Part 2

“I certainly would be,” Dr. Simic agreed.

“Want me to bring you a tray?” Jack offered, since the doctor had been the primary provider of sustenance in the last two days.

“No, thanks, I’ll wait until you’re back before I go to dinner.  Take your time, the Officer’s Mess always has hot food available, I’ll be sure to keep a close eye on Dr. Jackson.”

“Thanks.”

He did take his time, stopping on the way to the Mess to dig through his kit for the book he’d squirreled away at the bottom of the bag, just in case.

It was the first in a series of books he’d found recently on the internet.  Ancient Egypt, in eleven volumes, plus the extremely rare supplement, edited by Professor Flinders Petrie. 

Jack was no stranger to the rare book market, having gifted his friend with several 1st editions over the years, so he knew how and where to look up Prof. F. Petrie.  Though he hadn’t been all that impressed that the professor had left instructions for his severed head to be sent from Jerusalem to the Royal College of Surgeons in London, he was relatively certain Daniel would find that macabre factoid especially interesting - if he didn’t already know it.

The first four volumes of this set had graced the library of noted Egyptologist Warren R. Dawson, and had his circular stamp (with his initials) at the flyleaf of three of the four volumes. 

Jack was also relatively certain he’d paid a hell of a lot for that little circular stamp, but since he knew one whiff of the books’ musty oder and Dr. Jackson would forgive anything, he’d decided it was an investment in his own future as well as Daniel’s. 

Expecting a long, boring evening ahead of him, he took the book to dinner, figuring anyone who would have their head shipped half way around the world had to be at least slightly entertaining, if only for the egotistical value the editor brought to the book.

He was highly amused, though not surprised, to find the “Father of Pots” liked to excavate in his underwear and ate only from tins, proving yet again that the elevator stopped a couple stories shy of the top floor when it came to common sense in archeologists the world over. 

He was not in the least surprised, nor amused, to walk back into the infirmary to the sounds of sharp orders and the keening wail of red-lining medical equipment.  He was across the triage area in a minimum of long strides, though he stopped short on the threshold, well out the way of the three-man medical team clustered around Daniel’s bed, working frantically on the still figure. 

The room was small enough he had a good view of the wide, glassy, sightless blue eyes and the covers still gripped in what had been tight-fisted hands, though the fingers were lax now.

“. . . eight, nine, ten,” Simic was counting out loud.  “Get the defibrillator on line,” he ordered.  Spotting O’Neill he barked, “Can you do this?”

“Yeah, sure.  I’m CPR certified.”

“Then get over here!”

He dropped the book and bolted to do as he was told, making the transition in a fluid slide between one compression and the next as Simic took over the defib machine, squeezing jell onto the paddles.

“Clear!”

Jack stepped back quickly, his own heart pounding hard enough the reverberations were probably audible in Atlantis.  He kept his eyes glued to the wildly chaotic EKG flickering erratically on the screen.

Ten seconds stretched impossibly to fifteen.

“Clear!” Simic ordered again. 

He was millimeters from a second attempt when the sinus rhythm snapped into place.

Another long ten seconds stretched abysmally to fifteen, then twenty and thirty.  It was the longest thirty seconds Jack had experienced since the last time Daniel had done this to him.

“ET tube!” the doctor snapped, “Prep some Fentanyl, but hold it.  I’d rather not sedate him if we don’t have. In the meantime talk to him, General!  If he does wake up, I need you to keep him calm.”

Jack grabbed a limp hand and leaned in as close as he dared without getting in the doc’s space. 

“Hey, I thought I told you not to do this while I was gone.  Hang in there, buddy, you’re gonna be okay.  Daniel?”

“Keep talking,” Simic advised, deftly maneuvering the tube with the aid of the laryngoscope, “almost there.”

“The doc’s almost done and then you’ll be able to breathe.”

The wide, glassy eyes, though still unfocused, were panicked. 

