Part 6
"So you feel that moving out of the mountain and into Jack's home has really helped your recovery?"
Daniel nods, his hand idly stroking my side, his head lolled against my shoulder. "Yeah. It just... I don't know how to explain it. It made what they told me... not real."
Dave glances at his notepad and scribbles something. He's left-handed--I just saw that. "You've been here for nearly a month, right?"
"Twenty-eight days," I say. I love the irony of that--twenty-eight days is a standard stint in a rehab center, and Daniel *is* trying to kick a kind of addiction.
"And you feel ready to return to full duty."
Daniel hesitates, looking down at his leg, pressed close to mine. "Well... with some qualifications," he says. "I'm fairly independent now, but I still feel... edgy without some kind of contact. Being touched makes me much more comfortable, so if I have a choice, I stick close to Jack, or Sam or Teal'c, as the case may be. But I can handle being alone."
"For how long?"
"Depends," he hedges. "When I'm home, I generally keep light contact every few minutes, just because I can and because it's comfortable, but when Jack goes to the mountain for work and I'm in his office, I can wait a while."
"Hmm." Dave frowns at his notes again. "So you haven't actually tested your limits on this. Once our time trials reached past an hour, you took over your own recovery in that regard, but I'm not hearing a definite number here."
Daniel shifts uncomfortably and his arm tightens around my waist. "I didn't need to force myself to wait until I couldn't stand it anymore. Being here, in the real world, where it's so... so *normal* has just..."
"Just what?" Dave asks.
"When I was there, what they taught me was real," Daniel blurts out, speaking to the floor between his feet. "That place was the whole world, and their rules were set in stone. Be touched by a friend, or be... be hurt. I spent six weeks learning that rule, living by it, and it sank in pretty good. But I spent a lifetime before that learning to take care of myself, learning that I can be on my own without having to be afraid. Now that I'm back here, in a familiar place, the old learning is taking over."
"I see," Dave says slowly. "That's actually a very good description of trauma recovery. The deeper, older habits of a lifetime overcome the short term extreme effects of torture and brainwashing. Being in a familiar environment helps to drive home the fact that *this* is the reality."
"Right," Daniel replies. "Exactly."
"In fact, you said it so perfectly that it could have come out of a textbook on psychology."
Daniel stiffens. "What?"
Dave it watching him with those endlessly cheerful eyes of his, always calm, always focused. "The truth, Daniel. Did you maybe have a little help with your explanation?"
"I don't think I like what you're implying," Daniel says coldly.
"You didn't answer my question."
"Hey now, wait a minute," I interrupt. "You think Daniel would deliberately look up the answers that you want to hear just so he could go back to active duty?"
Dave shakes his head, smiling gently. "Not in an attempt to be deceptive, exactly. But he may be so eager to return to what he perceives as 'normal' that he's smudging the details a bit. Telling me--and himself--that he really is ready when in fact, he isn't."
"And you just know that somehow," Daniel drawls. "When you were getting your psychology degree, you minored in telepathy, is that it?"
"Ask yourself this, Daniel. What if I clear you for full duty, not just the on-world desk stuff you're doing now, and you become separated from your team during a mission? Let's say they all get captured and it's up to you to go for help, or to rescue them, but you're so panicked at being alone that you can't do either."
Daniel scowls. "That won't happen. I'm not claiming that being without contact is easy for me, but I can work with it."
"Can you?" Dave asks sharply. "Can you function well enough when lives depend on it? Have you fully tested your abilities by spending hours, perhaps days without being touched? Because until you try it, and try it under difficult circumstances, under stress, you can't be sure. It's one thing to work in Jack's office for hours without touching him, because he's right there, within reach, and you're in a safe and familiar environment. In the field, you may be injured, lost, worried for your friends--can you really handle the added stress of needing to be touched on top of all that?"
"Can't you ever quit?" Daniel snaps. "Can't you ever just believe me when I say I'm fine? God, you never stop pushing! You're just... just relentless!"
Dave sighs. "For what it's worth, Daniel, I am sorry. I know you want so badly to be well again, to just leave this whole mess behind and go on with your life. But do you want it this way? Do you really want me to sign off on this, knowing you're not ready, when it could put you and your team in danger?"
"I am ready!" Daniel stands abruptly, jerking away from me and looming over Dave, his hands fisted at his sides. Dave just looks up at him mildly, completely unconcerned, which only serves to make Daniel angrier.
"Daniel..."
"Shut up, Jack," he tosses over his shoulder.
