Shards of broken pottery lay on the carpet in front of him. Daniel sat there staring at them, not caring. He cared, just not about the pottery itself. Broken. It was all broken. Just one more thing broken in his life. Broken glass lay near the pottery. Ooops. Two more things broken. Guess he shouldn't have thrown the pottery at the window.
He picked up a few pieces and turned them over and around in his fingers, examining but not examining. A drop of water suddenly dropped onto one of the fragments; he rubbed the traitorous tear away from his eye with rough irritation. He would not cry, or weaken, or break. Tears made things worse; not to mention fucking up his breathing. Tears on wet shoulders...shoulders that went away....to leave you alone...they leave you alone...they always leave you. Can't show how weak you are; that's when the vultures come.
As angry thoughts buzzed through his mind, he scoured every memory he had where something in his life had gone wrong, sometimes horribly wrong. Daniel didn't know whether to cry, or laugh at the irony. He simply picked up his drink instead and drank half of the glass of whiskey down. Time to numb the nerve pain. You could never numb the emotional pain with alcohol, but it could make it so you just didn't care...well, too much anyway.
His voice, suddenly filling Daniel's head. "But sometimes I can forget. Sometimes."
Daniel picked up the pistol in his left hand and held it, staring at the cold, deadly, metallic object. He thumbed the safety off with difficulty. It would have been easier if his wrist hadn't been broken by Reese. At once artificial, unreal. A robot. And at the same time, something that could feel. Something that could feel more than those who chose to become unfeeling and cold. Just like the dead metal in his hands.
He stared down the barrel, fascinated....but not fascinated enough. He set the gun back down on the floor next to him and got up. Bits of pottery dust fell from his lap and he brushed them off with exaggeration as he made his way to the kitchen to refill his tall glass. He downed the rest of the watered whiskey first, then added two - instead of the previous four - ice cubes. He poured the sixteen ounce glass half full again and swayed slightly as he walked back to his chosen seat on the living room floor.
He was well on his way to getting drunk. Yep. Filthy, disgustingly, disturbingly...drunk.
He picked up the gun again and stared at it while he took frequent sips from the liquor. There was one thing he'd managed to do right and that was to smuggle his gun off the base. It had been easy because no one had ever expected it of him. Everyone, including the guards, overlooked him. No one bothered to think he'd be a security risk. Hell, even at the beginning it had been something of a joke. And now here, at the end of it all, he was still a joke.
"One big fucking joke," he whispered into his glass, drunkenly listening to the echo coming back from within the glass.
He'd managed to put them all in jeopardy....again. How many times was this now? Fifteen? Twenty? Well, whatever it was, he'd reached his limit.
Fucking, stupid sonofabitch Ja--
No. He told himself he'd not even think that name. That person wasn't anyone he knew anymore. Never knew actually. Never. All of this has just some kind of long-suffering nightmare. But it was real, wasn't it? He'd done damage and the only way he could expunge his record with the universe was to take himself out of the equation....forever. Yep. Forever. Maybe...if he was very lucky and some sort of forgiveness was given by all those lives who'd passed on, then maybe...he'd see her again and ask her forgiveness. He couldn't forgive himself. That was something he could never do. Once on that road, history would get repeated. But then, history was repeated with him, over and over, wasn't it?
He broken everything in his life. Everything. The pottery and glass shards mocked him. Broken jobs, broken friendships, broken wife, broken parents, broken life. The tears threatened again, and he grimaced, trying to hold them back. A few came anyway; silent, wet, messy. One dropped into his glass and his drunken mind told him that if he cried into his glass, he wouldn't need ice...he started to laugh, but the laugh turned into sorrow and he squashed it again.
He still didn't have the courage to end it yet. Typical, he mused with self-hatred. He didn't have the courage to do or be a lot of things...except the one thing he was: a screw-up. The perfect screw-up. This time he did laugh. Finally, something he'd perfected.
His ironic laughter took all of the emotional control away from him for the moment and the laughter melded into soft weeping. He stopped the tears by taking deep, angry breaths and it worked....for a little while. He finished his liquor and tried to get up as easily as before but found that he was getting shit-faced pretty fast. So much so that he ended up crawling to the kitchen, pulling himself up high enough to grab the bottle off the counter, then filling his glass once more. He left the bottle, sitting amazingly upright, on the floor and tried not to spill the whiskey as he made his way back to the living room on his hands and knees.
As he passed the short desk that held his phone, it rang. Instead of letting the recorder get it, he got mad that the ringer had made him jump.
"Shut up!" he screamed and swept the phone and machine off the desk. They hit the wall behind the door and crashed to the floor of the entranceway.
"Just leave me the fuck alone!" he screamed with intoxicated shrillness, then dropped his voice to a bare whisper. "Just let me die alone." He slumped, his arms and knees dropping out from under him. His glass tipped and fell over, the contents spilling out onto carpet and rolling over the metal carpet strip connecting to the entranceway's wooden floor. The world greyed for him just then and he drifted off into oblivion for a short while.
General Hammond was standing behind his desk with the phone receiver in front of him. He stared quizzically at what he'd just heard on the other end. He hung up then called Dr. Frasier.
