When he stepped through into the gateroom, the air became cool. Air conditioning. Oh hell, yeah. He'd almost forgotten about air conditioning. He paused a few steps past the gate and closed his eyes and breathed, while bootsteps clattered slowly past him.

He heard Hammond say, "Welcome home, Colonel," in a warm voice. "We're glad to have you back, even if a bit overdue." A gentle joke.

He opened his eyes, nodded at the general from a careful distance, then descended to meet him. "I'm glad to be back, sir." His voice sounded stiff to his ears, and a softer voice than his own echoed in his mind.

You must be very happy to be going home.

Hammond smiled. "I'll bet you are."

No. I'm not.

Jack managed his own weak smile and caught Daniel looking at him over Hammond's shoulder, face furrowed. He'd barely spared Daniel a glance since the rescue, since that first crushing hug he'd been unable to curb. That hug. The shockingly good press of their bodies had brought everything flooding back, all the wrong, pointless feelings he'd thought three months had buried along with the stargate. Apparently he was still the man he'd been before, fucked-up in the head and as susceptible as ever.

"I'd like Doctor Fraiser look you over, Colonel. Once debrief and mission detention is over, and the doctor gives you a clean bill of health, you'll have some leave coming." Hammond hesitated. "There are a few things we need to discuss, when you're ready for duty again."

"I'm ready now, sir," Jack said, trying to sound game.

That earned him an indulgent look and a pat on the arm. "Give it some time, son. No need to rush onto the field just yet."

Jack nodded and avoided Daniel's fixed gaze and, beyond it, Carter's troubled face. He knew if he caught her eyes, they'd light up with hope and compassion and happiness. None of which he could stand having aimed at him just at the moment. Teal'c, Teal'c he could look at, and did, tipping him a brief nod of gratitude that was answered predictably with an inclined head and faint smile. Teal'c was the man of the hour. Have to buy the guy a drink, Jack told himself. Have to find a way to make him drink it, if he did.

Tiredly he let himself be led off by Fraiser into the familiar corridors of the SGC. His work shirt,  Laira's gift, stuck to his skin as his sweat cooled. People with wide eyes nodded as Jack passed or were too startled to nod; people who hadn't realized he was back. He sketched one gaping sergeant an ironic salute, but couldn't muster any enthusiasm for the others. He supposed he was home, but it didn't feel like it yet.

They reached the infirmary and Fraiser turned and looked him over. "Colonel, if you'd like to take a shower and change first," she offered. Meaningfully.

"Right. No problem." Jack hesitated, wondering if she meant for him to use the infirmary shower or not. He couldn't remember these small points of post-mission protocol. No, that wasn't true, exactly. He remembered, but didn't trust his memory yet. "I'll, um--"

Fraiser met his hesitation with her own. "Why don't you use the locker room. You should have a change of uniform there." Her smile was polite, maybe even what passed for friendly. "We've had the Edoran refugees here for three months. I have no reason to believe there's any risk of imported contagions."

He found his way to the locker room, could walk there in his sleep and nearly was. This had to be like sleepwalking, this spacey sense of moving through the familiar world and yet looking at it from a vantage point of strangeness. In his own head, he felt half a stranger.

His locker was still there, though, confirming that this was his assigned place in the universe. He stared at his own name a moment, then reached inside and pulled out a shirt left undisturbed since he'd hung it there months ago. He'd been wearing it the last time he entered the mountain, the day before their mission to P5C-768; the shirt was plaid and machine-made and smooth to the touch; nothing like the rough fabric he had on now. He put it back, and drew the work shirt off. Something gently scratched his ribs as he did, and he paused to examine the material. There was a burr inside, clinging to the weave near the shirt's hem. He pressed his thumb to it, and its small sharpness stung.

"Jack."

Not now, Daniel, he almost said. But the rebuff stuck in his throat. Besides, Daniel belonged here too. More than he did at the moment. He looked up to see the other man stripping off his jacket, arms and chest flexing in a way it was Jack's habit to ignore. Daniel looked almost as worn and tired as Jack felt, and had a long smudge across one cheek. He'd come through the upended gate with Carter and a handful of volunteers soon after Teal'c's successful arrival at the surface, then pitched in to dig the gate out from the rubble and hoist it upright.

"How are you doing?" Daniel asked, making it a serious question instead of the light locker-room chit-chat that any normal man would limit himself to.

"Fine. Great." Jack sat down on the bench and leaned over to undo his boots. "Peachy," he muttered to the floor. He got a boot unlaced, then stayed bent over a moment, arms on his thighs, head in his hands. Laira singing quietly in the evening, the swan-curve of her neck, her wide, womanly smile: he wanted desperately for all those to exert a stronger pull than the man next to him.

He hadn't wanted to come back to this, he really hadn't.

He heard Daniel sit down on another bench. "You had no reason to believe we'd be able to make it back," he said, and it was like he was poking around in Jack's brain.

Jack resumed taking off  his boots. "No. I didn't think you'd be back." It wasn't meant as an accusation, only truth.

Silence answered him, and then: "We had other plans in reserve if this one hadn't worked."

That made him look up. Daniel had pulled one leg crosswise and was unlacing one of his own boots; neck bowed, profile stern. "Oh yeah?" Jack said, touched by proof of their care, despite his cultivated indifference. His gaze dawdled on the plucking movement of Daniel's fingers, then wandered upwards to note the tightness of arms and shoulders. Weeks of waiting, of hope and uncertainty. He could almost believe it had been as hard for Daniel as it had been for him.

"We've been trying to negotiate with the Tollan to send a ship to Edora. At least, I have." A sharp tone entered Daniel's voice, and Jack heard evidence of long frustration. "I've been talking with them on and off since we learned you were trapped. At first they seemed receptive to the idea as a back-up plan, though they were never what you'd call enthused. Then one day they just--" He yanked off his boot, tossed it in his locker with a small bang.

"What?"

"I don't know. I was giving them a progress report on the particle beam and checking in on the status of their vessel--a scout ship they were refurbishing. And they just wouldn't talk about it anymore. All of our communications after that were the same. The information flow just...dried up."

If Jack hadn't known better, he'd have sworn Daniel was angry. Daniel didn't get angry very often though; over the last few years he'd acquired a cast-iron equilibrium along with a high tolerance for aliens and their irritating behavior. "Well, you know the Tollan," Jack said. "They play it close to the vest."

Bang went Daniel's second boot. Jack raised his brows. He said nothing, but in the depths of himself he started to feel the faintest renewal of energy, a kindling of spirit. The hard light of the locker room gave everything a sharp edge and shine: the grey lockers, the tiled floor, Daniel's bare shoulders. The whiff of dark feelings, unspoken words. He knew this, it was coming back to him. This was real life, this was his world. Not a planet thousands of light-years away where they danced like children and churned their own butter.

Home was where you were unhappy, but that's how you knew it was home.

He rapped his knuckles lightly against the door frame of Hammond's office, then meandered in. "You mentioned that we needed to talk, sir."

Hammond looked him over, as if trying to decide whether one night's sleep had done the trick. Jack stuck his hands in his pockets, and tried to project that it had.

"This can wait, Colonel. As I believe I mentioned."

"Sir," Jack said, making that one word a weary entreaty. He took a seat at Hammond's nod of capitulation.

"How are you feeling?" the general asked, studying him more.

"Dandy, sir," he said in a flat voice, conscious of the fluorescent lights and how ragged he must look.

Hammond pursed his lips slightly, but didn't challenge him with further irrelevancies. "Captain Porter has some paperwork you'll need to go over. We discovered, in your extended absence, that most of your deployment information is out of date. You can pick the forms up in her office. Everything else is S.O.P. You'll debrief to me after making your initial report. Just let the captain know when you're ready to meet." Hammond picked up a pen and turned it between his fingers. "I'd also like you to schedule counseling sessions with Doctor Gilbert."

"Please tell me you're joking, sir."

"I'm not joking, Colonel. You've spent the last three months in a high-stress situation. Now, I'm not making a return to duty contingent on counseling. You can return to light duty whenever you feel up to it. I do however want to assure that you're mission ready. And that will not be until Doctor Gilbert signs off."

Jack closed his eyes briefly and swallowed his disgust. "Doctor Gilbert is an egghead with delusions of Freudian grandeur." He pointed a warning finger at Hammond. "He'll ask me questions about my mother, my dreams--you watch, once I'm in his clutches--"

Hammond tipped his head in unsympathetic disapproval, and overrode him. "Doctor Gilbert is a competent professional who will assess your readiness to resume command. Don't make this any more than it is, Jack."

Abandoning his lame sham of rebellion, Jack murmured, "Yes, sir."

"We can discuss operational concerns when you've had a chance to catch up. You'll want to meet with Colonel Keelaghan first."

"Keelaghan?" Jack raised his eyebrows.

"Colonel Goring has been reassigned to the Pentagon."

"Where have I been?" Jack asked, dry on the surface, but with a resurgence of disorientation as it hit him again how much could happen in three months.

Hammond relaxed into a small smile. "Not here, son. And your absence has been keenly felt."

Jack glanced at him, then glanced away uncomfortably, gaze drifting toward the closed door that led to the control room. "Seems like things carry on pretty well without me. Which is how it should be, sir."  He could see, indirectly, Hammond lacing his hands on the desk.

"Your team went to a lot of effort on your behalf, as did many other people at this base. I hope you'll recognize that when you speak with them." The general's voice was calm, even mild, but the moral imperative being issued was unmistakable.

"Of course, sir."

Jack left the meeting with Hammond feeling more tired than when he'd entered. Counseling, he thought. At his age. As if it would tell them anything he didn't want them to know. As if it would do any good. And, hell, on top of everything else he had to deal with a brand-new operations exec. He plucked from memory details of Keelaghan: a pasty face trapped behind black BCDs, hair parted in the middle, a tendency to tap his pen to signal he'd stopped listening, and a lifer's dedication to regs. A boring man. A very boring man. With a bachelor's in physics, if he recalled correctly. And a Ph.D. in materials science.

He brooded on that, and nearly ran down Carter in the hall.

"Sir," she said, face brightening a fraction.

"Major." She was clutching her folders like a schoolgirl clutching books; Jack suspected she'd have hated that, if she'd been aware. She was a rocket scientist and a hell of a woman, but she made him nervous sometimes. Whenever she smiled at him in a certain way, he thought uneasily about parallel universes, and wished there were things he could unknow. But she was a friend, and his second, and he respected her too much to let it matter.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"I'd feel a hell of a lot better if everyone stopped asking me that," he said irritably. He eyed her folders again. "Where are you headed?"

"I have to turn in Daniel's and Teal'c's quarterly evaluations to the adjutant's office. Apparently he wants to speak to me." She made a face.

"And you're doing this...why?"

