may 2006
http://cakehole.org/zedpm
Please do not archive without permission.
The moment he pulled up to the sprawling complex, Jack remembered how much he'd hated Daniel's apartment. Oil-splattered and faded, the place hardly seemed a proper home for a savior of the planet; even in the dead of night a bedraggled old man was shuffling across the street, hauling a gigantic bag of trash to the dumpster. The irony made Jack shake his head in dismay, but then Daniel had never been one for luxury, and he wasn't likely to change.
Parking beside a beaten-up Ford, Jack got out and jogged the eight flights to his friend's apartment and knocked impatiently. After a loud crash and an even louder swear, the door creaked open and a sleep-tousled Daniel stepped out.
"Morning, Daniel," Jack said brightly. "Getting your beauty rest?"
"Ngh," Daniel said, squinting into the darkness with the sluggishness of one woken from a ten-year nap. "What—what could you possibly want from me right now?"
Jack shrugged. "Can't a guy stop by to see a friend?"
Daniel stared at him for a few more seconds while trying to kick his brain into gear, then gave a long-suffering sigh and closed the door behind them. He led Jack into the living room, then disappeared into the kitchen.
Jack took this chance to poke around; the usually-spotless apartment was littered with anthropological journals and greying socks (and, he noted, more than one pair of wrinkled BDUs). Barely visible under the mess were chairs and a couch, and Jack swept several copies of Current Archaeology onto the carpet so he could sit.
It wasn't difficult to remember the last time he'd been here—to pack the place into boxes and send them off for storage in the bowels of the SGC. The apartment still looked like a museum, with Celtic swords on one wall, painted African masks on another, and every surface covered with statuettes and tiny artifacts Jack considered junk and Daniel considered treasure. He had half a mind to sneak a clay doll into his pocket and wait until Daniel noticed its disappearance.
"Sorry about the mess," Daniel said, emerging from the kitchen balancing two mugs and a glass of milk in his hands. He glanced pointedly at the magazines Jack had shoved onto the floor. "The only visitors I get are the maintenance guy and the old lady from Minsk who thinks I'm her son." He grimaced slightly. "Even you're better company."
"Oh, hey now," Jack protested, reaching for a mug. "You're the one who left the egg behind the microwave—the smell didn't go away for weeks."
"What, again?" Daniel's eyebrows drew together. "You're still mad about that?"
Jack stifled an exasperated groan; Daniel's puppy-eyed sincerity was unbearable. "No, Daniel. I'm not mad. I forgive you. Okay?"
"Okay," Daniel said. He took a long sip; the steam from the coffee fogged his glasses and hid the expression in his eyes. "Why are you really here?"
"Well, I was going to hang out with Teal'c, but you know how weird he gets right after kel-no-whatever," Jack lied glibly; the excuse hung between them like a lie; no point hiding behind pretense when Daniel would see right through. "All right. Carter was worried about you and she asked me to come. She didn't think you'd talk to her."
"I don't keep secrets from Sam," Daniel said distantly, but his mind was obviously elsewhere, and Jack knew he'd scratched the surface. He'd read the mission reports, of course, both Daniel's and Sam's (Teal'c's were always too dry and clinical to slog through, though he'd never tell), but hearing it from Daniel itself would tell him more than any piece of paper.
Jack folded his arms. "She's not the only one worried about you. Talk. Now."
Daniel gave a petulant scowl. "I don't need you or Sam babying me. I'm thirty-five years old; I can deal with this. I'm fine." But his eyes had grown troubled, and the silence following his comment was telling.
"No, you're not." Jack gave him a knowing, reassuring smile. "I know you."
"Fine," Daniel said. He seemed very small. After a few more sips he set the mug down on the table, settling back against the armchair as if it was a therapist's couch. "I practically grew up in Egypt, did you know that?" He didn't wait for Jack to reply. "I must have caught every possible disease there was to catch—and the camels hated me. They kept tossing me off whenever I sneezed. I must have spent half my childhood buried in sand."
Jack snorted at the mental image of a young Daniel, hair flopping over his glasses and bandages on both pale knees, flopping into a dune. Across the coffee table, Daniel smiled; it was evident he hadn't talked about his past for a long time. "I was an incredible liability to my parents," he continued. "You think they would have left me in a dig somewhere and pretended I'd gotten lost."
"Hell," Jack interjected, "we should do that now." Daniel gaped soundlessly, and Jack laughed. "No, I wouldn't do that—Teal'c would kill me. Seriously, go on, I'm listening."
