TITLE: Between the Lines
AUTHOR: Sunrise
WEBSITE: http://dawnsunrise.tripod.com/stargate.html
FEEDBACK: sunrize83@gmail.com
CATEGORY: GEN, Friendship, H/C
PAIRING: None
RATING: PG-13
DATE: September 16, 2004
STATUS: Complete
SEASON/SPOILERS: Post-ep for "Need"
ARCHIVE: Alphagate, Comfort Zone, Stargatefan, Gengate

SYNOPSIS: He couldn't undo the mistakes he'd made. But maybe 
he could stop Daniel from duplicating them.

NOTES: Thanks to Jo for her thorough and speedy beta, and to my 
heart sisters for advice and encouragement. This one's for babs, 
who wanted a "Need" fic.

WARNINGS: None

DISCLAIMER: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property 
of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and 
Gekko Productions. No copyright infringement whatsoever is 
intended. The story is for entertainment purposes only. The 
original situations and story are mine. Please check with me first if 
you want to archive or link to this story.


Between the Lines
By Sunrise


Jack eased the truck to a stop and turned off the ignition. Letting 
the back of his skull thump against the headrest, he gazed out the 
windshield at the fiery reds, oranges, and yellows of a spectacular 
sunset. His insides felt raw, bruised, a sharp contrast to the 
tranquility communicated by the beauty before him.

Rousing himself, he turned to the passenger seat. Daniel sat rigidly 
upright, arms wrapped around his middle as if to keep himself 
from flying apart.

//Too late.//

Crouched on the floor of a storeroom, heart pounding from the 
adrenaline rush--had that really only been yesterday?-- he'd 
watched Daniel shatter into a million pieces. 

Daniel. The guy who'd held it together through that first, nearly 
disastrous trip to Abydos, through the loss of his wife, through 
freaky quantum mirrors that led to alternate realities, through 
death--and how the hell many times was that now?

Daniel had come unglued, crumpling into a shivering, sobbing 
tangle of arms and legs.

And Jack had finally--for the first time during the whole, gut-
wrenching, nightmarish, screwed-up mission--bought a clue. 
Sweat-soaked skin. Tremors. Paranoia. Suddenly he recognized the 
face staring at him through those wild eyes.

It was his own.

He shut his eyes, as if that could somehow block out the host of 
images that paraded through his mind.

"Second thoughts?" The voice was nearly unrecognizable, rough 
and gravelly from too little sleep and too many tears. Jack opened 
his eyes and found Daniel gazing impassively back at him. "No 
one would blame you, least of all me."

"Huh?" Jack frowned a little as his overtaxed brain struggled to 
keep up.

"You did a nice thing, springing me from the infirmary. I know 
how hard you had to fight Janet before she gave in. But I also 
know you can be a little...impulsive when it comes to looking out 
for the rest of us."

"What the hell are you... I am *not* impulsive!"

"The point is, I understand if you're starting to regret your 
decision." Daniel twisted his lips into a bitter little smile. "Hell, 
even *I* don't want to be around me right now."

Jack's heart lurched. Daniel might be trying for stoic, but with his 
tousled hair and shadowed eyes, he looked more like a puppy 
waiting to be kicked. "No regrets. No second thoughts." He 
climbed out of the truck, leaned back inside and stabbed a finger at 
Daniel. "I am *not* impulsive. Now get your ass in the house 
before I really do change my mind."

"Jack."

"Daniel."

As he'd expected, his friend gave in with a soft sigh. Daniel was 
running on vapors, with no energy to spare for one of their heated 
exchanges. Jack only wished the circumstances were different so 
he could truly enjoy it.

He bit the inside of his cheek, keeping his expression carefully 
neutral as he watched Daniel get out of the truck and make his way 
unsteadily up to the front door. When his hands twitched to take 
his friend's elbow, he shoved them in his pockets.

"Something to drink?" He shut the door and jingled the keys in his 
palm.

Daniel stumbled, caught himself, and wobbled over to the couch. 
"How about some coffee?"

"How about...no."

"Jack."

"Milk, water, or juice?"

Daniel gritted his teeth and his hands curled into fists. "Coffee."

Jack mentally counted to five. It wasn't as if he hadn't been 
warned. "You heard Fraiser. No caffeine, no stimulants of any 
kind."

