s awareness.
Hammond chuckled. “Not unless you’ve got a chiropractor on speed dial, colonel.”
Daniel smiled. “Maybe next time, Jack,” he heard himself say.
End
by marzipan77
GEN Sooo angsty, but mostly it’s a team story.
Rated: T+ for repercussions from Hathor and some decidedly strong language. Maybe M for Daniel’s memories, but, then again, I have a strong imagination.
Tag for Hathor.
Feedback: Oh, yes please.
See Author’s Note on Part 1
God, he hadn’t felt this good in years. Jack pushed himself as the narrow running track started winding its way up the side of the hill. His knees moved smoothly without a twinge or an echo of pain. When he awoke this morning – well, almost this afternoon – fully clothed, face down on his bed, he’d expected the familiar backbeat of a headache somewhere behind his eyeballs. Beer and scotch – yep, that combo worked every time. After five Tylenol and about a gallon of water he’d realized that he’d been able to get out of bed joint pain-free for the first time in ten years. Man, that gaudy Goa’uld box did more than cure evil bitch gut pouches. He’d take a dozen.
Halfway down the other side of the hill, the stitch in his side reminded Jack that, knees or no knees, he wasn’t a kid anymore, and a ten-click run the morning – afternoon – after one of the squirreliest missions yet – without even leaving the base – might have been a bad idea. It was supposed to be the first down day for SG-1 in way too long when the red-haired goddess wannabe showed up and everything went to hell. If it wasn’t for Carter and Frasier and the rest of the female Air Force personnel he’d have his own “junior” in his belly like Teal’c and the SGC would have become ground zero for the Goa’uld invasion of Earth. Nice first command for Carter: for an egghead she did a fine impression of a combat veteran.
Jack purposefully breathed evenly to calm the rebellious pain in his side, but kept his pace, determined to take advantage of his newfound agility. The fresh forest air smelled great after too many days in the underground warrens of the SGC. He adjusted his damp watch cap with one hand as the fine drizzle that had been with him since mile six turned into a steady rain. ‘It never rained but it poured,’ Kawalsky had often said. “Yeah, you weren’t kidding about this job,” Jack breathed out to his absent friend into the foggy air.
The only thing Jack hated about running was all the free time it gave his brain. Images flipped by and he quickly filed them away into the dark mental cabinets where they belonged. Charlie’s tousled blonde hair and shining eyes stayed with him though, always there, a comfort and a bright shaft of pain. Today his son’s face morphed into a bespectacled archaeologist’s, blue eyes shifting away to hide some deeper darkness of his own. The car sitting outside Jack’s door this morning reminded him of the awkward silences between the two last night. His teammate had been quiet – and for Dr. Daniel Jackson, that was a warning sign as big as Cheyenne Mountain.
One thing at a time, Jack, he chided himself. Let’s just try to survive this last mile home before you take on the problem of one damaged archaeologist. Carter was on it. He’d check in with her later and see if between the two of them they couldn’t browbeat Daniel into a nice, team-building steak somewhere.
~o~
The slim pen flew from Daniel’s fingers when the next flash of memory struck and the strangled cry burst from his throat. Fire seared along his nerves as her mouth moved down his neck, across his chest, calling him back from his hiding place within his mind with a jolt of pain as she closed her sharp teeth over his skin. Her face rose above him again as she arched back licking his blood from her smiling lips. “So sweet,” she hissed, and then leaned down to share the taste of his own blood. “Do you taste it my beloved? Oh, it is a flavor that stirs the desire, that fuels the yearning in your goddess’s loins.” She ground down against him mercilessly.
His panting breath ended in a thin wail, Hathor’s glittering eyes and bloody smile stretching across his vision until it filled his entire world. Daniel closed his hand and pressed his fist against his desk, realizing that the throbbing pain wasn’t enough to totally banish the hideous memory. He flung his chair back, stumbling to his feet and rushed from the room, cracking his shoulder against the narrow door as he fought for breath. The doors to the balcony finally surrendered to his awkward movements and he found himself leaning against the railing in the light rain, eyes wide in panic as the rain mingled with the tears that streamed down his face.
~o~
A couple of hours, two sandwiches, and a shower later and Jack found himself pacing across his deck dialing Daniel’s number for the third time. The persistent busy signal didn’t fool him for a minute – Daniel had gone to ground. His escape last night after Jack fell into a doze was the first clue that the scholar intended to wrap himself up tightly in his latest hurt until it had sunk so deeply within that he could raise his usual ‘I’m fine’ face convincingly to his friends. But Jack knew, better than most, he mused as his mind tugged at the locked cabinet that held his memories of his time in the Iraqi prison, that the broken glass and razor blades of that bitch Goa’uld’s rape would leave some damned deep and bloody gashes in his friend’s soul on the way down.
