Discovery	Identity	Sorrow	Envy	Vulnerability
Convergence	Grace	8	9	10
11	12	13	14	15

Discovery

Requested by: Carol S.
Theme: discovery
Word: joy


On a hot, bright afternoon, Jack and Daniel sat in a Cairo cafe, drinking mud-thick sweetened coffee and speaking Arabic. It wasn't the substance of their conversation that delighted Daniel, but the fact of it: the pleasurable smooth stream of fluent speech, and the way Jack stopped every so often, stuttering around a word he hadn't used in years. Daniel said complicated things, wrapped them in idioms and dialect, and Jack kept up as though he spoke Arabic every day.

Daniel was mesmerized by the movement of Jack's mouth, by the warm rich sounds of intelligence he made as he spoke. Jack lapsed into Spanish for a few phrases, just to provoke him; Daniel licked his lips and met Jack's eyes. "What other talents have you been hiding?" Daniel asked.

A tiny smile overtook Jack's lips. He sipped his coffee and lapsed into silence, but his eyes never left Daniel's.

Later, in the relative cool of Daniel's room, they sprawled across rumpled sheets, and Jack revealed his best-kept secrets. He proved he knew how to tie the stem of a cherry; he demonstrated the twisting technique without the stem, stroking his tongue over Daniel's until Daniel was moaning softly. He illustrated one way of holding a captive subject immobile during torture; Daniel writhed as Jack sucked and licked him, until the joy of it was too much to bear.

Near dawn, when the worshipful call of the muezzins floated across the sky, Jack kissed him and slid into him, slowly, slowly, with a strength and control Daniel was long past. Daniel whispered into the kisses: na'am, na'am, amado, and Jack stretched out across him, over him, inside him, like bliss.




Identity

Requested by: Katie M.
Theme: identity
Word: Kanan


Kanan listened with interest as Thoran explaned: the new host would be male - a human, of the Tau'ri. Such gender distinctions were irrelevant to the Tok'ra, but the humans of Earth seemed particular about their pronouns. It had always amused Kanan to adopt the gender of the human host; now Kanan would be 'male' once again.

The humans had placed strict conditions on this implantation. Kanan must blend with the human, cure him, and abandon the host once the human was well. A swell of irritation caused him to thrash wildly in the tank; it was inconvenient to have no voice to express his dissatisfaction. It had always been the thorn in his side, the idea that Tok'ra should serve at the whim of others, for the sake of the hosts. He resented this idea of a panacea for all human ills. Thoran's persuasive argument, however, had to do with Kanan's survival, and Kanan conceded the point. Such were the limitations of the symbiotic relationship; Kanan was crippled by his very nature, and resented it.

The name of the human was familiar: O'Neill, famous among the Tok'ra for his temper, impatience and difficult attitude. He was regarded by Tok'ra leadership as a typical example of humankind, even after his successes in battle against their mutual enemy. Kanan had fond memories of his previous hosts - Shayna, whose intellect was quick and her battle skills formidable; Arken, whose body had been slight but whose humor was as broad and gentle as his plain face. These were worthy hosts, carefully chosen for the sake of mutual benefit, not out of desperation.

It angered Kanan to think of blending with a man whose contempt for the Tok'ra was legendary.

When they laid O'Neill before him, stinking of sickness and near death, Kanan balked at the thought of entering his body. It was sure death to refuse, but not right away. There was still a chance another suitable host could be found. They tipped the human on his side and opened his mouth, and Kanan had to decide. He coiled his body, then uncoiled, and launched himself into the human's mouth, toward the soft tissue at the back of the throat, and through that thin barrier to the brain stem.

Slow, sweet integration, a moment of disorientation, and then they were twined together, two halves of a whole, inseparable -- for the time being.

O'Neill was too weak to resist or cooperate, too weak to think coherent thoughts, but emotions surged through their new bond, deep waves of them, washing over Kanan: fear, and disgust, mixed with a peculiarly repulsed feeling of hope. He ignored these sensations; as annoying as they were, all hosts felt them, in some form or another. Kanan concentrated instead on surveying the damages O'Neill's body had sustained. Infection raged and fever burned through his skin, but this was not a new disease. The Tok'ra had known it for millennia, as had the Goa'uld before them.

Kanan opened O'Neill's eyes and spoke: "This will take some time."

They drifted, bound up in each other, each as closed from the other as they could be. Kanan confined himself to repairing O'Neill's immune system, but the work was slow, and it weakened him. He probed tentatively at the memories O'Neill harbored in his lumbering human brain, that marvel of underused synapses and dusty neural pathways, seeking information to ease their blending once O'Neill had regained his strength.

There were many vivid images, feelings tied to names, locations; secrets O'Neill had never told. The harder his mind tried to hide them, the brighter they became. Kanan drifted among them, absorbing them.