Daniel pounded his fists on his thighs. "Oh, screw Fraiser! Since 
when do you listen to her?"

"Milk. Water. Or juice."

His exaggeratedly calm reply snuffed Daniel's fire. His friend 
tucked chin to chest and scrubbed at his forehead, shielding his 
eyes. "Water."

In the kitchen, Jack pulled the water pitcher from the refrigerator 
and set it on the counter. He'd opened the cupboard and was 
reaching for a glass when a vivid image of Daniel, folded into a 
corner and waving a loaded gun, stayed his hand. Bracing his 
palms on the counter, Jack took a deep breath and slowly released 
it.

The little shit was right.

Second thoughts? How about fourth or fifth? Daniel was stretched 
tighter than a rubberband right now, depressed, angry, a time bomb 
waiting to explode. What the hell had he been thinking, bringing 
him here?

He knew exactly what he'd been thinking. Even distracted by 170 
pounds of distraught archeologist in his arms, he'd seen the looks. 
On the less-than-poker faces of the SFs who'd burst into the 
storage room. In the nurses' eyes as they'd given Daniel a sedative 
and helped Jack settle him in bed. 

Disbelief. Embarrassment. A little bit of contempt. And a whole lot 
of pity.

Daniel was hands down the brightest guy Jack had ever known. 
Not the kind of smarts that came out of books, but the intuitive, 
out-of-the-box genius that couldn't be taught. The man had solved 
the mystery of the Stargate in two weeks, saved Earth from certain 
destruction--he'd even rescued Jack's sorry ass before he and Carter 
could turn into popsicles.

No way in hell should anyone--*anyone*--look at Dr. Daniel 
Jackson with pity, let alone contempt. Jack had made up his mind, 
then and there, that Daniel wouldn't spend a minute more than was 
absolutely necessary in the fishbowl of an infirmary. He'd argued 
his case, eloquently, heatedly, some might even say pigheadedly, 
with Fraiser. And he'd won.

God help him, he'd won. 

Too bad he'd never really considered what he'd do with Daniel 
once he got him here. Or that watching Daniel suffer through this 
nightmare might dredge up a few bad dreams of his own.

Impulsive? Yeah, sure, you betcha.

Jack put away the pitcher and pulled out a bottle of water instead. 
Plastic. Unbreakable. Safe. He pasted on a smile and sauntered into 
the living room.

Daniel was...gone. Jack froze just inside the doorway, tightening 
his grip on the water bottle's cool, slick surface. A thousand 
nameless fears hit him low, in the belly, sucking the air from his 
lungs. He'd left him. Damn it, he should never have left him.

The unmistakable sounds of retching drifted down the hallway, and 
suddenly he could breathe again. Jack headed for the bathroom, 
shaking his head. He'd been reduced to finding reassurance in 
Daniel's puking--how sick was that?

Daniel was on the floor, curled around the commode, his forehead 
pressed against the porcelain rim. He lifted his head, spat into the 
bowl, and glared. "Get out, Jack."

Wrinkling his nose, Jack flicked on the fan and dangled the water 
in front of Daniel. "Rinse, don't swallow, or it'll come right back 
up."

"I came here to get away from nurses a hell of a lot prettier than 
you." Daniel snatched the bottle and twisted off the lid. "And I'll 
swallow if I damn well feel like it." But he swigged, swished, and 
spat.

Jack's temper flared, but Daniel's ashen face and shaking hands 
kept it in check. "You finished?"

The soft, patient tone caught Daniel's attention. He cocked an 
eyebrow as he held the water bottle to his temple. "Puking? Or 
bitching?"

It took a moment for Jack to register the dark humor in his friend's 
raspy voice. He grabbed a washcloth off the bar, wet it with cold 
water, and crouched beside Daniel, offering it with just the hint of 
a smile. "Puking. I figure you've got an endless supply of the 
other."

Daniel twitched his lips in a weak smile. He wiped his face, then 
pressed the cloth to the back of his neck. The spark of humor 
slowly faded from his eyes. "I don't think I can do this anymore."

The withdrawal or SG-1? Jack wasn't sure he wanted to know. 
Either way, the answer was the same. "Yeah, you can." 

