Chapter Text
Daniel stepped through the gate alone. Sam and Teal'c and the other teams were staying behind to help Kane secure the bunker, and begin the arduous process of trying to call off a global war now that the reason for the conflict had been excised. One careful bullet, creating one martyred fanatic, dying in the ruins of his own crusade, and everything changed.
Daniel put aside thoughts of Hitler and Lenin and Mao and raised his eyebrows, because even as the swirling cold receded and he found himself banging down the familiar ramp, there was Jack coming up to meet him.
Jack wasn't waiting for him at the ramp's foot, palm to wrist behind his back in his own twist on parade-rest. He wasn't dashing in for a moment in the gate room, abstracted, to greet his old team and then rush off again to authorize other missions or deal with angry off-worlders or desperate Tok'ra or overwhelmed Jaffa or urgent paperwork. He was deliberately, eagerly, pacing up the ramp toward his prodigal, apparently having waited barely long enough for the event horizon to safely flatten before heading up to the gate.
Daniel stopped, and Jack came right up to him, grabbed him and hugged him, then held him away, pushing at his shoulders, strong hard grip, and took a good look at him and hugged him again. Daniel tried not to gasp, and had the presence of mind to hug back. This was ... different. Hell, this was one big surprise. Very big. Warmth, and weight, and the press of corded arms, and the scent of heavily starched cotton, and a star poking him in the cheek.
"Nice jacket," Jack said. "Trendy."
Then Jack turned him, slung an arm around his shoulders and walked him down the ramp and put him in the hands of the EMTs.
Jack didn't joke, didn't bitch, didn't say anything substantive at all until Daniel's exam was done, and, following a request conveyed by one of the base security guys, he ambled on up to Jack's office. The general wanted to see him, and so he reported to Jack's office before he'd even looked in on his own to see if someone had been feeding the fish and if he had a pile of mail. He really didn't want to see his email in-box, or face the flood of memos requesting help on untranslatable emergencies which had no doubt been set aside for him, just in case of his return, over these long weeks.
He knocked once on the doorframe and stepped in. He sank into Jack's guest chair, wincing a little and readjusting his butt so as not to press on the spot that had just been punched with the usual batch of antibiotics and boosters.
Jack got up and closed the door and sat down again, leaning his elbows on the desk and folding his hands. He whuffed out a breath. Daniel cocked his head and stared. Jack looked worn, tired, like he hadn't been getting enough sleep. He had a fresh haircut and he was clean shaven and neat, like always, but he looked haggard, and unaware of his haggard-ness. Daniel frowned.
"We'll debrief when Carter and Teal'c get back tonight, but is there anything you want to say that can't go on the record?"
Daniel nodded. So that was it. Jack was remembering Edora, and his own hundred days adrift. Daniel remembered, too, and in the long pause, he figured Jack could hear him thinking. But this was easy -- the part that was about Daniel, at least. No conflict there.
"There's actually nothing to leave out."
Jack looked askance. "I've left out plenty, in my time."
"I know. And if there were something that was your business to know, I'd tell you."
Jack recoiled. Probably no one but Daniel could have read it, but it was there in a tiny sag of his shoulders, in the way his gaze flicked to the desk and back up. He carefully folded his fingers together. Daniel realized Jack thought he had secrets that he was going to refuse to share, and that that assumption somehow hurt Jack. Daniel felt, all of a sudden, the oppressive weight of the time that had passed, the uncertainty and suppressed fear that Jack must have carried on his behalf. He also felt, in a flash, the sadness over the way a friendship can fray with time and disuse. His friendship with Jack since his return from ascension was like a finely balanced tool, honed to a sharp edge. Not fragile, but easy to blunt, easy to damage. He'd lost his touch with Jack during this unintended absence. There was a lot to relearn.
He leaned forward and put a hand flat on the desk.
"Don't misunderstand me; even if it weren't any of your business I'd still tell you. But there's nothing to tell."
Jack's face softened. Again; probably no one but Daniel (and probably Sergeant Harriman) would have even seen it.
Jack paused, and said, "Good job out there."
"Thank you," Daniel said.
***
Time lurched along. Sam and Teal'c came back. The other teams came back. The Caledonians backed down. Daniel led a two-week-long humanitarian mission with doctors and emergency relief personnel. They set up a schedule for medical aid, but, as it turned out, the rebel regime had hidden vast stockpiles of food, so that was one less thing. Communication systems were rebuilt. Provisional governments were formed. Daniel felt that for once, he had made an offworld promise that he would not end up losing sleep over. He didn't see Leta Kane again. She avoided him on the follow-up trip, and for his part, he let that ride and did not ask to see her.
The day Daniel got back, Jack took some leave. Daniel was only a little surprised. Sam had obliquely told him just how upset the general had been while he was gone. Daniel knit his brow, but didn't ask her any questions, and with a pregnant look, she let it go. He was tired, and drained, and had forgotten what Earth looked like, so he also asked for, and got, some leave. Jack wasn't answering his home phone, nor his cell.