He snorted and shook his head as he remembered bits and pieces of Daniel’s words last night. They’d been all about regret and remorse, worrying about Jack and how he was coping. Figures. That sorta defined the archaeologist’s whole being. Gotta make sure everyone else was okay. Yeah. Well, Jack was over the worst of it, and the lingering flashes of fear and disgust would fade. He moved swiftly through the living room on his way to the door, absently pocketing the keys that Teal’c had dropped on the table in the foyer when the doorbell rang.
“General?”
Hammond, dressed casually in jeans and a faded denim shirt, stood hesitantly at Jack’s door.
“Jack.” Pale blue eyes took in the colonel’s tense stance and the jacket that hung from one shoulder. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
First name, huh? “No, of course not,” Jack changed gears and stepped back. He shrugged off his coat and followed his commanding officer down into the living room. Watching as the major general stood beside the wall the room shared with the kitchen, fingers fidgeting over the framed photo there, Jack felt his eyes narrow with worry. It wasn’t every day that Hammond made a house call. “I was just headed out to check on Daniel,” he began.
Shifting to face the colonel, Hammond smiled thinly. “That’s one of the reasons I’m here, Jack.”
Eyebrows rising in response, Jack gestured towards the sofa, automatically waiting to lower himself into the chair opposite until the general was seated. “General?”
Hammond chuckled. “I don’t see any uniforms here, Jack. How about you call me George? You didn’t seem to have a problem with that while you were smashing up my car window a few weeks ago.”
Jack winced at the memory.
“I need your opinion, Jack, off the record.”
Wow. “Wow,” Jack couldn’t help himself. “This is a first, Gen…ah, George.”
Another wintry smile flickered across Hammond’s round face. He clenched his fingers together in his lap. “I’m considering bringing Doctor MacKenzie onto staff at the mountain on a full-time basis. This past…” he hesitated, “I don’t even know what to call it, Jack - has affected every member of my command in a way no other mission I’ve ever been involved with has, and, frankly, I’m out of my depth.”
Nodding, Jack listened. Hammond himself had fallen under the bitch Goa’uld’s spell and had taken arms against his own people. Veteran soldiers were trained to deal with torture, brain-washing, but for the commanding officer of the base, well, the general’s behavior had to wrench at his gut on a whole different scale. “What can I do, sir?”
Hammond rubbed at the back of his neck. “Military SOP requires any individual exposed to enemy brain-washing attempts to undergo a complete psychiatric evaluation before returning to duty. Our men need help, Jack, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.” He sighed. “I’m just afraid *they* will be.”
Jack saw the guilt in the general’s eyes. He knew that exploration through the Stargate had already resulted in some crazy crap – devolution to cave-men, rapid aging, megalomaniac officers setting themselves up as gods – and that was just SG-1’s missions. Frasier kept MacKenzie on speed-dial, and the guy had been helpful pulling Carter’s real memories out of her subconscious from their trip to Oannes, but airmen – soldiers – had a deep and abiding loathing for head-shrinkers. Putting themselves willingly under the microscope would go against their natures, but the backing of Col. Jack O’Neill, two “Ls”, Special Ops trained bad-ass, would go a long way towards lessening the grumbling.
“You want me to be first, George? Set the tone? Show the men that I’m not afraid of a little touchy-feely with MacKenzie?”
Gratitude for his 2IC’s quick grasp of the situation lightened the general’s tense features. “I think if SG-1 stepped up, the other men might feel less self-conscious about getting some help themselves.”
The final penny dropped. “SG-1.”
Hammond kept his gaze level. “Yes.”
Clever, George, very clever, Jack’s appreciation for the man he was lucky enough to have as his commanding officer rose even higher. He’d figured out a way to offer Daniel the help he desperately needed without any criticism or stigma attached. “Daniel’s already hiding, sir.”
“I figured as much.” Hammond sat back against the sofa cushions. “Got a call from Colonel Makepeace. Teal’c requested permission to go off-base to visit Doctor Jackson.”
“Teal’c?” Uh huh. First the general and then the Jaffa. Two guys who were way ahead of him on this one. I’m losing my touch, Jack thought darkly.
“Don’t blame yourself, Jack, you’ve got your own trauma to deal with.”
The colonel flinched. Trauma? That was a bit of an exaggeration. “I don’t think so, sir.”
“I know you don’t, son,” Hammond responded knowingly. “But, if it helps, let me assure you that I’ll be Doctor MacKenzie’s first patient, not you.”
~o~
Teal’c continued to knock, listening for any movement behind the blank door of his teammate’s residence. Shuffling steps approached, retreated, approached again, halting just the other side of the thin plank of wood that separated them. He waited patiently, hands swinging back to clasp each other behind his back. He felt the young man’s presence, knew he was torn, considering whether or not to accept compassion, even companionship, during his struggle.