Carter looked at him, faintly stricken, in a way that made Jack feel like a shmuck. "We would have waited, sir, but the ADJ has been breathing down our necks. Different priorities, I guess. These are actually last quarter's evals." She smiled ruefully. "We've all been burning the candle at both ends, but I made some time. I've been sitting on these for a week." She took a breath. "Sir, if you'd rather--"

He waved her to a stop, embarrassed. "No. It's fine," he reassured her. "Go."

She nodded. "I--there's a lot to discuss now that you're back."

"We'll take a meeting. Or several." The obvious uncertainty on her face tugged at Jack's conscience. He made his voice light. "In fact, if you have no prior commitments, Major, we could start with lunch today."

She gave a sudden, brilliant smile; buoyant again in her Carterish way. "Sounds great, sir."

He smiled fondly after her as she walked off. "Find me," he called as she turned the corner.

"Will do, sir."

"I'll be around," Jack said to himself, after she'd gone.

Everything was just as he'd left it, but dustier.

Jack tossed his jacket over a chair, turned on one of the living room lamps. Not quite as he'd left it, he noticed, finding a tidy stack of catalogs and unopened letters on the table. Daniel had mentioned he'd been stopping by, bringing in the mail and the newspapers, which Jack found next in the kitchen: rolled logs of newsprint, stacked neatly in cardboard boxes that the other man must have taken from the garage. The image was surreal and astonishing, a hundred days of missed life piled up like kindling, and he had to sit down at the kitchen table for a minute.

There was more mail on the kitchen table, including his bills, opened and unfolded. A handful of these had been separated from the others and marked paid in Daniel's neat, block script. Jack's checkbook lay nearby. Forgery had taken place. Only a few checks, though; almost everything was covered by direct deposit or allotment. Jack studied his faked signature. Not bad.

You'd almost think they could have a life together, so effortlessly had Daniel taken care of his.

When Jack discovered fresh milk in the fridge, milk and apples and bread, he pressed his head to the freezer and breathed roughly, face tightened against any expression of feeling, because it didn't matter that he was alone, if he let go, it'd be too much. How many cartons of milk would you have to buy in three months, for a man to come home and find it waiting?

He didn't drink the milk. He drank single-malt whisky instead.

That night Jack dreamed that he was digging through dirt and rocks, hands bleeding, and he could see the dusty face of Teal'c, suspended dead in a cavern beneath the earth, a one-way stargate beneath him. He couldn't reach Teal'c, couldn't break through. He was lying on his belly typing on a computer keyboard that sat unevenly on the pebbled ground, but his fingers fumbled on the keys and sent him into a blind panic that seemed to stretch on forever. He couldn't dial the right phone number, kept getting the digits mixed up and having to retype. And it was hot, so hot, and Laira touched his shoulder to reassure him. But it was Daniel who was missing.

Sunday morning Jack woke and brushed the vile taste of himself from his mouth, and resolutely paced himself through a long day in which he did not think about his job. He couldn't keep his thoughts entirely down to earth, though. He mowed his lawn and dwelled on Laira and the last crop of wheat they'd been close to harvesting.

They'd had one night. Three months of slow courtship, one night of drunken intimacy in her bed that smelled of straw, and then she'd handed him his radio and his heart had tripped and raced, and he'd done the same, running without a second thought to reach a patch of blasted ground where he hoped to find the rabbit hole that would take him home. Was it fair? No. He'd wanted to be fair to her, but life wasn't like that.

Fair day and be well.

He'd been moved by her, by her loneliness and sunny optimism and the dry spark underneath. She could have hailed from Minnesota; she reminded him of his distant cousin Gretchen, whom he'd had a crush on as a boy. It had been enough to begin building a shared life, and he would have brought her home with him, no question about it, a womanly buffer against the rest of his uneasy existence.

He'd known she wouldn't come with. She was of her people, the heart of them.

Jack paused and shut off the lawn-mower and stared at his neighbor's kids, playing in their yard with their friends and their beagle, and a busy sprinkler. Everything had been that simple, once upon a time. He thought he heard the phone ringing inside the house, but when he went in there was only silence and no message light blinking.

A shower and lunch, with the silence of his domain ticking around him. It was only two o'clock when he began to drink again. There were sports on. There were always sports on.

Hours later, he roused himself from the couch where he'd fallen into a nap. A commercial was singing to him about tacos. He muted the box, then pulled himself upright and walked to look out over the deck. The childish shrieking from next door had quieted; they were probably eating dinner. The clock read nearly seven-thirty. He scrubbed his head with one hand. Even if he went to bed early, time lay before him, waiting and empty.

It was a dumb thing to do, but he picked up the phone and called Daniel.

"Hello?" said Daniel's voice on the other end of the line, wary but strong in Jack's ear.

He didn't say anything a moment, then managed a casual, "Hey."

"Jack?"

"Yep."

"You okay?"

Jack sat down on the couch and tipped his head back to rest on the cushion. "No. I've been kidnapped by angry clowns, and now I have to read you this list of demands."

After a long pause that could have conveyed anything, Daniel said, "It's good to have you back, Jack. I've missed you."

That was like a shot going down smooth. Jack gripped the phone more tightly, knuckles aching, and let his left hand drape across his thigh. It was bad, wrong, fucked. "Oh, you didn't miss me," he said, faking lightness. He'd intended to say something more, another jokey jab, but the words dried up, leaving only that one rebuttal; making it sound harsh, like need.

There was an indistinct clatter from the other end--laptop? Glasses? "No, I missed you," Daniel said mildly. His voice drifted from the phone a moment as he spoke, then returned. "No one told me to shut up, all the time you were gone."

Jack grimaced. Too close to the bone. "Yeah, well…no one got my jokes, except a few of the cows, I think."

"I don't get your jokes."

"Yeah, I don't get yours either. Oh wait, you don't make any." Eyes closed, he rubbed the side of his hand absently against his tenting crotch, relishing a morose sense of shame. Silence pooled in his ear; Daniel was just as easily distracted on the phone as in person. Jack had discovered a while back that he minded this less. In person, it made him impatient. By phone, it was lulling.

Daniel was obviously following his own train of thought. "When I was on Abydos," he said in measured cadences, "there were times when I'd think of how far I was from Earth and I'd panic. It gave me a sense of vertigo. I'd have nightmares of coming through the gate, stepping from one world to another, and I'd wake up and...and Sha're would pull me into her arms and whisper my name."

Jack's mouth tightened and his hand ceased its restless strokes against his trousers. He didn't know what to say to that; never knew what to say when Daniel talked about Sha're. She was always between them, a friend's ghost. He had his own ghost, more than one, but he wasn't all that hot at giving comfort. Pain and grief had taught him nothing about being a better man.

"It's all right to have wanted a life there, Jack."

Daniel's earnest words warmed Jack's ear. Funny, when he didn't have that calm, aggravating face to look at, he could always hear straight through to the other man's good heart.

What if I want a life here, Jack didn't say. "It doesn't matter what I wanted. I'm here now."

"Yes," Daniel said, and Jack heard the bite behind that one quiet word. Daniel had his own well of bitterness, diluted by time but still traceable in occasional remarks, looks, silences. He'd have stayed on Abydos if circumstances had allowed, this had always been clear.

"I waited," Jack said, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. "I waited. Until the end. I didn't know it was the end, though. I just knew...something was over."

"I know. But..." There was a long silence.

Finally, Jack broke it. "But what?"

"I was going to say, in our end is our beginning."

Jack let that sink in, then said, "Deep, Daniel. Put it on a mug for me, will you?"

"Okay."

And with that one mild word, Jack's annoyance drained away. He touched himself again, half smiling. "Saw those newspapers you saved. Nice thought. I'll probably never get through them all...so, what did I miss in the world while I was gone?"

"Um. Let's see. There's a new Russian President, you probably heard that. Gore and Bush won the primaries. Salman Rushdie returned home. Microsoft lost its anti-trust suit and there's some huge computer virus going around. Oh, and they took that Cuban boy out of his relatives' home in an armed raid, that kid you were always talking about--"

"Whoa, hold up--Elian? What happened there?" Jack frowned and listened to Daniel try and patch together mangled fragments of the story for a minute, before saying, "For crying out loud, Daniel, how can you not know where he is now?"

"Well, he's not my child, Jack, and I kind of had other things on my mind."

"Priorities, Daniel. I bet you don't even know the Round One results of the Stanley Cup finals."

"Oddly, no."

"What good are ya, then?" Except for breaking your back to save my stupid life, Jack thought with a surge of deep feeling he couldn't name. Daniel didn't answer, which only intensified Jack's ache. "I was kidding," he said, mouth dry.

"I know." But Daniel sounded as if he didn't know, not completely. They'd fallen out of synch, Jack thought. And it occurred to him how easy it would be to let things stay that way. Keep the other man off balance, keep him at a distance. Millions of light-years, the length of a city, the width of a room. It was all the same.

But Daniel's voice had been as close in his ear as a kiss, and even in silence Jack imagined he could feel the other man's steady breathing. And it wasn't enough, not any more. His time with Laira had driven home how much more he wanted out of life, and now he was home, and he found it empty. A hole had opened up in his existence long ago, and he finally knew that he had to mend it, even though his stitches might be makeshift and crude. The big things he'd lost could never be replaced; but the small things, maybe. And he missed a lot. Missed having someone on the porch when he fired up the barbeque, missed picking up a clean shirt from the basket and finding someone else's sock clinging to it.

But with Daniel he couldn't even have those small things, and more was impossible. What he felt for Daniel in moments like this made Jack desperate, raggedly desperate and panicky and wild, but he told himself it wasn't love. Love was courtship. Movies, dinner, butts parked together on a ballpark bench. This couldn't be love. This fierce protectiveness, this shaking, this trembling of hands on the trigger of his life. He only wanted to look after Daniel like a comrade. Friendship, shared need, no more. Brothers in arms, with maybe a little extra in his arms--that was the most he could hope for. This wasn't love.

Except whenever he called the other man, reaching out through the phone lines from the silence of his empty house, all he could think about was how tired he was of having to make careful negotiations for Daniel's time and attention, tired of remaining neutral or jokey or polite, tired of discipline and regs, of wondering whether an invitation to fish would be considered fishing by Daniel or fishy by everyone else. And denial, he was so fucking tired of denial, of having to be discreet even in the privacy of his own thoughts--and yet he had to, because if he took one step in that direction, he'd start sliding on his boot heels down a slippery slope of inappropriate intimacy.

Silence and silence and more silence, and all he had to do was end the call, and the disconnect would be sustained.

"What," Jack said quietly, "are you up to?"

"Now?" Jack had the sense that Daniel was looking around his room to remember. "Catching up on e-mail, reading a few articles."

"The X-Files are on in an hour. Plenty of time for me to get over there, get a pizza order in."

"X-Files. That's the one with Agent Sculder, right?"

"Daniel, I take it on trust you're not an alien. Don't push it."

Jack almost heard the answering smile. "See you soon," Daniel said, and then hung up.

