Perching on the edge of the bed, the Colonel carefully straightened the fingers twisted in the blanket; he smoothed out the creased fabric and laid Daniel’s hand gently on top. 

Not even that woke the younger man, though he shifted restlessly and the arm over his eyes slid back to rest above his head. 

“Daniel?” Jack said again, softly, but with increased urgency. 

A hitched sigh and eyelids rising to half mast met this sally.  “G’way,” Daniel slurred, yanking at the covers as he turned on his side, back to his C.O.  “Sl’ping like you . . . wa’ted.”

“Look, I didn’t mean it that way, I’m sorry.  I wasn’t using our friendship to try and coerce you into doing something you didn’t want to do.  I only meant friends look out for each other.” 

Several heartbeats and a tense silence followed this assertion. 

“Remind me of that again when I’m looking out for you,” the linguist responded clearly, and pulled a pillow over his head.  Unfortunately, he was too warm to stay that way very long.  “Would you make up your mind,” he groused irritably, yanking at the covers again as he turned back over.  “You wanted me to sleep; now you want me to wake up.”

“Sorry,” Jack repeated.  “Go back to sleep.”

Daniel harrumphed and turned on his other side.  Now that he was awake, half an hour after he’d fallen asleep, the bed was too hot, his feet ached, his head throbbed, and his eyes felt like someone had poured sand between his eyelids.  He was miserable, and miserably aware he was miserable thanks to Jack’s intervention.  Otherwise he might have slept through this lousy not-only-did-I-stupidly-get-my-feet-frostbitten, I-managed-to-give-myself-pneumonia-as-well stage of illness and woken too sick to care.

Right now, he just wanted to feign sleep long enough to lull Jack’s spidey sense so he’d be left alone again, but he couldn’t seem to lie still more than ten seconds at a stretch.  He desperately wanted to shove off the covers Jack was sitting on.  And then, just as desperately, he needed the socks off. 

“Move please, I have to get up.”

“You okay?”  Jack rose and swept the covers back, a little surprised at how quickly the linguist popped out of bed.  “Why’d you take your socks off?” he wanted to know as soon as Daniel returned from the bathroom and slumped back down on the bed.

“Because I’m hot.  No.”  Daniel shoved the covers back when Jack tried to pull them up over him again.  “It’s too hot.” 

He knew he was beginning to sound like a petulant twelve-year-old; however, he was rapidly approaching the not-caring stage.  Yes, he’d brought this on himself, but it would never have happened if Jack and Janet between them hadn’t forced him to sleep.  If he hadn’t slept, he wouldn’t have dreamt.  If he hadn’t dreamt of his time with Sha’re, he would never have tried to out run the poignant memories.  If he hadn’t been trying to out distance the pain, he would never have gone outside.  And if he hadn’t been so doped up on sleeping pills and wine, he might have had a better grasp on reality and realized he was standing in the snow getting frostbitten.

Sighing, he turned back on his side and pulled the pillow to his chest. 

“Sorry,” he offered in a raspy whisper.  

Here he was, back at the every-life-he-touched-thing again.  It seemed like everywhere he went someone else suffered the consequences of his choices.

“For what?” Jack pushed the covers back against the wall and resumed his seat on the edge of the bed. 

With the blinds closed, the room was in deep shadow, only the rectangle of hall light angled in through the door, providing illumination.

“For making your life miserable as well.”

“Is that what you really think, Dr. Jackson?”  Jack wrapped both hands around a knee and leaned back, crossing the ankle over his other knee.   “Because if you do, let me remind you that I wouldn’t be here now, twice over, if it wasn’t for you.”

“Like I said,” Daniel murmured, sighing. 

“It occurs to me you might have gotten the impression I wasn’t very happy with you for that.”

Jack wasn’t the only student of human nature in the room.  The Air Force Colonel might have a few years on him in the age department, but the archeologist had begun studying human nature at a very tender age. 

“I knew you’d get over it.”

Jack waited a beat, then said quietly, “So will you.”

 “It’s not the same.”

“Of course not.  You’ve been cheated out of parents and a family and now a wife and another family . . . of course it’s not the same.  Fodor’s doesn’t make a map of this territory for good reason.  Nor will my map work for you, or Carter’s, or Teal’c’s.  You’re the only one who can chart your way through this chaos.”

“Jack . . .”

“Shut up.  I don’t do this often, so shut up and listen while I figure out where I’m going with this analogy.” 

