Dear Daniel,
Christ. You would not believe the last week.
First, I was framed for killing Kinsey, who wasn't really dead, just shot and presumed dead. Reminds me of the CIA spooks I periodically had co-op missions with - one day dead, next day alive. Trust me, it wasn't just annoying. I wanted to shoot them myself.
Second, I was put in lock-up at Pederson. Jesus. I haven't been in jail since Iraq, though I sure as hell tried getting there after Charlie died. Went out, got totally shitfaced and did some damage to a pool table. But did I go to jail? Nope. Sara showed up to tell the cops what my 'problem' was. Seems the cops either had kids themselves or were sympathetic in general, I don't know. Um, getting off the subject here.
So, aside from being severely pissed off about being thrown in jail for something I didn't do, I found myself feeling strangely ticked that the shooter who'd pretended to be me made me look bad by *not* getting the job done. Seriously, Daniel. I'm a crack shot. You know that. If it *had* been me, the man would've been dead. Absurd thing to focus on, but I think that I did that in order to prevent myself from flying into a rage. I was that pissed off, Daniel. Jesus, I've never been so mad. But I controlled it. I placed my faith in Hammond and my teammates and they didn't let me down.
As to what happened? Well, let's see if I remember all of this bullshit correctly.
Remember those alien mimic devices from that foothold we had a few years ago? Well, apparently Area 51 has been earning their pay. They've actually recreated part of the technology. They were holding onto the twelve originals that were left over and studying them. They were the ones that mimicked me, you, Major Davis, Fraiser, others. Someone stole them and replaced them with fakes.
You know, for a place that's *supposed* to be buttoned up tighter than a Vatican whorehouse, they blew it big time. Someone's seriously workin' a guard post in the Arctic Circle right about now. I don't know who exactly the *security* fuckup was, but the leak itself was one of the scientists.
Now, at the time that Kinsey was shot, I was in Minnesota. Hammond gave us some downtime so I went fishing. I needed the peace so bad, Daniel, and hanging around the house wasn't gonna do it. You know, I actually invited Carter to come with me, but she said that the only reason I invited her was because I knew she was busy. That was partly true. I wanted to see if, just once, she'd give up her uber-egghead time and do something fun *outside of the job*. But nope. Her idea of fun is a busman's holiday. I swear, Daniel, the woman needs to get a personal life or one day we'll go into her locker room and find she's self-combusted in her motorcycle boots. Anyway, needless to say, she didn't go fishing with me.
So, three days later, I go back to the mountain, still in civilian clothes, and I find Carter, Teal'c, and Jonas in *your* office looking like someone's cat died. They tell me Kinsey's dead. Then Hammond shows up with two M.P.s who are there to arrest me for Kinsey's murder and take me to Pederson lock-up and eventually to D.C.
Would it be an understatement to say that I was fucking pissed? At that point, I'm also stunned and I have no idea what the hell's going on.
Lock-up at Pederson was fun. Shit. It was the whole nine yards: wearing those wrist-ankle restraints that connect at the waist, though at least I didn't have to wear that god-awful orange jumpsuit. I suddenly had visions of one of those CDs I was watching coming true. If it'd been you, I wouldn't have minded, but because it wasn't, I had a silent freak-out for about ten minutes until I got my shit together. I think it was because I was reminded of Iraq. That was the last time I had been chained wrist and ankle, although the Iraqi ones were heavier. I'm getting awfully sick and tired of having that time in Iraq come up and bite me on the ass. Don't worry, though. No one knew why I was so ticked off. They assumed that it was because I was locked up for something I didn't do, though that was only part of the reason.
After it all happened, Hammond, Carter, Teal'c, and Jonas explained to me what happened so...
Hammond, being the guy that he is, sent Carter, Teal'c, and Jonas out as investigators, while Major Davis worked behind the scenes to see what he could find out through his contacts. Teal'c and Jonas came to see me to fill me in on what they'd learned from Davis' initial report to Hammond. Someone dumped the rifle used on Kinsey in the lake in Minnesota. That someone was 'wearing' my image and one of my neighbors saw them. *I* was also caught on security camera in the building across from where Kinsey was shot. Very neat. Very tidy. Gotta hand it to them, Daniel. They did a damn good job. They'd just made one little mistake and that was to underestimate my team.
Speaking of my team.
This sort of contradicts what I just said. My team means 'all of them', BUT...