Jack had to nerve himself to buzz Daniel's apartment. He was afraid he'd forgotten how this worked, this whole guys hanging together thing. Especially with Daniel.

"Hello," Daniel said, when he opened the door. Jack thought he looked reluctant about the visit, like he was having second thoughts. He looked down at Jack's hand. "You've brought your own bottle."

"You never have anything to drink." Except bottled water and grapefruit juice, Jack added to himself, which was the kind of thing that would have proven they knew each other too well, if he'd said it aloud.

"That should go well with pizza," Daniel remarked, and tipped Jack a sidelong glance, a gesture that always underscored when a joke was being made, however lame. Once Jack had found it exasperating that Daniel signaled his humor, and never smiled. Now it made him want to put his hand on the back of Daniel's neck and pull him in for a kiss.

He let the other man lead him down the hall, took off his jacket, went to get ice for his scotch. Water and grapefruit juice in the fridge.

They ate pizza, watched television, and Jack drank just enough to blunt his edge without making him bold. They barely talked, though Daniel asked a dozen questions about the show during each commercial break. Jack used to be able to answer these, but he'd missed most of the season.

He wasn't watching too closely, anyway. And though he wasn't feeling bolder, he was certainly feeling stupid enough to do some serious damage. I should go, he thought, and realized he'd said this aloud when Daniel answered,

"I'm not entirely sure you should drive."
 
Jack stood. "I'm fine." Daniel was standing, too, staring at him worriedly through his big glasses. Playing the role of concerned pal. "Old buddy, old pal," Jack added.

"You've had half the bottle."

"Or it's had half me," Jack said cannily, touching the side of his nose.

"Yes." Daniel quirked his lips. Jack looked at them, then looked away. "You can sleep on the couch." He started to move off, probably to get a blanket. Jack grabbed his shoulder to stop him, tightened his fingers, and Daniel eased his hand down, in a way that let him know his grip was too strong. Jack rested his hand on Daniel's arm instead, then reached up and stroked the side of his neck. Daniel was warm, and it was astonishing, stunning, to feel the bare skin of his neck, a place Jack had never really touched. Not that he remembered, anyway.

He made himself meet Daniel's eyes. He didn't know what he'd expected to see. They were friends, but they weren't close enough to excuse this. Daniel only looked surprised, though, so Jack stood closer and kissed him. It was awkward. He was too old to be pulling shit like this, right out of the blue, right out of the thin air between them. A brushed kiss, and of course Daniel tasted like tomato sauce, while he breathed scotch.

"Jack."

Jack opened his eyes, saw himself reflected in Daniel's glasses, screens of himself, silver-haired and drunk and tired. Desperate. "Sorry," he said, a harsh whisper.

"It's okay."

"It's not."

"It is."

"Daniel."

"I wouldn't say it was okay if it wasn't, Jack." Daniel stared him down. "It is…weird, though."

"I know it's weird." Jack's temple was beginning to throb, and he felt vaguely sick.

"I don't know why, but I thought you and Laira--"

"Don't," Jack said, pulling back. "Just...don't."

"Okay." Daniel adjusted his glasses, touched a hand to his head. Nervous. "Should we--"

"Should we what?"

"I don't know," Daniel said. Then, more slowly, drawing the words out: "I thought you--" He paused.

"Spit it out, Daniel." Jack was poised to flee; he didn't want to be standing in Daniel's living room late on a Sunday night, making boneheaded mistakes of this magnitude.

"This is against regulations for you."

Jack squinted a glare Daniel's way. "I am aware of that, but thanks for reminding me."

"I mean," Daniel said in measured tones, "that one might infer that this is important, if you're ready to break regulations."

One might. Jack swallowed and held Daniel's eyes with fearful paralysis, and didn't answer.

Daniel removed his glasses and studied them a moment in his hands; then he put them on the table, next to the pizza box. Jack, hawk-like and hungry, couldn't take his eyes off him. He was hardening at the sight of Daniel's naked face, its troubled expression that didn't necessarily mean trouble, the curve of neck and curve of ear, flicker of lashes as blue eyes caught his, lips opening to say something and then nothing being said. Everything about Daniel suddenly made Jack feel wild and young, an idiot flyboy straining for his wings: the muscles of Daniel's arms as he shifted in place with nothing to hold on to, the tightness of his abs behind the clean tuck of his shirt, the way he twitched under Jack's gaze and looked off to one side, down, mouth pursed, then broke into a smile, and then a sun-breaking grin, his entire face changing, creased with amusement or embarrassment, it didn't matter.

Jack moved back closer and held Daniel's shoulders and then rested his arms there and wound one hand behind Daniel's head. He pulled him toward a kiss that Daniel evaded, and Jack was ready to spark into panic, anger, outrage, but Daniel was kissing his cheeks and jaw, and Jack could see now that he was still smiling, not just one fixed smile, but a series of goofy smiles that came and went with soft movements of his mouth.
 
The nearness of their faces made Jack's face burn and tingle, made his breath come fast. He tipped his head back a little and let Daniel nuzzle him, and every stroke of his lips sent brushfire across his cheek and a sizzling arc right to his dick. He was clutching Daniel, fingers threading grabbily into his short hair, molding to the back of his skull, and then he couldn't stand it and had to move, to brush back against him, their faces sliding across each other, stubble rough. Jack closed his eyes and drew in a shuddering breath and demanded Daniel's mouth, felt it meet his, wet and open, and god, that was Daniel's tongue skidding frantically against his own.
 
He couldn't stop eating Daniel's mouth, he didn't know how long it lasted; minutes of it, Daniel pushing and shoving against him, shoulder to hip to knee, both of them dancing in place, hands gliding up and down, and then both of them figuring out that they could undress each other and not get stopped, not get arrested. Jack gasped as he felt his shirt tugged out of his trousers; his mouth broke free and he kissed Daniel's neck violently, then bit his shoulder. Daniel struggled against him, swore, was all elbows as he tried to work Jack's shirt up his body.

"That's--get this off," Daniel complained, and bit his lip.

Jack swatted his hands away and yanked it off, and then aided Daniel with an equal lack of coordination. They stared at each other's naked chests for a second or two, and then both of them uttered gasps of dumb urgency and fumbled for their belts--belts undone, zippers down, dicks freed, hands tangling--and then Jack cried out as their dicks came together.

"Oh christ, oh hell," Jack barked, watching Daniel's head tilt back, throat bared, eyes closed, lips falling open as he sucked in air. Daniel was jerking them both off clumsily, fingers rough and so strong that Jack gritted his teeth and had to take Daniel's hand in his own and guide it, easing and lengthening the strokes, molding the other man's grip to where he needed it, and then--

"Yes," Jack seethed. "Yes, yes, yes--" Daniel's hand was whippingly sweet now, fast and right and savage. He moaned sharply as Daniel's fist slid up to the head of his cock and then focused there, slick and rhythmic. Jack could feel the circle of Daniel's fist working unremittingly against the flared heads, his, Daniel's, fast and tight, together.

He seized Daniel's mouth again, let it happen, let Daniel take them there, muffled cries from each of them blurring the sharp anguish of their kiss.
 
Sex could get no better, Jack felt, than that long minute as they peaked and rode their descent; the wetness of their mouths, the sticky tangle of fingers and cocks, their bodies a vigorous blend and throb of life. It had been nothing like this with Laira; a comfortable press of the flesh; she'd been sweet and earthy and generous; she'd wanted a baby, and he'd barely known her; with her there'd have been a thousand things he'd never have dared.

"I, oh, wow," said Daniel, head sinking down to rest against Jack's shoulder.

"Yeah," Jack agreed, holding Daniel close with one arm slung around his damp, naked back. The other man was giving off heat, and smelled like soap.

Now what, he thought.

They eased apart, and Daniel seemed intrigued and faintly repelled by the degree of stickiness they'd achieved, if you went by the look on his face. Jack wasn't sure he ever trusted the look on Daniel's face at any given moment, so that was okay. They took separate showers, and after his own, Jack stood in the bathroom and debated whether or not to get dressed again. After several minutes of waffling, he did, only to come out and find Daniel reclining in bed in a pair of striped boxers.

For a minute they considered each other across the room, Jack taking in the sight of him there against the pillows, Daniel obviously taking in the fact that he'd put his pants and shoes back on.

"Hi," Jack said.

"You're going." It was half a question.

Jack hesitated. "I should."

Daniel straightened, drew one knee up. "We should probably take this...slow. If there's even a this."

They looked at each other, Daniel asking other questions with his slitted eyes, Jack bewildered by the rashness and consequences of what they'd done. He nodded once, meaninglessly, then went to sit near Daniel on the bed. He studied Daniel's knee, stroked it, thumbed down his shin bone. He had damned near perfect legs. Athletic. Furred with light-colored hair.

"I could stay," Jack said uncertainly.

Daniel covered his hand, stilled its absent movement. "I understand we'd have to be careful," he said, speaking to Jack's unspoken fears. "And that most of the time we spend together, there'd be no place for this." He sounded unnaturally calm, and without expectations.

Jack looked up and had to smile, a wry small twist of lips. "I can't imagine anyone who could be more discreet than you. Teal'c, maybe." Daniel raised his brows into a high arch. "Not like that, for crying out loud," Jack said, appalled.

Daniel smiled. Sex lightened him. Jack couldn't help but wonder how long it had been for the other man. He liked seeing Daniel loose and twinkling, he decided. And if the only way to bring a smile to his face was mad, powerhouse, sex--well, hey. He was ready to make it happen. He pushed Daniel's knee down. Daniel's lips parted in a dreamy way, and he slid lower against the pillows and let his legs sprawl open.

The night got even better.

In the morning, they rose and dressed early. Jack had spent half the night tossing and turning in Daniel's bed, staring into the strange darkness and thinking of Sara in years past, and of all the things that he and Daniel might have talked about, if they'd been men who talked. Jack didn't know how much marital grief the other man still carried, whether this kind of thing was a first for him, didn't even know yet if there was a this, as Daniel had called it.

He drank some of Daniel's spine-stiffening coffee, in fast hot gulps, and tried to wake up.

"No, thanks. I have to go," he said, when Daniel offered breakfast. "Get home, change. I have an eight o'clock meeting." Just thinking about how he'd see Daniel on base gave Jack a schizoid, itchy feeling he suspected it would take him a while to get used to.

Daniel was quiet, then said, "You know...I've never really figured out where we stand."

That made Jack look up, startled. "Beg pardon?"

"We've worked together for three years. We don't always get along." Daniel ran a hand along the edge of the counter, then let his arm rest against it. "I've tried, but...sometimes I'm not sure whether we're even friends." He scrutinized Jack, clear-eyed and apparently calm as he dismissed the last few, slowly building years of phone calls, chess games, football Sundays. Their socializing had always been sporadic and tentative, as if to balance the terrible gravity of saving the universe together on a regular basis; but it had never occurred to Jack not to consider Daniel a friend. Until now.

