Chapter 2

Hands in his pockets, Jack whistled as he strode briskly through the halls. The on-base cot hardly compared with his king-size bed, but he'd managed a solid five hours of sleep. Knowing Daniel would be anxious to escape Janet and her merciless angels, he'd donned yesterday's clothing and headed straight for the infirmary so as not to keep his friend waiting.

Daniel was dressed and sitting on the bed, legs dangling. Damp, spiky hair testified to a shower but Daniel's eyes looked sleepy and vague.

"Top of the morning to ya, Dannyboy," he chirped in his best Irish brogue. "And how are ya feelin' this fine mornin'?"

Daniel peered over the top of his glasses, surveying Jack's slightly rumpled appearance. A little line appeared between his brows. "Did you go home last night?"

"No. Why?"

Daniel blinked and looked away. "No reason."

Wait a minute. What exactly did that mean? Jack opened his mouth but Fraiser swooped down on them like a bird of prey. A small...white...bird of prey. Jack shook his head.

"Good morning, Colonel. Looks like you got some sleep."

He folded his arms. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Fraiser's eyebrows soared. "Ah...that you look rested?"

"Oh. Well, I am. Rested. Thank you." Jack made a face. "How's he?" He cocked his thumb at Daniel.

"I'm good. Real good." Daniel smiled. With teeth.

This time Jack's eyebrows crawled up his head. "Great! Glad to hear it."

"I just gave Dr. Jackson another shot for his headache. He probably should lie down once you get him home."

"Why? I feel fine." Daniel slid off the mattress but his knees buckled and he continued toward the floor.

Jack caught him by the arm and hauled him upright, steadying him before he let go. "Uh-huh. If it's all the same to you, I think I'll take the doc's word on this one."

Daniel snorted. "That's got to be a first."

Janet thrust a prescription bottle into Jack's hand as they followed Daniel's somewhat meandering path to the door. "Antibiotic. Make sure he takes it with food or I guarantee there will be puking at Chez O'Neill."

Jack grinned. "Gotcha."

"And don't let him get the stitches wet."

He waved acknowledgement, breaking into a jog until he caught up with his friend at the elevator. "Hey, where's the fire?"

Daniel wrapped his arms around himself and shrugged. "Just glad to get out of there, I guess. Something about the infirmary..." He shrugged again, flushing. "Well, I mean, who'd want to be cooped up in there, right?"

So he didn't remember last evening's confession. The elevator doors rumbled open and Jack followed him inside. "Yeah. I know what you mean."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack leaned in the guestroom doorway, watching. Seeing.

Blinds shut against the late morning sunshine, the muted light revealed the signs Daniel had worked hard to conceal. He slept restlessly, body tense and limbs twitching as if demons hounded him even in dreams. His tee shirt had ridden up, exposing ribs no longer softened by healthy flesh and a waistband that hung alarmingly low on too-slim hips.

Jack backed out and quietly shut the door, descending the stairs with heavy feet. In the kitchen he tugged open the refrigerator and, after a longing look at the beer, pulled out the orange juice. Swigging directly from the carton--something Sara would never have allowed--he sat down at the table. He turned the container in his hands, thinking guiltily about his conversation with Daniel.

Stoned on Fraiser's pain meds, Daniel had fallen asleep three minutes after leaving the mountain, head tilted awkwardly against the passenger window, his breath fogging the glass. Jack had manhandled his sleepwalking archeologist into the house and up the stairs to the guest bedroom. Daniel had folded onto the mattress, allowing Jack to remove his shoes and tuck him beneath the blanket without complaint.

"Thanks, Jack," he'd slurred, grasping Jack's shirtsleeve with clumsy fingers. "You're a good friend. Best I ever had--not that I've had that many."

Jack had patted the hand, amused by the uncharacteristic declaration from his normally reticent friend. He'd thought Daniel was chatty on alcohol. Give him a little codeine and he really spilled his guts...