“Look at me,” Jack ordered.  “Hold your breath for a second, stop fighting it, and it will be over in a minute.  Come on, look at me.  This isn’t the first time you’ve had this done, you know how it works, try to relax.”

Simic straightened with a relieved sigh.   “He’s not really here, sir, nice work though.”  He set aside the laryngoscope and immediately applied his stethoscope to Daniel’s chest.

Jack felt the archelogist draw a single, labored breath; then another.  

“Ventilate!  Let’s see if we can get him past this crisis without having to sedate!”

If I could only have you near, to breathe a sigh or two . . .

It took some time, and a few wrong turns, for the neurons to negotiate the newly awakened neural net. 

A frighteningly long time, according to Jack’s internal time clock, but eventually the connections began to click.  Tension began to seep out of the rigid limbs as oxygen-starved muscles extracted sweet release from the renewed blood supply pumping through the archeolgoist’s veins.

The blue eyes slid closed on a long sigh, though is was only a wooosh of air through the tube.

“So,”  Jack straightened, “what the hell just happened?”

Dr. Simic rehung the stethoscope around his neck and picked up Daniel’s wrist, moving it to rest across his chest.

“When the autonomic nervous system is suppressed for long periods of time, it can begin to effect the cardiovascular and respiratory functions.  His falling blood pressure may have triggered this episode; or perhaps the alien influence has exerted a dilatory effect directly on his cardiac function.  Or it could have been something as simple as his electrolytes being out of whack.”  Simic met the critical gaze directed at him.  “Bottom line?  I don’t know, sir.  Though Dr. Lam indicated this had happened during previous episodes.”

Yes, but there had been a specific reason for their cardiac failure.  Both Vala and Daniel, in their Ver Ager incarnations, had believed they were in imminent danger of being burned to death.  Since he had no idea how much of that had been shared with the physician, Jack kept his mouth shut.  There were still levels of need-to-know, even for those who worked in the new universal space program.

He squeezed his eyes shut as well, sucked in air, and asked as politely as possible, “So how are you going to keep it from happening again?”

“We will, obviously, continue to monitor him, sir.  I’ll do a new chemistry panel immediately.  And I will try to speak directly with Dr. Lam about this when we jump again.  She may have further insight by now, into the cause and effects of the artifacts.”

The dreaded penlight made an appearance as Simic dismissed his technical support with a wave of his hand.

“Stay close, though,” he admonished.

Even Jack could see the pupil reaction was appreciable and he felt Daniel flinch at the intrusion.  He squeezed the hand he still held, in silent solidarity. 

“Dr. Jackson, can you hear me?”  Simic repossessed Daniel’s other hand.  “Can you squeeze my fingers.  Good, that’s very good.  I’m going to leave the ET tube in for a bit, until we’ve gotten a couple x-rays, okay?  Just so I know you don’t have a collapsed lung.  We’re also going to make sure your airways are clear of obstruction.  Just as soon as we can verify all the internal stuff is working like it’s supposed to, we’ll take it out, okay?  Are you in any pain?”

A minimal twist of the head, so slight only Jack caught it and interpreted, “He says no, but don’t bet on it.”

“I don’t really want to give you anything that might further suppress the newly re-awakened autonomic functions, of which pain is one of the indicators, but I also don’t want you panicking and doing further harm to yourself.  Can you tell me what hurts?”

“Daniel?  Squeeze my fingers.  Your head? . . . Chest? . . . Your throat?”  This elicited a slight pressure against his fingers.  “Yeah, that’s to be expected having just had a tube forced down it.  And let’s try this again.  Head? . . . yeah, thought so.  How about your chest?  Does it still hurt to breathe?”

A guttural sigh from the tubed vocal chords and a very slight shake of the head.  Clearly he was trying to shape words and was frustrated by the lack of ability. 

“I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.  Do you know where you are?”

Daniel swallowed convulsively, moving his head fretfully. 

“I won’t ask anymore questions, just try to relax, okay?” Jack stroked back the damp hair and squeezed the hand in his, inordinately pleased when the pressure was returned with a little more strength this time as consciousness gained a firm foothold.

