Author's Notes: Unfinished Business has become a series - and this is the next story. It takes place immediately after the events in Unfinished Business, and can be read without reading it first, but then you won't know what all the fuss is about. The events in this story are told entirely from Daniel's perspective. He's calling them the way he sees them - not necessarily the way they actually - are.
DISCLAIMER: All characters and property of Stargate SG-1 belong to MGM/UA, World Gekko Corp. and Double Secret Productions. This fan fiction was created solely for entertainment and no money was made from it. Also, no copyright or trademark infringement was intended. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any other characters, the storyline and the actual story are the property of the author.
"Don't hold your breath waiting."
As soon as the words were spoken, Daniel would have given everything he had to have been able to take them back. Better yet - would that they had never even been spoken.
Add this one to the refuse pile of regrets that littered the path of his life. The 'if only I hads' and the 'I should have knowns' and the 'why wasn't I smarter, faster, stronger or braver?'
Once again he had lost someone who was dearer to him than his own life and once again - it was his fault. As much as he regretted the harsh parting words he had thrown at Jack, Daniel knew why he had said them.
To make it easier for the man who by now must loathe him to walk away and not look back. Jack had to hate him now - how could he not? How could Jack have learned what he had done - how could he know the truth about the friend he only thought he knew - and not hate him now because of it?
Daniel knew how much he hated himself for it.
// Oh Jack, just for once, why didn't you listen to me? Why didn't you leave it alone? That way only one of us ever need have known.//
There was no way out, no way to undo it, nothing to be done now except - try to live with what was left. Daniel curled himself up into a small ball in the sleeping bag, giving quiet vent to his grief. A small indulgence he would allow himself this one time, in honour of the enormity of his loss, but in the future there would be no time for such - luxury. He would watch the night with the man who had just walked away and left him in darkness inside and out, and then in the morning, Daniel knew he had to find a way to go on - without him.
What other choice did he have?
Daniel did not consider himself to be a particularly brave, clever or extraordinary person. He was what life had forced him to become. Simply - a survivor. When you have no one to turn to, no where to go and no resources with which to deal with whatever life throws at you except those which you carry inside you, you - learn things. How to do what you have to do. How to get around by yourself, how to make do on almost nothing, how to come back from things that look insurmountable to others.
At the end of the day, if you really wanted to live in spite of all of it, you found a way to do what the moment required of you. One moment at a time.
Because if you didn't, no one else would do it for you.
Which was exactly what he intended to do. Whatever he needed to do. One moment at a time.
So far so good. Daniel made his way through the successive moments of that night and the following day only to find himself coming to full awareness with an abrupt start right in the middle of one that found him walking by Jack's side. They were going home, making their way to the Stargate down the steep and winding trail that led from the site where they had spent the better part of the last week. Awareness of Jack's unexpected proximity startled him; he had no memory of having fallen into step at his side.
Was the impulse to be by Jack's side that in-grained, that automatic, that unconscious? Daniel made a mental note that for Jack's sake, he was going to have to do something to change this.
That was when he stumbled.
Stupid - he should have been paying attention to what he was doing; the 'path' was actually a deeply eroded channel cut into the hillside by what had obviously been some kind of flood in the past. The ground underneath was rough and uncertain, and littered with stones and clumps of loose earth.
He put his foot down on what had appeared to be solid ground, but actually must have been a larger, dirt-covered stone that tilted alarmingly when he put his weight on it, shifting treacherously under him, pitching him forward. He barely had time to register that he was about to do a swan dive face first when Jack's hand was there, grabbing him firmly by the upper arm, pulling him back, steadying him not only with his hand, but with his touch.
As it always did. As it always had. From the very beginning.
Daniel had never understood this - this ability Jack had to convey so much assurance, comfort and stability to him through the power of a simple touch, but that did not stop him from substantially benefiting from it. He didn't even know if Jack himself was aware of this effect he had on him. There was a large part of Daniel that went deeper than mere words could hope to reach - which was so profoundly hidden that there was virtually nothing that had the power to journey to those depths and touch him in the secret places where he had spent most of his life safely submerged and unsuspected.
That is nothing except Jack. All Jack had to do was touch him. Nothing big, nothing major. A squeeze of the shoulder in passing, a pat on the arm, a slap on the back. And it was just - better. Just like that.
Just like what was happening right now.
But Daniel knew he had to stop it. This had just been a slip, something Jack had done automatically, without thinking, not unlike the way he had fallen in beside Jack. Jack would be more wary in the future, more careful of what he did. This was just an accident. It wouldn't be happening anymore.
