Sursum Corda
by Pough
Part 4

Back to Part 3

Jack, always the optimist, hoped that the quiet around the cabin this late in the morning meant that Teal'c had left. And, yeah, the fact that he had left without first making Jack breakfast kind of bugged Jack, but he'd deal with it. There was still pre-packed blueberry pie somewhere on the counter. Dunk it in milk, and that's a well-rounded breakfast.

When he had left Teal'c and his poetry in the living room the night before, Jack retired to one of the tiny rooms that under no circumstance could be classified a bedroom. With just enough room to remove your pants (if you leaned over the cot) and kick off your boots (if your closed the door), it was nothing more than an enclosure that held a lumpy mattress on a rudimentary frame. Far too constricting to call cozy, and just this side of solitary confinement cell, Jack had always tried to spend as few conscious minutes in the room as possible. Utilitarian to the nth degree, the place was meant to room exhausted hunters/fishermen/vacationers, not be a place for self-reflection.

He had tried to find that one elusive position which would allow his body to rest comfortably. It wasn't the bedding that ruined his sleep, it was the pitch black that enveloped him. It was the view from his pillow out the tiny window and up to the inky darkness, littered with pinpoints of light. Rationally, he knew he was viewing the night sky. But in that place where all fears and self-doubt flourish, nourished by fatigue, he could only see the eyes. The faint trace of a satellite became one of Them passing through the room. The rare sight of jet lights flickering became the instrumentation They pointed at him. The one desperate moment that his body did capitulate to his exhaustion and twitched, became that moment when he was falling from an unspecified height, only to crash against rock and slip into a different kind of darkness. Jack gasped at the memory, rushed to his feet, the adrenalin muting the pain in his hip. Banging into the wall with a solid thump and nearly tripping over the cot legs, it took a moment for him to orient himself. He pressed his shaking and sweaty palms to the wall, his head between his outstretched fingers, and listened to the hammering of his heartbeat.

It was ridiculous. He had come to the cabin to escape, to rest, and what he had found was a continuation of the same. What he had found was that he and the cabin were beyond repair.

At 0128, he loped to the kitchen and took one of his pain pills. He didn't relish the thought of having to resort to medication, but he supposed, with harsh resignation, that that's what all the popular kids at the retirement village were doing these days.

He woke up later that morning, almost exactly eight hours later, feeling if not refreshed, then at the very least rested. He made a pot of coffee using the 1970 era Mr. Coffee—the one modern convenience everyone agreed was not just essential, but imperative—took his cup out the back door and was greeted by another beautiful spring morning, which made no impression whatsoever on Jack other than he had to wipe the dew off his chair before he sat down, dammit.

Sitting alone in the Adirondack chairs he had helped build decades ago with his father, Jack wondered if it would be possible to sleep outside when the night came again. No confined spaces, no lingering mildewed smell. Of course, the down shot of it was that he wouldn't be entertained by another Jaffa Jam Poetry Reading.

"Bereft, my ass," Jack muttered, a sneer crept across his face. He took a sip of his coffee, briefly enjoyed the dichotomy of the warm steam against his cool skin. Looked out over the lake, and saw what he thought was a brown bear trundling through the trees a few feet in from shore. Jack brought the cup to his lips again, never taking his eyes off the bear, a huge one, at that. On his hind legs. Running.

"Teal'c." Jack rolled his eyes and prepared himself for the morning's homily.

Arms and legs pumping, glistening with sweat, Teal'c glided through the woods, effortlessly hurdling fallen branches, crouching without slowing under sloped tree trunks. When he reached the edge of the property, he stopped. Looked to the blue sky, his arms reaching out to the side, to the world that surrounded him. His chest expanded, funneled up with each breath, each rivulet of perspiration gleaming like silver ribbons across his skin. He stood planted in that spot, this structure of a man, reaching, breathing, and securing his place within the cosmos. After a moment, he leaned over to untie his boots.

A part of Jack was hurt that Teal'c hadn't seen him sitting there. More so, he was relieved that Teal'c hadn't asked him to join him in his morning Touchy, Tai Sheet, something, whatever.

Teal'c picked up his boots, padded across the overgrown lawn, placed his boots at the edge of the dock, and stopped. He pivoted toward the cabin, smiled at Jack, bowed his head in salutation, and lunged toward the end of the dock, sailing through the air, breaking the glassy surface of the lake.

Even Jack had to admit it held a certain enviable style.

Forty yards out, Teal'c's torso penetrated the surface again, rocketing out of the lake with an explosive, "Yee haaaaw!" before sinking back down. Rising again, Teal'c turned to his back, and began an unhurried, relaxed backstroke to the dock. Reaching the edge, Teal'c raised himself, his arms and chest bulging under the weight. He strode off the dock, picked up his boots and stopped in front of Jack, dripping wet and blocking the colonel's sun.

"Yee haw?" Jack said, squinting at the aura cast around the Jaffa.

"I believe it to be an appropriate expression of exhilaration, is it not?" Teal'c said.

"I guess."

"It is a glorious morning, O'Neill."

"I wouldn't know. You're blocking my sun."

Teal'c stepped aside and took a seat next to Jack, his heart rate not yet slowed. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the warmth of the morning sun on his body. Jack pulled the fleece collar closer to his ears, casting a silent, depreciatory glare at Teal'c.

"Several months ago, DanielJackson gave me a book on comparative religions," Teal'c said, brushing the lake water off his chest and arms. Jack turned his shoulder away from the spray of water. "My intention was to edify myself as to the different aspects of Tau'ri religious experiences. Would you like to know my conclusion?"

"Just with every fiber of my being."

Teal'c raised an eyebrow, hearing the sarcasm, and yet ignoring it. "I found the history of Christianity reads much like the history of the system lords, each sect vying for power and allegiance, each promoting theirs as the one, true religion."

Without the glowing eyes thing, Jack thought to say, but that would send the message that he was listening. Which he wasn't. He and religion had made peace with each other long ago—he didn't bother with it, and for the most part, save for when the zealots ended up at his door, it didn't bother him. It was better that way. His childhood had been one long lesson in what he considered were, if not inconsistencies, out right fantasies. It didn't matter which language you said it in, those prayers and recitations were still only allegories that seemed to widen the eyes of the superstitious.  "I dreamt that St. Francis came to me last night, and he said..."  Nope, he didn't need it, and when it came right down to it, his casting off of organized religion had served him very well in his tenure at the SGC, thank you ever so much.

Teal'c grabbed his shirt from the side of the chair, where he had placed it before his run, and pulled it over his head. "Many lives have been lost throughout the centuries in the name of your gods."

"God, Teal'c. Not gods."

"Indeed, you support my argument quite succinctly," Teal'c said, and Jack made a note not to be so easily dragged into a topic he cared nothing about, nor to which he had anything to offer. "The Tau'ri history is quite diverse in its beliefs, as well as in its gods—Theism, deism, pantheism, polyism, monotheism. There are the gods of Greece and Rome, of the Hindi and Buddhists. There are the spirits of the native people, and the anthropomorphism of the Norse gods. Entire empires have been built on beliefs, as well as destroyed. Whole generations of people have been annihilated by religious fervor. Much of your own country is split between what is the Christ, and what is merely a prophet, between—"

"What's your point, Teal'c?"

"The point, as you say, is we are all followers and defenders of our beliefs." Teal'c turned his head in time to see Jack bring his hand to his closed eyes. "In context of your history, I myself would have been considered a crusader."

"Not a saint?" Jack asked, taking the time to glare for a moment at the man seated next to him.

"Far from it, O'Neill," Teal'c said. "Following one's beliefs is not a mistaken exercise. It is our actions toward each other that distinguish between right and wrong." Teal'c pushed himself out of the chair, the exposed skin on his arms and chest chilled.

"Where the Goa'uld system lords and your faiths differ, of course, is that Abraham and his descendents made a covenant with God in which they would prosper and be free if they served one another. It is the practice of surrendering one's burden toward a higher power, not to be enslaved, but to be enlightened. The Goa'uld only wish to place a yoke of slavery on those they encounter.

"You are free, O'Neill. You have served your people well. Will you not look inside your heart, now, to find what you believe? Will you not look inside your heart to find that which is your burden?"

"Oh, I am fully aware of what's burdening my heart, Teal'c," Jack said. "And soon, unless I find some Phazyme, you'll be fully aware of it, also, thanks to all those bean burritos."

"Dams will only divert the flow of a river for so long, and then they, too, break down," Teal'c said,

"Okay, in this particular Oma Desilu-ism, help me out here—am I the river or the dam?"

"Your burden is the river."

"Damn."

"I do not think you are completely comprehending my metaphor."

"No, I get it. I got it. In a non-existent word, it's gotten."

"And yet, you continue to mask your pain, deny the weight of your burden."

"If I could mask my pain, Teal'c, you'd be in full costume."

Teal'c looked away from Jack, his patience being sorely tested. "You carry a great burden—one that has become too much for you to carry alone. Why do you refuse to accept your limitations? As a warrior, you must be always aware of your own strengths and weaknesses. If you do not, your enemy will best you."

"You know what? Best this..."

"It is your anger that drives you now. It is a black and pathetic anger, of which no good will come. Can you not see this, O'Neill?" Teal'c asked.

"Anybody ever tell you you ask a lot of questions?" Jack said, rubbing circles on his tired eyes.

But Teal'c had slipped past Jack and into the cabin, where he would leave the colonel to his own questions, where he hoped his friend would begin to lift the yoke of his own enslavement.

General Hammond rocked back and forth in his leather chair, one hand pressed to his aching brow, the other holding the red phone to his ear.

"Yes, sir," he said, "you'll have my recommendations within the week. Yes, sir, I understand. Yes, I'm certain there are all sorts of reasons for such formalities. No, sir, I meant nothing by that."

For ten minutes, the general had been going over the schedule of events with the President, the event being the promotion of Jack O'Neill.

More like a funeral than a promotion, the general thought.

"Very well, sir," he said, nodding. General Hammond opened the file in front of him and jotted down a date. "You'll have it in plenty of time. Thank you, sir."

Hanging up the phone, General Hammond lifted the monitor of his computer and opened up a new file. He tapped out the perfunctory dates, the people to whom the document would be sent, the subject the memo was to regard, and the appropriate greeting.

And abruptly came to a complete stop.

He felt like a rabbit caught in a snare, whose only recourse was to chew off his own foot or be captured. Neither choice seemed palatable, nor did writing a recommendation for the promotion into obsolescence for Jack O'Neill.

Still, it had to be done, and the general had one hope that maybe the right words would draw the attention of the right person who would know how to best utilize the colonel's unique attributes.

The general doubted there was an office in the Pentagon for the Protection and Propagation of Snarky Barbs and Discourteous Responses. But if there were, Jack O'Neill would go far.

Truth be told, there were times when the general would have gladly shipped off the colonel to some far away base, let him cool his jets in somebody else's hangar. The man was foul-tempered, impatient, and at any given time, a step away from insubordinate.

And he was the finest damn officer General Hammond had ever had the pleasure of serving with. He commanded the respect of every officer on the base, and had done so with aplomb and a devil-may-care ignorance toward accepted protocol.

