Shadows of Fear – Part 6
The slap of his feet on the cold tiles of his hall brought Daniel to a screaming halt and he did an abrupt right turn into the lounge room. His shoes were still where he had left them. He slid them on, grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair, snatched his keys from the hall table, and was out the door within minutes of having spoken to Jack.
It was halfway to Jack's house that the thought hit him – should he have called someone at the SGC? Janet? Hammond? What about their teammates? Whatever had caused Jack to call out like that was probably something Daniel didn't want to just walk in on alone.
That's if there was anything there.
If he called out the troops, only to find Jack had been caught in the middle of a nightmare ... he wasn't sure who it would be worse for, Jack or him.
He'd call Sam. She'd know what to do.
Daniel groped in his jacket pocket for his cell, slowing down slightly as he steered one-handed around a bend.
It wasn't there. An image of the phone sitting on the chest of drawers in his bedroom flashed through his mind and he uttered a very Jack-like "Crap!" The decision as to whether to call someone had been taken out of his hands by a simple act of forgetfulness.
Jack's house was blazing with light when Daniel pulled up outside it – surely a good sign. He couldn't see alien attackers, or even human ones for that matter, taking the time to switch every light on. The only sign of anything out of the ordinary was the extreme tilt on the mailbox at the end of the path.
The only sign of anything unusual - except the lights of course. That wasn't usual. Daniel frowned and paused his hurried steps to the front door to look more carefully around.
Jack's truck was parked in its customary spot. The street was quiet, and there was no one else in sight. Just a normal suburban night.
Pulling the key Jack had given him from his pocket, Daniel quickly inserted it and pushed the door open a little, listening. When he didn't hear anything he opened it a bit more and carefully looked through, crouching slightly. One part of his mind was sifting through all the lessons Jack had given him in what to do when entering a potentially hostile situation, but another part was shouting at him to hurry up and find Jack.
In the end it was the shouting part that won.
Daniel stepped fully into the house.
"Jack!" He hurried towards the lounge room. "Jack, where are you?"
Despite the lack of reply, it didn't take long to find him.
The telephone table was lying on its side, the photo frame and small pottery bowl that usually were on its surface, broken on the floor beside it. The telephone receiver itself was beeping quietly from the carpet.
And Jack was sitting, his head bowed, in his favourite chair, his bare feet up on the coffee table and bent at the knees.
"Jack?" Daniel automatically lowered his voice to almost a whisper when his friend didn't look up, and approached him slowly, registering all the tiny details which separately meant nothing, but put together were worrying, to put it mildly.
Daniel moved nearer to take up a position perched on the low table, facing Jack. When the other man still didn't react, he leaned forward, putting out a hand.
Jack flinched violently, his right shoulder twitching upwards in a jerky motion. Finally he looked up, looking confused.
"Daniel? When did you get here?"
"Just a few minutes ago. What's going on? What happened?"
"When?" Jack's gaze skittered away even as he spoke.
"When you were talking to me. You called out."
"You must have misheard. I bumped the phone." Pointing, Jack indicated the receiver.
Daniel stood and righted the telephone table, putting the phone back onto it. He glanced briefly at the large pieces of broken pottery and the glistening shards of glass, but decided now wasn't the time to deal with them.
Turning back to Jack, he found him striking a match to light the cigarette he had already placed between his thin, bloodless, lips.
"What are you doing?"
With a grunt of irritation, Jack stopped, shaking the match to put it out and taking the cigarette from his mouth. "You know I smoke."
"Smoked, Jack, smoked. You gave up years ago. So what are you doing?"
Instead of answering Jack pulled a book of matches from his pocket and struck another one, holding it up to the cigarette again. Daniel watched as he inhaled deeply, drawing the smoke in.
Then he coughed, small coughs to begin with, but soon ones that shook his whole body. He took the cigarette from his mouth again, throwing it to join the spent match on the tabletop.