Halfway through the series of x-rays Simic wanted, Daniel feel asleep.  He roused quickly, though unhappily, when stimulus in the form Jack’s fingers tattooing an insistent rhythm against his cheek, woke him. 

Clearly, short term memory was non-existent at the moment.  

The archeologist frowned and tried again to speak, blinking rapidly in an obvious effort to clear his foggy mind. 

“Come on, the doc says he needs you to stay awake for this.  You’ve slept for two days, try to stay with the program here, okay?  He says two more x-rays and he’ll be done.  Then if everything’s okay, he’ll take out all this . . .” Jack waved an all encompassing hand, “paraphernalia.” 

He captured the fingers that had wandered up to explore the alien intrusion making it impossible to talk.

“Ten minutes, max, okay?  Can you stay awake that long?”

Daniel frowned.

“Yeah, I know, your worst nightmare come to life.  On your six, as always.  But I can’t stay here, I have to be on the other side of the barrier until this is done, okay?  Can you stay awake?”

The archeologist sighed, but nodded infinitesimally. 

It was another hour before Simic was satisfied the films revealed no internal issues. 
 
By the time the ET tube was out, a wide-awake Daniel had a death grip on Jack’s hand, and was breathing hard and fast again, though no longer erratically. 

“Daedalus?  On . . . the Daed-alus?”

“Yes,” Dr. Simic answered, “You’re on the Daedalus.  I’m going to raise the head of the bed a little.  Can you tell me your name?

“Why . . . are you here?”

“The doc just asked you a question,” Jack responded, mentally thumbing through his index of Daniel looks for one that would elicit cooperation. 

“Daniel Jackson,” he rasped, coughing.  “Why are you here?”

“Told ya, I’m here to watch your six, as usual.  I’m pretty sure Dr. Simic wants to be the one asking questions right now.  Since you’re a guest in his infirmary, maybe you ought to be answering them instead of asking your own.”

Daniel turned his head slightly to look at the doctor.

“I’m satisfied you’re oriented to the here and now.  Glad to see you awake again, though you did scare the bejeezus out of us in the process of waking up.  Dr. Lam gave me to expect you’d be a comfortable, easy patient for the duration of your stay.  Your girlfriend hasn’t given her any fits so far.” 

The handy dandy penlight came into play again. 

“Girlfriend?”  Daniel squeezed his eyes shut as soon as it disappeared.

“Head hurts, still, huh?” the doc asked sympathetically.  “I’ll give you some aspirin in a minute. I’d like you to be conscious for a few hours before I give you anything stronger.  What can you tell me about the bracelets?”

Daniel rolled his neck, apparently unsuccessfully trying to ease the ache, because he tried again the opposite way. 

“Shouldn’t have done this? . . . Water?”

“Sure.”  Simic glanced up from his patient to find the General already moving away to retrieve the water pitcher.

Jack took it to the sink, dumping out the tepid stuff to refill it with cold water. 

“Dr. Lam also said there was no reason to believe there would be any further effects once the bracelets were off.  Any ideas what might have caused this reaction?  Or perhaps more to the point, do you think it’s possible it could happen again?”

“Possible,” Daniel conceded grudgingly.

Simic stowed the penlight in his breast pocket and folded his arms over his chest.  “So, let’s get you cleaned up and comfortable for now.  Maybe even get some food into you?”

“Not hungry,” Daniel managed, widening his eyes in an effort to combat their tendency to drift closed. 

The cup of water Jack put in his hand tilted precariously, jolting him awake again as cold water seeped through the thin blanket and sheet.

A hand closed gently around his non-compliant fingers and guided the half empty cup to his mouth as his eyes slid closed again.

“Oh, for cryin’ out loud.  Daniel?”

“Dr. Jackson?”  Simic only shook his head and set about hooking the archeologist back up to the various monitors. 

