The office was spacious and comfortable, neither over or under decorated.  The shell-purple wall had surprised him, and the standard bookcase contained considerably more than the usual egalitarian tombs on psychology.  Dostoyevsky cheek by jowl with Edgar Rice Burroughs,  Descartes next to Uncle Tom’s Cabin,  Martin Luther King shelved on both sides of The Art of War by Sun Tzu.  A series of etageres along the wall opposite the bookcases housed a number of small objets d'art and an antique roll-top desk, open, with its pigeon holes neatly labeled and filled, sat against the purple wall. 

MacKenzie would wait him out, he knew it, but could not bring himself to the sticking point now that he was here.

Daniel smiled briefly as he put down an extremely rare piece of Ming Dynasty jade.  “That’s an artifact, you know, it needs to be kept out of the light or it will fade.  You should have it in a case . . .” he trailed off, glancing over his shoulder.

“I know,” the psychiatrist agreed.  “But its one of those feel good pieces clients like to handle.  Its worth is more intrinsic than monetary.”

Daniel picked it up again, horrified and exhilarated at the same time.  Horrified such a priceless artifact was left out to be so casually handled; surprised, yet exhilarated, by the physician’s recognition that the soul of the piece belonged to everyone and his willingness to leave it accessible despite its monetary value.  Which was likely in the six-figures-before-the-decimal-point range. 

It did feel good in his hand, calming, soothing.  His erratic heartbeat smoothed out and his pulse slowed. He could feel the ribbon of time flowing between him and the small artifact in his hand.  It was a traditional Buddha, with protruding belly and deep sunk eyes, but this one was standing, arms akimbo, short robe, carved for eternity hitched up on one side, exposing a sumo wrestler thigh.  Daniel ran his thumb over the underside of the jaw, feeling the carver’s delineation of the double chin. 

Consciously denying the desire to sigh, he turned to look squarely at the doctor.  “You know Jack and I are living together?”

MacKenzie stretched an arm along the back of the sofa.  “Is this a new development for you?”

Daniel put the little jade Buddha back on the shelf and wandered over to sink down in the chair furthest from the sofa.  “Yes and no.”

“How about if we both put our cards on the table?”  Dr, MacKenzie leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands loosely between them.  “I have no idea why you’re here, Dr. Jackson, and if I have to drag it out of you one sentence at time, I can’t help you.  It’s clear you’re nervous about this – are you nervous because of what happened – what – six, seven years ago?  Or about the subject matter you want to discuss?”

On some level Daniel was aware the pose was supposed to reassure him the man was interested and sincere.  What it did was make him want to shrink back in his own chair.  He made a concerted effort not to squirm and took a moment to consider, long fingers stretching without volition.  “Both, probably.”  He curled them, purposely, into fists. 

“Well, that helps at least.  Why don’t I begin then?”  MacKenzie sat back, casually crossing his legs.  “I never made the effort to apologize to you for what you went through both on base and here –“

“I understand you were just doing your job,” Daniel interrupted, surprising himself.

“I’m not apologizing for what happened, we didn’t know enough at the time to have handled it any differently.  However, I am sorry that you were traumatized by the situation.  And I should have made the effort to follow-up and see you through it.  I assumed you would rather not work with me under the circumstances and I apologize for not following through, whether or not I assumed incorrectly.”

“Uh, no.”  Daniel rubbed a stiff finger in his eye.  “No, I wouldn’t have been particularly cooperative if you had tried.  But years of further trauma have downgraded that particular one and . . .” he trailed off on another sigh, glancing up in time to see the involuntary smile the doctor failed to suppress.  “What?”

Dr. MacKenzie spread his hands in a gesture of apology.  “I’m sorry; it’s interesting to hear you say that trauma has been downgraded due to other traumas inflicted over the years.  Frankly, Dr. Jackson, I’ve often wondered how any of you at the SGC manage to maintain sanity.  Suppose we start with something innocuous?  Why don’t you tell me how you feel SG-1 is handling the change of leadership at Stargate Command?”

Daniel blinked warily and sucked in his breath as in inconspicuously as possible.  “Uhm, well, it’s evening out again, finally.  Weir was a bit of a . . .” He hesitated, searching through his verbal lexicon for an appropriate summary.  “Mixed bag, I guess, a little unpredictable as a civilian.  Jack was . . . well – Jack – for the most part.  We were all comfortable again; at least we knew we were going to be backed-up if something went down badly.  Landry’s certainly better than a civilian, but he’s still pretty much an unknown quantity to me.  Nor have I had much opportunity to ask Sam or Teal’c how they feel.”

“And Colonel Mitchell’s integration into the team?”

Daniel shrugged.  His pulse was slowing again, incrementally, he could no longer feel it pounding in time with the headache he hadn’t managed to eliminate, despite a fistful of aspirin.  “Sam and Teal’c seem to be doing okay with Mitchell; but again, I haven’t had much exposure to him.”

“I heard he very determinedly kept your spot open for you while you were gone.”

“Yeah.”

MacKenzie waited a moment, then stated, “I gather, from your tone of voice, that didn’t exactly endear him to you.”

Daniel shrugged again.  “Not especially, I had different expectations when I came back.”

“Different from . . .” the psychiatrist trailed off, leaving the field open for an answer without having asked a direct question.

“Oh, I suppose different from when I started in the program.  Different, even, from when I left for Atlantis.  We’re facing different enemies, different problems.  Though Jack would say same song, just a different verse.”

“I understand General O’Neill has retired.  For good this time?”

Daniel smiled at the non-sequitur, but lifted a shoulder.  “He says so.  We’ll see.”

“How do suppose his retirement has affected your expectations at the SGC?”

Dr. Jackson swept a quick glance around the chaotic interior of his mind.  MacKenzie had brought the subject neatly around to why he was here, managing to settle his nerves in the process, and he’d completely missed the subtlety of it.

Damn, the man was good. 