Sara. Beautiful, smart Sara, angry Sara, striking him, punishing him for something O'Neill had done, something he desired death for. It took time for Kanan to find the source of that desire: a son, a boy, Charlie, dead now, destroyed at O'Neill's hand...no, not by his hand or by his doing. The anguish Kanan felt gave him insight, and for the first time he felt sympathy for his host. O'Neill's subconscious mind rejected this. In fever dreams, he turned the gun on himself, shouting "I don't want your pity!"

Kanan withdrew from that memory and did not turn its way again.

There was much more to O'Neill, Kanan discovered. The stench and feel of spilled blood saturated O'Neill's consciousness; he had done many things he believed other humans would not understand. Kanan's grudging respect for him increased as he grew to understand the world his host inhabited. His work was important to him, a central focus in his life, a touchstone. His friends were in this circle: old and new, they shared his secrets. A woman called Carter - Kanan recognized her as the one who had hosted Jolinar. The shol'va Teal'c, as dear to O'Neill as a brother. A man named Daniel; Kanan reached for understanding of this man's role in O'Neill's life but could not penetrate the veil of love and fear surrounding him, nor the grief that overwhelmed O'Neill when Kanan probed too deeply.

Every so often, Kanan reached for him, spoke to him: O'Neill. There was nothing but restless silence.

They floated in the abyss for a time, a formless period where Kanan slept or spent his remaining energy on learning his host's history and making O'Neill well. He absorbed O'Neill's traits, searching among them for the truest of his characteristics, the things that fueled his daily life, his personality.

After many days had passed, a completely coherent thought emerged from O'Neill's mind: Stop with the O'Neill crap. I'm Jack.

You were not well enough for me to know you, Kanan thought, and his words passed to Jack like lightning.

I'm better now. Jack was already working to conceal his thoughts from Kanan, who could sense a profound confusion and coldness in his host. Once again, Kanan's temper rose, and was met with Jack's own. What, you wanted me to be grateful?

I held no expectations of you.

I don't want to share my body with you, Jack thought. I didn't have a choice.

That is irrelevant; the situation exists, the implantation complete. You must assist with the blending.

No. O'Neill retreated behind a wall of dismay. Soon he slept again, too exhausted to continue his resistance. The residue of his disgust lingered like an aftertaste, and it hardened Kanan's resolve. It was no matter. Soon enough, the human would be recovered, able to finish the healing process on his own.

In the meantime, he would be strong enough to move about, to do simple tasks. This would be enough, and all Kanan required. Together, they would see to the unfinished business, the completion of Kanan's mission. He hardened himself against sharing the details with the human; he need not know, if he was so determined not to blend. It was against all the Tok'ra believed, this plan he formed, but he was past caring. Some urgency drove him, some sudden desire to make right that which he had left undone.

If the human did not want to participate, it was of no concern to Kanan. When he was finished, he would thank the host for his body and return it to him. A payment in kind, for services rendered. Something O'Neill could understand.





Sorrow

Requested by: Epeeblade
Theme: sorrow
Word: ecstasy



"It's raining again," Daniel said. He looked up past the stone walls to the window near the ceiling. Heavy clouds rolled by in the evening sky, captured in the tiny square. The patter of the rain thrummed strong on the stone.

"It's always raining." Jack deliberately turned away; he'd seen enough mud and wet to last a lifetime. "Goddamned rain."

Daniel said nothing, but his gaze was fixed to the darkness overhead. He leaned back and braced himself against Jack.

"You shouldn't give them false hope." Jack folded his arms over his knees.

Daniel sighed. "Jack, I'm not going to stop. Every time I start something, these people see someone fighting back, someone who's like them. You want me to just roll over? Play dead?"

"Playing is better than the real thing. Dammit, Daniel, we've got a plan. We have to survive long enough to give it a shot and get the hell out of here."

"That's fine, if we make it." Daniel rarely put it that way; Jack never did. But now it was out in the open between them. "These people are cowering in dark cells because they think knowledge is deadly - because they can be killed for expressing ideas. It's insane. It's...Dark Ages. Inquisition."

"You've got them talking in open spaces. Good for you. But it's going to get them killed."

"Maybe so. But I still think it's better for them to die with knowledge in their heads than to die afraid. And if you don't..."

"I want you to live, you stubborn son of a bitch."

"Pot, kettle. Think about what you're saying, Jack."

"I have." Jack rose to his knees and turned. "You put your principles above your life, Daniel. Again."

"Principles are all we have," Daniel said. He hunched into himself - he'd given his blanket to a sick prisoner, over Jack's objections, and he could barely stop shivering.

"Not all," Jack said. Daniel's eyes glittered in the dark.

They were quiet for a time. Then Daniel said, "Do you think they made it?"

It was a subject they had discussed, from time to time, but never to speculate on the outcome. Teal'c and Carter had made a dash back through the forest, headed straight for the stargate. Jack remembered it too well: first Carter, then Teal'c, crashing through the brush and disappearing into the dark green of the ground cover. He wanted to believe they'd made it through, but they'd been gone too long.

