Yard Work
taylyn10
Gen
Season 7 spoilers.
Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship Written in response to a DFR challenge. Thanks, Donna! Feedback is always welcome and appreciated!
He heard the answering machine pick up and cursed himself for his forgetfulness. He'd remembered to turn off the ringer on the phone but forgotten to turn off the machine. Damn! He listened to yet another message from Sam.
"Daniel, I know you're not answering but I thought you'd want to know that Colonel O'Neill is out of the infirmary. Warner says he's going to be fine." There was a pause. "He's pretty upset with you, Daniel. I...uh...well, you know." Her voice faded away.
"Yes, I know, Sam," he thought. "I know all too well." Jack would never forgive him for what he'd done, nor should he. It was Daniel's fault after all. All his fault.
He heard a sigh on the other end of the phone. "Call me, Daniel. Please. We're...I'm worried about you." There was a click as the call disconnected.
He mentally thanked Sam for calling him, glad to hear that Jack was out of the infirmary--and even more glad that he hadn't picked up the phone. He couldn't talk to anyone right now, not Sam, not Teal'c, and certainly not Jack. He turned the answering machine off.
He puttered around the living room, straightening magazines that didn't need to be straightened, adjusting a lamp that didn't need to be adjusted. With a sigh he looked around to see that the room looked just like it always did. Somehow, today of all days, it should look different. He picked up his plate and glass to take them to the kitchen. The sandwich on his plate, made late last night or early this morning, was stale. He threw it in the garbage and poured the soured milk down the sink.
Walking back into the living room, he thought for a moment about opening up his computer and doing some work, but he was sure there would be an email from Sam or Teal'c, or God forbid, Jack, and he didn't want to face that possibility. If he kept the machine closed, he could honestly say he didn't know there was an email for him.
He paced a little more, from the bedroom to the living room, from the living room to the kitchen, from the kitchen to the den. He stopped at the patio doors leading to the yard. Maybe he needed to do some yard work. Some fresh air would help, and he had a lot of work to do in the yard. He wasn't often home to do it, so now was a good time. He grabbed his jacket and went outside.
The clippers felt right in his hands as he hacked away at the hedge in his backyard. He'd never really paid any attention to it since he moved in because it was at the back of the yard and provided some privacy for him between his place and the neighbors. He'd trim it a little and at least make it look presentable. He thought he might have to apologize to the neighbors the next time he saw them for letting his yard get so overgrown It must be frustrating for them to come into their yard and see the mess at the back. Yes, he apologize for the mess the first chance he got.
So why wasn't he apologizing to Jack? Or Sam and Teal'c? Jack deserved an apology. Big time. He really needed to apologize. Big time. Because he's screwed up. Big time. Because someone was dead. Because of him. Because he'd screwed up. Big time.
Each clip of the shears became an accusation and an admission of guilt. Daniel couldn't seem to stop his hands from moving. The snick of the blades opening and closing reminded him of the snick of a staff weapon just before it fired. Weapon after weapon, snick, snick. Blade opening and closing. Snick. He'd screwed up. Snick. Big time. Snick. Didn't see them coming. Snick. Screwed up again. Snick.
"You'd be better off to have someone come in and pull them out then to try to cut them to the ground. They'll just grow back up again."
Jack's voice made him jump. Damn! He should have thought of this. Of course Jack would track him down. He should have stayed inside. In the house he'd be able to keep the door locked, not answer the phone or check his messages, but here in the yard...Jack had him cornered in his own yard.
He put down the hedge clippers, feeling the blisters on his hands. His palms and fingers were red and sore; some of the blisters bleeding. Without looking at Jack he said, "I've been meaning to take this hedge down since I moved in." He didn't know what else to say. What else was there to say? I'm sorry? I screwed up? I killed our friend?
He looked at the clippers on the ground trying to decide if he could put them in the garage and escape that way while Jack was still in the yard. He kicked at them with his foot.
He heard a wooden creak and knew Jack had taken up a spot on the lounge chair on the deck.
"Sam called to tell me you were out of the infirmary."
"Oh," Jack said, "you got the message. We were about to call the phone company and see if there was something wrong with the line."
Daniel looked at the shears one more time longing to take them up and go back to work on the hedge. "No, line's fine."
"And you?" he heard Jack say, "Are you fine?"
"Fine." Obviously fine. Not like other people. Not like Jack. He should go see if he could find the rake and pull some of the branches into a pile.
"Because when you didn't pick up, we thought, you know...maybe you were sick or something."
"No, not sick," Daniel answered. He poked the hedge clippers again with his foot. The blades could use sharpening the next time he was at the hardware store.
"You didn't fall down and break anything?" The voice sounded snide.
No, not a scratch on him. Not a one. Except his hands. "No, nothing broken." Everything was broken. He'd really made a mess of the hedge.
You didn't drink yourself into oblivion?" Brief, distant questions.
"No." He hadn't had a drink, not that he didn't want one, but he couldn't keep anything on his stomach.
"You just didn't want to talk to anybody." That penetrated Daniel's haze. He heard the voice. It wasn't a question, it was a statement.
"No...I mean yes, I didn't want to talk to anybody." God, he wished Jack would just say what he came to say, yell at him, scream at him, and then let him get back to his hedge.
"And you didn't want to see me in the infirmary either." Another statement. Another condemnation.
"Yes...I mean, no, I did want to see you in the infirmary." He had seen Jack in the infirmary. He'd stayed all day. In the infirmary. Until Jack started to wake up. And then he'd left. Ran, actually. Out of the infirmary, out of the mountain.
