Getting Back in Touch

Summary: Set after Homecoming - a short first time fic. Or is it? Unbeataed - it's too short to worry about.

Jack's standing at the door to my office, looking kind of anxious.

"Jack? Are you all right?"

He looks a little startled when I speak and then I see him shaking himself as if bringing his consciousness back to where it needs to be.

"Uh, yeah. I was... I was wondering what you were doing tonight, that's all. I mean, you're still living in the mountain, it can't be much fun for you. No car, nowhere to go..."

"Thanks for reminding me," I reply dryly. Well, what does he expect? Spending a year officially dead has repercussions - not just the legal ones, either. It plays hell with your social life. "Oh my God, is that Daniel Jackson? I thought he was dead." "Again." "Again?" "Yeah. Again. He keeps doing that. I heard it was a tax dodge or something." Makes me sound like Hotblack Desiato. Has a tendency to put people off wanting to get to know you again, that's for sure.

"Well?"

"Well... nothing planned, Jack. As you say, nowhere to go, nothing to go there in... Why, do you have an idea?"

He looks down at his feet, his hands firmly ensconced in his pockets and he shuffles for a while.

"You could come to my place. Drink some beer, watch a game... or something. Bring some clothes and stuff and you can stay over in the guest room if you want."

"That's a great idea, Jack. Best offer I've had yet." Frankly it's the only offer, but I'm not telling him that.

"Good. Coming then?"

I look at my watch and realise that it's already seven at night. Not that it's possible to distinguish day from night down here, but what the heck. I nod, stand up and grab my door pass. I lock up and he walks next to me, his hands still in his pockets, just as if he was one of those sullen teenagers at high school, or one of those World War II pilots in their bomber jackets, cap cocked to one side, a cigarette hanging out of one side of their mouths and leaning up against their aeroplane for the photo to send home. Good propaganda - we're not afraid, we're cool, we're the best, nothing to worry about. That's it, isn't it? There's something to worry about. Heck, I wish I could remember more of my relationship with Jack - it's like there's some gap there. I remember some things, lots of general things that have nothing to do with him, but when it comes to him, there are only some aspects of our friendship there. But something's definitely missing and I don't know what it is.

I do know that calling him Jim pisses him off, though.

"So, Jim, er, sorry, Jack..." I start as we arrive at my quarters. He scowls but covers it up quickly. "I think I need to remember a lot more of what went on when I was around before. I mean, I can remember some stuff, like specific events and all, but not others."

I shut the door behind me and pick up a small bag and stuff some overnight things into it. Then, without looking at him, I grab some clothes that have been got for me and change out of my overalls and into jeans, T and a sweater. When I turn back to him, I notice that his eyes are totally fixed on me.

"Huh?" he says when I cough.

"I was wondering if you'd help me remember them?"

"Oh. Yeah, sure."

He's been acting strange since we saw Jonas off the other day - almost avoiding me but not quite. It seems that he both wants to be with me and not be with me, as if he's hiding something. I really think he is hiding something. I stare into his eyes and get a cold shiver running down my spine. It couldn't be... could it?

"Shall we go?"

"Go? Uh, yeah. Beer and hockey wait for no man," he replies, trying to sound like everything's normal. Maybe it is, I don't remember.

-

The journey to his place was painful. Forced conversation, as if he wasn't really wanting me to be there, but then he asked me... I'm getting confused.

He's pulled up outside his cabin-style house and we get out. As we approach the door, I put my hand on his arm and turn him to face me.

"Jack? Do you really want me here?"

He swallows hard and again I get that look. It's pained... painful... as if something's beneath the surface and trying to get out.

"I wouldn't have asked you if I didn't, would I?"

I shrug. To be honest, I don't know.

He opens the door and I follow him inside, standing at the entrance when he shuts it behind us. I stay still as he switches the lights on and then draws the curtains, shutting the world out and leaving the two of us alone.

I keep standing still, knowing somehow that he has some sort of ritual going on in his head, as if he's planned this all along. Eventually, he's done and he turns to face me. Still nothing is being said, but now I know why. Nothing needs to be said. I stop forcing myself to remember and just let my senses guide me. I don't know what there was between us before I 'left' but now I know he needs to reconnect, to get back in touch with me.

"Jack," I whisper. "Whatever you need. However you need it. It's okay."