Jack hesitated, then said, "No." He covered his face with one hand for a moment before he looked at Daniel again. "They were outnumbered ten to one. And...they'd have been back for us by now."

"If the guards chain us before they take us up, it's over." Daniel stared at the water dripping from the ledge of the window. Jack had a sudden, irrational urge to gag him, to stop him from saying the rest, but his anger died as the words emerged. "We won't have a chance, Jack."

"There's always a chance."

Daniel looked worn and tired in the thin light. Jack reached out to give a simple touch, just his fingers to Daniel's cheek. Daniel caught his hand, guided it, and then they fused together, one being, mouths against each other, open and desperate. Even after so many months, they touched like new lovers, always ready to throw open the doors, to welcome each other.

"Daniel," Jack said, his voice rough and low in the dark.

Daniel's hand covered his mouth, tender and violent, as he pressed against Jack's willing body. His hand came away from Jack's mouth when they kissed, and Jack caught Daniel's face in his hands, unwilling to be separated from him.

Daniel's voice broke when he said Jack's name; his hands traveled over Jack's skin, urging him toward a release he hadn't known he needed so damned badly. Jack rolled his hips and surged into the hand that stroked him quickly, expertly toward orgasm.

Later, he lay on his belly, cold slick stone beneath him, accepting the gentle kisses to shoulder and spine that barely slowed Daniel's whispered stream of words, a barrage of emotion that twisted Jack's heart. Daniel moved inside him, sparking ecstasy; for only that moment, Jack could forget what was ahead of them.

He was grateful Daniel couldn't see his face, grateful for Daniel's arms around him as he fucked Jack slowly, patiently, making it good, washing away anger and fear with tender care.

Daniel sighed out a breath when he came -- just Jack's name, nothing more; the flow of words stopped, and they shivered together in the silence. It had taken so long for Jack recognize this feeling, to know it for what it was. He wished he could have had just a little while longer to appreciate it.

They dressed and sat side by side until morning, shoulders touching, waiting for their executioners to come down. When the sadness began to come over Jack, he pushed it aside. There's always a chance. There were eleven guards in the entourage; Daniel could hold his own, and Jack only needed to gain possession of a weapon to even the odds. To make sure Daniel had an opening to break free, or they both went down fighting, whichever the case may be.

Jack glanced at Daniel. His friend's eyes were open, fixed on a point in the darkness as though he could see the future. Jack nudged his shoulder. A brief smile crossed Daniel's lips when Jack shifted closer to him.

When the sky began to lighten, Jack crawled over to the opposite side of the doorway and took his position. "You know what to do?"

"I'm ready." Daniel crouched by the door, and closed his fingers around the rock he was concealing. "Jack, whatever happens..." He swallowed hard. Jack watched his face; suddenly all the words in the world seemed to have lost their power, when compared to the look in Daniel's eyes. "I, uh."

"Yeah," Jack said quietly. "Me too."




Envy

Requested by: SEF
Theme: envy
Word: impassible


Lectures usually generated restless fidgets. Even for professionals used to sitting still for long periods of time, chairs could become uncomfortable; asses fell asleep, and jet-lagged bodies sometimes followed suit. There were always people who shifted in their chairs, constantly fiddling with umbrellas, books, reading papers, showing their multitasking abilities as they listened with one ear and tapped notes into a PDA or flipped through a book at the same time.

On this day, the University of Chicago lecture hall was half-filled with restless skeptics, all of whom were staring at a nervous archaeologist on the stage. The speaker's fingers anchored him to the edges of the podium as he finished his talk. "In conclusion, I'd suggest to you that an open mind is worth more than all the evidence we can collect. Schliemann believed the mythical Troy was there for the finding, and he was right. All the wonders we now take for granted did not begin as accepted doctrine in this profession."

Silence fell over the room, a hushed disbelief, and then the comments began. "Yes, but Schliemann didn't claim aliens fought the battle of Troy!" Nervous laughter echoed around the auditorium. "Half of what you've said here today is preposterous!" shouted someone else in the audience. Some in the crowd murmured their agreement.

Near the front of the room, Dr. Foster -- the new chair of the department -- rose to his feet. The room quieted again as he said, "These aren't new theories by any stretch of the imagination, Doctor. We've heard them before in a number of formats from several less than credible proponents. Why should we take any of this seriously?"

"I haven't spent my career chasing phantoms. I wouldn't waste your time with nonsense." The crowd stilled as the speaker continued, "I realize there's very little concrete evidence, but you have before you some comparisons I've made between samples of hieratic writing and the distinct variants."

Papers shuffled as the scientists glanced through their materials, a necessary stop before professional condemnation of their contents. "What is it with Jordan's students?" someone muttered, near the back of the room; the half-whisper carried across several rows. "What the hell was he teaching them?"