He stood up to cut off any further conversation and held out a 
hand. Daniel stared at it for a long moment before tentatively 
placing his own in Jack's. Jack hauled him upright and tugged one 
arm over his shoulders, ignoring Daniel's flinch at the unexpected 
close contact. He muscled them both through the narrow doorway-
-no small feat--and half dragged, half carried his friend back to the 
couch. By the time he'd deposited Daniel on the cushions they 
were both panting and drenched with sweat. 

"What have you been eating lately--lead?" Jack collapsed into the 
armchair, mopping his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.

Daniel tipped his head onto the back of the couch and shut his 
eyes. There was a long uncomfortable silence. Jack had begun to 
hope Daniel had finally slipped into much needed sleep when his 
friend spoke, his voice emotionless. "I'm quitting the team."

He replied from the gut, all emotion and no thought. "Over my 
dead body."

Daniel cracked open an eye. "Almost."

"Daniel--"

"I've made up my mind, Jack. I'll get the request to the General as 
soon as my hands stop shaking long enough for me to type it."

"Hammond will never accept it."

Daniel laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Hammond never wanted 
me on the team in the first place! He was afraid I might just get the 
rest of you killed--which I nearly did."

"Hammond didn't *know* you then, Daniel. He had no reason to 
trust you, and he was pissed as hell you'd been playing hooky on 
Abydos for the past year. And just for the record, *you* were the 
one he was afraid might wind up dead--which you *have*. It's a 
nasty habit I've been meaning to talk to you about."

"Why would you want me?"

The soft question took him completely by surprise. "What?"

Daniel sat forward, pinning his clasped hands between his knees. 
"Why would you want me to be a part of SG-1? I screwed up, let 
you all down! You were dying in that mine and I...I..."

"You screwed up. Yeah, I got that. You're not the only one who 
made a mistake on this mission, you know." 

Daniel lurched to his feet and began pacing, waving his arms. 
"Don't patronize me! Who's the one who got us captured in the first 
place? Who's the one who ruined our one chance to escape? And 
let's not forget who's the one who kept climbing into the damn box. 
Seems to me the mistakes are all mine."

Jack ran his fingers through his hair. Fraiser had grudgingly 
allowed him to take Daniel home provided Jack keep him as calm 
and quiet as possible. Somehow he didn't think this was what she 
had in mind. 

"Who's the CO who was so busy executing an escape that he left 
one of his people behind?" 

Daniel's head snapped around. He lost his already precarious 
balance and stumbled into the coffee table, barking his shins. Jack 
shot out of his chair and grasped his friend by the shoulders as he 
pitched toward the floor. To his surprise, Daniel shoved him away 
and staggered backwards, his eyes wild.

"Don't! Just...don't."

Jack raised both hands. "All right, all right. Take it easy. I was just 
trying to help."

"I don't need your help." 

It should have pissed him off, except Jack clearly heard the 
meaning behind Daniel's words.

//I don't *deserve* your help.//

He scrambled for something, *anything* to say, hating the 
overwhelming feeling of helplessness that stilled his tongue. Why 
had he ever thought he could do this? This was exactly why his 
marriage had failed--he sucked at the emotional stuff. Daniel was 
floundering, and Jack was standing on shore, watching him go 
down. 

"Daniel. Why did you get in the sarcophagus?"

Daniel recoiled as if slapped. Then slowly he straightened his 
shoulders and met Jack's eyes, a condemned man facing his 
executioner. "Because it took away all the doubt, all the fear. I felt 
like I could do anything I set my mind to, and not fail."

"It made you feel invincible."

Daniel looked away, his throat working. "It made me feel worthy."

Jack's throat tightened painfully. He tamped down on the instinct 
to pull Daniel into a hug, giving him the space he seemed to need. 
Instead he concentrated on making his voice as soothing as 
possible. "The first time. Once you were healed. Why did you get 
back inside?"

Daniel squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing. "Trust."

"Trust?"

Daniel's voice dropped to a whisper. "'Trust me and I'll trust you.' 
It was the only way I could convince her."

Anger ambushed Jack, flushing his face and pounding behind his 
eyes. "Shyla?"

"I didn't know." Daniel searched Jack's face, tears welling in his 
eyes and overflowing. "I swear I...I didn't *know*, Jack. If I had, 
I'd have never... And then I...I couldn't stop."

