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Long Road Back, part 9
*
"I've brought some fresh coffee. Thanks, Airman; just put it down on the table. So. You've had time to think over everything I told you. What do you make of it?" Daniel tossed the question over his shoulder as he held the door open with his hip and gestured with the other shoulder to the accompanying airman to put the tray he was carrying down on the table. The man did so and left; Daniel finally let the door swing shut and crossed the room to dump the armful of folders he was carrying on the table beside the tray.
"Like I said, I don't really know what to think."
Daniel chuckled as he sat down. "And it doesn't sound too convincing, does it? Doesn't matter how many times you hear it, it just sounds completely insane."
He got no response to that one, just a sharp, bright glance before Jack dropped his eyes to the table in front of him.
"It really isn't some sort of elaborate double bluff, you know. Any fucking with your mind was done back on that damned planet, and it stopped as soon as we busted you out of the cell you were in. I'm sure if you could just reach inside yourself, you'd find that your real memories and what I've told you would match up."
Still no comment.
"I uh, I brought along all this stuff if you want to have a look at it." Daniel indicated the pile of folders on the table with a sweep of his arm and a deprecating half smile. "It's all I could find of the paperwork associated with the Abydos missions. I thought maybe if you read it, it might help a little?"
Jack didn't look up and Daniel sighed quietly, tightening his lips.
"I guess not, huh? Okay, we can leave that for now, it's not a problem. So where do we go from here?"
Jack finally raised his eyes from his silent contemplation of the tabletop.
"Maybe you should go over it again. Start from where Hammond briefed me."
Daniel shrugged. "I can't really help you there, I wasn't at the SGC at that time. All that I could tell you would be things that you've told me about it."
"Well then, start from where you got involved with the whole thing."
"When Catherine approached me, or after that?"
"After that. After Hammond had gotten me on board. The first mission."
Daniel was puzzled. "To Chulak? Why there? Why not the first Abydos mission?"
He caught a flash of something he couldn't readily identify in the steady gaze that met him from across the table. Wait, something about Jack's body language, the slightly tense set of his shoulders, suggested that this could be a deliberately constructed pitfall, not just a casual error. So he was on trial here, was he? Interesting - and hopeful. Daniel leaned back in his chair. "General Hammond wasn't in command of this facility the first time we met, Jack. It was General West then."
"West." Jack's brow furrowed as he adopted a puzzled expression. But Daniel wasn't fooled: he still had an air of waiting for something, some subtle confirmation that Daniel was telling the truth. Daniel thought rapidly, and decided to play dumb.
"You don't remember him? Tall, about your height. Heavy set, dark hair, moustache, a real hard ass. Military through and through."
"You didn't like him."
Daniel shrugged dismissively. "It was mutual. He represented everything that I disliked about the military, he was a walking, talking cliché: no imagination and less ability to think independently. He did precisely what he was told. For his part, he looked at me and saw a liberal academic anarchist." Daniel grinned slightly. "I offended his sense of order, I think."
"Yet you worked with him. For him."
Again, Daniel shrugged. "I didn't have a whole lot of choice. It was either that or starve - I didn't have a whole lot of options right then. Plus, the whole thing was fascinating: it was a puzzle that needed to be solved, and one that was well within my area of interest and expertise, one that might give me the validation I wanted. I'd've been crazy to pass up the chance."
He watched Jack carefully and noted the infinitesimal relaxation in his posture as he gave his answer. He'd obviously scored a point or two there, although not enough, not quite yet.
"Anyway, I didn't meet Hammond until I came back from Abydos - after your second mission through the stargate."
"You stayed on Abydos between times."
Daniel's mood darkened as he flashed back to that time. So much water under the bridge, and yet the pain of losing Sha're was still with him, despite what he and Jack had now. He saw her in his mind's eye for a moment, tall and beautiful, infinitely passionate and courageous, and felt a sharp stab of grief at her loss, same as every time he thought about her; felt again the worm of resentment that the life he was building on Abydos was shattered by Jack's reappearance and the Goa'uld's subsequent, casual appropriation of his wife.
Not Jack's fault, he reminded himself. Shit happens. Daniel pulled himself back into the present. "Yes, I stayed on Abydos. I had responsibilities there. I was needed."
"But I came back here. I left you behind."
"You watched my back," Daniel corrected gently. "Same as always, you were on my six. I had to stay: you came home and covered my ass."
But Jack wasn't listening; he was following his own train of thought. "You didn't want to stay."