Jack took another gulp of juice, grimacing. Which was when he'd identified his opportunity and, like a good special ops Colonel, taken full advantage of it...

Daniel was on the cusp of sleep, the relaxed, blurry state between awareness and unconsciousness, when Jack lowered himself to the mattress. Running his hand up and down Daniel's arm in a way he knew soothed his friend, he pitched his voice low and soft.

"Friends look out for each other, Daniel. And right now, I'm a little worried about you."

Daniel's eyes closed. "You don't have to worry 'bout me, Jack. Was just a little bump on the head."

Jack shook his head. "Not the concussion. I..." He chose his words carefully, keeping his tone unobtrusive. "I'm worried because I get the feeling you're hurting. Inside, where it doesn't show."

Daniel's lips curved. "Thought I was doing a pretty good job hiding it. Guess that's why you're the team leader."

"So tell me. What's going on in that head of yours?"

Daniel didn't speak for a long time. Just as Jack was convinced he'd fallen asleep, blue eyes cracked open and regarded him solemnly. "Can't figure out why I'm here."

Jack tapped his cheek when his eyelids started sliding shut. "You're here because SG-1 needs you. You're a valuable member of the team."

Daniel blinked glassy eyes and shook his head. "Not true. SG-1 needs soldiers who can bring back weapons, not a geek who gets all worked up over useless rocks."

Jack winced, hearing himself in the blunt dismissal. "You're invaluable as our point person for making first contact--"

A soft snort interrupted him. Daniel touched the bandage at his temple. "Yeah. I do a bang up job, don't I?" He sighed. "I want to make a difference, Jack. But I just wind up failing everyone who depends on me--Skaara, Sha're, her child."

"You did everything in your power to save Sha're, Danny."

"Wasn't good enough, was it? Kasuf lost his son and his daughter to the Goa'uld, thanks to me. I should come with a warning: Getting close to Daniel Jackson may be hazardous to your health."

"That's self-pity talking." Jack softened his harsh tone. "I've known you four years. You've never failed me."

"I will, though. Just a matter of time."

"You're in pain, Danny, and you're not thinking straight. Grief does that to you. It'll get better, I promise."

"I'm tired, Jack. Too tired to go through this again. If something happened to you, or Sam, or Teal'c..." Daniel's eyes fluttered shut and his words slurred. "'S why I shouldn't still be here. But I can't seem to let go..." His voice trailed off into the deep, even breaths of sleep...

Jack tightened his grip on the carton. Despite the guilt he felt for manipulating Daniel into talking, he didn't regret his actions. He'd learned more from a few minutes of Daniel's drugged ramblings than he'd have gleaned over days of probing.

Now came the hard part--deciding what to do. Daniel's emotional state was far more fragile than he had guessed. One misstep and the SGC would lose its premier archeologist. And Jack O'Neill would lose his best friend.

Both outcomes were completely unacceptable.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey."

Jack looked up from slicing vegetables, finding a tousled and still somewhat dazed Daniel standing in the kitchen doorway. He set down the knife and gestured to a chair.

"Sit. Are you thirsty?"

Daniel shuffled over and dropped into the seat, smothering a yawn. "Coffee?"

Jack snorted indelicately. "Nice try. Juice?"

Daniel wrinkled his nose. "Water."

Compromise reached, Jack filled a glass with ice and water, presenting it with a flourish. "You need your antibiotic, but not on an empty stomach. Soup should be ready in half an hour."

"'K." Daniel drank deeply, draining half the glass in one draught. He set it on the table with a contented sigh and scrubbed both hands over his face.

Jack reclaimed his knife and continued slicing carrots. "How's the headache?"

A little line appeared between Daniel's brows as he considered, then smoothed away. "Better. Much better."

"Glad to hear it."

"Me too. Janet's pain meds pack quite a punch. What time is it, anyway?"

"Almost five."