Jack sat back as the coughs lessened, taking his feet off the coffee table. He took a few breaths and finally spoke. "Shit! I can't even enjoy a smoke anymore." He didn't sound angry. Daniel almost wished he did - it would have been far better than the defeated voice he heard.
Spotting a cigarette packet poking from the couch cushions, Daniel leaned forward and pulled it out, turning it over in his hands and looking at it curiously. Its once glossy surface was faded, the writing barely legible. The cardboard was warped as if it had been wet and it was covered in a thin layer of gray fuzz. He popped the top open and stared in consternation at the mould mottled cigarettes inside.
With an exclamation of disgust, Daniel dropped the packet, wiping his hands down the legs of his jeans to rid them of the black residue now covering his fingertips.
"No wonder you had that reaction when you tried to smoke one of these! How old are they? Where the hell did you find them?"
Jack still didn't look at him, hiding behind his arm now, putting it across his face in a posture Daniel recognised as one he took up when trying to avoid interacting with anyone. He was a little surprised that Jack answered his question.
"They were out on the deck. I stashed them there in case I changed my mind about quitting."
"When? How long have they been out there?" Daniel prodded the packet, feeling it squelch moistly.
This time Jack didn't speak, but Daniel thought he knew the answer anyway. The packet had probably been outside on his friend's deck for years. He'd be lucky to not get some exotic disease from the mouldy cigarettes.
He took a closer look at the other man, seeing the lines of fatigue making his face look haggard. Jack seemed to have aged years in the short hours since this morning.
He stood, needing to do something, anything, rather than just sitting there. Maybe he could get Jack to talk, to tell him what had caused him to shout out, to sound so desperate, but he had to approach the subject carefully.
"Come on." He put his hand out, ignoring the jerk Jack gave as he gripped his arm, giving it a small tug. "Janet said you needed sleep and I don't think you've been following her orders."
Jack pulled back, yanking his arm out of Daniel's grasp. For the first time he met Daniel's eyes, his own red-rimmed ones flashing dangerously. Daniel would have been pleased to hear the note of old familiar Jack in his voice, if it wasn't for what he said.
"I don't want to go to bed." He raised his hand to rub the bridge of his nose.
"Have you got a headache?"
Jack gave a weary nod. "Oh yeah."
"Then you really need to get to bed." Daniel decided to be decisive. He took a step, intending to try once again to make the other man stand. His shoe crunched on something and he looked down, remembering the broken glass.
"I'll just get the worst of this up, okay?" Daniel headed for the kitchen, intending to get the hand-held vacuum Jack kept in one of the cupboards, but stopped, spying the half empty whiskey bottle and the glass on the bench.
He turned back, suddenly furious, everything finally falling into place.
"Is that it, Jack? Is that what this is all about? You had a few drinks, fell asleep on the couch and had a nightmare?" He stalked towards the other man, gesturing angrily. "I rush over here, thinking you're in some sort of trouble and you can't even remember asking me to come? Do you realise how close I came to sounding the alarm and asking for the SF's to meet me here? That would have been great, wouldn't it?" He stopped, glaring down at his friend. "Is that it, Jack? Tell me?"
"No!"
Daniel stepped back, startled by the intensity that rang out in the single shouted word. Jack lurched up and Daniel winced at the sound of glass cracking under bare feet.
"Is that what you think? Damn it – I was going to have one drink when I got home, but I changed my mind." Jack pushed past him. "Do you really think so little of me?" He turned and Daniel flinched at the livid fury in Jack's voice. "When was the last time you saw me drunk, Daniel? Think about it."
As his mind searched through the past years to find the answer to Jack's question, Daniel realised his friend was right. In all those team nights at bars and restaurants, at all the bbq's Jack had held, he couldn't remember a single occasion when Jack had been anything more than slightly tipsy – not for a very long time.
Jack had continued to storm off as Daniel thought, and now he hurried after him, stopping him at the door to the hall by pulling once again on his arm.