"Which is it, Daniel? Did you want to see me in the infirmary or not? Because in the last two days, I don't remember seeing you there. Saw Teal'c, saw Carter, even saw General Hammond, but I didn't see you."
"No." He couldn't let Jack see him in the infirmary. He didn't want Jack to see him now. Nor did he want to see Jack. Not now. He wanted to be left alone. Jack was okay except for the fact that someone had let a friend of his die. But he'd get over it if Daniel just stayed away. He could burn the refuse on the ground maybe. It might be easier than trying to bag it up to recycle. He kicked at it, hearing the branches rubbing together.
"Are you going to the funeral?" The voice sounded quiet and cold.
"The funeral?" Of course, the funeral. There'd be a funeral. Tomorrow probably or the day after. Yes, Sam had mentioned that in one of her messages.
"You'll be expected." The same distant sounding voice.
"No, I can't...I'm not going to go." No, not going. Can't go. Can't face anyone after this. Can't face Jack now.
"Well, if you don't want to go, I'll let Hammond know."
"It's not that I don' t want to go..." He heard his voice crack, and the creak of the deck chair as Jack shifted in it.
"You should at least send Cassie a card." The voice sounded accusatory.
"A card?" He couldn't do that. Send a card? What could he say?
"Yeah, Cassie's been asking about you."
"Cassie." The word came out as a groan. Cassie's been asking about him? What for? To ask him why he'd stood by and watched her mother die?
"Yeah, she wanted to know if you were all right."
"If I'm all right." All right? If I'm all right? Cassie wanted to know. Sam wanted to know. Of course he was all right. He was the only one all right. Sam and Teal'c had watched their commanding officer, their friend, get shot, and then come home to find out another friend dead. Cassie's mother was dead. Of course he was all right.
"So I thought maybe you could send her a card...if you're not going to the funeral."
Daniel gave in and picked up the hedge clippers again. As he gripped the shears tightly the pain in his hands felt good. Maybe, after he finished taking down the hedge, he could go inside and clean the kitchen. He had some dishes in the sink in the kitchen. They needed to be washed. By then Jack would be gone.
He opened the blades and brought them together with a snick. Each branch that fell gave a soft chunk as it hit the ground. Snick. Another branch fell. Chunk. Snick. The sound of the staff weapons firing echoed in his head, the chunk of dirt and leaves as the blasts hit the ground around him. The snick of feet running. The chunk of Janet's body falling beside him. The snick of the chevrons locking, the chunk of the gate as it opened. The chunk as Janet's body hit the ground, falling. The sound of Janet falling. Chunk as she hit the ground.
He looked around at the branches on the ground, the hedge all in tatters around him—all in tatters around him. Damn him, he couldn't do anything right. The hedge was a mess. He looked down at the clippers, the handles coated with blood. Slippery with blood. His blood this time, not Janet's. Not Janet's blood this time. His blood.
For the first time since Janet's death, he felt the tears streaming down his face. He needed to talk to Cassie. And Sam. Sam was writing the eulogy and he needed to help. He'd been such an idiot hiding here at home when people needed him. He couldn't help before, but he needed to help now. And he had to find Jack. God, Jack had been in his backyard and he'd never asked him how he was doing. He'd been here with his ribs bandaged and he'd never even asked how he was doing. He needed to find Jack and see if he was okay, and tell him he was going to the funeral.
He pried his fingers away from the shears, hissing as the air hit the open sores.
"That's going to hurt like a son-of-a-bitch." Jack said from over his shoulder.
"Already does," Daniel responded through clenched teeth.
"You feel better now?"
He looked at his blood stained hands one more time, and finally up at Jack. Jack's face held nothing but compassion for him, and worry.
Did he feel better? He'd never felt worse in his life. Never. Not even when his parents died. He'd been a child, a helpless child when his parents were killed. It hadn't been his fault. But Janet. Janet died in front of him and he hadn't been able to do anything. He was an adult, a trained, competent professional, and he'd felt just as helpless as when he was a child.
His hands were a mess, blistered and covered in blood, his yard was a mess with half the hedge lying in pieces around him, and his life was a mess.
He felt Jack's hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"
He wasn't okay. Not even close to okay. "I'm going to need to replace this hedge."
"No shit!" Jack snorted.
"I...um...guess I needed to do some yard work."
"Next time you need to do 'yard work' why don't you call me?"
Jack's hand on his shoulder lead him toward the patio doors. "You got anything for lunch? If you've got stuff in your fridge, we'll make some sandwiches. I didn't eat before I left the mountain. And we'd better bandage those hands before Warner sees them."
Not Janet, Daniel thought, Warner. Janet was gone.
"You should probably give Sam a call, too." He felt Jack squeeze his shoulder and finally heard what Jack was saying. He'd come straight from the infirmary after Sam's call, Janet was gone, and he wanted to help.
He thought Jack needed an answer to his question. "I'm not okay," he said. "I'm really, really, not okay." From the look on Jack's face, he knew he felt the same. Still, Jack was here—grieving and in pain—but here, and worried about him. "But I really could use some lunch."
Jack gave a little laugh. "You want lunch before we call a gardener or after we tape those hands?"
"Do we have to tape the hands?"
"Imagine what Janet would do to me if I didn't tape those hands."
"Okay, but if you tape my hands, you have to make lunch."
"Better that than trying to fix that hedge."
Looking back at the tattered mess in his yard, he knew it was going to take time to fix it. A lot of time. Time that started now.