"In regards to the recommendation of the promotion of Colonel John O'Neill to the rank of Brigadier General, I respectfully submit my evaluation."

What was his evaluation? Promotion in rank was supposed to be a validation of outstanding leadership, of which there was no doubt Jack O'Neill possessed. It was supposed to be a celebration of the soldier, not a substantiation of his weakness.

"Colonel John O'Neill has served under my command for seven years, and in that time I have found him to be..."

Childish, stubborn, willful, mulish, xenophobic, intolerant, and occasionally dull-witted.

Also, tenacious, open-minded, supportive, powerful, determined and resourceful.

As well as a good friend.

He should be a brigadier general, Hammond thought, but not on their terms. General Hammond stared, disheartened, at the screen.

"I have found him to be..."

So many times Jack had teetered on that fine edge of being demoted, but the extreme circumstances of his actions (usually involving alien technology) always provided the general the necessary loophole to allow Jack to stay in command of his unit.

There was nothing standing in the way of promotion, however. Jack's record was one long list of composure under fire, inventive use of military power, and the unimpeachable devotion of his teammates. What could the general offer in his evaluation?

"I have found him to be the finest soldier and officer I have ever had the pleasure and honor to serve with. He is a credit to the Air Force, a credit to his country, and a patriot in the best sense of the word."

General Hammond saved the file, and thought he had had enough for the day.

Jack gathered an armful of logs from the pile and brought them to the back door of the cabin. They fell in a straggle from his arms, and he just sort of looked at them, nodded and went back for more.

"May I be of assistance, O'Neill?" Teal'c asked, meeting him at the pile.

"No." Jack loaded more logs, some maple, some birch, some pine, in his arms and turned to the cabin, his hip pinching with flares of pain. Undeterred, Teal'c piled logs into his own arms and followed the colonel to the cabin. Jack dropped his load, crouched down and began to form a more organized pile against the wall.

"O'Neill," Teal'c said, waiting to hand Jack his logs, "there is a question I wish to ask you."

"You don't say?" Jack glowered up at Teal'c, and, giving into the futility of it all, took Teal'c's logs, one by one.

"There is a phrase I believe that I have heard you speak several times since our return from our last mission," Teal'c said, deferring to the accepted cryptic method of referring to another planet while not in the security of the base, even though there was no one around for miles. "Once in the dregs of the conduit system; once while in the infirmary; once while you slept on the sofa inside your cabin."

The colonel stacked the logs, brushed off his hands, and looked at his watch. Just as he thought, 1837—time for a beer. He walked to the edge of the dock, his hand massaging his aching hip and lower back.

"You said sursum corda." Teal'c tilted his head, a benign, speculative gesture. "What is the meaning of those words?"

Jack took hold of the crusted chain and pulled the fish cage out of the water. Time was when he could tell you how cold the lake was at any given moment within a few degrees based on the temperature of his beer. He opened the cage and pulled out a beer, closed it back up, and watched it and the remaining beer listlessly sink to the murky lakebed. He'd need to make a trip to the Log Cabin later.

"What can you tell me, O'Neill?"

Jack twisted the top off his beer, took a sip, and said, "I can tell you that in another couple weeks the lake's not going to be cold enough for my beer."

"I am referring to the phrase I have heard you repeat." Teal'c waited for Jack to finish taking one draw after another off his beer. When Jack lowered his beer to the side, Teal'c said the words again.

"Sursum corda, O'Neill."

The late afternoon sun cast Jack's chiseled and tired features in gold, lightening his dark eyes. He took another long sip of his beer, and said, "You're asking me?"

"You are the one who spoke the words."

"Why don't you ask word-boy?"

"Shall we now speak of DanielJackson?"

"Sursum corda, you say?" Jack said, lifting his brow, glancing at Teal'c.

"That is correct."

"As in... 'Sir, some corda has spilled onto your tie'?"

"I do not believe that is the accepted manner of use."

"Then, nope. I got nothin'."

Teal'c turned to face the glowing sun, as well, and found he was growing increasingly weary of Jack's flip behavior. "I believe the term that best describes your present emotional state would be repression."

"And I believe you've been watching too much 'Oprah.'"

"I have significantly reduced my viewership of Oprah Winfrey's program."

"Glad to hear it. I was beginning to see a nasty side of your personality in the days that followed her 'favorite things' episodes."

"I believe it to be a vulgar display of decadence and materialism."

"So, this whole conversation about repression really sort of applies to you, doesn't it?"

"To what are you referring, O'Neill?"

"I'm referring to the fact that you haven't been able to be in the audience on those days, and you're just jealous."

The muscles in Teal'c's jaw contracted. "In the extreme."

"Okay, then."

"And what is it you are repressing, O'Neill?"

"I'm trying to repress this entire conversation." Jack poured more beer into his mouth.

"What memories or emotions are you repressing that might otherwise cause you pain or suffering?"

"Oh, I'm suffering, my friend," Jack said, snidely. He finished off the beer with one long draw, and threw the empty up onto the lawn.

"But suffering to bring memories and emotions into the light must be productive. I see no productive value in your time here."

"Oh, yeah? Why don't you watch this," Jack said, crouching with a wince to reel in the fish cage once again. He snagged the last beer, tossed the cage back in, and grimaced pushing himself back to his feet. "See that? I just suffered. It was highly productive, because now I have a fresh beer." Jack torqued the top off the beer and hammered it.

"You have drunk many beers. I believe this also assists you in the repression of your inner feelings."

"Okay," Jack said, choking the neck of his beer, the warmth of the sun in his eyes replaced by stony anger, "you know what? I've about had it with what you believe and what you don't believe. Got it?"

"Then tell me, O'Neill, what is it you believe in?"

Jack refused to let Teal'c manipulate him so easily. His best defense, he decided, was to rely on one of his greatest strengths—sarcasm. "What do I believe in? I believe in beer."

"I am asking about the present state in which you find yourself."

"Yes," Jack nodded, tipping his beer toward Teal'c, "I believe in Minnesota, too."

Teal'c rounded on Jack, and bellowed, "You are acting as a child, O'Neill! It is time you left behind this wallowing and pity, and regained your self-respect."

Jack was startled at the other man's sudden flare of anger, but he was damned if he'd show it. Actually, truth be told, Jack was surprised Teal'c had held out this long.  Jack tossed up a hand between him and Teal'c, his face turned away in anger. "Teal'c, man, you need to step down."

"I will not."

Jack began to lumber off the dock, holding his beer close to his side, his emotions closer.

Teal'c followed on Jack's heels, growling out each word with deliberate emphasis. "When Apophis captured me and filled my mind with abhorrent thoughts, you would not allow me to remain in such a manner!"

"That was different."

"I was trapped, bound by hatred and fear, forced servitude and lies. I owe my life and my freedom to you and Master Bratac."

"You owe me nothing," Jack said, pausing to pick up the empty beer bottle. He wanted to do it casually, but he was stiff and sore, and so he bobbled in a wholly infuriating way. Teal'c reached for Jack's arm to steady him, but Jack would have none of it. He left the bottle on the ground, sprang up to his full height and bore into Teal'c with raging eyes. "Keep your hands off me, Teal'c. I don't need your help."

"You need much more than my help, O'Neill, however you are too stubborn to request my assistance."

"I'm not playing, Teal'c," Jack said, walking away from Teal'c.

"Something happened in the bowels of that planet that changed you, that continues to haunt you."

"Go home, Teal'c."

"And yet you refuse to face your fears. That is not like you, O'Neill."

"Don't care." Jack reached for the back door, and Teal'c grabbed his wrist, held it between them in his iron grip.

"Tell me, O'Neill, what did those creatures do to turn you into the coward I see before me."

Jack's held wrist curled to a fist, trembled with rage. Teal'c saw it, and unlocked his grip. He stepped away, held out his arms, taunting Jack, and berated him further with a sickening smile.

"Here I stand, O'Neill. Rain down your fury on me."

Jack's dark eyes were filled with hatred, with cold ferocity. His teeth ground together, and any words he might have spoken were caught in that clenched trap. His raised fist shook with murderous intent, with a barely restrained need to strike the man standing in front of him.

Teal'c lowered his arms and shook his head. "You will not strike me, O'Neill, and yet you struck DanielJackson."

"Stay out of it."

"I will not!" Teal'c barked, attacking the colonel's personal space. "You struck a civilian. More importantly, you betrayed a friendship, your friend.  My friend! How can I allow such a flagrant and offensive act for which you are culpable go unquestioned?"

"You can question me all you want, Teal'c, but I'm done." Jack reached for the knob once again, but found his hand shaking greatly.

"What underlying tension brought you to such an action?" He grabbed a fistful of Jack's shirt and shook him. "Answer me!"

The back of Jack's hand sliced through the air, only to be ensnared by Teal'c's. Jack chewed the air that wouldn't come, his chest heaving from the sustained rigor. Sweat poured from his brow, down his back. His head swooned, his vision blurred.

"Let go of me, you son of a bitch," Jack choked out.

"Is your mind so lost that you have no control over your body?" Teal'c asked. He yanked on Jack's hand still caught in his powerful grip, pitching the colonel off-balance. His words came out explosively, sharp and biting. "With no other outlet for your anger, what shall you do?" Jack's eyes flashed with fear, his lips parted in preparation for words that had no meaning. Teal'c leaned in toward Jack, caught Jack's paralyzed expression in the beams of his piercing stare. "You are a coward, O'Neill, not because of your actions, and not because of what tragedy has befallen you. You are a coward because you dare not seek the truth."

Jack swallowed, nearly suffocating from the anger clamping shut his throat. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. "And you think you know what that truth is?"

"The truth is this: You are not omnipotent, and you are not infallible. You are a soldier." Teal'c spoke the words with equal parts compassion and indifference. He had Jack in that most vulnerable area—broken, trapped, and seeking redemption. Teal'c released Jack's arm with a flick, and took a step back. "It is your duty to face your enemy, and yet you have chosen to let your enemy defeat you. YOU have chosen this, O'Neill, not your enemy. Only you can beat back that enemy, but you choose not to because it would cause you to see your true self." His eyes ran up and down the entire length of Jack's trembling frame. When he spoke again, his words oozed out, his voice mirroring his disdain. "It is cowardice."

Jack stumbled, reached a blind hand behind him, and somehow came in contact with the chair. He collapsed into it; his vision grayed, his body shuddered, his limbs thrummed with fear.

Teal'c turned his back on Jack, filled with regret that it had come to this, and decided to put some distance between himself and his troubled friend.

And Jack stared out over the darkening horizon, his mind swirling like a cauldron of vile and putrid acid. His fingers dug into the old wood, while his soul was ripped away, shredded by long-suppressed apprehension.

Deep into the night he remained outside the cabin, able to venture only as far as the wobbling dock, and then back to the rickety chairs. Out to the dock, once again. The chairs, the dock, the cabin—all of it in shambles, all of it antiquated.

Deep into the night, where he battled his own sense of being antiquated.

She had text-messaged him—"Wr R U?"—ten minutes earlier, and was going to give it another few minutes before she paged him again. Sam had a MALP reading of their next planet to show Daniel, and was very much of the mindset that while waiting for the rest of their team to return, the half that had stayed on the base should actually earn their pay.