"What are you going to do?" Dave asks softly. "What's your instinct right now, Daniel? Do you want to hit me? Or do you want to sit back down and let Jack hold you until you feel calmer? And is either an appropriate response in a field situation? Ask yourself how you can control your emotions out there, when you're about to lose it in your own home."
Daniel makes a stifled scream of rage and whirls, stalking to the basement door and slamming it behind him. I had a punching bag installed down there shortly after he moved in. I happen to like my furniture the way it is--in one piece.
We stare at the closed door for a long moment, and then I lean back on the couch and run a hand over my face. "That went well."
Dave laughs. "Actually, it did. Once he's worked out the anger, he'll realize that he truly isn't ready for full field duty."
I raise an eyebrow. "You think he'll just accept that?"
"The truth is, he may never be ready," Dave says. "Like it or not, Daniel has been permanently altered by his experiences. He's reached a high- functioning level, where he can live and work and have an acceptable degree of independence, but this may be as good as it gets."
"I don't believe that. You're underestimating him, which is something a lot of people do. You see this bookish genius, this skinny guy with glasses, and you don't realize just how strong he really is. Daniel can beat this."
"Really." Dave tilts his head and gives me that piercing I-see-everything look. "I only see him for a little while each day. You tell me--how is he doing?"
"Fine." I look at my hands. "Fine. Really fine. I mean... yeah, he still has some issues, but after what happened, how could he not? But he's mostly fine. Really."
"I see," Dave says, and falls quiet.
He's still staring at me with that tiny, knowing smile. "He is," I insist. "He's so much better. He gets himself ready in the mornings, he works all day in my office or in Carter's lab with only occasional touches to keep him grounded, he can handle going out for groceries or to see a movie or for dinner or whatever without any problems."
"And without any touches?"
"Well... yeah. Mostly. Just a little bit, here and there. He doesn't need to be held all the time anymore, though. I mean, hell, right now he's down in the basement, using the punching bag, all alone, and he's fine with it. He'll probably be down there for half an hour, maybe more. He's come so far..."
"Nobody is denying that, Jack," Dave says, "but he's not fully recovered yet. I notice you mentioned him getting himself ready in the morning. I assume that means showering alone?"
I blink and slide my eyes to one side. "Of course. Why would he share if he didn't have to?"
Dave's smile tugs up a bit at the corners. "I won't ask you that, Colonel, so you don't have to tell me."
"I'm not sure what you mean," I say calmly.
"Of course you aren't. So let's just say, hypothetically, that Daniel was in a relationship with someone before he was captured. And let's say that this someone was available to him now. Do you think he's able to continue their relationship the way it was before?"
"Uh-huh... by 'the way it was before' you mean..."
"Sex," he says bluntly. "If he's as fine as you both insist, I assume he's able to resume normal relations?"
I narrow my eyes. "And of course, that's such an important part of field duty that we need to make sure he's capable of it before you can clear him."
"It's an important part of his mental and emotional health," Dave says patiently. "I'm trying to treat the whole person, not just Daniel the soldier or Daniel the archeologist."
"He's not a soldier."
"I've read your mission files, Jack. I beg to differ."
"Beg all you want."
Dave sighs and closes his notebook. "I think we're done for today."
"Yeah," I say. "I think we are." Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.
He stands and pauses by the front door, looking at me steadily. "He's not ready, Jack, and you know it. More importantly, *he* knows it. This is where his recovery gets hard. You've made the big, dramatic improvements already--now you're down to the nitty gritty. A lot of work for little appreciable gain. This is not the time to tell him and yourself that everything is fine, and sweep his problems under the rug, because they'll come out to bite you on the ass when you least expect it."
I glare at him, but I can't come up with a response to that. I really hate people who are always right, but I have to admit that Dave knows what he's talking about.
When he's gone, I lean back on the couch and close my eyes. I can hear the muted sounds of repeated, dull thuds as Daniel punches the heavy bag, and his muffled curses. He tends to swear in other languages, and the occasional bits that I pick up--usually in Arabic--are astonishingly filthy. It's been hell on my mental image of him as this sweet, innocent kid who only knows about old rocks and dead languages.
He really is doing better. When we brought him home, there was no way he could have been down there, working off his anger, without someone close by to hold him. It's been nothing but steady improvement, with gained confidence and independence every day, and maybe we got a little complacent. Maybe we just assumed everything would go back to normal, given enough time.
