AN: I read this poem in high school and immediately thought of Jack and Daniel as the main characters. They are polar opposites who find common ground and come together - can't get much more SG-1 than that!
'And thou must ride at his left side as shield on shoulder rides.
Till Death or I cut loose the tie, at camp and board and bed,
Thy life is his—thy fate it is to guard him with thy head.'
'But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
When two strong men stand face to face, tho' they come from the ends of the earth.'
~Rudyard Kipling, The Ballad of East and West (76-78, 95, 96)
Boxes upon boxes. Their grit was underneath his fingernails and up his nose and dusting his glasses. They piled in the kitchen. The front hall. All the way out onto the patio. Boxes covered with tape, bursting open.
Daniel didn't know it was possible to own so many Astronomy Today magazines and fishing tackle. In fact, he wondered if someone had pulled a spatial dilation or some wobbly Goa'uld physics on what had appeared—at first, deceptive glance—a small basement.
Jack plopped another two boxes on the kitchen table and stretched his arms over his head.
"Ah! There's nothing like spring cleaning."
Daniel pushed his glasses up on his nose. "I never pegged you for a pack rat."
"Hey! Some of this stuff—"
"Junk."
"—Watch it. Some of this gear is worth a fortune on Ebay."
"You know," said Daniel, "when most people have a midlife crisis, they buy a Corvette."
Jack's head disappeared behind a refrigerator height tower of boxes. The squeak of a Sharpie on cardboard cut over Jack's mumble of protest. "I'm just cleaning out the basement. This isn't a midlife crisis."
Daniel thought for a minute, lips pursed. "You're right. You're too old for a midlife crisis."
A hand appeared to land a sharp swat on Daniel's knee. The archaeologist hopped out of reach.
"I can sense your self-satisfied grin through the boxes," groused Jack.
"You're the one who invited me over to help."
"The thanks I get…I barbecued you steak!"
But Daniel heard a smile of Jack's own in his voice.
"And it was delicious. Though why you didn't ask Teal'c for help too is a mystery."
"Because I'd never get away with hitting him," said Jack. Daniel rolled his eyes. "That and he's off base with his son. You're more fun, anyway."
"I make better chocolate cake, for one thing."
"See? What more reason do I need?"
Daniel smiled. He glanced at his towering, three layer creation on the counter. He scribbled 'fishing line' on another box. By mutual agreement, Daniel taped and labelled while Jack did most of the heavy lifting up and down the steep basement steps.
Of course, Daniel knew the real reason why Jack suddenly felt the need to re prioritize ownership and possessions. Jack had come off Thor's ship raving about Russian submarines and machinery and a tiny slip of the tongue about wills and testaments that only Daniel had caught.
Almost being blown to smithereens did that to a person.
Daniel, though he refused to admit it, was glad for the sound of Jack's bellyaching. To be near him at all…
"Wakey wakey. Calling my good doctor who resides in that body somewhere."
Daniel blinked to see a calloused hand waving in his face. "What? Oh, sorry."
"Daniel!" The colonel pumped his fist. "We're down to our last box! I just have to go down and get it. And you know what that means?"
Daniel shook his head, fond. "Then cake."
"Exactly!" Jack patted Daniel's shoulder. "I won't be a minute."
Jack's thudding steps faded down the stairs. Daniel checked his watch. The whole ordeal had barely taken two hours. His mind drifted to SG-3's runes—he'd have time to translate them! Daniel scratched away at labeling the remaining boxes. Maybe Jack would even help him set up—
The lights sparked out. Black enveloped the house, barely dented by dusky light through the windows. Daniel, still, had little trouble seeing.
But when he scrabbled around a reef of boxes on shaking legs to stand at the lip of the basement staircase, he leaned forward into a palpable, inky nothing. It threatened to swallow him whole. Hairs shivered on his neck, shooting upright.
"Jack?" he called, voice too loud.
Something rattled in the abyss below. Daniel could feel the clink of Replicator pieces at his ear, the crack of bullet fire.
Calm down. You're in Jack's house and he's…he's just down there.
The deafening rumble of an explosion. And then nothing.
Black nothing.
"Jack!"
Don't leave me up here, Jack.
Now there wasn't a hint of movement in the static. Daniel's fingers curled into tiny comets, leaving a tail of sweat. He could hear his own breath in his ears. The helplessness gnawed on his bones. All he could do was sit there and listen. His heart rate quickened.
"Jack!"
He didn't know at what points the lights flickered on, but he heard the dull thud of Jack's gait. A familiar shirt appeared. For a long moment, the two men stared at each other. Daniel at Jack's very not dead face and Jack at Daniel's ashen skin.
Then Daniel swiftly turned on his heel and crouched, attacking the cardboard boxes. His hand trembled. The normally neat scrawl of his penmanship looped in frantic strands.
Jack knelt beside Daniel, setting his load down, and gently took the Sharpie away.
"I'm right here," he said, voice soft, his grounding hand at the nape of Daniel's neck.
Daniel didn't look up from the floor.
"I'm here," his friend said again.
Daniel closed his eyes.
"Not knowing," said Daniel at last, hoarse from shouting, "is infinitely worse than watching someone…someones die…"
Jack's jaw tensed but his eyes glimmered, achingly open. "The circuit box was open and I flipped a row with my elbow on the way by. Had a beast of a time tripping my way back to the switches, arms full."
"Oh," said Daniel.
The world tilted at a funny angle and his gasps slurped, shallow, in his lungs.
"Deep breaths," said Jack. "That's it, Danny."
His hand squeezed and Daniel sucked in a shaky breath. The room felt less stuffy now. Jack's fingers moved to his back, rubbing tracks up and down. Even kneeling, the man was bigger than Daniel and when his other hand circled around the archaeologist's bicep, the grip a warm anchor, Daniel was somehow eight again.
"I'm sorry," Jack whispered.
Daniel ducked his head. Jack wouldn't have any of that and nudged Daniel's forehead with his own. This startled the younger man enough for Jack to wrestle Daniel to his feet and into a chair.
"You're just worried about me having a Life Alert moment," Jack teased, trying to lighten the oppressive atmosphere. "Being so 'old' and all."
Daniel snorted. "Who knows? I might pop off first in a weird twist of irony."
That would be so like me.
Jack's palms suddenly landed on either arm of Daniel's chair. Daniel startled.
"Don't you dare," said Jack, voice low. His palm fluttered for a moment on Daniel's cheek. "Not without me, you don't."
While Daniel flustered over the vehemence in those words, in that grizzled face, Jack took the opportunity to set a plate in front of Daniel.
"Cake," said Daniel with a weak smile.
"Cake," agreed Jack. "It can't fix all problems, but it sure does help."
Jack sat next to his friend so their knees touched. If he kept bumping Daniel's arm with his own, well, Daniel wasn't complaining.
They licked their chocolate coated forks in contented quiet. On Jack's way back to the sink, he stopped to ruffle Daniel's hair. His hand stayed there.
"I'm sorry for how scared you were. That day in Russia and just now. I'm not leaving, Daniel."
"Even though you ordered me to?"
Jack was silent. "Even then I wasn't ready."
Daniel's shoulders deflated. Jack smoothed tense lines from the man's temple and scalp with his thumb. Then he stepped away to rinse his fudge covered plate. Daniel closed his eyes again, but this time his face was lax, upturned.
They flew open, however, at Jack's cry. Daniel whirled in his chair to see Jack flap his hands at the boxes.
"You…my labels!" he wailed. "They're all in Russian!"
Daniel avoided his eyes and stuffed another forkful of cake in his mouth.
Written in 2016.