"I know." Jack ground the words out through clenched teeth, long 
buried memories flashing through his brain. 

"You were down in that hell hole--you, and Sam, and Teal'c. 
Beaten. Starving. *Dying.*  While I was...and Sha're...God!" His 
voice broke and he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. 
"I'm so ashamed."

To hell with Daniel's space. Jack took two steps and jerked his 
friend into a bear hug. "It's okay. We're all okay, Daniel. And you 
will be, too."

Daniel clutched his shirt with both hands, his face buried in Jack's 
shoulder. "I'm sorry, Jack. I'm so sorry."

Shaken by his own memories and the force of Daniel's grief, Jack 
did the only thing he could. He held on.

*************************

He had the phone in his hand before his muddled brain could 
register it had rung. Jack squinted blearily at the alarm clock. 6:03. 
Judging from darkness outside his bedroom window, PM, not AM.

"Hello?"

The short hesitation told him it was Carter before she spoke. 
"...Sir? I'm sorry...did I wake you?"

Jack ran a hand down his face and smacked his lips. Ugh. Note to 
self: Never fall asleep immediately after ingesting a ham and Swiss 
on rye. With extra pickles. "We're a little off schedule around here. 
No need to apologize."

"We--that is, Teal'c and I--wanted to see how everyone was 
doing."

"I'm fine, Captain. Thank you for asking."

Silence. "Yes...um...well..."

Jack swung his legs over the side of the bed, grinning. Sometimes 
Carter was just too easy. "He's hanging in there. It was a rough 
afternoon." He stood and stretched, suppressing a groan of 
satisfaction when his spine popped. "You still at the mountain?"

"Just getting ready to leave. Actually, we were hoping we could 
bring you and Daniel some dinner."

"Gonna check him out for yourself, huh? What--you don't trust 
me?"

He heard laughter in her tone. "Not really, sir."

"It'd have to be something mild. His stomach is still pretty dicey."

"See you in about an hour?"

"It's a date."

Jack disconnected and set the phone on its cradle. He made a quick 
stop in the bathroom, then headed down the hallway to guestroom. 

By the time Daniel had regained his composure, the adrenaline 
rush had ebbed, leaving him punch drunk with exhaustion. Jack 
had manhandled him into the guestroom where he'd promptly 
sprawled face down across the bed and passed out, still fully 
dressed. After tugging off Daniel's shoes, covering him with a 
blanket, and downing a quick sandwich, Jack had retreated to his 
own bed and done likewise.

A check of the guestroom revealed a still dead-to-the-world 
Daniel, now on his back with one arm tossed over his head and the 
other curled across his stomach. For the first time, his sleep 
seemed peaceful, free of the muscle spasms and restless twitches 
that had plagued him while drugged in the infirmary. While he was 
certain there would be some difficult days ahead, Jack hoped 
they'd weathered the worst of the withdrawal. Resisting the 
impulse to check for fever, Jack shut the door and continued on to 
the kitchen.

Caffeine. He might be in better shape than Daniel (which at this 
point wasn't saying much), but his body was still feeling the 
mileage he'd put on in the mine. The little impromptu nap was like 
a thimbleful of water--it just made him crave more. 

Still, brewing a pot of coffee would be cruel and unusual 
punishment for the man currently drooling on the bed in the next 
room. Jack snagged a Coke from the fridge and popped the top, 
collapsing into a chair with a soft grunt. 

Without Daniel as a distraction, he was too tired to evade the 
memories that had been circling like vultures. Pain and a relentless, 
gnawing hunger that would never be satisfied. Fear and guilt 
camouflaged by sharp, angry words and clever excuses. Regret. 
Shame.

Jack propped his elbows on the table, burying his face in his hands. 
He'd asked himself why he'd brought Daniel here, but deep down 
he knew the answer: restitution. Not for Daniel, though God knows 
he should have done a better job protecting the civilian on his 
team. No, this was payback for the people whose lives and hearts 
he'd torn apart nine years ago. He couldn't undo the mistakes he'd 
made. But maybe he could stop Daniel from duplicating them.

"Jack?"

