"Alchemy" was first published in the zine Redemption 2

Alchemy

by Corby

The boy was sitting cross-legged and hunched over by the tin-sheeted fence in the park when Daniel first saw him. The fluorescent graffiti behind him gave an ironic halo to the boy's bowed head. A cap of dark brown hair framed what little he could see of the face; a curve of cheek, a dark line of lashes, a stubborn jaw. The boy was reading a book, and so avidly that a can of Coke held in his other hand was listing at an impossible angle, dripping liquid onto the equally brown grass beneath him. The sighting brought with it the exquisite cut that accentuated every childhood memory that should have been sweet, and never would be.

Daniel Jackson was tired, but it was the kind of weariness that prompted walking. His apartment had seemed cramped, stifling, and even the thought of the thin November wind twitching outside had not deterred him from grabbing his jacket again and seeking solace in long strides and the silent litany of failure that accompanied every step, every day.

Should have… could have… why didn't… if I'd… maybe… wish I… should have… could have…

The park was a cheerless affair, long since abandoned by young mothers and their toddlers to the older offspring of different, disillusioned mothers, for whom a morning in the park meant police calls about violence and vandalism and chroming. Daniel often found himself wandering there, for reasons he could never quite explain. Perhaps it was the quality of lovelessness that pervaded the long strips of dirt, once lawn, which ran around the edges. Perhaps the sense of abandonment, and decay, and bitter history that offered a barren future. Whatever the park held, it called to something in his soul, and he would stand in its misery and occasionally smile. This was a place he understood.

He understood the boy, too. From where he entered the park on its southernmost edge he could see that the boy was bent over because he was reading a thick book, carefully cradled in his lap. It was a dangerous place to bring a book and sit, unaware of the world about him, but Daniel remembered how that felt so acutely his shoulders gave a sympathetic twinge. He had sought out his own abandoned places as a child and youth, book tucked under his arm, clothes as ill-fitting as he was in the streets of his town. He had braved bullies and perverts and weather to bury himself in words, far from noisy homes and well-meaning foster parents who urged him outside for 'some sun, some fresh air, why don't you play with the kids next door, they're building forts, you'd like that Daniel…' Never knowing that the children next door despised him, and would rain clods of earth down upon him if he so much as set foot near their gate. Never understanding that the words gave him freedom and all the sun he could ever crave.

He wandered over to the silent figure. The shorts and thin sleeved shirt caught his attention, and his own fleecy jacket suddenly seemed conspicuously bulky. He came to a stop beside the boy, the sickly November sun casting a pale shadow in his distorted shape across the book's pages.

"Hey."

He had no idea why he wanted to talk to the kid, and he'd probably get nothing but a word or two of abuse for his trouble, but something prompted him to fight the inexorable tide of accidie and offer the effort.

The boy sighed and looked up. And Daniel's heart thumped so wildly into his throat he thought he would choke.

It was Shifu.

Shifu, child of his heart, child of his dead beloved, wise and strange and longed for - Shifu, sitting here cross-legged on the ground, Coke trailing over his grubby fingers, wind ruffling his paper-thin shirtsleeves. Daniel gasped, trying to say the name and failing.

And then the sun brightened, slightly, and he saw it wasn't Shifu at all, just a dirty, anonymous child who was glaring up at him, squinting, and he wanted to cry, to run home to someone who would fold him in his arms and tell him to hush now, it's all right, what a fuss you're making over that little scratch, don't cry, you'll never be alone with your family to love you, Danny…

Right.

He tried again, leaving the momentary grief to accrete to the walls of his heart, another adamantine layer.

"Hey."

"I'm not doin' anything." The boy continued to glare, somehow managing to project his fierceness even when loomed over by a six-foot tall stranger. Daniel hastily offered a smile, and was not surprised to see a flicker of contempt in the boy's deep brown eyes. "You're in my light."

"Sorry." Daniel stepped aside, and the boy followed him with his eyes, deeply suspicious. "I just - I was wondering what you were reading."

"Yeah." A snort of disbelief. "I got nothing. And if you're some kind of perve, you can just take it into the bushes. You don't want to mess with me."

"Right, right." Daniel ducked his head, his weariness doubling as he absorbed this child's hostility. "Sorry. Didn't mean to bother you." But he didn't move away, held by his wife's eyes now boring into him. "I was just walking. I used - when I was a kid, I would read in parks sometimes, and I…"

Embarrassment flooded his face, and he suddenly saw himself through the boy's eyes; an old, stuttering, fumbling nobody, accosting children in parks out of sheer loneliness. He closed his own eyes, blocking out the accusation he saw, trying to find a way to frame this so it wasn't quite so pathetic.

"Sorry," he repeated, opening his eyes again. "I'll leave you to it."

The boy was looking at him with a kind of bemused sneer now, and he turned away quickly. Time to put yourself to bed, Jackson, before you completely mortify yourself in public. He took two steps, and then the boy's voice arrested him where he stood.

"Budge. Egyptian stuff."

He blinked, astonished at the small kindness.

"Budge?" He swung back. "You're reading Budge?"