Daniel's mind skittered away into the morass of emotions that he'd felt then. The way he was needed, not just by Sha're but by a whole planet, balm to his ego after his comprehensive rejection on his home world. The intellectual fascination of living in a fossil culture and having his theories proved right. The desire to help rehabilitate that culture and steer Abydos away from the Goa'uld and their pernicious influence. The resentment that he could never share this with his peers at home and that the military had accepted his decision with such relief - that Jack had accepted it without a fight.
It didn't matter that it had been wrapped up in sentimental packaging: Jack always looked at all the angles in every situation. He would have fully appreciated the neatness of the solution and accepted it as being in his own best interests. Leave the geek behind to vegetate in peace, sweep him and the dangers he represented under the biggest damn rug available.
A particular memory bubbled up to the forefront of his mind. Jack, swaggering through the gate, taking in the scene in front of his eyes, raking the crowd and spotting Skaa'ra. Jack, walking forward towards a hug from his good-brother, shouldering him out of the way with that innate arrogance, that cast-iron cockiness of the alpha male. Strutting his stuff, putting on a display.
He'd known then, subconsciously. Known that Jack wanted him. More than that, he'd known too that in other circumstances, he would have wanted Jack. Always adept at reading people, Sha're had cottoned on quicker than him and gone all out to stake her prior claim. And he was only just realising it now. Funny, he'd always chalked that kiss up to premonition, some vague inkling that she might not see him again; he'd completely mistaken the real reason.
He sucked in a sharp breath as the realisation hit home, then let it out cautiously as he worked through the implications. Sha're had known. He wondered if she'd worked out that deep down, he'd wanted Jack. That he'd for a split second recognised and embraced the tug of mutual attraction that had been there under the surface since the beginning, even though he'd refused to acknowledge it, smothered it, buried it deep. If Sha're had picked up on that, Ammaunet would have delighted to torment her with it, and damn, the knowledge that he might have contributed even more to her pain cut like a knife.
He became aware that the room was very quiet, and that the knuckles of the hand he'd rested on the arm of his chair were showing white. Jack was sitting watching him, a fathomless expression in his dark eyes as they flicked between Daniel's face and his hand gripping the chair, patiently waiting for him to say something.
"Uh, sorry." Daniel forced his hand open and deliberately relaxed the tense set of his shoulders, smiling a smile that didn't quite work. "You were saying?"
"You didn't want to stay. You said you had to stay."
Daniel was plunged back into his own memories again. He had wanted to stay, he had, he'd wanted that so much. He'd wanted to stay with Sha're, to build a life with her, to love her and cherish her, to live happily ever after. He had. He had, damn it. And he'd done that. He'd done the best he could. 'Because,' a treacherous little voice whispered at the back of his mind, 'you knew you couldn't have Jack.' And god help him, he couldn't right at this moment say whether that was true or not.
Jack was still watching and waiting, his expression sharpening into wary speculation. Daniel willed himself to concentrate and cleared his throat.
"I didn't not want to stay, exactly. But I couldn't very well leave either. The decision was more or less made for me. And you supported that decision." Daniel worked very hard to keep any trace of his own turmoil out of his voice. "At the time, it was expedient for you. At least, that was the impression I got. You didn't try too hard to talk me out of it."
"Expedient for us both," Jack repeated quietly, eyes on Daniel's face. He nodded slowly, lips slightly pursed, eyes hooding and going distant, his forehead puckering in a small frown. "Yes, I suppose it was, at that."
It was unnervingly close to Daniel's own thoughts. "You remember that time?"
With a fractional shake of his head, Jack answered, "Not really. It would make sense, though."
An evasion, possibly - Daniel really wasn't sure. But it was a relief to have the opportunity to change the subject.
"Earlier on, you said you remembered some names and faces. Are you any closer to matching them up?"
Jack apparently took the question at face value. Daniel watched his posture change infinitesimally again, as the tension that had been sparking between them and tightening his shoulders ebbed a little, though his brow furrowed in concentration and he made a grimace of distaste.
"Some. Skaa'ra. Tall kid with goofy teeth. Didn't last long once Apophis attacked. Another kid with dreads. Don't remember his name."
"You've gotten them the wrong way around. The tall kid with the teeth was Nebeh. Skaa'ra was the one with the dreads. My good-brother. And that first time, it wasn't Apophis, it was Ra."
Again, Jack's facial expression was at odds with his body language. His face still looked puzzled, but his shoulders were relaxing more and more. Daniel was more than ever sure that he was being tested and wracked his brain to think of the tiniest details to prove his truthfulness.
"You gave Skaa'ra your lighter, do you remember that? I wasn't there when you gave it to him, but you told me about it afterwards. About how such a small thing was such a big deal to him."
Jack was nodding, slowly, the shadow of a ghost of a grin lurking in his eyes, soon smothered into wariness again. Abruptly, he leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his temples with one spread hand.