He jerked upright, his elbow tipping the half-full soda can onto its 
side where it rolled gently back and forth in an expanding brown 
puddle. Cursing, he picked it up and lunged for the roll of paper 
towels next to the sink. Four or five sheets, coupled with his 
lightening reflexes, contained the mess before it could spread to 
the floor.

When he finally looked up, Daniel was still propped in the 
doorway, looking rumpled and confused. For some reason Jack 
couldn't have named, it fueled his irritation.

"What are ya doing standing there? Sit down, for Pete's sake." He 
barked it in his command voice while dumping the soiled paper 
towels in the trash and grabbing a sponge to wipe down the table.

When he looked up again, Daniel was gone. Great. Jack pitched 
the sponge into the sink and stood with his hands propped on his 
hips. After a moment the quiet murmur of the television filtered in 
from the living room. Jack rubbed the back of his neck, then 
headed out for some damage control.

Daniel was curled in the corner of the couch, remote in hand, his 
face an expressionless mask. Sleep had softened the lines around 
his eyes and mouth, but he was still three shades too pale. Jack 
shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered over to take a seat 
on the opposite end. When Daniel didn't acknowledge his 
presence, he glanced at the television. Huh. Football? A sure sign 
Daniel was staring through, rather than at, the screen.

"I still don't understand."

Daniel's quiet statement pulled Jack's attention from the game. His 
friend continued to gaze at the screen, his jaw clenched.

"That makes two of us."

Sarcasm was usually an effective way to get a rise out of Daniel. It 
worked like a charm. He clicked off the TV, tossed the remote onto 
the coffee table, and glared at Jack.

"You were pissed at me. I know I... The sarcophagus might have 
turned me into a bastard, but my memory is intact. You were 
furious when I left you and Sam and Teal'c in that mine, and you 
were still mad as hell when we finally got back to the SGC."

There was no point denying it. "You're damn right I was."

Daniel widened his eyes at the unexpected honesty. "So why am I 
here? And even more important..." He looked away, swallowing 
hard. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"You'd rather I was a bastard, too? I'll admit, it's a bit of a stretch 
for me, but--"

"Maybe." When Jack raised both eyebrows, Daniel shrugged. "I'm 
not big on surprises. If you're holding back because you think I'm 
too fragile to take it, you're wrong. I'd really rather get it over with 
now."

"*It*?"

Daniel nodded.

"As in...?"

"Cold shoulder, snide remarks, kicking me off the team."

"Excuse me? Were you absent when I went over the part about not 
accepting your resignation?"

"I heard you."

The irritation was building again, but Jack tamped it down. "Then 
maybe you can explain why I'd boot you off SG-1 myself?"

"Because sooner or later your head will catch up with your heart, 
and you'll do what has to be done."

"I will?"

"You know I'm right."

Jack searched Daniel's face for any sign of self-pity, but found 
only regret. "Daniel... Do you believe in second chances?"

Daniel frowned. "It depends."

"On?"

"The situation. Jack, if you're suggesting that I--"

"I knew a guy, Air Force, good officer, lots of commendations. A 
mission went sour and he was shot down behind enemy lines. The 
crash should have killed him, but by some miracle he not only 
survived, he walked out. Well--crawled. Spent four weeks in a 
crappy little third world hospital before he was strong enough to be 
medivaced out."

"Jack--"

"Shut up, Daniel."

Daniel pressed his lips together, and wrapped himself up in a hug.

"Tell you something about that hospital--it was understaffed and it 
didn't have the best facilities, but it had good drugs. And the nurses 
were quick to offer them, especially if it kept things quiet. By the 
time the guy landed stateside, he was carrying a hell of a monkey 
on his back. He just didn't know it."

Daniel was watching him closely now. "You mean...?"

"Morphine. The doc here weaned him off the hard stuff right away, 
but the damage was done. Nothing else *worked* the way the 
morphine did. He was in excruciating pain--broken bones, still 
healing internal injuries--and they expected him to pop a couple 
Tylenol for it? How could everyone be so cruel? No one 
understood, not the doctors, not his wife..."

Jack stood and walked over to the window. A headache throbbed 
behind his left eye and the Coke he'd consumed burned his 
stomach. "I'll spare you the gory details--the lies, the subterfuge. 
Let's just say by the time the idiot owned up to his problem, he'd 
done some damn distasteful things and put his family through 
hell."