I do have to face that he isn't completely okay. For one thing, he freezes up if I touch him in a remotely sexual way. Even a back rub makes him nervous. The separate showers thing was a major goal for him, and even when he could only take five minute showers and yank his clothes on while he was still wet just so he could jump into my arms that much sooner, he still insisted on doing it alone.
We used to enjoy showering together. I miss it. I miss *Daniel.*
He has nightmares. Hell, he can't even fall asleep if I'm not in bed with him, holding him close. But we both have to be wearing pajamas--even bare chests mean too much skin touching for him. With all the right conditions, safely dressed and held tight in the security of our own room, he still has screaming nightmares. He still cries sometimes for no reason at all, and he still has a volatile temper that can flare up over nothing.
He's not okay. But he's *so* much better that it's easy to ignore the little things. When Carter and Teal'c moved out and it was just us, having beer and pizza and arguing over what to watch on TV, I could pretend things were normal again. He would get up and go into the kitchen for a drink, or go to the bathroom, and sink back down beside me with complete calm. Sure, he'd cuddle close again, but it wasn't like he was desperate for it.
When we started going in to work together, it was difficult at first. He could make it to my office by simply walking by my side, letting our arms brush occasionally, but working alone in his own office was out of the question. Still is, actually. If I can't be in the office all day, he goes to Carter's lab, or he hangs out with Teal'c. In the beginning, he had to get a hug or something similar several times in an hour, but now he can go all day with only little touches here and there. A squeezed hand, a pat on the back, maybe I ruffle his hair or let our shoulders lean together. Little things. Pleasant, really.
If I didn't know that he'd eventually fall apart and panic without those little touches, it would be nice.
"Hey."
I jump and twist to look at him. "Hey. Didn't hear you come back up."
"Yeah." He's sweaty, red-faced and trembling, his muscles still twitching from the workout. His hair, longer now than it was before his capture, sticks out in damp, unruly spikes.
"Come here," I say, and open my arms. Daniel sinks into me easily, his slim frame still not quite what it was, but he's getting there. For a few minutes, he just closes his eyes and breathes, his eyelashes a soft, intimate touch against my throat.
"Sorry I lost it," he says.
"Don't be. I wanted to smack him one myself."
He laughs softly. "Yeah." A deep sigh, and then he pulls back to face me. "He's right, you know. About not being ready."
"I know."
Daniel searches my face for a long moment, and then he brings one hand up and traces his fingertips lightly over my mouth. I can taste a hint of the leather he was punching, and the rest is salt and coffee and skin. Daniel- taste. I'd almost forgotten it.
"I'm sorry about this, too," he says.
I blink slowly, rubbing my cheek against his hand before he withdraws it completely. "What do you mean?"
He smiles sadly. "You know what I mean. You've been very patient, Jack. I know you want to... to be like we were before."
"You know, Dave mentioned that."
Daniel draws himself in, like his skin is a cloak he can hide behind. "What did he say?"
"He asked if you had been able to... you know. Have sex."
"Why would he ask you? He doesn't know about us."
I smile and ruffle his hair, something which Daniel tolerates with his usual exasperated grace. "He knows. I acted like there wasn't anything, of course, but he knows."
Daniel grimaces. "Peachy."
"Hey! Quit stepping on my lines."
He laughs, and I laugh, and he leans against me again, his fingers tracing lightly over my arm. The skin there pebbles into goose bumps, all the fine hairs standing on end, but he pretends not to notice.
"I am trying to... to be okay with that stuff," he says softly.
"No hurry, Daniel. If you're not comfortable with the physical stuff, I can live with that. I don't want you doing anything that you don't feel good about."
He smiles and leans close to me, our mouths a breath apart. "I do love you, Jack," he says. He veers to the side at the last minute and kisses my cheek, light and fleeting. "So much," he whispers. "Thank you so much."
"For what?" I ask, trying to keep my voice even.
"For not leaving. I know I haven't been easy to live with."
"Hey," I say gruffly. "Better or worse, and all that."
Daniel blinks at me comically, his eyebrows moving gymnastically. "We're not married."
"Close enough, Danny. Close enough."
His face crumples, and then he's sniffling into my shirt. "See what you made me do?" he chokes out. "Why'd you have to be so nice?"
"I'm so sorry, Doctor Jackson," I growl. "In the future I'll try to be a bastard."
"You better."
I smile and kiss his forehead, and I feel him smile against my chest, even if he is still crying. My Daniel. Not giving up on you, and not giving up on us, either.
