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"And grief stirs, and the deft
Heart lies impotent." 'If Grief Could Burn Out' - Philip Larkin
Safe to watch Daniel, openly or otherwise, safe in the knowledge that Daniel didn't see. He'd seen this kind of self-absorption before, seen it from the inside, lived it. Those days were ones Jack didn't care to think about much, given half a chance to pretend they'd never happened, which rarely proved to be the case. Life was never that kind. All he knew was that Daniel was suffering, even if he wouldn't admit it to anyone, not even himself. All he could do was watch, wait, hope Daniel would turn to him before he fell apart completely. He'd hoped they'd be able to return from Abydos together but instead Daniel had decided to stay for a while. Jack wondered just what was going through his head but Daniel's sunglasses currently hid more than just his eyes. Jack supposed he'd been guilty of that himself too, at times, and so he couldn't feel angry. Daniel had asked for forgiveness before, Jack knew that; he'd imagined Daniel kneeling at Kasuf's feet and frowned at the thought. It wasn't because of Daniel that Sha're had been taken or even his fault they hadn't been able to rescue her immediately - how could Daniel consider himself responsible for anything else that happened to her? But Jack knew he did. That was another feeling he knew intimately; the weight of self-blame, the hundred variations on a well-worn theme of 'why didn't I take more care?'. And now Daniel had something else to blame himself for, himself and others. He'd tell himself things should have gone differently, that he should have reacted faster, become interested in something else, made another choice completely. And none of it would make the slightest difference to the hollow feeling Daniel carried round inside him. Endless re-runs wouldn't change the way things really were. Jack would have spared Daniel that, if he could. Taken that burden from him, even though Daniel's shoulders were broad and he was experienced at carrying the weight of the world after all these years. Alone, most of them, unsupported by anyone, uncared for to all intents and purposes. Still the same M.O. That was still how Daniel tried to be, turning into himself for comfort when he had friends who'd support him now. All those years of being alone creating patterns of behavior that were hard to break. High walls that were hard for anyone to scale.
Was this reality or just another dream? Even the heat of the sand as it leeched through his robes hadn't been enough to make Daniel believe that it was real this time round. He'd felt that same heat before in what he knew now had to have been an illusion. So familiar, so recognizable from last time round. Deja vu wholesale. That sense of unreality just wouldn't go away. All the way through the rite he'd just taken part in, Daniel had felt a little out of touch, expecting any time to feel that juddering change to another scene. That cross cut to being somewhere else completely that had seemed both so right and so utterly wrong before, the two sensations mixed and mingled together till Daniel was certain he must be going crazy. He'd spoken the words before. Daniel had known he'd never forget them even as that feeling of being separated from the universe that surrounded him threatened to overwhelm. But for Sha're, Daniel knew he had to continue - for Sha're, even as he tried not to lose control, tried not to think of her lifeless body lying at the bottom of the pit. Tried not to think about the times he'd wondered just whether this was how it was all destined to end, hoping against hope that he was wrong. In so many ways, Daniel told himself that he'd always known it could end this way. In the worst case scenarios he'd imagined, terrifying himself with them in the middle of the night, Sha're's life hadn't been the only one to be taken. In others she'd died at Daniel's own hands, the sacrifice to save one of his team-mates, a macabre foreshadowing of what had happened, what Teal'c had been forced to do. He couldn't allow himself to feel, couldn't allow himself to believe any of this was real. How could he when Daniel wasn't sure he wouldn't shatter into a thousand pieces if he ever did so? At least as long as it wasn't real to him he could continue, even if it was like walking through a fog. It was safer that way, much safer.
Jack still wasn't convinced Daniel had told him everything. It had taken more than one run-through before he was sure he understood their sequence and even then Jack was happy to admit he wasn't sure he got it all. Daniel didn't seem to have managed that either, so that made him feel better. In those seconds between Ammonet frying his brain and Teal'c coming to the rescue, Daniel had experienced weeks of pain and heartache, the reality of which was now only just coming to pass. If it wasn't enough that he had to suffer losing Sha're, he'd effectively lost her twice and now buried her twice. All that remained was what happened next. In the dream, if that was what it was, Daniel had been a hairsbreadth from leaving the SGC completely, turning his back on everything because of her. Because, he'd told Hammond, his reason for going through the 'Gate had gone. Jack wondered if that was true. Daniel seemed to believe it was - he must have, or would his subconscious have run that track? He'd believed it then, did he believe it now? And what would it take, if there was anything left, to change Daniel's mind?