“It’s not something I’ve consciously spent time thinking about, but I suppose – a lot.”

“Fair enough.  Do you want to explore how those expectations have changed, here?”

“No,” Daniel replied definitively.  He tipped an imaginary hat and jumped in feet first.  “I’m here because I’m having trouble sleeping with Jack.”  Except he had no idea if he was going to be able to tread water, let alone swim.

Dr. MacKenzie waited without comment for several long moments before asking, “Are you speaking euphemistically in regards to function or . . .” Again, he trailed off.

Heat bloomed in his cheeks.  Daniel could have cheerfully crawled under the chair.  What in heaven’s name had made him think he could tackle this subject with anyone other than Jack?

“No euphemism, it has nothing to do with dysfunction, though it might very well if I could make myself engage.   We were fine on Atlantis, but it seems like our feet no sooner hit the Gate ramp when out of nowhere a dozen different ghosts materialized.  They’re climbing into bed with me at night; I can’t turn out the light without practically hyperventilating.  And if I do manage to sleep, it’s instant nightmare city.”

“Ghosts is an interesting terminology.  Any idea why you’ve used it?”

“Ghosts.”  Daniel lifted a hand.  “You know, ghosts – from the past.  Things that are buried under layers and layers of self-insulation.  Hard to get to.  Ghosts,” he repeated.  The fact that those ghosts were wearing Jack’s hands would never be articulated to anyone. 

“You believe the ghosts are from your past?”

“Yes. I’m relatively certain they’re old.”

“What makes you think that?”

Daniel made a determined effort to tamp down the panic pushing at the edges of his mind.  The voice in his head was screaming, Don’t go there, don’t go there!  “A face.  A face that keeps coming up.”

“Just one?”

“No,” Daniel sighed.  “No, there are lots, but for the most part they’re just layers of years of trauma, padded cell included.  But this face in particular, keeps recurring in every nightmare, while the others seem to come and go.”

MacKenzie raised an eyebrow.  “Nicely pitched, Dr. Jackson.”

The response raised another smile from the anxious linguist.  “I thought I slid it in there quite smoothly myself.”

 “Your score.”  Dr. MacKenzie returned the smile, inserting a minimal pause before continuing.  “All right.  I’m hearing you say you’re having trouble sleeping with your partner, but more than that, you’re having trouble sleeping period.  That there is a particular recurring – not necessarily theme – maybe concern? Running through your disturbed sleep patterns.  Have I got it right so far?”

“That sums it up pretty well.”

“So then, am I to understand you’re here looking for help unraveling what might be at the bottom of that particular concern, or do you just want to sleep again?”

“I could have gone to Lam for sleeping pills.”

“I’m aware of that, I just want to be sure we both understand what you want.”

“Touche’.  You’re right, I’m not a hundred percent committed to this, there’s a huge part of me that wants to get up and walk out, go back to just being Daniel, and let sleeping dogs lie.”

“What’s keeping you from doing that?”

Daniel hesitated.  “This comes under patient confidentiality too, right?”

MacKenzie produced another slight smile. “Nowadays we refer to our clients, rather than our patients, Dr. Jackson.  But, yes, anything you tell me is strictly confidential.  Unless you tell me you’re going to kill yourself or someone else.  At which point, I’m required to report it to the authorities.”

“Civil or military?” Daniel wondered, then realized he’d voiced the thought.  “Sorry, immaterial.  I don’t really care.”

MacKenzie half shrugged and responded anyway.  “In this situation I would be required to report to both, as you’re employed by the military and could be a potential hazard to your co-workers, but aren’t bound by military regulations beyond your contract with them.”

Because it was the way he processed, Daniel filed the immaterial response under B for Both in his already chock-full brain box Immaterial file folder.

“So what’s keeping you from walking out of here?” MacKenzie repeated.

“Oh – yeah.  Jack gave me his dossier to read.”

“I see.”

Daniel glanced over curiously.  “Landry told me the military frowns on that kind of disclosure to a civilian.”

“Yes, they do.  There could be several layers of repercussions if that were to become public knowledge.”  MacKenzie’s tone never changed, but Daniel clearly heard the implicit warning.  “What do you think it was in the General’s dossier that compelled you to seek answers to your own concerns?”

“Are you asking why I’m not talking to Jack about this?”

“No.”

Daniel wondered if psyche docs had classes in how to sound so completely impassive.  The only time inflection had entered MacKenzie’s voice had been when they’d bantered briefly.  No, there’d been inflection in the voice when the man had apologized as well. 

As surely as he knew his own name, he understood he was incapable of a letting a total stranger analyze his most intimate thoughts.  MacKenzie was at least a semi-known quantity.  It helped that the physician had been willing to expose a sense of humor, it notched up Daniel’s level of trust.

“I suppose . . .” Daniel rose and began to pace again.  “No, start over.  This began the first night we were home from Atlantis.  I’ve barely slept in three weeks and I know I’m making Jack crazy.”  He stopped and picked up the jade Buddha.  “I went back to the Mountain last night because I was driving myself crazy too, and Jack’s dossier was on my desk.  I spent the rest of the night reading it.”

MacKenzie hmmmed, but made no comment.

“He’s an honorable man, Dr. MacKenzie, no matter what he’s had to do.  I don’t understand how he can live with the juxtaposition his work life has required of him, but that’s irrelevant to this discussion as well.  He let me see into his darkest corners.” Daniel curled his trembling fingers around the carving.  “It made me . . . ashamed . . . I suppose, to even be thinking of running away from this.  If Jack can face those demons every day, surely I’m capable of hauling a few of mine into the light of day.  And maybe – just maybe – the idea of living out the rest of my life alone won’t be so . . . enticing.”

“You understand, Dr. Jackson, that some of us are wired differently.  We feel things, see things, I would go so far as to say – understand – things more intensely.  There is no dishonor, no shame, in wanting to run away from that.  Shame, if it must be allocated, should be saved for the actual running.”