At least she thought it was a good idea. Daniel—well, Daniel had made himself scarce in the last day or so. Maybe he was entrenched in some complicated translation, all chalk dust and bookmarkers. Maybe he was in the gym working out—just another way to occupy his time since becoming corporeal again. The irony of it hadn't escaped Sam or Janet. It was a heartbreaking irony though—Daniel seemed to be trying to render himself as imposing and as solid as possible, as if he were afraid of disappearing again.

Not that Sam minded his more ripped and hardened body (particularly his arms). No, in fact she very much enjoyed making Daniel blush whenever she reached over to wrap both hands around his biceps. She'd squeeze his arm, pretend to swoon; he'd roll his eyes, and act as though he wasn't trying to flex. Then she'd punch him in the shoulder and make him earn the tough guy look. Daniel would rub his shoulder and say, "Um, ow!"

"Yeah, you're a real Arnold Schwartzenegger," she'd say.

"Yeah, and...and you're..." But Daniel, never well versed in popular culture, would be left blinking his eyes, shifting his weight, until Sam would laugh at him and change the subject, get on with the business at hand.

Which is exactly what she hoped to do at the end of this particular game of "Where's Daniel Now?" Sam yanked her pager off her belt, and was just about to text him again when it began to buzz in her hand—"Gate Rm."

"Stay," she messaged back, and began to walk. Thirty seconds later received another message—"K"—, which made her smile.

When she reached the gate room, Sam swiped her access card through the reader, and the doors whooshed open. She sauntered in, looked around the room, and didn't see him anywhere. She called out his name and heard him answer back, but the acoustics of the room swallowed up his voice and made it all but impossible to pinpoint his location.

"Where?" she asked, searching the room.

"Back here." Daniel's hand waved in the small nook between the gate and the ramp. Sam strode up the ramp, leaned over the railing, and found him sitting with his back against the pedestal of the Stargate.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey."

"What are you doin'?"

Daniel considered her question for a moment, scratched his head, and said, "Do you think I should get a dog?"

"A dog?"

"Or a cat."

"What about your fish?"

"Yeah," he said, drawing out the word for more than it was worth, while he thought about an answer. "It seems my department adopted my fish after my ascension. We're working out the custody details."

"Mind if I come down there?"

"My super-secret hideaway is your super-secret hideaway."

Sam climbed over the railing and jumped down to the floor. "What made you think to sit here?"

"Actually," he said, looking up at the Stargate above him, "it's one of the quieter spots on the base, except when the gate begins to dial. And the way I figure it, sitting behind the gate is just about the safest place in the mountain."

Sam mulled that one over—one-way travel through the gate. If there were an attack, the weapon blasts would automatically be directed away from the gate to the opposite wall. Yeah, she supposed he was right. She sat down next to him, brushed off her hands and nudged his shoulder with hers.

"You're not going to hit me again, are you?" he asked, casting a wary eye on her.

"Nah. You've been smacked around enough lately."

"Thank you, " he said. Sam smiled and shifted closer, but not too close. Daniel's eyes fluttered, and a memory tried to come to the surface. A fleeting one of a time when he and Sam had shared such a close friendship, one with such ease that more often than not, some part of their bodies had been touching with casual familiarity. Only now, sitting beside him, Daniel noticed that Sam seemed tense, uncertain in his presence. Daniel suddenly missed their former closeness, and at the same time accepted it as one of those things that inevitably and irrevocably changes.

He glanced at her drawn face, and attempting to lighten the heavy quality surrounding them, he fluttered his hand around to indicate the gate room. "Did you ever notice that the Feng Shui in this room is entirely off?"

"Gee, Daniel, you know, that's never really been a big concern of mine."

"I suppose it's neither here nor there."

"I suppose."

"So, Sam..."

"So, Daniel..."

"You may not have noticed," he said, dropping his chin, smiling, "but I've been kind of a pain in the ass lately."

Sam glanced at him and smiled back. "Yeah, I kind of noticed that."

"I thought once my memory came back that everything would be okay, you know? I thought those...strange feelings of...oh, I don't know—emptiness? Um, a certain kind of hollowed out feeling?—I thought they'd fill up, and I'd just go on being me. But I'm having a hard time completely fleshing it out. I don't know. It's hard to...Strange, that's all."

"I'm sure it is."

"I remember who I was, for the most part. I mean I can go through my journals, I see my office. My clothes seem to fit like they're mine," he said, lifting his head and smiling, his eyes crinkling.

"Your shirts are a little tighter," she said, squeezing his arm.

"Oh, you noticed that, did you?"

"Between you and Teal'c, I've never seen so many sleeveless t-shirts," Sam said. Daniel laughed.

"Yeah, Teal'c and I have been hitting the gym pretty consistently. This too shall pass, as they say," Daniel told her, flexing his bicep next to her, and it was Sam's turn to laugh.

Daniel thought about all the times he and his team had entered that room, boots clomping on the grate. He thought about the last time he walked up the ramp before his ascension, if only in that dream-like world. Always a place of departure and arrival, of adventure and heartbreak, the gate room held many memories. So many coats of paint to cover so many staff weapon blasts. So many safety protocols to cover their asses. He'd walked up that ramp with his team more times than he could count. He'd walked back down that same ramp too many times missing a teammate or two. Those were always the hardest times. He always felt like he'd betrayed his teammate, left behind on a planet, just so he and the others could formulate a plan in the comfort and safety of home.

But harder still was staying on the planet with his fallen friend, unable to do much more than comfort him. Or to be a sympathetic observer in an anti-gravitational cylinder deep within a fortress of pain. Sitting in the gate room, once again separated from parts of his team, Daniel felt the surge of disclosure, of confession cresting in his heart.

It was time to let Sam in. He needed to let her in, to let her understand. He took a quick peek at her, cleared his throat and began. "Did Jack ever tell you about when he was being tortured by Ba'al?"

Sam snapped to attention by the topic. "No, not much. I knew what was in the report."

With his arms cantilevered over his bent knees, his fingers drumming the air, Daniel launched into what he knew would be a long, difficult explanation. "I felt like such a fraud."

"What are you talking about?"

"I was there, Sam. With him. I was there." As if reassuring himself of the truth, he nodded.

"Wh...wait. You can remember that?" she asked, swiveling on her seat to face him.

"Lately, I'm remembering a lot of moments like that. And forgetting other things. Kind of disconcerting, if you know what I mean."

"Well...yeah, I'm sure it is."

"Anyhow," he said, filling his chest with air, "there I was, this not-at-all-powerful being, and all I could really do was...talk to him."

"I'm sure he appreciated it."

"Yes, well, I think we both know how much Jack likes to have his spirits lifted."

Sam grimaced. "Especially by a spirit."

Daniel thought about her point and smirked. "Exactly. What happened to Jack, Sam...It was brutal." He pushed his glasses onto his head and rubbed circles against his aching eyes, perhaps to wipe away the images of watching Jack suffer. Some memories, though, were too well chiseled into the mind. He lowered his hands, and blinked the focus back into his eyes.

"When he said he had seen you, I thought it was a hallucination," Sam said in a quiet voice, filled with shocked realization.

"No, I was with him." He began to scrape his fingernail against the pad of his thumb, for no other reason than to do something with the nervous energy skittering through his limbs. "I thought if I could just bolster his resolve, help him to see his potential maybe he'd be all right. I did the whole 'You da man! The Universe is rootin' for ya! Rah!...'" Daniel frowned, shrugged his shoulder and his brow. The futility of it all...

"You helped him, Daniel," Sam assured him. "Teal'c said you came to him during Kel-no-reem. He said you told him where the colonel was being held."

"No," Daniel said, halting her with one held up finger. "No, that's what Teal'c thought. I mean...literally. He thought he'd been given the answer, but he didn't get it from me. Somehow, he already knew."

"Wow." Sam stared off into the distance, trying that one on for size.

"Yeah." Daniel paused also to consider the magnitude of Teal'c's awareness of those around him. It shamed Daniel that he couldn't have such insights, and never had. He drew his hand down the length of his face, sniffed and began again. "Seeing Jack down in that sewer—something about it was worse than when he was with Ba'al, and I can't quite...I think part of it was that with Ba'al, there seemed to be a little fight still in him. At least for most of it." Daniel came to a stop, as if the energy had been drained from him in remembrance of that moment in Jack's cell when the realization of what Jack was asking him to do became painfully clear. No point in it, he thought. There was enough to think about without uncovering foggy memories that lay half-exposed in his mind. He gritted and bared his teeth, glanced up at the high-voltage cables lining the wall.

"But down in the sewer," Sam said, offering him a way to extricate himself from what seemed like such a wrenching memory.

"But down in the sewer..." Daniel had left one theatre of anguish, only to enter another. The memories came back to him in cold, fetid waves—the feel of Jack's lifeless body, the despair in his whispered words. How much can one person be asked to suffer, and for what purpose?

"We found him, Daniel. You did. We brought him back. We did what we were expected to do."

"Yes, well, that's great, because other than that I was no help to him whatsoever." Daniel picked at the cuff of his sleeve. "Jack wanted me to help him when he was being tortured by Ba'al. I told him I had a better idea. He wanted me to leave him alone after we brought him back from the sewer. I told him I had a better idea. When will I ever learn to listen?"

"What would you have done differently?"

"See, that's an interesting question, one that I've been trying to figure out for weeks."

"And what have you come up with?"

"Nothing. One great big bowl of nada."

"You helped him, Daniel. You still help him."

"No," he said, once again correcting her. "I push him, like I always do."

"This time he pushed back."

"Yeah."

"He didn't mean it, Daniel."

"Oh, he meant it. He's probably meant to do it for years."

"Let's not..."

"Don't get me wrong, Sam. I've given him plenty of reasons to want to take a whack at me. And believe me, there have been times when I wouldn't have minded doing the same to him."

"I know."

"I mean, we've fought before, but there was always something ...off with one of us, or...both of us."

Sam nodded, remembering. "Which seems to suggest that, again, the colonel was compromised somehow."

"Maybe."

"I think so."

"Probably." Daniel stared straight ahead, tapping his fingertips together.

"How's the jaw?" Sam asked.

His hand reached for the place. "Oh, it's....um, it's fine."

"You can hardly see the bruise anymore."

"I just..." he said, his eyes coming to a close, seemingly around the very words. "Jack, for all his foibles and—let's face it—pissiness, well, he's still...he's still my friend."

"I know."

"When I was sick," Daniel said, absently looking around the gate room, "when the radiation poisoning was really bad, I asked Jack to let me go."

"How?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "I remember talking to him, seeing myself on that bed. It was this bizarre out-of-body experience, only Jack was along for the ride. Your dad was..." Daniel shook his head, could almost feel the oscillations of the healing device through his body, and he felt nauseated. He had to disengage from the memory quickly, or else he thought he might be sick. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and waited a moment before he began again. "I asked Jack to tell them to stop, and he did. He listened to me. He trusted me."

"You and the colonel have always had..." Sam stopped, only becoming aware midway through the sentence how petty her statement was going to be. Halfway through the sentence she understood the jealousy in her heart over Daniel and the colonel's fierce friendship. She was ashamed of herself. "You and the colonel will work this out."