"What's up? Headache?" Daniel asked sympathetically.
"Yeah, some." Jack's head drooped forward, his shoulders in a weary slump as he rubbed tiredly at his eyes. Daniel glanced at the clock and was again surprised to see how little time had passed, considering how totally wrung out he felt. When he reached for his coffee, it was still lukewarm.
He cleared his throat. "You want to call it a day for now? I can get you some advil and leave you to rest."
Jack didn't answer immediately, staying silent as he rubbed for a few seconds more. Instead he said eventually, "I keep getting another name. Charlie. It seems to come from about that time."
Daniel's gut clenched momentarily with a surge of pure adrenaline. Dammit, this was the last place he'd wanted this conversation to go. He worked hard to retain his game face and said, neutrally, "Do you get a face to go with it?"
"Not sure."
Was Jack stalling or not? Daniel had to decide, and decide fast. If Ross was right, and emotional memory was the key, Jack surely couldn't be remembering his son. No way would he be this controlled, bearing in mind what a basket case he'd been at the time. Not even Jack was that good. But if he was remembering the face and not the relationship, fudging the issue now might be a good chance lost.
Daniel covered his indecision with a façade of consideration and forced his voice to come out easily, with nothing but convincing undertones. "Charlie Kowalski." He nodded his head decisively. "He was on the team for the first few missions."
"No, I don't think so. The name doesn't go with the military, somehow."
Not stalling then. Daniel gave Jack what he hoped came off as a guileless half smile, shrugged and took refuge in semantics. "Then I can't help you, I'm afraid. I never met another Charlie that you knew."
"Ah." The neutral syllable hung in the air between them as Daniel endured Jack's gaze, feeling the cold sweat of reaction trickling down his side, under his jacket.
"It'll maybe come to you."
"Maybe. It's no big deal, I guess." Jack winced and ducked his head as he spoke. When he glanced up briefly, Daniel could see the lines of strain around his eyes.
"Your headache's getting worse."
"Yeah." Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, it is. I think I will have to call it a day. Sorry."
"No, 's okay. To tell the truth, I'm feeling kinda tired myself." And he needed a chance to reflect and regroup. Daniel started to gather up the unread files from the table in front of him. "We could probably both do with a break. I can come back tomorrow. Meantime, I'll scare up that advil for you."
Jack didn't look up again as he replied, "Okay. Thanks."
Daniel was never so pleased in his life to get out of Jack's presence and back to his quarters.
*
He lay quietly in the dark, forearm across his eyes: he was bone tired, but sleep was eluding him, his mind buzzing with everything that Daniel had told him, before dinner and after. This was giving him the mother of all headaches despite the pills he'd taken. It all seemed to chime, it all seemed to fit, and yet -- and yet, it all felt like it had happened to someone else, not to him. Like reading a book, getting involved in the story but leaving it when the book was closed. It seemed to happen all the damn time. When Daniel was talking to him, was physically there, the stuff in his mind made perfect sense, hung together in a totally logical and believable way, had clarity and immediacy even if there were still gaps. Then, when he was left alone, the clarity blurred and the immediacy got muffled.
Although Daniel had lied to him today. He knew it, couldn't say how he knew it, couldn't pinpoint the lie - but he was as certain of that as he'd ever been of anything in his life before. What he'd been starting to take for solid ground underneath his feet was nothing of the sort. And the knowledge left him feeling off balance, more rootless than he'd felt in a while.
Daniel, Daniel, Daniel. He gave a soft snort of impatience. It always seemed to lead back to Daniel, god alone knew why.
Daniel, wearing rough homespun robes, snickering as he choked on Skaa'ra's rough moonshine. His own immediate reaction to play to the gallery to save his blushes at not being able to handle it. Daniel, looking a little embarrassed and thoroughly bemused at nearly getting his face sucked off by his wife. Again, his own reaction: a sharp stab of envy, but overall amusement, not unmixed with admiration, that Sha're was prepared to take him on in a pissing contest. Daniel, his hair all mussed, looming above him red-faced and sweaty, head thrown back, eyes hooded and mouth stretched in a gape of pleasure that sent a current straight to his groin; Daniel glancing up at him with a lusty smile in his eyes, mouth wrapped around his dick and sucking hard, cheeks hollowing with effort; him guiding his own cock with one slippery hand, thrusting into slick warmth as Daniel urged him on, ass pushing back to meet him half way --
Where the hell had that come from? The images were so startlingly, vividly arousing he was hard-pressed to tell if they were genuine memories or merely wishful thinking. A small voice in his head whispered, 'Stockholm Syndrome' (now what was that?) but he dismissed it after the briefest consideration. That came from the reasoning side of his brain, don't ask him how he knew it, and he was still going with his instincts, just as he'd decided all those hours ago. And his instincts were giving him a five-alarm alert about Daniel.