“Daniel Jackson,” he stated simply.
A soft thud sounded, as if a heavy weight had settled against the door. A moment later the lock snicked and the door opened to a pale face straining to hold onto a thin veneer of calm. “Hey, Teal’c.” The young man held himself stiffly, one bandaged hand fisted bloodily at his side.
The Jaffa tilted his head. “Would you allow me entrance, Daniel Jackson?”
“Sure,” the archaeologist mumbled, turning to lead the way into his home. But not, Teal’c observed, into his confidence – the hunched posture that the scholar held as he stood as far from the Jaffa as the small room allowed revealed as much.
“I guess Jack sent you,” Daniel remarked when Teal’c kept his silence.
“He did not,” the Jaffa replied, straightening, his expression bland. He took in the smear of blood against the open doors to the balcony with a swift glance.
Daniel nodded absently. “You didn’t happen to bring my car back, did you?” he toyed with the makeshift bandage on his left hand. Maybe he could lose himself driving through the mountains, the high clear air blowing the visions from his mind. Then again, he snorted to himself, trying to ride out one of his flashbacks while steering around the tight curves of the Rockies might eliminate his problem altogether.
Teal’c moved to the small couch positioned against one wall and sat, his large hands moving the delicate pieces of the ancient game into position. “I merely wished to continue our game of Jackals and Hounds.” He kept his head bowed, gaze fixed upon the board, waiting.
“What?” Daniel blew out his breath in disbelief. Was Teal’c nuts? After… after everything that happened he just wanted to, what, go on? Forget about it? “I don’t…”
“I believe it is your move Daniel Jackson.”
He’d taken a few steps towards the chair opposite the Jaffa before he realized it. “Teal’c.” Daniel’s throat closed before anything else could slip out, frowning at the large man’s strange behavior.
“Did we not speak of finishing the game during our next ‘down time,’” Teal’c repeated the strange Tau’ri phrase with precision, “when we spoke two days ago?”
Daniel tried to think back to a time before he’d seen the red-haired figure draped in a too-large coat in the SGC holding cell, but his mind couldn’t wade through the emotional flood. “Did we?” he whispered.
“Indeed. O’Neill then suggested substituting a game of ‘Twister’ and accompanying it with quantities of ribs and fermented beverages.”
His frown deepening, Daniel perched awkwardly on the chair and watched his hand reach for one of the dog-headed figures as if he were observing from a great distance. Teal’c nodded and made a counter-move, his silence and serenity somehow blanketing the room, a remote, detached feeling expanding over the two as they settled in to play. Daniel didn’t notice the quiet hours pass, the sun making an appearance from behind pervasive clouds just at sunset to send a golden shaft across the balcony and onto the table before him. Murmuring voices from his back did not intrude until, hours later, a warm hand on the back of his neck drew his gaze from the Egyptian figures, up, to meet the smiling brown eyes of Jack O’Neill.
“Hey, dinner’s here. Want to get some before Sam finishes the cole slaw?”
The soft voice brought sudden tears to his eyes and Daniel blinked quickly to try to keep the familiar face in focus. He shifted, realizing his muscles were sore from sitting for so long. “Jack?”
The hand squeezed gently, once, before Jack jerked his chin in the direction of the tantalizing aroma of grilled meat and rich sauce. “Hungry?”
Daniel’s stomach’s response was loud enough to answer the question. “I guess I am.” He found two strong hands guiding him as he tried to stand. Moving towards his living room he was not surprised to find Sam and General Hammond retrieving packets of sauce from white paper bags, laughing quietly as they both reached for a large platter of ribs. Sitting in a cushioned armchair Daniel drew his knees up until his bare feet rested on the seat. Someone dropped an afghan over his lap and he drew it around him, one hand accepting a plate loaded with food as he took in the muted voices and calm faces of his friends. It all seemed so… normal.
He ate quietly, soothed by their acceptance, warmed by the very ordinariness of it all. Somewhere, hovering, there was still pain, and a pair of glowing eyes that waited to snatch him back to relive all the anguish. But, for now, the peace that had arrived with the former First Prime remained, keeping the memories at bay. Daniel raised his eyes to look across the room at his teammate and found Teal’c’s dark gaze calmly waiting. He nodded. Teal’c raised one eyebrow as if to say, ‘Of course, Daniel Jackson, where else would I be but at my brother’s side.’
“No Twister then, sir?” Jack’s whining comment sifted down through the blanket numbing Daniel’s awareness.
Hammond chuckled. “Not unless you’ve got a chiropractor on speed dial, colonel.”
Daniel smiled. “Maybe next time, Jack,” he heard himself say.
End