In his seat near the entrance to the auditorium, Daniel winced. He looked down at the book in his hands: A Treatise on the Derivative Nature of Hieratic Writing and Egyptian Patterns of Speech, by Dr. Stephen Rayner. It was a cornucopia of non-specific information about Goa'uld language, along with a theory or two about how the Egyptian language evolved from its guttural brevity.

A few more questions were put forth, sharp-edged with restrained hostility, plus some genuinely curious badgering. Daniel noted with some amusement that a few in the audience seemed to have actually read the book. Crazy theories were on the inside curve, apparently. He watched Stephen handle the questions with grace, without batting an eye.

"He's a piece of work," Jack whispered next to him.

"No, he's...a believer." Daniel opened the book flap and stared at Stephen's picture. Handsome as ever, although his face had a quiet seriousness now. Some of the familiar arrogance had been knocked out of him by Osiris.

"Hey, whatever. As long as he doesn't give up any state secrets, it's good." Jack was watching Stephen with narrowed eyes. "Must be tough not to be able to give any evidence to support your theories."

"He doesn't have that problem," Daniel said. He tapped the handout. "He was able to find Goa'uld writing on a number of previously cataloged artifacts. The only reach he's making is to insist that it didn't evolve within the scope of Egyptian culture."

"He stopped just short of saying it was aliens, didn't he?" Jack sighed and shifted around in the chair. "And yet, they're all still sitting here."

"Yes, they are." Daniel looked around the room. No one had moved since the conclusion of the lecture. The tension was thick, but they stayed, giving Stephen his due attention.

Giving him respect.

"Plausible deniability," Jack said. "The government gave him the go-ahead to publish. Without getting into any details."

Daniel shrugged. "I don't see how it will make much difference. Mainstream archaeological science will never give much credence to these kinds of..."

"Nutty theories?" Jack suggested, with a sideways glance.

Daniel smiled. "I was going to say fringe ideas."

Jack's snort told Daniel it was all part of the same pie to Jack.

"I don't think we need to listen to the rest," Jack said. Daniel's smile widened. Even if Jack had actually said let's get the fuck out of here , he couldn't have been more clear. "Unless you really want to listen to the rest of this."

"No, you're right. Let's go." Daniel stood and stepped out into the aisle to make way for Jack. No one looked up at them. It struck Daniel suddenly that he was the first to leave - the only one, in fact. Stephen was still listing sites where he'd found examples of Goa'uld writing; Daniel could practically hear the strain in his voice as he danced around the sore subject of naming the culture where the writing originated.

When he glanced back, Stephen was looking directly at him, still speaking. His expression was wary of a potential storm, his body language drawn tight and shuttered. A wall of bitterness rose in Daniel as he met Stephen's eyes; he'd left behind so many closed doors, and his broken faith in a community which had rejected him. Stephen was the mirror, and Daniel was the ghost.

Jack tapped him on the shoulder. "Don't forget whose theories he's really spouting," he said, under his breath.

"I haven't forgotten." Daniel was still staring at Stephen.

"Neither have I." Jack cleared his throat. His hand was warm on Daniel's arm.

Daniel nodded. The bitterness eased; once again he was the impassible scientist, the man who needed nothing more than he'd already been given. Stephen's gaze bored into his back as Jack opened the door and ushered Daniel through.

"Besides," Jack said suddenly, "who has cooler toys than you? An intergalactic portal...your very own Jaffa to play with...and there was the meaning of life thing with the orange blobs..."




Vulnerability

Requested by: elynross
Theme: vulnerability
Word: inescapable


Most rumors flew through the ranks and never took hold. Jack was career military; he knew this all too well. When nothing interesting was happening, people would make up details to feed the mill. Grapevine stories were soon forgotten, erased by the latest hot topics, but sometimes one would grow claws and latch on, tearing away at the suspicious corners of cynical minds.

Jack knew those kinds of rumors could function like career-killing cancer, spreading quickly through the mountain and up the chain of command. They would start in the most obvious places: whispers passed around over breakfast in the mess, over cups of coffee at duty stations. Someone might mention their secret observations in a confidential tone, with a warning not to repeat what was discussed. Someone else would repeat the gossip to a new batch of eager listeners as they geared up to go offworld, or over beers at O'Malleys.

Permission to gossip was standard issue, like dogtags and fatigues.

Such scenarios were always in the back of Jack's mind. He knew there'd been innuendo about the way he'd held Daniel in the storage room, comforting him through a fathomless, angry addiction. Hell, there'd been talk about Carter since the day she joined the team.

On Abydos, the cold emptiness had been burned out of Jack, and the capacity to care reawakened. It had taken four years to drive it underground again, but Jack had learned his lesson. He endured the shifting painscapes of his team without flinching, made them a familiar part of the regular routine.

