AN: I almost didn't publish this series, as it's both based on a huge masterwork I outlined and then condensed into these three fics and because it's written around such personal moments from a real relationship.
But in the end, I want them to have a life of their own. So bon apetit!
Jack thinks it is in these moments that he hears best.
There is a crowd around him, going nuts, throwing their caps in the air and clapping him on the back. Daniel doesn't say anything but Jack understands him best anyway, when the archaeologist looks at him like that.
They do not cheer. Just stand. Their eyes connect past the Air Force's retirement celebrations and Daniel's gaze softens at the edges.
Jack nods in response.
The world has always gone on without them.
"It's almost over now, Danny."
Jack can't even hear himself say this over the noise, but Daniel bobs his head in that tired vehemence he wears now. Ducking yet another handshake, Jack takes Daniel's sleeve.
They wander out of the grassy pavilion, into Jack's truck. Nobody notices the exit of the man for whom they cheer.
"Where are we going?"
Jack shrugs. "Does it matter?"
Daniel rests his head on the glass with a long sigh. In the rear view mirror, Jack sees Carter's worried face growing distant. He releases a sigh of his own, unbuttoning his blazer. The hand he runs down his face doesn't stop there but lands in Daniel's hair. He feels more than sees Daniel smile.
They drive until the sun hovers low. Then Jack parks.
Daniel sits up.
"Here?" he asks. "Why?"
"Come on." Jack nudges his friend into motion. "Close your eyes. It's a surprise."
Daniel fists a hand in the back of Jack's blazer and follows him up an absurd number of stairs. The archaeologist's amount of trust thaws something frigid inside Jack's mausoleum spirit.
Jack takes a deep breath and appreciates that Daniel ignores when it comes out like a sob.
And suddenly there is more noise, a ton of noise. This maelstrom is different. The crack of rawhide on wood, vendors yelling, feet thumping dirt.
"Alright," says Jack. "Open 'em."
Daniel's eyelashes—obnoxiously long—whisk upwards. Some cosmic law compels Jack's breath to halt in his lungs at the open gaze, bluer than any man's eyes have a right to be. It never ceases to leave him awed.
Daniel lets out a cry and jumps back.
Jack's grip tightens around his bicep. "I gotcha. We O'Neills are better than any railing."
Then Daniel laughs. Outright laughs.
Jack stares at him. This laugh is heady and free, sans cynicism, and Jack realizes it's the first genuine sound of wonder Jack has heard from his friend in years.
His eyes tear up without his permission.
Daniel takes off his glasses and keeps laughing, so dizzy now that he has to sit down, against the billboard, where his feet are less than a foot from the edge. A fifty foot drop sits between them and the baseball field.
"This is great, Jack."
Jack sits beside him and politely ignores how Daniel's amazement has turned into real, painful tears that he hastily wipes away. He trembles a bit.
They huddle shoulder to shoulder. And Jack runs out of steam, resting his head back. The wood is cool against his spine.
"I like the openness," says Jack in that quiet voice.
"Maybe we can stay here forever."
"Possibly," says Jack. "Everyone's forgotten about this staircase and I'm the only one with a key now. I used to be the groundskeeper in college and just…never gave the keys back."
Daniel's eyes track an outfield ball. The crowd stands to its feet.
So high up, Jack and Daniel see stars meet the setting sun before anyone else. Jack doesn't notice he's synchronized to Daniel's breathing until the linguist's hitches. He is dry now, the faucet of his tears twisting off.
"Where are we?" Daniel asks suddenly.
Jack frowns. He briefly entertains the worry that Daniel's concussion caused more damage than he thought.
Then he sees the positively ancient lines around Daniel's eyes. Too old for a human life. A life that has been stuffed with too much and none of the things that actually matter.
"We're on a rock spinning around other spinning rocks," says Jack. "Don't expect me to be an existential handbook after six."
Daniel barks a laugh.
The batter makes it to third base. Another pitcher replaces the current one. The corn dog seller runs out of ketchup and Daniel scratches at a scar on his forehead.
"Funny," he whispers, "I thought I was with you."
Jack closes his eyes. His lips itch, twitching into a grin. "Only coordinates I need."
Daniel's hand wanders until it finds Jack's face. He doesn't look at Jack, just palms at his eyes and lips. Jack allows the tactile ritual, having woken to Daniel in his quarters on base enough times to know how much the man needs it.
Jack flutters his lashes in an 'I'm real' gesture.
Palm tickled, Daniel snatches his hand back with a hum of amusement.
Before Jack can talk himself out of it, he loops an arm around Daniel's shoulder. Daniel is so much more physical now. Implicitly allowing Jack to show affection. Trusting each other in ways neither has come to grips with yet…but that feels more natural than breathing.
This is the longest either has gone without shaking or panicking in a bathroom somewhere. A whole four hours, at least. Jack counts it a victory.
"I see a shooting star," says Daniel. "Make a wish."
Jack doesn't blink for a long time. "Got nothing to wish for."
Daniel's brow scrunches, as if he can't decide whether this is a declaration of hopelessness or contentment.
Jack can't decide either.