A Place to Heal
by Annejackdanny
Author's Notes: This fic was for a Challenge, Cancer gave us on the Little Danny list a couple of years ago. It said to write a story about an uncommunicative Daniel.
Special thanks to Rhonda for betaing the first version and for darcy to look over it after the re-write. And to DebiC for making sure I got all the horse terms translated into English correctly.
Spoilers: Huge ones for Reckoning and New Order. Otherwise small ones here and there for various eps. Takes place some time before AOT. But Daniel did not return after "Reckoning" so Threads never happened. I'm aware that it was Daniel who – by touching the communication stone in "Avalon" - first contacted the Ori. It isn't revealed in this story how it happened here since Daniel was "dead" at that time. But this story is about Daniel's and Jack's healing, so I hope you'll forgive me for not developing the canon differences further, gentle reader :)
Rating: PG for major angst and language, but this is no ship and no slash, just about the love of friendship
Warnings: Tissue warning! Angst, little smarm maybe, Danny whumping
This story is dedicated...
...to the victims of the Japanese Tsunami on March 11th2011, and those who risk their lives every day in their battle to finally regain control of the nuclear plants.
It is also dedicated to those who lost their homes and loved ones in the disaster.
And to my friends in Stargate-land who encouraged me to go through with this zine.
Prologue
Sgt. Davis yawned as he put his coffee down. A quick glance at the clock confirmed his shift would last another four hours. It was three am and there hadn't been one single incident. Things were quiet and had been for a while now. Which was... unusual.
Teams had moved out and come back on schedule, nobody was injured and no aliens showed up uninvited. No lockdowns and no threats coming through the gate.
Not that he wished for any of those incidents to happen. He'd had his share of scares and dreadful situations over the years, thank you very much. Even a temporary power failure would turn into something worse down here if the gate malfunctioned and the computer went down.
Yet... the night shifts had never been so boring; hours stretching into dull eternity as Walter was just sitting there, writing something on a clip board and sipping his coffee, thinking about how much quieter it had become since SG-1 was no longer a part of the SGC.
The flag team and trouble magnet of Stargate Command was no more. Colonel Carter had moved to Nevada where she worked at Area 51 now. Teal'c had left Earth to help the free Jaffa to build a new government, and to find their place in the universe again.
Daniel Jackson was dead.
In fact, he seemed to be dead for good this time.
Nobody had believed it at first - not even the general. Especially not the general. General O'Neill had refused to hold a memorial ceremony for Doctor Jackson because he insisted that he'd come back, waltzing through a door any minute. That he just waited for them to go all sappy over him and then he'd be back alive and kicking.
Except this time Doctor Jackson had never come back. Not after a week, or a month, nor a year.
SG-1 had fallen apart, the general had left.
Walter had no idea where he'd gone. One morning when he had arrived at the mountain a new general had taken Jack O'Neill's place and was already re-decorating his office. It was beyond Walter how this could have happened without his knowledge.
He used to know everything that was going on at the mountain.
Yet, he hadn't known O'Neill was going to retire and leave over night, without a trace.
Sometimes he kept thinking he should have seen the signs of withdrawal. He'd been working for the man, had seen him everyday. He'd known O'Neill was much more sensitive than he'd let on. The dumb soldier act was exactly that - an act. He'd also known the general and Doctor Jackson had shared a special bond. To anyone who didn't know SG-1 and their complex relationships it would have seemed that the general and the archeologist never got along well. That they had been the thorn in each other's side. Yet, there'd been a dynamic between them not even Walter understood completely. But then, O'Neill had been very different from most men Walter had worked for. His leadership style had been unusual at times and in the beginning Walter had more than once missed Hammond's presence in the halls of the SGC.
O'Neill had kept a lot bottled up inside, showing his people only fragments of who he was. SG-1 might have known him better, Walter mused. Colonel Carter had had feelings for the general for a long time. Everyone on base knew – or believed to know – about that. Teal'c and O'Neill used to be like brothers in arms. Doctor Jackson, however... Doctor Jackson had reached the general in ways nobody else could. Maybe he'd been O'Neill's biggest weakness, or his greatest strength. O'Neill had had a very soft spot for the archaeologist. Well, everyone had. Doctor Jackson had been one of a kind. Passionate, strong in his beliefs, hard working, coffee addicted. He'd been diplomatic and yet stood his ground with a stubborn, sometimes almost pig headed, insistence. He'd fought for what he thought was the right thing to do and no General Jonathan O'Neill had been able to hold him back. Nothing could. And no one.
Now he was gone. A brilliant scientist, a genius mind... gone for good.
So Jack O'Neill had waited, lit a candle for Jackson to find his way home.
Until a year went by with no Doctor Jackson waltzing through the door.
One morning the general had been gone, too; his desk empty, his medals and pictures gone from the walls.
The candle had died.
Walter picked up his coffee mug and wondered once again how quiet it was, now that SG-1 was no more. How almost boring. The ghosts were still here, though, and not only those of the absent flag-team. There were others that were missed sorely. Janet Fraiser, Jacob Carter...
The klaxons went off.
Walter blinked.
Unauthorized off world activation.
General Landry joined him a moment later. He looked tired. Walter assumed he must have been catching up on paper work during the night. "What do we have here?" he wanted to know, scrubbing a weary hand over his face as he stepped to the window of the control room, observing the armed SF storming in. So far it was all routine. The SF took position in front of the spinning gate, weapons aimed.
"I don't know, sir. Unidentified..."
"Close the iris."
"Yes, sir." Walter punched in the order.
The iris didn't close.
"Iris won't close, sir," Walter said, stating the obvious.
The event horizon opened with its usual kawoosh. Alarms were ringing through the base.
The iris still wouldn't close. The SF were waiting for Landy's order to shoot or stand down.
When the traveler stepped out of the wormhole with the typical splashing sound, Landry let out a curse. "What the hell... Could that be one of those... Ancients? I mean, the robe and all..."
"I don't know, sir," Walter said. "It looks Abydonian. The robe." Simple brown clothing, flowing down to the travelers feet and a hood covering his or her bent head. A cord loosely slung around the small figure's waist was holding everything together.
Landry bent over the microphone in the control room, cleared his throat and tersely addressed their late night visitor. "Who are you and what is the purpose of your visit? Identify yourself!"
Slowly, as if afraid to look around, the traveler raised his head. The hood skidded down and fell back on his shoulders to reveal a long matted mane of hair and a pale young face staring up at them blankly.
Landry groaned. "A kid! And how do I know it is really a kid?"
"I don't know, sir," Walter offered, knowing he wasn't helpful and the question was most likely rhetorical.
The boy on the ramp continued to gaze up at them for a moment, with empty eyes. Then he silently doubled over and fell.
"Stand down," Landry barked at the SF. And to Walter, "Get a medical team in there."
Walter followed the order and then watched as the general left the control room to appear in the gate room a moment later, the medical team showing up shortly after. The medics bent over the still body of the young boy, measuring his pulse and checking his eyes for reaction before they put him on a gurney and hurried out again, followed by Landry.
Walter started running a gate diagnostic, wondering if maybe the quiet days were over now.