Daniel wasn't certain whether he was awake or asleep, expecting at any moment to turn over in bed and find her there, even though his rational mind knew that for the impossibility it was. This time, Sha're was really gone. No hope left, no promise of rescue to keep, no future possibilities that included her. The funeral had left him with something of an emotional hair- trigger, making Daniel hole up in his apartment, glad that the others in his team respected his need for space. He'd done his part, buried Sha're according to the traditions of her planet, and now he could mourn for her. Daniel could see the puzzlement in the eyes of one of his team and the understanding in those of the others. All three were concerned for him and he knew his actions caused them pain, but he had to do this alone. Had to mourn alone. He'd no experience of doing otherwise. When his parents had died, he'd been alone. With no close relatives, Daniel remembered that he'd also been a child with very few friends, his nomadic lifestyle creating the structure for the rest of his life. Other than Abydos, his time with the SGC was the longest he'd stayed any one place for a while that meant anything to him. The other places he'd stayed had been academic stepping-stones along the way, each one carefully planned, each one merely time served for a bigger purpose. On Abydos, before Apophis came, Daniel once had a home. Now he just had an apartment, an office, a parking space. In between the times when he fell apart, Daniel knew that wasn't fair to the people he worked with, the people at the SGC and elsewhere who cared about him. But when he thought of Sha're, thought of what she'd experienced and the part he'd played in that, being fair was the last thing on his mind.
Daniel wasn't sleeping worth a damn, Jack could tell that with just a glance. You didn't get those kind of dark marks under your eyes by restlessness, that was fully-fledged insomnia, nothing less. He hoped Daniel had enough sense to keep himself out of Dr. Fraiser's eyeline if he didn't want to find himself in five-point restraints any time soon. Janet had a low tolerance for people trying to kill themselves by sleep deprivation. And he was twitchy too, more twitchy than usual - if he hadn't already been mostly fuelled by caffeine, Jack would have thought Daniel was binging. But he knew how high the usual coffee intake was, so much so that Daniel was probably all but immune to the effects by now. Nothing short of going completely cold turkey would so much as scratch the surface. If he caught Daniel unawares, spotted him before he realized he was being watched, Jack saw the look of absolute and utter despair. The bleak, blank look of someone who's stared into the abyss and wondered just what it would be like to fall. It scared the crap out of him to see that expression on Daniel's face.
His relatively recent experiences weren't conducive to telling Dr. Fraiser everything. Daniel knew it wasn't Janet's fault he'd been wrongly committed, not really, but it had still taken him quite a while to work through the resentment he felt over the whole thing. That didn't make for a very comfortable or easy doctor-patient relationship. And Daniel knew he'd never been a model patient at the best of times, always too determined to have his own way, to be up and around while Janet still wanted him to stay horizontal. Not that Jack was any better, not really. But this wasn't about Jack, was it? It wasn't Jack who was falling apart at the seams, unable to sleep and wondering if he really was losing his mind this time around. It certainly seemed as convincing as last time. No hallucinations on this occasion - that would have been too obvious a clue that Daniel was going crazy - just small things. Losing his keys every time he put them down somewhere. Going through all the rigmarole of making a cup of coffee then finding he'd wandered back from the kitchen without it. A total inability to concentrate on what the USAF was paying him to be there for. How long could he carry on without someone noticing? Without another trip to that nice white room, back to the not-so-kind attentions of Dr. Mackenzie. If he was inclined to paranoia, Daniel knew he'd have been in trouble by now. As it was, he was starting to wonder how close he was to the edge, how close he was to cracking up completely. He'd seen it happen before - he was more than aware of the possibility that one day it could all just become too much for someone. One more piece of information would be crammed into your brain and suddenly everything would just snap, leaving you floundering. On the good days, and Daniel had to admit he had those occasionally, it all seemed ridiculous. An exaggeration, impossible to imagine. On the bad days it seemed inevitable. Daniel became convinced he was merely marking time, passing the days till it happened. He almost started wishing for it, knowing that the wait was worst of all, wanting everything to just be *over*. Anything to get rid of this feeling, to deal somehow with being tired all the time. Like he was Jacob Marley, dragging his chains and moneyboxes behind him for the rest of his life, weighed down forever by sorrow and guilt, pain and loss.
