Passing Through

So, Denial was a nice place to live, he decided.

Temperate. Some might even say balmy.

Nice folks too. Many people lived part time in Denial—some just passed through. Daniel visited frequently.

Jack had taken up permanent residence.

If Denial had subdivisions, his would be a gated community with a lake. Big trees, and maybe a golf course for the views. Shopping would be convenient, yet not too visible. Fishing would be pleasant—not too many fish that he actually caught something, yet enough that it still might be a possibility.

Nice. Balmy. Unpretentious. Calm.

----OOOOOOO----

He didn't really want to live in the real world. Amidst chaos. In that world where she was engaged to someone else.

She'd said yes to the shrub.

Even now he couldn't quite believe it. Just when he thought he could salvage a shred of his dignity out of the ruins of his broken soul, he would see her, and he'd remember.

She'd given Jack an opportunity. After her frantic retreat on the jogging path, she'd recouped and asked him what he wanted.

"What about you?" She'd asked, "If things had been different—"

And he'd looked at her and been unable to offer her anything that was worth giving. He'd never truly functioned well in the real world. His entire adult life had been spent in the shadows. And in those shadows, he'd performed acts of which he could not feel proud. Necessary things—designed to keep good people safe, but acts of such savage efficiency that they should have shocked her out of whatever admiration she felt for him.

He lived a life of lies and darkness.

She belonged in a world of trust and light.

And no matter what delusions she had about him—regardless of what she saw in him, he knew what he was, and he wondered how she could accept him. Eventually, it would occur to her that he was damaged—broken beyond repair—and she would regret choosing him, wouldn't she? So he'd given her what she'd been looking for—absolution. He'd given her the out that she was looking for—a reason to accept the perfectly normal, perfectly common relationship that Pete offered.

In essence, Jack had told her he didn't want her.

"I wouldn't be here." He'd said. He thought he'd smiled.

----OOOOOOO----

And that's when his imaginary moving truck had taken him away from it all and delivered him safely into Denial.

It probably should have been big burly guys in white coats delivering him to the loony bin, but he didn't want to over-do it. Everyone knew how he hated clichés.

Denial was working for him. He'd even shared the joy of it with Teal'c over a friendly game of ping pong. Humming loudly while your fingers were in your ears did solve a whole slew of problems. You couldn't hear information that would totally screw up your day. Like this morning when he'd overheard Carter telling Daniel that they'd set the wedding date. Sure, it had taken thirty or so verses of the Simpsons song, but eventually his terror had died down to a point where it had been almost manageable. At least he no longer felt like throwing up.

Not throwing up was good.

Although, he thought he would have had a great excuse for spewing—the place smelled like something foul—chickens, he recognized. Fowl—foul. Funny. And horses, and a few goats. His base currently resembled Old MacDonald's farm.

Yeah—let a woman—or a couple hundred of them—move in, and they totally took over the place. He wouldn't be surprised to open his locker and find that they'd put feminine products in there.

Although how he would even recognize a woman's stuff lately, he didn't know. It had been a long time since he'd found frilly things hanging to dry over the shower curtain rod in his bathroom.

Having said that, he didn't think the Hak'tyl did frilly. More likely it would be chain mail and leather—which would be sexy, too.

It had been way, way too long.

Denial. Denial. Denial. Denial.

----OOOOOOO----

In Denial, he could talk to her as if nothing were wrong. He'd even touched her yesterday in a fit of pique—in the hall, he'd grabbed her shoulders and begged her to find a new home world for the Hak'tyl women and their livestock. In Denial, the touch was nothing more than a friendly thing. Like a fist bump, or a handshake.

The casual contact certainly hadn't been the cause of his dream last night that had woken him up, sweating and shaking, as if he were thirteen and had seen his first nudie mag. He thanked the heavens above that he hadn't been off world.

Denial. Denial. Denial. Denial.