I wish Jonas hadn't come to see me. He came twice. (er, that sounded really, really bad - and just, no way in hell) He came *by* twice. Once with Teal'c, once with Carter. (Although, given the previous 'ew' phrase, with the two of them...nevermind, Daniel, I'm just in one of those moods, as I often get writing to you.) Both times Jonas looked concerned and wanted to help but hadn't understood the *classified* situation - which he now does. Point is, I didn't want him to see me like that. It's a very humiliating experience, Daniel, and I'd already lived through that shit once. I didn't want Jonas to see me in chains. It's different in combat. It's a shared experience, but there? In jail? It elicited sympathy I'd rather not have, thank you.
When he came to see me, I was not pleasant. As you can imagine, I was in a pretty pissed off mood so I snapped at him - mostly because he asked stupid questions at first. Can't blame him for them now, but at the time, they were stupid. Teal'c suggested that whoever planned this waited till I went on leave before they went ahead with their plan. Which means there's a leak in the SGC. Swell.
So, faced with the evidence, and *knowing* I didn't do it (the confidence was comforting) the team figures out that I must've been impersonated somehow and Teal'c remembered the mimic devices. Carter checked them out and found out that the mimic devices were faked. So, she apparently sent Teal'c and Jonas out to see who had access to them while she went to D.C. to see Barrett of the NID. Yeah, that Barrett. She learned he was trying to expose a shadow group within the NID and couldn't trust anyone inside his agency to help. And guess who it was who was helping him do it? Kinsey. Seems he turned on his old buddies because Barrett blackmailed him. Either turn them in, or the secrets Barrett had on him would become public knowledge. As it's an election year, the power-hungry sycophant couldn't risk losing his senate seat. So, once Kinsey's shadow-group buddies learned of this, they had him killed -- or so they thought. What was interesting is that Barrett was one of the people who knew Kinsey was alive, and was therefore protecting his source from getting whacked.
While Carter worked with Barrett, Jonas discovered the name of the scientist who'd stolen the devices, and was supposedly killed in a car accident. Fraiser did her usual homework and discovered that the dead man wasn't the scientist. So, they had to hunt him down by tracing some anti-convulsant medications.
While they did that, Carter went with Barrett to locate the seller of the weapon that was used on Kinsey. She said that was an experience and a half. She went to an illegal gun shop that the NID allows to operate in exchange for *client* information. Jesus. The operator of the business said I'd been there and bought the custom weapon. Carter then got the bright idea to check if *I* had checked out any other weapons. Yes. One. So, she had to buy the other gun to get the prints. There was only a partial. She gives the info to Barrett so he can run a check through NID personnel files. They get the name of the guy and track him down.
Now, while they do that, Jonas and Teal'c go to find the scientist. When they get to the residence, a different-looking guy is there. They think they're mistaken but they're not. Jonas remembers the guy as one of the airmen who was in the gateroom when he'd arrived at the SGC (after stealing that naquadria). The guy runs and Teal'c takes him out -- and according to Jonas, with a punch to the jaw that sent the guy into dreamland. What a guy. So they drag his ass back to the SGC and Hammond's upset by the crack on the jaw. Doesn't want to get the SGC into trouble. But Teal'c was convinced the guy would talk and clear me, more or less. And the guy talked. Know how he did it? Jonas told me that Teal'c went into the holding cell, sat down, and stared at the man. After a while -- um, that'd be about 20 seconds -- of having Teal'c scare at him - er, stare at him - the guy talked.
Turns out the shadow group is called The Committee (how goddamned cliched is that?)-- and they're civilians, not NID -- and the rogue NID agents work for them. Their motive for all of this? Money. Fucking dollars. They've been secreting alien tech from Area 51 over the last six months and selling 'new' commercial patents. Which means that the rogue SG teams were stealing technology not for use against the Goa'uld but for profiteering. I'm telling you, Daniel. If I ever meet another rogue SG team member, or agent, who has the goddamned gall to spout the "protecting the planet" shit, I'm gonna shoot them. I'm not kidding here, either. Anyway, the scientist knew the names of the shadow group and told Hammond.
Anyway, Carter and Barrett track the NID assassin down, but the residence blows up. So they now have no idea where he is. Carter said the bomb spooked (ha ha) the shit out of Barrett. He wanted to know who she'd told, if she trusted her team, etc. That guy's been working at the NID way too long. Anyway, through one thing and another, Barrett told Carter that Major Davis was being sent to check on Kinsey's condition. Carter told Barrett that one of the mimic devices was for Davis. So, off they rush to wherever they'd stashed Kinsey.