"Are you sure about that?"

She had a brief, tense moment when she considered what would happen if they couldn't work things out. Would the colonel ever bond with her like he had with Daniel? And then she chided herself for her impudence and superficiality. Of course, he had. The colonel had more than bonded with her. The colonel was what bound them to each other, and that was the precise reason for her grief.

"Daniel," she said, a thought growing in her brain, "are you concerned the colonel hasn't...I mean, when you were gone, do you think the colonel thought Jonas was a better member of SG1 than you?"

"The thought has crossed my mind."

"He wasn't, Daniel," she assured him. "Jonas was a valued member, and it's true we were lucky to have him, but he's not you."

"And I'm not him."

Sam could see the pain it cost Daniel to reveal his own cache of self-doubt. It must have been the mix Daniel had been talking about—trying to find the edges of his being, without mixing in other edges. She frowned, sighed, touched his hand. "Daniel, every day that you were gone, every single mission, you were missed. Do you know that?"

"Yeah, I do," he said, unable to meet her eye.

"Jonas was a very good man, and honestly? If he could have stayed on at the SGC, I think he could have been a tremendous addition. I think the two of you would have changed...every concept we have of what's possible."

"I don't know."

"It's true. But you're back, and he's gone, and..." Sam stopped, bit her lip, and shored up her crumbling resolve. "Things happen for a reason, Daniel. It's not a mistake that you're back home. You were always supposed to be here."

"For what purpose?"

She wanted to scream at him, cry, take him by the shirt and shake him so he'd maybe be able to see her own pain. "Well, maybe I needed you. Hmmm? Did you ever think about that?"

Daniel looked up and into her eyes, stunned. His eyes blinked, caught, nonplussed and breathless.

"Daniel," she said, before she could talk herself out of it. She had to ask him a question, one that she had meant to ask for a long time, one that she was afraid to ask. She girded her determination, refused to let herself back away, and came out with it. Now or never, she thought. "Daniel, Teal'c said you came to him in a dream, when he was ill. You just told me you were with Colonel O'Neill. Why...why didn't you..." All of a sudden it seemed so childish, so immature. She shook her head and waved her hand between them. "No. Forget it."

"Why didn't I come to you?" he asked, nodding.

"I don't know," she said, embarrassed by her need to know. "You probably couldn't remember, even if you had."

"I remember."

Sam looked at him, astounded, and she laughed, but it sounded strained even to her own ears. She screwed her lips up and tried to pretend she wasn't very close to tears.  She looked directly at him, in that moment, her eyebrows raised, her eyes sparkling with tears.  She wanted to say, "Look, I'm crying, and I'm okay with that," but her emotions had a stranglehold on her voice, and she really wasn't okay with it, at all.  Instead, she breathed in, let her mouth curl to a frown, and brushed away a tear.

When she thought she could speak without losing it, she allowed herself to voice what she'd wanted to tell Daniel ever since he'd come back. "It's stupid, I know.  But... do you know how much I missed you? I don't mean me, your teammate. I mean me. Do you know how much I missed...our friendship?"

"I know," he said. "I knew."

Sam tried to swallow against her tight throat. "You did?"

Daniel looked down at the floor next to his feet, and wondered how he could explain it to her. Maybe if he did it would make sense to him, these echoes of memories of a time he wasn't supposed to remember. "Being with the Ancients, um, like, well, it was like finally coming into the light of what is really true. No clouds, just...honest thought. I knew you missed me, Sam. It was your honest thought."

Sam was taken aback, jutted her head slightly forward as if she hadn't heard correctly. "You could read minds?"

"No, more like I could...feel thoughts, like a current of energy you were expressly putting out into the universe."

"And you could tap into that conduit of energy," she said.

"Pretty much, yeah. I mean, that's how I knew Jack was in trouble with Ba'al."

"I'm sorry," she said, closing her eyes, trying to understand. "I just don't..."

Daniel held out his hands to her, as if to offer her a more digestible version of the cumbersome thought. "You know how some people feel color?"

"Synesthetics."

"Right. Well, I could...feel thoughts. It's hard to..." Daniel shifted around toward Sam, the excitement of words and memory rushing through him. "It was less reading your mind, and more like stepping into a bubble of consciousness." Sam tipped her head forward and motioned for him to continue. "Like I said, hard to explain." Daniel smiled at her, that smile that had become so much more available since his return, another wonderful result of his de-ascension. But with a few blinks of the eye, his smile melted away, and the heaviness returned. "When Jack went missing on our last mission, I tried to find him by what I had learned from Oma. I couldn't do it. All I could feel was fear. My own fear. You can't feel anyone else's thoughts if yours are too overpowering." Daniel considered that, having only realized the truth in it once it was out in the open. He picked at the cuff of his jacket, terribly uncomfortable with how much of his inner workings he had exposed. "That probably also explains how I found myself on his office floor the other day before I even knew what had hit me." A bitter peal of laughter dribbled over his lips.

"Yeah, I suppose so." Sam watched the conflicting emotions pass Daniel's features, and felt a pang of remorse for her own irritation with him.

"When I was with Oma, I learned how to tap into the different dimensions of the universe. I could feel thoughts as if they were tangible, palpable things, Sam. I could feel anger and fear. Confusion—that's a tough one. I could also feel strength." His sad eyes came up , found Sam's, and the sadness was replaced by deep respect and devotion to his friend. "I could feel your strength, Sam. It was there all the time. You didn't need me. Not like Teal'c and Jack. But I was there."

Sam, overcome by the sense of warmth and care in his words, pressed a hand to her chest and sighed. Her lips tried to break into a smile, but they were trembling. It embarrassed her, this moment of precious intimacy. She sniffed, raised her chin, and said, "I don't feel very strong these days."

"It's there, Sam. Count on it." He held her focus, determined that she believed him, that she believed once again in herself. And she locked onto that belief, nodded where there might have been words. She fisted away the tears on her cheek and began to giggle.

"What?" he asked, finding himself smiling at her.

"So you're saying the Ancients are just a bunch of galactic voyeurs?"

Daniel laughed, as well, his head falling back against the pedestal. "Well, I suppose in a purely emotional sense, yes. That's the purpose of the ascended, to accept things. To absorb them, even. Fear, sorrow, grief, happiness—they're all part of the whole."

"And can you still do that?"

"What?"

"Accept all those things as being part of the whole?"

Daniel offered her his hand. "Hi, my name is Daniel Jackson. Apparently, we've never met."

"Got it." Sam smiled, wiped the last tear from her cheek, and wiped her hand on her pant leg. "I've missed you, Daniel."

"I missed you, too."

"Not only when you were with the others, but in the last couple weeks."

"I know, and I'm working on it." Daniel took a breath, and for a moment, he hesitated, scuttled closer to her side and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.  "Give me a little more time, okay?"

"Okay," she said, and Daniel could feel Sam's tensed posture begin to relax, and she leaned into his embrace.  He heard her sigh, and she allowed her head to rest on his shoulder.

"It helps me that you're back," she said after a long silence, and hoped he realized how much she would now rely on his friendship again.

"I'm glad."  Daniel smiled, kissed the top of her head, and began to hope that maybe some things could come round fully, after all.

Sam snuggled in closer, and they sat quietly, these two friends, close as siblings—a brother of antiquated cultures, a sister of burgeoning technologies, bound by the familial ties of academia, of fierce devotion, and of that most simple truth of all, love.

It had begun to rain an hour earlier, cold spring rain; the kind of rain that sifted through the obstinate fingers of late winter. Teal'c had gathered the few candles he had been able to find in the old cabin and placed them on the main room's floor. Interspersed between were a rusted pail and a dinged cooking pot, catching the plunk, plunk, plunk of rainwater leaking through the failing roof. He had moved his spot twice before finding a dry area. And then he began to meditate.

He breathed through the tension, releasing it from every muscle in his body. He filled his mind and limbs with air, and exhaled the stress. He inhaled all that was good and decent about his friend, and exhaled all the fear and anger. His heart rate slowed with each lost grain of frustration; his mind focused with each expelled burst of churlishness.

There was a soft click of the door, and a gust of icy wind brought the scent of green moss and pine into the room. The once lugubrious candle flames flickered nervously, but remained the steadfast beacons of Teal'c's meditative state. The pot-bellied stove growled with the added air rising up its flue.

Teal'c did not open his eyes, nor did he allow a cessation of his duties to his inner and outer self. If there were to be conflict, if there was to be any contact it would have to wait. The discipline he'd learned all those years ago had ushered him through situations of greater tension than this. And so he breathed, deep and long.

The door closed, the flames peaked toward the ceiling, the logs burning inside the stove crackled and popped. Warmth returned to the darkened room, its walls danced with shadows. The muffled, infrequent drops of water accompanied the sheepish, hushed steps toward the small bedroom, around the arc of candles. Dry, warm clothes waited there and would bring comfort to a wet, chilled body. A full bottle of whiskey waited in another room and would bring a different sort of comfort.

Jack had stood on the dock for hours, his eyes blindly looking over a lake that had held out its arms to him all his life. Its shores, the framework of a lifetime spent enjoying family and friends, loving a wife and child, healing the many wounds and injuries. It was where he had gone to grieve a mother, a father, his son, and presently the loss of all that he felt he could rely on. And so, he found himself once again, a small and insignificant part of his own world, contemplating cowardice and desertion, standing at the edge of a body of water that had come to be at the end of an ice age, and that would remain long after his body had returned to the ground.

Through the long, silent hours and the changing hues of the sky above, he had stood motionless, a silhouette against an amber sky. How many times had he come to this spot, stood before the great span of water and asked for guidance? For consolation? For forgiveness?

Unless a man be born again of water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of God...

He had RSVPed his regrets to that particular invitation a long time ago, but there was a time...

Fifty years before, a priest had poured water over the sleeping baby's head, spoken the ancient words, delivered him from his original, inherent sin. The baby cried out, his chest rising and falling with stunned screams. His tiny hands scratched the air, searching for his mother, his father, a reassuring and comforting place to grasp. Warm oil was smeared on his newborn forehead, his quavering lips, his pink, vascular chest. He was handed to his parents, and in the wink of an eye, he was standing alone on a dock, a cane in one hand, having grown bitter by the delusory promise of sacraments.

You only get one chance at such things, and then you're on your own.

Besides, there wasn't enough water in all of Minnesota to cleanse him. Not even the persistent rain could wash away his inequities, or renew his spirit. He was sullied, his soul and mind tainted with the evils he had seen, with the orders he had given based on duty and protection. He had been presented with all the sacraments, had discarded them all, just as quickly, out of neglect, out of disbelief. He had created a life that he thought was sacred, and abused his privileges there, too.

"You're a better man than that," someone had once told him.

"That's where you're wrong!" he had cried out.

And the eyes knew he was right...

He lifted his face to the black sky, let the icy drops of rain pelt his skin. It had slipped through his fingers, this life, this promise of salvation, this gift of health and friendship. Of youth. Redemption was for the appreciative, not for those who had taken for granted all the gifts of the living.