He shuts his eyes tightly for a moment and nods. I make like a statue as he moves next to me and feel his breath on my face. My own eyes shut gently, unwilling as I am to break the spell that he's casting over me by looking at him.

I feel him take my bag from me and then hear it drop to the floor. Then I feel him take my jacket off me and put it somewhere. My eyes stay closed for now.

"Whatever?" he whispers, his lips near my ears.

"Yes."

"However?"

"Yes."

There's a silence, then a sigh - of relief? "Thank you," he whispers. "Open your eyes."

I do and I see a different man - still hungry, maybe desperate, but gratified to know that he's going to get his wish. He takes my hand and leads me directly to what I seem to remember is his bedroom.

One thing I know I can't do is make a sound. It will spoil it, take this moment from him. I can't begin to imagine what this last year has been like for him. I remember some things about him, about Charlie, about us on Abydos... the only emotional memory I have is that Jack is very, very important to me. I couldn't tell you why - I can't tell me why - I just know it. So, whatever he needs, however he needs it, it's really okay with me.

He's led me to the bed and now he's removed my glasses. I blink to let my eyes focus as best they can without them and then watch as he puts his hands on the bottom of my sweater. A quick, unsure look comes my way and I just smile at him to let him know it's okay for him to go on. I get a hesitant smile back and he lifts it. I raise my arms and watch as my world goes fuzzy for a moment as the sweater goes over my head. Then it's off. My T now, going the same way as the sweater.

The tops are on the floor, uncaringly dumped. I don't care, this is way more important than crease-free clothes. He takes a deep breath as if he's inhaling my scent. Perhaps he is. Maybe he's needing to make sure it's me, not some other descended being pretending to be me. Slowly, ever so slowly, he's running his hands over me, cataloguing each small bump of bone and muscle. I shudder when his thumbs run down the insides of my arms and over my elbows. It gets worse when he gets to my wrists, holding my hands in his, looking at them almost in awe but running his thumb over the sensitive skin there and making me react. I can't help it, a moan of pleasure escapes my throat.

All that does is grab his attention and makes him look at said throat. He sees me swallow harshly, his eyes following the bobbing of my Adam's apple and he licks his lips in response.

Again I see him shake himself and regain control of his consciousness. He pushes me gently to sit on the edge of the bed and kneels down. I hear his knees popping but I also know not to enquire about them. Not now. Maybe tomorrow.

My shoes and socks are off quickly. I grimace a little when I think that my feet must smell from being covered all day, but he smiles. Another scent to add to his list, I suppose. Maybe the rawness of an unshowered body is making him realise that I am real.

I shudder again when he puts his hands on my shoulders and tips me back on the bed, taking my belt and undoing it straight away. My jeans come off quickly as if they're just a nuisance, but when he gets to my boxers, he lingers. He can see I'm hard; ready, willing and able.

"For me?" he whispers in a teasing voice.

I nod. "For you. Only for you." Where that came from I don't know, but I know it was the right thing to say. As the moments go on, it's more and more apparent to me that if we weren't lovers before I died, we should have been. I wish I could remember.

I let out a much louder groan when he starts to mouth my dick and balls through the thin cotton of my boxers, getting them wet and then blowing cool air.

"Bastard," I curse through gritted teeth. "Torturer."

He chuckles quietly at my response as if he was expecting it. It is my turn to sigh with relief when he takes pity on me and lowers my boxers to the floor.

I tilt my head up and see him standing there, just looking at me, eyeing me greedily as if I was the last bar of candy in a sweet shop and he was five years old. Do I look as good as his expression makes me feel? Does it matter? I want to encourage him to get undressed and join me but I know that this has to be his show all the way. He needs to feel as if he has some sort of control over what I do. I can live with that - as long as I get laid. It's obviously been way too long for me and he is so totally hot. That is something that I didn't need to remember - just one look at him was enough for me. Was I gay before? I was married, I know I loved her. So, bisexual then? Possibly. God, I wish I could remember emotions as well as facts. I see people from my past flashing into my mind but only ones from outside the SGC stir up any sort of emotional memory; Shau're, Skarra and my parents. Jack comes close, though - I know there's something there, I just can't grasp it yet. As for the past, I must have had lovers, probably quite a few. I know I went to three different universities so I can't have remained cloistered - or closeted.