“You can tell me I’ll get over this until we’re both old and gray.  That doesn’t mean I get to jump ten squares and finish the game because you said so.”

“No.  You’re right, life doesn’t let you cheat in this game; it is a process you have to go through.  What I’m trying to tell you is I know you’ll finish the game; you will come out the other side.”

“If you have to drag me kicking and screaming the whole way?”

Jack contemplated the hot, sweaty face returning his regard.  “That was obviously a mistake,” he said finally.  “I don’t make very many mistakes, Daniel.  I’ve spent a lot of years making life and death decisions on the spur of the moment; you’re either good at it, or you’re dead.  And I’m still alive, as are the majority of the people who’ve worked with me.” 

“I’m not suicidal,” Daniel said flatly, sliding the arm back over his burning eyes.

“It took all of five minutes to realize that.  I’m sorry it took that long.  You just don’t fit the mold and occasionally you manage to surprise me, not to mention scare the shit out of me.”

“What mold?”

“We military types kinda tend to fit one mold or another.  First and foremost, we really don’t like surprises - of any kind.”

“Are you trying to tell me nicely you’re kicking me off the team?”

“What?  Where the hell did you get that idea?  Oh, for cryin’ out loud.  You think I’d put this much time and energy into an asset I’m going to cut loose?”

Jack dropped his knee and leaned forward into the linguist’s space.  Braceleting his fingers around the narrow wrist, he moved Daniel’s arm back over his head again.

 “Not gonna happen,” he said as the blue eyes flew open.  “And now that we’ve gotten past that, will you tell me the rest of what happened while I was gone this afternoon?”

“The rest?” Daniel repeated blankly.  “Oh.”

He twitched a shoulder and wondered if Jack would give him hell if he skinned down to boxers.  He was so hot; his clothes were weighing him down like stones in a crucible.  He reached for the hem of his t-shirt, felt the bed rebound as Jack rose, and dragged it over his head, surprised at how much effort it took to accomplish the simple task.  He managed to shimmy out of the sweat pants and even find a cooler spot in the bed before the Colonel strode back into the room. 

Jack handed over an open bottle of chilled water and a pair of aspirin. 

Propping himself on an elbow, Daniel took both offerings gratefully. 

“Thanks.”

The water was bliss in his mouth, even sliding down his throat, but sloshed around in his queasy stomach like a stormy Sea of Galilee.  He thumped back down on the pillow, pressing the bottle to his neck.

“Are you going to throw it back in my face if I get you a washcloth?”

“You’re the one who woke me up to tell me sorry,” Daniel grumbled.

“True.” Jack turned and disappeared out the door again, depressing the mattress only moments later as he returned with a well wrung out, cold cloth. 

Daniel practically snatched it from him, burying his hot face in it before pulling back and rolling his head to press it to the back of his neck.

“There isn’t much to tell.  I just know I dreamt . . .” he paused, yanked the washcloth up and pressed it to his eyes, swallowing hard before continuing in a raspy whisper. “Something, a noise, a sound, I don’t know, something pulled me most of the way out of the dream, just not all the way.  I think I got up to get a drink, or go to the bathroom, or something.  I don’t know,” he repeated.  “The next thing . . . I remember . . . you were dragging me inside . . . and I was freezing.” 

A long silence followed the last half-stuttered sentence. 

“I’m sorry,” Daniel said again, desperately trying to stem the combination of nerves and exhaustion trickling from the corners of his eyes.  Abandoning the washcloth, he turned back on his side, hugging the pillow to him and burying his face in it.

 “. . . s’ry . . . ‘ly . . . happens . . . t‘me . . .‘ry . . . ‘ears . . . or so.” 

Jack plucked up the abandoned washcloth and got up to re-wet it.  Easing back down on the bed, he tugged experimentally at the pillow. 

“Come on, I know you’re dying under that thing; trade you the pillow for the washcloth.” 

Daniel resisted for a moment, embarrassed now by his total lack of control.  But the lure of the washcloth was stronger than his chagrin. 

Jack got the pillow. 

“I understood ‘sorry’ and maybe . . . ‘happens’ . . . out of that.”

Sighing, Daniel pressed the cold cloth to his eyes.  “This usually only happens to me once every eight years or so.”  He rubbed wearily at his aching temple.  “I’ll try to be somewhere else if you’re still in my life eight years from now.”

“Hmm,” Jack acknowledged.  “Turn over.”