So, what then? He was a faggot? He thought about it for a moment or two before he dismissed it - no big deal if true. He apparently either had been fucked by, or wanted to be fucked by, Daniel. Okay, now that was a bigger deal; that had implications for his current situation. He pursed his lips as he considered this new bit of information about himself. It was a bit of a surprise but he could live with it. His belly and his groin were certainly suggesting that he accept it as true even if they couldn't confirm that his visions had really happened (although he wasn't entirely convinced that he had that good of an imagination). He definitely found Daniel attractive. He shook his head irritably. This was an added complication that he could have done without.
Or maybe... maybe not a complication. Maybe it was something more than that, maybe it was him, the real him. Maybe Daniel was more than a fantasy, more than a colleague, more than what he'd presented himself as. The more he considered it, the more the idea sang to him and his cock thickened and lengthened in response.
As his arousal grew, the images came faster and faster and his arm dropped away from his eyes. His head was aching, but his dick was hard and aching worse. He opened his eyes against the darkness but could see nothing but white, piercing his nerves, scoring his brain with fire. And then against the white, Daniel again, mouth agape in a silent moan, lowering himself to sit on his dick with a shudder; writhing under his lips as he followed the faint trail of hair down over Daniel's stomach; Daniel thrusting into his mouth, his hands keeping up a quiet, unrelenting pressure on the back of his head; Daniel nosing his dick into his ass, causing bone jerking detonations of pleasure as he unerringly hit his prostate time after time after goddamn time.
Himself now, half out of his mind with pleasure and passion, begging, croakily pleading with Daniel to finish it now but wanting it to last for hours; him again contentedly mouthing Daniel's softening dick, the astringent, slightly ammoniac muskiness of Daniel's come catching at the back of his throat; sliding through the cooling mess of his own come on Daniel's leg...
Unconsciously, he was palming his cock through the cloth of his pants despite his headache. As the images sped up, each one more detailed, more real than the last, his hand sped up to match. Jeeze yeah, that was it, he was nearly there now even if it did hurt like hell.
As he built towards orgasm, the image in his head abruptly changed. A young girl, a pretty one at that, coming out of a doorway. Long dark hair swung against her narrow shoulders as her head turned at his call. The split second before it happened, he knew what was coming with an awful, sinking certainty that gripped his bowels and wilted his erection immediately.
The pretty face was still smiling despite the small round hole in her forehead as the back of her skull exploded into fragments, blood and brains spraying in a wide arc and falling to the ground alongside her as she swayed a little on her feet and crumpled downwards. And he knew with a sudden, sick conviction that this was no metaphor, nor was it his imagination: this was a memory. He'd waited for five hours for her to come out, crouched in a ditch with his weapon at the ready. His fucking feet had nearly frozen solid while he'd waited. He'd screwed her over on orders one day and killed her on orders the next, and hadn't felt more than a vague pang of regret.
The scene changed: the memory of dry, desert heat felt real against his skin. He stood in the rubble, amidst the scattering of small body parts, turning one small, brown, headless torso over with the muzzle of his gun. A child, maybe seven, maybe eight, maybe older: difficult to tell, the kids tended to be scrawny here. He'd planted the charges after he'd queried the intel. 'They say it's an orphanage. Just innocent kids,' he'd said. 'And one of those supposed 'innocent kids' suicide bombed a checkpoint,' his CO had replied. 'Three SFs died. Three guys with wives and kids who are never going to see those kids grow up. Eight kids left without a father.' There were maybe some innocents there, but -- collateral damage. Unavoidable in wartime. Be swayed once by the 'human shield' argument and they'd never win this war. What mattered was carrying out his orders and keeping his comrades safe. And God help him, he'd considered it and agreed, and gone ahead with the mission.
Jesus Christ! Was this really the kind of man he was? The kind of sick fuck who'd blow kids to hell and count that a victory?
The image segued again: the torso had a head, an achingly, horribly familiar head, tow headed and freckle faced. Jesus fuck no! Not Charlie! Not his bright, beautiful little boy, please God no! Not him lying slack-faced and pale in an obscenely bright puddle of blood while a voice in the back of his mind whispered, over and over, "Karma"...
He may have screamed as the pain in his head passed severe and reached unbearable: he wasn't sure if he had or he hadn't. All he knew was the body that miraculously appeared at his bedside and the way that he clutched at the hands that were reaching out to him, and the hoarse begging to make the pain stop some way, any way possible, before he spiralled down into the dark.
