In love with your ghost
It was a rectangle of paper, folded in thirds, and Jack couldn't bring himself to open it. He knew what was written there, had read the carefully inked pages a hundred times, but the warm air through the screen carried too many memories and he couldn't, just couldn't right now. Daniel had helped plant the jasmine that climbed the side of the steps leading up to his stargazing deck, and the perfume scented the summer air with melancholy.
Two big mooks they had been, broad shouldered and clumsy with the gardening tools, wrestling the vines into place along the base of the stairs. He could still hear Daniel's laughter, a sound that had grown too rare toward the end, and the remembrance brought a smile to Jack's face. The clumsiness had ended in the garden, he recalled. In the quiet of the night, Daniel had been graceful and confident with his caresses, though almost painfully grateful for the caresses he received in return. Jack had wanted to hunt down and strangle whoever had taught Daniel that he deserved less than he gave.
The breeze fluttered the much-folded paper, and it opened like a flower. His eyes darted away, thinking of anything but the present. Minnesota. He should take some time off, go to the cabin, up near the head of the Mississippi. There was a place you could walk across the mighty river with a single step, a fact that had amazed Daniel when he'd seen it. Coming from a land of arid heat, the lush land of the Mississippi had captured Daniel's imagination when Jack had finally persuaded him to go with him to the cabin. They had driven down from Minnesota, watching the great river grow wider and swifter, and Daniel's face had been a picture of awe.
In a way, his relationship with Daniel had been like that. It had started small, barely a trickle of emotion. In the drought of Jack's soul, that had been all he could afford to give, in those dark days after he had lost his son. Then, a rivulet, when Daniel lost his wife, his life, and almost his soul. The men had drawn closer, the epitome of opposites attracting, and their friendship had deepened.
Then, a flood, and Jack had willingly drowned. The first kiss, on the newly constructed stargazing deck, leading to a dangerous and wonderful outpouring of love and a feeling like neither would ever be alone again.
The letter lay on the desktop, demanding some action. He could either pick it up and read it, or put it back in the drawer with the other letters.
Signals get crossed, and the strain of the fight and of their secret was hard on both men. As the months progressed, they drew apart, and Jack tried to tell himself it was just not meant to be. The first rush of love gave way to wary complacency, and Daniel moved his things back to his apartment. They still touched, though, and Jack found himself standing at Daniel's door time and again. The fire returned, consuming both of them, and leaving a kind of peace behind.
"Dear Jack," the heart-breakingly familiar handwriting, flowing in graceful curves across the paper, caught his eye. Daniel had held the pen that wrote these words, had touched the paper, holding it steady to accept them. Beautiful Daniel, his mouth twitching up in that secret smile of his, now you see it now you don't, as he looked down at Jack. Daniel in cut-offs and sneakers, dancing along his roof as he orchestrated the construction of the deck above. Daniel, his head thrown back and his body slick with sweat, crying out Jack's name. No more.
He felt like he was standing on shifting sands, unable to keep his feet. He tried to imprison the memories again, lock them away on an island somewhere, but they were free now and he was drowning all over again. Of all his demon spirits, he needed Daniel the most. He drained off the bourbon and sank into the desk chair, picking up the letter at last and opening it.
Dear Jack, I know what you will say, and just forget it. I have to try to convince Quinn, if no one else, of the danger in perusing his nation's line of research. Don't worry about me, I'll be just fine. I'm sorry, though, for the things I said last night. You were right; my temper is getting worse. Then again, so is yours. We both need a break. How about, when we get back from Kolona, we take a trip up to the cabin. George owes us some R&R, and Sam wants to work on her reactor. Teal'c has been eyeing the new SF, and she's on duty next month, so he'll be busy. So, what do you say? Truce? Love, Daniel Ps, I know I'm not supposed to write "love" per se, but who else is going to read this letter? You're going to tear it up and eat it the moment after you read it anyway. I hate keeping secrets like this. Lv, DJ
His eyes skimmed the words, mouthing each one, but he could have closed his eyes and read it aloud if he'd wanted. Jack knew he was dancing the edge of sanity, but it was all he had left. He was in love with a ghost, and all he wanted was one more moment of Daniel, alive and warm and laughing in his arms.
What he had was a letter. Folding it carefully, he slipped it back into his desk drawer and closed the window, shutting out the scent of jasmine on the night breeze, and locking away his heart for the night. Pouring a final glass of bourbon, he toasted the air. "Night, Daniel. I love you, too." Then he went to bed, and prayed not to dream.
