"Where is he? Make a hole!"

The yells are distant at first, barely heard over the typical rustle of a secret military base. They increase in volume along with the clop of thick-tread boots.

Daniel groans. "Here we go."

Sam stands close enough that her thigh bumps his knee, where she plays with a clipboard on his left. A small snicker sneaks past her professional veneer. "As if you expected anything else."

"It's our eleventh mission, Sam."

"Yeah, but come on. Let's not fool ourselves. This was bound to happen sooner or later."

Daniel squirms on the hospital bed, legs swung to the side. He goes to itch his neck and flinches.

Teal'c, sitting on the bed opposite while Carolyn Lam cleans a laceration on his arm, straightens. "Attempting to move is medically unsound, Daniel Jackson."

"Yeah." Daniel breathes through his teeth. "Got that."

'Professional veneer' might be too generous at the moment, at least physically. For all of them. Soot streaks Sam's BDUs like giant claw marks, her hair all over the place and half over one eye, neck ringed with filth. Teal'c's not much better off, black T-shirt in ribbons.

Daniel's the only one in blue scrubs, whose clothes were sliced away immediately to avoid infection. Grime's been wiped off his arms and neck as well. Without glasses, he has to squint at everything twice as long to pick out details.

"It didn't have to happen sooner or later," Daniel complains. His hands throb where he—gingerly—places them in his lap. "And for the record, I would've preferred later."

Sam outright smiles now. "Good thing for Teal'c that it did."

She looks over her shoulder at him, winking. Teal'c inclines his head towards Daniel, though his lips match some of Sam's humour.

"I am indeed indebted to you, Daniel Jackson."

"Ah." Daniel's about to wave a hand but remembers to keep still at the last second. "Don't even worry about it. We've saved each other enough times. You for me more than the other way around, if we're honest. No harm, no foul."

"I beg to differ," says Carolyn. She snaps off her gloves.

"It's not that bad."

Sam throws Daniel an incredulous look. "Are you kidding?"

"What she said." Carolyn points at Sam, turning Daniel's hands this way and that.

"Can I go now?" He's not above begging but he'd rather not if he doesn't have to. "There's no adverse reaction to the topical antibiotic. No allergies."

Carolyn's mouth cinches into a white line.

"Doc."

She puts one hand on her hip, the other taking Daniel's pulse at his jaw. She opens her mouth, but before she can speak—

"Where is he? Where's Daniel?"

Daniel closes his eyes for a moment. "Oh boy."

"I said make a hole, people!"

After several more oofs and sorry, sir shoving sounds, a wild-eyed Jack appears. Mouth taut, ears flushed. Worked into a tizzy of seismic proportions. Well, in that Jack's version of a tizzy is essentially to look like a scandalized grandmother and glare a lot. He catches himself on the doorway of the infirmary.

He's already barking before he comes to a complete stop.

"Why does no one around here tell me anything?! Is he okay?"

Carolyn calmly pats the bed next to Daniel's hip, on the right. "He's fine, sir. Relatively speaking."

Jack continues to rant but does, let the record show, come stand beside Daniel. "I had to find out from Walter when he mentioned Daniel's hands were hamburger upon coming through the gate."

Carolyn is serene. "You asked not to be disturbed during your phone update with the president."

"But—"

"You said, and I quote: 'unless the world is ending, nobody call or enter my office.'"

"Yeah, well…"

Jack doesn't seem to know how to argue that and honestly neither does Daniel. They share a look.

"What happened this time, kids?"

"Sir…you want to do this now?" asks Sam.

Jack is resolute. "You betcha. We're doing this right here, right now. We'll have a formal debrief later."

And it truly is ridiculous, in the purest sense of the word, SG-1 circled close around Daniel seated on the bed like the world's worst group huddle. Roughed up soldiers in a pristine infirmary who appear more weighted with gravitas than they really are. Sam fighting not to laugh certainly doesn't help.

Teal'c stands. "Daniel Jackson saved my life."

"You what?" Jack looks at Daniel, then for confirmation from Sam. Brows high. "He what?"

"It's true." Sam grins, softer this time. "He grabbed Teal'c from a fire pit before he could fall. And shot hostiles on the other side. We had a dicey time getting through a blockade in front of the gate."

"It was most impressive to see Daniel Jackson with a gun in one hand and the shoulder of my tac vest in the other."

Sam pats Daniel's arm. "Really though. That was insane, even for you."

Jack glances at Teal'c. "You burned too?"

"I am not." Teal'c lifts his chin. "Daniel Jackson helped pull me up to safety before the flames were doused with fuel by enemy Jaffa, which burned his hands."