"*Five*?" Daniel's eyes darted to the window, taking in the deep shadows of impending twilight. "That can't...That means I slept--"

"Over six hours straight. Like a baby." Jack erased his smirk when he saw genuine dismay in Daniel's wide eyes and flushed cheeks. "You needed it, kiddo. Hey, I've bunked in the infirmary often enough, I know how it goes. Every time you drop off, one of Fraiser's minions is grabbing your wrist or sticking a thermometer in your mouth."

"You've got that right." Daniel sipped more water, scowling. "They wake you up out of a sound sleep, then tell you your pulse is racing. No shit, Sherlock."

Jack added his carrots to the pot, hiding a grin as he gave the soup a vigorous stir. Daniel's profanity always increased under the influence of alcohol or drugs. Some of Fraiser's happy shot must still be floating around in his system.

"More?" he asked, lifting the now empty glass from the tabletop. When Daniel shook his head, Jack deposited the glass in the sink and joined his friend at the table.

Now for the hard part.

"Daniel... We need to talk."

Daniel stiffened, his relaxed sprawl turning rigid. "Talk?"

"Yeah, talk. You know, I say something to you, you listen, you say something back, I listen..." Jack grimaced when Daniel met his lame attempt at humor with a shuttered stare.

"About what?"

"I've been thinking about P28-779. About what happened before all hell broke loose and the welcome wagon started chucking rocks."

Daniel's tense posture eased and he leaned back in his chair. "I told you--they didn't understand, Jack. I tried to explain that we were peaceful explorers interested in learning about their culture, but they were convinced we meant to steal their food and harm their women and children."

"Yeah, I got that part. What I don't understand is why you didn't back off when it became obvious things were headed south. Even I could see you were getting nowhere, that they were becoming more and more riled up. Why did you keep pushing?"

Daniel looked at him with wary eyes. "You above all people are familiar with our prime objective. Sam's geological survey showed the planet held several major Trinium deposits. Successful first contact with those natives would have been extremely beneficial for the SGC." He shook his head. "Look, I'm sorry I wound up injured, but what's the big deal, Jack? This job can be hazardous to your health--we both know that."

"The 'big deal' is that lately it's always *your* health taking a hit. Too damn often for comfort."

Daniel slowly sat up. "What exactly are you saying?"

"You've been injured in four out of the last ten missions, Daniel."

"So?"

"*So*? That's forty percent! Are you honestly telling me you don't see a problem here?"

Daniel's voice was glacial. "Why don't you tell me, Jack? You seem to be the one with the agenda."

Jack curled his fingers into fists--it was the only way he could refrain from wrapping them around his archeologist's neck. "There's no agenda. I'm just trying to understand what's going on inside that head of yours."

"I'm doing my job. The one I was hired to do, the one General Hammond expects of me." He gritted his teeth. "The one my team leader expects of me."

"Bullshit! Hammond doesn't expect you to kill yourself, Daniel, and neither do I."

Silence. Daniel's face turned pale except for two bright spots of color burning in his cheeks.

"You...you think I'm *suicidal*?"

Jack blew out a gust of air, releasing his anger along with it. "I think you're a little lost right now, Danny. And a lot reckless." When Daniel looked away, blinking hard, he continued. "Grieving is a process. You can expect that it will just disappear overnight.

It--"

Daniel laughed, a jagged, humorless sound. "I hardly need a lecture on grief, Jack. Practice makes perfect, after all."

"Daniel."

"What do you want from me?" Daniel turned hard, dry eyes on Jack's face. "C'mon, I know this has to be leading somewhere."

There was no way to soften the blow. Jack spit out the words like yanking off a band-aid. "Continued participation on SG-1 is contingent on you talking to someone."

Daniel was white-lipped with fury. "I assume 'talking to someone' doesn't include you, Sam, or Teal'c."

"Someone from psych services. *Not* McKenzie," Jack quickly added.

Daniel nodded, face blank. "And if I decide to appeal this decree of yours? Maybe go over your head to the General?"

"Danny, this came from Hammond. I just got to deliver the news."

"I see." Daniel shoved back his chair and stood. "Call me when dinner is ready." He stalked out of the room.