Daniel took a moment to analyze that statement.  He hadn’t been ridiculed as weird or unusual for feeling it so intensely, nor singled out.  Whether or not they were literally being used as personal pronouns, the pronouncement had included the words us and we, and there’d been no judgment.

On a deep sigh, he sank back down in the chair, propped his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands.  “Thank you.”  

“For what?”

“Oh – confirmation?  Corroboration?  Validation?  This has happened to me before, but never in a situation where so much was at stake.  I don’t want to lose Jack because I’m a wuss and it sometimes takes me a long time to process things.  Especially stuff I don’t want to deal with.  It’s always been much easier to bury myself in work and ignore it until it either resolves itself or goes back into hiding.”

“Welcome to reality, Dr. Jackson.  And you are the last person I would assign the definition – wuss – to.  I have a couple of thoughts before we go any further with this.”

Daniel straightened and leaned back.  His fingers wandered up to explore the slight indentation the little carving had left in his cheek.  “I think I’d like to hear them.”

“There are a number of ways we could go about this, but I want to suggest an option I suspect has eluded you because you’re too close to the situation, before we explore any other avenues.”

“Okay.”

“Because you were under such duress last time we spoke at length, I doubt you’ll recall telling me that one of the ways you controlled your stress was through kel’no’reem.  You mentioned Teal’c had taught you how and you’d found it very beneficial.  Do you still practice?”

Daniel tilted his head and everything in him stilled momentarily.  It felt like every screeching nerve ending, every hurrying blood cell, every expanding capillary ceased its job in hushed expectation.  “I haven’t in quite awhile, but I see the possibilities.”

“Would you like to catalog the rest of the options you might explore?”

“Yes, please.”

“I have some colleagues who’ve done extensive work in the area of dream interpretation, have you ever done any reading on the subject?”

“A long time ago - in college.  I studied some Jungian theory, but most of my exposure came from a psyche major I dated for a very short time.”

The side of MacKenzie’s mouth quirked. 

“Yeah,” Daniel verified.  “Until it occurred to me I was more of a test rat than a boy friend.” He shrugged, adding, “She was fascinated by my dreams.”

“I should tell you, dream therapy has made great strides since you were in college.  It’s not necessarily well accepted in the world of psychiatric medicine as yet, but I’ve referred several clients who’ve made significant progress in subduing old ghosts.”

“That could take forever,” Daniel observed.

“It could certainly take awhile.  But the fact that you say you’ve got a handle on a face could jump start the process for you.  I know very little about it beyond the fact they’d ask you to keep a dream diary.  However, this too, is something you could work on yourself; there is a lot of information on the internet these days regarding dream interpretation.  A professional could probably help you sort through what’s viable versus what’s trash and very likely offer assistance in speeding the process along.”

“I don’t know, that doesn’t sound particularly reliable.  If I’m going to make the effort to do this, I want it fixed, not patched.”

“I can offer you two other options.  If this is something from your past you think is buried that needs uncovering before you can move forward, I would recommend traditional therapy.  It may be closer to the surface than you think, but there are reasons these things are buried and uncovering them – just like in archeology – requires some finesse.  You don’t want to bulldoze where a brush is appropriate.”

“Which could take forever, too.”

“There is always the possibility the mind will resist if you don’t really want to uncover it.”

“Right.  So the final option?”

“Hypnosis.”

“Oh.”

“In your case, I wouldn’t recommend it.  At least not to begin with.  And if you do choose that route, I would refer you to a colleague who has much more experience in the field than I do.”

“But, Sam . . .”

“We weren’t rooting around in Major Carter’s mind for a memory she had suppressed.”  Dr. MacKenzie straightened and leaned forward.  “Perhaps a better analogy would be completely emptying the storage bins versus cleaning out the garage.  The garage might be messy and cluttered, but you usually know what’s in there.  Storage bins, on the other hand, often take on a life of their own.  Especially in our minds.  If this memory - this face - you’re looking for was buried because of trauma, a brush would be much better than a bulldozer.”

“Damn,” Daniel said succinctly, sliding down in the chair.

MacKenzie waited.

“I just want this over and done with so I can get on with my life – our life.” 

“I can refer you.”

“That doesn’t work either.  I don’t do well with anyone poking into my life, but it’s even worse when it’s strangers.  Too many growing up, I think.”

“Perceptive insight.  But you hardly know me.”

“Well, I guess you’ll be getting to know me – even better.”  Daniel rose and carefully replaced the fat little Buddha.  “If you ever want to sell that piece, can I have first shot at it?”

“Certainly, if I ever consider selling it.  Which would be unlikely.  Are we through?”

“I assume you don’t have time to start digging today.”

Dr. MacKenzie rose as well.  “Would you like to make another appointment today, or call?”

“The first test,” Daniel chuckled, breathing deeply, though the pull of panic had subsided.  “I’d like an appointment before I leave.”  He crossed the room and opened the door, feeling a bit like a bird suddenly freed from its cage. 

“Curiosity question?”  Dr. MacKenzie followed him out, fishing his glasses out of his breast pocket as he went around behind the reception desk and flipped the appointment book open again.

He glanced up and Daniel shrugged.  “Okay.”

“Will you tell General O’Neill what you’re doing?”

“I’m debating.”

“Would next Tuesday work for you?  I have an opening first thing, at 8:00, or I can slide you in a little later at 2:30?”

“We’re off-world Tuesday.  It’s only a day trip and I can probably get out of it.”

“Let me look at Wednesday.  No, booked solid.”  Dr. MacKenzie turned over a couple more pages.  “The next opening I have is Friday at 11:00.  I can schedule you and have Cheri call you if we have someone cancel.”

“We’re a needy bunch, huh?  If I have to wait a week, you won’t see me again.  I can’t keep this edge that long.”

Dr. MacKenzie removed his glasses once more.  “Dr. Jackson –“

“I know it’s not going to resolve overnight, I get that.  But it took everything I had to call over here, much less get in the car and make the drive.  And I’d appreciate it if you call me Daniel.”