In this lovely new community, he had only friendly, commanding officer-subordinate thoughts about her. He could even catch her eye from time to time without remembering how her eyes had closed half way as she'd sighed at his touch—as her tongue had tasted the corner of his mouth.

And he'd found that in Denial, the ache was bearable. The sting of seeing her every day—of catching sight of her leaving the commissary or seating herself in the briefing room didn't hurt like it would have in the real world. Passing by her in the hall and being encompassed briefly by her scent didn't smart, either, and watching her report about various activities wasn't bittersweet.

Sending her off to parts unknown didn't fill him with concern, either. It had been so easy to send her last week to deal with the Colson fiasco—quite frankly, not having her around every corner had been something of a relief. He hadn't had to worry about meeting her in the commissary, or the briefing room, or the halls. He hadn't missed her—not at all.

Not even when he'd quietly let himself into her lab late one night. There in the dark, with Sam all around him, he'd found it easy to sit at her desk and think. But not about her. In Denial she wasn't in his thoughts at all.

And when Rya'c and Kar'yn had finally figured things out and gotten hitched, she'd stood next to him, and smiled, and clapped, and sighed, and it hadn't torn all the wounds open again.

In Denial, she wasn't that important to him.

In Denial, it didn't hurt anymore.

----OOOOOOO----

Eventually, the last of the Hak'tyl women made their way through the 'Gate to their new planet, and the SGC returned back to a semblance of normal. Jack glanced at his watch and muttered under his breath.

He was going to be late.

He hurriedly locked away some of the files he'd been working with—intel about the Trust never failed to completely screw up his day.

Throwing his jacket over his arm, he rounded his desk and headed for the door. He turned off the lights with his elbow, and exited, catching the door with his toe and closing it behind him.

Walter caught up with him on the way to the elevator. "Sir!"

"What?" O'Neill hated being late.

"Colonel Carter was looking for you."

"What did she want?"

"I don't know, sir, she just asked me to ask you to drop by her lab on your way out."

"Why?"

Walters pushed his little round glasses up on his little round nose. He'd always reminded Jack of a Weeble. "I don't know, sir. She just asked me to tell you. That's all."

O'Neill paused, then looked at his watch. It still felt weird to just be able to look at his watch without flipping back the cover first. Half the time he still reached for the little Velcro flap. He'd been able to start wearing a normal watch when he'd been made General. The cover on his combat watch had been functional—it had prevented the crystal's reflection from giving away his position. It didn't matter on base. Everyone knew where he was, anyway. No stealth necessary.

The watch told him he was going to be late.

"You working the overnight, Walter?" He said as he started walking toward the elevator again.

"Yes sir." Walter hurried after him—a Chihuahua following the German Shepherd.

O'Neill nodded. "Good. Watch the 'Gate well. Make sure it doesn't go anywhere."

The airman looked at the General as if he were nuts. "Yes sir."

Jack nodded over his shoulder. "'Night."

"Goodnight, sir."

Jack entered the elevator and hesitated only briefly before pushing the correct number. He guessed he had a few minutes.

She was positioned at the table in her lab, doing scientific things. Something apparently fascinated her—she sat hunched over her microscope, jotting down random notes on a yellow legal pad without looking. She was the only person he'd ever know who could do that. He knew from experience that her notes would be neat, too. No misspelling or wrong spacing anywhere. Of course, that didn't impress him—in Denial, such things were ordinary.

He didn't pause for a moment just to look at her before clearing his throat. Really—that was just coincidence.

She turned and smiled in that way she'd been smiling lately—a little sad, a little guilt. "Thanks for coming down here, sir. I realize that you must have things to do tonight."

"Yes, well." He didn't elaborate.

She looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Well, sir, I just wanted to give you something—but I didn't want to give it to you down there." Her lab made up a part of Level 19, but the General's office was on Level 27.

The implication was that she'd wanted privacy.

"Oh?"