He'd been able to coax Daniel out of his office today and down to the messhall, which seemed like a minor victory. Daniel had been unwilling at first, almost resentful at the loss of translating time required but this time Jack had persisted. He'd told Carter and Teal'c what he was planning to do and both of them had made sure that everyone who might need to know was aware that Daniel was out of bounds, not to be talked to or even looked at if that were possible. It felt a little extreme but the last thing Daniel needed right now was to feel like a bug under a microscope. "What do you want?" Daniel asked. He was playing with whatever today's special was, pushing what was left of it round with his fork, not looking up at all. "I'm fine, if that's what you're worried about." "You don't look fine, Daniel. You look like shit." "You really missed your calling, Jack," Daniel replied, dropping his fork onto the plate with a clatter that made Jack wince. "You must be a graduate from the Dr. Mackenzie School of Psychiatry." "I just call it as I see it," Jack said. Daniel was looking at him now, at least, even if it was because he was pissed. "Bad day?" "I've had better." "It gets easier, Daniel. I promise." Daniel didn't look convinced and Jack couldn't blame him in the least. He remembered what this was like, it didn't take much of an effort to summon up those feelings, the ones he'd thought should be long-buried. "Is this where you tell me it was all for the best?" Daniel pushed his chair back, the metal legs scraping across the concrete. He seemed oblivious to the fact that they had something of an audience - people might have been told not to stare, but that didn't mean they wouldn't watch the show. "That this is how it was meant to be?" "Sit down, Daniel." Daniel was halfway out of his seat by this point - another couple of steps and he'd be halfway to the door instead. When he hesitated, Jack knew it was going to be okay. If Daniel had really intended to leave, it would have taken more than three quietly-spoken words to persuade him to change his mind, if such a thing could even happen. "This," Jack continued, "is where I tell you it gets easier. That time passes and you don't feel like someone ripped your heart out and showed it to you. That one morning you'll wake up and Sha're won't be the first thing you think of." Daniel was listening to him, Jack knew that - even though he was fiddling with his coffee mug, staring down into the dark liquid as he swirled it around, his posture gave his attention away. "I know." That was all he said, all the words that Jack could coax from him. It was enough. It had to be.
He couldn't bear to think about the kindness he'd seen in his father- in-law's eyes. Kasuf didn't blame him, that much was abundantly clear - that didn't stop Daniel from blaming himself. He'd thought himself easily cleverer than the Goa'uld. Ra had been arrogant and vain, but Apophis was as cunning as the snake that was his emblem and twice as ruthless. He'd done what was expressly forbidden in an attempt to ensure his power would increase, risking banishment for the hope of future glory. A hope Daniel himself had stolen away when he'd taken the child from Sha're. Daniel couldn't even begin to think what it had been like for Sha're, trapped helpless inside her own body as she was used to create a child whose only reason for living was to be used himself. How had she felt as that life grew inexorably within her? Daniel had seen the shame and guilt on her face and felt the guilt within his own heart grow even larger. He had brought her to this place, created the circumstances that led to her violation and *she* had been the one to apologize? The irony of it all almost choked him. He should have left well enough alone, gone back to Earth when Ra was destroyed, let Sha're live her life in peace. Instead he had stayed, brought death and dishonor to his adopted people. Jack had been right to want him to return but, as usual, Daniel had thought he knew better - he'd thought he could help the people of Abydos and instead, in his arrogance, he'd almost destroyed them. He'd done this, as surely as if he'd opened up the Stargate and shoved Sha're through, and nothing he could ever do would change that.