It was always the same scenario, in endless variations. "You okay?" Jack would ask, only minimally concerned, in a tone normally reserved for junior airmen and dying prisoners.

They always answered the same way: "Yes, sir," or "Fine. I'm fine, Jack," or "I am uninjured."

Jack never quite believed them, but they would demonstrate for him, and those displays of courage wounded Jack in ways bullets and zat blasts never could. Daniel would ratchet around the injured parts; he'd flex his bandaged hands to prove the Unas hadn't broken him, not really, or he'd make a self-deprecating joke, something Jack could counter with sharp sarcasm. Half the time Carter was off the table before he could even ask a question - he'd lost count of the number of times he had to order her into Fraiser's care to begin with. And Teal'c...well, he'd never conquered his fear of appearing weak in another soldier's eyes. Jack understood his position all too well.

No matter who was laid up, Jack would stand beside the gurney for a while, hands jammed deep in his pockets, giving them each their due share of attention. The carefully neutral mask was the easiest to maintain. He used that one the most. The preferred perception - that he loved them all with professional detachment, and would do anything to save them - was the truest.

Sometimes the facade would crack wide open. There was the day he'd turned the corner at a dead run, intent on making sure Reese hadn't broken Daniel's back; he'd arrived with the bitter taste of concern in his mouth and fear turning to anger. And there was the death vigil for Teal'c, the way he'd ordered Fraiser not to replace Teal'c's symbiote, if death was what he needed to be himself, to be free.

The price of freedom was always high. It's what he wants. He hadn't gotten over that one, either, even after a year of trying, and if anyone hadn't noticed, it was because they didn't want to see. Repairing the slipped curtain was getting harder every year.

Seven years into this journey, now, and the routine was inescapable. They sat in the briefing room together, listening to Carter hit the highlights of another mission gone wacko. Jack's hand and Daniel's were inches apart, each resting on the solid oak table. Jack could feel every bruise on Daniel's body, sense every tiny movement, hear the soft exhaled breaths of relief when he shifted in the chair without accompanying pain. He held the urge to watch Daniel in check; he stopped himself from staring at the raised scratches on Carter's cheek, bloodless and white, clamped together by tiny stitches. Janet had said there might be a scar.

Jack's fingers curled against the tabletop, then relaxed. George asked a question he barely heard and he asked George to repeat it, but Carter answered, saving him the trouble. Jack yanked his attention back to front and center; he felt naked under the gaze of his teammates, exposed to their scrutiny, as though his thoughts were transparent, but he smiled and shrugged and the briefing moved forward, though Daniel's gaze was on him now, thoughtful and sharp.

Usually, they made small talk in the elevator on their way up to the surface. Jack stood to the left, Daniel and Carter to the right, and they went to corners when anyone else got in. They smiled and laughed, spaced just so like pieces on a chess board. Cautious distance was always the best policy. There were secrets between them now, but the balance of their friendships stayed true. Carter's perfume and Daniel's aftershave smothered Jack in the enclosed space.

On to their cars, off to the road, where Carter turned one way, Jack and Daniel the other. There was a time Jack had thought it might be the other way around, but it hadn't worked out that way.

Jack was always first with his key out. Daniel had stopped trying to beat him to it and stood quietly beside him instead, waiting. There was the inevitable fumbling for the lamp in the dark, and their hands would touch, sliding past each other on their way to a mutual goal. Every time, when their fingers touched, Jack split wide open, broken in two pieces, spilling his every fear and desire. The need for release was beyond his control. Every time, Daniel moved closer, into his arms, using his lips and sure hands to remind Jack they were alone, no longer under scrutiny.

Sometimes they didn't make it past the dining room. The sensation of Daniel's skin against his own overwhelmed Jack, brought defenses down like nothing ever had. No one but Daniel could know he was so weak. Only Daniel's touch could ease the crushing sense of isolation, the unbearable distance.

Daniel never stayed the night.

In the mornings they went on, as breakable as before, as distant and careful, and Jack never touched him, never hugged him, tried not to want him.

This was the military, after all.




Convergence

Requested by: Ana
Theme: convergence
Word: juxtaposition =


"New year, new regs," Jack said. "One for you..." He tossed a plastic baggie at Daniel. "And one for you." The second bag landed on the table in front of Teal'c.

Daniel fished the dogtags out of the baggie and looked at them. Jackson, Daniel. He ran his fingernail beneath the rubber edges and plucked at them, then said, "For civilian personnel?"

"In the field. You can drop 'em in your locker while we're earthside," Jack said.

Teal'c scowled down at the bag without making an effort to remove the tags. "These will present an unnecessary distraction during battle."

"Trust me, you'll get used to them." Jack patted his chest and smiled.