“We should know more shortly, when we make the jump, sir.  At least he’s out of the coma.  Dr. Lam may have some further insight if this has happened with the woman as well.”

“I thought . . .”  Jack began, perplexed, shooting a questioning glance at the physician.
 
Again with the penlight, garnering an irritated sigh and an effort, on Daniel’s part, though he slept on, to turn his head.

“At least he hasn’t slipped back into a coma.  I hope this is a good sign.”

“I still don’t get it?  His heart stopped?”

“No, he went into arrhythmia.  For some reason his heart started beating erratically.  As I’ve said, I don’t know what caused it.  I wasn’t prepared for this level of intensity in the transition stage.  With the exception of his low blood pressure, this shut down was contraindicated.”

Jack eyed the physician.  “This is Daniel we’re talking about,” he offered wearily, the usual after-effects of an adrenalin rush making themselves spitefully known.  “He never does anything according to standard operating procedure.  Expect the unexpected and he’ll never disappoint you.”

“Yes, well, I certainly hope he’ll hold off on doing this again until I can pass him off to Dr. Beckett.”

“I’d really rather he not do this again, period,” Jack sighed.

*           *           *

“For the hundred and fifteenth time, we’ll talk about it when you can stay awake for more than fifteen minutes at a time, Dr. Jackson.  I’ve told you repeatedly, I’m here because look what happens the minute you’re out of my sight!  You go and get yourself shackled to some woman of dubious reputation, who takes you for a ride, then dumps you on some  . . . Daniel?”

The head of the disposable razor parted company with the handle as it smashed into the sink, and Daniel, his suddenly nerveless fingers stretching wide, turned and staggered back to the bed.

Jack, who’d been sitting on the end of his bunk watching, jumped to grab him before he fell, shaving-cream-face-first into the pillow.  He expertly maneuvered the suddenly pliable archeologist around and eased him ass-first down on the bed. He learned a lot about moving an unconscious Daniel around over the years.

Muttering, he retrieved the washcloth from the sink and removed the remainder of the shaving cream from the half-shaved face. 

“What am I going to do with you?”

They were two days out the infirmary and sixteen days in space.  Two days out yet from Atlantis.

Simic had finally agreed to let them return to their comparatively palatial suite when the infirmary had had a sudden run of patients with symptoms of mild food poisoning.  The cause had been rooted out quickly, potato salad overdue for refrigeration, which fortunately, Daniel had refused to eat.

Jack was thankful as he dumped the washcloth back in the sink and rinsed it out, he only had to clean up a half-shaved face and hadn’t been required to prop up, or clean up, a vomiting, barely awake archeologist. 

He retrieved the extra blanket from the floor where it usually ended up since Daniel refused to get in bed during the day, though he spent most of it lying on it.

He sat back down on his own bunk and reached under the bed for Professor Flinders Petrie.  Six books into the eleven volumes, he was becoming good friends with the old coot and was actually beginning to get an inkling of why Daniel was so absorbed by archeology.  Not that he’d give him the satisfaction of conceding that playing in the dirt was a real job.

An hour later, Daniel woke again.

“What are you reading that’s so fascinating.  Every time I wake up you’ve got a book in your hands.”  He rolled to his side, scrubbing both hands through his hair as he yawned.

Jack closed the volume around a finger.  “Your birthday present.”

“It’s not my birthday.”  Daniel swung his feet off the bed and sat up, though he immediately crossed his arms over his knees and dropped his head to his arms.  “This is annoying.”

“Yeah, and boring,” Jack yawned, too.  “Think you can stay awake long enough to finish shaving this time?”

The archeologist raised up enough to prop his elbows on his knees and explored his face experimentally. 

A half smile tugged at his lips.  “So why are you bringing me birthday presents?”  He rose and went back to the sink to try for the other half of his face.

Jack shrugged.  “You had a birthday not too long ago.”

“Yes, and you, not too long ago, sent me a birthday present.” 

Daniel lathered his entire face and dug through his kit for a new razor.  He adjusted his position so he could see Jack in the mirror and wearily began the process again.