"I'm not sure what we are," Daniel went on. "If it weren't for this, I'd say...brothers. Family." Jack caught his breath, struggled to switch gears as his assumptions were kicked out from under him. "They say you don't, uh, don't choose your family. And the way we work together, I've thought now and then that familiarity might have bred some contempt." Daniel paused. "I don't exactly know what I'm trying to say. What am I trying to say?" he wondered to himself, looking down at his hand on the counter and flexing it. "I guess, I guess what I'm saying is, you can tell me if last night was just...need." He looked up, clear-eyed again. "I understand need."

Jack's throat tightened. There was the out. Daniel had just handed it to him, as well-timed as the mug of coffee he'd handed over five minutes earlier. Jack clutched his keys tightly, turned them in his fist, and then rubbed his free hand across his eyes. He hated angst before breakfast. When he looked up again, Daniel was busying himself with more coffee. Sugar, spoon, stir. His profile in coolness, his denim shirt, his posture-perfect body...stirring.

"We're friends," Jack said, to make sure they were clear. Daniel turned his head a fraction without meeting his eyes, seemed to be considering this, then nodded almost imperceptibly. Jack swallowed. "We could be...closer friends."

Daniel turned and stuck his hands in his pockets, a pose that Jack had affected too often not to recognize as a mirror of his own.  "I'd like to be...closer friends," he said, echoing Jack's neutral inflection precisely.

"Okay." Jack paused. He cleared his throat. Dialogues with Daniel could go on what felt like forever, one clunky, monosyllabic sentence at a time; it was as familiar as coded radio chatter. But the meanings were new and different now. "We can take our time, though, on the closer part--don't you think?"

"Yes." Daniel tipped his head and cracked a half-smile.

And for the moment they left it at that.
 

The next two weeks were some of the busiest Jack could remember, as he caught up with all that he'd missed. Everyone wanted a piece of him, and he parceled himself out as best he could, while trying to backfill three months' worth of essential reading between meetings and counseling sessions and check-ups. He slept on base some nights, until Hammond saw him coming out of a bunk room one morning, at which point he cottoned on and started having Teal'c roust Jack out of his office at midnight and send him home.

The time he made for Daniel was minimal but intense: two nights in two weeks, both times at Daniel's apartment, collapsing tiredly onto the bed with no optimism about his performance and then coming alive again under Daniel's mouth and hands, a second wind of pure, sharp lust as if he'd been dropped naked into a snowbank and then blanketed by the sun.

There was no leisure to talk about what they were doing, and Jack was okay with that. When he saw Daniel on base, he didn't have the degree of distraction he'd feared, and the not-talking seemed to be helpful rather than otherwise. They took team meetings together and the dynamic was the same as always, Daniel no less stubborn and outspoken than before, which meant Jack was either too irked with him to think about how soft his stolen kisses were, or too busy holding up his end of the debate to fantasize and render inappropriate doodles. They didn't touch each other on base. If Daniel was unhappy with anything, he didn't mention it. He seemed happy enough to Jack, in his moderately upbeat, unsmiling way.

Jack recognized, in occasional moments, that everything was deferred--he didn't know yet how things were going to work out with Daniel, didn't know what the next mission would be like. He was suspended, waiting to be cleared for active duty and focused meanwhile on a multitude of operational and administrative details that had nothing to do with what he considered his primary work. He was eager to get back in the field. Two weeks of paperwork and dry paper-pushers made him restless, made him feel that age was trying to encroach on him. One night he dreamed that Age was an old evil man pushing a desk his way, shoving him up against the back wall of a janitorial closet.

He attributed this, however, to commissary hotdogs.

When the eggheaded doctor finally cleared him for take-off, Jack circumnavigated the base and made sure everyone knew.

"I'm mission-ready, Major," he called out to Carter, who jumped in her skin and asked him not to startle her when she was using lasers. But then she surfaced from under her goggles, beaming and eager.

"The MALP data we regained from P5L-908 last week looked good," she said. "Signs of nomadic encampments in the distance, trace naquada readings from the sand around the base of the gate."

Jack bounced once and swung his arms out in a ready, flexing movement; he could almost feel himself shrugging into his BDUs. "P5L-908. It has a kind of poetry, don't you think?"

Carter grinned. "Yes, sir. I do."

"Think I'll stop by and have a chat with the general." Jack waggled his brows, then left to make a beeline for Hammond's office.

"P5L-908, sir," he said as he strode in. He went up to Hammond's desk, radiating his goodwill and mission readiness. "Permission to plant my butt in this chair until you approve a mission for SG-1."

Hammond didn't smile. "Congratulations, Colonel. I hear you passed your assessment with flying colors." He drew in a small but audible breath. "Would you shut the door before you take a seat?"

Jack braced with a wince at Hammond's grave tone. "O-kay." When he'd closed the door and sat down, he asked bluntly, "So what other hoops do I have to jump through before I can get my team back out in the field? Sir."

"It's not that." Hammond leaned forward slightly, arms on the desk. "Last night we received an unannounced and extremely disturbing visit from the Tollan government."

"We did?" Jack cocked his head in restrained astonishment. "Funny, don't recall hearing about that in the morning briefing. Of course, I was only on my first cup of coffee, and, okay, maybe I tuned out for a moment or two, but--"

"It was at 0400 hours," Hammond broke in, "and I was called in to talk with High Chancellor Trevell. The Tollan have leveled a serious accusation against us. It seems they've had a theft. They'd set up a base camp on a gated world, and were performing a long-range mineral survey, as I understand it. When they returned a month later, their camp had been scavenged."

"And they're accusing us?" Jack said, feeling his dander rise. "This doesn't have anything to do with that Amok fellow, does it, sir?"

"The High Chancellor made no reference to Omak."

"Then why the hell do they think it's us? After all the trouble we've gone to, to help them. Not just once either. More than once," he said with emphasis.

Hammond nodded. "It seems that's that the only reason why they contacted us to discuss the matter rather than simply severing all ties. They presented evidence from a recording device that had been largely destroyed by a blast of some kind." He pushed a recorder across the blotter on his desk. "I copied it to tape. It's only a few words." He pressed play and the tape clicked and spoke.

"...take as much..."

"...ier than that stuff we..."

The words were sharp, human, English, and they cut off abruptly, leaving only a hiss of silence before Hammond snapped the recorder back off.

"That's it?" Jack asked.

"Isn't that enough?" Hammond said with a short, mirthless bark of laughter. "It was only the sophistication of their technology that allowed them to recover that much. Whatever was used to burn the camp left nothing worth salvaging."

Jack shifted in his chair with an unpleasant cramp of guilt. If it really had been anyone from the SGC...christ. He knew who it had to be, but he wanted a reason for it to be impossible. "Now, I just don't get it," he said in a challenging tone. "They leave their base camp abandoned, sitting there for anyone to walk in and grab stuff, and someone does. Now we know the Tollan can be naive, but doesn't that strike you as a bit stupid? Even primitive?"

"It was secured by a Tollan shield generator--one which apparently renders invisible anything it covers." Hammond pushed out his lips briefly, his face reflecting thought. "For someone to have spotted the camp, disabled the shield, and so thoroughly destroyed the structure, they'd need to have already possessed a relatively sophisticated assortment of sensors and weapons."

"Which we don't have," Jack pointed out. Hammond looked him straight in the eye, solemnly. "Do we?" Jack added, in a tone that begged to be told otherwise.

"Not that I'm aware of. But if someone is out there stealing advanced technology, we should assume they're using whatever they've collected."

"Oh...crap," Jack groaned, leaning forward to press his face in his hands, then sitting back up. "So we've got four NID guys running around the galaxy swiping goodies from our allies."

"It looks that way."

"And you told the Tollan that."

"I did." Hammond glanced down, face grim. "They were not particularly impressed by my 'story'."

"Wonderful."

"I need to you to remain on base tonight, Jack."

Jack looked up, caught Hammond's telling gaze, and sighed. "Another visit, sir?"

"The High Chancellor agreed to return and discuss this further. When I told her you'd returned, she specifically asked for you to be present. She seems to hold you in some regard."

"Me?" He frowned, puzzled, trying to think back to anything particularly impressive he might have done to wow the Tollan. Nothing came to mind. "I'd have thought Daniel, Teal'c maybe."

"The lady asked for you by name."

"Huh."

"Colonel." Hammond held Jack's gaze with steely command. "Let me impress upon you that this cannot be mentioned to anyone. Not even to the members of your team. We don't know yet what the ramifications may be."

"Yeah, I get that," Jack said grimly. "Consider it locked down, sir."

He had lunch with Daniel. A decorous, public lunch in the commissary, with Daniel sitting across from him eating macaroni and cheese. His left boot touched Daniel's right. Jack couldn't actually feel anything through the boot, but it was kind of cool. Like when you sat across from your fifth-grade crush in the cafeteria, and didn't want to cuddle, just to hang out.

"I hear we may get a mission," Daniel said.

"Oh…yeah. Maybe." Jack had been so distracted by Hammond's news he'd forgotten all about P5L-something-something-something. "No word yet."

"You spoke with the general though?" Daniel shoveled in some noodles, and made inquisitive eyes over his glasses after he spoke. Jack studied him with a weird feeling of affection.

"Yeah. Spoke to him." He forked some stringy meat around his plate, his thoughts pulling him every which way. "What are you working on?"

"I'm revisiting some notes from the shrines we found on Erythrae last year. I think I've been able to establish correspondences between the cult images on the friezes and ancient Greek myths of Heracles and Tyche."

"Ah. Well, it's good to know that our billion-dollar budget is being justified."

Daniel darted a sharp look at Jack from under his lashes that clearly said don't start with me. "Yes. Well. I was scheduled for a four-hour meeting, with demonstrations, to review new regs for ground safety and health precautions when setting up off-world campsites, so you'll forgive me if I tend to feel this work is more worthwhile, budgetarily speaking."

"Oh, yeah. I was supposed to go to that too." Jack snuck a glance at Daniel to see if he was really mad. Decided he wasn't. Then decided maybe he was. He tapped Daniel's boot with his own, which earned him a different, more smoldering look. Maybe.

Daniel put his boot on top of Jack's and pushed it hard. "Oh. Sorry," he said, removing his foot and leaving Jack's toes a-tingle.

Yeah, that was smoldering. Jack ducked his head and thought deliberately of Gou'ald. Slimy little bastards.

"Guess you didn't have a lot of time to work on that stuff during the last three months," Jack said.

"Actually, I did."

Jack raised his brows. "Oh?"

Daniel's face was imperturbable. "There wasn't much for me to do, most of the time. I don't know anything about particle-beam accelerators."

"But you had to spend time in negotiations. The Asgard...the Tollan."

"Mmm." Daniel shoved his plate away, leaned back in his chair. "It wasn't like I had to filibuster. Though maybe I should have," he added in a dry voice.