Daniel lowered the washcloth.  “Why?”

“Because I asked you to,” the Colonel sighed. 

The archeologist shrugged and turned over so he was facing the wall.

“I meant on your stomach,” Jack qualified.  

Daniel slid back and turned over again, shoving his arm, and the washcloth, out from under him.   

“Relax, or this will be useless,” O’Neill instructed, applying gentle pressure with both thumbs to the tense, corded muscles in Daniel’s neck.  “Want me to stop?” he asked after a moment, as mounting tension rippled down the long, lean length of back.

The intimate touch had startled him.  Sam had hugged him; Jack often brought him up short with a hand around the back of his neck; Dr. Frasier’s impersonal hands had been over every inch of him; but no one had dared his personal space like this in the long two months he’d been back.  His old friend the self-hug had a lot more connotations then most realized.  The crossed arms worked nearly as well as posting a no-trespassing sign on his personal space. 

Daniel made a concerted effort to relax, turning his head to rest on his crossed arms. 

“Sorry.” 

He could do this, though it ratcheted up the level of trust a notch beyond where he was comfortable.

“Would you stop with the apologizing already?”  Jack stilled his hands until he felt a measure of fluidity return to the taut muscles.   “Consider this penance for waking you up.” 

Feeling the archeologist settle into the bed, he applied pressure again to a particularly tight knot, working it gently until the knot began to dissipate. 

He was a little taken back at the severity of the tension he was encountering.  It was no wonder the kid hadn’t been sleeping.  He hit a tender spot accidentally, causing Daniel to wince and stiffen anxiously.  Jack stopped and laid his palm over the spot, applying only light pressure and the warmth of his hand. 

“Give it a minute,” he said quietly, “now that I know it’s there, I’ll be careful.” 

He waited until the linguist was breathing evenly again and increased the pressure of his palm, massaging with the heel of his hand.

“I’ve only picked up a few things over the years, but I know an excellent masseuse.  He’ll come out to the house if you want, even brings his own equipment, or we can go to his studio.”

“Can’t I just pay you?”

Jack chuckled.  “Sure, if you want to throw your money away.”  He applied a little more pressure.

Daniel rolled his shoulder uncomfortably. 

“Nothing much else to do with it.” 

He had a brand new bank account, a shiny new, unused credit card, and a checkbook with a balance that wasn’t in the negative. 

He’d never been good with those kinds of numbers. Show him a series of angles and quadrants for any dig site and he had an instant picture of the layout in his mind; give him any pair of coordinates on a star map and he could calculate the planetary drift for the Gate address; ask him to figure the tip on the dinner check and he froze like a deer in the headlights. 

“Oww, that hurts,” he complained, though it lacked conviction.

“If you can breathe deeper for a few minutes, it will help.” 

“I don’t . . . think so,” Daniel gasped, jerking as a sharp pain stabbed at his shoulder and up into his neck.

“Breathe,” Jack ordered, feeling the knot finally loosening, “I’ve just about got it.  Give it a couple seconds, Daniel.  Breathe, dammit!”  He smacked the linguist lightly on the back of the head.  “Oh, sorry, forgot you have a headache too.”

Daniel sucked in air as he started to laugh. 

“Ow!  That hurts like sin.” 

He pulled his arm under his chest, rolling his shoulder again, creating a different angle, and the knot gave way to the pressure of the insistent fingers. 

“If you think it hurts, Brother Jackson, you’re either doing it wrong . . .” Jack laid his hand back over the spot, keeping pressure on it to be sure the thing didn’t coil right back up again.  “Or sin is not one of the many languages you speak.”

“Sin is a language?”

“You realize you’re just digging the hole deeper, right?  Still hurt?”

“Better,” Daniel responded, though he was still breathing hard.

Jack made a mental note to call Matt.  A little thing like a blizzard wouldn’t keep the masseuse at home - the man drove a Hummer for cryin’ out loud.  Daniel might bitch, but in the end, the Colonel was certain the kid would agree to almost anything in order to be allowed to continue traveling through the Gate.

He was careful after that, to go lightly over spots that got a hitched breath or the rolled shoulder, he’d let Matt deal with those, his objective now merely to ease the headache, and, with any luck, soothe his teammate back to sleep.

“Am I crazy?”

“Thought you were asleep,” Jack murmured.

“Nearly,” Daniel sighed, close enough a few more internal barriers were lowered.  “Am I?” he asked with lethargic insistence.