“I did?” 

Jack bookmarked his place, set the book aside, and scooted to the foot of the bed, the better to catch any falling archeologists.

Razor momentarily arrested in mid-air, Daniel looked over his shoulder.  “A four-thousand-year-old death mask?  And where you got your hands on that, I’m still waiting to find out.  And yes, I did verify the dating.”

“Good, I was pretty sure it was authentic, just the same, it’s nice to know I didn’t get ripped off.”

“Ripped off is a relative term,” Daniel remarked, returning to the task of shaving.

His arm was already beginning to sag.  He rested both hands on the sink bowl and dropped his head to breathe deeply for a few seconds.

Jack causally rose and went to stand behind him. 

“I hate this,” Daniel breathed.

“I know, but it will pass.”  Jack rested a hand lightly between the hunched shoulder blades.  “At least you picked a good time for it to happen.”  He circled his hand gently in an effort to reduce the tension he could feel.  “Need to lie down again?”

“No,” Daniel replied through clenched teeth.  “I will get this done.”  He straightened determinedly and sliced his jaw with the next stroke of the razor.  “Damn it!”

“Aht!”  Jack snatched the razor out of mid-air.  “Sit.”  He applied just enough pressure to turn his reluctant friend toward the foot of the bed.  “No.”  He kept hold of the archeolgoist when he would have slumped back.  “Sit, not lie down.”

Daniel clamped both hands around the footboard under his knees.

“Will you stay up if I let you go?”

“For the moment – I think.”

Jack grabbed a towel from the rack on the other side of the sink and flipped it over Daniel’s right shoulder. 

“Chin up.”

This routine was nothing new to either of them, though more often than not it was Daniel on the receiving end of the ministrations. 

With swift, deft strokes, Jack removed both shaving cream and beard.

“Jack, why are you here?”

He made the mistake of looking down into the wide, blue eyes.

If I could know within my heart, you were lonely, too, I would be happy just to hold the hands I love, on this winter’s night with you.

Probably because his own chaotic feelings were in disarray, he could not distinguish what he saw, except the reflection of his own bared soul, in Daniel’s eyes.

“Tilt,” he said quietly, thumbing the archeolgoist’s chin.

At least there was no pulling back, no overt dismay at what he knew damn well Daniel had seen.  But he would not ask.  This had to be an equal partnership or it would never work. 

He knew Daniel had always perceived the power to be in his control.  Whether the archeologist liked it or not, whether he considered himself under Jack’s command or not, he was part of the military organization and therefore subject to its discretion and in the military hierarchy, Jack commanded the power. 

He could give this gift to Daniel now, by handing it over freely.

“Think you’re up to showering?”

That had been the wrong to say, though the flinch was clearly involuntary.

Jack figured he wasn’t touching that subject with a ten-foot pole.  If and when they got around to it, they would figure it out. 

In the meantime he raised an eyebrow and offered observationally, “You don’t exactly smell like a bouquet of roses.  And it’s a small room.”

Daniel blinked and shook his head..

Jack let him go and the archeologist dropped back on the bed, bringing his bare feet up, one at a time, to rest on the footboard. 

Cleaning up was as ingrained as the military erectness that squared his shoulders, he couldn’t help it.  Jack slowed to ruffle Daniel’s hair as he passed between the beds, careful to avoid the still healing gash.  Touch was an integral part of his love language and he needed Daniel to understand nothing had to change between them.

He picked up the book again and opened it.

The silence was thick enough it was soon going to require a knife to cut.

Daniel shoved off with his feet so he slid up the bed.  He turned on his side, huffed and puffed until he had the blanket out from under himself and could wrap up in it again, before bunching the pillow under his head and closing his eyes. 

“You could read out loud.”

He could, Jack thought, if he could actually see the words.  He marked the page again and lowered the book to look at Daniel. 

“You gonna stay awake if I read out loud?”

“No guarantees.  What are you reading?”

