Chapter 3

The Nile was receding in its season; the farmers acted quickly to plant new crops in the ultra-rich soil left behind while the fishermen chased the water farther and farther each day. Daniel walked slowly, telling himself it was for one last feel of the bright sunshine and the sounds and smells of this ancient land before he left. Not because he dreaded the confrontation ahead of him.

Many of the people of the surrounding villages called to him. A young boy ran up with a handful of dried fruit; a pair of teenage girls laughed behind their hands, their aged khatba clucking her tongue and hurrying them along. By the time he'd reached the lone fisherman, woven hat shading his face and his fingers laced across his chest, Daniel felt centered. Balanced. Well – almost.

"Finally saw the light, eh?" O'Neill didn't bother looking up. "How can dusty scrolls and fancy Egyptian yoga possibly compete with the simple bliss of fishing?"

Daniel settled back against the thick, gnarled trunk of an elder tree, legs crossed. "That must be the single unchangeable constant in every Jack O'Neill's existence," he chuckled. "Somewhere, in every reality where some version of the two of us exist, Jack is trying to convince Daniel of the joys of fishing."

O'Neill grunted and peeked out from beneath his very ugly, very hand-crafted hat. "Well, this is a day to mark on the old calendar. Not only are you talking to me, but you're talking to me about me. The other me."

Daniel shifted his weight, acknowledging the complaint without apology. "Actually, I'd like to tell you about Jack, if that's all right with you."

Rising on his elbows, O'Neill looked him over, suspicion radiating. "This isn't where you tell me you and me – him – were heating the sheets, is it? 'Cause there are some things I just don't wanna know."

Daniel swallowed back an angry reply. "No. Jack and I are – were –" damn time travel, "are straight."

"'Cause I wondered about that other you – a little light in the loafers, I figured. And you and mister snip-a-dee-doo-dah are pretty chummy-"

"Khefti is a good man and a good friend, Colonel." This was a bad idea. "Just because I don't judge people based on who and how they love –" Daniel pushed up from the ground – he'd wasted enough time and breath on this guy.

"Whoa there – calm down." The colonel held up both hands in surrender. "Sorry." He frowned. "Seriously, didn't this other me have any sense of humor?"

Daniel's jaw stiffened and his hands clenched and unclenched. It was a few moments before he could speak calmly. "He did. But it wasn't based on arrogance and bigotry." Most of the time.

Threads of red and gold were brightening the horizon, heralding the sun. The two men watched in awkward silence.

"Why don't we start over again," O'Neill began, his voice oddly quiet. "And then you can tell me what you came out here to say."

The smell of barbecue and cheap beer, the smooth feel of Jack's deck under his back, the clean air of Colorado. It was easy to fall back there, into that life, safe inside a friendship that had healed Daniel's wounds again and again. Eyes closed on the present, he sank into his past - this universe's future – and began to speak.

"We saved the world. We saved each other, Jack and I. It was that simple." He smiled. "He was gruff and brusque and filled with childlike humor and whimsy until there was a threat – to us, to Earth or our allies – and then he was fierce and resilient. When we met, he was raw and wounded, intent on suicide. I gave my life for him. And then he put me back together when my wife – " He breathed slowly, in and out, and allowed the sorrow to fill him once again.

"We were friends, brothers. With all the fighting and jokes and resentment and– and love that comes along with that."

Beside him, O'Neill was silent. Thankfully.

"This trip to the past was my bright idea. And they paid the price for it. Sam and Teal'c. And Jack."

"So you forced him to come."

Daniel's eyes snapped open and he frowned. "No – no one – "

"Let me guess," O'Neill grinned. "No one could force your good buddy Jack to do anything he didn't want to do."

"No," Daniel nodded reluctantly. "No," he whispered, his head pounding.

"And the rebellion that failed – that was your idea, too."

Daniel lifted his eyes to follow the flight of an ibis inches above the water. His stomach twisted, his throat closing over the words. Silence built up around them, growing to muffle birds and insects, the call of voices, the rhythm of water and wind.

A touch on his shoulder brought Daniel back. He turned his head, surprised that the colonel had moved to sit beside him.

"You came out here to tell me something. And I'm thinking it's gonna be more for your benefit than for mine. That's okay," he added hurriedly. "I just think we should stipulate a couple of things to move this along."

Daniel shrugged.

"Okay, first," O'Neill held up one finger. "I'm not your friend. But I'm not an idiot, either. Stop blaming me for not being him."

His chest tight, Daniel nodded reluctantly. "Okay."

"Good. Now, 'B.' Even though my attempts at humor may tell you differently, you and your guys did a damned fine job chasing that Goa'uld away while keeping hold of the Stargate. Really." The deep-set eyes held Daniel's. "I'd be honored to serve with any and all of you."

It shouldn't matter. This man's words shouldn't burn, shouldn't taste so bittersweet. Daniel swallowed once. Twice.

"Okay?" O'Neill prompted.

"I – I appreciate that, Colonel."

"Good. Now. Your turn," O'Neill wheedled, fingers crooking in a 'gimme' gesture.

Bittersweet, indeed. Daniel cleared his throat. "You're a brave man in coming back here, Colonel. Without you, we probably wouldn't have succeeded."

"Yeeaah," O'Neill waved his hand back and forth. "Might have taken longer, especially without the little time-ship. But you'd have done it."

"Even so." Daniel's brows drew together, his eyes narrowed to slits to keep out the dazzling light. Or, perhaps, to disguise the shadows in his own soul. He flattened his palms against his thighs. He hadn't worn the BDU pants for months – years. They felt foreign – but also like coming home.

"I need to – someone should know how Jack died." He met O'Neill's concerned gaze – it, too, was foreign, but oh, so familiar. Daniel licked his lips and hesitantly unknotted the tight rein he kept on his sorrow, on his grief and guilt. He let it rush upwards and fill him.

"I don't – " The colonel stopped short, apparently changing his mind. "If you need to say it, need to get it out, I'm here to listen. But, before you start, let me ask you one more question, kid." He prodded Daniel in the chest. "Are you looking or absolution or penance?"

"A little of both, I guess," Daniel admitted.

O'Neill paused. "I may have been a good catholic boy once, but I've done things – seen things."

"'Damned distasteful things,' Jack used to say."

"Yeah. Just keep that in mind, huh?" O'Neill's lips twisted. "You're not going to shock me, kid."

"Really." A great weariness washed over Daniel. "Not even if I told you how I killed my best friend?"