Occasionally, more often as the weeks passed, Jack would see Daniel in the messhall with Carter, or spot him turning the corner into the corridor that led to Teal'c's private quarters. On those days, at least, he'd start to think that it was going to be okay, that Daniel was going to get through this in one piece, more or less. They were trying not to crowd him. He'd even unexpectedly found himself talking about Daniel with Teal'c and Carter, one afternoon when things had been particularly bad - Daniel had come to work that day but might as well not have bothered, since when Jack had turned up in his office to try and take him to lunch, Daniel had all but bitten his head off. He'd been apologetic afterwards, realising that even indulged civilian consultants should know their limits, but the vehemence of Daniel's reaction had left Jack feeling more than a little edgy around him for a while. Maybe Daniel needed to get away, go do some fishing or just sit by the water for a while till he got his head straight again. Till they could persuade him to do that, if that ever happened, it was up to the rest of SG-1 to look out for him, before he made some almighty blunder that would bring down the wrath of Hammond on all their heads. Though the general treated Daniel like a favourite son most of the time, even he had limits and it was Jack's job to make sure Daniel didn't overstep them, inadvertantly or otherwise. Otherwise Daniel might well be looking for a new contract and Jack would be looking for another consultant, regardless of how Hammond usually thought of his present one.
If it hadn't been for the trial run, for Sha're making him go through all of this before, Daniel wondered just what his response would have been. His subconscious had insisted that he would have been angry, venomous in the extreme, turning all the anger he felt towards himself into a weapon to use on Teal'c. A weapon just as damaging as the staff weapon, but one that inflicted wounds that even a sarcophagus couldn't heal. As it was, because he knew what to avoid, he had made his peace with Teal'c relatively easily, even though he had seen in the Jaffa's expressive eyes a degree of surprise at being let off so lightly. He had expected some punishment, some second Cor-Ai, that much was clear. But Daniel was no arbiter, would not set himself up in judgement over anyone but himself, what right did he have to do so? As much as Teal'c had wielded the weapon that eventually killed Sha're's physical body, and the parasite that controlled her, hadn't Daniel already killed her spirit? How, if he allowed himself to go unpunished, could he expect Teal'c to do otherwise? He'd found himself growing more distant, turning in on himself as he tried to figure out what to do next, tried to determine whether he should stay or leave. Daniel had realised that he was barely functioning at times, the effort expended just to get himself out of bed in the morning leaving him drained for the rest of the day. It was hard to argue that the USAF were getting their money's worth out of him, the way he was at the moment. Maybe he should do what Jack had suggested, take some time and get away from the SGC, leave all the things that reminded him of what had happened and be somewhere else for a while. Jack had even offered the use of his cabin, giving him the chance to get away from it all in a real and concrete sense, but Daniel really wasn't sure. If he left, there was no guarantee the memories and emotions just wouldn't travel right along with him, just because he wasn't in familiar surroundings. And at least here he had the rest of his team, when he'd let them be there for him. Because they always wanted to be, they were waiting for him to open the door, that was all. He'd gone past the 'why can't you all just leave me alone?' stage a while back. It hadn't lasted long, even though Daniel had little experience of the kind of sympathy they were offering. They'd been pushy, but not too insistent, making sure he knew all he had to do was ask, pick up the phone, turn up at Jack or Sam's office, Teal'c's quarters. Just knowing they'd help him was enough most of the time. He'd found himself staring at the phone, wondering if he should call Jack in the middle of the night, and just the knowledge that Jack wouldn't mind too much, would probably be glad if he did call rather than just moping, was a help. He didn't call. He sometimes dragged Sam off to lunch just for the variety of sitting opposite someone else in the messhall and having to make smalltalk. And Jack would drop round to the apartment, once in a while, often enough that Daniel felt he cared but not so regularly that he felt intruded upon. There was a fine line between pity and sympathy, but somehow his team-mates seemed to walk it with finesse and skill. And then he'd acted like a jackass. Just when Daniel was starting to think life might be bearable again, he'd found himself in a situation where he'd drastically misjudged things. Misjudged her, the woman who called herself Ke'ra, because there was something about her that reminded him of Sha're. He hadn't realised it at the time, not even when he'd put himself between Ke'ra and Jack, walking directly into the line of fire and hearing Jack's spluttered angry words behind him as he'd done so. Of course, she'd turned out to be who he feared she was. That was almost inevitable, Daniel told himself, as he jotted down some notes for his report to General Hammond on the whole situation. He had to go all rebound with a mass murderer, an amnesiac mass murderer at that. It wasn't enough to screw up one life, he had to try and set the entire planet up to take the fall next time round. When Jack arrived at his office, offering to take him home, Daniel didn't bother to look at what he'd written before shoving it into a folder and putting on his jacket. He wasn't sure any of it made any sense, if he'd been able to find some kind of justification for what he'd almost done or even if he wanted to. At least Jack didn't expect him to talk, didn't expect anything of him, not any more. Daniel wasn't sure if that was a good thing, but it was the way things were now.