*
Part 10
"I've brought some fresh coffee. Thanks, Airman; just put it down on the table. So. You've had time to think over everything I told you. What do you make of it?" Daniel tossed the question over his shoulder as he held the door open with his hip and gestured with the other shoulder to the accompanying airman to put the tray he was carrying down on the table. The man did so and left; Daniel finally let the door swing shut and crossed the room to dump the armful of folders he was carrying on the table beside the tray.
"Like I said, I don't really know what to think."
Daniel chuckled as he sat down. "And it doesn't sound too convincing, does it? Doesn't matter how many times you hear it, it just sounds completely insane."
He got no response to that one, just a sharp, bright glance before Jack dropped his eyes to the table in front of him.
"It really isn't some sort of elaborate double bluff, you know. Any fucking with your mind was done back on that damned planet, and it stopped as soon as we busted you out of the cell you were in. I'm sure if you could just reach inside yourself, you'd find that your real memories and what I've told you would match up."
Still no comment.
"I uh, I brought along all this stuff if you want to have a look at it." Daniel indicated the pile of folders on the table with a sweep of his arm and a deprecating half smile. "It's all I could find of the paperwork associated with the Abydos missions. I thought maybe if you read it, it might help a little?"
Jack didn't look up and Daniel sighed quietly, tightening his lips.
"I guess not, huh? Okay, we can leave that for now, it's not a problem. So where do we go from here?"
Jack finally raised his eyes from his silent contemplation of the tabletop.
"Maybe you should go over it again. Start from where Hammond briefed me."
Daniel shrugged. "I can't really help you there, I wasn't at the SGC at that time. All that I could tell you would be things that you've told me about it."
"Well then, start from where you got involved with the whole thing."
"When Catherine approached me, or after that?"
"After that. After Hammond had gotten me on board. The first mission."
Daniel was puzzled. "To Chulak? Why there? Why not the first Abydos mission?"
He caught a flash of something he couldn't readily identify in the steady gaze that met him from across the table. Wait, something about Jack's body language, the slightly tense set of his shoulders, suggested that this could be a deliberately constructed pitfall, not just a casual error. So he was on trial here, was he? Interesting - and hopeful. Daniel leaned back in his chair. "General Hammond wasn't in command of this facility the first time we met, Jack. It was General West then."
"West." Jack's brow furrowed as he adopted a puzzled expression. But Daniel wasn't fooled: he still had an air of waiting for something, some subtle confirmation that Daniel was telling the truth. Daniel thought rapidly, and decided to play dumb.
"You don't remember him? Tall, about your height. Heavy set, dark hair, moustache, a real hard ass. Military through and through."
"You didn't like him."
Daniel shrugged dismissively. "It was mutual. He represented everything that I disliked about the military, he was a walking, talking cliché: no imagination and less ability to think independently. He did precisely what he was told. For his part, he looked at me and saw a liberal academic anarchist." Daniel grinned slightly. "I offended his sense of order, I think."
"Yet you worked with him. For him."
Again, Daniel shrugged. "I didn't have a whole lot of choice. It was either that or starve - I didn't have a whole lot of options right then. Plus, the whole thing was fascinating: it was a puzzle that needed to be solved, and one that was well within my area of interest and expertise, one that might give me the validation I wanted. I'd've been crazy to pass up the chance."
He watched Jack carefully and noted the infinitesimal relaxation in his posture as he gave his answer. He'd obviously scored a point or two there, although not enough, not quite yet.
"Anyway, I didn't meet Hammond until I came back from Abydos - after your second mission through the stargate."
"You stayed on Abydos between times."
Daniel's mood darkened as he flashed back to that time. So much water under the bridge, and yet the pain of losing Sha're was still with him, despite what he and Jack had now. He saw her in his mind's eye for a moment, tall and beautiful, infinitely passionate and courageous, and felt a sharp stab of grief at her loss, same as every time he thought about her; felt again the worm of resentment that the life he was building on Abydos was shattered by Jack's reappearance and the Goa'uld's subsequent, casual appropriation of his wife.
Not Jack's fault, he reminded himself. Shit happens. Daniel pulled himself back into the present. "Yes, I stayed on Abydos. I had responsibilities there. I was needed."
"But I came back here. I left you behind."
"You watched my back," Daniel corrected gently. "Same as always, you were on my six. I had to stay: you came home and covered my ass."
But Jack wasn't listening; he was following his own train of thought. "You didn't want to stay."