"I know you did your best." Jack stared down at his own plate, fitting his hands to the curves on either side. Nine and three o'clock. He lifted the plate a quarter inch, set it down again. Lifted it, set it down. "The Tollan got kind of unfriendly, you said." He looked up finally.

Daniel frowned. "Well, not unfriendly, to be fair. Just unresponsive. I tried not to read too much into it."

Jack straightened up and quirked a face at Daniel. "Aliens are funny."

The SGC lights were at half-power on graveyard shift, as per energy conservation directives. Jack kicked around the quiet corridors, poking his nose into Daniel's and Carter's offices to see if they were around--they weren't, passing by Teal'c's closed door, and then heading to the control room. Unspeaking airmen manned the control station with serious attention; Jack eyed the backs of their heads as he went by on his way upstairs. Hammond's office was open and a sharp wedge of light spilled out across the floor.

Hammond was at his desk, reading something from a laptop; he looked up as Jack wandered in, hands in pockets. Ten minutes to go.

"Control knows to expect a visit?" Jack asked.

"Yes. We've disabled the gate alarm until after their arrival, and will disable it again when they leave. This is as sanitized as we can make it."

"The Tollan have known about this theft for a while, haven't they?"

"Over a month."

Jack chewed on that. "And they waited to contact us--why?"

"When I asked, they said that they recognized you were missing, and we were busy. I didn't press further. I think they were simply waiting to see what would happen."

More food for thought. Jack went back downstairs wondering if the Tollan really had a thing for him. He wasn't above being modestly pleased, if it were true. Trevell--she reminded him of his high-school English teacher, Mrs. Peterson. Had a lot of snap to her hanky. He hadn't thought Trevell had taken to him, but they did have that long chat at the post-triad-thingy dinner party. Nice woman, once you scraped off the frost. What had they talked about…had he really told her that long story about trout fishing with his dad in the Cascades?

"Incoming traveler!"

Jack stepped up to the window and, joined by Hammond, watched as the Tollan arrived.

"Love how they do that," he murmured, as two forms stepped through the iris before it could open.

They went down to the meet their guests, who stood waiting from them with bland faces and an air of patient sufferance.

"Colonel O'Neill."

Jack inclined his head, trying to recall how Teal'c pulled that off. "High Chancellor."

"It is good to see you well."

"It's good to see you...too. Despite the circumstances."

"Circumstances are indeed most unfortunate," Trevell said crisply.

"This way, madam," said Hammond, extending his arm toward the door. Trevell and her attendant glided past Jack with regal aplomb.

There were pitchers of water on the conference table, but the Tollan didn't seem inclined to drink. In fact, neither of them even so much as rested their hands on the table, but sat instead straight-backed in their chairs, relentlessly poised. Jack sensed it would be an uphill battle, and he wasn't even sure yet what the battle was.

"Narim isn't with you tonight," Hammond said by way of leading into the festivities.

"No. He had business elsewhere, General." When Trevell didn't introduce her aide, Hammond exchanged a glance with Jack.

"General Hammond told me what happened," Jack said. "I want to apologize on behalf of the SGC and for all of us here on Earth for the theft of your...stuff." He wasn't sure the words came out just right, but he meant them sincerely.

"Thank you, Colonel." Jack watched with a fleeting sense of accomplishment as she laced her hands together on the table. She didn't smile, but who could blame her.

"You and I both know," Jack said, leaning forward to communicate his earnestness, "that we're interested in acquiring technology. But we would never do so by such means."

"But you have."

Jack held up a finger. "We haven't. Someone has. But I can assure you that they're in no way associated with the SGC."

"On whose behalf you have apologized."

He cocked his head at her with reproof he couldn't entirely stifle. "That was not an admission of guilt." And you know it, he added silently.

"Are there others of your world who travel through the stargates?"

"I'm sure the general has already told you there aren't."

"He has." Trevell looked at Hammond. "However, with respect to General Hammond, before last night I had not met him. You I have met. The general has told me that there may be a group of 'rogue' persons traveling between gates. That they are of another organization, not your own. That they may have stolen our equipment." She gazed at him unwaveringly, palms now flattened against the table. "Do you concur?"

"Yes."

"And you were a witness to this group's actions."

"Yes." With Hammond's go-ahead, Jack told her the entire story of the previous theft, how SG-1 had located the Touchstone, how the rogue group had escaped through the second gate.

When he'd finished, Trevell dipped her head and communed with herself. Jack seized the moment. "Your Eminence, look. We want to help. Just tell us what to do."

She looked up again. "I'm afraid we cannot. And it is not you who must help us. The task of remedying this matter is not our responsibility, but yours. Though these thieves may be acting independently, they are of your people."

"Okay," said Jack. "We'll find them." He knew it was a dangerous promise even as he spoke it, but there was little else they could offer.

"They could be anywhere in the galaxy, Colonel O'Neill," Trevell noted.

"We'll find them."

She edged out a thin smile. "You are an optimist."

"Yes I am, ma'am."

The set of her shoulders seemed to relax a notch, to Jack's sharp eye. "How will you find them?"

At a loss, Jack looked to Hammond.

"We can set SG-1 to the job," the general said. "We'll analyze what worlds we've visited, and extrapolate what information of ours they may be working with. And then we'll search."

"That may take a long time, General."

"Very possibly."

Trevell looked from Hammond to Jack, then back again. "This is acceptable for now. You will communicate your progress to us."

"If you wish it," said the general.

Trevell stood, and Jack and Hammond followed suit. She placed her fingertips against the table, her slim, elegant body at attention. "You must understand how serious this transgression is. Our policy against sharing our technology with less advanced races is inflexible. If you are unable to satisfactorily redress this matter, the Tollan will sever all ties with Earth, as will the Nox."

"We understand." Hammond's voice was quietly resigned.

"Well, that was fun," said Jack after the Tollan had left.

"Not a word I'd choose, Colonel." They walked out of the gateroom together slowly, in mutual gloom. "We'll meet again tomorrow to discuss this. Eight sharp, my office. I'll clear my schedule and we'll..." Hammond paused, sighed loudly. "Try to figure this damn thing out."

"Do you want SG-1 there?" Jack asked.

"Not just yet. We'll hold off a little longer. Hell, Jack." They stopped in the corridor, facing each other. "I'm not sure I even want the President in on this yet. He wasn't exactly on hand to help when this issue came up before." Hammond was grim. "If I do have to contact him, I'd like to be able to present a plan."

Jack nodded. "I'll be thinking on it, sir."

Thinking hard.

Jack, on his way to meet with Hammond, stopped short. "Carter," he said casually, blinking to wake himself up, wondering what she'd do if he asked her to slap him.

"Any word on P5L-908?" she said. She had that look, the look Jack saw on his own face in the mirror when he was jonesing hard for a new mission.

"No word yet." He eyed her, reserving an inward smile. "Got ants in your pants, Carter?"

"Red ants, sir. I never thought I'd say this, but I'm actually sick of the lab."

"Carter." Jack feigned mild shock. "Won't the rats be lonely?"

"Well, the rats do have other rats, sir."

"And you have us."

Carter smiled. "So, do you have any idea why this mission is stalled on the runway? Does the general need any data, because I have more--"

"No, no. I think he's all set." Jack slid his arms behind his back and twiddled his thumbs. "I'm sure we'll hear soon enough." He paused. "Soon. Sooner or later."

Carter cocked her head with a narrowing look and kind of tucked her tongue to one side of her teeth in that thoughtful way of hers, before saying, "Do you know something?"

"I know many things, Major," Jack said loftily.

"You know what I mean."

He switched gears. "We all dance on the whim of command, Carter. When I know something, you'll know something."

She nodded, giving it up. "Yes, sir."

They parted ways, and as he turned the corner, Jack ran into Teal'c.

"O'Neill."

Jack held up a finger and said, "Don't ask," which caused Teal'c to raise a brow domeward.

"What am I not to ask?"

"Don't ask about the status of our next mission. Don't know yet."

"I see." Teal'c stood calmly in his path. "I have been in this mountain for three months, O'Neill."

"Oh, come on," Jack said, appalled on Teal'c's behalf. "Didn't anyone take you out?"

"They did not."

"Teal'c, you gotta learn to assert yourself. Speak up, tell them you need a walk in the park and ice cream. You're not a mole, damn it."

"What is a mole?"

"It's uh, a kind of animal that lives underground."

"I live underground."

Jack blinked as the cogs in his brain processed this. "You know," he said, taking the Jaffa's shoulder and turning him around to walk, "we really need to get you a little cottage off-world, something with a nice southern exposure."

Teal'c inclined his head with apparent interest. "I could have visited Chulak, but I did not wish to leave while you were still stranded."

"Aw, Teal'c." Jack didn't know what to say. "So, what did you do, all the time I was gone?"

"I watched much television. I read the works of Dickens. I learned to maintain and repair the systems of the Field Remote Expeditionary Device--"

"FRED? Way to go, Teal'c."

"--and the UAV."

Jack stopped, and touched Teal'c's chest to halt him. "Okay, now you're scaring me. If you don't watch it, you're gonna be a one-man team. A Jaffa of all trades."

"That would be acceptable."

"Well, not to me." Jack held Teal'c's clear gaze with his own. "We need you."

Teal'c inclined his head again, a gesture for all occasions, but Jack knew this time it meant, I am honored.

"I will serve as long as I am needed," he said simply.

And then Jack had to slap him on the shoulder and hot-foot it out of there, before it just got too damn mushy.

"This coffee is cold," Jack said. He stared into the inky contents of the mug. "Isn't this the cup I poured this morning?" Hammond said nothing, and Jack noticed his eyes were closed. He could have been meditating, but was probably asleep. Jack put his head on the table, making a pillow of the nearest stack of computer print-outs.

What might have been an hour or a minute later, he heard a quiet, "Colonel," and lifted his head.

"I'm here. I'm up."

Hammond sighed. "I'm not a young man anymore. We've been at this forty straight hours, give or take several insufficient naps. I think it's time to call in the troops."

"SG-1?"

"Yes."

"Good." Jack rubbed his face, and felt paper creases there. "If I see one more gate address I'm gonna go freakin' insane. Let Carter whittle them down. She's got the brain for it." He squinted at the mess of hard copy in front of Hammond. Neither the phone or fax sitting nearby had rung for a while. "Looks like our intel has dried up, too."

"I'm disposed to consider it worthless anyway."

"Except that it all stinks of Maybourne."

"There is that."

Jack grunted, stood and stretched, and then broke into an impromptu boxing dance to get his blood pumping. It didn't work too well and there was a surreal effect to doing it in the quiet conference room in the middle of the night, so he stopped and shook his head. More coffee was really the ticket.

"You know," he said, walking over to the coffee machine, "the funny thing about all this is--"

And then he realized two things; that he was somewhere else, and that he didn't know what the funny thing about all this was.