The End
It was a rectangle of paper, folded in thirds, and Jack couldn't bring himself to open it. He knew what was written there, had read the carefully inked pages a hundred times, but the warm air through the screen carried too many memories and he couldn't, just couldn't right now. Daniel had helped plant the jasmine that climbed the side of the steps leading up to his stargazing deck, and the perfume scented the summer air with melancholy.
Two big mooks they had been, broad shouldered and clumsy with the gardening tools, wrestling the vines into place along the base of the stairs. He could still hear Daniel's laughter, a sound that had grown too rare toward the end, and the remembrance brought a smile to Jack's face. The clumsiness had ended in the garden, he recalled. In the quiet of the night, Daniel had been graceful and confident with his caresses, though almost painfully grateful for the caresses he received in return. Jack had wanted to hunt down and strangle whoever had taught Daniel that he deserved less than he gave.
The breeze fluttered the much-folded paper, and it opened like a flower. His eyes darted away, thinking of anything but the present. Minnesota. He should take some time off, go to the cabin, up near the head of the Mississippi. There was a place you could walk across the mighty river with a single step, a fact that had amazed Daniel when he'd seen it. Coming from a land of arid heat, the lush land of the Mississippi had captured Daniel's imagination when Jack had finally persuaded him to go with him to the cabin. They had driven down from Minnesota, watching the great river grow wider and swifter, and Daniel's face had been a picture of awe.
In a way, his relationship with Daniel had been like that. It had started small, barely a trickle of emotion. In the drought of Jack's soul, that had been all he could afford to give, in those dark days after he had lost his son. Then, a rivulet, when Daniel lost his wife, his life, and almost his soul. The men had drawn closer, the epitome of opposites attracting, and their friendship had deepened.
Then, a flood, and Jack had willingly drowned. The first kiss, on the newly constructed stargazing deck, leading to a dangerous and wonderful outpouring of love and a feeling like neither would ever be alone again.
The letter lay on the desktop, demanding some action. He could either pick it up and read it, or put it back in the drawer with the other letters.
Signals get crossed, and the strain of the fight and of their secret was hard on both men. As the months progressed, they drew apart, and Jack tried to tell himself it was just not meant to be. The first rush of love gave way to wary complacency, and Daniel moved his things back to his apartment. They still touched, though, and Jack found himself standing at Daniel's door time and again. The fire returned, consuming both of them, and leaving a kind of peace behind.
"Dear Jack," the heart-breakingly familiar handwriting, flowing in graceful curves across the paper, caught his eye. Daniel had held the pen that wrote these words, had touched the paper, holding it steady to accept them. Beautiful Daniel, his mouth twitching up in that secret smile of his, now you see it now you don't, as he looked down at Jack. Daniel in cut-offs and sneakers, dancing along his roof as he orchestrated the construction of the deck above. Daniel, his head thrown back and his body slick with sweat, crying out Jack's name. No more.
He felt like he was standing on shifting sands, unable to keep his feet. He tried to imprison the memories again, lock them away on an island somewhere, but they were free now and he was drowning all over again. Of all his demon spirits, he needed Daniel the most. He drained off the bourbon and sank into the desk chair, picking up the letter at last and opening it.
Dear Jack, I know what you will say, and just forget it. I have to try to convince Quinn, if no one else, of the danger in perusing his nation's line of research. Don't worry about me, I'll be just fine. I'm sorry, though, for the things I said last night. You were right; my temper is getting worse. Then again, so is yours. We both need a break. How about, when we get back from Kolona, we take a trip up to the cabin. George owes us some R&R, and Sam wants to work on her reactor. Teal'c has been eyeing the new SF, and she's on duty next month, so he'll be busy. So, what do you say? Truce? Love, Daniel Ps, I know I'm not supposed to write "love" per se, but who else is going to read this letter? You're going to tear it up and eat it the moment after you read it anyway. I hate keeping secrets like this. Lv, DJ
His eyes skimmed the words, mouthing each one, but he could have closed his eyes and read it aloud if he'd wanted. Jack knew he was dancing the edge of sanity, but it was all he had left. He was in love with a ghost, and all he wanted was one more moment of Daniel, alive and warm and laughing in his arms.
What he had was a letter. Folding it carefully, he slipped it back into his desk drawer and closed the window, shutting out the scent of jasmine on the night breeze, and locking away his heart for the night. Pouring a final glass of bourbon, he toasted the air. "Night, Daniel. I love you, too." Then he went to bed, and prayed not to dream.
The End