The whole thing isn't that much of a novelty, not after years of doing what they do. Everyone's had their cowboy moment of heroism. But still, Daniel can't help a tiny uptick of his lips, a quick smile.

"That should make for an interesting report," says Jack, quiet.

Without glasses, Daniel can't read Jack's eyes beyond the obvious cues. There's a note there, something Daniel's not sure he could decipher even with twenty-twenty vision. For all Jack's claims about being a simple man, Daniel sometimes feels he's the hardest text he's ever translated.

The feeling also seems to be mutual. Jack stares at Daniel with unblinking eyes for a moment.

Daniel clears his throat. "Can someone go to my office and get me a spare pair of glasses from the…drawer…"

At the word 'glasses,' Sam, Teal'c, and Carolyn all reach into their cargo pockets, or in Doc Lam's case, her lab coat—and remove a plastic glasses case. Three brand new pairs, just like that.

"I'd offer one too," says Jack, "but I keep my set in the office."

Daniel's mouth drops open. "You…you all just, what, have my prescription on you all the time?"

Sam is wickedly delighted by his gobsmacked expression. This time she does laugh. "If you haven't figured that out by now, after eight years, you never would have on your own."

"I didn't even realize this many copies existed." Daniel gawks at his friends all holding out a glasses case and shyly reaches for the closest, a blue one in Sam's hand. He uses his wrist to curl it close to his body and into his lap.

"Daniel." Carolyn snorts. "You have the best optometrist health plan on the continent and you break at least one pair a month. At your yearly scan, how many did you think we made?"

Daniel flounders. "I don't know. Like, three?"

The entire team gets a chuckle out of that, even Jack, and Daniel doesn't want to know how far off the mark he is about it.

Jack's eyes stray to Daniel's hands again. This time the look they share is knowing, weighted.

"Burns, huh?"

Daniel holds up his right hand, bandaged to mitten size. It looks like a club. "Yeah."

At least his left is less thickly wound, fingertips out over the bandage so he can feel details. It didn't get hit by leaping flames quite so much.

"He's got burns on sixty percent of his hands," says Carolyn to Jack. "But we'll change them three times a day, including cream to prevent drying out and infection. It's going to be an uncomfortable week or two, but they're second degree burns at worst. I gave him a dose of painkillers and he can have more in the morning."

Jack says it again for confirmation, which surprises Daniel. "He's okay."

"He's fine, General," Carolyn repeats, more patient than Daniel's ever seen her.

"Alright, children." Jack nods to himself. "Class dismissed. We'll debrief at 0800 tomorrow."

Sam and Teal'c exchange goodbyes with Daniel before they're off together for a late supper in the cafeteria. Jack has a conversation with Carolyn too hushed to hear. Daniel carefully hops down, glasses case tucked under his elbow, and makes for the door.

All he wants are clean sweats and a bed, maybe some pizza, a good book. Oh, and to sleep for a week.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Daniel makes it a grand total of fifteen feet down the hallway. That's still got to be some kind of record, especially for him.

Smile wry, Daniel turns on his heel. "I'm about to conk out in about twenty minutes flat. I just need to get out of these scrubs, Jack."

"Well, duh." Jack jogs to catch up. "I just meant you're not allowed to be unsupervised on these meds."

Daniel groans again. Of course he's not. Doctors hate him like that.

"So," asks Jack. "A fire pit?"

"Mhmm. Locals—Goa'uld worshipers—use it for ritual animal sacrifices."

"Wild."

"I know, right? We haven't encountered that one too often."

Jack nudges his bicep. "Why animals?"

"We learned Goa'uld told the locals to sacrifice animals that were killing their young people—and therefore encroaching on Goa'uld food supplies. They had humans do their dirty work, hunting for them."

"Ah."

Daniel's grateful that Jack doesn't rush their pace, just keeps step-for-step, hands in his pockets. On the other end of the spectrum, Daniel's also glad Jack doesn't hover or support him with a hand under the elbow.

He would like to ride the high and dignity of this win for a little while longer, thank you very much.

Once at Daniel's office, he flicks on a light and drops the glasses case on the table. First things first.

Hands sort of freed, he digs through a pile of laundry on the battered couch. He loves this thing. The second-hand piece of furniture has followed him all the way from undergrad university to his first apartment and now here at the SGC for the past almost-decade.

Problem is, he has to dig with his elbows.

"Hey." Jack comes closer. "What are you looking for?"

"Clothes."

"Daniel…"

"I got it."

Jack's face does a funny twitch that Daniel wishes he had the glasses on to see better. But Jack does step back. Small victories.

"Here we are," says Daniel, going for an upbeat tone. "Can't go wrong with sweatpants and a hoodie."