“Crazy?”

Jack sent questing fingers into the thick hair, found the pulse at the temple, and began to massage lightly. 

“I suppose to a certain extent this job requires you to be a little crazy.  Why?”

“No.  Already know ‘m crazy l’ke that.  Cr’zy ‘cause I want to believe there’s still hope . . .”

Daniel was silent so long Jack thought he had fallen asleep for sure. 

“Why is it my brass ring always comes at such a huge price?”

It was Jack’s turn to sigh.  “If you want philosophy, I suppose everybody’s ring comes with a price.  You always have to pay to play.  I guess some folks don’t mind the cost.” 

“I know that.  But why is it always somebody else in my life that pays?”

Jack had an answer for that, too; however, he had no intention of sharing it so soon on the heels of reacting badly to finding the archeologist in the snow. 

Daniel might not be suicidal, but neither did he put much value on his own life.  His brass ring came at the cost of things he did hold dear.

“Do me a favor?”

“Stop thinking?”

“Exactly.” 

It no longer surprised him when Daniel responded to something he knew damn well he hadn’t vocalized. 

“Look, I originally came to see if you’d rather sleep in the living room.  You said you didn’t want to go back to bed.  I can haul out the sleeping bags; we could sleep on the floor.”

“It’s six o’clock, Jack.”

“Yeah?”

“On Friday night.”

“Yeah, and what’s a Friday night usually like at my house?”

“Beer and hockey.”

“Bingo.”

“You do Bingo too?”

“Smartass.    Come out to the sofa.  I promise not to ply you with any more alcohol.”

“I don’t think so.  But thanks.”

“Sure?”

“Can I hold that option in reserve?”

“Hey, you were the one said you didn’t want to go back to bed, just offering alternatives.”

“Yes, well, when I said that I wasn’t feeling quite as lousy as I do now.  So thanks, but I think I’ll pass.”

“Lousy enough we should head back to the Mountain?”

“No.” 

“Daniel?” 

“Jack.”

“It’s only going to get worse outside.  If you get worse, I may have to call out the Marines.”

“It’s just a stupid cold.”  He hoped. 

“Even a cold will get you grounded.  If it turns into something more . . . I’m trusting you not to put yourself at risk here.”

“Thank you.  Now can I go back to sleep?”

“Sure you don’t want to sleep on the couch?”

“I don’t want to sleep anywhere,” Daniel returned pointedly. 

“Right.  Would it help if I said sorry again?”

“Not much.”

“Want the washcloth wet before I leave you to sleep?”

“Yes, please.”

Except the archeologist was asleep in the sixty-five seconds it took to cross the hall, rewet the cloth, wring it out, and bring it back. 

Retrieving more water, and the aspirin from the kitchen, Jack left both easily accessible on the nightstand, then hunted up Daniel’s backpack and rummaged for antihistamines to leave out just in case.  Leaning down, he drew the sheet up and let it settle lightly over his sleeping teammate.  Jack waited several heartbeats, then drew the comforter up as well, careful to let it drift down gently too. 

Daniel slept on undisturbed. 

Friday night lite, Jack thought, as he broke out the beer, missing his companions. 

Neither the alien nor the archeologist ever paid much attention to his hockey explanations. Teal’c and symbiote didn’t imbibe, and Daniel was a mess after just one beer.  Which only authenticated Jack’s surmise the archeologist had very little acquaintance with sin. 

But he’d gotten used to having them around on Friday nights and missed them now.

The hockey game was almost into half-time when Daniel trailed into the living room, pillow under one arm, blanket under the other, looking a lot like Linus.  He slumped down on the sofa.

“Lonely?”

“It’s not Friday night without hockey.” 

“And beer.”

“Pass on the beer.”

“Water?”

“Brought it with me.” 

Daniel plunked the bottle on the coffee table, curled up on the sofa, bunched the pillow under his head, and dragged the blanket up over his shoulder. 

“Want some more Tylenol?”

“It’s only been an hour.”

“You look like shit.”

“Least I look better than I feel,” Daniel mumbled, only belatedly realizing he should have kept his mouth shut.

“I’m going to look for a thermometer,” Jack announced, “and then I’m calling Frasier.”

“I’ll take some more Tylenol; I’ll go back to bed.”  Daniel shoved up on an elbow.  “I won’t . . .” he began plaintively, as Jack disappeared.  When the Colonel didn’t reappear immediately, he sank back down, sighing, “. . . bother you.” 