Jack didn't say a word. He simply stood there in front of Hammond's desk, waiting to hear what had happened to Daniel's pistol. He looked at the General with his own puzzlement as the General hadn't talked with Daniel, or left a message. Instead of asking, he decided to wait for the General to tell him.
"Frasier."
"Doctor."
"General, sir."
"Did you see Dr. Jackson before he went home today?"
"This morning, sir. I changed the tape on his wrist, then released him from his checkup. Is something wrong?"
"I'm not sure. Dr. Jackson didn't check his weapon in and his phone seems to have gone off the hook."
"But he's been back from that last mission for a few days, sir. Has it been missing that long?"
"Apparently," Hammond said with obvious displeasure, glaring at Jack, then at the armory officer standing just outside his office. "What was his state of mind, Doctor? Was he suicidal?"
Janet didn't answer right away because she was frankly shocked at the question. But as she thought about it, she wasn't so sure she should be shocked. Not bothering to wait on her answer, Hammond ordered her to meet him and Jack in Daniel's office. He hung up and Jack followed him silently to Level 18.
Daniel's office door was locked, as per usual, but what wasn't usual was that his computer had been left on, with his email program open. Jack, Hammond, and Janet stared down at his desk, seeing a scattering of sealed envelopes on the desk. The letter envelope on top read "General Hammond." Hammond picked it up and took the letter opener from the pen holder on Daniel's desk and opened the envelope, but Jack reached out his hand and stopped him. He didn't say anything, and shook his head at the General. Janet noted that her name was on one of the other five envelopes, as well as Jack's, Sam's, Teal'c's, and Cassie's. She put her hand up on Jack's arm, her eyes wide with panic and fear. He was also coming to the same conclusion and he swallowed hard.
"Sir, we have to get to his loft as soon as possible."
Hammond assumed just as much as Janet and Jack had. "Go," he said to both her *and* Jack. He was well aware that the Colonel and Daniel weren't doing so well as friends; hell, as co-workers; they hadn't been friends in a long time, it seemed. But - Jack needed to go to retrieve the pistol...if it was there. Hammond never thought Daniel the type to commit suicide. Never. He hoped this was one time he was not proven wrong.
Sam and Teal'c came rushing in just then and Hammond quickly brought her up-to-date. They started to leave to go to Daniel's when Hammond stopped Sam.
"Major, do you have any idea why this might be happening?" She stopped and exchanged looks with Teal'c.
"On any other day, I'd say no, sir. But not today."
"What's so different about today?"
She winced. "It's Daniel's birthday, sir." With that imparted, they were gone like a bullet down the hall.
Hammond closed his eyes. He didn't know it was Daniel's birthday. In fact, he couldn't remember Daniel ever having a birthday celebration on the base...or of ever seeing a card in his office...or ever hearing anyone wish him a happy birthday. Did they all have such a low opinion of him as a person? He looked up suddenly and scanned the room's surfaces. Nope. Not one card. He checked the garbage, but didn't see any cards or colorful notes within, so he hadn't thrown any of them away. He started to get mad as to how this important member of the SGC should have his birthday overlooked, then berated himself. He himself hadn't known when his birthday was. Ever.
Pounding. Who the fuck was pounding...making all that goddamn noise? Daniel opened his eyes and saw the glass on its side. He picked it up lazily, thinking it odd that it was empty. The pounding started again and a sudden surge of anger boiled up. He slammed the glass into the carpet and the hard metal carpet strip shattered the glass.
"Shut up!" he growled, but his voice was harsh and he couldn't find the strength in his throat to shout. "Go away!" he growled again. Muffled voices, then a jingling noise against the lock of his door. He didn't have the energy or the desire to raise his head. His eyes caught something red and he tried to focus. Blood. Blood on the padding of his palm. "Fuck," he mumbled, realizing hazily that he'd cut himself somehow. He didn't care, either. He just watched the blood flow through half-lidded eyes.
His door opened and he saw feet stepping inside, moving around. Voices spoke to him but they sounded like angry bees.
"Go away," he mumbled, then someone's hands picked up the broken glass and lifted his hand. More hands lifted him off the ground and he felt a huge wave of dizziness and nausea hit his head and stomach. He wanted to fight, but his strength seemed to have seeped from him as surely as the blood flowed from his hand. Voices were speaking again, but this time they were filtered, coming at him as if speaking through water.
He felt a stinging pain coming from his hand now, then a bright light blinded him and he groaned, turning away from it. His stomach lurched and so did he, right out of the grasp of whomever held him and onto his knees. He focused long enough to realize he was in the bathroom, found the toilet in front of him and somehow lifted the lid and promptly threw up. He felt the cold porcelain on his face and a surge of relief moved through him. Cold. That's what he wanted. Cold. His stomach, as well as the rest of him, felt hot and sticky and painful. He wanted whomever it was holding him to leave. Just let him lie there. And just who the hell was holding him and why? He tried to pull away and something hit his head, bringing forth the headache that had been threatening. His anger welled to the surface right then and there and he swung out blindly, feeling a pain in his knuckles as he hit something hard.