They grabbed this idiot before he could do some damage, then did some fancy holographic stuff I don't get -- nor care to get, actually -- and Carter ended up pretending to be the NID assassin, reporting to The Committee, but she forgot to tell me where that was. I thought the hospital, but that sounds damned silly doesn't it? She, Barrett, Hammond, and a few others, all listened as the leader of this group told the assassin to get rid of the General. Pretty much tied things up right there.
I had to wait three more days before someone got their head out of their ass and sent over the right electronic signature and passcode to get me the fuck out of that insufferable jail. If you ask me, someone at the NID or with Kinsey's staff did it just to spite me.
The pisser at the end of this shit was that I had to cool my heels at the SGC for three weeks. Three goddamn weeks. Waiting for Kinsey to get well. At least I wasn't in jail, but I was stuck inside the mountain the whole time and couldn't go any damn where. When Kinsey was finally well, I had to go see him. He was smug, the self-righteous bastard. Said I needed to be publicly exonerated and that it was he who needed to do it, said he could make me a hero. I told him I wasn't sure if it was worth it. He thought I was kidding, I think.
I've been the bad boy of the Air Force all my life, Daniel. I really don't give a rat's ass what the public thinks of me. The only reason I agreed to the charade was because I needed to vindicate the Air Force, not myself. In so doing, however, Kinsey was almost positive that I'd landed him in the White House. The man is nothing but inventive, the miserable glory hound. Scary thing is, he could pull it off if he got rid of enough people. I wanted to puke as I stood there and shook his hand in front of the press cameras. At that moment, Daniel, I really did wish I had killed him.
I really need to have a chat with Barrett. I've a feeling I'll need that information on Kinsey to go along with the information I already have on him.
Right now, I'm back on leave. Hammond's given me an extra week. I really, really need it after this huge clusterfuck.
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Dear Daniel,
I'd planned on going back up to my cabin. But I was restless from all this crap and I can't explain why. So, instead, I found myself driving south. Something--something--told me to drive down to Boulder, and to that bar. Are you out there giving me subliminal messages? 'Cause if you are, stop it. I want you here, giving me not-so-subliminal messages.
I went into that bar thinking that the chances were 30-70 that the guy would be there. After all, it was a Thursday, you know? Not exactly a day where you'd be looking for...someone. That's usually reserved for weekends, isn't it? Or is it? God, I'm so out of the loop on this 'dating' thing. I don't think I even want to be IN the loop.
Anyway. I walked in and the guy was there, sitting at the bar, talking to the bartender about whatever game was on the TV. I didn't notice what game or anything else because all I remember feeling was that I'd left my stomach in the truck. The guy was better looking than I'd remembered and I still couldn't help but wonder what he found about me that was so...desirable. I'm hardly the go-to guy, but this guy thinks I am. Considering the way my hormones were feeling at the time, as well as my ego (which face it, needed stroking), I was the one who suggested we go out - elsewhere.
We went out to dinner. Things were fine, meaning that there was the usual sports talk and minor politics stuff. Then came relationship questions which I didn't answer directly -- naturally. He did sense that I was "on the rebound" so I let him think that. I hate that I didn't go out with him for sex. I went because I needed to check him out. I was interested -- am interested -- and I want to feel something other than grief and loneliness. So, I did my usual threat-assessment. Though he passed my usual tests, nothing happened after dinner. I couldn't let it. Not yet. Sometimes waiting is a turn on, isn't it?
He didn't seem to believe that, but didn't act *too* disappointed. We walked back to our vehicles and after I got in my truck, he gave me his phone number and asked me to call him. Then he suddenly grabbed my head and kissed me. In the fucking parking lot. Jeez. Talk about risky. But what was more risky was that I kissed him back. He kissed nice.
I went back home, and for ten minutes, I walked around and thought about what I wanted to do. I didn't know if what I wanted was a *wise* idea or not, but it suddenly occurred to me what *you* would want me to do. So, I went and packed a suitcase, threw in all the stuff I'd need, like condoms and lube, and at the last minute, I tossed in this journal. It's become some sort of lifeline. How weird is that? I put the suitcase in the truck, called in a reservation at a Boulder hotel, then I drove around for a long while.
I drove around for two reasons. One, I had to make up my mind that I was really going to go through with this, and two, I also had to make sure that no one was following me. I drove around for about 30 minutes and all that was going through my mind was that I really wanted this guy...to be you. I still couldn't get the idea out of my head that I was planning on having sex with someone else. It almost felt like I was cheating on you. Which is extremely stupid, isn't it? How can I cheat on you? You're not even flesh and blood anymore. It'd be a lot easier if you were really dead. Or would it? I don't know. This shit's confusing on the one hand, yet on the other, it's clear as a damn bell.