Therefore, Daniel knew he did not dare let himself enjoy it. He couldn't rely on this anymore, couldn't count on it to be in his life. Therefore he knew, he had - to end it.
Right here and now, before he lost his nerve.
Firmly, without looking, he drew his arm out of Jack's grasp. He felt something inside him crack as the warmth of Jack's hand fell from him. // Don't worry about it, don't worry about it, you've felt this before, hasn't killed you yet.//
Any trauma you can walk away from is a good one? Well, he doubted even Jack would find that one funny. Daniel set his jaw, fixed his eyes straight ahead, and quickened his pace until he had left Jack a dozen feet behind him. And kept on blindly walking until his feet hit the ramp in the gate room.
Ah, now the ordeal was only just beginning. Getting through what came next. All the post-mission protocols. Do what is expected, say what is expected, all the while making like nothing is wrong until you've run the gauntlet and you can then - run away. There was a time when he could have put on this kind of pretense in his sleep, but it was harder now. Much, much harder, since Jack's friendship had so fundamentally altered the way Daniel had come to view his world. And himself.
// No! Put it away. Get through this first. That's all that matters. The next moment. //
One foot after another. Walk. Smile at Sam as we walk down the hall. Pretend you heard what she just said. Laugh. Smile. That sounded all right. Good, Daniel, you're doing fine. You can do this. You can do this.
They were in the infirmary now. This wouldn't take long.
Daniel submitted to the examination marveling that the numbness that pervaded his body did not show up on any of Janet's instruments. He went gamely through the motions, put on his performance, but felt - nothing. He looked around, taking in his surroundings, watched everyone not particularly watching him, especially Jack, and with a odd sort of detachment realized what felt so - strange.
During the time they had come from the gate room to where they were now, had this been any other day, Jack would have touched him at least a half a dozen times by now. In small, circumspect ways, a guiding nudge here, a verifying touch there, a brush of the shoulder, teasing slap on the arm. Small, inconsequential contacts that were all the more meaningful to Daniel now that they were gone.
He had no idea what need, if any, these gestures fulfilled in Jack. What he did know, suddenly, is what it did for him. Physical reassurance. As strange as it sounded, somehow, every time that Jack touched him, he let him know he was - just within reach. That he was - there. Daniel had never realized this, until this very moment. Nor had he realized just how much this assurance meant to him. Now that it was so noticeably, glaringly, absent.
Daniel clenched his hands at his sides, barely resisting the almost overwhelming impulse to hug himself. This was going to be harder than he thought. But he could do it. He could. He had to.
Debrief now. God, what time was it? The sleepless night was starting to catch up with him. Oh God, this had been primarily a site evaluation and investigation. That meant he had to do most of the talking. Suck it up, Daniel, and get on with this. You can do it.
Words were coming out of his mouth, and they seemed to be the appropriate ones for the situation, because no one was looking at him as if he had suddenly started spitting Goa'ulds. In fact, no one was looking at him as if there was anything wrong at all. No one seemed to notice that Jack was not looking at him, as much as he was looking every where but at Jack.
Daniel found himself trying to remember exactly when it was that he first realized he liked Jack O'Neill. It had had its beginnings in the way the man had looked approvingly at him when he had lied through his teeth to General West that he was positive he could get the team home if they took a chance on him and made that first trip through the Stargate. He hadn't been 'positive' of anything - except he needed to, had to - go through that portal. He still had moments of guilt about that one. The risk he had taken with those men's lives, simply to satisfy his selfish need to go through that gate. What if he hadn't found the tablet, what if he hadn't been able to reopen the gate? What of those men - stranded beyond any hope of rescue, far from their homes, lives, and families, all because of him?
Well, he had gotten luckier than he had really deserved. It had all worked out in the end. But that hadn't been the moment. It had come a little later, Daniel realized.
It had come just after he had been forced to admit to Jack that he had lied. That he couldn't re-open the gate without the aid of a tablet he had conveniently forgotten to mention. After Kawalsky had lost his temper and had pushed him to the ground. Looking very much as if he had no intention of stopping there.
It certainly wouldn't have been the first time Daniel had ever had his head handed to him by the someone bigger and stronger than he was, and mad at him for - something. He never knew what. It didn't matter. It was always the same. He walked into a room, pissed someone off - pow!
Sprawled in the sand he had been preparing to handle the situation the same way he usually handled it - the path of least resistance. That was to say, he didn't resist - ever. He just let it happen.
He'd been quite a spectacular wimp in those days..
And then, Jack had stepped between them, and stopped it.
No one had ever done that for him before. No one had ever stood up for him, or stood between him and a beating.