Daniel likes to think he's nothing if not resourceful; he had to be through childhood and then into the somehow even more insane saga that is his adult life. After a minute or two, he figures out a system:

If he removes items one at a time, he can use the fingers on his left hand as a hook to scoop them free of the clothes heap. His right elbow pinches each article to brace it. They're finally free and on his desk barely a minute later. He drapes them over a stack of cartouche books he hasn't had a chance to digitize yet for a report.

The pants are easy enough. Jack's got his back to Daniel, tidying up the warzone of laundry, so Daniel shimmies off the scrub bottoms and tugs on the elasticized sweats one handed. Easy peasy.

The pull over hoodie is another issue altogether.

It's one of the most physically tricky things Daniel's done in a long time. Just wriggling out of the scrub shirt takes a solid three minutes. He's sweating by the end. His torso erupts with goosebumps. He tries to snake his hand into a sleeve and winces.

"Let me help," says Jack, closer than Daniel expects. He senses he's lost time somewhere.

"I've got it."

Jack huffs through his nose. "You're in pain."

"I said I've got it."

"It's okay to admit that it hurts."

Daniel stops moving. He pretends it's out of amazement at these honest words but truthfully it hurts to wrangle with the hoodie sleeves. It sits on his desk, a puzzle Daniel's body can't solve.

"We're all in one piece, Jack."

Jack nods but says nothing.

And okay, that's a little fair. Daniel's hands throb, lancing pain up both arms. His right still feels licked by fire. Hot. Insistent. Barely a lull between heartbeats before the next wave sizzles through every vein and capillary.

Daniel's tired. But oh so satisfied. They stopped a Jaffa attack on a village and Teal'c didn't get scorched to a crisp. It was a successful mission, all told. He's fine in a deeper sense. The burns are worth it in exchange for a friend's life.

For a while the two men just stare at the hoodie, as if it holds the key to everything they don't understand. Airmen stroll past the door with the supper shift change, and two minutes pass where the loudest sound is simply the clop clop of feet and Siler singing on his way to fix a leaky pipe, wrench over one shoulder.

"This is harder than I ever thought it would be," says Jack out of the blue.

The room lurches along with Daniel's thoughts, and pain meds blur the world around the edges, so Daniel flops into the chair behind his desk. Jack follows, fiddling with a miniature amphora.

Phoenician, second century BC, likely used for perfume, Daniel's mind supplies before he can focus.

"What, arguing with the president every day?"

Though Daniel tries to make it a joke, Jack doesn't bite. He shakes his head. Slowly. So slowly.

"You'd think being shot at and possessed and put in a sarcophagus and…" Jack rubs his chin. "To any sane person that sounds like the harder job."

Daniel gentles his voice. "Now you know how Hammond felt."

"No." Jack's head shake quickens. His hand lands on the desk with a loud thump. "No, I don't. Because he didn't…he didn't know us like I know you. Care about you like I do. Not to diminish Hammond's good years, but I think I have it worse in some ways."

Jack's mouth is still open, as if he's about to expound on just what those ways are, but he goes silent. Daniel hears anyway.

"You knew we'd get injured eventually."

"Sure." Jack's words sound plastic. "But to face it all at once…I don't know. Maybe I'm not cut out to run a military base, sit on the sidelines. You're still a good team. It's me who's going to die of anxiety."

Daniel's chest winches with a wave of pity. He skims a set of bandaged knuckles over Jack's shoulder. His voice pitches low.

"I promise we're fine."

If anything, this deepens the lines around Jack's eyes. For once, Daniel can't conjugate what they mean.

"Maybe that's what's so hard about this." Jack sets down the amphora. "I wasn't there to back you up."

"But you've trained Sam," Daniel points out. "And she's got our backs. She does a fantastic job leading the team."

"I know that, I just…" Something in Jack's mouth steels. His hands curl into fists and then relax. "You did good today, Daniel. I'm proud of how far you've come. When we first met, you didn't know the business end of a gun from a banana."

Daniel rolls his eyes, but they're shiny. "Thanks."

Happy fatigue flushes suddenly through his body, and he has the inane urge to rest on Jack's chest, level now with his forehead. It's maybe seven inches of tipped momentum away. It would be so easy just to let gravity propel him forward until he's mushed into the soft cotton of Jack's shirt.

Daniel refrains, startled by the impulse. One he hasn't had in a very long time.

"Here, come on." Jack grabs the hoodie. "Let's figure this out."

If he'd worded it any other way, Daniel might have refused on principle. Instead, Jack makes the endeavour sound like a team effort.

"I wasn't that bad."