The sound caught Jack unawares, startling him out of his thoughts. He shoved himself up from the sofa instinctively, heading towards the kitchen and Daniel. As soon as he reached the doorway, Jack was greeted with a scene of devastation, one with Daniel standing in the middle of it, his arms wrapped tightly around himself as he rocked almost imperceptibly back and forth. And even worse than that clear sign of distress were the racking sobs that Daniel was making, the kind of noise that made Jack just want to hang onto him and never let go. As for the rest of the kitchen, one wall was liberally smeared with wet coffee grounds, water trickling down to puddle round Daniel's feet. At the base of the wall lay the shattered coffee machine, just a twisted hunk of metal and plastic now, shards of glass from the impact he'd heard scattered across the kitchen floor. "Don't move," Jack said, though it was hardly likely Daniel was going anywhere. It wasn't even clear whether Daniel knew where he was. He found a brush and began to clear a path to Daniel, putting together in his mind what must have happened. The only explanation that fitted the evidence was that Daniel had thrown the coffee machine against the wall, and with considerable force. If it had exploded of its own accord, the debris would be scattered across the room and some of it would have hit Daniel along the way. Jack had reached Daniel by now - dropping the brush he took hold of Daniel's arms, feeling the sobs abate a little even as they echoed through the connection between them. "Come on," he muttered, wondering if Daniel could hear him. "Let's get out of here," he coaxed, as he took a step back and pulled Daniel along with him. Step by step they left the kitchen, wet footsteps following them onto the carpet of the other room. Jack's eyes were fixed on Daniel's face, as if he was unable to tear his gaze away. Daniel's eyes were closed, screwed tight shut as if opening them would be the end of the world as they knew it. And maybe it would. "Okay," Jack said, as he pushed Daniel towards the sofa. "Sit down." He returned to the kitchen, listening with half an ear for sounds that Daniel was moving around, but heard none. It took a little while before Jack was sure he'd picked up all the glass, the larger pieces of the shattered coffee machine easy enough to remove but the razor- sharp slivers of glass seemed to be everywhere. At least Daniel had been wearing shoes when he'd decided to commit percolatorcide. By the time he returned to the living room, Daniel was quiet, withdrawn into himself once more. Jack took the chair opposite and wondered where to start. "So..." He left the question unspoken, uncertain himself how he'd meant to end it. Daniel just looked at him, eyes red, face bleak and drained. "Talk." As if that one word would open the floodgates, allow all the things Daniel had so carefully stored away to emerge, drain away the infection of grief and loss and everything else that was poisoning him from the inside. "There's nothing to talk about." "The thing in the trash that used to be a coffee machine might disagree with you, Daniel," Jack said, well aware he was on dangerous ground. That Daniel was dangerous ground at the moment, his responses unpredictable, that the wrong word might drive a wedge between them that would take some removing. "I can buy a new one," Daniel muttered. "Sure," Jack said. "And can you fix everything that easy?" Daniel looked at him then and for the briefest of moments it seemed to Jack as though every emotion Daniel was feeling was clear there in his friends face. Something he'd never seen before, the shutters were down for the first and only time and all the things Daniel felt and thought were open for all to see. The moment passed as quickly as it had happened, all things returning to the status quo before Jack could blink. "You don't know what you're talking about." "You think I haven't seen people snap before?" Jack asked. "Cracking up is part of the territory, Daniel. Some people just take longer to do it. Like a pressure cooker." "What?" "When it blows, it makes a god awful mess." He wasn't feeling anything like as glib as that statement probably sounded. "I'm just so tired," Daniel said, without looking up. Jack hoped that meant he realized he didn't need to look, that Jack would listen to him even if he was the one who had to make all the effort where conversation was concerned. He hoped so, more than he liked to think about. They'd been there for Daniel, him and the others, all the way along, ever since they'd brought Daniel back from the planet where Ammonet had tried to fry his brain. Nothing had changed with that, nothing would change, even if it took another year for Daniel to start to put his life back together again. At least Daniel was talking about things now, if only in an oblique way. For what seemed like forever they'd tiptoed round him, not wanting to mention anything that might remind Daniel of what had happened and in hindsight Jack wondered if this was a mistake. If they wouldn't have been better just getting the whole thing out in the open, regardless of the consequences. And then he'd seen Daniel coming to work, his eyes red and exhausted- looking, and known he couldn't do it.