Daniel felt himself floating and tried to remember where he was. He couldn't see very well but he could have sworn he saw Janet's warm, smiling face. She'd always looked like an angel whenever she did that. She'd always been kind to him, too. It would be such a shame to leave her and Cassie behind. Those thoughts repeated as he felt himself being lifted, then dropped onto something soft and cool. Cool air suddenly hit his back, then his legs. Clothes...he didn't remember removing his clothes. Didn't care, really. Don't need clothes when your dead.
Daniel's door was finally open and Janet rushed in first, gasping as she immediately saw the bloodied cut on the palm of Daniel's hand. He lay on the carpet, apparently semi-conscious.
Jack hesitated in the doorway, getting bumped into by Sam and Teal'c as they moved by him to get inside. He was staring down at Daniel; at his seemingly lifeless body. His mind whirled and his heartbeat was drumming so loud he couldn't hear anything. Part of his mind literally gated to the wrong conclusion when he saw the blood. He was too late. Again. Too late for Charlie. Now too late for Daniel. Jack immediately made a firm plan to eat his gun when he got home. He'd pushed Daniel to this. He was at fault and Daniel took his life. His own life was forfeit as a result. No other way. No other fucking way.
He heard Janet talking to him then and the blood in his ears quieted.
"He's alive, Colonel. He has a cut on his palm but nothing else is wrong except he's extremely intoxicated."
He's not dead. Not dead. Not dead. Jack's measure of relief was plainly obvious on his face, and when the typical Jack O'Neill felt any 'alarm' passing, he did what he always did. He joked.
"You mean he's three sheets to the wind, Doc?"
"More like five, sir."
Jack grimaced. Daniel would have a seriously bad hangover if they didn't get him to heave-ho soon. Jack looked to his left as he finally crossed the threshold. The gun was on the floor. He moved over quickly and retrieved it, pulling back and exposing the ejector port and ejecting the bullet from the firing chamber. He removed the clip then, and replaced the missing bullet. He turned and handed it and the gun to Sam.
"Take these back to the SGC when you go, will you two?"
"You're staying here?" she asked just as Teal'c lifted a surprised eyebrow.
He nodded just as Daniel started mumbling and Janet motioned to him. Teal'c hovered, his facial expressions moving between confusion and glowering as he looked back and forth between Daniel and Jack. Jack pointedly ignored him. Teal'c, he could handle. Daniel, he could not.
"Colonel, Teal'c, help me get him up and into the bathroom," Janet ordered. "I've visited enough so I know where he keeps his med kit."
The three of them lifted Daniel off of the floor, Jack taking most of his weight. Daniel didn't put up much of a fight until the bathroom light hit him, then Janet started to clean his hand and he thrashed, then dropped to the floor. Jack grimaced and tried holding onto him as the man found the toilet and threw up. Just as well, Jack thought. He'll have a doozy of a headache but it won't be the mad rush of frequent toilet visits. Janet was finally able to get Daniel bandaged up and they brought him to his room and laid him down on the bed.
Jack didn't hear much of what either Carter or Frasier told him. All he did was stare at Daniel for a few minutes before leaving his room to wander about his apartment, cleaning up after him. The women were a little worried for him, but he said he was just fine compared to Daniel.
Janet then told Jack that in order to keep this incident off of the books and away from MacKenzie's prying eyes, Daniel would have to stay home for a while, under the guise of the flu. They knew they could all lie very easily about that. No one wanted to subject Daniel to MacKenzie again.
After his teammates left, Jack stood there, staring at picture frames along the shelf lining Daniel's far wall. All of the frames, save the largest, had been emptied. Jack had seen them; he knew they were pictures of SG-1, of Janet and Cassie, and various ones of a barbecue that had happened five years ago. So where had all the pictures gone? The only one left was of Shau're. A picture Daniel had taken of her with Ferretti's camera 6 years ago...just before she had been taken. Sitting there during the evening meal, laughing.
Jack's face grimaced as his heart went out to Daniel, understanding that grief all too well. He knew Daniel blamed himself, just as Jack blamed himself for Charlie. He looked around, then finally found the photos scattered on the coffee table. Fingerprint smudges lay over most of them. All except the team photo. That photo might have had smudges, but not so you could tell anymore. The photo was in pieces. Dozens of tiny square pieces.
"Oh, Daniel." He sat down dejectedly on the sofa, gathering the pieces of the photo in his hand. He stared at them in his palm, fingering their remains. His mouth quivered and a tear fell sharply, splattering off his shirt. "I'm so sorry, Daniel."
Daniel slowly woke to a dull throbbing at the back of his head. He felt like shit, and it wasn't the alcohol he knew he'd soaked his brain in. Was he in his bed? He test-moved his leg and discovered he was indeed in his bed. He didn't remember getting there. His stomach felt queasy, but not threatening to empty, so that was good. Then his memory came back - what little he had at the moment. He knew he'd thrown up once already. He kind of, sort of, remembered that. He remembered the sound of voices, and then Janet's face.