She reached under a book on her table and retrieved an envelope. Hesitating, never quite meeting his eye, she bit her bottom lip and held it out. "Here. It's an invitation to the engagement party."

Jack stared at it as if were both on fire and poisonous.

He briefly considered asking which engagement party that would be, but decided against it. He'd made the decision. He wasn't going to make this any harder for her.

"I'll understand if you don't want to come, but I invited everyone else, and I didn't want you to feel—" Her voice trailed off weakly.

"Different?"

"Left out."

"Yes, well there are some delights of which a little is too much." He reached out and took the envelope between his thumb and index finger. He didn't look at it.

"I think Cassie is coming."

"Good."

"And Daniel and Teal'c will be there."

"Hail hail."

She finally looked him full in the eye. "What?"

"The gang's all here. Hail hail, the gang's all here."

She shook her head. "I've never heard that phrase before."

"It's a song."

"Oh." The level of awkward hit its zenith. She waved a hand lamely at her microscope—he supposed that meant that she needed to get back to work. "Well, thanks again, sir."

He gave half a smile and nodded. "Goodnight, Carter."

----OOOOOOO----

In the end he didn't go. His truck somehow found his way home instead. Cassie was out somewhere, so he pulled a beer out of the fridge and climbed the steps up to where his telescope sat on the platform he'd built.

But he didn't uncover it. Instead, he just sat next to it in the camping chair and popped his beer open. He snapped the cap over the rail and watched it wink in the downstairs porch light as it fell into the grass of his backyard. Fleetingly he thought that it would suck to mow over it, and then remembered just how many caps he'd sent in just that manner into just that grass. Ouch. Good thing he had a lawn service.

He sighed and took a swig.

It didn't take him long to finish it. He wanted another one, but didn't feel like descending the steps—which was the reason he'd only brought one up. He'd been drinking too many lately. He didn't want to become dependent.

So he sat, companionable with the darkness. He may even have drowsed off for a time before a voice brought him to alert.

"Jack?"

Daniel.

Steps sounded on the wooden rungs of his rickety ladder, and a brown head popped up over the edge, glasses caught at moonlight. "You up here?"

"Whaddaya want?" When had he become this grouchy old man?

But Daniel would not be dissuaded.

Daniel got to the top of the stairs and stood, then moved around the telescope to stand in front of O'Neill.

"Where were you?"

"P3Q 766."

Daniel briefly attempted to make out the designation, and then frowned. "That's your license plate number."

"Yes. There I was."

"Are you drunk?"

"Nope. Not even buzzed."

"We waited for you for over an hour."

Jack squinted into the darkness. "I am sorry about that. I just—couldn't." He was sincere.

Daniel sighed and sat, his back against the rail. "It's okay. You wouldn't have liked her anyway."

"Oh?"

"She giggled a lot. And she talked a lot about how terrified she was of guns."

"What brought that up?"

Daniel opened his jacket to reveal his t shirt. It was one that Jack had given him for Christmas a few years before. It had an image of two snowmen on it, one with its little twig arms raised, and the other holding up a hair dryer. Even the pacifist in Daniel thought it was funny. Cynthia McVeigh hadn't thought so at all.

"You're right. Probably wouldn't have worked." O'Neill, still holding the empty bottle, stuck his thumb into the opening and pulled it out quickly, creating a loud 'blump' sound.

"Anyway, I made up some excuse for you, we finished our drinks, and she and Karen left."

O'Neill looked quizzical.

"Karen," Daniel prompted. "You know, from accounting. She mentioned to me that her friend Cynthia thought you were cute—"

"Cute." Jack interrupted. His thumb came out more quickly this time, making a louder 'blump'. "You said she thought I was hot."

"What's the difference?"

"Cute is for puppies and little kids. Generals aren't allowed to be cute." And he should know, he was a General, after all. "It's military code that Generals be hot."

"Oh. Well. She was interested in you. Who knows? She might have been easy, regardless of her anti-NRA politics."