A life spent entrenched in battles and warfare had long ago burned the oil from his skin. Still the rain rolled over his features, and still the feral cry deep within his chest rose, and still his hand reached out for something in the dark.

And all he could see were the eyes.

"Something sinister in the tone told me my secret must be known," his friend had read to him.

"Sursum corda," his soul had pleaded with him.

Through the thick air, he smelled the smoke. He turned from the lake, and saw the faint trail of white lingering next to the corroded chimney pipe. The windows of the cabin lit golden, the pledge of warmth.

Soaked to the skin, shaking—was it the cold, the rain, or the burden?—Jack took pains to enter the cabin as quietly as possible, changed his clothes, and returned to the quiet room. He paused just inside the space, glanced at Teal'c, who was seated on the hard floor, and wondered why Teal'c even cared.

"Ya know, T," Jack said, leading with his well-honed sense of bravado in the face of damnation, "I could have been lost out there."

Without opening his eyes, nor changing his position, Teal'c said, "Having been raised in these woods, it would have been quite unlikely."

"I could have been attacked by bears."

"Are they not herbivores in this area?"

"Well, yeah, but still." Jack lowered himself into the tufted chair, its upholstery faded and threadbare, its once regal gold braiding bleached wheat over the decades. He closed one eye and looked toward the ceiling, but in the diminished light couldn't quite make out where the hole in the roof might be. The old place was hardly standing, he thought. Not much would bring it down.

"I could have been out there hatching a plot against you."

"I would hope so," Teal'c said, opening his eyes, smiling gently at Jack. "It would signal the return to your former self."

"My former self," Jack whispered, regret and fatigue tingeing the shape of his words.

"You are lost, my friend."

"No, but I might have been. You didn't bother to find out."

"Come, sit with me. Meditate. Regain your core."

"Didn't know Kel-no-reem involved Pilates," Jack said, which Teal'c summarily ignored. Jack knew Teal'c was trying to help him, and he knew if he continued with the off-putting quips he'd only make Teal'c lose respect for him. Lose more respect, that is, because surely there was a loss there. And why wouldn't there be? Jack could barely muster any self-respect.

"The knees can't really do the cross-legged thing anymore," he said, a conciliatory effort. "You think I can still achieve inner-whatever from the comfort of this broken down chair?"

"As you wish."

"Good. Well, let the healing begin."

"The healing, as you say, will begin when you open yourself to that which is truthful."

"Okay, well," he began, the fingers on each hand clutching at the end of the armrests "Truthful, huh? I can do truthful."

"You may begin at any time."

Jack took a deep breath, and tried long and hard to find that one grain of truth that wouldn't send him hurtling toward the door. It seemed to him he was one big ball of honesty, raw and vulnerable, and he'd never been a man who had had much time for vulnerability. With so many layers of honest, heavy emotion piled on top of him, Jack hardly knew how to climb out from under the pile.

"Truthful. Open myself up to something true," he said, drawing in air, exhaling in an exaggerated gush. "All right. Well, don't know if you heard, but I hit Daniel."

"So you have."

"If I'm being honest, I'm having a hard time forgiving myself for that, Teal'c."

"I feel there is much you seek forgiveness for, as of late, O'Neill."

"Yeah, probably." A heavy drop of water splashed into the bucket. Jack squinted his eyes and searched for other signs of leaks in the roof. "It wouldn't surprise me if that entire ceiling came down on our heads."

"It will be fine."

"Glad you have such confidence."

"Would it be correct to assume that DanielJackson's behavior had nothing to do with your actions, and for this you seek release from your culpability?"

"Bit of an obfuscated sentence, wouldn't you say?" Jack said.

"Will you not answer the question?"

"I'll try," he said, closing his eyes and thinking about the question. "Yes, he provoked me, and, no, it had nothing to do with him."

"What was the origin, then?"

"I don't know. Nothing. Everything. It has to do with whatever the hell has been going on in my noodle for however long. Guess my thoughts, my—gawd—my feelings have been just as obfuscated. Occluded, even. In fact, they've been damn near—"

"When DanielJackson speaks tangentially as you are, you have often spoken his name, followed by a profanity. Should I now do the same for you?" Teal'c asked.

"If you can think of a profanity that starts with O, be my guest."

"Let us consider that your thoughts became mired long before you struck DanielJackson."

"I've considered that."

"And what conclusions have you reached?"

"Not many," Jack began, pressing his head into the musty back of the chair. He took a deep breath, coughed when spores of mold tickled his sinuses, and quickly dismissed any association with such olfactory memories. "Okay, one."

"Which is?"

"It seems that I've lost my Spidey sense," he said, fairly annoyed at the fact, and his tone emphasized that point.

"To what do you refer?"

Jack shrugged. "Don't know. Just this feeling I have, that I'm not seeing what's coming down the pike. I guess I don't know how it all happened."

"You were ambushed."

"Yeah, but...how? That's not how it was supposed to go down."

"I believe you have often supplied me with a sufficient answer to such a quandary."

"Oh, yeah? Me? What's that?"

Teal'c tipped his head, smiled, and said, "Fecal matter occurs."

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose and tried not to laugh. His chest felt much too tight and heavy to allow such levity. No, there was a weight there, a cumbersome boulder of self-doubt and regret that needed to be removed if he ever wanted to enjoy the light again, and Jack didn't think that was possible.

"When did your thought become so troubled, O'Neill?"

"Oh, who knows?"

"I believe you know."

But of course, Jack knew. It had been such a minor thing, still it troubled him. He hadn't heard Sam entering the camp just minutes before his abduction, nor had he heard Teal'c. Why his mind chose to deliberately preserve those two ostensibly insignificant moments seemed to him the genesis of his ruination. He'd slipped up, become lazy in his reaction and his duty. He'd lost his edge, and for that he was taken to an underground chamber of horrors, where he was put on display, an example of squandered infallibility.

"You are troubled, O'Neill. It fills the air around you. I sense it, and have sensed it for many weeks."

Jack shifted in his chair, hoping he would be lost in the shadows, hoping his burden would hide with him.

"I don't know, Teal'c."

"Relax. Close your eyes. Trust me with that which taxes your soul."

"Relax, he says," Jack muttered, cupping his cheek in the warmth of his hand, fingers webbed over his eye, his elbow planted in the tattered arm of the chair. His knee began to bounce, a frenetic rhythm of fear and being too close to the edge. "I can't do this."

"You can, and you must," Teal'c said. "Breathe. Fill your body with air. You are safe."

But the illusion of safety had left him long ago, in a cavern where he was exposed for all to see.

"When you recall your time with your abductors, what is it you see?" Teal'c asked, watching his friend shield his face with his trembling hand.

In the abyss of his mind, behind the shade of his closed lids, Jack began to see them again, the silent scrutinizers of his weakest moments. His skin began to writhe; a sheen of sweat covered his forehead. He couldn't breathe, could hardly move.

"Tell me what you are seeing, O'Neill."

"Eyes."

"Whose eyes?"

"Theirs. In the dark."

"In the sewer tunnel?"

"No. Before. In the stasis chamber. Hundreds of beady little alien eyes." Jack washed a hand across his damp face, pulled air into his burning lungs. His blurred focus skimmed the walls, if only to make sure he wasn't there anymore.

"And what were they looking at?"

"Me."

"Were you in danger?"

"From them? No."

"What is it they were trying to see?"

Out of the corner of his eyes, Jack saw a drop of water plummet through the air. "Maybe we should empty that pot."

"There is plenty of room, yet. Do not concern yourself with such trivial things."

"It's my cabin, Teal'c. I'm concerned that it's falling apart."

"So are you, O'Neill. For that you should be more concerned."

Even though he knew it was true, hearing it stung. Jack dropped his chin to his chest, scraped his nails across his scalp, and shook his head, denying that the obvious was that apparent.

"What did the eyes see?" Teal'c asked again.

Jack slumped farther into the chair, completely covered his eyes with his hand, and sighed. "Fear. They saw fear."

"And what brought such fear to you?"

"Helplessness."

"Were you, in fact, helpless?"

"Yes."

"You have been in helpless situations before. I have shared many of those moments with you. I have often marveled at your self-discipline to stave off fear. What is it that changed in those days?"

"It was so quiet, and I...I..."

"What, O'Neill?"

"Ah, dammit, Teal'c!" Jack growled, losing the battle with his composure.

"Tell me, O'Neill."

Jack palmed his aching brow, tore at his hair. "Fine. It was..."

"Yes?"

"Silent. It was just so damn quiet."

"And?"

"And there was nothing to fight against. Nothing to hide behind. I couldn't fight; I didn't fight. I...I..."

"What?"

Jack propelled himself to the edge of the chair. "I can't stand to listen to that constant drip, drip, drip! Is it just me, or is that making you a little nuts, too?"

"It seems to have abated." Teal'c eyed Jack carefully. Jack shook his head, listened to the pounding of his heart in his ears. "Does the sound remind you of the sewer, that place where you came to be?"

"Fu...I don't know," Jack said, squirming, unwilling to venture into yet another dark, uninhabitable recollection. He slouched back into his chair, exhaustion and submission to his failings winning out over any feigned tenacity.

"When you were summarily discarded into that place, surely you experienced more despair."

Jack slapped his hand to the armrest. "Can we just stick to one subject here? Huh?"

"Indeed." Teal'c "Which do you prefer to address? That which changed you, or how your time in the catacombs amongst the refuse affected you."

"Well, put it that way, and it's just too damn hard to choose."

"Very well. Then tell me what changed you in those days while the aliens observed you."

Jack squeezed his neck, aching and tight. "I don't know."

"You do. You were about to tell me. You have the ability to do so, but you choose not to."

It was a challenge, and Jack knew it. He wondered if he could actually meet the challenge. After all, he knew what he had done. That one cowardly act had burned in his gut, had haunted his sleep and destroyed the privacy of his days. And all the eyes had witnessed it.

"I gave up," he said.

"You surrendered?"

"No," Jack whispered, the strength to voice such words far too costly. "I gave up. On myself."

"This would be the cause of your suffering, O'Neill?" Teal'c asked.

"Well, yeah!" he stated, his hand sailing away from him. "I gave up on myself, Teal'c. First thing you learn in special ops—your worst enemy is your own fear. I came face to face with that fear, and went turtle up."

"In what way?"

"In what way? I don't know! Choose one!"

"You believed they had the best of you."

"Yeah."

"You believed the situation was helpless."

"That, too."

"You believed your life was near the end." When silence followed, Teal'c qualified his statement. "And you believed it had little to do with the aliens."

"Jesus..."

"You were stripped before them, correct?"

Jack swallowed hard, feeling himself begin to writhe under the memory. "Yeah. So?"

"The humiliation must have been overwhelming."

"Don't remember that part. I only remember the piñata part."

Teal'c bowed his head, acknowledging the correction. "You were stripped of your power, your effectiveness, your cunning and your rank."

"Not to mention my skivvies."

"Those, as well," Teal'c said, nodding in honor of the lost dignity. "They stripped you of all that you are, all that is Colonel Jack O'Neill, and those few days you were simply a man, a soldier, and the aliens were eyewitnesses to a mere mortal."

"Teal'c..." Jack said, in something like a cry.