Dr. MacKenzie gazed at him a moment longer, than apparently came to a decision, because he closed the book.  “What are you doing Saturday?”

“Early or late?”  Daniel accepted the lifeline for what it was and didn’t quibble, though he hated the exception he knew was being made.  He could probably last two days.

“Early works better for me.  My wife likes to sleep in on Saturdays; she usually saves her honey-do list for the afternoon.”

“What time?”

“9:00 o’clock?”

“I’ll be here.”

“Daniel –“

Daniel, in the act of turning toward the exit, looked back.

“If I give you a prescription for anxiety medication, would you consider taking it?  It might help the situation at home and it would most assuredly help you sleep.”

Pills?  Pills might let him stay with Jack at least?

“I don’t know.  Would they make me loopy, so I can’t do my job?”

“No, this particular medication affects the anger center of your brain – the part that drives the fight or flight syndrome.  You would take it at night, because in most cases it does make you sleepy.”

“Does it require a build-up affect?”

“It has some build-up affect, in that the longer you take it the more effective it is; however, it is usually effective to a lesser extent immediately.  You can stop it at any time without risking any harmful side affects as well.”

“Okay, so what’s the drawback?”

Dr. MacKenzie chuckled.  “There are some side affects.  Let me get you some samples.  If it works – great; if it doesn’t - no harm, no fowl.”  He opened a desk drawer and rummaged around, pulling out a key.  “I’ll be right back.”  He returned carrying several sample boxes and handed them to the archeologist.  “This is a relatively low dose, you may find you need to take two, but start with one and see how it works.  The side affects are in fine print on the side.  The higher the dosage, obviously, the stronger the side affects.”

“Thank you.”  Daniel shoved the boxes in the pockets of his BDUs.  “I feel a lot better.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear it.  I’m confident you will work this out.”

Daniel glanced at his watch, surprised to find less than an hour had passed, and even more surprised to realize his rhetoric had been true.  He did feel better – a lot better.  “9:00 o’clock on Saturday.”

“I’ll see you then.”

“Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome.”

In the space of an hour, three weeks worth of new trauma had lightened considerably, though he still wasn’t looking forward to this new dig he’d agreed to undertake. 

He was halfway back to the Mountain when that trickle-down affect really hit him.  Bulldozer rather than a brush.  He made a U-turn at the next intersection.

*           *           *

It didn’t matter that he couldn’t find his house keys; Jack met him at the front door.

“Where the hell have you been?  Are you out of your fucking mind?  You can’t just walk out of the Mountain, Daniel, without telling anybody!  They had a lock down situation today and couldn’t find you anywhere!  How do you do this?  You got some fucking in with Nerti?  She loaning you her invisibility technology?  And why weren’t you answering your cell – you want to tell me what the fuck you were doing?”

“Three fucks in one tirade, I think that’s a record for yelling at me.”  Daniel slumped against the cedar siding. “I went to see MacKenzie.”

“MacKenzie?”  Jack grabbed an arm and dragged the archeologist inside the house, slamming the front door violently.  “MacKenzie?” he repeated, when the name finally registered. .  “You went to see MacKenzie?”  The edges of his anger started curling in on themselves.  “Why?”

“Because you left your dossier for me to read.”

“Whoa – back that train right up.  You went to see MacKenzie because I left my file for you to read?”

“Can I at least sit down?  I’d rather lie down, but if I don’t sit down you’re likely to be dragging my sorry ass around tonight.”

Jack stepped aside to let him pass, snatching at an arm again when Daniel staggered.  He sniffed deeply.  “Have you been drinking?”

“No, but it’s a good idea.”  Daniel changed direction mid step, slamming into Jack as he swung around.  “Sorry, tired.  Coordination’s a little off.  Where do we keep the good stuff?”

“Sit down before you fall down.  I’ll get it.”  Jack steered the archeologist in the direction of the couch, waited long enough to make sure the controlled fall didn’t land him on the floor and went to find the whiskey.

He grabbed the first glass that came to hand and poured himself a shot. 

The call from Landry, when they couldn’t find Daniel on base, had sent him into controlled panic.  Controlled only because he knew from the phone call, Daniel actually had made it to the base last night, had returned the package to Landry around 8:00 in the morning and then apparently disappeared.  Vala, reportedly, was the last to have seen him when he’d told her he was going to shower and change.

It was 6:30 p.m. 

Jack had been to every known Daniel haunt in three counties, including a number of used books stores, every Starbucks within a ten mile radius of the Mountain, five Borders and two Barnes & Nobles.  He’d checked Daniel’s apartment several times during the day – a quick recon on the fourth pass revealed missing photo albums, but no Daniel - and rung his cell phone almost non-stop.  

He tossed back a second shot and filled the small glass with crushed ice from the fridge door before pouring in the Jack Daniels – it amused them both – straight.  He probably should cut it a little more, Daniel was extremely susceptible to alcohol, but he looked as though he needed it, and the ice would have some watering down effect. 

Daniel was propped against the arm of the sofa, half-lying, half-sitting, with one foot under him and the other planted on the floor.  He had a pillow snugged to his chest, his glasses were on top of his head, and his eyes were closed when Jack came down the steps.  He sat down on the coffee table and held out the glass.  “Here.”

Daniel lifted his hand.  Jack put the glass in it and Dr. Jackson opened his eyes in surprise at the cold.  He looked at the glass, looked at Jack, and downed the contents in one swallow.  “Get rid of the ice.  Better yet, just bring the bottle.”

Jack took the glass back.  “I don’t think so.  I don’t particularly want a puking archeologist on my hands tonight.  I’m not in a very good mood.”

“Really?  Makes two of us.”  Daniel closed his eyes again and debated getting up to get the bottle himself.  The debate was short – both debating and getting up required too much energy.

“So, you saw MacKenzie, where else have you been today?”