Daniel's mind skittered away into the morass of emotions that he'd felt then. The way he was needed, not just by Sha're but by a whole planet, balm to his ego after his comprehensive rejection on his home world. The intellectual fascination of living in a fossil culture and having his theories proved right. The desire to help rehabilitate that culture and steer Abydos away from the Goa'uld and their pernicious influence. The resentment that he could never share this with his peers at home and that the military had accepted his decision with such relief - that Jack had accepted it without a fight.
It didn't matter that it had been wrapped up in sentimental packaging: Jack always looked at all the angles in every situation. He would have fully appreciated the neatness of the solution and accepted it as being in his own best interests. Leave the geek behind to vegetate in peace, sweep him and the dangers he represented under the biggest damn rug available.
A particular memory bubbled up to the forefront of his mind. Jack, swaggering through the gate, taking in the scene in front of his eyes, raking the crowd and spotting Skaa'ra. Jack, walking forward towards a hug from his good-brother, shouldering him out of the way with that innate arrogance, that cast-iron cockiness of the alpha male. Strutting his stuff, putting on a display.
He'd known then, subconsciously. Known that Jack wanted him. More than that, he'd known too that in other circumstances, he would have wanted Jack. Always adept at reading people, Sha're had cottoned on quicker than him and gone all out to stake her prior claim. And he was only just realising it now. Funny, he'd always chalked that kiss up to premonition, some vague inkling that she might not see him again; he'd completely mistaken the real reason.
He sucked in a sharp breath as the realisation hit home, then let it out cautiously as he worked through the implications. Sha're had known. He wondered if she'd worked out that deep down, he'd wanted Jack. That he'd for a split second recognised and embraced the tug of mutual attraction that had been there under the surface since the beginning, even though he'd refused to acknowledge it, smothered it, buried it deep. If Sha're had picked up on that, Ammaunet would have delighted to torment her with it, and damn, the knowledge that he might have contributed even more to her pain cut like a knife.
He became aware that the room was very quiet, and that the knuckles of the hand he'd rested on the arm of his chair were showing white. Jack was sitting watching him, a fathomless expression in his dark eyes as they flicked between Daniel's face and his hand gripping the chair, patiently waiting for him to say something.
"Uh, sorry." Daniel forced his hand open and deliberately relaxed the tense set of his shoulders, smiling a smile that didn't quite work. "You were saying?"
"You didn't want to stay. You said you had to stay."
Daniel was plunged back into his own memories again. He had wanted to stay, he had, he'd wanted that so much. He'd wanted to stay with Sha're, to build a life with her, to love her and cherish her, to live happily ever after. He had. He had, damn it. And he'd done that. He'd done the best he could. 'Because,' a treacherous little voice whispered at the back of his mind, 'you knew you couldn't have Jack.' And god help him, he couldn't right at this moment say whether that was true or not.
Jack was still watching and waiting, his expression sharpening into wary speculation. Daniel willed himself to concentrate and cleared his throat.
"I didn't not want to stay, exactly. But I couldn't very well leave either. The decision was more or less made for me. And you supported that decision." Daniel worked very hard to keep any trace of his own turmoil out of his voice. "At the time, it was expedient for you. At least, that was the impression I got. You didn't try too hard to talk me out of it."
"Expedient for us both," Jack repeated quietly, eyes on Daniel's face. He nodded slowly, lips slightly pursed, eyes hooding and going distant, his forehead puckering in a small frown. "Yes, I suppose it was, at that."
It was unnervingly close to Daniel's own thoughts. "You remember that time?"
With a fractional shake of his head, Jack answered, "Not really. It would make sense, though."
An evasion, possibly - Daniel really wasn't sure. But it was a relief to have the opportunity to change the subject.
"Earlier on, you said you remembered some names and faces. Are you any closer to matching them up?"
Jack apparently took the question at face value. Daniel watched his posture change infinitesimally again, as the tension that had been sparking between them and tightening his shoulders ebbed a little, though his brow furrowed in concentration and he made a grimace of distaste.
"Some. Skaa'ra. Tall kid with goofy teeth. Didn't last long once Apophis attacked. Another kid with dreads. Don't remember his name."
"You've gotten them the wrong way around. The tall kid with the teeth was Nebeh. Skaa'ra was the one with the dreads. My good-brother. And that first time, it wasn't Apophis, it was Ra."
Again, Jack's facial expression was at odds with his body language. His face still looked puzzled, but his shoulders were relaxing more and more. Daniel was more than ever sure that he was being tested and wracked his brain to think of the tiniest details to prove his truthfulness.
"You gave Skaa'ra your lighter, do you remember that? I wasn't there when you gave it to him, but you told me about it afterwards. About how such a small thing was such a big deal to him."
Jack was nodding, slowly, the shadow of a ghost of a grin lurking in his eyes, soon smothered into wariness again. Abruptly, he leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his temples with one spread hand.