“Ancient Egypt, in eleven volumes, edited by --”

“Flinders Petrie?”  Daniel shoved up to a sitting position.  “You found them?  I have two of those volumes!  Which ones did you find?”

“They would only sell it as a set, so you now have duplicates.”

“All?” Daniel repeated in awe.  “You got them all?”

Jack took a moment to reconsider what had almost come out of his mouth; an affectionate you’re so easy, Daniel.  Their usual banter would be inappropriate given the shock he’d just handed his best friend.

“Plus the extremely rare supplement.  I’m only on book six.  Your buddy Petrie really raised the standard for your discipline, huh?”

“The Egyptians called him Father of Pots.  He didn’t just raise it; he set the standard for archeology.  Can I see?”

“Let me get the first one.  Which volumes do you have?”

“The first and the last.  I can’t believe I missed these.  I’m on every rare book collector list on the internet.”

Yes, and Jack had pre-empted several of those lists with a little help from Carter and Teal’c.  Which was probably how he’d managed to snatch these up the moment they came on the market.

“I heard this set had been found, but never saw it listed.”

Jack shifted and reached down to open the bottom drawer of the short dresser between the beds.  He sorted out volumes one and two, handing both to Daniel, before pulling out the rest and stacking them on top of the dresser.

Daniel held the first book up to his nose and sniffed deeply.

Jack chuckled; it was so exactly the reaction he’d pictured.

“I can smell Egypt on these books,” Daniel informed him, breathing deeply again and exhaling on a sigh.

If I could only have you near, to breathe a sigh or two, I would be happy just to hold the hands I love, and to be once again with you . . .

Jack watched the archeologist slide back down and bunch the pillow more compactly under his head.  He could clearly see Daniel’s frustrated inability to command his own anatomical resources.

“Want me to start with volume two, since you have one, or start at the beginning?”

“The beginning, please.”  Daniel stretched to hand back the volumes he’d been sniffing and settled himself more comfortably.  “Thanks.  And thanks for getting them for me too, I --”

“Ahhhht!” 

Before he might have teased about accepting gifts graciously, since he knew Daniel was about to tell him he’d pay for them; it was an old game between them. 

Now he said only, “You’re welcome.  Close your eyes.  When you wake up again we’re going down to the Mess for dinner tonight.”

“After I shower.”

“That would be good.”

“If I can stay awake that long.”

“Close your eyes and practice.”

“Hard to practice staying awake with my eyes closed.”

“Yep, close ‘em anyway.  And your mouth, or I can’t read.”

“Yes, Jack.”

General Jack O’Neill opened the first page and began to read aloud.  “It is said that the discipline of archeology can be likened to child’s play, sifting sand to find treasures long buried . . .”

Daniel was asleep before the end of the first page.

An hour later Jack laid the book aside and leaned his head back against the wall.  Heart heavy, he shifted and lay down as well, staring at the ceiling.  He’d imagined many scenarios, none of them having to do with dead silence from the archeologist. 

An aware, silent Daniel did not bode well. 

He was surprised to wake to the sound of the shower and thought he’d probably fallen asleep out of boredom rather than any need for sleep.  He’d slept so much on this trip, his body must have made up for all the sleep deprivation he’d suffered in his entire lifetime. 

Holding his breath, he waited for the shower to quit; waited for the sound of another resounding crash; waited anxiously, with enforced restraint, for Daniel to exit the cramped facilities attached to the utilitarian room.

And then, disgusted with himself, got up and with a little rummaging, found clean linen to change the other bed.  He was folding the corners under the mattress when his roommate came out of the bathroom.

Daniel stilled the towel he’d been using to gingerly dry his hair.  “Did I wake you up?”

“Doesn’t matter.  If I sleep any more I’m going to sprout – whatever you sprout when you’ve slept too long.”

“I’m sorry,” Daniel offered quietly.

Jack’s heart skipped a beat.

“I’ve been lousy company on this trip.”

And resumed beating rather forcefully.