“Just a minute.”  Daniel put up a finger, raising the other hand to his splitting head; the pillow tumbled to the floor.  “Why did you go see MacKenzie?”

Jack was momentarily paralyzed.  “Who said I went to see MacKenzie?” he huffed indignantly.

Daniel lifted a page out of the good doctor’s book and merely waited out the heavy silence.

“So shoot me,” Jack sighed.  “I was worried.  I’m not always the best at being patient and supportive.  And the A.F.P.R. didn’t have any Touchy Feely refresher courses for old generals on their class schedule.”

“AFPR?”

“Air Force Public Relations.  They do all kinds of crap like that; supposed to help us get in touch with emotions other than the righteous indignation and godawful wrath that drives war.  You know - the human stuff.”  Jack put down the glass.  “I suppose if you saw Mackenzie you must have been out chasing demons the rest of the day.  Look, I’m sorry I yelled.  I was frantic, Daniel.  Landry and the rest of SG-1 aren’t far behind me.  I was ready to tell Landry to use the locater chip.”

“Glad it doesn’t work like a homing beacon.”  Daniel slid an arm over his eyes.  “I was on my way back to work when I figured it out.  MacKenzie, unknowingly, gave me the key to unlock what’s been bugging me.”

“Yeah, that’s nice, but you disappeared without telling anyone,” Jack reiterated.

“Tough shit.  You all lived.  If you don’t get me the bottle, I’m gonna get up and get it myself.”  He had no intention of getting up, though he thought it might motivate his partner. 

Jack’s debate was slightly longer; it was the uncharacteristic behavior that got him up off the coffee table.  He returned with the bottle and nudged the archeologist with it.

Daniel dropped his arm to take it, unscrewed the top and took a swig straight from the bottle. 

“You gonna share?”

“Probably, eventually.  When I’m drunk enough.”

“I meant the bottle.  You’re damn well gonna share the rest and I’m not waiting until you’re drunk enough.”  Jack repossessed the whiskey, pouring a generous measure over the ice.  If Daniel was getting drunk, he’d best keep his wits about him.

Daniel rolled to his side, fished his cell out of the pocket of his BDUs and hit a speed dial number.  “Hey, Teal’c.  Call off the S&R and let everybody know I’m home . . . yeah, Jack’s here . . . thanks.  See you tomorrow.”  He deleted six dozen messages and tossed the phone on the coffee table beside Jack.  “You might not want to hear this.”

Jack was silent for a moment.  “I seriously doubt anything in your past could compete with mine.”

Daniel turned his head and met the silent stare, though he was first to look away.  “Are we in competition?”

“I’m not.  Are you?”

“No.  Pass the bottle back.”

Dr. Jackson’s limit was about two drinks.  Much more and he became quite happy.  Anything beyond that, and by morning he was sick as a dog.  Jack handed over the Jack Daniels, deciding he wouldn’t mind keeping the archeologist home tomorrow. 

Daniel chugalugged half of it. 

Jack figured it was a damn good thing the bottle had been half empty already.  He sipped his own drink and worked on the patient and supportive thing – especially the patient part. 

Full dark had set, so the room was lit only by the iridescent mist-surrounded street lights.  It lent the darkness an eerie quality and Jack, for something to do, leaned forward over Daniel to turn on the lamp on the sofa table behind his head.

“Leave it off.”

“I thought you didn’t like the dark.”

“It’s not the dark, it’s what the dark was doing to me.  Now that I know what it is . . .” Daniel trailed off, wondering if putting a name to the face would also restore Jack’s hands to their proper owner.

Patience could take him only so far.  Jack uncurled one finger at a time from around the neck of the whiskey, thankful that Daniel let him, and set it aside.  “You haven’t bothered to tell me what it is the dark is doing to you.  If you’re looking for some place to start, that’d be good.”  He leaned back on his hands, though there wasn’t much width to the coffee table and he found it uncomfortable within moments.

Daniel twitched the sofa pillow up off the floor.  “I’m tired of feeling guilty about everything.”  He hitched it high enough to rest his chin on the edge and crossed his arms over it.  “Especially things I have no control over.”

“Good.”

“And from today forward, I’m quitting.”

“We’ll hunt on line for a Guilt-a-holics Anonymous.”

“Stop.  That crap doesn’t help.”

Jack was stunned into silence; Daniel very rarely made his feelings this clear.  “I’m sorry,” he offered after a long pause, wondering where he’d come up with the idea he could do patient or supportive.  Sarah hadn’t been too fond of his sarcastic dark side either.  “I’m sorry I yelled in the first place.  I’m sorry I couldn’t let go of it.  And I’m sorry I made light of the situation.  Did I cover it all?”

“Close enough,” Daniel grunted.

Strategically, Jack let the second hand on his watch sweep past the 12:00 position several times before he tried again.  “Can you tell me what happened with MacKenzie?  Or would you rather crawl into bed and call it a night.  You look like shit.”

“That’s because I’ve been wallowing in it all day.  No, I don’t want to go to bed.”  The past was clinging to him like slime from a Louisiana swamp.

Jack leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, and waited.  He would wait until it killed him, which he guessed would be in about ten minutes.  Fortunately, at nine, the linguist started to talk.

“It was the bulldozer analogy MacKenzie used that turned the key in the lock.  I had to go home and search through some old photo albums, but I found his picture.”

Sweat instantly beaded at Jack’s temple.  Every muscle in his body tensed and his blood pressure spiked.  “Whose picture?” he inquired as mildly as possible, mentally reviewing first aid procedures for stoke victims.

“Koci.”

There were none.  Jack waited, though he could feel nerve endings popping with the strain, and hoped the doctor of linguistics, archeology and Egyptology lying on his couch would remember that and haul his ass to the nearest trauma center when his brain threw a blood clot from the pressure.

“I’d forgotten him.”  Daniel heaved a sigh.  “Sometimes . . .” he trailed off, then started again.  “Have you ever thought sometimes – there’s such a thing as too much honesty?”   