"But Sara and Charlie forgave you."

Jack smiled to himself, despite the ache in his gut. He'd known 
Daniel would catch on. "Yeah. They did." He turned to face his 
friend. "Because Sara believed in second chances. And so do I."

Daniel shook his head, wrapping his arms more tightly around his 
middle. "It's not the same, Jack. I endangered--"

"I was high when I was supposed to be watching my son."

Daniel stared at him, lips parted in shock.

"I wish I could say it happened only once, but it didn't. One day 
Sara came home early to find Charlie playing in the backyard and 
me passed out on the couch. It was the final straw for her, and a 
wake-up call for me.

"She had every right to boot my ass to the curb, but she didn't. She 
believed me when I said I'd get help. And when I promised it 
would never happen again."

Daniel's voice was rough. "It won't."

"I know, Daniel. *That's* why you're still on the team."

Daniel didn't say anything, but he relaxed the death grip on his 
body. He was silent for a long time before speaking. "Sara didn't 
believe in third chances?"

The question caught him unprepared, swift and merciless as a 
strategically placed knife. "Sara wasn't the one who didn't believe 
in them."

Daniel ducked his head. "I'm sorry. I never should have--"

Jack waved him off and returned to the couch, weariness turning 
his bones to lead. "It's one of life's great ironies that I was 
completely straight when Charlie got ahold of my gun and.... If I 
hadn't been, I don't think we'd be having this conversation. As it 
was, well...I wasn't as willing as Sara to let me off the hook."

"You can't forgive yourself, but sometimes you can forget." Daniel 
drew in a shaky breath. "I think I understand now."

"You've always been your own biggest critic, Daniel." Jack smiled. 
"Guess maybe that's one thing we have in common."

The doorbell rang before Daniel could respond. Jack grabbed the 
remote and leaned back into the cushions, jerking a thumb over his 
shoulder. "That's for you."

He watched Denver mop up the field with Chicago, one ear on the 
game and the other on the activity at the door.

"Daniel." From the corner of his eye he saw Carter pull Daniel into 
a hug. "You look...um..."

Daniel sounded amused. "I know what I look like, Sam. You don't 
have to beat around the bush."

"Has not O'Neill been performing his role in your convalescence, 
Daniel Jackson?"

"For cryin' out loud, T, I've had him all of twelve hours! Cut me a 
little slack, will ya?" Jack scowled at the Jaffa as they filed into the 
living room.

"Oh, you, um, brought...food." Daniel's tone was distinctly 
unenthusiastic as he eyed the white paper sacks.

"It is our contribution to your recovery. Soon you will regain your 
strength, and your place on SG-1."

//Good going, T!// Jack gave Teal'c an almost imperceptible nod 
and the Jaffa inclined his head.

"Don't worry, Daniel. The Colonel told me you'd been feeling 
queasy so I picked things that will be easy on your stomach." Sam 
patted one of the bags and placed it in Daniel's hands. "Egg drop 
soup, rice." She grinned at him. "Maybe even an almond cookie if 
you eat all your dinner."

Daniel blinked, clearly overwhelmed. Jack knew he was bitterly 
regretting some harsh words he'd traded with Carter. He sent her a 
nod of her own and received a wink in response.

Daniel had opened the sack was sniffing appreciatively. "Weeell, 
maybe I could eat a little."

Jack stood and gave him a pat on the back. "That's my boy. Carter, 
break out the plates. I'm taking drink orders." 

As Carter led the way into the kitchen, Daniel hung back, snagging 
Jack's elbow. "Jack, I...um...that is...thanks."

"Don't thank me, thank Carter. Dinner was her idea."

Daniel rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do. But that doesn't mean we have to *discuss* it. It's 
implied."

"*Implied*?"

"Unspoken. You know, between the lines." Jack slung an arm 
around Daniel's shoulders. "There's a lot of that with us, Daniel. I 
thought you understood."

This time Daniel didn't flinch, and a slow smile curved his lips. 
"Oh. I, um...I guess I do."

Jack gave him a squeeze, then a gentle shove toward the kitchen. 
"Then what are you waiting for? Lead the way, Dannyboy. Soup's 
on."

End