Daniel's voice quieted. "It feels like blasphemy to say this," he murmured, "but if they hadn't died, then I probably wouldn't be here right now." He picked up the empty mug, turning it back and forth in his pale hands. "When it... happened... all their promises died with them. They said they'd show me the world, but I had to find it on my own. I had to take their dreams and their work and finish what they'd started."
He faltered and looked at his knees, letting his bangs cover his face. Jack reached out to touch his hand, but stopped himself. Daniel didn't need his sympathy, just his understanding, and if Jack touched him now, he would shatter.
"They made me who I am today," Daniel continued, voice trembling slightly. "And I worry sometimes that—that I've disappointed them. That I've let their work go to waste. That what I do every day, fighting this war—that it isn't what they wanted."
"No," Jack said firmly, shaking his head. "You're saving the world, Daniel. Nothing would make them prouder." Jack gave in to impulse then, grasping Daniel's listless fingers and giving his hand a comforting squeeze. "And you know it."
Daniel covered Jack's hand with his own. "Thank you," he said quietly, giving Jack an absent smile, and Jack felt his heart lurch within his chest. This was what Jack fought for—smiles like this, brighter than any star. Like Charlie's. Like Sam's. Like Daniel's. Smiles that patched up his heart where the years had run through and left nothing behind.
Fingertips lingering, Daniel withdrew his hand. His eyes remained sorrowful, though, as they darted in the direction of the door. "I'm good, Jack. Thanks for stopping by."
Jack remained where he was; he opened his mouth, letting the words spill out. "Are you sure?" It came out sounding less casual than he'd hoped, but the look on Daniel's face meant he was grateful for the offer. "I mean, I could stay if you want."
"If you want," Daniel repeated, a smile curving the corner of his mouth.
They sat in silence for minutes that slowly stretched into hours. Jack left the chair and sat on the couch, nudging Daniel over and thumbing through a magazine. Daniel quickly emptied his cup of coffee, then reached for Jack's and downed it with a practiced ease. The only sound came from the aquarium against the wall; the fish wandered around, lost and bewildered, but somehow always found their way back to the plastic castle.
It was three-seventeen by Jack's watch and two-fifty-four by the wall clock when Daniel finally spoke. "Jack," he said quietly, long eyelashes lowered, "it's all right."
Jack raised his head, surprised by the steady tone of Daniel's voice. "You sure?"
"Yeah," Daniel replied with a small smile. He shifted a little, tension visible in his shoulders as he readied himself to stand. "Don't worry about me."
"What makes you think I worry about you?" Jack asked, barely making an attempt to get up. "I've got better things to do."
Daniel laughed, and there was a spark, a hint of the old Daniel flickering in his eyes that gave Jack more than a small measure of comfort. "Go home, Jack."
Jack reluctantly pushed himself out of the chair, stacking the magazines in a neat pile and giving the aquarium a farewell tap. He was almost at the door when he stopped and turned, pulling Daniel to him in one swift movement. The younger man's hair smelled like dust, like ink and black coffee, like his precious books, and Jack inhaled the scent, trying to keep this moment for as long they would need it.
"Jack," Daniel murmured into his shoulder. Jack didn't let go; brushing the bangs away from Daniel's face, he pressed a gentle kiss on the other man's forehead. He held Daniel for a few more seconds, hardly daring to breathe, and pulled away.
Daniel fumbled with the knob, pulling open the door as slowly as he could. "Good night, Jack," he said softly, following the older man's figure with his eyes. "And thank you for," he exhaled deeply and swallowed, barely hiding the tremble in his voice, "taking care of me."
"You're welcome," Jack replied, reaching up and ruffling Daniel's hair affectionately. He waited for a few seconds, unwilling to leave, but Daniel said nothing and closed the door.
Jack stepped out into the night, his guilt growing with every step. It wasn't like him to leave a friend when he was so obviously in pain, but for all his bookish, nerdy ways, Daniel was the strongest person he knew. When Hammond called them back to duty next week, the kid would be perfectly fine, ready to translate his heart out.
Whistling quietly, Jack had unlocked the door of his truck when he heard the patter of bare feet on the pavement. He didn't have to look to know whose cheek was pressed against his shoulder and whose unsteady arms held him tightly in place.
"Stay," Daniel said. The word was muffled against Jack's shirt, but it resounded with hope and Daniel's own unique brand of trust. Jack turned, seeing in Daniel's eyes the promise of too-sweet coffee and a threadbare afghan on the couch, and laughed.
Home was here.