From the beginning, even in their fumbling attempts to figure out the mechanics of different ins and outs, Daniel had felt it.  Initially, that honesty had been daunting.  Always before there’d been pieces he’d held back, spaces and places that belonged only to him.  He’d been ill-equipped to yield that ground to anyone; had, in fact, never considered having any desire to yield it.  So it had taken him by surprise when a bit of yearning to drop those barriers snuck through all the obstacles he’d kept in place for so long. 

Jack was prepared for the question, he’d been thinking about it for quite some time.  “I don’t want secrets between us; especially old ones that might feed ancient fears that could drive us apart.  So, yeah, to answer your question directly, been there, done that, got the t-shirt.  But you know, I’ve discovered one of the best things about hanging with you is not having to keep secrets anymore.”

Daniel continued to chew his bottom lip.  “If I start this,” he stated emotionlessly, “you have to hear the whole thing.”

“Should I get comfortable?”

Daniel shifted so both sock-covered feet were shoved under the middle sofa cushion.  “Probably.”

Jack moved to the corner of the sofa, picked up Daniel’s feet and dumped them in his lap. 

”Don’t.”  Daniel jerked forward over the pillow and grabbed Jack’s hand when he automatically began to massage the nearest foot.  

It was reflexive – it had become part of their foreplay.  Daniel had spent a lot of time on his feet in Atlantis and one evening early in their stay had been rubbing them wearily.  Jack had taken over the job and discovered a natural segue into even more interesting pass times. 

Daniel let go as Jack lifted both hands in a gesture of surrender. 

“Sorry,” Jack repeated.  “Wasn’t thinking.”  He settled one wrist over Daniel’s ankles and propped the other elbow on the arm of the sofa.  “I’m hoping you’re going to tell me who Koci is.”

“Was.”  Daniel shoved a second pillow behind his back and slumped down again.  “He died.”

Another death in Daniel’s long history of loss.  Jack swiped a hand at the sweat trickling into his right eye.  “How?”

“In his sleep.  He lived across the hall from me in the attic at Anna and Albrycht’s.”

That statement conjured up all kinds of ugliness, and not just of unwanted furniture and out-of-fashion clothing.

“Albrycht owned a construction company.  He’d remodeled the attic so it was bright and airy, with skylights and these great windows in the dormers with window seats in them.  It was . . .” Daniel trailed off.  “Well, for a kid who’d grown up in tents, it was like staying in Cairo at one of the four star hotels.”

“And Albrycht and Anna were?”  Jack prompted, when Daniel didn’t go on.

“The first foster family I lived with; Koci was Anna’s father.  He told me he and Albrycht built the company from scratch when they first came to the United States.  He was too old to work by the time I knew him; his hands were already gnarled with arthritis.”

“Construction company, huh?  That would mean bulldozers, heavy equipment?  The key?”

“Bingo.”

Jack counted to fifty silently – and slowly – before trying again.  “So, construction company, nice room, dead guy?”

“I think they probably took me in to be company for the old man.  His real name was Koselj.”

If Daniel had buried this for thirty plus years, it wasn’t because it was the best placement he’d been in during those years he’d been fostered. 

“Then what?  They ditched you when he died?”  It was the absolute best spin he could put on it and Jack was praying, like he’d never prayed before, that would be all there was to it.  The devil on his shoulder was cackling manically.

“What?  Oh, no.  I was in college by then.  No, Anna tracked me down when he died.”

“Why?”

“He’d left me some money.  She was the executor of his estate.”  The pillow was getting more affection than Jack had since they’d been back from Atlantis.

“Hmmm.”  Jack made supportive noises, all the while wondering why an old man would leave a kid he’d only known as an 8-year-old, money.  But he wasn’t going to ask.

“Did I mention I’m tired of feeling guilty?”

”Briefly.  Want to share what it is about this scenario that could in any possible way make you feel guilty?”  See, he could do it.  Jack mentally patted himself on the back.  That was supportive and leading and not the slightest bit edgy. 

Daniel sighed again and Jack patted his ankle – supportively – no wiggling fingers in the mix at all.

“Koci liked to putter in the kitchen; he always had some concoction waiting for me to try when I came home from school.  He had an eclectic taste in ingredients, so you never knew what might end up in his creation.  We both had chores we were responsible for and he’d wait to do his until I came home and we’d do them together.  He’d ask me all about my day at school; share the little things he’d done around the house.  Then he would start supper while I did my homework at the kitchen table.”

“Where was Anna?”

“She ran the office on whatever job site Albrycht was working, they weren’t usually home until after dark.  The long and short of it is I got to know Koci well.  He was delighted to have a companion and I was . . . well, I was a kid just coming out of a long period of sensory deprivation.  I’ve tried to back track and I think I must have been in that first orphanage seven or eight months.”

Jack felt his heart bounce in his chest and his stomach drop to his toes

“You have to understand . . .” Daniel stopped and started again.  “I’d had parents who were very physical with each other and with me.  At eight, I still thought it was normal to . . . to be cuddled by my mom and dad.  We’d all be in bed together reading, individually or collectively.  I missed that, I missed my parents; I missed . . .  being the center of someone’s world.”

Charlie’s laughing face superimposed itself over an imagined picture of Daniel as a child.  Jack propped a foot on the coffee table and ground his teeth as quietly as possible.

”You want to lighten up on the ankle?  You’re going to leave finger prints.”

“Sorry.” Jack eased the pressure of his fingers, but kept his hand in place, hoping it was anchoring Daniel as much as it was grounding him. 

“I suppose I was starved for affection and nothing felt unnatural to me when he’d hug me or drape an arm around me as I was doing my homework.  Sometimes he’d pull me on his lap and we’d do my homework together.  He was good at math and it was the one subject that defeated me.  He’d laugh when I whined about it and tickle me and kiss my ear, all the things parents and grandparents do.  And then he’d tell me I had so much potential he just knew someday I would touch the stars.” 