He opened his eyes carefully and found himself in the dark. Good. It wasn't daylight. Where had Janet come from? Was she just his imagination? Probably. His eyes caught the bandage on his hand. Glass. He suddenly remembered that he'd broken his glass and cut his hand. How had - *why* had - Janet been at his apartment?
Ah. It came back to him in pieces. He was going to end his own life, with his own gun. Bad decision, that. Should never have brought that damn gun home. It was only a matter of time before they'd come looking for the weapon. Had to keep their armory accounted for, didn't they? Well, they'd come to retrieve their weapon and gone. Janet had seen to his wound. Nice of her. She was always so nice to him. Even when she gave him shit, she did it in her usual caring, motherly way.
Daniel winced as he pushed himself up, the pain from his hand still fresh and sharp. He sat on the edge of the bed, his bandaged hand holding his forehead. Headache wasn't too bad...for a splitting migraine that seemed to be gaining strength. He got up and opened his door, then headed into the bathroom. He discovered that he was only wearing his boxers as he opened them to take a leak. Had Janet undressed him? No, she probably had him with her. He who shall not be named. His own personal devil. But not anymore. Nope. Done with him. Done with all of them.
Flushing, he grabbed some ibuprofen and slowly made his way to the kitchen to get some juice. He didn't bother to turn on the light. The light from the fridge was blinding enough. Opening the small glass jar of juice, he took his headache medicine, then put the juice back, closed the fridge, and leaned against the wall. He didn't have the will to walk back to the bedroom just yet and he slid down to the floor, with his knees to his chest and his arms propped over them. He noticed the small red mark in the crook of his arm and realized that Janet must have taken some blood. Damn, but she was too thorough sometimes. Not her problem anymore, though. Not anymore. He sighed deeply as he sat there for several minutes, waiting for his headache to subside. As the minutes passed, he knew his headache wouldn't pass as long as he was sitting up. He gingerly pushed himself to his feet, then felt along the wall and furniture until he reached the hallway.
A small movement - or something - caught his eye and he turned. Someone was in his living room, lying on his couch. Daniel stared for a few moments. Not someone. Him. Him. Fuck. A babysitter. Great. Technically still his responsibility, wasn't he? Daniel turned away and went to his bedroom, moving a lot more quickly than he thought he was capable of at the moment. Good thing there was a lock on his door. He turned it. He grabbed the chair he kept in his room and placed it at the door. Fuck. Too short. Screw it. The lock wouldn't hold him out, and neither would the chair.
He crawled into bed and pulled his comforter over him, wanting to stay there and hibernate until he died of starvation. Well, not really, but it sounded good. As he drifted back to sleep, previously unleashed tears tracked down the side of his face.
Daniel was woken up by the sound of knocking. Exasperated anger welled up fresh inside him.
"Goddamn it, leave me the fuck alone," he groaned. He opened his eyes and found that it was daytime. His headache was mostly gone, but he needed to piss like hell. Another knock. Well, fuck. That could only be one person, couldn't it? Him.
He crawled out of bed, much easier than the last time, and went to the door. Unlocking it, he swung it open, glared at the man in front of him, then pushed him aside and quickly entered the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it.
"Daniel?"
Daniel grimaced. He did not want to hear that man's voice, much less see his face. "Go home." No way would he use his name. Nope. NO WAY. He flushed, then turned on the water to the sink and started to get ready to shave. Looking in the mirror, he thought maybe he didn't need to shave. What would be the point? He wasn't planning on going anywhere. But he hated not brushing, so he brushed, flossed, gargled. He washed his face, letting the warm water hit him and decided that maybe he'd shave anyway. What was that old phrase quoted by someone? Die young; leave a good-looking corpse.
He decided then to finish up with a shower, though he usually did that first. Didn't matter anymore, though. Today would likely be his last day. He wasn't going to shower right then, but maybe if he took long enough in the bathroom, he would leave. He stood in the shower, relishing the feel of the hot water as it hit his sore body. The strained and tension-filled muscles didn't ease much but they did feel somewhat better for the water spray that massaged them. Daniel was feeling almost peaceful...until he left the bathroom, naked, and saw him waiting - sitting on the edge of his bed. Daniel's jaw and neck tensed again, threatening to return his headache. He retrieved a clean pair of boxers and slid them on. He then left him alone and went out to the kitchen to make his coffee.
When he got there, he found his coffee had already been made...and breakfast was cooking. He must still be asleep, dreaming. He came walking up behind him, startling Daniel out of one shock and into another one.
"I made you some coffee."
Daniel turned to look at...Jack...there, he thought his name...but he couldn't look at him. Instead he unfocused his gaze, so he wouldn't have to look at his face. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, not bothering to thank him, and not bothering to let him answer. "For that matter, what the hell am I still doing here? I'm not supposed to be. Can't..." and he abruptly halted all thoughts coming out of his mouth. Nope. Don't give him anymore ammunition to use against you. He's just waiting for yet another opportunity to stick it to you again. The muscles in his jaw worked as he gritted his teeth.
"Leave. You are not needed or wanted here."
"Daniel, I--"
"I don't think you heard me, Colonel. I told you to leave. Don't force me to make you leave."