Daniel traced the imprint of his name on the metal. They were coming under attack on one out of every three worlds visited now, Sam had said. More frequent casualties, more talk of off-world bases and evacuation plans. It had been a week since Daniel's duties had been even remotely related to archaeology; he'd been busy with relocating refugees from P4X-999, and then he'd had training for the new automatic weapons they'd been issued.

He slipped the chain over his head. It settled cold against his neck; he lifted his t-shirt and dumped the tags inside. They rested against his skin like tiny plates of armor.

"No token objections about your civilian status?" Jack looked almost disappointed.

Daniel blinked at him. "What point would there be?"

"Okay," Jack said. Only, what Daniel heard was Are you feeling all right? He ignored Jack's raised eyebrows. His hand drifted toward the tags, smoothing their outline beneath his shirt. He was already used to their slight weight.


*****


Jack backed up under the showerhead and stood motionless until the kink in his shoulders eased. "Yes," he sighed. "Is it just me, or are those daypacks getting heavier?"

"It is you," Teal'c answered. He stepped out of the shower as Daniel was stepping in and wrapped the towel Daniel offered him around his hips.

"Thought so," Jack said.

Daniel started scrubbing down at the other end of the row. "I was just thinking that we seem to accumulate more and more dirt," he said.

Jack looked up. "Isn't dirt sort of...what you do? Shouldn't you be used to dirt by now?"

"Shouldn't you be used to a heavy pack?"

Jack wanted to pop off a snappy retort, but all he could think of was wait til you're coming up on fifty, you smug bastard. Since that seemed a mite too self-defeating, he didn't bother. "You know, it's unnatural that a man who could have a full head of hair refuses to grow any," he said, nodding in Teal'c's direction.

"I see no reason I should be expected to compensate for human genetic deficiencies," Teal'c said, as he toweled off his shiny head.

A flash of movement at the other end of the showers caught Jack's eye; Daniel, flinging his dogtags back over his shoulder. He stared at them. They seemed out of place in the shower, juxtaposed against Daniel's skin; it was as though Daniel had climbed in with all his clothes on.

"What?" Daniel was staring at Jack's stare.

"You wear your dogtags in the shower?"

"You wear yours," Daniel said. His hand had been moving in circles over his chest, lathering his skin; now it slowed to a halt.

"That's different." And though for the life of him, Jack couldn't have explained why, he knew it was true.

Daniel seemed to get that, though, and didn't ask for clarification. Instead, he closed his eyes and rinsed off. A moment later he said, "The dogtags got their fair share of dirt."

The tags slid sideways over Daniel's soapy skin, drawing Jack's gaze with them, until he couldn't stand to look at them anymore.


*****

Daniel gave up his deck chair to Sam and sprawled comfortably on Jack's deck, propping his glass of beer on a rounded stomach full of burgers and potato salad. Clouds were clearing overhead and the stars were shining dimly in the twilight sky. "It'll be clear tonight," he said. "Good for stargazing."

"I don't do that much anymore," Jack said. He eased down on the steps beside Daniel. "No time, really."

"You've forgotten which constellation is which, haven't you?" Daniel didn't look at Jack; his smile started gradually, and threatened to turn into a grin.

"Very funny." Jack sighed and stretched. "Maybe the act of traveling through them makes me less inclined to look at them."

"I don't know, sir. I think it makes me enjoy them even more." Sam's voice floated around them, soft and happy. "I can appreciate them for their beauty, now that I know more about what surrounds them."

They were all silent for a moment. Then Jack said, "Teal'c? You want to pitch in with one of those 'on Chulak' stories we're all dying to hear?"

"On Chulak, your practice of using sarcasm to mock your comrades would likely be met by a swift challenge and your immediate death."

"Then it's a good thing we're not on Chulak." By the fifth word, all three of them had chimed in; Jack's grin was an echo of Daniel's smile. Sam's soft, rare laughter was musical.

Before long, Daniel was half-asleep. At some point, Jack lifted the glass from his hand. He heard Sam offer to drive Teal'c back to the base, and wanted to object, to offer the ride himself, but he was drifting fast. Next thing he knew, Jack was shaking him awake. It was dark, and the spotlight over the door was shining in his face.

Jack offered him a hand up. "I would've left you out here all night, but it's getting colder," he said, without letting go of Daniel's hand.

"Right," Daniel said, groggy from his interrupted nap. He followed Jack inside the house obediently.

Jack locked the front door behind them and began making a circuit of the living room, turning off lights. He didn't speak, didn't joke; his silence was unusual. Daniel checked his watch --barely 9PM. "You going to bed?" he asked, with his back against the door. "Or are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

Jack twisted the switch of the table lamp so hard Daniel was amazed it didn't snap off in his hand. "Let's not do this, all right?"

"What, talk?"

"Yes, talk." Jack mimicked Daniel, which told Daniel he was dying to talk, but too frustrated to attempt it.