He took stock of himself, and stared around at his new location. Yeah, this was familiar, and he had that gentle hincky feeling as the effect of the transporter wore off and the hairs on the back of his neck lifted. Jack turned around and waved at the group of small grey aliens watching him. They all looked alike, but he had no trouble identifying the little guy standing front and center.

"Thor, old buddy. You rang?"
 

"By yourself," said Hammond for clarification.

"What can I say? They like me. And, uh, they said something about investing me with the full judicial advocacy of my race. To be honest, I wasn't entirely clear on the mumbo-jumbo, sir, but the important thing is that they won't accept any other eyewitness testimony. They want me to own this start to finish as 'observer and operative.' Their words."

"This is bad, Jack." Hammond's tired face was suddenly looking a few years tireder. "We've got to get this resolved, and soon. If worse comes to worse, we could probably afford to lose ties with the Tollan and the Nox. They've already established themselves as non-interventionist. But the Asgard--" Hammond cut himself short, thoughts clearly outstripping the unnecessary words.

"I know, sir."

"I don't want to think about what would happen to Earth if the Asgard no longer honored the treaty."

Jack moodily swung his chair from side to side. "Yeah. I got the impression Thor wasn't all that eager to find out, either. But he was representing the wishes of his--" He waved a hand. "People. Council. Whatever they have."

"So where does this leave us--a one-man mission?" Hammond made an exasperated sound. "I'm supposed to let you wander from world to world alone, until you catch up to these folk? Because that's just not going to fly."

"No, it's not." Jack hesitated. "Sir, yesterday, when I was not really napping, I came up with an idea. Kind of crazy, so I--"

"Let's hear it," Hammond broke in flatly.

So that's how bad it is, Jack thought. We're down to the crazy ones. "Okay, so stop me when I run out of ledge. First, we need a reason to visit the Tollan...."

"You want me to make the appeal?" said Daniel. He glanced around the table, head tipped suspiciously to one side and brows aloft. "You do know that my degrees are in archaeology and history, right? I'm not a diplomat."

"But you talk real good," said Jack blandly.

"Yes," Daniel flashed a dry non-smile, "but I'm not a diplomat. If our goal is to establish formal trade relations with an alien race, you need SG-9. Talk to Kovachek."

"Major Kovachek will assist you, Doctor." Hammond folded his hands. "However, he and the rest of his team are busy with other assignments right now, so you'll be working largely on your own."

"So, wait," suggested Daniel.

"We can't wait," said Jack, admiring Daniel's pithy bluntness even as he countered it. Years of meetings were teaching the other man how to cut to the chase.

"Can't wait?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Jack shot Hammond a dark look that said, see?

"Son," Hammond took a visibly deep breath, "your government needs you." He smiled wryly, but continued in a serious vein. "The Tollan have shown no interest in opening diplomatic talks until now, and with the President's directive, we're scheduling this to their convenience. They know SG-1, and would like the proposal to come from familiar faces."

"Oh." Daniel mused on this. "So I'd have to create the proposal myself?"

"We have faith in your abilities, Doctor."

To Jack's eye, Daniel didn't seem all that enthused by Hammond's faith.

"Such a responsibility carries with it great honor, Daniel Jackson." Teal'c's still pose conveyed approval.

"What does the proposal involve?" asked Carter.

"There are basic treaty and trade guidelines, language and provisions," said Hammond, looking at Carter then at Daniel. "I'll have all of the materials sent to your office, Doctor, and you can share them out with the rest of your team. You'll want to study them and determine the language of the presentation."

Daniel's frown was etched in so deep that Jack suspected he'd be seeing it for the next week.

"So, I take it we're not going to 908."

"I guess Teal'c's right and I should be honored," Daniel said to Jack as they left the conference room.

"You should be," affirmed Jack, feeling a pang of guilt. He wanted to say, don't work too hard on this, Daniel. It's all a sham, and you're our straw man. But he couldn't. He couldn't even rest his hand on Daniel's back like he wanted to, because he was too self-conscious now.

Oh, to hell with it.

He rested his hand just under the collar of Daniel's jacket; one thumb brushing the bare skin on the back of his neck. "You'll do good," he said quietly.

"I, uh--I hope so."

After another moment, Jack reluctantly removed his hand from where it rested. He was feeling hungry, and not for doughnuts, and he was also feeling like a real shit-heeled bastard for what the next few weeks would do to his team. To Daniel. When he'd outlined his plan to Hammond, he'd secretly felt its biggest problem was that Daniel would never fall for it, would never buy that Jack was at heart a jingoistic thief with no stake left in the system.

Then he'd had to admit to himself his real worry: that Daniel might.

"I know I should dive into this right away," said Daniel, as they paused at the crossroads of two corridors. "Given that I only have five days to refine a treaty and trade proposal on which all our futures could hang." His voice was sour and snarky. "But I'll probably cut out of here at shift change, be home by eleven. Get some rest before immersion." His eyes were steady on Jack's. Those eyes spoke warmly, if you looked deep enough.

Jack dropped his gaze and swallowed. He knew what he had to do, but god, it was going to hurt like ripping out fresh stitches. "I'll probably be here late," he said.

"Later than eleven?"

"Yeah…you know. Lots of stuff to do. Still playing catch-up."

"Ah." Daniel looked down briefly, stuck his hands in his pockets. "Well. Okay. I'll, um, see you later, then."

"See ya," Jack said, watching him walk off.

That was the beginning.

Every time during the next few days when Jack dropped by Daniel's office, Daniel was there, nose buried in manuals and right hand scribbling notes that he didn't even look at as he wrote. Jack tried to distract him into games of gin and ping-pong, tried to talk him into cutting out for quick meals. Daniel nodded at every invitation and ignored him. He was burning the candle at both ends.

It made Jack antsy, so he tapered off his visits. He needed to focus, anyway. Needed to ready himself for what was coming.

"You want me to ask for weapons technology?"

Daniel's voice was low and deliberate, with a subdued anger Jack had come to recognize over the years. The deep embers of resentment in Daniel's soul would never completely go out. Jack didn't completely understand what Daniel resented--whether he simply held a basic objection to military priorities, or was burdened by some more complex frustration at serving those same priorities out of hatred for the Gou'ald. But he'd known what Daniel would say, and how he'd say it. This required no new script.

"Yes, son," said Hammond. "The President has asked us to include this request in the proposal."

"They'll never agree to that," Daniel said, looking at both of them, clearly baffled by the military and political mindset. Jack studied the shadows under his eyes, the faint stubble around his jaw, his hair which probably hadn't been brushed since he last stumbled up from his office cot. "The Tollan's stand against technology sharing is one of their defining principles."

"Daniel, we need technology. In case you've forgotten, we're fighting for our lives against a race of slimy predators who like to tunnel up inside our brains and conquer us from the inside out."

Daniel's jaw tightened. Direct hit. "It would be hard for me to forget that, wouldn't it."

"You know you want this as much as we do," said Jack, shoving down all his sympathy and keeping his voice firm.

"I'm not sure I do."

"Find an argument that will persuade them. If anyone can do it, it's you."

Daniel gave Jack an odd, slanted look, as if unsure whether to be pleased at the compliment or pissed at such blatant manipulation. "I'll see if I can get one of those magic hats."

"The outline otherwise looks fine, Doctor." Hammond shut his folder. "We appreciate your efforts."

"A few big rabbits, that's all we need," said Jack. And then he took a mental breath and added, "And the Tollan should be happy to cough up a few rabbits from their technological stockpile, considering that we saved their arrogant asses."

He received a startled stare from Daniel, and high brows. "Yes, by all means, let's go in with that attitude. That's sure to win us a lot of points." Daniel turned a look of irritated appeal on Hammond.

"I have to agree with Doctor Jackson, Colonel. Try to remember that these are friendlies."

"Friendlies who weren't so friendly when it came to saving my ass, as I understand it." Jack sat back in his chair and projected joyless discontent.

Daniel opened his mouth, then closed it. Jack could tell the exact moment when the other man shrugged him off. "I'd better get back to work," he said to both of them, standing and collecting his papers.

When he left, Jack's mask of indifference dropped. "He's going to be none too pleased when he finds out we set him up to fail."

"I think you underestimate him, Colonel. He'll understand, once he knows the reason behind the--"

"Deception," Jack interrupted. "The word you want is 'deception', sir."

He opened his door wearing only a pair of ratty grey sweatpants, the sort of thing you kept around for housework. They had daubs of white paint and small holes at the knees. Jack eyed them, more determined than ever to keep his wits. When he looked north again, Daniel was running a thumb across one brow. His face was smooth and tired.

"I shouldn't have called you, should I? You said it was all right, but--"

"Don't worry about it." Jack gave him a push against one arm, and followed him inside. "We need to talk, anyway."

"Oh," Daniel said. He stopped and crossed his arms, just inside the living room. There was one lamp on, and the corners were full of shadows. Jack walked a few paces further before turning, and then understood that this was as far as it went; he wasn't even going to be sitting down.

He debated for a few seconds while Daniel stared at him, then said, "It's over."

A few beats passed. "When did it begin?" Daniel replied reasonably, the picture of cool.

"Right." Jack twitched, looked around the room to distract himself. His teeth ached from gritting, but he'd practiced this scene, and knew he could look blithe while swallowing blood.

"It's fine, Jack. Really. I'm surprised...well, I'm surprised this ever happened in the first place. An encore was pushing it."

"Two," Jack said, his voice mild as butter, his mouth tasting of bile.

"Right."

Jack stuck his hands in the pockets of his coat, making unseen fists. The surface had to remain smooth; the rest didn't matter. "What you said before. You had it pegged. Need."

Daniel nodded. His arms remained crossed, but a subtle ease softened his body. "I thought so."

"We won't talk about this again." Jack wasn't entirely sure how he continued to get words out with no breath in his body. It was an interesting kind of pain. Detached and corpselike. "I want you to know something, though." Daniel looked up, attentive. "We work together. And we're friends. That doesn't change."

"No. Of course not." Daniel's brows drew together with a faint crease. "This doesn't have to change things. And it won't."

If you say so, Jack thought.

"I know it's odd." Daniel dipped his head again diffidently. "But I do feel closer to you now, in a strange sort of way. This, uh, doesn't have to be...bad." A crooked smile, calm face. No clue whether he lied to himself, though, or spoke the truth. Jack couldn't read hearts.

"Well, that's good." Jack fought a snarl of anger at the other man's easy summary; as if Daniel had penned a brief chapter of his life, and now was ready to put it away in a drawer and move on. When he spoke again, though, he showed nothing of his thoughts. "I'm glad it works for you. I know this wasn't the best time, but I do want you to be able to focus on the mission." His tight body warred with his earnest, measured tone. "But Daniel," he paused for emphasis, "remember what I said. We don't talk about this. We never talk about this."

Daniel frowned. "Okay, Jack."