Jack heard the implied threat in the words and ignored them for the moment. "Why?"
"It's a simple enough request. Figure it out."
"No, why do you want to die, Daniel?"
Jack's voice was soft and gentle. The sound of it made Daniel's anger throb at his temples now. He had no right sounding that way! None at all. How was his resolve supposed to stay firmly entrenched if he was going to start sounding all....all....caring?
Daniel didn't answer Jack and set about making his cup of coffee. He stood at the stove, seeing the sausage links cook and their smell was confusing. It was both nauseating and good. He was hungry, but his stomach was not. Eggs were slowly poaching in the cooker. Jack was obviously attempting to make nice so there had to be an ulterior motive. He sighed and concentrated on taking a long sip from his coffee mug.
"Daniel?" Jack asked again, his voice sounding worried.
"I'm not discussing this with you."
"Why not?" Jack asked, not bothering to sit down. He stood near the stove, as close to Daniel as he thought he should get at the moment.
"It's not your concern," Daniel said through gritted teeth again as he roughly moved the pans off the heat and turned off the stove.
"I thought you'd like breakfast."
"I want nothing from you except for you to leave."
"You're trying to make me mad and it's not working."
"I don't give a good goddamn if you are mad. Leave!" Daniel turned and finally looked at him. Jack's eyes showed...concern? No. No way. It didn't make sense for him to be such a brutal bastard one minute and a caring friend the next just because of some suicide attem--
Ah. Daniel got it now.
"That's really good, Colonel," he said in his most sarcastic voice. "You had me confused for a moment. Trying to sound as if you cared. Problem is, I know from personal experience how much you care. And I know just how the military takes care of its sick people."
"You're not sick. You're depressed. There's a difference."
Daniel studied him for a moment. "What I am is no longer your concern. Now, I'm asking you for the umpteenth fucking time to leave," and Daniel started to pass him but Jack put his arm out and stopped him. He grabbed Daniel and tried to pull him into a hug...but Daniel would have none of it. He held his arms up, holding Jack at bay, even if Jack didn't let go of his biceps.
"I'm not leaving, Daniel. I can't let you die."
Daniel snorted derisively. "I understand why you are doing this, Colonel, but I've resigned. I'm no longer your responsibility."
"Daniel, why are you calling me that? When did I suddenly go from 'Jack' to 'Colonel'?" he asked, sensing this abyss Daniel was in was getting deeper.
"You were my team leader, not my friend, and so...."
"Since when?" Jack asked.
"Since you took away your friendship."
"I've never--" Jack started to deny but Daniel cut him off.
"Since when do you treat your friends like the way you've treated me?"
"I'm s....friends sometimes get on each other's nerves--" Jack started, trying to deflect the answer he felt he couldn't give.
"When's my birthday, Colonel?"
Jack stared at him, wanting to answer, but the question surprised him. Daniel nodded sadly, the grief welling up inside.
"You see? I thought we were close once...but we never really were," he said, suddenly quiet.
Jack wanted to answer him, but instead asked, "Daniel, what did you write in that envelope you left for me?"
"Goodbye."
"Would you have written one to just your team leader?"
"Out of courtesy," Daniel said in his most officious tone. He tried to pull his arms away without having to get heated or violent, but Jack held fast.
"I'm not letting go so just forget it."
Daniel tried another tack. "Then I'll have to hit you in order to make you let me go. Is that what you want?"
"Yes. Hit me. Do whatever you want. I won't let you die," and Jack held his arms in as strong a hold as he could manage.
Daniel snorted again. "Can't or won't? Make up your mind. It doesn't fucking matter. I am not, I repeat, not yours to worry about anymore. You can't kick me around, order me around, or tell me to shut up. I am out of it! For good this time, you self-important, smug bastard," and he yanked at his arms. "Let me the fuck go or so help me--" The emotional rollercoaster abruptly slid off track, and tears he hadn't known were falling, fell in a wet stream down his face. He suddenly...stopped moving and slumped to the floor, leaning against the wall of the cabinet, bringing Jack down with him.
"Aren't you tired of fighting, Colonel? I am. I'm tired of fighting you day in and day out. I am sick of these mind games you continue to play." Daniel's voice was not gentle, or soft. It was instead, very tired. "I'm done. I'm tired of everything, tired of it all. I don't belong there, with you, with them, anymore. And if you plan on making fun of what I'm saying, or arguing with me, I swear I'll finish what I should have last year and jump off the fucking balcony."
Jack stared at him, still holding onto his arms. He shook him. "You don't want to die, Daniel."
"Yes, I do."
"No, you don't."
Daniel curled his lip then as his jaw clenched once more. His anger flared, hot. "Still trying to tell me what to do, eh Colonel? Well, fuck you and the horse you rode in on. You have no idea how and what I feel," he snarled, the venom in his voice dulling down any tears still stuck in his throat.
Jack sighed. "If you wanted to die, Daniel, you would have done it already. You're scared."
Daniel waited for a while, processing. "Then why don't you kill me yourself. You've been wanting to for a while now."
"What?" Jack yelled and his hands suddenly released him as if burned. "How can you say that?"