He’d woken again from the recurring nightmare:  thousands of pairs of glowing eyes; beautiful, slanting eyes set in the exotic face of his wife.

They had blundered out into the big, wide universe because he’d opened the Stargate.  He’d acquired an unwanted wife because they’d bungled their way through a meeting with the natives on the first planet through the Gate.  And a year later, his curiosity unabated, he’d lost the wife who’d become dearer to him than his own life because he’d botched a simple recon mission to the map room. 

Was it any wonder his dreams resembled M. Night Shamalyan movies?
 
Daniel had hauled himself into the living room hoping light and company would banish the eyes glowing in the dark corners of the bedroom.

“Still awake?” Jack asked quietly, sitting down on the coffee table.  “It occurred to me, after the third place I ransacked, I don’t own a thermometer.  Then I remembered I had a couple of those strip thingies in the backpacking first aid kit.” 

He pulled the tabs apart to open the strip and turned it over a couple of times.  Carter was in charge of this kind of stuff when they were off-world.

Daniel snaked a hand out from under the blanket, plucked it out of Jack’s fingers, and shoved out his other hand to peel off the adhesive.   

“You have to give it a minute,” he croaked when Jack peered at it expectantly as soon as he’d pasted it to his forehead. 

“It’s stopped going up finally,” O’Neill announced.

Daniel reached up and peeled it off.  “Hundred and one; that’s not so bad.”

“Yeah, right.”  Jack rose again.  “Just getting the Tylenol from the bedroom.  I think you can go up to 800 milligrams of this stuff before you have to worry about side effects,” he said, coming back into the living room. 

“Side effects?” 

Daniel took the aspirin, dry swallowing it before sinking back down to pull the blanket up again. 

“You know, like bleeding ulcers and stuff.”  Jack eyed him for a long moment.  “You lost a lot of fluid sweating in the tub.  This fever’s going to affect that too, you really need to stay hydrated.”

‘Uhm hmm.  Game’s back on.”

“I’m just saying . . .” Jack slid off the coffee table, scooping up the remote as he headed back to the recliner. 

Half an hour later he rose again, bringing Daniel up off the sofa like a shade rising from the newly deceased.

“I’m disturbing you.”  He’d been unable to get comfortable on the sofa and knew his sighs and constant turning were probably driving his friend nuts.  “I’ll go back to bed.”  Daniel pulled at the blanket stuck between the cushions and the back of the couch.

“I’m going to get the sleeping bags.”

The sofa wasn’t long enough to accommodate the archeologist’s six foot frame. Throw that achy, feverish feeling driving the vain hopes of finding a comfortable position into the mix and the sofa became a nightmarish torture rack instead of a place of repose. 

Jack shoved the coffee table to the end of the room with a foot as he undid the slip knots on the first sleeping bag.  He flipped it out, knelt to unzip it, and swept a hand over the new accommodations.

“Can’t promise it will be much better, but at least you won’t be trying to fit a six foot body into a five foot space.”

“I can go back to bed,” Daniel said again.

“Yeah, you can, but you don’t have to.” 

Jack reached around to snag the second sleeping bag and rolled it out as well.  He picked up the remote and switched off the TV before tossing it back in the recliner.  

“Come on, humor me.” 

Carter or Teal’c he would have just ordered.  This one he’d learned to handle differently.  Daniel didn’t consider himself part of the military establishment, despite working for it.  And he worked with Jack, not for him. 

From Daniel’s perspective, they might work together.  From Colonel O’Neill’s, the success or failure of a mission rested squarely on his shoulders.  It was his command, his risk assessment, his word the three people with him acted on; ultimately, he was responsible for their lives.  He knew none of his team looked at it in quite the same way.  Even Carter – born and bred a military brat – would never consider him responsible for her life. 

Yet he was, because they trusted him.

Jack sat back on the second sleeping bag and crossed his arms over his drawn up knees.  “I guarantee it will be more comfortable than the sofa.” 

They’d been sleeping on hard alien ground for the last two months; the plush, thickly-padded carpeting in his living room had to be more comfortable than either alien ground or the sofa at the moment.

“I probably should have stayed in the infirmary,” Daniel murmured, sliding reluctantly to his knees.  “I promise I’ll get myself together and moved out soon.”

“Yeah?  Where do you suppose you’d be now if you’d been in your own place this afternoon?”