Normally, Daniel would have had some idea what was agitating Jack, but not this time. Good mission, great day off, nice evening with friends...it was a mystery, and it'd have to stay that way. He was too tired to make an issue of it, so he nodded his surrender. "I'll sleep in the guest room," he offered quietly.

"No," Jack said. As if that was the end of it. Maybe it was. Daniel wasn't in the mood for games.

He lifted his shirt over his head as they walked down the hall, Jack just behind him. At the bedroom door, he turned to make one more stab at it, but Jack intercepted him with a kiss. This was the kind of kiss Jack saved for special occasions: someone was back from the dead, someone had had a bad mission, someone was in danger, someone was hurting. When he was rough, he was never angry. When he was gentle, like this - hands in Daniel's hair, his mouth moving softly over Daniel's, opening him to the kiss - his headspace was much harder to figure out.

And then he released Daniel and disappeared into the bathroom.

Daniel frowned at the closed door, but short of breaking it down, he knew the 'discussion' was over. He stripped off the rest of his clothes and climbed into bed naked, too tired even to root around for his sweats.

The bed dipped when Jack climbed in. Daniel turned toward him, but Jack had already moved closer, to scoot into his arms. Daniel waited; he smoothed one hand down Jack's arm, down his back, in slow, even strokes.

"Take them off," Jack said finally.

"What?" Daniel asked, not understanding. His bare skin was warm under Jack's touch.

Jack's hands slipped beneath the two sides of the chain around Daniel's neck. He lifted it over Daniel's head and flung the tags across the room. "What--" Daniel began again, but Jack's kisses were persistent, changing now, not so gentle.

"They belong at work," Jack said. "Offworld. Not here."

Wordlessly, Daniel traced the line of the chain around Jack's neck.

"They're who I am," Jack said, raising his head to meet Daniel's eyes, and Daniel was struck by an urge to say they're who I am, too, and that was the moment he got it with perfect clarity, when he understood exactly what was bugging Jack.

"It was bound to happen, sooner or later," Daniel said. "You're the one who bought me an off-duty weapon, you know. Mixed messages, Jack."

"You don't see me fondling old artifacts in your lab," Jack mumbled into his neck.

"Last week you were stroking that little statuette of-"

"That's not my point," Jack growled, and kissed the smile off Daniel's face.

"I know." Daniel grazed Jack's shoulder with his teeth. "But it's two sides of the coin at work, now. Not like it used to be."

"I get that," Jack said. "And you know, once I would have said I wanted it that way all the time. But now? No." He looked up, into Daniel's eyes. "Go figure."

Then they were through talking, for a while.

In the morning, Daniel left the dogtags on the floor. Jack picked them up and stuck them in his coat pocket. Later, he hung them inside Daniel's locker. Which suited Daniel just fine.




Grace

Requested by: Widget
Theme: grace
Word: linger


Sam had decided Sunday afternoons shouldn't be spent alone. They were better spent in the company of a friend -- especially a friend who was willing to help her mount shelves and chip away old bathroom tile.

"Almost," Daniel said. He motioned to Sam to lift her end of the shelf, and she did, hoisting it a fraction of an inch. Daniel situated the level; the shelf was centered. "You have the pencil?" She fished it out of the back pocket of her jeans and marked a faint line on the wall to indicate where the brace should go, then rolled it over to Daniel. He marked his end. "You can let it go now," he said, and caught the wooden plank when she eased it down.

"This does go faster with two people."

"All you had to do was offer me dinner," Daniel said. He fitted a drill bit. "Obviously, I work for food."

"And I'm happy to provide it for you, because crooked shelves are a crime against interior design."

"No matter what, they'd be perfect." Daniel gave her a sideways glance. "If you hung the shelves crooked, you'd plaster, repaint and try again."

She grinned. "Probably."

They worked their way down, one shelf at a time, until the bedroom closet was a festival of storage space, then moved on to the spare room.

"You really should have asked Pete to help with this carpentry stuff," Daniel said at one point. "Have you seen the shelves in my kitchen? I'm not known for my accuracy with power tools."

"Pete's working double shifts this month to put cash down on a new truck. And you don't need to be accurate. Just helpful."

"Oh. I'll remember that," Daniel said. "It'll come in handy. 'No, Jack, really, I wasn't worried about the exact translation. Sam said I didn't need to be accurate. Just helpful.'"

She smacked him on the shoulder with the loose end of the measuring tape and ignored his yelp of protest. "You preserve artifacts for a living! You should be able to hang a shelf without breaking chunks off my wall."

"You would think so," Daniel said, eyeing the drill with a skeptical look.

It was nearly dark by the time they finished with the last shelf. They stood back, admiring their handiwork. "They're straight," Daniel said. "They look good." Sam smiled at his surprise.

She cooked dinner: spaghetti carbonara and garlic bread. After Daniel opened the wine, they tucked in, cracking jokes about how they'd re-do the whole house, open their own remodeling business.