"How can I not?" Daniel asked harshly, his heart beating rapidly, the ache gaining strength. "I seem to recall you wanting to put me through a wall. You let everyone know it, in fact. Why don't you just do it?" and he waited...waited for Jack to do it. Nothing happened. Jack only held onto him as they sat there on the floor, staring at each other like tired protagonists. Daniel relaxed his arms somewhat, even though Jack did not relax his hold. "I'm so tired of your anger and your hate. I really have no idea why the fuck you're even here."
"I...I...how can you think that?" Jack's mind whirled again. He sat there, staring at Daniel, not knowing what to say because everything Daniel said was the truth, except for Jack's feelings for him. "You're important to me. I don't want anything bad to happen to you."
Daniel stiffened then. "You have a twisted way of showing it, Colonel O'Neill."
Jack had to show him somehow so he reached out and stroked the side of Daniel's face, making him stiffen even more in shock and surprise. Jack then brushed back hair that didn't need brushing back and Daniel slapped his hand away, flinching as the pain in the palm of his hand throbbed to life. Jack's brown eyes held no steel in them this time...compared to the last time Daniel looked into his eyes from a position on the floor. The gateroom floor.
Daniel closed his eyes, unable to look into Jack's and see the memory of what had been a few months ago. He told himself that what was happening in front of him was a trick. This Jack O'Neill no longer existed and so the man before him was playing yet another game. "I don't know what you're trying to prove, Colonel, but I'm not falling for it again. You've sucker-punched me for the last time."
Jack's hand suddenly cupped his face, startling Daniel again. "I'm playing at nothing, Daniel. You hear me? I'm not playing any game. I don't want you to die and I'm staying here."
Daniel shook his head, moving this man's hand away, not understanding what the doppleganger was saying. He sounded just like the Jack O'Neill he knew four years earlier. Daniel's loneliness and horrible sense of isolation and sadness came welling up to the front. His eyes burned and watered; he felt his sinuses clog quickly with the threat of release. Daniel swallowed hard, quick, forcing the tears to go away. He'd fucked up. Somehow this Jack O'Neill zeroed in on his weakness and Daniel had shown it to him. Jack watched him, his eyes seemingly trying to read him. Well, read this, Colonel.
"I've had enough. I can't take it anymore. The rotten truth of it is, I don't belong here, Jack. I'm no damn good to you, the team, the SGC. I could have helped but I didn't. That place is a place for soldiers and I'm not one of you. You've all proven it to me time and again, with your attitudes and your brush-offs and your public humiliations but I stupidly kept on fighting you," and he looked upward, making a gesture of futility with his hands. "I just kept fighting and you kept wearing me down. Well, it worked. You've wanted me gone from the beginning and guess what, your hard work has at last paid off. It's more than I can say for all my hard work that amounted to shit. Nothing I've ever done there has meant a damn. Anything I did, Major Carter could have done or she could have found someone else. I've just been taking up space. I frankly don't know why you've been keeping me around other than for your perverse comic relief. It's got to be the only reason that Hammond let me stay. To give you someone to vent off of. And you should be proud, Jack O'Neill. You've finally worn me down. Reese and Kelowna were your crowning achievements. Bravo, Colonel! Bravo! You....fucking....win."
With that, Daniel yanked his arms away and got up off the floor. He poured himself another cup of coffee, not looking at Jack. He simply let his words sink in; to speak for themselves.
Finally, Jack stood up, his eyes never leaving Daniel. "No, that's wrong, Daniel. That's so wrong."
Daniel gave another snort of derision and smiled at Jack then....without humour. "Well...there's a fucking surprise." Having a fresh cup of coffee, he went into the living room and sat down on the couch, pulling the blanket Jack had used last night around him.
Jack got himself a cup of coffee, then sat down on the coffee table in front of Daniel, making it hard for Daniel to avoid looking at him.
"You've mattered, Daniel. You've always mattered."
Lost in regrets now, Daniel shook his head once more, making it apparent that he wasn't listening to Jack. "I really am sorry that I didn't listen to you more. Fucked things up for a lot of people doing that. But my biggest regret is that we didn't get a chance to be friends. I thought we actually were....once upon a time. I don't know what I did wrong exactly to make you hate me, but it really doesn't matter anymore," and Jack's hand reached out to touch his face again and Daniel brought his hand up to brush him away. Instead, Jack caught and held his hand carefully in his. Pointedly, Daniel stared hard into his eyes. "Let me go, Colonel."
"I can't do that. I'm not letting you go now anymore than I could have back on that infernal planet with that naquadria crap. I don't care if that other guy died, not if it means you're alive. It was a good thing. Don't you realize that? And do you still think you could have stopped that robot, just as you think you could have stopped that bomb? I dragged you away from that test site because I didn't want you there. And I had to get in there to kill off that robot to save your life. Both times were to save your life. Don't you understand?!" and Jack's voice rose loudly, forcing Daniel to blink in response. "You would have died! If I'd let you do what you wanted, you'd have...." and he sighed. "I couldn't let that happen. Not again. I couldn't let you die. I'm still your friend."