“Yes, you have.  Feel better?”

“Yeah, I do.  I think I might even stay awake long enough to eat.”

“Hungry?”

Daniel tossed the towel at the sink and finger-combed his hair back off his forehead. 

“Actually, I think I am.” 

He picked up the clean, black t-shirt lying on the bed, pulled it on, tucked it in and headed toward the door.

“Dr. Jackson?”

“Hmm?”  Daniel looked over his shoulder.

“Shoes?”

The archeologist glanced down.  “Oh.” 

Amused, Jack sat down to wait.

Footwear was rarely a high priority for sleepers.

“If I have to put shoes on, I don’t know that I’ll make it,” Daniel advised, fishing his boots out from under the bed.

“Would you like some help?”

“No.”

Nothing unclear about that reply.  Back off and give me some space – short and sharp – loud and clear.

“Why don’t you catch up if you feel like it?”  Jack got up, casually, and headed for the door.  When there was no ‘wait’ forthcoming, he smacked the door opener and left, unhurriedly, but without looking back.

Daniel caught up with him at the elevator.

“Sure you’re up to this?” Jack winced.  He really couldn’t help himself. 

The archeologist was already looking pale and pinched around the mouth.  A sure sign, on Daniel, of pain.

“No,” Daniel responded shortly.  “But if I don’t try, I’m never going to get past it.”

The elevator disgorged several Bridge techs that smiled and nodded politely as they passed the pair.

Jack put an arm across the doors to hold them open.  “You’ve been awake more today than you were yesterday.  Tomorrow will be better than today.  You’re not under any deadline to get back to normal, you know.  Coming or going?”

“I don’t think I can do this.”  Daniel slumped against the wall with a sigh.

Jack let the doors close and shoved his hands in his pockets.  He refused to read a double meaning into everything that came out of Daniel’s mouth. 

“It’s up to you.”

“You go on, I’m going back, there’s no way I’m gonna make it all the way to the Mess.”

“Okay.  Anything in particular you’d like me to bring back?”

“Coffee.”

“I was thinking something more solid, but I’ll bring you coffee.  It’s not even too bad.  I meant to ask if you’d brought your own.”

“Yes, but it's packed in the hold with the rest of my stuff.  Food is food, Jack, whatever they have is fine.”  Daniel shoved off the bulkhead wall and turned to make the slow trek back to their room.

Jack put an arm over the newly opened elevator doors again and waited until Daniel disappeared from view. 

He took his time, actually ate himself, exchanged pleasantries with several crew members, answered questions about the archeologist’s health and restoration, and was getting ready to collect food for Daniel when Simic came in.

“I just stopped by your quarters, General.”  The doctor glanced around the sparsely populated lounge area.  “I didn’t get any response when I knocked.”

“Which probably means Daniel’s asleep again.  Or he didn’t want company.”

“I’d hoped you might have coaxed him out.”

“I did – as far as the elevator - before he gave it up as a bad deal.  He got up and showered a little while ago.  I think it sucked out what little energy he had.”

“I’m still concerned his blood pressure is continuing to run low.  You might try encouraging him to get some mild exercise, walk the corridors if nothing else.  The gym facilities are on level two if you think he’d rather attempt something stationary.”

Jack shrugged.  “Tonight, I doubt he’d make it to level two.  But he’s been progressively awake more than he’s sleeping over the last few days.  This is a good thing, right?”

“At least it’s progress in the right direction.  Curiously, Dr. Lam reports Vala is fully functioning again.”

“That woman was never fully functioning.”  Jack sighed.  “Never mind me, doc.  Fully functioning as in she’s up and around and feeling no ill effects from her little adventure?”

“And apparently bugging Lam to get her to Atlantis.”

“Oh, for cryin’ out loud,” Jack groaned. 

From the little he knew of her, he figured he should expect to find her waiting for them when they docked in the city.

“We’ll reach the Pegasus galaxy sometime tomorrow afternoon.  I’d like to make arrangements for Dr. Beckett to see Dr. Jackson as soon as we disembark, sir.”

