Chapter Text
“Jack O’Neill?” Daniel Jackson repeated, the words echoing around in his head.
“Indeed,” his manager, T, confirmed with a dip of his head.
Daniel swallowed heavily and glanced sideways at his partner, Sam Carter. “As in the only male player to hold the world number one ranking in singles and doubles? The Jack O’Neill with 77 singles titles and 77 doubles titles? The Jack O’Neill who won Wimbledon and the US Open eight times?” Daniel’s voice rose. “As in my childhood hero, Jack O’Neill?”
“Yup, that’s the one.” Jack O’Neill’s voice was full of clear amusement as he walked into the room, taking a seat next to T. “You know your stuff.”
“Oh, fuck.” Daniel groaned and buried his head in his arms on the table. Sam leaned over and rubbed his back, silently reminding him to breathe. “Fuck,” he moaned under his breath, trying to work through the adrenalin crashing through his system, his heart racing. Of all the ways he’d ever imagined meeting Jack O’Neill, the older man being his new coach had never been one. It also didn’t seem like his teenage crush had faded – if anything, with the way Jack looked now, his hair mostly grey and slightly longer, wearing a faded ATP t-shirt and baggy blue jeans that did nothing to hide the fact he still kept in shape, Daniel privately thought he looked better than he ever had.
“Ah, but are you as good on the court as you are at rattling off my career stats?”
An awkward silence fell over the room, punctuated by the squeak of a leather chair spinning. Sam elbowed him in the ribs and he realised that not only was Jack waiting for him to say something, but that the floor hadn’t opened up and swallowed him whole - so he was still sitting with his head buried in his arms on the table. Not exactly the best first impression.
Daniel exhaled slowly and forced himself to sit up, to find T and Jack watching him; T with his usual unreadable expression, and Jack looking relaxed yet as if Daniel were a problem he was already trying to solve.
“So,” Jack continued when Daniel met his gaze. “Daniel Jackson. Current ranking 161, but a career high of 27. You’re the son of doubles champions Melburn and Claire Ballard Jackson, and the grandson of the great Nicholas Ballard. You shunned tennis as a kid after your parents died, which I get. You went off and studied…” he paused, looking thoughtful. “What was it, archaeology?”
“My mom and Nick both studied archaeology, and I did more than just study it – I got a PhD from UCLA.” Daniel couldn’t quite keep the defensive tone from his voice, and he felt himself tense up, sitting straighter in his chair. “And yes, I stopped playing. Because every time I picked up a racquet, I remembered getting thrown from the car in the crash that killed my parents, and then my not-so-great grandfather choosing his career over raising me. It puts you off.”
“But you started playing in college.”
Daniel nodded but didn’t speak, not trusting his voice. Sam touched his arm gently and he looked over at her. The concerned expression on her face helped calm him down, and he gave her a grateful look before taking a sip from the half-forgotten cup of coffee sitting on the table in front of him.
“You got your first doubles title in Charlottesville with,” Jack snapped his fingers. “Steven Rayner a year after turning pro. Then you won the doubles at Tyler and… uh, somewhere else.”
“Bloomfield Hills.”
“That’s the one. You reached the 2nd round of the US Open in 2018 and then again in 2021, the 2nd round at Roland Garros and Wimbledon in 2021, and the quarter final of the US Open in 2018. How’m I doing so far?”
Licking his lips, Daniel nodded wordlessly again. His mind was racing – Jack O’Neill not only knew who he was but knew the details of his career. He took another gulp of coffee, his hands only shaking a little.
Jack turned his attention to Sam. “Samantha Carter, but you go by Sam. Current ranking 34. Your dad is Jacob Carter. I played him a couple of times - that backspin on his dropshot was lethal.” His eyebrow rose at the glare on Sam’s face and he smirked. “And you don’t like being compared to your father. You play doubles with Janet Fraiser and the two of you were runners up in Cleveland in 2021, won in Quebec the same year and Austin last year. You got to the first rounds in Australia, France and our very own US Open in 2022, first round in Roland Garros and 2nd round at Wimbledon last year.”