After screwing around with my conscience, I drove to the hotel, which is where I'm at now. I've been lying here on the bed, alone, thinking about what I plan to do...and wondering what the fuck I'm hesitating about.
============================
Dear Daniel,
Was it right to do what I did? I'm hoping you would have approved simply because he made me feel better. And he did. I really have no idea why the fuck I'm feeling guilty. Maybe because I used him? Maybe because I don't *feel* anything personal for him? No. Neither of those. He offered and I took him up on it. He's using me, too. He wants sex. I want sex. What's there to feel guilty about? Nothing. Except that I was wishing that he was you.
I said he didn't look like you, but when I met up with him, I realized why he reminded me of you. He sort of has your mouth. Sort of has your build. He definitely has your hands. He's my height, which is close enough to yours. I knew he wasn't you. I wasn't that delusional. Instead of blue eyes, he's got green. And very, very black hair. Still, I let myself pretend he was you. He wore the same scent, so he smelled like you. Actually, that's what first caught my attention.
We met up at the bar, then went to a different hotel. This was a first time 'need' thing. There was no finesse about foreplay. We'd already had it with that dinner. My showing up at the bar was 'yes'.
When we got into the room, he kissed me first. It was weird because he did it slowly, carefully, as if he expected me to bolt out of the room. I think he knew I was nervous. Because of that, I kissed him back hard. When I did that, I felt that need inside me grow. In more ways than one. And I stopped being nervous, letting that need take over.
I didn't pay attention to how much I needed, either. It was kind of surreal as I opened my pants and sat down at the foot of the bed. He pushed me back, then laid over me before he dropped to his knees. That's when I closed my eyes. He felt good. For a while, I let myself believe it was you. Even if he didn't move exactly the way you do, or push at me, or twist his tongue in that one way you have when you're going to make me come. But what he did do was give me good head. Very, very good head. The man knows how to suck cock. He took my pants completely off, then swallowed my cock down his throat and finger-fucked me till I came. I came so hard, Daniel. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
I was a terrible disappointment, I'm afraid. The only goddamn thing I could do was give him a hand job while he kissed me. It was strange to feel another man's cock in my hand. Strange but good. His dick wasn't as thick as yours, but it was a little bit longer. He was also uncut. I found that even more weird, what with all the other comparisons I was making to you.
Why wasn't he you, dammit? Why?
Fuck, I miss you. I hope you don't hate me for this. I can't seem to think straight. Ha ha. That's funny. Think straight and have gay sex. That's funny. Is it funny to you, I wonder?
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Dear Daniel,
It's the next night. I've just gotten back to my room. I saw Dylan again. I did mention his name, didn't I?
Um, no, I see I didn't. Shit. Guilt or convenient omission. You decide.
This time, foreplay. We met up in another restaurant, had a short dinner while he stroked my leg under the table. When we got ourselves a room at the other hotel, I found myself even more nervous than before. I think it's because I was thinking of doing *everything*. I wasn't sure if I *should* -- didn't matter that I wanted to.
I felt this hungry need when I sat down on the edge of the bed. You know, when I said it felt weird to have another man's cock in my hand, it felt just as weird to feel another man's skin. I touched him, licked over his abdomen. He tasted okay, but very...different. That surreal feeling came back, as if I were dreaming what I was doing. But I wasn't. No way the taste of his cock could be that real. Smooth, kind of tangy, sometimes sweet.
I'd already yanked his pants down, tasting him, teasing him. Then I sucked him right then and there, not letting him lie down. I imagined it was you when he came in my mouth, even though his taste was different. His sounds were the same, but different. He made this rapid panting noise before he let out this high pitched whine, said my name, and came down my throat. Nice to know I haven't lost the touch - so to speak. He then dropped to his knees and returned the favor, and Jesus-god, he really is good. I still wish he was you.
============================
Dear Daniel,
It's late. Or rather, early. The next night.
I met up with Dylan again. I thought I could wait, but after four beers and staring at his ass, I found that I couldn't. We went to his apartment this time. Didn't live more than five minutes away -- walking distance. So, after getting there, he fixed me a drink, which I downed in two gulps. I had only one thing on my mind, Daniel, and I don't remember being this single-minded in a very long time. Not even with you, because I was always *thinking* with you, even when we were extremely hormonal that first time. Though I seem to remember not being able to think too long.