“Yeah, I’d like to see Beckett, too.” 

He was still wondering if any of the Ancient technology they’d discovered could match up with any of the Goa’uld healing devices.  A sarcophagus without the addictive side-effects would be nice.

“Mind if I stop by in a little while?”

“Not at all, Doc.  Can’t guarantee Daniel will be awake, but come on by.”

Sure enough, the archeologist was out like a light when Jack reentered their quarters.  The light over the sink had been left on and Daniel had gone back to bed.  Meaning he’d undressed again and gotten in, not just lain down on top of it. 

Jack put the tray of food on the sink and stood for a moment at the foot of the bed. 

He’d had five months to analyze his own feelings, five months to torture himself with what ifs. 

He’d tried to imagine his own response if their roles were reversed and Daniel had revealed these kinds of feelings.  He hadn’t been pitched out of the room on his ear, not that the archeologist had the strength to do that currently, but he hadn’t been sent verbally packing either, so there was hope still. 

Turning away, he routed out sweats, changed quietly, and scribbled a note to leave on the door for the doc, before heading for the gym. 

He came back to the room calmer, having pummeled the punching bag for an hour, showered and crawled into bed.  The lyrics of the song, indelibly imprinted in his mind, began to play in his head as he lay listening to Daniel breathe. 

He had him near, he could listen to him breathe . . . for now it was enough.  Surprisingly, he fell asleep quickly and slept deeply for the first time in months.

*           *           *

Jack woke to a light sea breeze filtering through the airy room and the fingers of dawn reaching toward the sleeping platform he occupied. 

He yawned and stretched.  They were definitely better housed up here, at cloud level, in one of the towering spires of the city, than on the ship.  The bed was luxurious. 

Weir had given him free rein, told him they could choose their own accommodations as long as it was in the section of the city already secured.   

They were alone up here at the top of the world. 

Suspended, Daniel had said, in time and space, as they’d stood in the living area looking out over the wide expanse of sunset-tinted ocean their first night in Atlantis; two, long, silent days ago.

The breeze caught the filmy curtains so they danced, glimmering with the rays of sun caught in the sparkles woven into the gauzy material.  Through the shimmering sun shower, Jack could see a silhouette on the balcony shared by the two bedrooms.

He debated rolling over and going back to sleep, and actually rolled over, away from the sight.  But sleep, despite the early hour, refused its refuge. 

Half an hour later, he parted the curtains and stepped out on the balcony.  His irrational irritation vanished as the scent of ocean and bright morning filled his nostrils.  Inhaling deeply, he crossed the space in three long strides and propped his elbows on the railing beside his friend.

“Morning . . . Beautiful, isn’t it?” he offered quietly.  “I think maybe I understand its allure for you finally.”

He felt Daniel sigh.

If I could only have you near, to breathe a sigh or two . . .

“Jack . . .”

His heart clenched, but he turned his head and met the blue eyes steadily.

“Could you live here?”

He blinked stupidly, and hoped he wasn’t gaping like a fish.  “Could I live here?” he repeated, his mind still trying to grasp the inference in the question. 

The sun broke free of the horizon, spilling its glistening morning sheen over the watery planet so the whole world seemed for a moment to be filled with refracting crystals shooting off shards of sparkling light like fireworks.

“Yes.”  A man of few words was Jack O’Neill.

Daniel turned to look back out over the ocean.  “It never crossed my mind you might feel the same way.”  He was silent for a moment before adding, seemingly out of the blue,  “Pancakes every morning?”

The height and altitude combined with the giddy sensation of relief made him momentarily dizzy.  Jack closed his eyes.

Long fingers closed over his hand, anchoring him to the here and now.

I would be happy just to hold the hands I love . . .
 
On a sigh of his own, he turned his palm up, entwining their fingers.  His heart sighed, too, as he turned his head again, hesitantly.

Daniel met him halfway.

The End

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