"You are mortal, my friend, but you are not merely a soldier." From his seat before Jack, Teal'c saw the inner battle—the churning torso, the clenched jaw, the white knuckles. Teal'c tilted his head and lowered his voice yet again, into that timbre that might soothe and caress an aching soul. "The eyes saw fear, of which I am certain. But did they not also marvel at the grace of your physique, one that is as alien to them as they to you? Is it possible that they were not observers of your imperfections, but of your tremendous strength?"

"For God's sake, Teal'c..."

"Stripped of all your skills and training, are you still not O'Neill?" Teal'c asked, and his eyes began to burn with sympathy for the battle his friend was required to endure in order to regain his soul. "What was it you saw in their eyes, O'Neill? Perhaps that is the greater question."

"I don't want to talk about it, Teal'c."

"Did you not, perhaps, see your future in their eyes, exposed so all that holds you to this world could be seen? Did they not allow you a glimpse into what could be your destiny? What is it you fear, O'Neill? Them, or the future?"

Tucked in the shadows, mute with sorrow, raw from exposure, his recent past having been turned inside out, Jack choked back the ache in his throat. "My future...I thought I'd know when it was time to retire from the field. It should have been my right to decide that, at least."

"You've lived a life of decisions, but it has never been yours to decide events."

"Teal'c, I gotta tell you, I'm close to total stroke-zone, here. Can you just tell me what the hell you meant by that?" Jack asked, weariness becoming the greater part of his voice.

"I meant that it is never your option to chose the events that will occur in your life. It is only the decisions you make based on those events that you are able to control."

"Then I choose not to grow old."

"That is not one of your choices."

"I know. Believe me, I know." Jack rubbed his thumb against the deep groove between his eyes. "The gray hair—hell, I've had that for years. The aches and pains in my knees and back are something I've just lived with. I never considered myself..." A dovetailed thought blocked the first, and Jack pushed his head, spinning with anguish, into the back of the chair. "But they knew. They looked me over good, said, 'Eh, we can do better than him,' and..."

And as Jack spoke, shaking his head, his lips puckering around harsh words, the lines in his face peaking with tension, Teal'c sat by, accepting each thought, each harrowing memory. He knew it was not his time to talk, or to question. His friend was compelled to speak of his own accord, compelled by caged fear and self-doubt that no longer wished to be.

Jack brought his hand to his forehead, kneading it. "One minute I'm this display unit, and the next thing I know the ground is coming up quick. I've done the whole not-quite parachuting thing. Did it in Iraq. At least that time I had on a uniform! Shit!" Jack reached behind him, both hands grasping the back of the chair. He buried his face in his arm, sealed his eyes tight against anger, against uncontrollable, careening emotions. His knees bounced up and down, and his chest bucked. "They dumped me, Teal'c. They got whatever the hell they needed from me, and they tossed me aside, like yesterday's garbage. They were gonna let me rot in that God forsaken place, as if I were...were..."

"But you didn't, O'Neill. DanielJackson found you."

Jack let go of the back of the chair, and grabbed hold, instead, of the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, I sure had a funny way of thanking him, didn't I?"

"I believe this to be the least of your concerns, O'Neill."

"Hitting Daniel is the least of my concerns?" Jack said, hardly able to believe what Teal'c had told him. "I hit Daniel! For no other reason than he was there. How am I supposed to just cross that off my 'guilt-to-do' list?"

"You will remove it from you list, as you say, the moment you apologize. That is all that will be required."

"Did ya see his mouth?" Jack asked, remembering the blood. Remembering, too, the betrayal in his friend's eyes.

"Indeed, I did."

"I did that! His commanding officer! Me!"

"I am aware."

"He could have me court martialled."

"You know he has chosen not to."

"Gotta tell ya, if it were me, I'd consider it."

"But you are not DanielJackson."

"Don't I know it."

"All that is required is your request for forgiveness."

"Why would he accept my apology?"

"Because he is your friend."

"Nice way I treat my friends, huh?"

"He will accept your apology. Of this, I have no doubt."

Jack pressed back into the chair, thumped his head against the cushion and groaned. "I don't know, Teal'c. I don't know."

"DanielJackson understands the significant duress you were under when you struck him."

"I'm a colonel in the damned Air Force, Teal'c. I'm supposed to be able to deal with significant duress. It's what they pay me for."

"They do not, however, pay you to be abducted and mistreated by aliens."

"Well, Kinsey might," Jack said. Teal'c allowed the corners of his mouth to turn up in agreement with his friend's assessment. Jack rubbed his eyes, stinging with fatigue and torment. "I don't know. Maybe it is time for me to get the hell out of the field."

"There is much left of your military career, O'Neill."

"Oh, yeah? Tell that to the brass." It was supposed to remain private, but he had ripped the seal off his soul and lain every other torturous problem before him. One more couldn't hurt. Jack screwed up his lips, shook his head, and let loose with the worst part of it, hardly able to speak the humiliating truth. "They're taking away my command, Teal'c. They're gonna reassign me to Washington."

"And so they may," Teal'c said, "but your journey is not over, O'Neill."

Jack rasped his hand across his jowl, over his mouth, and Teal'c could hear his friend attempting to compose himself—a clearing of the throat, a sniff or two. Admirable, at best. The strength with which Jack fought to maintain his dignity tore at Teal'c's heart.

When he spoke again, Teal'c found it difficult to control the continuity of his voice. "This life we lead, my friend, will end. Our lives in military and in exploration will and must conclude, and what will be left for us when it does?"

"What am I gonna do?" Jack asked.

"You will do as you have always done: persevere—with dignity and bombast." He smiled at his friend, warm and empathetic, and knew Jack would hear the unspoken truth in his words. In the diffused light of the room, Teal'c watched Jack nod a little, pinch clean his nose, nod once again.

"We are getting older, my friend," Teal'c said, offering one last observation that he had come to understand many years before. "However, we are far from old. Do not go easily into the future, but have no fear of it, either."

Jack covered his eyes with one hand, brushing his thumb across his tense brow line. What Teal'c was saying, it all made sense. Rationally, it all held some truth. But there was so much pain, so much self-doubt ... He dropped his hand to his chest with a thump, took a deep breath and hoped Teal'c had nothing more to say, because Jack was just too damn tired to hear anything else.

The chill that had taken hold of his body during his hours on the dock had been replaced by warmth from the potbelly stove. He was appreciative of that, at the very least. The silence of the room buried him, at first. But he found it wasn't truly silent, not like it had been in the stasis chamber. The old cabin was alive with organic sounds—popping fire, the scrape of tree limbs against the roof. It was with a start that Jack noticed one sound missing—rain. And then another—the plopping sound of water dripping through the roof.

"It's clearing up, I guess," he whispered.

"Indeed." Teal'c blew out each candle, save the last. He unwound his legs and rose from the floor, gathering the one lit candle in his hand. His hand cupped the flame, protecting it. He offered it to Jack, who took it after a moment, and finally, Teal'c bowed.

Jack stared at the flame for what seemed like an eternity, absorbing its meager heat, its steadfast light. When there was no more sound coming from Teal'c's room, Jack tilted the candle and poured some of its wax into the palm of his hand, and his breath seized for a moment at the overpowering warmth. His chest tightened, his eyes burned, suddenly on the verge of persistent emotions. The puddle of wax in his hand began to cool and congeal. Jack pressed his hands together, closed his eyes, and began the questions again.

"What am I gonna do? What's going to happen? What have I done?"

He opened his hands, a simple act he scarcely knew he was doing, and pressed the wax to his chest. Through his shirt he could feel the raised temperature of the molten wax against his skin, and it seemed to penetrate the last part of his body that had never been able to find warmth since his return.

He and the supple flame—the only two ushering in the quietest hours of night. He stayed there in that place, the darkness of the night enveloping him, as the fire tapered off and the candle's wick burned down. The clouds blanketed the sky, making it impossible to see the moon, nor the stars. When the encompassing darkness won out over all other means of light, Jack stayed put, listened to the sounds in the cabin, outside the cabin, in the woods.

And thought.

And thought some more.

No sleep would come, not even an unrealized moment of drifting. All through the night he listened to owls relay messages back and forth across the lake, the bucks snorting deep within the trees. Just before dawn he had moved to the back porch, a moth-eaten wool blanket wrapped around his body. When he brought it close to his face, he found it smelled not of mildew, but of use. Of contact with all those who had come to this cabin before him, their needs and aspirations as dissimilar as the years.

The air was cold, thick and penetrating; his breath condensed inches away from his face. The sun strained to filter up over the heavy horizon and push back the remains of the clouds. All that was left of the rain the night before was a fog that made the world indistinct, softened the lines, blurred the edges. The arms of the old cabin chairs were slick with condensation, glistening with what little light there was.

He had watched the gradation of morning come to the earth—from the smoky grays to the muted greens. When at last he could make that distinction between grass and water, Jack pushed the blanket off his shoulders and began a slow trek to the edge of the lake. A bush full of violet blossoms, laden with precipitation, waited for him there.

The land was uneven between cabin and bush, and Jack thought twice about venturing out there without the aid of his cane. But he did it, and was surprised, for the most part, of how steady he felt. Still, he held his hand to his hip, more out of habitual sympathy than out of pain.

Reaching the edge of the lilac bush, Jack cupped his hand under a dewy sprig, and ran his thumb over the tiny, supple blossoms, closed yet against the early morning chill. He bent over, dipped his nose to the flowers and drew in breath. It was the perfume of youth and goodness. Of spring and renewal.

Plucking one of the buds from the stem, Jack nibbled on the end, its delicate nectar fueling his memories of home and childhood. Of possibility.

Time went gently, the minutes flowing by with a softness that became imperceptible. A heron, silent as the fog itself, glided effortlessly, just inches above the water. Along the edge of the shore, a patch of cattails swayed in the gentle breeze, the long, slender palms grazing against each other.

The fog began to lumber away from the shore, and Jack caught sight of a burned out stump, its level top upholstered with a cushion of thick moss.  God, he thought, the fire of '91.  We thought we were going to lose the entire forest and the cabin.

But the land has a way of restoring and forgiving, of using the ashes to nurture seedlings. Scars, like the black, charred stump, remained, but new trees grew tall alongside, and every year the trillium bloomed at its base. Nothing was ever lost; nothing truly ever ended.

"I need to make it right, Teal'c," Jack said, sensing his friend's presence close behind.

"To what are you referring?"

"With Daniel. I need to make it right."

"And so you shall."

"I'm not sure I know how."

"Your friendship with DanielJackson has survived greater hardships than this."

"I hope so."

Jack looked past the lilac bush and into the forest. The burned out core of a once imposing Hemlock held in its lap a nettle of rust pine needles. The outer edges of the tree, with patches of velvet moss amidst quilted, black coals, pointed to the sky, like spires on an Italianate cathedral.

A cathedral.

"Sursum corda."

Teal'c turned to Jack, tipped his head and waited for the rest.

"Sursum corda," Jack said again. "It means 'lift up your heart.'"

Teal'c closed his eyes, and all was made clear.

"I haven't thought about that in thirty, thirty-five years." Of their own accord, Jack's fingers caressed the lilac blooms, his eyes taking in all that surrounded him, his mind returning to days of Latin and faith.

