Title: Artifacts
Author: EntreNous
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 2,119
Summary: Jack & Daniel Clone fic tie-in from "Fragile Balance." Daniel Ballard ruminates over an artifact he once knew in another life.

For Princessofg & Paian. :)

Artifacts

It was a small artifact. Unusual. A ceramic plumbate bowl, Toltec, 1st Century B.C.E – 3rd Century C.E, with an effigy of an opossum sculpted into the side of the bowl and glazed in red. Height, 15 centimeters by width, 10 centimeters. Pristine condition, other than the fine, hairline fracture found on the right hind leg of the opossum.

Daniel held the funny little artifact in his hand just after he'd found it. He'd carefully examined the hairline fracture on the hind leg with one cotton-gloved finger, dusted off the figurine with a soft brush, measured it, cataloged it, and tagged it. He remembered turning it over and over in his hands with a sense of wonder and giddiness that he'd actually found something, a real artifact. It had been his first find during his field work in the Yucatan. He described it as "hideously cute" in his field notes. Not his first archaeological find ever—he'd done that as a kid when he'd lived in Egypt with his parents—but the first artifact he'd found as a real student of archaeology. Even if it wasn't his to keep, he'd always thought of it as his.

Except that it wasn't his at all. That find had belonged to Daniel Jackson, pre-doctorate, from the University of Chicago doing field research down in the Highlands of Guatemala near Lake Atitlán.

This Daniel, Daniel Ballard, student of artificial intelligence at M.I.T. had never, ever touched it.

Even though he remembered how it had felt to dig it out of the ground, to weigh it in his hand. How the fine soot-like dust had made him sneeze and he'd had to pull his bandana down over his nose and mouth, and the locals working at the site had laughed and called him El Bandito. He remembered with annoyance how his bangs kept falling in his eyes after he'd removed his scarf. It was the first time he ever really had thought about cutting his hair, even though he didn't get around to it until nine years later. Now he wore it long again. Or was long for the first time?

It was the sort of paradox that hurt his brain.

Daniel stared at the ceramic opossum behind the glass case and smiled. It was still hideously cute.

A hand pressed into the small of his back. Daniel felt Jack draw up close behind him, close enough to just feel the brush of Jack's hip against his backside, denim over denim, the graze of Jack's knee against the back of his. "Cuuuuute," Jack remarked. "Love to eat morning cereal outta that. Might even make Grape Nuts fun."

Daniel continued to stare through the glass case. "Of all the museums in all the towns in all the world..."

He felt Jack lean over his shoulder for a closer look of the description card for the absurd little bowl. Daniel knew when Jack was finished when he'd heard him hmm thoughtfully. Last line said it all: Lent from University of Chicago.

"Yours?" Jack asked.

"Yep," Daniel answered. Then said, "Well..." and shrugged.

His opossum, twice removed.

"Ah. I'll leave you two alone to catch up," Jack said. Daniel continued to stare into the case. Jack stepped away, the hand on Daniel's back traveling up briefly to ruffle Daniel's hair—a gesture he'd done for years, and then stopped, and then started again for the first time just recently.

It was what Daniel had coined as "flesh memories." Perfect term, though not entirely accurate. Their memories, just not so much their flesh. Even though Daniel had vivid memories of holding the little artifact, he had, in fact, never touched it. Just like Jack touching his hair—Jack O'Neill had stopped touching him ages ago, only for this Jack, his Jack, to pick up long after where O'Neill had left off. A body memory in a body that was no longer his. Confusing and amazing, it was an experience that perhaps only two people in the whole world shared.

Daniel missed his opossum. He wished he could hold it again. Or for the first time. Or...whatever.

Daniel had caught himself talking a lot about archaeology again. He'd mention some new find he'd read about, or casually drop some odd historical fact nobody but a serious historian would have any business knowing. Or he'd throw some kind of linguistic tidbit of knowledge into a conversation now and then, like an etymology of a word he found interesting, or a translation into a language he knew. Sometimes he'd rattle off some obscure anthropological fact, like the diet of the Yąnomamö Indians, or Sudanese kinship system before realizing he'd done it. And then he'd see Jack's eyes, expecting them to be glazed over, but instead looking back at him completely clear, alert, if not a little worried.

Daniel couldn't help it. It was what he was. He was good at languages, good at codes. C++ was just like learning Russian, or Abydonian, or Unas—simple words first, then syntax, then sentences. But the robotics lab was just too...clean. Where were the artifacts covered in dirt waiting to be tagged and cataloged? The shelves and shelves of old reference books with notes scribbled in the margin? Where were his volumes of notebooks of field notes smudged with grime and sweat?

Well, that was easy: back at SG-1.

"You miss it," Jack said after dinner one night. Daniel had just finished giving him an impromptu lecture on the difference between a kylix, an amphora, and a lekythos over gyros. Daniel had been suggesting more ethnic food. Tacos and pizza didn't count. Jack humored him—they weren't the starving students most of their peers were, so it's not as if Daniel's expansive palate caused a hardship.

Daniel caught himself and nodded. He couldn't even remember what, exactly, had prompted him to bring up Greek vases in the first place. "Yeah," he said, quietly. "I do." He wouldn't hide it. They'd promised each other that much.

But Daniel was an archaeologist, something that had been ingrained in him since Daniel Jackson's birth. He missed playing in the dirt. He loved history. He could no more remove that love out of his heart than he could take away Jack's love of flying. But their past-life passions were their hobbies now. That was the compromise, and they were mostly okay with it. It was still hard to give up what you loved the most.