"What's up? Headache?" Daniel asked sympathetically.
"Yeah, some." Jack's head drooped forward, his shoulders in a weary slump as he rubbed tiredly at his eyes. Daniel glanced at the clock and was again surprised to see how little time had passed, considering how totally wrung out he felt. When he reached for his coffee, it was still lukewarm.
He cleared his throat. "You want to call it a day for now? I can get you some advil and leave you to rest."
Jack didn't answer immediately, staying silent as he rubbed for a few seconds more. Instead he said eventually, "I keep getting another name. Charlie. It seems to come from about that time."
Daniel's gut clenched momentarily with a surge of pure adrenaline. Dammit, this was the last place he'd wanted this conversation to go. He worked hard to retain his game face and said, neutrally, "Do you get a face to go with it?"
"Not sure."
Was Jack stalling or not? Daniel had to decide, and decide fast. If Ross was right, and emotional memory was the key, Jack surely couldn't be remembering his son. No way would he be this controlled, bearing in mind what a basket case he'd been at the time. Not even Jack was that good. But if he was remembering the face and not the relationship, fudging the issue now might be a good chance lost.
Daniel covered his indecision with a façade of consideration and forced his voice to come out easily, with nothing but convincing undertones. "Charlie Kowalski." He nodded his head decisively. "He was on the team for the first few missions."
"No, I don't think so. The name doesn't go with the military, somehow."
Not stalling then. Daniel gave Jack what he hoped came off as a guileless half smile, shrugged and took refuge in semantics. "Then I can't help you, I'm afraid. I never met another Charlie that you knew."
"Ah." The neutral syllable hung in the air between them as Daniel endured Jack's gaze, feeling the cold sweat of reaction trickling down his side, under his jacket.
"It'll maybe come to you."
"Maybe. It's no big deal, I guess." Jack winced and ducked his head as he spoke. When he glanced up briefly, Daniel could see the lines of strain around his eyes.
"Your headache's getting worse."
"Yeah." Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, it is. I think I will have to call it a day. Sorry."
"No, 's okay. To tell the truth, I'm feeling kinda tired myself." And he needed a chance to reflect and regroup. Daniel started to gather up the unread files from the table in front of him. "We could probably both do with a break. I can come back tomorrow. Meantime, I'll scare up that advil for you."
Jack didn't look up again as he replied, "Okay. Thanks."
Daniel was never so pleased in his life to get out of Jack's presence and back to his quarters.
*
He lay quietly in the dark, forearm across his eyes: he was bone tired, but sleep was eluding him, his mind buzzing with everything that Daniel had told him, before dinner and after. This was giving him the mother of all headaches despite the pills he'd taken. It all seemed to chime, it all seemed to fit, and yet -- and yet, it all felt like it had happened to someone else, not to him. Like reading a book, getting involved in the story but leaving it when the book was closed. It seemed to happen all the damn time. When Daniel was talking to him, was physically there, the stuff in his mind made perfect sense, hung together in a totally logical and believable way, had clarity and immediacy even if there were still gaps. Then, when he was left alone, the clarity blurred and the immediacy got muffled.
Although Daniel had lied to him today. He knew it, couldn't say how he knew it, couldn't pinpoint the lie - but he was as certain of that as he'd ever been of anything in his life before. What he'd been starting to take for solid ground underneath his feet was nothing of the sort. And the knowledge left him feeling off balance, more rootless than he'd felt in a while.
Daniel, Daniel, Daniel. He gave a soft snort of impatience. It always seemed to lead back to Daniel, god alone knew why.
Daniel, wearing rough homespun robes, snickering as he choked on Skaa'ra's rough moonshine. His own immediate reaction to play to the gallery to save his blushes at not being able to handle it. Daniel, looking a little embarrassed and thoroughly bemused at nearly getting his face sucked off by his wife. Again, his own reaction: a sharp stab of envy, but overall amusement, not unmixed with admiration, that Sha're was prepared to take him on in a pissing contest. Daniel, his hair all mussed, looming above him red-faced and sweaty, head thrown back, eyes hooded and mouth stretched in a gape of pleasure that sent a current straight to his groin; Daniel glancing up at him with a lusty smile in his eyes, mouth wrapped around his dick and sucking hard, cheeks hollowing with effort; him guiding his own cock with one slippery hand, thrusting into slick warmth as Daniel urged him on, ass pushing back to meet him half way --
Where the hell had that come from? The images were so startlingly, vividly arousing he was hard-pressed to tell if they were genuine memories or merely wishful thinking. A small voice in his head whispered, 'Stockholm Syndrome' (now what was that?) but he dismissed it after the briefest consideration. That came from the reasoning side of his brain, don't ask him how he knew it, and he was still going with his instincts, just as he'd decided all those hours ago. And his instincts were giving him a five-alarm alert about Daniel.