Daniel still would not believe him. "Really? How old am I? When's my birthday, Jack?"
Jack blinked at the repeated question. He knew when Daniel's birthday was. But everytime the day came around, they were in the middle of saving the world or each other. Funny that. Jack was now in the middle of saving Daniel. Daniel watched the expression on Jack's face and he suddenly realized that Jack did know the answer to his question. He was surprised. Very, very surprised. He didn't believe that Jack ever knew.
"You're thirty-seven, Daniel, and your birthday was yesterday. July 8th. And don't even try to tell me that's why you're angry."
Daniel huffed in tired exasperation now. His feelings of anger were starting wane...just a bit. He shook his head again. "In the grand scheme of things, that's trivial. Doesn't matter anymore anyway. I'm out of it...all."
"Don't start that again. You're not going anywhere and neither am I. I told the others not to open their envelopes and to leave them on your desk. You are also given strict orders to lay low for a while so Janet doesn't have to make an official report."
Daniel repeated the same exasperated movements. They were still trying to give him orders. "Did you open yours?"
"No."
Daniel thought he was lying, but as he studied the older man's face, he could see that Jack was not. "Why?"
"Because I guessed you were saying goodbye and I was not going to let you go."
Daniel stared incredulous at Jack. "You still don't get it! You people don't own me anymore. I resigned. You can't order me to stay here, or stay alive for that matter!"
Jack had to get him to understand....to listen. What's the best way to get Daniel to listen?
"I love you."
Daniel blinked...rapidly...then his brows knitted together in anger. "Excuse me?" he drew out, his eyes flashing.
"You heard me."
"Really? If you love me, then why do you hate me? Why?" Jack stared back at him and Daniel could have sworn his eyes were....no, that wasn't right. Tears?
Jack cleared his throat. "I've never hated you."
"Then why?"
Jack cleared his throat one more time. "Because I'm afraid of you."
"Why are you afraid?" Daniel asked, not understanding.
"Because I fell hard, Daniel. When I wasn't looking. My feelings for you scare the hell out of me. And not just for the usual reasons, either. Or the ones you might think, anyway. You see, you can be used against me so easily. It could be a dangerous thing in the field. And here, at home, it can be even more dangerous. I didn't know what to do. I've never had such...intense feelings for someone under my command, so....so...I had to get you to hate me, to stop being my friend, and the only way to do that was to stop being yours. I'm so sorry. I was very wrong. But you have to know that none of this is your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. I did."
Daniel listened and as the words sunk in, he realized that Jack wasn't fooling around. A tiny flare of hope went up inside him but he'd been alone more often than not in his life and that flare of hope was not something he was used to getting. There were no second chances with things in his life....except maybe his own life. But that hope...he was so damn tired of being alone. If he had to endure it all again, if this was another cosmic joke...
"So, what makes you think I should believe that any of that self-protective shit you just spouted won't happen again? I still don't think that I matter enough to you. I don't matter enough to make a difference."
"It wasn't self-protective, Daniel. It was for your protection, even if I was wrong to do it. But you do matter to me and you do make a difference all the time. What you do, you do for good. That counts."
Daniel looked down at the hand that held his. He felt the furnace within him beginning to cool. His eyes never left Jack's hand as he reached over with his other hand to run the back of his fingers ever so lightly against Jack's. The effect was loving, almost sensual.
"Daniel, come here...please," Jack asked, and pulled Daniel forward. Daniel was lost in a gamut of conflicting emotions and so...he let Jack pull him. He slid off the couch to his knees as Jack pushed the coffee table away with his body as he went to his own. He pulled Daniel into a comforting bear hug and seemed to try and suffuse him with his body heat.
Daniel let himself get lost in the warmth of the embrace, then spoke against Jack's neck. "I...I need to think...I need to be alone for a while."
Jack hugged him tighter. "Don't leave me, Daniel. I wasn't kidding about how important you are...or how I felt."
Daniel hugged him back tentatively. "I want to believe you. But I also need you to place some faith in me....just once," and he pulled away to look Jack in the face. "Come back in a few hours. I have some thinking to do." Jack was truly scared this time. Daniel could see it in his eyes. "No, Jack. I won't. I promise."
"Then what do you need to--"
"Think about?" Daniel asked. "Whether or not to go back. To decide whether or not I want to."
Jack put a hand out to his face again. "And me? Will you at least let me make it up to you?"
Daniel laughed, a bitter sound. "What? Show me how much you really love me? You might say it, Jack; doesn't mean I believe it."
"Then, if you let me kiss you, will that prove it?"
Daniel's eyebrows rose in surprise, then furrowed with doubt. "That's going to prove you love me? A kiss?"
Jack looked back and gave Daniel a small smile. "Between us? Yes, Daniel, I'd say it would."
Daniel's frown lessened, but only a little. Jack stared into his eyes, looking from one to the other, seeing the disbelief, the hurt, the anger. He'd gone too far and insulted him. He'd fucked up...again. He sighed and let his arms slip away as he let Daniel go. They got to their feet and Jack didn't know what else to do except leave. He walked to the foyer, looking down at his own hands. He turned to look at Daniel as he approached him.
