Daniel really does love Jack's house.
The walls were that kind of soothing color, that white that could calm him so easily. The scents of all the roasts that Jack had ever cooked mingled pleasantly in the air, combined with that wonderful musky clean scent that was very… Jack. The photographs of lost family and newfound friends scattered the shelves, pictures of Mars and moons, the things that Jack loved.
The home wasn't messy, wasn't untidy in any manner. It was actually very clean, much unlike Daniel's own apartment. The table was slightly cluttered, but Daniel could overlook that because Jack was his friend and nothing less. The floor was always cleared of papers or dust bunnies. The ceiling fans sent a wonderful breeze through the house.
In short, Jack's house was like a second home to him.
Maybe that's why he never bothered to knock when he invited himself inside. When he stepped through that doorway, Jack always knew who it was and would put the coffee on for his visitor.
Daniel didn't consider himself a visitor anymore, though. He was like a housemate anyway.
And they would sit on Jack's cushioned sofa, talking about things that Daniel didn't know all too well. Sports, beer, movies. They would talk about nothing. They would talk about everything, if only to hear the comforting sounds of Jack's voice.
Of course, Daniel did his share of talking. But when he spoke, the subject always led back to books and archaeology and the development of alien languages. Daniel was surprised that Jack hadn't found him boring; that's why he kept coming back.
And now, while everything was going so wonderfully, that house sits on its forgotten corner. It no longer carries the photographs or the sofas that Daniel's always loved.
That's because the former resident no longer exists on planet Earth.
It didn't take long. Daniel wonders still if it hurt Jack to die, if it was painless or else so searing that Jack was ready to go. Daniel wonders still if Jack had better plans for himself, if he was planning an even more wonderful life in the not-so-distant future, only to have it ripped away from him as it was in arms reach. Daniel wonders still if Jack had had last words before leaving his team, his home, the family he could have had…
Daniel wonders still if Jack thought about him before he died.
And life goes on.
The photographs of Charlie fade away, the dust builds on the forgotten furniture, the remaining fruits in the refrigerator have rotted away in green and brown molds. And Daniel can't bring himself to go inside and collect his friend's possessions.
Daniel awakens from sleep every morning, from dreams of hearing Jack's voice once more, from thoughts of sipping Jack's bitter beer. He awakens and showers, gets up and ready for the work that Jack had always loved.
And that house still sits on that lonely street, minus the one thing that had made it a home.
And life manages to continue, trudging through the sludge of paperwork and artifacts and alien languages and all the things that Daniel just doesn't find worthwhile anymore, not without that smile or those hands or that voice teasing him about being a bookworm…
Life always goes on.