So, what then? He was a faggot? He thought about it for a moment or two before he dismissed it - no big deal if true. He apparently either had been fucked by, or wanted to be fucked by, Daniel. Okay, now that was a bigger deal; that had implications for his current situation. He pursed his lips as he considered this new bit of information about himself. It was a bit of a surprise but he could live with it. His belly and his groin were certainly suggesting that he accept it as true even if they couldn't confirm that his visions had really happened (although he wasn't entirely convinced that he had that good of an imagination). He definitely found Daniel attractive. He shook his head irritably. This was an added complication that he could have done without.
Or maybe... maybe not a complication. Maybe it was something more than that, maybe it was him, the real him. Maybe Daniel was more than a fantasy, more than a colleague, more than what he'd presented himself as. The more he considered it, the more the idea sang to him and his cock thickened and lengthened in response.
As his arousal grew, the images came faster and faster and his arm dropped away from his eyes. His head was aching, but his dick was hard and aching worse. He opened his eyes against the darkness but could see nothing but white, piercing his nerves, scoring his brain with fire. And then against the white, Daniel again, mouth agape in a silent moan, lowering himself to sit on his dick with a shudder; writhing under his lips as he followed the faint trail of hair down over Daniel's stomach; Daniel thrusting into his mouth, his hands keeping up a quiet, unrelenting pressure on the back of his head; Daniel nosing his dick into his ass, causing bone jerking detonations of pleasure as he unerringly hit his prostate time after time after goddamn time.
Himself now, half out of his mind with pleasure and passion, begging, croakily pleading with Daniel to finish it now but wanting it to last for hours; him again contentedly mouthing Daniel's softening dick, the astringent, slightly ammoniac muskiness of Daniel's come catching at the back of his throat; sliding through the cooling mess of his own come on Daniel's leg...
Unconsciously, he was palming his cock through the cloth of his pants despite his headache. As the images sped up, each one more detailed, more real than the last, his hand sped up to match. Jeeze yeah, that was it, he was nearly there now even if it did hurt like hell.
As he built towards orgasm, the image in his head abruptly changed. A young girl, a pretty one at that, coming out of a doorway. Long dark hair swung against her narrow shoulders as her head turned at his call. The split second before it happened, he knew what was coming with an awful, sinking certainty that gripped his bowels and wilted his erection immediately.
The pretty face was still smiling despite the small round hole in her forehead as the back of her skull exploded into fragments, blood and brains spraying in a wide arc and falling to the ground alongside her as she swayed a little on her feet and crumpled downwards. And he knew with a sudden, sick conviction that this was no metaphor, nor was it his imagination: this was a memory. He'd waited for five hours for her to come out, crouched in a ditch with his weapon at the ready. His fucking feet had nearly frozen solid while he'd waited. He'd screwed her over on orders one day and killed her on orders the next, and hadn't felt more than a vague pang of regret.
The scene changed: the memory of dry, desert heat felt real against his skin. He stood in the rubble, amidst the scattering of small body parts, turning one small, brown, headless torso over with the muzzle of his gun. A child, maybe seven, maybe eight, maybe older: difficult to tell, the kids tended to be scrawny here. He'd planted the charges after he'd queried the intel. 'They say it's an orphanage. Just innocent kids,' he'd said. 'And one of those supposed 'innocent kids' suicide bombed a checkpoint,' his CO had replied. 'Three SFs died. Three guys with wives and kids who are never going to see those kids grow up. Eight kids left without a father.' There were maybe some innocents there, but -- collateral damage. Unavoidable in wartime. Be swayed once by the 'human shield' argument and they'd never win this war. What mattered was carrying out his orders and keeping his comrades safe. And God help him, he'd considered it and agreed, and gone ahead with the mission.
Jesus Christ! Was this really the kind of man he was? The kind of sick fuck who'd blow kids to hell and count that a victory?
The image segued again: the torso had a head, an achingly, horribly familiar head, tow headed and freckle faced. Jesus fuck no! Not Charlie! Not his bright, beautiful little boy, please God no! Not him lying slack-faced and pale in an obscenely bright puddle of blood while a voice in the back of his mind whispered, over and over, "Karma"...
He may have screamed as the pain in his head passed severe and reached unbearable: he wasn't sure if he had or he hadn't. All he knew was the body that miraculously appeared at his bedside and the way that he clutched at the hands that were reaching out to him, and the hoarse begging to make the pain stop some way, any way possible, before he spiralled down into the dark.
*
Part 10