"I'm..um...sorry. Maybe I was out of line about the kiss."
Daniel didn't know what to say at the moment. He did realize that he'd not turned Jack down. He'd merely deflected the answer. As they'd been doing to each other for a while now...except he'd been doing it more than Jack had. His heart wanted to believe, and he wanted to get some hope back, to feel that things would work out again. Maybe what he really did need from Jack was that kind of tactile assurance. That effort on Jack's part would - if nothing else - prove to him that Jack was serious about making things right again. And Jack was the only one who could do it, too. No one else.
Taking up the last of his hope and fortifying himself with it, he closed the distance between them until he was barely a foot away. "You weren't out of line, Jack. I never said no...but I'm wondering what you can prove in a single kiss that you couldn't in 6 years." Daniel felt that everything would depend on the type of kiss; if Jack were merely trying to bargain, or if he really meant what he said.
Jack felt suddenly very nervous. He didn't know where to put his arms, his hands. He looked at Daniel for a long time and Daniel suddenly became fed up with waiting. He took Jack's face in his hands, startling him, then leaned in and kissed him, lips closed. Jack knew where to put his arms then and surrounded Daniel with them.
Daniel's reaction was to just stand there, unmoving. Jack felt the warmth from his own lips touching Daniel's soft ones, but Daniel wasn't responding. Needing to see Daniel's reaction, he opened his eyes. He frowned and broke the kiss slowly, moving back a little. Daniel didn't look impressed. In fact, he looked rather...bored.
Bored? Like hell. Pissed off, Jack grabbed Daniel sharply and kissed him a lot more firmly, putting more feeling into it. His arms surrounded him, holding back nothing.
Daniel held his hands loosely, at first. Jack's lips were soft, pliable. Daniel hadn't expected that...but now it was time to test Jack. He parted his lips and tasted the edge of Jack's lips with his tongue. Jack didn't shy away and Daniel felt his heart race as his hope began to rise incrementally. Jack's tongue entered his mouth and wound around his tongue, searching, exploring. Without realizing it, Daniel began to respond, his hands sliding up Jack's back, gripping his shirt in tight fists, pulling Jack harder against him. His tongue tasted and explored as Jack deepened their kiss, his hands travelling over Daniel's bare back, caressing his skin. Jack then let out a low moan deep in his throat. The sound sent shivers through Daniel and he slowly pulled apart from Jack.
Jack, worried, looked into Daniel's face. Shock, suspense, and a deep longing were written into the blue of Daniel's eyes. He closed them and suddenly kissed Jack back, hard, forceful, pushing Jack to respond; to give him that much more to prove.
After a long minute, they slowly broke apart again. Jack smiled gently at him, placing his hand against Daniel's cheek, caressing him with his thumb. "That tell you anything?" he whispered.
Daniel suddenly realized that his hands were gripping Jack just a bit to hard. He slowly released him and took a step back.
"Maybe..."
Jack searched his eyes again and after a brief moment, he accepted that answer and nodded. "You want to call me when your ready or do you want me to just show up?"
Daniel gave him a tiny, tentative smile. Something within him still held back, being too used to disappointment. "Maybe...you could just show up."
"You got it." He stepped away and Daniel reached out and grabbed his jacket for him, handing it to him. Jack slipped it on, then grabbed Daniel's hand gently. "I've never forgotten anything, Daniel. Just let me prove that and more."
Daniel managed a little smile, then Jack left, quietly closing the door. Daniel turned and leaned against the door, his face a mask of confusion. He brought a hand to his mouth, fingers whispering over his reddened, slightly puffy lips. He felt as if things were in limbo. He did have some thinking to do. He wasn't sure he wanted to risk it all again.
His fingers still traced along his bottom lip absent-mindedly as he walked down the hall. It was ironic that considering all that he did expect from Jack, knowing how to kiss definitely wasn't one of them. He entered his bedroom to find something to wear for the remainder of the day and pulled out a pair of cut-offs from his drawer. Slipping them on, he suddenly spied something propped up against his lamp. Frowning he went to the nightstand and picked it up. It was one of those blank cards you wrote your own message on. This one had a motif of faintly printed roses on it.
Jack had left this. Jack. Daniel stared as his fingers now traced over his name, printed in Jack's handwriting, on the cover. With slightly trembling hands, he opened the card. In Jack's handwriting, in the center of the right page, read the excerpt from a poem:
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning;
But the rain is full of ghosts tonight,
That tap and sigh upon the glass
And listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry....
Excerpt from Sonnet XLIII, Edna St. Vincent Millay
~~~~~~~~~~~
I do not wish us any more regret,
like the lost love from this poem.
I love you, Daniel...
and please find it in your heart to forgive me.
With all my heart, on your birthday.
~ Jack
Daniel read the poem and Jack's message...over and over. A tear fell, hitting the words 'my heart' on the thin paper of the card. The ink smeared them....but the hard printing remained intact. Daniel allowed himself another small smile, and propped the card back up against the lamp. He folded his arms and stared at it as fingers found their way back to his lips, tracing over the memory recently left there.
Maybe...
~
fin