~~~
"So you feel that moving out of the mountain and into Jack's home has really helped your recovery?"
Daniel nods, his hand idly stroking my side, his head lolled against my shoulder. "Yeah. It just... I don't know how to explain it. It made what they told me... not real."
Dave glances at his notepad and scribbles something. He's left-handed--I just saw that. "You've been here for nearly a month, right?"
"Twenty-eight days," I say. I love the irony of that--twenty-eight days is a standard stint in a rehab center, and Daniel *is* trying to kick a kind of addiction.
"And you feel ready to return to full duty."
Daniel hesitates, looking down at his leg, pressed close to mine. "Well... with some qualifications," he says. "I'm fairly independent now, but I still feel... edgy without some kind of contact. Being touched makes me much more comfortable, so if I have a choice, I stick close to Jack, or Sam or Teal'c, as the case may be. But I can handle being alone."
"For how long?"
"Depends," he hedges. "When I'm home, I generally keep light contact every few minutes, just because I can and because it's comfortable, but when Jack goes to the mountain for work and I'm in his office, I can wait a while."
"Hmm." Dave frowns at his notes again. "So you haven't actually tested your limits on this. Once our time trials reached past an hour, you took over your own recovery in that regard, but I'm not hearing a definite number here."
Daniel shifts uncomfortably and his arm tightens around my waist. "I didn't need to force myself to wait until I couldn't stand it anymore. Being here, in the real world, where it's so... so *normal* has just..."
"Just what?" Dave asks.
"When I was there, what they taught me was real," Daniel blurts out, speaking to the floor between his feet. "That place was the whole world, and their rules were set in stone. Be touched by a friend, or be... be hurt. I spent six weeks learning that rule, living by it, and it sank in pretty good. But I spent a lifetime before that learning to take care of myself, learning that I can be on my own without having to be afraid. Now that I'm back here, in a familiar place, the old learning is taking over."
"I see," Dave says slowly. "That's actually a very good description of trauma recovery. The deeper, older habits of a lifetime overcome the short term extreme effects of torture and brainwashing. Being in a familiar environment helps to drive home the fact that *this* is the reality."
"Right," Daniel replies. "Exactly."
"In fact, you said it so perfectly that it could have come out of a textbook on psychology."
Daniel stiffens. "What?"
Dave it watching him with those endlessly cheerful eyes of his, always calm, always focused. "The truth, Daniel. Did you maybe have a little help with your explanation?"
"I don't think I like what you're implying," Daniel says coldly.
"You didn't answer my question."
"Hey now, wait a minute," I interrupt. "You think Daniel would deliberately look up the answers that you want to hear just so he could go back to active duty?"
Dave shakes his head, smiling gently. "Not in an attempt to be deceptive, exactly. But he may be so eager to return to what he perceives as 'normal' that he's smudging the details a bit. Telling me--and himself--that he really is ready when in fact, he isn't."
"And you just know that somehow," Daniel drawls. "When you were getting your psychology degree, you minored in telepathy, is that it?"
"Ask yourself this, Daniel. What if I clear you for full duty, not just the on-world desk stuff you're doing now, and you become separated from your team during a mission? Let's say they all get captured and it's up to you to go for help, or to rescue them, but you're so panicked at being alone that you can't do either."
Daniel scowls. "That won't happen. I'm not claiming that being without contact is easy for me, but I can work with it."
"Can you?" Dave asks sharply. "Can you function well enough when lives depend on it? Have you fully tested your abilities by spending hours, perhaps days without being touched? Because until you try it, and try it under difficult circumstances, under stress, you can't be sure. It's one thing to work in Jack's office for hours without touching him, because he's right there, within reach, and you're in a safe and familiar environment. In the field, you may be injured, lost, worried for your friends--can you really handle the added stress of needing to be touched on top of all that?"
"Can't you ever quit?" Daniel snaps. "Can't you ever just believe me when I say I'm fine? God, you never stop pushing! You're just... just relentless!"
Dave sighs. "For what it's worth, Daniel, I am sorry. I know you want so badly to be well again, to just leave this whole mess behind and go on with your life. But do you want it this way? Do you really want me to sign off on this, knowing you're not ready, when it could put you and your team in danger?"
"I am ready!" Daniel stands abruptly, jerking away from me and looming over Dave, his hands fisted at his sides. Dave just looks up at him mildly, completely unconcerned, which only serves to make Daniel angrier.
"Daniel..."
"Shut up, Jack," he tosses over his shoulder.