Jack strokes the underside of Daniel's fingers when the shaking left hand pops out the sleeve, letting him adjust to the pain. "Lest we forget—you spoke Russian to an American officer during the Cold War."

That's also a little fair.

Jack licks his lips. He pales at the same rate as Daniel. "You ready for the right?"

"No. But I'm getting drowsy so we'd better do it fast."

They do not do it fast.

At first, their system is that Jack holds the sweater cuff open and upright while Daniel works his mitten hand through the sleeve. But Daniel hisses one too many times and Jack pulls away.

Daniel's heart races through a tap routine at the agony of this simple ablution. His burns spark like an electrical circuit.

"Okay, new plan." Jack looks between Daniel and the sweater. Daniel stifles shivers. He feels strangely vulnerable, shirtless in his office even though there's no one around to see. "Can I…?"

Jack doesn't finish this thought, but his hand closes around Daniel's wrist, just above the bandages. Daniel lets him. Jack could order him to tightrope over a volcano blindfolded and so long as he said it was for Daniel's own good, he'd do it.

Jack pauses, swallows. His thumb shudders for a microsecond on Daniel's artery, the soft underbelly of his wrist.

"I trust you."

Jack's jaw tightens. "I know. But, Daniel…"

"Always."

"Even when I'm not there to keep you all safe?"

"Maybe there's more than one way to do that."

Jack finally looks away from the bandaged limb and his eyes pool with something broken open. Something he doesn't let Daniel—or anyone—see very often, if ever.

Daniel flicks Jack's arm with his own thumb.

It gets Jack moving again. He has Daniel ball up the sleeve so it's a shorter distance to scrape through and then gently guides Daniel's hand.

Daniel goes boneless from the arm down, trusting Jack's process, though he watches it as best he can without proper eyesight. The white nub of bandages emerges after a few seconds of Operation-level attention. Jack's so eagle eyed with the limb that Daniel almost laughs.

He doesn't, mainly because it's so precious. Jack isn't this fastidious about anything.

Jack keeps the wrist steady amidst Daniel's rather ungraceful wet-dog shakes. It takes another few heartbeats of bobbing to get his head all the way through the neck hole.

"Whew." He looks down at the collegiate hoodie. "I thought it was on backwards for a second and we'd have to do this all over again."

"That would have sucked." Jack squeezes Daniel's wrist before releasing him.

Usually pressure hurts the burns, but oddly enough Jack's grip soothes the pain. It reassures Daniel to have a friend close by, not left alone after today's splash of flames. He's adjusted to Jack not being on the team every time they step through the gate, but sometimes on close calls Daniel feels his absence with a throb in his chest cavity to match the one in his hands.

"Sorry you're stuck on babysitting duty."

"I volunteered," says Jack. "How 'bout that?"

Daniel's stomach melts. "Couldn't have managed without you."

"Oh…not so sure about that."

Jack is about to shift away—Daniel snags the hem of his shirt in his left-hand fingers before he can. Jack stops moving at once. He obeys the tacit request without question.

Daniel points to the desk. "Help me with them?"

This part he could definitely do by himself with just four fingertips, but Daniel gets a different kind of satisfaction from the sight of Jack opening the glasses case and playing with the frames. Perhaps Jack needs this more than he does. Maybe he's got his own chest throb.

"We're going to have to update your style one of these days. I hear rectangle frames are all the rage."

"Is the man who wears fatigues for fun criticizing my fashion style?"

"Touché."

Jack slides the glasses onto Daniel's face with the fluidity of long practice. He's done it countless times, so many that Daniel is floored to realize he can't remember them all. The thumbs are warm where they bracket Daniel's face, rough with use and callouses that stroke in an affectionate, barely-there motion against his cheeks.

The hand ruffles Daniel's hair on the retreat.

"There." Jack leans back as if to soak in the complete portrait of a dishevelled Daniel Jackson. He can't imagine he looks very distinguished or heroic like this. "Now you're ready to take on the world."

"For now, I just want to nap on the couch."

"A wiser choice, really."

Amidst working up the energy to walk the eight feet from his desk to the couch, Daniel notices Jack still staring at him. This time the lenses bring Jack's face into focus. It's tight too, the pooling in his eyes almost longing.

"What?" Daniel finally asks.

Jack shakes himself. "Nothing. Just thinking I've got to search for that bumbling linguist who got us stuck on an alien planet all those years ago. He's light years behind now."

"He's…I'm still here," says Daniel. Then, to lighten the shadow in Jack's eyes, "He has better reflexes though."

"Yeah." Jack's frown flees with a chuckle. "And isn't Teal'c glad of that."

The shadow, however, doesn't fade for a long time.