“Mad,” Daniel said simply.  “As in crazy,” he clarified.

“I was thinking more like frozen,” Jack retorted.

“I wasn’t thinking just this afternoon,” Daniel countered.  The cold sleeping bag momentarily felt pleasant against his overheated skin.  “Thanks.”

“Ah, Daniel,” Jack sighed. 

The archeologist challenged him on nearly every level.  It wasn’t an antagonistic or resentful challenging.  It was two individuals grappling with life issues from entirely different perspectives – perspectives that could compliment or confront without threatening a foundation of respect. 

Daniel slanted a questioning glance his way.  He wasn’t quite as sure of O’Neill’s respect, an edge the Colonel kept well-honed as a tool of command. 

“Thanks aren’t necessary.  It’s what friends do for each other.”  Leaning forward over his teammate, Jack appropriated a pillow from the sofa.  “Tell me about Abydos.”

He purposely did not look at the linguist, keeping his request as causal as possible, and non-confrontational.  Tossing the pillow down at the top of the sleeping bag, he stretched out on his side, crossed his long legs at the ankles, and propped his elbow on the pillow.  Cracking his neck, he settled his cheek on his palm, and waited.

It was an ideology thing with Jackson; he did not do establishment, or violence, or guns.  However, Daniel’s gift with languages and cultures enabled him to see and hear things differently, to intuit things even O’Neill’s keen instincts missed.  It had enabled him to sow the seeds of rebellion on a foreign planet, among an alien race steeped in superstition and tradition, ruled by a parasite in a host that looked like a child and reigned by terror.

“I’ve told you about Abydos.”

“Yeah, the military things I’ve needed to know.  Tell me what it was like to live on an alien planet.  Tell me about the people, your family.”  Jack hesitated for a moment before adding quietly, “Tell me about Sha’re . . . if you want too.”

Daniel turned his head slowly, searching the dark brown eyes.  “Why?”

“Curiosity.  I’ve been a lot of places, seen a lot of things, done a few too, but I’ve never lived on an alien planet, or been married to an alien.” 

And if it helped Daniel process some of that disturbingly bottled-up grief, all the better.

Jack had found himself, on more than one occasion, itching to order his 2IC to haul out the duct tape; especially when they were in tense situations and Daniel was still going and going . . . and going . . . like some alien Energizer bunny.  It hadn’t taken him long to figure out the linguist processed out loud.  Even when he thought he was alone, Daniel muttered to himself. 

In self-defense, Jack had adapted quickly, tuning out what wasn’t useful to him, while still allowing Daniel to work out brilliantly simple solutions on his way from Point A to Point B.  In really tight situations, he’d learned he could nudge the linguist along with a cross-eyed look, or the looping finger. 

And Daniel had learned to shut up when O’Neill hacked a short, sharp, soundless slash across his own throat.

They weren’t perfect, this strange bunch of misfits he’d been saddled with, but they were good, and Jack was finding himself experiencing the team dynamic in ways he’d never before encountered in all of his covert ops career. 

Like passing the baton in an Olympic relay, Carter could pick up a sentence where Daniel left off.  When Teal’c had their six, Jack knew they were as safe as they could possibly be. 

Okay, so none of them could turn invisible, or control fire, but give this team time and who knew what they might accomplish out there in the big, wide universe.  After all, fourteen months ago he would never have believed one step, one single step, could take him across galaxies and star fields in the space between one heartbeat and the next. 

Privately, Jack had already christened his team the Fantastic Four.  When they were in sync, they were unstoppable. 

Daniel stretched out an arm and laid his head down carefully.  There were times when he could read the Colonel like a book, and times when the inscrutable face was as closed as a sandstorm-buried tomb. 

This was one of the latter.  And he wasn’t really up to excavating tonight. 

He wasn’t anxious to star in a repeat performance of either of the afternoon’s comic tragedies and he didn’t know if he could speak Sha’re’s name without dissolving into tears again. 

So he began with Kasuf and the life of a village headman with a beautiful daughter of marriageable age, leavening what might have been just another dull, boring recital with a dollop of droll humor that surprised and amused the Colonel no end. 

If he could somehow bring out this side of Daniel in briefings, it would make those snore-worthy lectures considerably more tolerable.