After we stripped our clothes off, I shoved him on the bed face down. I looked at him and god, he was -- is -- gorgeous. Doing the usual prep, and wearing a condom this time, I buried my dick in his ass. I didn't take it easy, either. He didn't want me to. I was rough and what was better was that he liked it. A lot. I got off on the fact that he was new, fresh, that he moaned and squirmed under me. When I sped up and hammered into him, he was shouting out every filthy thing he could think of that he wanted me to do to him.
I so got off on that. So much so that a few minutes later, I came off before he did. Shit. He said it wasn't necessary to reciprocate. He's a nice guy but an awful liar. I turned him over and went down on him while shoving my fingers inside him. You know how I used to do that one thing, when I'd crook my fingers in that one way and wiggle them?
Well, like you did that first time, he fucking howled when he came.
Wonder why I feel so smug?
============================
Dear Daniel,
Next night. I just got back to my hotel room.
I don't know why I ever thought that I wouldn't have another man inside me. I thought that after you'd gone. I thought that I'd never want this again. But we were having a small dinner that he'd cooked at his place and suddenly I wanted to feel his cock moving inside me. I wanted to feel that weight slapping against my ass, my balls. The need was so intense that I blurted it out as I finished my glass of beer.
I made him choke on 'his' beer because of it. He then did something that surprised me. He asked me *where* I wanted it. At first I was confused because all I thought of was the bed. But he asked me if I wanted it on the couch, in the shower, over the kitchen table, or in bed. He actually made me think about it and in thinking about it, I got harder and wanted him even more. In the end, my knees dictated the least weight-bearing position, so as much as getting fucked in the shower appealed, I chose the bed.
You know how I liked to watch you while you fucked me? I couldn't do that with him. I'm sorry but -- I needed to pretend he was you and I couldn't do that on my back. Didn't get on my knees though. I told him about them, so he pushed me flat on my stomach. He didn't waste time. That is, waste time in doing what he wanted to do. He spread my legs and rimmed me for five minutes (it seemed that long), so by the time he'd prepped me with his fingers, my body was begging for it.
I was gripping the bed so freakin' hard when he finally pushed inside me. He fucked me good, too, just the way I like. He went slow. Like you used to when you wanted it to last a long time. And something happened. There was a moment where I thought he was you. I really did. He was speeding up, slamming into me as I got close and the rhythm he was using made me think he was you. Sense memory? Whatever, it's what made me come really hard. And I did a horrible thing when I did. I shouted your name into the pillow.
He didn't seem to mind.
I'm such an asshole.
============================
Dear Daniel,
I'd only just written those other words when Dylan showed up at my hotel room. He sort of fidgeted, standing there as if he didn't know what the hell he was doing there, but it was clear what he wanted. His dick was making a prominent outline through his jeans.
I let him inside, kissed him, stripped him, and since my knees felt okay, I bent him over the foot of the bed and fucked him good and hard. This time...this time I did not pretend he was you. This time I got off on the fact that he was who he was -- a sexy, handsome young guy that I'd picked up in a bar and was currently fucking over the edge of my hotel bed. He was spread-eagled, gripping the bedcover in his fists, calling out words that weren't too loud. Maybe out of respect for where we were. He kept saying, "You fuck so good." Repeated it like a chant. When he came, he stuffed his mouth with the bed's comforter and screamed.
I didn't come right away, though I was getting off on the fact that I'd actually made him scream. Then I felt it. That feeling I mentioned. The Zone. I didn't want it to end. But it did. Spectacularly. When I felt that rushing tingle travel over my balls as they slapped rapidly against his ass, I knew it was time. Looking at him reacting to me, I came fucking hard.
I'm writing this from home, by the way. I wanted to stay with Dylan, or rather, my reawakened hormones wanted me to. We talked. Kinda sorta. You know how I am. I just told him that I enjoyed his company a lot. A lot. What I couldn't say was that he helped me out more than just simply satisfying my need. It was more than that, though I didn't actually realize that until after he'd come to my hotel room. I did tell him that I didn't know when I'd get the chance to see him again but that I wanted to. I was sincere, Daniel. I actually wanted to. He guessed that I was in the Air Force, and more specifically, based at NORAD. I let him think that. It's almost true.
He made me feel very good, Daniel, and for a very short time, I stopped missing you. I have no idea how, either, but I did. I also know that I won't see him again. He was a one time only deal. He let me feel something again, and I think that's what I needed.
Right now, I'm fixing on grilling some hotdogs on the barbecue and just taking it easy till I go back to work in a few days. Need to plug in the stereo out here. Too damned quiet.