"And is your heart lifted?"

"It's getting there. I think I have you to thank for some of that."

"It is my honor and privilege to assist you through this juncture in your life."

"It's a hell of a juncture, my friend."

"Indeed it is." From behind him, Teal'c brought forth Jack's cane. "I thought perhaps you would be in need of this."

Jack took it and shrugged, and he reached out once again, cupping his hand around the back of Teal'c's neck. "Thank you. Not just for this, but for ... coming up here. You're a good friend, Teal'c."

"I am better for having made your acquaintance those many years ago."

"If only for the fact that you don't have to wear that uniform and skull cap anymore," Jack said, his eyes twinkling with a light that had been missing for many weeks.

Teal'c bowed, relieved to see that part of O'Neill returning, replacing the ubiquitous sorrow that seemed to have taken up residence in his friend's eyes.

"It's gonna be a nice day," Jack said, squinting into the haze of the sun. "Turned out to be a pretty nice night."

"'My barn has burned down, and now I see the moon,'" Teal'c said, and Jack just stared at him.

"Is that ..."

"It is Chinese philosophy."

"Ah."

"It means—"

"I got it," Jack said, turning back to the lake. "I know what it means. Thank you."

"In retrospect, you could have been more seriously injured in the fall from the stasis field."

"Yeah, I suppose."

"I believe your Celtic heritage played a role in your fortunes where this is concerned," Teal'c said, pleased he had been able to incorporate the Tau'ri colloquialism into the conversation.

"You mean 'Luck of the Irish'?" Jack asked, to which Teal'c nodded. "My mother was Scandinavian. What's that say about my luck?"

Teal'c rolled his eyes, weary of the complexities and esoteric qualities of the culture. He decided rather quickly to stick with a simpler subject. "Perhaps I will begin breakfast. Norbert sold me on venison sausage with maple syrup. I am most interested in experiencing this type of game meat."

"Yeah, you go ahead. That's where the city-boy in me doesn't quite see eye-to-eye with the outdoors guy."

"Very well," Teal'c said. "Shall I start a pot of coffee for you, O'Neill?"

"If I had a ring, I'd propose, Teal'c."

"There is no need for such a gesture," Teal'c said, frowning. He turned toward the cabin, and when he did, his foot was yanked out from under him, a forearm across his back hurled him to the ground. He threw himself onto his back, and Jack's booted foot slammed into his sternum, the tip of his cane a breath away from Teal'c's gold brand.

"How ya doin'?" Jack asked, peering straight down the line of his cane into Teal'c's eyes.

"What is the meaning of this, O'Neill?" Teal'c demanded, his own eyes riveted to Jack's stony features.

Jack lifted his cane and his foot, quirked a smile, and said, "Just checking." He offered Teal'c a hand, brushed the leaves off Teal'c's back, and hooked his cane onto his elbow. "Just wanted to make sure."

With an oddly mingled surge of surprise and delight, Teal'c watched his friend amble toward the cabin, a slight limp to his gait, but with his chest held high.

So it was scheduled, the first meeting of the reconvened SG1. Perhaps the last meeting.

General Hammond had taken the call from Colonel O'Neill three days earlier, informing the general that he and Teal'c were making their way back to Colorado, that yes, the colonel was feeling much better, and that he understood the Pentagon's directive, and was prepared to accept whatever his country asked of him.

General Hammond's heart swelled with pride and sorrow for the man.

"That's fine, Colonel," the general had said, rocking in his chair. "It'll be good to have you back."

"Yes, sir."

"I'm putting SG1 down for a meeting on Friday, the 10th, at 0800."

"We'll be there, sir."

"I'll get word to Doctor Jackson and Major Carter."

"I'd appreciate that, sir. Don't know if I'll get the time."

"Jack?"

"Sir?"

"Because of certain time constraints, I'll need to inform your team of your impending promotion at the time of the meeting."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and the general had had time to wonder if the calm in Jack's voice hadn't been manufactured. But when Jack did speak, there was a strength in his words, and the general was relieved.

"I understand that, sir. It's probably best that it all comes out this way. It's best."

"I'm glad you feel that way, Colonel."

"So, Friday..."

"We'll see you then."

"And, sir?"

"I know, Jack," the general said, bobbing his head. "I know."

"Right."

General Hammond hung up the phone, sat back, his hands laced behind his head, and wondered how he was going to break it to the entire team that life as they knew it was over.

Maybe they already knew.

"He's here," Sam said, swinging into Daniel's office, and just as quickly disappearing.

Daniel thumbed through his book. Which book, it didn't matter. He wasn't really reading it. He simply needed something to do with his hands, to show the rest of the world that he was working, and not riddled with nerves. The line of sweat that trickled down his back was a pretty good indicator, but he hoped nobody would be able to see that. Just in case, he kept his jacket on.

From the moment he heard the meeting had been set, Daniel worried about his first encounter with Jack. That first awkward moment. They'd had some awkward after-the-clash moments, when neither could look the other in the eye. When one had told the other to shut up, or one had called the other a stupid son of a bitch. Somehow, they'd managed to work through it. It had nothing to do with heart-to-hearts, or sitting down with a beer to hash things out. No, that had never worked for them. God knows they had tried a few times, but inevitably those forced moments lead to more anger.

Time. Time was what had always brought things to a close. Sam said it was avoidance on Daniel's part, memory failure on the colonel's. Daniel kind of agreed, and kind of knew he never avoided anything, and Jack had a memory like a fresh-from-the-assembly-line PC.

No, it was time. Time to rethink, to cool down, to judge one's own culpability, and on this one account, Daniel was fairly sure his was the lion's share.

There was a chance, he supposed, that Jack had spent his leave contemplating his own guilt. Maybe, Daniel thought, Jack had used his time considering how he would change, become more open minded and less quick to react.

Yeah, right.

Then again, maybe Jack had spent his time away from the SGC counting all the ways that Daniel had become a burden to the team. Daniel felt like he had a pretty good list started if Jack needed one.

No, no. It was just going to be...awkward. Strained, even, and the sooner that part was over, the sooner they could begin to piss each other off again, which was the one constant Daniel could rely on.

And he needed to rely on something.

Daniel closed the book, placed it on his desk and straightened his jacket. Cleared his throat. He took off his glasses and decided they were really, terribly filthy, and that he'd better clean them while he walked. He also tried to convince himself that he hadn't removed them so that if Jack were in the hallway he'd have an excuse why he didn't stop.

Unfortunately, his prescription wasn't that bad, and Jack would know exactly what he was trying to do. Hell, Jack had accused Daniel a time or two of not even really needing glasses. That he wore them around just to up the smart factor. After all, the Air Force had strict regulations where pocket protectors were concerned. He had caught Jack testing his vision plenty of times—"Daniel," he'd say when Daniel's glasses were nowhere to be seen, "what's on the menu today?" Or, "Say, Daniel, I have some dust in my eyes. Read that airman's name on his uniform, won't you?" Daniel would squint, just about get a bead on the man's name, only to become aware of the fact that Jack was testing him, once again. Daniel would smirk and go about his business of ignoring Jack.

Yes, it would be awkward. At least he hoped it would. What if it was filled with bitter tension? It could be that. What if, upon seeing Jack again, a bubble of anger welled up inside Daniel and in a split second he could think of nothing else but retribution? What if they both took one look at the other and started...

"Daniel."

Daniel scanned the briefing room, didn't see Jack, but knew he had heard him call his name. He turned around, and his cheeks bloomed with color, knowing instantly that he had been so absorbed in thought that he had walked right past Jack.

Jack stood next to the door, a tight, incomplete smile on his face, his eyes blinking. He shifted his vision to the floor, lifted his hand to his mouth, and pinched his lips.

Daniel hooked his thumbs in his pockets and searched the floor, as well.

"Um," Jack mumbled. He unfurled his hand between them, as if offering his next words. However, no words followed.

Daniel nodded. "Yeah."

"So."

Daniel bit his lip, narrowed his eyes and shrugged.

"We should probablyyyyy..." Jack started, but became stuck on the last syllable.

"Probably," Daniel agreed, having no idea what he was agreeing to. Still, he bobbed his head, not quite ready to meet Jack's eye.

"Okay, well," Jack said, a hint of finality and satisfaction in his voice.

"Yeah, I guess so," Daniel said, and wished he really could do something other than nod. So much for being multi-lingual...

"Colonel O'Neill," General Hammond said from inside the room. Daniel and Jack began to go through the door simultaneously. They skidded to a stop, and Daniel stepped back. Jack pointed his finger at Daniel, his strange way of saying thank you, Daniel thought, and entered the room.

"General Hammond, sir," Jack said, working hard not to let too much limp show up in his stride.

"You're looking well, Colonel."

"Thank you, sir."

"All that fresh air seemed to work."

"Oh, yes. Fresh air. Hot air," Jack said, stealing a glimpse of Teal'c. "Really, all kinds of air."

Under his breath, reminiscing about the many frozen burritos they had ingested, Teal'c rumbled, "Indeed."

General Hammond smiled, his chest lifting with amusement. "Why don't we begin?"

Jack took a seat just to the right of the ranking officer, his fingers twisted together on the table. Sam sat next to him, smiling, having briefly spoken to the colonel before the meeting. Teal'c sat across the table, concentrating his goodwill toward Jack in what he knew would be a difficult meeting. Finally, after everyone else had been seated, Daniel rounded the table and lowered himself into the chair across from Sam. They exchanged a pensive, quick glance. Daniel sat back and turned his attention to the general.

"I called this meeting not only to welcome Colonel O'Neill back to the SGC, as well as Teal'c, but to inform you all of some changes that will be made."

Jack remained absolutely still. There was enough commotion in the room between the other three searching each other's eyes for silent answers.

"Approximately four weeks ago, I received word from the Air Force Chief of Staff that the promotion board was considering awarding Colonel O'Neill the rank of brigadier general."

Sam spun around to stare wide-eyed at the colonel. Jack's only response to her was a slight lift of the eyebrows, but no eye contact. Daniel, understanding in that split second the ramifications, tightened his brow and dropped his chin.

"Although it isn't official yet," the general went on, "when this promotion does go through, Colonel O'Neill will be reassigned to the Pentagon, where he'll be leading an adjunct supervisory group."

"Sir?" Sam said, beckoning Jack for some word on his behalf. Her greatest fears were being realized, and from the looks of things she was the only one who had a problem with it.

"I'd like to say something, if I may," Jack said. The general offered him the floor with a slight wave of his hand. "Um, here's the deal. I've always thought that when an officer made it to the rank of general, that person grew long on personal importance and short on intelligence. Present company excluded, sir." General Hammond nodded his acceptance. "Be that as it may, I'll do my best to...do whatever I'm asked to do, and do it with all the gusto and honor I can muster."

"So you're okay with this?" Sam asked

"Carter, as I've recently learned, life goes on. I realize that's a bit of a hackneyed saying, but there it is."

"So, that's it?" Sam asked, for anyone to answer. "All due respect, sir, but the colonel gets promoted, and we're left without a CO? If the colonel goes, what happens to SG1?"