He still wasn't sure what had made him snap, what it was that had made him lash out and slam the helpless coffee machine against the wall with all his strength. If it hadn't been the coffee machine Daniel knew it would have been his fists. They would have hit something and kept on hitting - he wasn't completely sure he could have stopped. Not even knowing Jack was in the next room, ready to intervene, would have made any difference to his reaction. Suddenly, in the space of a heartbeat, it had all become too much. He didn't want to feel this way any more, didn't want to feel anything if he was brutally honest with himself. Grieving for Sha're had left Daniel feeling like he'd been wrung out and hung up to dry. The realisation of what he'd almost done with Ke'ra was like ashes in his mouth. He'd kissed her, wanted to use her to get rid of the pain he was feeling, even temporarily, without thinking of the consequences. He'd been an idiot, plain and simple, and Daniel hated himself for letting his emotions overwhelm him that way. He'd seen the understanding in Jack's eyes, the remembered pain, and Daniel hated himself for that as well. It was bad enough that Jack had to see him making a fool of himself, but that he had to re- experience what he'd gone through with Charlie. That was almost beyond the call of duty where Jack's friendship was concerned. Not that he ever thought Jack wouldn't be there for him, even if it took forever for Daniel to pull himself together, to get over this somehow. That was impossible, wasn't the way Jack operated, and Daniel clung to that certainty. That was one thing about his team, the people who'd become his family. They'd be there for him no matter how big an idiot he made of himself, like he'd been there for them when things had been tough. That was how it worked. Thank god.
He wasn't back to normal, not by any stretch of the imagination, even if Jack knew what 'normal' was where Daniel was concerned. But he looked less fragile, less like he was stretched too thin and could snap at any moment - that had to be a good thing. They'd talked a little after the coffee machine incident, or he'd talked and Daniel had nodded every so often, and now that seemed to have been something of a turning point. Like he'd said, it was about Daniel releasing the pressure that had built up inside himself, all those emotions needing to escape one way or another. Daniel didn't look like he'd recovered completely, but that haunted expression had gone, he'd smile now and even laugh occasionally, the shadows that had haunted him not always present. He had respite from them now, sometimes. And he'd acquitted himself well coming face to face with Apophis again, even though that must have brought the memories back. Hearing Daniel talk about it, Jack could imagine Daniel practically spitting in Apophis' eye, not giving him the information he wanted no matter how much the Goa'uld tried to manipulate him. Daniel was stronger than that, much stronger. They all were, they'd had to be.