Daniel turned and saw Jack on the other side of the room staring up at a large Mayan sundial.

Well...maybe not the most.

He gave one last, farewell glance to his opossum and walked away.

He came up behind Jack and pressed his hand into the small of his back the same way Jack had done before to him. "What time is it?" Daniel asked, following Jack's gaze to the huge, stone slab.

"Well," Jack said, tilting his head thoughtfully, "half past a monkey, if I'm reading this right."

Daniel snuffled a laugh. "For reals."

Jack looked over at Daniel, then down at his watch. "Sixteen-thirty." Military time was something else Jack hadn't been able to shake. Daniel tolerated it, even if he had to do the math in his head every time.

"Hungry?" Daniel asked.

"Perpetually?" Jack answered.

"Right," Daniel smiled. Jack could eat ten meals a day and still be hungry. Given what Daniel knew about Jack's eating habits, that wouldn't go away anytime soon. "Growing boy."

Jack grinned. "You hungry?"

Daniel shrugged. "I could eat."

"You wanna get a bite here at the museum, or...?"

Daniel smiled a little wider. "I don't think even the Air Force has enough in their budget to fund us eating at the museum. I saw an Italian place that looked good within walking distance, though. We could get an early dinner. Beat the dinner crowd."

Jack nodded. "Sounds good."

"Or we could just call it a day and go back to the room and order pizza."

Jack's eyebrows made a slow climb up his forehead. "Even better. You sure you don't wanna see more here? There's a whole 'nother gallery we missed on Olmec or Toltec or home-ec., or something."

Daniel shrugged. "Nah. I've seen enough." Museums weren't open dig sites. Not hands-on enough. Frankly, he was kind of bored.

Jack looked at him for a moment. "You, uh. Gonna lecture tonight?"

A sly grin, and a flash of teeth. "I hadn't planned anything, but I'm sure I could come up with something if you're interested. Anything in particular?"

"Opossums," Jack smiled, eyes flitting briefly over to the display case Daniel had stood for nearly 20 minutes, then back to Daniel.

Daniel smiled. "Deal." They had agreed early on to talk about these things. Burying the memories didn't help. Having someone to talk to made up for the rest. They had four lifetimes of stories between them to share, plenty of material. It was no wonder they never shut up.

They turned and walked out of the gallery together.

"And you're buying," Jack told him on the way out.

"Fine."

"And ordering."

"O-kay," Daniel said.

"And giving me a full-body massage."

"Now wait a minute."

"And I get to pick the vacation spot over summer break."

Daniel stopped and tried to look irritated. He wasn't sure how effective it was, especially with Jack just standing there grinning back at him. He was stunning, amazing, and Daniel felt a little surge of, this is it, this is why I gave up archaeology, the SGC, my whole other life...

"Jack."

This had been Daniel's choice. Jack hadn't had one, and there was no way Daniel could let a friend walk out like that. Hell, the experiences, the "flesh memories," the flashbacks, the shared knowledge were weird enough, never mind having deal with it alone.

Besides, Daniel just wanted to be with Jack.

They still had to be careful. They knew they were being loosely monitored—their combined knowledge was enough that sometimes they still boggled that the Air Force had just turned them loose, in tact—but it was nothing like before. And maybe the fact they knew they were being watched brought out the "couple" in them. Their way of giving a big finger to the System. Sticking it to the Man. Or maybe men, in this case. See what we have? See what you don't have the balls to do?

"No more skydiving," Daniel warned.

"I'm thinking a more hiking/backpacking/camping-thing this time," Jack said, gesturing with a familiar so-so motion of his hand. Sometimes the dead-on mannerisms still blew Daniel away, though he knew the reverse was also true. He'd catch Jack giving him an odd look sometimes, then Jack would smile and, more often than not, lavish some kind of affection on Daniel. That part was all just this Jack. That part Daniel liked the best.

Camping. Hadn't done that since...well, technically never. Jack had certainly had worse ideas. "Where to?"

"I dunno. Maybe that Macho Pikachu place."

"Machu Picchu," Daniel corrected, feeling his smile widen even as he rolled his eyes.

"Bless you," Jack grinned. Daniel sighed. The lame puns must be written in the DNA.

Daniel had never been to Machu Picchu. Always wanted to, read about it, seen plenty of pictures, never had the chance to go. Jack would love the 5-day hike up there and back, and Daniel would enjoy the ruins, and culture, and, well, Jack.

"You don't know Spanish," Daniel remarked. Of course he wasn't going to show that he was giving in so easily.

"¿Dónde está la biblioteca?" Jack offered.

"Oh, good. We're set if we need to find a library."

"Good thing I have a portable universal translator," Jack said, moving a little closer. He snaked an arm around Daniel's waist. People weren't watching them. This was New York City. Those that might were inconsequential.

"Not universal. I only know twenty-six languages."

"And Spanish. That's the only one we'll need."

"We'll need to get clearance to go out of the country."

"Yeah, I think we might have a few connections to help us out with that."

Daniel couldn't think of a good reason to argue any more. Jack was very persuasive when he wanted to be. The brief brush of hand on Daniel's butt as Jack lowered his arm certainly helped argue his case.

"So?" Jack said, hopeful. "Is it worth it?"

Jack smiled, and Daniel's heart did a little flip-flop. Then he said a little Norse prayer of thanks in his head. "Definitely," he said.

Two, the number of duality, of coupling, of opposing and complementing aspects of reality, of union. The smallest number that can be considered a group.

A big difference from being alone.