"What are you going to do?" Dave asks softly. "What's your instinct right now, Daniel? Do you want to hit me? Or do you want to sit back down and let Jack hold you until you feel calmer? And is either an appropriate response in a field situation? Ask yourself how you can control your emotions out there, when you're about to lose it in your own home."
Daniel makes a stifled scream of rage and whirls, stalking to the basement door and slamming it behind him. I had a punching bag installed down there shortly after he moved in. I happen to like my furniture the way it is--in one piece.
We stare at the closed door for a long moment, and then I lean back on the couch and run a hand over my face. "That went well."
Dave laughs. "Actually, it did. Once he's worked out the anger, he'll realize that he truly isn't ready for full field duty."
I raise an eyebrow. "You think he'll just accept that?"
"The truth is, he may never be ready," Dave says. "Like it or not, Daniel has been permanently altered by his experiences. He's reached a high- functioning level, where he can live and work and have an acceptable degree of independence, but this may be as good as it gets."
"I don't believe that. You're underestimating him, which is something a lot of people do. You see this bookish genius, this skinny guy with glasses, and you don't realize just how strong he really is. Daniel can beat this."
"Really." Dave tilts his head and gives me that piercing I-see-everything look. "I only see him for a little while each day. You tell me--how is he doing?"
"Fine." I look at my hands. "Fine. Really fine. I mean... yeah, he still has some issues, but after what happened, how could he not? But he's mostly fine. Really."
"I see," Dave says, and falls quiet.
He's still staring at me with that tiny, knowing smile. "He is," I insist. "He's so much better. He gets himself ready in the mornings, he works all day in my office or in Carter's lab with only occasional touches to keep him grounded, he can handle going out for groceries or to see a movie or for dinner or whatever without any problems."
"And without any touches?"
"Well... yeah. Mostly. Just a little bit, here and there. He doesn't need to be held all the time anymore, though. I mean, hell, right now he's down in the basement, using the punching bag, all alone, and he's fine with it. He'll probably be down there for half an hour, maybe more. He's come so far..."
"Nobody is denying that, Jack," Dave says, "but he's not fully recovered yet. I notice you mentioned him getting himself ready in the morning. I assume that means showering alone?"
I blink and slide my eyes to one side. "Of course. Why would he share if he didn't have to?"
Dave's smile tugs up a bit at the corners. "I won't ask you that, Colonel, so you don't have to tell me."
"I'm not sure what you mean," I say calmly.
"Of course you aren't. So let's just say, hypothetically, that Daniel was in a relationship with someone before he was captured. And let's say that this someone was available to him now. Do you think he's able to continue their relationship the way it was before?"
"Uh-huh... by 'the way it was before' you mean..."
"Sex," he says bluntly. "If he's as fine as you both insist, I assume he's able to resume normal relations?"
I narrow my eyes. "And of course, that's such an important part of field duty that we need to make sure he's capable of it before you can clear him."
"It's an important part of his mental and emotional health," Dave says patiently. "I'm trying to treat the whole person, not just Daniel the soldier or Daniel the archeologist."
"He's not a soldier."
"I've read your mission files, Jack. I beg to differ."
"Beg all you want."
Dave sighs and closes his notebook. "I think we're done for today."
"Yeah," I say. "I think we are." Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.
He stands and pauses by the front door, looking at me steadily. "He's not ready, Jack, and you know it. More importantly, *he* knows it. This is where his recovery gets hard. You've made the big, dramatic improvements already--now you're down to the nitty gritty. A lot of work for little appreciable gain. This is not the time to tell him and yourself that everything is fine, and sweep his problems under the rug, because they'll come out to bite you on the ass when you least expect it."
I glare at him, but I can't come up with a response to that. I really hate people who are always right, but I have to admit that Dave knows what he's talking about.
When he's gone, I lean back on the couch and close my eyes. I can hear the muted sounds of repeated, dull thuds as Daniel punches the heavy bag, and his muffled curses. He tends to swear in other languages, and the occasional bits that I pick up--usually in Arabic--are astonishingly filthy. It's been hell on my mental image of him as this sweet, innocent kid who only knows about old rocks and dead languages.
He really is doing better. When we brought him home, there was no way he could have been down there, working off his anger, without someone close by to hold him. It's been nothing but steady improvement, with gained confidence and independence every day, and maybe we got a little complacent. Maybe we just assumed everything would go back to normal, given enough time.