Sam lifted her chin, a stubborn set to her mouth. “And the semi-final of the Billie Jean King cup in 2022.”
“Of course,” Jack met her eyes with an easy smile, then sat back in his chair to look at both Sam and Daniel. “You two were all set to win the Australian semis this year, right up until Daniel here served hard enough to pop his appendix,” he pointed a lazy but uncannily accurate finger at Daniel’s belly, as if the long scar there were visible through Daniel’s shirt. Daniel fought the urge to shift in his seat, his hand subconsciously rubbing his side. “Can’t imagine how much that must have sucked. Even worse,” Jack’s finger flicked up to point at Daniel’s shoulder. “It was your first tournament back after you tore that rotator cuff in the Wimbledon semis last year. Apparently you’re a bit of an over-achiever, which is why I’m here. And we’re not getting anything done sitting here talking so why don’t you kids meet me on the court in 15 minutes and I’ll see where we’re at?”
*****
“You decent?” Sam stuck her head around the changing room door and frowned. Daniel had changed into his usual black t-shirt and khaki shorts and was pacing back and forth, swinging his racquet in his hand, not seeming to have heard or noticed her at all. “Daniel?”
He looked up at the sound of her voice and flashed her a weak smile. “Hey, Sam.”
“Hey yourself.” She sat down on the closest bench and pulled one knee up, tightening the laces of her sneaker. “You OK?” she asked casually, not looking up – she knew Daniel well enough not to push, but to give him space and he’d talk if he needed to. And she knew he needed to - his whole body was basically vibrating with tension, and she suspected it was more than just due to meeting his tennis idol. He’d been nowhere near this uneasy when they’d met any other players he'd admired.
He stopped pacing, leaning back against the wall. He lifted his racquet and stared at it before waving it at her.
“Which end do I hit the ball with?”
She raised an eyebrow, and Daniel laughed humourlessly and let his head fall back. “Jack O’Neill. Why did T have to pick him?”
“Your childhood idol.”
“Yeah. I had his pictures all over my wall and now… Fuck!”
“And now he’s out there, waiting to watch us – you - play.”
“Fuck,” Daniel repeated.
“So, what aren’t you telling me?”
“I’m not-”
“Uh-huh. Daniel, I’ve known you since we were both playing college tennis. You haven’t been this weird since… well, ever.”
Daniel crossed the room again and sat down next to her, staring at the floor. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and took a deep breath. “I… he… Jack…”
“Yup, got that bit.”
He lifted his head long enough to roll his eyes at her and give her a withering look. “This isn’t easy, Sam!” He sighed. “You know how most teenage boys fantasise about models or actresses or…”
“Oh.” Sam’s eyes widened at the realisation. “You-”
“Yeah.”
Sam giggled. She couldn’t help herself. “You jacked off to Jack.”
“Sam!”
“You practiced playing with balls for him.”
“Sam!”
“Are you hoping he’s going to help you work on your double-handed stroke?” she teased, good-naturedly.
Daniel blushed. “I’m gonna regret telling you this, aren’t I?”
“Nope.” She took pity on him at that, wrapped her arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a hug. “My lips are sealed. He’ll never hear it from me.”
“It really doesn’t help that he’s still fucking gorgeous. I swear he’s actually better looking now; the silver fox thing really works for him.”
“He might not need to hear it from me,” Sam said dryly. “He’s going to be able to tell,” she clarified at his confused look. “Sorry.” She stood up and offered him a hand.
“But he’s waiting for us, so we should…” She trailed off when Daniel didn’t take her hand, instead absent-mindedly rolling, then rubbing, his shoulder. “Daniel?”