Daniel’s advent upon the scene, it turned out, had saved the village head man a great deal of grief.  With all the young men of the village vying for Sha’re’s attention, it had been up to Kasuf to sort them out and make a choice among them for the hand of his daughter.  Not one of them had been worthy, and then to have a god fall into his lap, ripe for the picking, and not only a god worthy of his daughter, but a god who helped free them from oppression and slavery too.  Kasuf’s pleasure had been rivaled only by Sha’re’s sense of injustice at being given to a man she knew nothing about.

Jack found himself chuckling often as Daniel described his acclimatization.

In the natural social order of an agrarian society, low man on the totem always pulled the lousiest jobs, even if you were a god.  And while his facility for languages had allowed him to pick up the local dialect quickly, he’d had found many of the subtle shadings of meanings difficult to distinguish.

Daniel had suspected, in the beginning at least, his newly acquired, and not particularly tolerant, wife, had often inflected her pronunciation incorrectly just to needle him. 

Sha’re had turned him out one evening when he’d brought home mastidge dung rather than the flour she claimed she’d sent him after.  He’d understood she wanted it for their fire, though for the life of him he could not understand how his obsessively neat and clean wife would tolerate the smell of burning mastidge dung. 

Kasuf had found him and forcibly hauled him back to his wife, berating a belligerent Sha’re, who not only made her feelings known to her father and husband, but half the village as well.  Daniel had never again mistaken the words for flour and dung, had dutifully entertained his lovely wife with his enthusiastic, if occasionally imprudent, forays into the local culture, and eventually learned to do his share of the village chores with aplomb, if not with ease. 

What he did not say, but was as apparent to Jack as the nose on his own face, was how tirelessly he had worked to win over the villagers, and his wife, and how seamlessly he had accomplished the job given the farewell Jack had witnessed back in the Abydos Gateroom.

Daniel had literally come back through the Stargate with nothing but the clothes on his back.  There’d been no time to pack, no time to gather up any sentimental pieces of his life, not even time to take leave of his father-in-law. 

His initial resistance had yielded to the carrot of ‘we’ll help you find your wife and brother-in-law’ and they’d hauled him back to the SGC.  They’d taken his robes, stripping him yet again of his identity, handed him a one-size-fits-all jump suit, and shooed him out of everybody’s hair. 

There were important things to be done, life and death decisions to be made, strategies to be implemented.  Dr. Jackson had been retrieved, the alien Earthling was back on terra firma, he’d been dealt with and dismissed as the useless tool he’d become.  He was no longer an issue and therefore no longer anyone’s responsibility. 

Well, the Colonel was a sucker for waifs and orphans – hell, he had three of ‘em now on his team. 

And this one, it appeared, was winding down. 

Daniel groped for the tissue box Jack had retrieved sometime during the recital, slid up on an elbow to blow his nose, and eased his aching head back down on his arm.    He was exhausted, emotionally spent, and for the first time in two long months, his mind had stopped spinning endlessly useless scenarios. 

He had tried to stem the tide of tears, swiping at them in dismay when he discovered the well was not as empty as he’d supposed.

The Colonel had reached over and once again braceleted the slender wrist, offering a quiet, “Don’t, Daniel.  It’s not worth the cost of keeping it bottled up like that; trust me, I know.” 

And so he’d let them flow freely; had quit worrying when he choked over Sha’re’s name; had stopped trying to do damage control and settled for mopping up with wads of Kleenex.

He had a scale model of the Great Pyramid in front of him now, having discovered, quite by accident, tear dampened, snotty tissues were moldable and bonded well. 

Daniel flicked dispiritedly at the topmost tissue-stone block, decapitating the pyramid.  Hope was thin tonight, a wispy ground fog, easily dispersed by the prevailing winds of despair. 

When the significance of the Abydos map room had begun to percolate in his subconscious, stretching his mind nearly incomprehensibly, he’d had an inkling of the size of the known, and already mapped, universe.  The inkling was now full-fledged comprehension.  He had a good grasp of the incredible vastness of space they might have to cover in his quest for his family.

“We know they’re out there somewhere.  We know the Goa’uld inhabiting them have every reason to keep them alive and in perfect health.  We’ll find them.  We’ll find them and bring them home.”

Daniel closed his burning eyes. From Jack, that little bit of reassurance created a space he could inhabit again, a space where he could live with himself, perhaps even find a measure of harmony with the universe again.  Somehow, Jack had managed to pull together the ragged edges of his soul and stitch them up once more. 

And if anyone could find his family, it would be Jack. 

The End

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