"You'd look cute in the overalls," Daniel said, chuckling into his wine.

"Well, I've seen you in a hard hat, and it doesn't do anything for you," she answered. She could still picture Daniel in his helmet plain as day, though it had been more than six years since he'd last worn it into the field. They dissolved into giggles like school kids, since they both found it impossible to imagine an ordinary line of work that didn't involve evil aliens, wormholes, and other crazy stuff.

"So how's Pete?" Daniel asked, as he twirled up the last strands of pasta.

"He's fine. We've been spending weekends together. It's amazing. I barely remember what it was like to have weekends off."

"You mean, to take weekends off," Daniel said, pointing his breadstick at her.

"I suppose." She poured them both another glass of wine. "Do you remember how we practically lived at the base the first three years?"

"Four, if you want to get technical about it."

"All right, four. And now it's been seven years. The time has gone by so fast...I can't believe it." Sam pushed back her plate and waited a beat, then asked, "How's Sarah doing?"

Daniel's guarded expression told her everything she'd wanted to know. "She's not adjusting well. She's going back to England in a few weeks, after McKenzie's staff is sure she isn't a security risk."

"Cover story?"

"Nervous breakdown. She'll tell her family the pressure of her work was too much for her and she dropped out."

Sam raised her eyebrows. Even for the military, that story was thin.

"It's better than nothing." Daniel closed his eyes. "I wish I could be there for her, but she has to do this alone."

"I'm sure she would welcome your help," Sam said. She tried to keep her tone light. "You two were so close once."

Daniel's eyes narrowed. Under his scrutiny, she was immediately sorry she'd even started down that road. Too late to take it back now, though, even if she was as transparent as glass. He sat back in his chair and placed his napkin on the table. "Sam. This was an excellent dinner. And I appreciate it, but I'm getting the feeling you didn't ask me over here to help you do something you could do in your sleep."

Sam took a sip of her wine and smiled at him. "Have you ever noticed there are patterns to everything?" she asked. "I noticed when I was very young. Everything in life is made up of math. That's one reason I knew early on I'd be a physicist."

"I never liked math," Daniel said. His frown told her he was trying to follow her, but not having much success.

"Pieces of mathematical puzzles fall together in obvious ways. It's amazing, when you think about it. I mean, look around - there are patterns everywhere in nature. Sometimes you don't even mean to see them, they just...pop out at you."

"Okay..." Daniel's puzzled frown deepened.

Sam sighed. She'd known Daniel so well, for so many years. There were very few secrets left between them. She'd always believed they could talk about anything. Even this. The words should come to her without effort, but it wasn't happening that way at all.

Her gaze fell on his hands, with their neatly manicured nails and slender wrists; her eyes lingered on the gold band circling Daniel's right ring finger. "That's a beautiful ring," she said, and tapped the rim of her glass nervously.

"Thanks," Daniel said. He didn't rise to the bait, but he didn't run for the kitchen either. He just took a sip of his wine and waited for the other shoe to drop.

Sam took a deep breath. "The engraving is striking," she said. "I never noticed before."

"Really?" Another sip of wine, and Daniel said, "I've been wearing it for two months now."

It had actually been closer to three since she'd first noticed it. His tiny white lie, a lie without purpose, wounded her. But it was such a small lie, and there was a great deal at stake.

"What does it say?"

"It's an Egyptian proverb."

She'd forgotten that Daniel could answer a question without giving any substantive information. It was an essential skill, for a diplomat. Daniel had never entered into intricate lies without her before; their secrets had always been mutual.

"You don't wear it at the mountain," she said, and the words pushed against her need to be included, her fears of being outside the shrinking circle.

Daniel's thumb was moving against the ring, turning it. "I only take it off when I have to," he said, meeting her eyes with a steady, calm gaze. "I'm still getting used to it." Then he reached out to cover her hand with his. Daniel's expression was so serious, so intense. "Sam," he said, shaking his head, and her tears spilled over.

It was the colonel's fault she'd figured it out. Damn him. They all forgot to shed their civilian skins once in a while, especially after leave time or weekends. But the day he'd pulled the ring off his finger in the locker room and slipped it casually into his pocket, it had all fallen into place. She'd seen the swirling, connected, illicit patterns: Daniel, on the other side of the room, watching the colonel's hands until the ring was out of sight.

Two identical rings on the hands of two different men couldn't escape her notice forever, just because one ring was gold and the other silver, and they were worn on opposite hands.

Over the years, she'd come to understand the value of holding certain secrets close. Especially since she didn't have to hold hers so tightly anymore.

When Daniel smiled his brilliant, gentle smile and squeezed her hand, confirming what she'd wondered and dreaded, she understood exactly why the colonel didn't mind shedding his skin.







The remaining Patchwork stories will be added one at a time, as I complete them.



Feedback is welcomed. destina@ix.netcom.com



Back to Stargate fiction
Back to Main Page