The first evening of his downtime, Daniel was sitting at his computer, skimming some back issues of Journal of Applied Linguistics over pizza, when his email pinged. It was rare that an e-mail would be flagged urgent when he was at home; hell, it was rare that it happened at the mountain, because if it was really that urgent the red phone on his wall would ring, or a siren would go off, so it struck him as exceedingly odd. He closed the window on the journal and opened the email.
The software chewed on it for a second in the blurry way that he had come to associate with encryption. Stranger and stranger. The message blinked to life. It was ten Asgard runes. Daniel did a double take. It was a phone number.
He stared at it, divided it into three, three, and four, so that he could memorize it, and deleted the message. He sat there for a minute. Then he slowly got up, found his shoes, found his keys, and drove down to the Safeway at the corner and stood outside in the chilly wind at one of the few remaining payphones in the Springs. He put in some coins and dialed. It was Jack, of course, who answered.
"Hey."
"Hey?" Daniel felt the shock of surprise from his Achilles tendons to his ass. He didn't know what to do with this. This was way too weird. NID? Some back channel attack by Kinsey's former minions? What?
"Yeah, it's me." Jack was all business. "If you'll play along, there's a reservation for you on a flight to Cancun tomorrow morning. American three-eleven, departing ten-twenty-one from DIA."
"Uh, is everything okay?" Why did Jack need him out of the country, and right away? What was wrong?
"So far... What do you say?"
"Uh, hasta manana?"
"Muy bueno." Daniel could hear the smile in his voice.
Jack broke the connection. Daniel listened to the artificial voice telling him how much more money to put in the phone, and he obeyed, not really paying attention. What was Jack up to? From his tone, this was not an emergency. But you couldn't read too much into that, because Jack could laugh about anything, anywhere. Hope, self-derision, second-guessing and worry created a revolving cascade of thoughts in Daniel's head as he slowly wandered back to his car and drove home. He had to stick to what he knew. Jack wasn't worried, and Jack was sending him to Mexico. Go with that.
Therefore, Daniel did not pack anything dangerous or even suspicious. He did take his cell and an empty new journal, and he packed like a carefree tourist. Everything he needed fit in a small carry-on that he wouldn't have to check. This was Jack's op. Or not. The thrill of anticipation crawling up and down his calves and thighs wouldn't go away, though. He didn't sleep much overnight. He slept on the plane.
***
Jack was waiting for him behind the security barrier in the airport lobby, standing still this time, his arms folded, his eyes invisible behind dark sunglasses. He was wearing one of those touristy, embroidered, all-white Mexican cotton shirts, and his knees looked knobby and vulnerable. His smile was a half-smile, quirked and reluctant, like he really didn't mean to let it show.
He took Daniel's bag out of his hand and led him through the crowded, bland airport to a rental car. Daniel pulled off his dark lenses and squinted up at the sun. It was late afternoon here, and hot, the air a heavy rich press on his face and in his lungs. He loved the tropics. He missed the tropics with a longing that even Honduras had not scratched or dented. Why did he not spend more time in the tropics, and in the desert? He looked around at the concrete and the palm trees and the white sky. He could smell the ocean. He realized Jack had dumped his bag in the back seat and was holding the door for him. He got in.
"Why don't I spend more time in the tropics? I love the tropics."
"We call it workaholism, Daniel." Jack's voice was dry and amused. He started the car, put it in gear, and drove. Daniel almost regretted the plush breeze of air conditioning. They didn't have far to go. The hotel that was Jack's destination was a nondescript highrise, one of dozens lining the beach, as close to the ocean as possible. The parking garage was dark, the elevator was empty, and when Daniel had followed Jack into their room, washed his face and pissed and kicked his shoes off, he took a long breath and went out into the main room and tried to arrive in the moment. The balcony door was open onto a small cement space, a hidden niche between two solid walls.
Daniel stepped out and found Jack. He was barefoot, too, just standing there, a beer in his hand. There was an iced coffee on the wide railing at his elbow. Daniel smiled, but at the same time, a lump rose in his throat. Jack looked out at the ocean.
Daniel shook his head, tried to shake off the tumble of emotions. He moved to stand beside Jack and sipped at his coffee. The breakers came in, steady and relentless, and they watched them for a while. The sound was faint and comforting up here, twenty stories above the sand. The beach was empty.
Jack said quietly, "You haven't asked me what we're doing here."
"No," Daniel said, setting his glass on the railing again, turning to Jack. His heart was pounding. That feeling was back, trilling along his legs, coiling in his groin.
Jack regarded him. He'd left his sunglasses in the room, and his eyes were soft. He looked rested, content. The breeze stirred his hair and lifted the collar of his shirt. Daniel found he was smiling.
Jack said, "Did I wait too long?"
"For what?"
"This," Jack said, pinning him with his glance, and he slowly stepped forward and cupped Daniel's face in his hands and kissed him.
Daniel inhaled sharply, and welcomed the kiss with everything he had. He leaned in, he put his hands over Jack's, and closed his eyes.
When he could breathe, he said, "No; I don't think so."
"Oh, good," Jack said, and kissed him again.