He'd felt a degree of pleasure on seeing Apophis again, on seeing that arrogant perfection marred by Sokar's revenge. And then he'd told him nothing, not even when the false Jack had tried to influence him, interrogate him. Somehow Daniel had known it for the lie it was. Had he been so busy on Sokar's world he hadn't time to grieve? Jack had been right after all, it seemed. Sha're wasn't the first thing on his mind when he woke now - thoughts of her were still poignant, still laced with strong emotion, but they didn't turn Daniel's world upside down any longer. He'd regained his equilibrium. Things were more as they should be, relationships more equitable. He could talk with Sam or Teal'c, joke over coffee with Jack - he felt more human, more in control. More himself. Not that he didn't sometimes wake in the middle of the night and expect her to be there with him. Even now those memories, though he knew them to be false, haunted Daniel more than those from their time together on Abydos. They were the things he remembered and it was that which cut him to the quick. Daniel didn't want to remember Sha're's Goa'uld-enhanced images, he wanted the real thing - nights by the campfire with the woman he'd fallen in love with, hearing the desert wind moan as they made love. In time, perhaps, the false memories would fade and he'd remember the others more, but it was that which left a sour taste in his mouth. But other than that he'd survived it all. Made it through to the other side with the help of his friends, his team. Now, maybe, he could move on.
Just when he thought it was all going to be fine, Bra'tac had come along with some story about Kheb. The place that Sha're sent her child, a place that Daniel would want to try and find, for her sake. Whatever happened between him and the monk, Daniel had seemed very different afterwards. As if a weight had been lifted, a weight that he'd been carrying for so long that he was hardly aware of how he was bent under it. He knew Daniel felt responsible, in so many ways, both for what had happened to Sha're and to make sure her child was safe. Taking on burdens in place of those he'd shed, something Jack understood completely. Taking responsibility was easy, a habit he'd picked up a long time ago, one engrained in him by his years serving his country. Daniel had learned it by experience too. If it came down to a choice, the child or the SGC, Jack wasn't sure what Daniel would do, which he would choose. All he knew was, as usual, he'd be there to support his friend every step of the way, knowing too that whichever path Daniel chose to follow, neither of them were easy ones.
The child was there. Sha're's child, the one Daniel had delivered with his own hands. There waiting for him to take home, to be a parent to, even if he had to return to Abydos to do it. At least there the baby would have a chance at peace. Except, the moment he began to give the matter some serious thought, Daniel knew he was fooling himself. Because Apophis was alive and as long as that was the case he wouldn't stop looking for the child, no matter where he was. Because that child was his future too, his chance for power, and the Goa'uld desired power like he needed air to breathe. They wouldn't be safe anywhere, there was nowhere they could hide that Apophis wouldn't find them. If not now, then in a few years time, when the bond between him and the child was even stronger and it would hurt even more to lose him. And to lose him to Apophis, knowing what he intended to do with the child, knowing what Apophis was, that was the worst possible outcome for all of them. Sha're would hate that idea, had given her life to try and prevent it, so the last thing Daniel wanted was to make Apophis' megalomaniac plans a possibility. Even if it meant giving up the last tangible link to Sha're, turning over his care to an amorphous alien rather than risk the chance that Apophis could use the terrible advantages of that genetic memory. He couldn't do it, couldn't put his own selfish need to have something of Sha're ahead of what might happen. What would probably happen if the child, Sha're's child, was left with only himself for protection. It wasn't enough, not for any of them, it would never be enough, Daniel knew that now.
So, it had all worked out in the end, but would Daniel see it that way? Jack remembered the look of fascination he'd seen on Daniel's face, back when he'd believed he was the one making the flame do things. He hadn't seen that look in a long time, so much so that he'd almost begun to wonder what it would take to make it re-appear. Oma had a lot to answer for, a lot that Jack wanted to thank her for. She'd given Daniel some kind of closure and also some kind of hope. The promise of protection for Sha're's child and the possibility of a future meeting. "He's safe now." Daniel didn't look round at him as he spoke, that by-now familiar faraway look on his face as they waited for the wormhole to form. To take them back to the SGC, back home. "And you found him. You did what Sha're wanted, Daniel." Daniel was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, I did. Thanks, Jack." He looked round at Daniel in response to those quietly spoken words, their eyes meeting for the first time since they'd left the temple. "For what?" "Being there. Being you, I guess." Jack found himself smiling, for the first time in almost as long as he could remember. Knowing now it would be fine, that Daniel was fine, better than fine. Feeling that knowledge like a living thing deep within himself without having to give it a second thought. "All part of the service," Jack replied. "Any time."
- fin -
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