He's pulling his shirts off, kicking his shoes off at the same time. He's not even paying attention to what he's doing, his eyes haven't left me. I see his gaze flick up to the pillows and get what he wants me to do. Keeping my own gaze fixed on his, I scoot backwards and lay with my head on the pillows. He's naked, finally. I get my own back a little by looking him up and down and smiling wickedly. He gets the message. He is to me what I am to him. A little more of the tension from his body goes. Perhaps he was afraid that I wouldn't like what he's got. I understand his reluctance to believe in himself, but he has nothing to worry about. Scarred or not, he is one very sexy man. Yeah, I must have been into guys before. Not that it matters.

It's just dawned on me. This body is a copy of my old one; untouched by human hand - at least in places only the doctor knows about. I'm not sure she's human. Anyway, what that means is that - if my suspicions are correct - I'm a redux virgin. How weird is that? I've heard of women getting hymens remade to fake their virginity (or confirm it if they had something that broke the original accidentally), but this is ridiculous.

I have to hide a snigger as this thought goes through my mind. I knew my mind was odd the minute I woke up naked - had a feeling my life was odd too. There I was, totally uncovered, not knowing where I was, who I was and what the fuck I was doing there and my first thought was... I really need a coffee. It didn't help that I had no idea what a coffee was.

Jack's got onto the bed now, crawling up my body until we are nose to nose. I'd make a comment about his knees hurting him tomorrow but I don't think it would go down well - and to be honest, I don't think he'd care anyway.

Our lips are almost touching, I want to move that little bit closer but I can't - he has to do it. He's still not speaking, just using all his senses to finally believe that I am here and with him. Finally our lips touch. They're closed, just brushing each other for a moment, and then he pushes harder. My mouth opens and beckons him to move closer still. He does, and I lie still, letting him almost eat me as his passion, his desperation increases. His tongue touches mine and he almost explodes. It makes me groan when he pulls back and stares into my eyes again.

"It's really you?" he whispers, barely audibly.

"It's really me, Jack."

A broader smile now, and then his face changes back to the hungry, starving look that he had before. I inhale sharply as he moves and starts to kiss my face, trailing his lips and tongue over every millimetre. I shut my eyes and he kisses the lids, my forehead, my cheeks, my chin... now my throat and neck, suckling on the pulse points, nibbling the skin. Will he mark me? Do I care?

He breathes in deeply when he gets to my armpits. I'd fall about laughing at any other time, I know it, but I also understand why he's doing this. His mouth copies the actions of his hands earlier and he reverently kisses my arms, making my dick jump every time he gets to a particularly sensitive spot. Oh God, my fingers. He's kissing each one, sucking them in turn into his mouth. I feel his tongue working them, stroking them... the pressure as he sucks them makes me want to come. But I can't. Not yet. My spare hand goes straight to my groin and I grab my balls and tug them ruthlessly to stop it.

He just smiles when he sees the effect he's having on me. Bastard.

Now my legs and feet are getting the same treatment, he's adding each taste and smell to his memories - or is that dredging them out of his memories and comparing them? I still don't know. I have to fight a squeal of horror when he goes down on my toes. For one thing, they're still sweaty, for another, I'm incredibly ticklish there. I think he knows it, too. He's grinning.

Now he's back up and his face is level with mine.

"Whatever, Daniel?" he murmurs.

I nod. "Promise, Jack. I'm all yours."

He reaches for something under the pillow. Guess he stashes the lube there too. Where did that thought come from? I must have done it before. Must have. Should have. Wish I could remember.

Ooh fuck, my nipples. He's sucking them, running his tongue over them as he does so. They're so tender I arch off the bed.

"Please," I whisper, begging him to finish this.

"Need to taste you, Daniel. Have to."

"Please. Do it."

He trails his tongue down from my chest and creates a wet line all the way to my groin. Yes, at last, he's mouthing my balls, wetting them, taking each one in turn into his mouth and tonguing them. God, that is so good.

He pulls away. "Lie on your side, Daniel," he instructs.

My legs shaking with the effort to not come, I do as he asks. It doesn't help my self-control when he kisses the small of my back and starts to massage my buttocks apart.

"Ja-ack," I moan low and hungrily. His mouth lowers and heads straight for his goal. My ass. Tasting me, sniffing me, probing me with his tongue. "Please, Jack, please," I beg.