"Jack." He rushed to speak as the other man ignored him. "Jack, stop! I'm sorry. You're right. I was completely out of line. I don't know what made me think that." He frowned as Jack didn't acknowledge him, continuing down the hall. With a hop, Daniel managed to get in front of him, stopping him dead in his tracks. "Jack, please!"
There was a long pause, then it was as if Jack was a balloon that suddenly deflated. He sagged, all the fight going out of him, and for a moment Daniel thought he would fall and reached out. He didn't, straightening slightly at the last second, but Daniel still pulled him in, holding him steady. He momentarily felt his friend's weight resting against him, before Jack stepped back.
"It's okay. I can understand why you thought ..." He hesitated. "I haven't been exactly ... I saw … It was …" Daniel held his breath, waiting, but sighed in disappointment as Jack stopped and just shook his head, clearly deciding not to continue.
They stood there, at an impasse, as Daniel wondered what to do next. He hadn't exactly helped matters, in fact he felt like he'd done the opposite, upsetting his friend unnecessarily. His looked down, not knowing what to do next.
"You've cut your feet." He nodded at the red dotting the carpet behind them.
Jack looked and for a second it was the old Jack that turned back, one eyebrow raised, a slightly abashed look on his face. "Yeah, well I suppose if I'm stupid enough to walk barefoot across broken glass …"
Daniel felt relief at having something relatively normal to discuss. "Better clean them before you go to bed."
"Okay." Jack nodded.
"Do you need a hand?"
"No, I'm good." Jack lifted one foot to inspect it, balancing on the other as he did so. "They aren't deep – just scratches."
"Okay, I'll clean up the glass while you're doing that."
"You're staying?"
"Of course."
He waited, not sure of the other man's reaction, but relaxed when he nodded stiffly and turned to head for the bathroom.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
By the time Daniel had cleared the carpet of the many tiny pieces of glass and pottery which littered it, Jack had finished cleaning and bandaging the cuts. He leaned against the doorway, watching as Daniel disposed of the debris. Despite his relaxed pose he seemed a little uncomfortable and Daniel could see he still had the headache he'd obviously had earlier, his hand alternately rubbing the bridge of his nose and the back of his neck. He'd changed into sweat pants and a T-shirt, ready for bed.
Daniel tried again. "Come on, Jack. It's about time you followed doctor's orders." He began leading his friend towards the bedroom.
Nodding, Jack followed. "Did they find anything? At the base? Anything to explain ...?"
Daniel shook his head reluctantly, waiting as Jack straightened up, picking the lamp off the floor and putting it back on the bedside table. "No, not that I know of, but the equipment ..." He stopped and smiled. "I have to admit I didn't have a clue what Sam and her scientists were doing, but whatever it was, I'm sure there will be an answer ..."
Jack held out a hand. "Ack, don't. Nothing's certain."
"Well, we've seen some pretty strange things. I'm sure there is a logical explanation."
For some reason Jack was avoiding meeting his eyes again. He slid under the covers and turned to his side.
Daniel started to leave. "Goodnight. I'll lock up when I go."
"Stay."
The word was so quietly spoken that Daniel wasn't sure he'd heard it correctly. "What?"
"Please … Stay."
This time there was no mistaking the plea. Daniel nodded. "Okay." He put a hand out to switch off the light.
"Leave it on."
"Ah, okay ... is the bed made up in the spare room?"
He waited, but it was long seconds before Jack answered. "Daniel, stay ... Here ... Please."
Jack sounded – scared.
"No problem." Pulling a chair over to just under the window, Daniel grabbed a spare blanket off the end of Jack's bed and settled in for a long, uncomfortable night – what was left of it anyway.
The moon shone wanly the curtains, its light disappearing as it mixed with the artificial glow of electricity. Daniel sat, watching as his friend drifting into a restless sleep, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck in a gesture that was vaguely familiar.
It wasn't until dawn was coloring the clouds outside that Daniel sat up with a jerk, the memory of a Goa'uld snake entering Jack's neck, while he stood, helpless to do anything but watch, suddenly as vivid as that moment long years and many missions ago.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
TBC