General Hammond held a hand up, admonishing her to slow down. "The promotion isn't quite official yet, Major Carter."

"So there's still a chance he won't be promoted?" she asked.

"The wheels are in motion. Colonel O'Neill passed his promotion's board test years ago. You ought to understand how these things work."

"But, sir," she persisted, "with Colonel O'Neill out of the picture—"

"Hello? I'm still in the room," Jack mentioned, raising his hand.

"I'm sorry, sir," Sam said, stepping down. "I guess this kind of comes as a shock, that's all."

"Yes, well, these things happen." Jack tried to smile, give her a reassuring gesture, but there was a pit in the middle of his stomach, and continuing with the masquerade that he was completely good with the whole situation was becoming harder and harder to do.

"Look, to be perfectly honest, Carter, I kind of hoped I'd be offered my oak clusters about the same time my social security benefits kicked in," Jack said. "This isn't exactly the direction I saw my career taking, either, but..." Jack shrugged, tossed his hand in the air and let it smack against the table.

"But if and when Colonel O'Neill moves on to the Pentagon, SG1 will be given a new team leader," General Hammond said, continuing the thread.

"I don't know, sir," Sam said, her chin quirking to one side. "It just seems rather sudden."

"What is the next step in this process, General Hammond?" Teal'c asked, having sat quietly while he observed the reaction to the news the other two were hearing for the first time.

"The next step is sending in my formal recommendation, which is pretty much just that—a formality," the general said, leaning into his words. "I won't lie to you, people. If I had a choice, SG1 would remain a team. However, barring any unforeseen events, this promotion will go through, and the colonel will leave the SGC."

"He hit me."

General Hammond's blue-eyed stare turned to Daniel, and he asked, "Doctor Jackson? What did you just say?"

"Jack hit me," Daniel said, again, hoping beyond hope that his calculated risk was going to work. He swallowed hard, looked up at the general and could feel the sweat pouring down his back, once again. "Um, a couple weeks ago. We got in a little...what would you call it?"

Jack was shocked. He also knew it was he who Daniel was asking to fill in the missing description. "A tiff?" Jack asked, shrugging, looking to Daniel for concurrence.

"Well..."

"Then a squabble, maybe?"

"I suppose," Daniel answered back, blinking. "More than a squabble, actually, a..."

"A kafuffle, perhaps?" Jack offered.

"Um, no." Daniel turned his attention away from Jack's always interesting vocabulary, and to the general, instead. "The question is, General Hammond, would that be the sort of thing that would..." Daniel dipped one shoulder to the side and grimaced, again praying he hadn't signed Jack's orders to the brig, "...would that be the kind of thing that might look bad on, say, an officer's record?"

"Is this true, Colonel?" the general demanded, his face rapidly working its way through all the reds.

"Uh," Jack mumbled, holding open one hand while he worked through the algorithmic chain of events that might quickly unfold, up to and including massive amounts of unpeeled potatoes when he wasn't spending his twenty-three other hours in solitary.

And with that thought he came to a more salient conclusion. That it was time to make things right, and the best way to do that was to own up to his behavior in the full. "Yes, sir. It is. I have no excuse for my actions. All I can tell you is how much I regret the incident." Jack felt as if leather straps had suddenly been removed from his chest, and for the first time in a week, he could actually breathe again. "Daniel, what I did...It was inexcusable, and I can't tell you how much I regret it."

"Doctor Jackson, am I to assume you did not report this at the time?" the general asked, his bulky hands pressed tight against the table.

"Yes, sir. Or...no, sir," Daniel said, his eyelids fluttering. "Which is to say, I didn't report it, sir."

"Well, people, this is quite a mess we've got on our hands." General Hammond slammed his folder shut and glared at Jack, then at Daniel. A full minute went by when the only sound in the room was the heavy inhalation and exhalations coming from the senior officer. Once in a great while Jack would peek up at Daniel, Daniel at Sam, and Sam at Teal'c, who remained unimpressed by it all.

"Colonel O'Neill, I'm sure you realize I'll be forced to put this in my recommendation, and it will go into your file," the general said.

"Yes, sir," Jack answered back, staring straight ahead.

"And as for you, Doctor Jackson, because of your inaction to come forth with evidence of abuse—"

Daniel held up his finger, and sheepishly interjected, "It was really more like a jab. Really." Daniel looked at Jack, shrugged his shoulders. Jack silently expressed, "What are you gonna do?"

"What the hell kind of show are you running here, Colonel?" the general demanded.

"I've often asked myself that same question, sir," Jack said.

"You realize, don't you, Colonel, that I could throw both of you in the brig at my discretion?"

"Yes, sir. I do."

The general seethed with anger, tapped his pen against his folder, and stared down the two men. "Until I can come to some...conclusion to all this nonsense, both you and Doctor Jackson will be placed under administrative leave. Without pay!" Jack and Daniel hung their heads low, an appropriate show of their obligatory regret. "I'm going to go into my office to think this through, and while I'm in there I'm going to expect each of you to file a written report detailing exactly, and I mean to the letter, what happened. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," Jack answered, making damn sure there was nothing else in his voice other than affirmation.

"Uh, yes. Yes, sir." Daniel capped and uncapped his pen.

"One hour, people!" the general said in his wake. Jack only made it halfway up and out of his chair before his CO was out the door.

"Okay, what exactly does administrative leave entail?" Daniel asked, peering over the top of his glasses at anyone who might clarify it for him.

"It means that you'll be formally disciplined, to whatever degree the general deems necessary," Sam explained to him. "That could include a letter in your file, to revoking your contract."

"Oooh," Daniel said, not having considered that possibility.

"But I wouldn't worry about that," Sam said, having sat in on advisory boards before. "What it also means is, after you've filed your report, that you and the colonel won't be allowed on base."

"You mean..." Daniel began.

Sam gave gesture to the words that wouldn't come from him. "Yes, it means you're officially on unpaid leave."

"Oh," Daniel said.

"Huh," Jack said.

"But what about you and Teal'c?" Daniel asked.

"I have no fault in the matter," Teal'c informed them, imperious and forthright.

"I asked you if you wanted to file charges," Sam said, casting a look of self-righteous innocence on her face.

"What about all that talk about the keeping the team together, Major?" Jack asked.

"Well, sir," she said, gathering her notebook, "I was serious about all that, at the time. Now? Well, there's this 1968 Mustang I've been eyeing, and I could really use my two weeks pay."

"And I have been considering upgrading my home theater system," Teal'c said, rounding the table to join Sam in her haughty virtue.

"How nice for you both," Jack said, sneering at them.

"Permission to be—"

"Oh, just go," Jack said, flipping his hand through the air. Sam and Teal'c began to leave, but not before Teal'c paused at Jack's side, offered Jack a smile filled with the knowledge of their recent past, and showed him a sign of his respect. Jack patted Teal'c's arm, and the Jaffa and Sam left the two men alone.

Daniel tapped his pen against his forehead.

Jack, knowing he needed to set just the right tone, and knowing there was still a tremendous chasm between them, decided he should be the first to speak.

Feigning nonchalance, Jack asked, "So, how've you been?"

"Oh, fine. Fine. You?"

"Not too bad, you know, considering."

"Good, good."

"How's the jaw?"

"Oh, that? Fine. Fine."

"I'll pay for any dental bills. Just...you know, send them to me."

Daniel nodded and said, "Yeah, the, uh, government—they kind of took care of that already."

"Oh, right."

"Yeah."

So much for setting a tone, Jack thought.

It's going to take a lot of time, Daniel thought. He stood up to leave, deciding things would be better if they took it slowly, and it would be better if this coalescing didn't happen all at once. It would be better if Daniel could get in the hall and shake out his twitching arms...

"Daniel?" Jack said, and Daniel stopped at the door. Jack pressed himself out of his chair, winced a bit, and paused before coming face to face with his friend. He needed to do more. It wasn't right, not yet. Maybe it never would be, but he had to try. "Now that we're on leave, did you have any plans?"

Daniel pressed his folder to his lips and closed his eyes, thinking. "Nothing off the top of my head, no. Why?"

"What do you know about roofing?"

"Roofing?"

"I'm talking about that thing you put on top of a house."

"Isn't that a chimney?"

"No, that's what goes through a house."

"Oh, right. So...roofing, you say?"

"Right."

Daniel thought about it. "No. No. I can't say I know anything about—"

"Well, I know a little."

"Really."

"It's actually not that hard. You take some shingles, a nail gun..."

"Actually, you know, I've always wanted to shoot one of those," Daniel said, stepping into the hall. Jack walked alongside.

"Tell you what," Jack said, a gesture of excitement coming through his hands, "I'll let you be in charge of it."

"So where's this roof?" Daniel asked, adopting a relaxed pace down the hall.

"Minnesota."

"Aren't there mosquitoes and black flies in Minnesota?"

"Nah, not this time of year," he said, giving Daniel's shoulder a squeeze. "It's too damn cold yet." A certain black pen, square and shaped like a hockey stick, caught Jack's eye, and it happened to be sticking out of Daniel's breast pocket. "Daniel..." Jack ripped the pen from Daniel's pocket.

"How'd that..." Daniel said, trying to act innocent. It wasn't even close to working, so he frowned, shifted his weight and said, "I was just borrowing it."

Jack looked at the pen, looked at Daniel. He remembered a time when Charlie would wear Jack's old watch around. It slung loose on his tiny wrist, but it was a connection when Jack was deployed, far away from his son. And here was Daniel, carrying around a souvenir pen that Jack had picked up in Chicago years ago.

It wasn't right yet. Not quite. There needed to be more. Jack could feel it. He twirled the pen between his fingers, hoping he could come up with the right thing to say.

"When I hit you...I was..." Nope, that wasn't it. He tried again, this time looking Daniel square in the eye. "I'm sorry, Daniel," he said. "I can't tell you how..." Jack took a deep breath, having forgotten to breathe in the last few moments. "But I want you to know, you're a good friend, and..."

"I know." Daniel simply nodded, let a gentle smile work its way across his lips. "We're good."

Jack searched Daniel's eyes. "Good."

"So, about the pen," Daniel said, continuing on down the hall.

"Tell you what," Jack said, touching Daniel's arm, halting him. Jack opened the flap on Daniel's pocket, slid the pen inside, and allowed his hand to linger for a moment. He patted Daniel on the arm, and said, "You can have it."

Daniel squinted down at the pen, and after a moment up at Jack. He knew the exchange had very little to do with a pen and everything to do with friendship. Daniel felt empty spaces filling up, murky borders becoming defined. Jack had given him so many things through the years—helping to fill a once voided future, helping to regain a lost past—that the acceptance of this simple gift seemed to be a continuation, a renewal of their powerful alliance.

"Thank you," Daniel said, and with a mischievous glint in his eye, he added, "I'd rather have the Mont Blanc in your desk, though."

"I have a Mont Blanc?" Jack asked, having no idea where that had come from.

Daniel thought it over, and realized it hadn't been Jack's desk. He grabbed Jack's elbow and ushered him down the hall. "So, Jack, your cabin, which I'm assuming is what needs a roof—it has indoor plumbing, right?"

"What do you know about hot water heaters?"

The End

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