Well, shit.

Jack gave the soup another stir, turned down the heat, and followed. He found Daniel on the roof, hugging himself against the chill air. Jack stood beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed. Close enough to feel the tension thrumming through Daniel like electrical current.

"Sha're loved the stars."

Daniel's low, pained declaration took him by surprise. Jack looked at his friend's face, tipped toward the sky, but said nothing.

"She said they were the souls of loved ones who had passed on into the great beyond. That they watched over us like...like guardian angels."

"Nice."

"Why couldn't I just be content, Jack? If I'd done what I was supposed to do, left the 'gate buried... Sha're died because of my damn insatiable curiosity."

Jack shoved his hands in his pockets. "Daniel, your curiosity, your...sense of wonder, is what makes you the man you are. The man Sha're fell in love with. Trust me, she understood."

"I had everything," Daniel said, voice choked with unshed tears. "I had everything I ever wanted, Jack, and it just...it slipped through my fingers like sand."

"I know." The reply came out sandpaper rough. Jack fixed his own gaze on the night sky, not trusting himself to say more. He heard Daniel suck in a sharp breath as he recognized the full impact of his words.

"I'm sorry. I know you do."

Impressions flickered lightening-fast through his mind. Charlie's dimpled grin. Sara's silky soft skin. The coppery tang of blood. Bitter tears and recriminations. The smooth, cool, comforting weight of his gun.

He'd stood in Daniel's shoes, looked out at the same, bleak landscape. Sometimes it felt like a lifetime ago.

Sometimes it felt like yesterday.

"You know...someone once gave me hell for my willingness to die. Told me life was still worth living, despite my pain."

"Imagine that." Daniel's voice was flat, emotionless.

"Yeah, yeah. It pissed me off, too. But you know something? The pushy little bastard was right." Jack faced his friend. "I realize you're hurting. I'm here to tell you it *will* pass, Daniel. You still have a life here, with us, with SG-1."

"Do I?"

"Yes! Damn it, why would you even ask?"

"Why? Jack, we both know Hammond never wanted me on SG-1 in the first place! *You* are the only reason he allowed me to set foot through the 'gate. You and Sha're." Daniel pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. "Sha're is gone. All I have left is the promise I made. A promise no one is willing to help me keep."

Aw, hell. Jack clenched his teeth. "The child."

"The Harsesis. Offspring of two hosts, containing the genetic memory of the Goa'uld race." Daniel turned away from the disbelief on Jack's face. "Just another wild goose chase, huh, Jack? A delusion conjured by my inability to accept Sha're's death. Isn't that right?"

Jack flushed--he'd believed Daniel unconscious when he, Fraiser, and the General had had that discussion. "Daniel--"

"I can't really blame you. I know it sounds crazy. I probably wouldn't believe me either."

You would, though, Jack thought, studying Daniel's rigid back. You're too damn ready to believe. That's the problem.

"Whether I believe or not doesn't change the fact that you're needed on SG-1. Admit it, Daniel. Going through the 'gate hasn't just been about finding Sha're for a long time."

"Needed?" Daniel laughed, white puffs of vapor in the chill air.

"Yes, needed. We're a first contact team, Daniel. You're good at making nice with the natives, you're a walking encyclopedia of ancient cultures, you speak more languages than God..."

"You don't need someone who knows cultures and languages! You need someone well versed in weapons and defense technology. Someone you can depend on to watch your six and hold his own in a firefight if it all goes to hell. You need a soldier, Jack."

Jack put his hand on Daniel's shoulder. "Daniel, you're not the inept geek who conned his way through the 'gate four years ago. I've seen you in a firefight, buddy. You are a soldier."

Every muscle in Daniel's body turned to stone and Jack could barely hear his ragged response. "That's what I'm afraid of." He shrugged off Jack's grasp. "That soup must be just about ready. We'd better eat."

Conversation over. Heartsick, Jack followed him back into the house.

Continued in Chapter 3