Daniel’s voice had softened on the last sentence; clearly the remembering wasn’t all bad, though Jack could feel goose bumps rising on his arms.   

“He’d go to the library while I was in school and just wander the stacks, randomly pulling out books he thought would interest me.  He challenged me to let go of the past and live in the present.  God, Jack, he woke places in my soul that had gone into hibernation, he made me happy again.  He couldn’t work construction anymore, but he remodeled the world for me.  He took elements of my old life, the passion for learning, the curiosity that had been my besetting sin, the love of all things old and framed them in a new context.  He made me happy,” Daniel repeated.  “Something that eight-year-old kid thought he would never be capable of again.”

Daniel fell silent, unable to force the words out.  They sounded too ugly inside his head, too ugly to speak out loud.  And then he showed me how to make him happy.

“I get the picture,” Jack said quietly, though it required every ounce of willpower he possessed to remain seated on the couch when he wanted to pop off like a bottle rocket.  “There’s no need –“

“No,” Daniel bolted up, dragging his feet out of Jack’s lap.  “I warned you, and you promised to hear all of this, even if it was only implicit.”  He wrapped his arms around the pillow and his knees, and began to rock.  “You don’t understand.  I loved him.  He made me feel cherished and safe and good about myself.  Jack, he made me feel . . . good.  It was . . . good.  He never hurt me!  It was wonderful, it was exciting and mysterious and a secret we shared!  He made me feel alive again!  He made me want to live again.”

What could he say to that?  What possible supportive jargon could he even begin to wrap his tongue around when all he wanted to do was spew vituperation all over the old man.  It was a damn good thing he was dead, Jack thought, making a determined effort to keep the fingers that had curled reflexively around Daniel’s ankle from cutting off the linguist’s circulation. 

“You were eight years old, Daniel.  Of course you enjoyed the attention, of course it felt good, of course it was fabulous to share a secret with an adult who meant the world to you.  The piece of this I can’t wrap my head around is why you feel guilty about it.”

“Oh, probably because the adults who took me away from him made me feel, not only like it was all my fault, but some kind of dirty mongrel who’d crawled out of the red light district to beg for handouts,” Daniel replied off-handedly, slumping back again and dropping that arm back over his eyes. “An Egyptian upbringing and child prostitution came up during the conversation in the front seat.  They probably thought I was asleep.”   

The string of swear words Jack managed to spew, not only rapidly but with perfect coherence, had Daniel moving his arm to stare in fascination. 

“Wow,” he offered admiringly, when Jack finally ran out of steam.  “You know a lot more swear words than just fuck - and in English!”

“Fuck you, Dr. Jackson.”

“Possibly.  MacKenzie did give me meds he thought might help.”

On a sigh, Jack turned his head to meet Daniel’s gaze.  “You did it again, you know, just now.”

Daniel continued to stare, unblinking.  “Fucked someone?  No, I think I probably would have noticed that.”  He dropped his head back against the arm of the sofa and pulled the pillow up higher.

“You just absolved the assholes who left you with this lifetime legacy of guilt, for cryin’ out loud.”

“Oh.”  Daniel reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose.  “That could be a hard habit to kill.”

Jack squeezed Daniel’s ankle lightly.  “Let me know what I can do to help, would ya?”

The silence that drifted between them was light and airy, very like many of their solitary evenings on Atlantis.  They’d had neither aspiration nor need to mix and mingle with the Pegasus galaxy crew and so had kept apart by design and desire. 

Jack got up and opened the windows so the night sounds began floating in to keep them company.  Instead of waves breaking against pylons and the scent of ocean, they had an evening cricket concerto accompanied by the soughing of the wind through the tops of the pines and the smell of wood smoke and fir trees. 

The cricket orchestra was just turning up, several slightly off-key members missing a beat every now and then, but joining right back in.  A feathered soloist, apparently forgetting birds are supposed to sleep from dusk to dawn, trilled practice scales from a nearby evergreen, and a street light popped and buzzed, then fizzed and went dark, deepening the already dense shadows surrounding them

It felt right and good and clean to sit here in the living room with Jack and let the fresh air sweep away the remnants of guilt he hadn’t managed to route out during his long painful session chasing the ghost of Koci. 

That U-turn had let him backtrack to his apartment where he’d collected his oldest photo albums, gotten back in the car and driven up to the remotest part of Garden of the Gods he could find, then parked and hiked out to a secluded lake Jack had taken the team to once, years ago. He hadn’t set out to find the place, but some instinct had urged him on, shown him the way almost like a path opening up in front of him.  He’d been too busy excavating his past to pay much attention. 

The maddening bits and pieces the bulldozer analogy had dredged up had refused to coalesce into the whole.  And there’d been nothing the least bit sinister in the individual snap shots of memory he’d unearthed. 

The white, clapboard house, built on the banks of the rushing blue Hudson River, backed by the green of the thickly forested Peekskill Mountains.  When he’d put his mind to it, he could recall distinctly the lullaby of the tumbling river as he’d lain in bed at night.  The attic room, flooded with sunshine, cheerful and inviting with its handmade quilts and weavings ornamenting the bed and the walls between the dormers.  The old barn where Albrycht had stored the heavy equipment during the winter and the barn loft they’d remodeled into a sunny studio where Anna had quilted and woven in her spare time.  He’d excavated all the way down to the memory of the loom shuttle clickity clacking away as Anna hummed gospel music along with the eight track tapes on the stereo before his mind had flatly refused to go any further. 

So he’d started at the front and worked his way through the photo album again – and again – several times more, in fact, before the edge of the receipt behind the old man’s picture revealed itself.  He’d pulled loose one of the glued-down corners of the photo and drawn it out. 