“What if I can’t do this anymore, Sam?” he asked softly. “You heard him, I’ve been out nearly a year. You and Janet are doing so well, you’re at career high singles and doubles rankings and I…”
“Oh, Daniel.” She knelt down in front of him and hugged him tighter. “And I play my best tennis when I’m with you. We got to the Wimbledon semi-final, remember? We did that. Not me and Janet, you and me. We did it before, we’ll do it again and next time we’ll win.” She smiled brightly at him and this time he smiled back at her, nodding and letting her pull him to his feet. “You can still do this, I promise. Shall we get out there and show him – and you - what we can do?”
*****
Daniel took a deep breath as he stepped through the clubhouse doors and out onto the familiar hard courts. He exhaled slowly, adjusting his grip on his bag, then pulled the brim of his hat down lower over his eyes to block out the early afternoon sun. Even though he hadn’t been actively training for months, he’d continued practicing, playing, and watching Sam and Janet train and compete, and these courts still felt like home to him, although there was something-
“Where is everyone?” Sam murmured. “I’ve never seen every court empty, Felger and Coombs are always here on a Thursday.”
“It’s eerie.” It was the quiet that got to him. He couldn’t hear any of the usual sounds of tennis; no balls on racquets or bouncing on the ground, no people running and grunting as they played. He even thought he could hear birds. “Did we walk into a zombie movie?” He laughed nervously. “I thought Elizabeth and Janet were meeting us here.”
“So did I. I think he had something to do with it.” Sam gestured towards Jack: sitting on the covered bench on the far side of the first court, three water bottles and a pile of towels with what looked like a fresh tube of balls on top of it next to him. He was leaning back on his arms, one leg bent, ankle resting on the opposite knee, relaxed but clearly watching them.
“No shit.” Daniel felt a knot in his chest, his breath catching in his throat. Jack O’Neill, on his court, in his space, felt very surreal. “I can’t do this, Sam. Is it too late to tell T I’ve changed my mind?”
“Yes, you can, and you don’t mean that – you haven’t changed your mind, you love tennis.”
Daniel sighed. “No,” he agreed. “I don’t and I do, but… did we cover that it’s Jack Fucking O’Neill?”
“Uh-huh, the great love of your teenage years,” Sam teased before turning to walk across the court. “And one of the best players, and coaches, there is. He’s waiting for us while we’re standing here like lemons so move your ass and let’s go play some tennis.”
Daniel was fairly sure his cheeks were flushing pink as he followed her across the court, fingers white knuckling his racquet.
Jack didn’t stand as they approached him. “Wasn’t sure you were gonna come back outta there.”
“Neither was I,” Daniel muttered, half under his breath.
If Jack heard him, he didn’t react. He sat up and took a drink of water, watching Sam and Daniel carefully. “What do you want?”
“You.” Daniel’s reply was almost instant, and his eyes widened as he realised what he’d said. Sam snorted and covered it with a very unconvincing cough, pressing her lips together to stop herself from laughing outright.
“Me?” Jack answered, amused. “I’m a little old for you, Danny boy.”
“You’re not. I mean, that’s not…” Daniel swore under his breath. He could feel his cheeks heating up and fought the urge to look – or run – away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam bite the inside of her cheek, obviously trying to resist the urge to step in. He always appreciated her looking out for him, something she’d done since they’d met in college, but he knew that wouldn’t help him now. He was going to have to find his own way of dealing with Jack and he was going to have to do it now, no matter how awed and intimidated he felt. Surely it couldn’t be any harder to deal with than some of his university lecturers, right?
Just as he was about to speak, Sam took a step forward, not quite moving between him and Jack. “We-”
Daniel shook his head slightly at her and she stepped back again. He squared his shoulders, lifted his chin and met Jack’s eyes.
“I want to be you.” And his voice didn’t even shake, which he was proud of.
“Me?” There was a hint of teasing in Jack’s voice but his eyes bored into Daniel. “You want to be retired, divorced, with two bum knees?”
Daniel rolled his eyes and shook his head. Was Jack being purposefully obtuse? “No,” he said firmly. “I want to be the best. World number one in doubles. ATP Player of the Year.”
“I want to win Wimbledon.” Sam was just as firm, and Daniel nodded.
“We want to win Wimbledon.”