He stays where he is but rolls me to face him. His top arm hooks my top leg up and puts it over his shoulder. I hear a pop and soon a cold, wet finger is pushing inside me just as his mouth closes over my cock. Yes, that is so good. So fucking good. I bear down on his finger, saying nothing, just moaning with pleasure. More fingers now, not sure how many. Opening me, stretching me as if it was my first time. It is, really, isn't it? At least the first time in this version of my body. I seem to remember knowing this feeling though. There's something coming back to me. Again, it's like a phantom - there but not there. Teasing me, taunting me, just as his fingers and tongue are doing. Building me up and letting me down - over and over and over again. I beg him louder and more frequently, let me come, please Jack. Let me come. Let me come in you. For you. Just for you.

Eventually, he does. He doesn't say anything, doesn't have to. He just doesn't take me back down when I get there again. He finds that happy place for me, pushes my buttons and I howl as I come pouring down his throat.

My eyes are still tight shut when I feel his breath on my face again. Whether he needs to lead or not, I need something right now. I open my eyes, fix them on his and then grab his face and kiss him hard. He's responding in kind and I find myself cleaning his mouth with my tongue, tasting myself and him combined. He breaks away.

"Roll on your stomach, Danny."

Danny? Nobody calls me that. Except my parents... and... Jack, God, he used to call me it. When? He stopped for some reason. Don't know why. I should ask him. Maybe tomorrow.

He isn't taking his time now, I feel him sliding inside of me, the burn as he enters me being painful and gratifying. I'm as limp as a dishrag and he tries to get me up on my knees. My head is willing but my body has other ideas.

"Come on, Daniel."

"I'm trying, honestly," I reply.

I feel a chuckle where his head is resting on my shoulder. "Try harder."

With difficulty, I push backwards and he goes with me. He nudges my legs apart and I feel his hands run over my ass.

"So beautiful," he whispers. "So fucking beautiful."

"I bet you say that to all the boys," I tease.

He responds by pulling back and then slamming into me. Hard. I shut up.

I drop my head and hands down and lean on my elbows. He grinds into me, as if he's trying to get past his balls and inside my skin. I hear nothing except his quiet grunts and the slap of skin on skin. I feel nothing except the sting in my ass and the sheer satisfaction I get from being well and truly fucked. If I hadn't done this before, I was missing out. I'm way too smart to do that, aren't I?

"Oh fuck, Daniel," he says, his voice tinged with desperation, happiness and something else I can't quite grasp.

"Yeah."

What else could I say?

He's coming, I know I'm going to be bruised but I don't care. His fingers are digging deep into my thighs and he's filling my gut with his come. I'm hard again, but it doesn't matter. I could never have felt as satisfied as I do right now.

He pulls out slowly and when I turn onto my back I see that he's crying silently. I put my hands out to him and he lets me hold him tightly. He's making no sound, just sobbing into my chest. I think that it's the first time he's allowed himself to cry since I died - and only now because I'm back and he has possession of me again.

"I'm back, Jack," is all I can say. "I don't think I ever really left you. I can't remember anything specific but I do know that I couldn't have left you for long. Not really."

He cries himself out and then moves up the bed until we're face to face again.

"You died. Again. I can't take any more of this resurrection crap, Daniel. I couldn't mourn for you because I knew you were out there. But I couldn't tell anyone either."

"I'm sorry. It must have been a terrible burden."

Our words are spoken so softly that we're having to use our entire remaining energy just to listen in, but I know that Jack won't speak more loudly. Maybe he's afraid to hear the words coming from him?

"Don't die on me again, please. I couldn't take it again."

"I'll try," I reply. "You know what this job is like though, Jack. I could try to extract the same promise from you, but I know you can't guarantee that you'd live through the next mission any more than I can. All I can do is promise to try to stay alive for you. You have to promise me the same thing, too. I remember little, just yet, but I do remember that I've lost too many people. I... er... I know I don't remember much about us, however, there is one thing that I'm pretty certain of."

"Oh? What's that?"

"I seem to remember loving you, Jack. In fact, I know I loved you. I think I still do. Give me time, please, let me get my memories back."

He smiles broadly and drops a kiss on my lips.

"Promise, Daniel. I never stopped loving you, either."

I watch as Daniel sleeps on and the morning light breaks through the curtains. My heart stops beating for a moment when the light seems to create a halo around him and it looks like he's ascending again. It's only when he turns and moans a little in his sleep, his arms searching for me as he does, do I allow myself to believe that he's back for good.