Jack knew he'd pushed it, but he had to. He had to. Things were going to get deep and tricky soon, and one stray, tapped phone call would start a landslide to hell.

He left after a few more empty words, and the sound of Daniel's door shutting behind him was like a full-body punch. Jack walked blindly down the hallway to the elevator, amazed at what he'd done, how well he'd done it. He wasn't sure if he'd have felt better knowing for sure why he'd done it. He could defend it on grounds of protection; self-protection, protection of Daniel. That was the story, anyway. But a grey voice in him whispered, it's easier like this.

What, after all, had happened? He'd gotten drunk, slept with a guy, rallied for a few follow-up sessions, and then broken it off. And Daniel hadn't been upset with him. On the contrary. Daniel was just fine about it. Ready to drop him like a bad habit and resume being friends.

No muss, no fuss.

He rode the elevator down, drove home, walked in his door, threw his keys somewhere he'd be lucky to find them again, and drank three shots in three minutes. It was nauseating, but then, so was his life.
 

Things went as planned; and, personal desktop more or less cleared, Jack was ready to give his entire attention to his mission.

Still, it nearly broke his heart to see Daniel enter the gateroom wearing what Jack knew had to be his best dress suit, a godawful brown tweedy thing, one pocket flap tucked in, one out. He was even wearing a tie. Jack closed his eyes and opened them again and Daniel was still there, face lit with eleventh-hour excitement. You wouldn't know to look at him that he hadn't slept in twice that.

Despite whatever convictions to the contrary, Daniel had talked himself around and was now eager to make his case to the Tollan; for the sheer joy of a challenging, underdog debate, from what Jack could tell. He'd listened in on Daniel's rambling conversion process--commissary, conference room, locker room--but Daniel's chief audience had been Daniel. He was infused now, in his abstract but dedicated way, with the goal of winning this one for them.

"No papers, no folders?" Jack asked.

"It's all in here," Daniel said, resting a finger against his temple.

Jack issued a weak smile.
 
Major Carter walked in, dress blues to match his own--well, except for the skirt--followed by Teal'c. His blazer was better than Daniel's. Of course, Jack had helped him pick it out.

"We ready to get this show on the road?" he asked them.

They were. They went.

The Tollan did not keep them waiting. Punctual folk, Jack thought morosely, watching Trevell stride gracefully into the hall. She didn't look his way.

Daniel stepped right up to the plate, while the rest of them sat at attention. His shoulders were held straight, his chin slightly lifted as he prepared to speak. A hell of a brave guy, Jack thought with reserved pride, and almost arrogant enough to match the Tollan. He'd have liked to see what Daniel could accomplish, given a fair chance.

"Your Eminence," Daniel began, "our government has asked us to return to Tollana to arrange formal diplomatic relations with your people."

Trevell nodded. "Consider it done. You are, after all, the people who saved us from the Gou'ald."

Damn right we are, Jack thought, warming himself up.

"Thank you, yes," said Daniel. "Well, in that spirit, we'd like to arrange for a trade."

"What would you like to trade?"

"Technology."

Trevell's face registered the mere slightest of changes. "I'm sorry. You know that is the one thing we cannot give you. Tollan law strictly forbids it."

Jack exchanged a glance with Carter, who gave him a dry grimace. He felt anger beginning to percolate inside him, as if the timer of the last five days had finally clicked on. He didn't want to look at Daniel, but he'd be angry on Daniel's behalf, for having to go through this farce. To hell with the Tollan, anyway. Bloodless ingrates. Oh-so-civilized, but they'd be snake fodder and worm food if it hadn't been for a pack of primitive humans.

"Okay," Daniel was saying. "We understand that. However, in our culture, laws can be changed when it's deemed that the reasons for those laws are no longer relevant."

He'd been so proud of coming up with that argument. He even had a few more, Jack knew, but he'd never get to use them.

"The reasons for these laws are still relevant," said Trevell, in her cool tones.

"Okay, please, if--if you'll just allow me to make our case," said Daniel, forging on gently.

"I assume you want weapons technology."

"Yes," Daniel said. Jack's gut tightened in sympathy for him.

"One of those ion cannons would be nice," Jack broke in.

"I see." Trevell let a significant pause fall after responding. "And for what will you use such a cannon?"

"To defend ourselves against the Gou'ald." They hadn't planned this to the letter, there was no way they could; but Jack could sense Trevell following his lead.

"Forgive me, Colonel, but our research shows that you are far more likely to use our technology against enemies on your own planet."

"What if I gave you my word that would never happen?" And this nice bridge in Brooklyn.

"Are you the commander of your entire nation?"

Jack affected labored cogitation, which was what all stupid, self-satisfied rhetorical questions like that deserved, and finally admitted, "No."

"Then in truth, you cannot guarantee it."

Jack looked up toward her, but Daniel was in the periphery of his gaze, and he swore he could feel Daniel's stiffness, his repressed tension as he waited on their tangent. It was time for him to pipe down and let Daniel continue, let this farce reach the boiling point of futility, but suddenly Jack knew too well how that would play out, how impassioned Daniel would get, how hard he'd try to convince the Tollan. And in that instant of knowledge Jack made his decision.

"You know what," he said. "Forget it." He waved the Tollan off with dismissive disgust.

Daniel half-turned. "Jack?"

Jack stood. "We knew you wouldn't give us anything. We're wasting a lot of time here."

"Jack--"

"No, Daniel," he said sharply. "Let's go."

He led, and they followed him from the hall, Daniel questioning him with a pained stammer of bewilderment: "Wha-w-what are you doing?"

Jack, trying to remember which panel held the fancy bug-light he was supposed to grab, said, "We never should have saved their technologically superior butts." He stopped in front of the second light panel, looked it up and down. "This is the thing they used to disable our weapons with, isn't it?"

"As well as the Gou'ald technology," said Teal'c from behind him.

Daniel, leaning close enough to kiss or cuff, said, "Don't even think about it," in the voice of conscience, while Carter asked more carefully, "Sir, isn't this against regulations?"

He removed the panel cover and unhooked the device. "I suppose it is, Carter," he said shortly. "Let's go." He walked off carrying his ill-gotten gains.

"Kinda crossing the line here, aren't--" Daniel called after him.

"Shut up, Daniel," he commanded harshly, focused on getting out of Dodge before some stray Tollan came by and rendered all their maneuvering pointless. He didn't turn around, but he really hoped they were all following. He was trusting Daniel in particular not to pull an about face and report his theft to the Tollan, an irony of trust that wasn't lost on him.

Welcome to my grand downfall, he thought.

The aborted debriefing that followed was quite possibly the worst five minutes Jack had lived through in the past year, and that was saying something. The sense of outrage and humiliation at being stripped of command was real enough to leave his cheeks burning, no matter that it was faked, and the betrayed expressions Daniel and Carter treated him to were exactly the worst that he'd feared. Every light word he uttered during the debrief sat like a stone in his gut; every angry word was a self-inflicted wound.

He'd tried to sound cynical and fed up when he let slip about the rejected back-up program and its consequences. It hadn't been hard. Twenty-six years in the service left a man with a body of jaded bitterness on tap, and the program and its rejection had been real. Everything he said out loud had once dwelled inside him as a thought: wasn't their mandate to acquire new technology? Hadn't they better take what they needed while the taking was good? What the hell good would their ethics do them when the Gou'ald came?

It was a unique pain, to know that in some dark, protected core of himself, he half believed the words he spoke, and that because of the circumstances he could only be despised for voicing them.

The rest of his day didn't improve much. Bumping chests with Teal'c, shredding Carter's wan remnants of respect for him, sweating on Hammond's hot seat with Teal'c to witness his choice of retirement over court-martial. All of it was a real blast. As in the chest, with a staff-weapon.

He cleaned out his locker before he went. It seemed the symbolic thing to do. Laira's shirt hung there; he packed it with the rest of his stuff. He imagined he had a place for it in his attic. His office he left as it was. Hammond would delay any official purge, and if all went well, he'd be back before a layer of dust had settled on his blotter.

On his way out, he stopped by Hammond's office again. The general glanced up, nodded him in. Jack made sure both doors were closed before saying with false brightness, "That went well, I think."

"You all right, Colonel?"

"Uh-uh," Jack tutted. "I'm retired now." He saw Hammond's glance at his bag, and kicked it. "Locker." He kicked it some more, looking down. "So who's taking over the team?"

"Colonel Makepeace."

"They won't thank me for that. Of course, they probably won't thank me for anything."

Hammond stood and came around the desk. "Get some rest, Jack. For all we know, the hardest part still lies ahead."
 
"That's…encouraging, sir." Jack made a small face, which Hammond answered with an equally meager smile. The rotten thing was, he had a feeling Hammond was right.

"I'll take care of your people."

"I know you will, George." Jack smiled faintly. "Can I call you 'George'?"

Hammond chuckled. "Might as well."

"Look after..." Jack hesitated as he realized he wasn't really retiring, and couldn't just say what leapt to his tongue. "...all of them."

Hammond eyed him with an almost paternal care. "Major Carter visited me earlier, and made a valiant case that the mission to Edora has left you with a high degree of stress, and your actions should be viewed in that light."

"Edora, huh," he said, and thought: Carter, huh. Some days it seemed that everyone took him and Carter for some kind of chaste item, like a couple of star-crossed Mormons. Probably for the best, all things considered.

Jack managed to get out of the base without running into anyone, which was not hard, given its vast maze of corridors, and yet still felt like a minor miracle.

When he got home, a neighbor's dog bounded loose across Jack's lawn to greet him; a wag of tail, a bark, a shiver of cedar-colored fur. Jack knelt down and stroked the warm head roughly. Ears, gotta pay attention to the ears. "I'm a free man, Bosco," he said. "My time is my own."

He knelt there for a few minutes, ruffling Bosco and looking casually around his neighborhood. No government-issue vans, or the SUVs they were favoring these days for covert coverage. He had no idea what the NID's response time was, or how long it would take them to sniff out the bait, if they even did. Hell of a joke if his fake retirement became real by default; he supposed if enough time passed, Hammond would reel him in. He wondered, though, if by then he'd want to go back.

A tongue slapped him upside the face. "Bosco, I've been meaning to talk to you for a while about that breath." He grabbed the sides of Bosco's head, stared into dark quizzical eyes with tufts of surprised fur above. "Chicks don't dig doggy breath." He fingered open the side of the dog's mouth. "Your owner isn't too hot with the toothbrush, is he." He got up, feeling his knees creak. "Idiot." He stroked Bosco's head one last time, and gave one last look around the street, before going inside.

He spent the evening and the following day as far away from the house as he could, seeing a movie, taking his car in for a full tune-up, buying some clothes, enjoying a long lunch. When he got home with a carful of unneeded groceries, he knew he'd had a visit. He could sense these things. His house looked exactly the same, outside and in, but he knew.