Jack stared into the darkness, listening to the night. "I'm not really into quickies these days, Daniel."

Silence fell between them for a little while. Daniel picked absently at the wood of the deck. Jack continued wedging his thumb in the bottle opening and pulling it out. Blump. Blump.

Jack heard Daniel take a deep breath. "So." He paused for effect. "Where were you?"

With his free hand, the General reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out the envelope. "Carter gave me this as I was leaving tonight."

Daniel knew what it was the minute he saw it. He didn't need to open it. "The invitation."

"Are you going?"

"Yeah—I told her I would."

"And so it kind of killed my groove."

"I can understand that." Daniel repositioned himself on the deck. His butt hurt. "Would it kill you to put another chair up here?"

"Yes." Jack answered simply. He held the envelope loosely in his fingers.

"What are you doing up here, anyway?"

"Communing with nature."

"Pondering the state of the universe?"

"Oh, I'm in a rare position where I know the state of the universe." O'Neill sighed and sunk lower in his chair. His thumb popped out again. Blump. He swung the envelope in his other hand, between his thumb and index finger. "No pondering required."

"So what do you think about up here?"

"The Goa'uld."

"What about 'em?" Daniel sounded slightly suspicious.

O'Neill stilled his thumb, then shot out, "Boxers of briefs?"

"Briefs." Daniel answered immediately. "Has to be briefs."

"Why?"

"They probably don't want to dangle too much—especially when they're wearing those little dresses that they sometimes wear."

Jack paused and then laughed—a short burst, but the first time he'd done anything like it in months. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Nothing—I was driving."

"Dangle?" He grinned widely. "You've actually thought about Goa'ulds dangling?"

"It's not that funny, Jack." Daniel sounded slightly annoyed.

But Jack snorted again, giving into a silent sort of laughter that shook his whole body without making any noise.

"Really. You asked the question, Jack. It's not that funny."

"Yes, it is." But then he betrayed his words by falling still. Suddenly, O'Neill dropped the bottle with a loud 'thunk' onto the deck beside him and stood abruptly. Still with a smile on his face, he gripped the corner of the envelope tightly between his fingers, reared back, and flung it off into the darkness.

It sailed into the night, turning corner over corner, the moon and stars reflecting on its whiteness before it disappeared into the trees just beyond O'Neill's yard.

Daniel watched it go through the railing over his shoulder, heard the leafy 'piff' as it landed in the woods.

"Trust me, Daniel, it was funny." He leaned over and picked the bottle back up. "You ready to go in?"

"Sure." Daniel stood and followed Jack to the steps. He waited until Jack had descended before following.

"You hungry?" Jack walked around to where the arcadia door sat open off the porch.

"Yeah." Daniel sounded surprised that he actually was.

"I'll order Chinese."

Daniel watched as Jack picked up the phone and dialed.

"You know, you're going to have to go and get that eventually."

"I'll do it in the morning."

"What if it rains?"

"Then it will get wet."

"Are you going to go?"

Jack muttered into the phone as he got put on hold.

"Yes, Daniel, I'll go." He glanced up and caught Daniel's eye. "I'll put on my big boy pants."

The younger man grinned. "You do that."

"And I'll be sure to wear my best briefs." O'Neill waggled his eyebrows. "Wouldn't want any untoward dangling."

"I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

The General grinned again. "Nope."

----OOOOOOO----

And later, after Daniel had left, Jack reached for a flashlight and made his way through his beer cap infested back yard into the woods beyond. It only took him a few minutes to find it. The envelope had fallen into a shrub and stuck there. O'Neill stared at it for a moment, then grabbed it and roughly tore it open.

He perused it briefly in the light of his flashlight. Time, place, who, what, when all printed off of some computer—but there, scrawled along the bottom in that perfect script of hers, Carter had written a personal note.

"It would mean a lot." She'd penned. "Please come."

And he'd known he would. Because even in Denial, sometimes you just did the right thing.