I do have to face that he isn't completely okay. For one thing, he freezes up if I touch him in a remotely sexual way. Even a back rub makes him nervous. The separate showers thing was a major goal for him, and even when he could only take five minute showers and yank his clothes on while he was still wet just so he could jump into my arms that much sooner, he still insisted on doing it alone.
We used to enjoy showering together. I miss it. I miss *Daniel.*
He has nightmares. Hell, he can't even fall asleep if I'm not in bed with him, holding him close. But we both have to be wearing pajamas--even bare chests mean too much skin touching for him. With all the right conditions, safely dressed and held tight in the security of our own room, he still has screaming nightmares. He still cries sometimes for no reason at all, and he still has a volatile temper that can flare up over nothing.
He's not okay. But he's *so* much better that it's easy to ignore the little things. When Carter and Teal'c moved out and it was just us, having beer and pizza and arguing over what to watch on TV, I could pretend things were normal again. He would get up and go into the kitchen for a drink, or go to the bathroom, and sink back down beside me with complete calm. Sure, he'd cuddle close again, but it wasn't like he was desperate for it.
When we started going in to work together, it was difficult at first. He could make it to my office by simply walking by my side, letting our arms brush occasionally, but working alone in his own office was out of the question. Still is, actually. If I can't be in the office all day, he goes to Carter's lab, or he hangs out with Teal'c. In the beginning, he had to get a hug or something similar several times in an hour, but now he can go all day with only little touches here and there. A squeezed hand, a pat on the back, maybe I ruffle his hair or let our shoulders lean together. Little things. Pleasant, really.
If I didn't know that he'd eventually fall apart and panic without those little touches, it would be nice.
"Hey."
I jump and twist to look at him. "Hey. Didn't hear you come back up."
"Yeah." He's sweaty, red-faced and trembling, his muscles still twitching from the workout. His hair, longer now than it was before his capture, sticks out in damp, unruly spikes.
"Come here," I say, and open my arms. Daniel sinks into me easily, his slim frame still not quite what it was, but he's getting there. For a few minutes, he just closes his eyes and breathes, his eyelashes a soft, intimate touch against my throat.
"Sorry I lost it," he says.
"Don't be. I wanted to smack him one myself."
He laughs softly. "Yeah." A deep sigh, and then he pulls back to face me. "He's right, you know. About not being ready."
"I know."
Daniel searches my face for a long moment, and then he brings one hand up and traces his fingertips lightly over my mouth. I can taste a hint of the leather he was punching, and the rest is salt and coffee and skin. Daniel- taste. I'd almost forgotten it.
"I'm sorry about this, too," he says.
I blink slowly, rubbing my cheek against his hand before he withdraws it completely. "What do you mean?"
He smiles sadly. "You know what I mean. You've been very patient, Jack. I know you want to... to be like we were before."
"You know, Dave mentioned that."
Daniel draws himself in, like his skin is a cloak he can hide behind. "What did he say?"
"He asked if you had been able to... you know. Have sex."
"Why would he ask you? He doesn't know about us."
I smile and ruffle his hair, something which Daniel tolerates with his usual exasperated grace. "He knows. I acted like there wasn't anything, of course, but he knows."
Daniel grimaces. "Peachy."
"Hey! Quit stepping on my lines."
He laughs, and I laugh, and he leans against me again, his fingers tracing lightly over my arm. The skin there pebbles into goose bumps, all the fine hairs standing on end, but he pretends not to notice.
"I am trying to... to be okay with that stuff," he says softly.
"No hurry, Daniel. If you're not comfortable with the physical stuff, I can live with that. I don't want you doing anything that you don't feel good about."
He smiles and leans close to me, our mouths a breath apart. "I do love you, Jack," he says. He veers to the side at the last minute and kisses my cheek, light and fleeting. "So much," he whispers. "Thank you so much."
"For what?" I ask, trying to keep my voice even.
"For not leaving. I know I haven't been easy to live with."
"Hey," I say gruffly. "Better or worse, and all that."
Daniel blinks at me comically, his eyebrows moving gymnastically. "We're not married."
"Close enough, Danny. Close enough."
His face crumples, and then he's sniffling into my shirt. "See what you made me do?" he chokes out. "Why'd you have to be so nice?"
"I'm so sorry, Doctor Jackson," I growl. "In the future I'll try to be a bastard."
"You better."
I smile and kiss his forehead, and I feel him smile against my chest, even if he is still crying. My Daniel. Not giving up on you, and not giving up on us, either.
~~~