He didn't try to find the bugs, didn't suddenly take up listening to the radio. He behaved as he always did, but with a grim consciousness that some bored spook was probably listening to him whistle and piss.

"Zippity doo-dah, zippity ay, my oh my what a wonderful day," he sang under his breath as he fixed lunch.

There was nothing to do but wait, so he cleaned his gutters. The next day he lounged and drank beer before noon, and lounged some more. It was bright and gorgeous outside, but that was all the incentive he needed to remain inside with the bugs. In the shadows. Enough of fresh air. He was used to being buried half a mile deep in a mountain.

Come for me, he thought. Get a move on. He tried not to pace or buzz the front windows. He fiddled with his chess set for a while, then watched a talk show, something about lesbian wives with clueless husbands.

Let me see if I'm getting this clear, you're telling your husband that you two have had sex together?

We have, yes.

Wait, you've had sex with her?

You don't even know me, do you?

I tattooed your name on my arm as a wedding band. You're cheating on me?

How is it cheating, Mark?
 
Moodily, Jack turned off the set and got another beer. He thought about doing laundry, but he wasn't bored enough for that yet. Not quite yet. He wandered around the house, straightening pictures of Charlie that were already straight, hoping that those agency bastards had been smart enough not to touch them with their goddamn greasy fingers.

Back in the living room, he sat down and stared at the chess board again, turning his current game absently. It was all a game. Make a move, wait for them to make theirs. Make another move, and try to see far enough ahead to ensure that it was the right one.

When the doorbell rang, Jack was not surprised. He went to answer, and found only Daniel there, arms crossed, jacket folded over them. Jack's heart skipped once with alarm before he forced it to slow. Okay, he hadn't been expecting this. Not Daniel, middle of the week, middle of the day. For crying out loud, Daniel, he thought angrily. Beat it, go away, scram.

"Hi," said Daniel. His face was composed, stripped of intimacy. Jack could feel the distance between them, how far it had grown in so short a time.

"What do you want?" Jack said unwelcomingly.

"I'm not, uh, I'm not sure, to tell you the truth." Daniel paused. "I'm here to talk, I guess."

Jack did not invite him in. "So talk." In the long silence between them that followed, Jack heard Bosco bark, a nearby crow caw. Dangerous if Daniel really talked, considering all the things he could say. But they were men who didn't talk, not well, and he'd given Daniel his warning. Jack took a pull from his beer and waited.

"You got another one of those?" said Daniel finally, tipping his glance toward Jack's bottle.

"Yeah," he said brusquely. Take a fucking hint, Daniel, he said wordlessly. Go away.

After another pause, Daniel said dryly, "Feel like sharing?"

"Beer? Sure." Jack turned and walked away, giving up the stand-off. Daniel's stubbornness was rock to his scissors. He heard Daniel shut the door behind him and enter the living room, and as he got the beer he tried to remember the last time Daniel had been over. Memory failed him. He didn't invite people to his house.

"So, how're you feeling about all this?" Daniel called as Jack popped a beer for him.

"Yes to the beer," Jack said, going out to join him. "No to the feelings." He handed Daniel the beer as he walked by.

"That's, uh, that's too bad, because I don't really like beer."

"Stop your worryin'," Jack said with assumed nonchalance as he took a seat on the far side of the room. "I'm fine." He glanced at Daniel carefully from behind the bright barrier of chit-chat, and thought about who might be listening.

Daniel sat down on the couch, and set his beer next to the chess board. "Really? That's, uh, that's funny, because I didn't--I didn't figure you for the early retirement type any more."

Jack took another pull of beer, cataloging Daniel's distracted speech and the depth of concern it might be covering for.

"There's another reason you're angry, isn't there?" asked Daniel.

Jack's heart did another two-step, but his mouth was on automatic. "Oh, here we go," he said snidely. "Pop-psych 101, right?" He was tuned in sharply for any sign that this was personal, and he was going to strangle that chatter and kick the other man out if it came to that.

"No." Daniel held up a finger. "When we were in the briefing, you said something about--the Pentagon not giving us the back-up we requested. What, uh, what were you talking about?"

Jack glanced away for a moment and set his beer down. Suddenly this was useful; exactly the right direction. "Hammond and I were planning a secondary SGC base off-world," he said. He returned his gaze to Daniel. "It was going to serve as back-up in case ours was attacked. I was going to command."

Daniel gave him a look that said, you didn't tell me, Jack. But why should he have; it had been months ago, and no business of Daniel's. Not then.

"And the Pentagon pulled the plug," Daniel concluded aloud. Jack nodded briefly. "And you're acting out because...you're hurt. Because you didn't get a command."

"Give me a break, Daniel," he said, part of him genuinely annoyed by Daniel's oh-so-delicate attempt at brain probe. "Their denial of the program was just another indication that they're not serious about attaining our goals."

"Which you think is attaining new weapons and technology."

"Protecting ourselves," clarified Jack, letting the eagle fly a little higher for the sake of their unseen audience.

"But isn't our mission also about establishing and maintaining diplomatic relations with other cultures?"

Trust Daniel to feed him all the right lines, earnest as a schoolboy. It was beginning to get under Jack's skin, the falsity of their conversation. And the reality of it. "What's the point," he retorted testily, "if we don't gain anything to help our other interests?"

"Well, there's a lot we could learn from people like the Tollan that has nothing to do with technology and weapons," Daniel said with quiet assurance, saying only what Jack himself believed, and yet ticking him off mightily, because of that assurance, that moral certainty, and that obliviousness to the wrongness of everything between them. Daniel didn't even recognize that anything was off. It fit the plan perfectly, and it was completely fucked.

"Stuff that interests people like you, Daniel," he said in a hard voice. "Not people like me." The look Daniel gave him--stunned, hurt, disillusioned--wrenched at Jack, and he could only forge on relentlessly. "I want to see tangible gains from our efforts. And if people like the Tollan don't want to share, we should just take."

Subtle, shadowed amazement held Daniel's face. "You really believe that?" he asked quietly.

"Being sweet and nice isn't going to stop three or four Gou'ald motherships if they decide to come back again. I'd rather be a thief and alive than honest and dead--it's a cliche but there it is."

"If you really believe that, I guess..." Daniel paused, as if to give him one last chance before letting the words drop between them. "I guess I never really knew you at all."

"Come on. You're a bright guy," Jack said, an almost kindly knife of words. "You had to sense some of this." When Daniel just gave him another long look, he went on, "Then no. I guess you couldn't relate to me any more than I could to you."

"So this whole, uh, this whole friendship thing we've been working on the last few years--"

"Apparently not much of a foundation there, huh." Jack lifted his beer bottle in the slightest and darkest of toasts, and took another drink. Something for his mouth to do, other than lie.

He watched as Daniel lowered his gaze and withdrew into himself, saying nothing more to Jack as he left. No fight, no appeal, just silence and the retreat of his body, the shape of his neck and shoulders and back as he removed himself from Jack's life.

Jack wanted to yell after him: you're a quitter, Daniel. He'd given up that easily. It had been that easy. The son of a bitch. Jack's hand shook with anger as he set the beer bottle aside. And wasn't it true, that there was no foundation, nothing between them, if he could walk away like that...if he could walk away like that.

Maybe I didn't lie, thought Jack. Maybe we didn't lie at all.

It was the bleakest of thoughts, on the brightest of afternoons.

Let the games begin.

Daniel didn't call, and no one else visited. Jack cultivated his solitude, cultivated his lawn, cleaned his garage. Nights, he replayed the scene in his living room with Daniel countless times, usually while watching TV, in a not-watching sort of way. He thought of what a useful scene it had been, evidence for his watchdogs that he was cutting ties. And it had worked. He thought of calling Daniel, despite this, despite everything. Just for the hell of it, because it was all for the hell of it.

He didn't call. He might have said things, and it would have sent the wrong message. Not to Daniel, but to them.

A week after Maybourne's visit, Jack paged the slimy bastard and prepared to take him up on his proposal. What if I told you I could offer you a way to achieve your goals? What if I told you I could arrange for you to lead a team through the gate to acquire whatever you want, whenever you want?

What if I told you, thought Jack, that you're going to get scudded so hard you'll go down and stay down for good. He took savage pleasure in imagining what lay ahead for the other man. A public hanging would be Jack's choice, but he'd settle for Maybourne's court-martial and, oh, twenty years at Leavenworth.

He waited for the colonel outside on the deck, in the balmy late hours of the day. He couldn't let himself get drunk, not yet, but he kept a beer at hand. He was beginning to hate the taste but the habit passed the time.

And there was Maybourne.

Jack eyed his approach with a low burn of revulsion, the same one that breathed to life every time he was in the man's presence. The perversion of a man like Maybourne wearing Air Force blues with full honors goaded and galled Jack, and with every word they exchanged, he thought of what he'd given up for the pleasure of Maybourne's company.

After meaningless pleasantries that were in no way pleasant, Maybourne asked shortly, "Are you ready to go?"

"I have some questions," Jack said.

"Can't tell you much."

Jack's temper flared at the cocksure tone, and for a second he was ready to give it all up for one punch. "You expect me to jump into this operation blind?" he said with a facade of control, as the burn swept inward over him.

"Are you interested in my offer or not?"

Jack looked away, muscles tightening, as everything flared away and left the taste of ash, a taste he'd been trying to swallow all week. Maybourne was near enough to kill; one jab to the throat and he was down, broken and finished on the newly cut lawn.

Ridi, Pagliaccio, Jack thought.

"I'm interested."

Sul tuo amore infranto. Ridi del duol che t'avve lena il cor.

Years later, when he looked back, the mission itself didn't stand out in memory. He did what he had to do, and scrubbed it from his mind afterwards as best he could.

He'd gone with Maybourne and let himself be drawn into the smarmy bastard's web of intrigue. One thing to be said for Maybourne: he had a knack for schemes. He was managing somehow to direct a off-world team from home, and import alien technology, without authorized access to a gate. A few times, just for a second or two, Jack was reluctantly fascinated.

He wasn't clear on what was in it for the members of the rogue unit, though, particularly after he met their motley--and really kinda skanky--crew. Stranded off-world, money couldn't be a big incentive. He found it hard to accept, or maybe didn't want to accept, that they were motivated by patriotism; and yet he had to admit they believed in something, despite any other promises of reward they might have received. Once they'd been professional soldiers and scientists, and even now they retained enough organization to get the job done--though Jack made a show of being unimpressed. Ragged and deluded, they were still a step up from Maybourne. Of course, amoebas were a step up from Maybourne.

He'd wondered how Maybourne planned to get him off-world, and then Jack found out that it was largely up to him. If this hadn't been a sting, he wondered whether Hammond would have bought his story about wanting to return to Edora to be with Laira, would have let him go.

He may not have remembered, years later, the mission in all its dirty detail, but he remembered…he remembered Daniel. The look on his face when he learned Jack was leaving for Edora. His silence, and how he got u