It had been a receipt from the Children’s Corner House in Los Angeles for $5,000; a donation given in the name of Kocelj Wladyslaw.  Unfolding it had broken the seal, letting the memory pour out in all its bitterness.  He’d been seventeen, a sophomore at UCLA, and desperately in need of money.  Anna had flown out to deliver the inheritance in person, and tried to explain.  He’d listened politely, refused the money and sent her on her way.  The receipt for the donation had come in the mail.  He’d folded it down to fit behind Koci’s picture, locked away the photo album, and in time honored tradition, stuffed the memories through a chink in his bolted and padlocked DO NOT DISTURB mental filing cabinet, never to be revisited again.

That padlock had held for a very long time.

Daniel shifted on the sofa and pulled one of the boxes MacKenzie had given him out of his pocket.  Jack’s hand closed over his as he sat up, reaching for the Jack Daniels still on the coffee table.

“Let’s not mix drugs and alcohol tonight.  There’s no hurry.”

Daniel let go of the bottle, but couldn’t seem to figure out what to do next.

“Turn around.”  Jack patted the sofa next to him.  “Turn around and slide your ass down here.”

There was a slight hesitation, then obediently, Daniel turned and slid further along the sofa.  The adrenalin that had kept him going all day was dissipating quickly.  He thought he should really try for the bed, but Jack’s hands were on his shoulders.  He was listing badly, and then his cheek was pillowed on Jack’s thigh, his eyes were closed and a warm hand was slowly circling between his shoulder blades.  He reached down to retrieve the sofa pillow, bent his knees to accommodate wiggling his cold feet down between the cushions, and wrapped his arms around the pillow again. 

He was comfortable enough to sleep.  And maybe – just maybe - he wouldn’t need the pills after all.  Maybe, with the telling, the hands could pass back to their rightful owner.  At least there were no ghostly fingers practicing arpeggios up and down his spine tonight.

“Daniel?” 

“Hmmm?” 

Jack’s other hand began to soothe through his hair.  “Can I say thank you for what you’ve done for me today without pissing you off too badly?”

“Hmmm,” Daniel repeated.  “You did the same.”

“No, not by a long shot, pal.  I always knew you had a lot of courage, but this was above and beyond.  Thank you.” 

“I’m still going to see MacKenzie.  Not gonna go away overnite.”

“Good idea.”  Jack tilted his head back over the top of the couch.  “Want me to go with you?”  He felt the quick hitch of breath under his hand, then Daniel was turning over, looking up at him.

“You’d do that?”

The usual flippant remark instinctively surfaced, but Jack bit it back.  Instead, he took a moment to frame his response thoughtfully.  “You know I’m not good at this kind of stuff.  I’m much better at show and tell than speeches.  Somewhere along the neural net, between the planning and the actually saying it stage, everything seems to get sprinkled with a dose of sarcasm, so what I mean to say is never what comes out of my mouth.”

“Except when I’m unconscious,” Daniel murmured.

“Yes, well, why don’t you pretend you’re unconscious and maybe this will come out better?”

Dutifully, Daniel let his eyelids droop and made an effort to relax taut muscles.  The hand that had been rubbing his back came to rest on his chest, the fingers worrying at a button on his shirt.

When Jack spoke again, the timbre of his voice had softened to match the quiet of the night.  “I’ve tried to unravel this thing we have and finally came to the conclusion it’s a universal imperative.  I can’t manage or control it, so if I want to be with you, I have to be up for the ride.  And I did finally figure out that I want to be with you.  We’ve never verbalized this commitment we’ve made; we’ve taken no vows, never made any promises.  Nevertheless, the commitment is there, a deep, abiding thing forged in a friendship that’s endured more bumps and bruises than any normal relationship is ever called on to undergo.”  Jack paused.  “I guess what I’m trying to say is, I want to be here for you and I’ll stand by you as long as you’ll let me . . . Daniel?”

The slow steady rise and fall of the chest under his hand was as comforting as it was exasperating.  Nothing new there; it was Daniel Jackson’s mission in life to be Jack O’Neill’s condemnation and his salvation, his bane and blessing.  Where before the contradictory roles had driven him crazy, over the last six months, Jack had discovered the underlying truth; there was no salvation without condemnation and blessings went unnoticed without bane as a backdrop. 

Sighing, Jack relaxed back into the sofa and closed his eyes.  “I’ll always stand by you,” he repeated quietly. 

“Never doubted that,” Daniel slurred drowsily.  “Back to the wall, Jack’s always there.  Feet to the fire, Jack to the rescue.  Drowning . . .”

“Go to sleep, spacemonkey,” Jack interrupted admonishingly. 

“. . . in own stupidity, Jack will save the day.”

“Ahhhh, that last one’s usually the other way around, but I’ll take it this once.  Now go to sleep, Daniel.”

“My line.”

“Hopefully no more after tonight.”

“I know that song.”

“What song?”  Jack tapped his finger imperatively on Daniel’s chest.  “Doesn’t matter, go to sleep.”

“I’ll Stand by You, by the Pretenders.”  Daniel tucked his cold hands under his ass and hummed a few bars.

“Never heard it,” Jack replied, reaching for the quilt over the back of the couch.

“Nothing you confess, will make me love you less, I’ll stand by you.”

“As lullabies go, it’s a little lacking in the the goodnight department.  But hey, whatever floats your boat.”  Jack flipped the blanket to the end of the sofa and had the satisfaction of watching Daniel pull his feet out from under the cushion and tuck them up inside the quilt as he turned on his side again.  “Goodnight, Daniel.”

Daniel shifted so he could slide his hands under Jack’s thigh.  “Are we sleeping out here then?”  He was warm and comfortable finally, the cold of the day seeping away along with the guilt.  But Jack must be uncomfortable.  He half levered himself up on an elbow, only to be unceremoniously shoved back down.

“Go-to-sleep, Dr. Jackson, that’s an order.” 

The shimmering darkness kept its distance as Daniel closed his eyes again, thankful there were no ghostly fingers; just Jack’s hand draped comfortably over his waist, anchoring him to present reality. 

It was more than enough.

~*~

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