That was the moment. That was when everything changed. Maybe that was why he had done the same thing for Jack, just a little later. Come to think of it, that was when he started to do a lot of standing up. Standing up to Ra, standing up to Kasuf, standing up to Jack, even. And hell, here he was, still standing. It had all started with that one act of kindness, which in an instant had changed Daniel's fundamental perception of himself and his worth. Someone had actually - defended him. And in so doing, had shown him the way to find the pride to defend himself, and others. That someone was Jack O'Neill.
Danny boy. Jack had turned that one around too.
Jack was the only one who called him that now. Only once in a blue moon and when he did, it was very special. There was a time when he had bitterly hated that nickname, associating it with pain and humiliation of the highest order. The days of Albert - God, he couldn't even remember his last name now - the older brute son of one of the families that had fostered him during the not-so-fond days of his childhood. He had been what - nine? Ten?
Albert had always called him "Dannyboy" - just before he pounded the piss out of him. Which in those days was an all-too-frequent occurrence. Finally he went a little too far, Daniel had ended up in the hospital with a broken arm and several cracked ribs, and that was the end of that placement. Not that the next one was anything to write home about. Not that he'd had a home to write to..
Too many people around. Too many eyes upon him. Getting too hard to push them away, to fool them. Have to leave, have to go. Over? Done? We can go?
He was so relieved to see that the ordeal was almost over that he slipped up. Fell back into an old habit - another one he had to make a mental note to break. In a completely unconscious action born of that subtle, inchoate need for direction that lurked inside him, as he had so many times before, he automatically turned to the one he most looked to for that guidance and impetus.
To discover Jack looking back at him.
Just in time Daniel clamped his jaw resolutely shut so it his mouth wouldn't gape open with the shock of what he saw. Jack's face was an unreadable mask, his dark eyes mere slits in it. So closed and shuttered that they glittered at him with the coldness of the absolute deflection of every particle of light that struck them. Reflecting everything that looked at them back again, unaccepted and unrequired.
Daniel fled. Sweeping up his papers and files in a panicked rush he didn't care who saw, he hurried from the room and made his way as swiftly as he could to his office, where he threw everything on the desk, bolted from the room and fled some more. Right up until he had seen his worst fears confirmed he had not been sure where he had been going to go after the briefing. Now there was no doubt in his mind.
He couldn't remember a time when he hadn't needed the safe place. Even when times were good, when he had been happiest, he still had that one place that no one knew about. Where no one could find him when he did not want to be found. A refuge where he could go when he needed to be alone that no one, but no one knew about but him.
He had such a place here. One of the first things he had done, once he had been sure that they were going to let him stay, was to find it. He hadn't had to use it very much these past few months, but he surely needed to be there now. He couldn't go home, couldn't go to his room here, couldn't be anywhere where anyone could find him. He couldn't chance being seen by anyone while he was like this. Couldn't face well-meaning questions, attempts at consolation, misguided desires to help. Deserved none, sought none, required none. Hide away until it passed. That was all he needed to do. Then he would be fine.
His refuge of choice was an unused storage room on one of the less-frequented sections of the bunker. Hardly anyone ever came here; certainly no one had used this room since he had been here. He wasted no time getting there, and even though he knew there was no one else about, still took the time to make sure that he was completely alone before he quietly opened the door and slipped inside. Only then, on the other side of the door, locked and protected from prying eyes, did he finally allow himself to slide to the floor in a wounded, exhausted heap.
Daniel just sat there in the utter darkness, slumped against the door, too weary to expend the small effort necessary to reach up to turn on the light. Couldn't always have done this. Been in the dark like this. God. He had Jack to thank for that too.
He felt the sob begin to well up in his chest and ground the heels of his hands roughly into his eyes to forestall the tide. No! That wasn't what he was here for! It was over, it was done, and grieving was a stupid waste of time and energy. Never did any good, never changed anything. Never made him feel any better. He'd managed to muddle through thirty-some years of living, never even having heard of Jack O'Neill. If need be he'd manage thirty or however many more - exactly the same way.
His head was convinced. It had seen it all before. Nothing new here. Nothing he hadn't heard before. Nothing he hadn't had to do before. Been there, done that, piece of cake.
Now, if only he could get his heart to go along, everything would be.
.so terribly, terribly lonely.
Daniel wrapped his arms around himself and lay down on the cold concrete floor, softly talking to himself in a futile effort at self-comfort, hoping that something, anything would come and take him away from this, or that he would be lucky enough to wake up and discover this had all been a very bad dream. Sleep eventually came for him, but brought with it no gifts of either release or absolution.