The boy nodded, warily.

"But he's an antiquated old hack." The words exploded from him, and he winced as he saw the boy straighten in defiance.

"What would you know, asshole? I got this from the library."

"I know, I know, sorry - but you know, if you're interested in Egyptology, you really should try some other texts."

"How would you know?" the boy repeated, but with less hostility. He was eyeing Daniel now in a way that reminded him of how a Goa'uld might size up a potential host - with a kind of acquisitive disdain. Daniel smiled again, genuinely this time, and the boy's eyes widened slightly, as if in shock.

"Because I'm an archaeologist. I write that kind of stuff."

A lip curled, but the eyes flashed their interest. "No way."

"And a linguist. Someone who speaks - "

"I know," the boy snapped. "Lots of languages." He continued to stare at Daniel, before waving the Coke-covered hand in a disparaging flick. "No way."

"Mais oui, c'est vrai. Ja. Si. Sakert. Shi. Da, konechno. J -"

"I get it." The boy scowled, his bottom lip jutting out almost comically. "I can write in hieroglyphs."

"Really?" Daniel dared to come closer, squatting down near him. "How did you learn?"

One hand left the book to trail across his nose, and the boy sniffed. "Books. There's a book in the library that's got a listing. You can figure it out."

"Mmm."

"Look, I'll show you." The boy flipped the pages of the tome in his lap until he reached the back. There, splattering across the inside back cover, was a series of hieroglyphs painstakingly copied out and circled, cartouche-style. Through the smudges of blotted felt tip pen marks, Daniel could decipher several names.

"That your name?" He pointed to the biggest cartouche, and the boy shook his head, his expression becoming shuttered once more.

"You try anything and I'll rip your balls off!"

"More than fair," Daniel agreed, skimming past the top and on to the next three. "This one - I'm guessing 'Megan'? Your mom?"

"Yeah." It was a grudging admission, but Daniel suddenly felt a sense of kinship with Jack O'Neill and his fishing obsession. There was something exciting about feeling that first nibble on the line. Why he was squatting in the dirt, angling for this particular boy to take the lure, he couldn't explain. And given the lure was nothing more than his own friendship, he briefly wondered why he had the faintest hope of success.

"So this would be - 'Trafis'? Travis? Your name?" The boy said nothing. Daniel nodded, and reached into his jacket. "Here." Quickly and surely he wrote his own name in hieroglyphs alongside Travis's. "Can you read that?"

The boy shot him a look, and for the first time Daniel knew he'd shaken him out of his safe place under the riverbank. The lure was glittering in the non-existent sun.

"'Daniel'. Your name Daniel?"

"Yes." Daniel reached out his hand. "Daniel Jackson."

Hesitantly, the boy raised his sticky hand, smeared with dirt and Coke and snot. "Travis."

Don't pull this one in too soon, Daniel told himself. Take it slowly. So rather than effuse, he just nodded, man to man, as he took it and shook it.

"Have you read anything else?"

"Everything in the library." It was a boast, but Daniel sensed it was true. He nodded again.

"Ever read anything by Langford and Littlefield?" A shake of the head. "They write wonderful books about cross-pollination of cultures. You know what that is?"

"How one culture did stuff that another culture copied?"

Oh, the excitement of teaching! He'd missed this, the meeting of need and awakening of more hunger. Travis's eyes were fixed upon him, waiting for approval or correction, and he could see the fire in them, the blaze waiting to immolate books for the ashes of truth they kept hidden. He knew that fire, remembered how that heat inside his mind had kept him warm when everything outside him brought only frost.

"Yeah, that's as good a description as any. But it's all about influence. Learning. Not so much just copying, but seeing what someone else has achieved and adapting it for your own needs. Offering other tribes new ideas and truths, and learning new things in turn. Pretty heady stuff."

Travis shrugged, the action almost unthinking. "Whatever." A calculating shift came into his eyes, and he cocked his head at Daniel. "You got more books?"

Daniel kept the smile from his face. "Yep."

So close. So close. Travis was now eyeing the dirt, dropping a hand down to scratch in it as though his next question held nothing but a vague inquiry, the result of which couldn't be less interesting.

"You bring them sometime?"

Daniel shrugged in turn. "Maybe. When?"

"I dunno." Travis sniffed again, then looked past Daniel and swore.

Startled, Daniel swivelled on his haunches. "What?"

The boy jerked his head past Daniel's shoulder, and Daniel could see that two older boys had entered the park, one swinging a bike chain from his jeans. When he turned back to Travis he was unsurprised to see the boy was now on his feet, the book clutched firmly against his chest, his chin raised to match the tension in his shoulders.

And other memories surfaced, of sanctuaries violated, of hiding places invaded by unthinking brutality that looked to destroy what it could not understand. Daniel shuddered slightly as he too got to his feet.

"Know them?"

Travis spoke through gritted teeth, as if afraid of being heard. "Big one's David. Don't know the other one. Dave's a turd."

"Ah."

"You better go." Travis's expression indicated his doubts about Daniel's ability to defend himself in any way, shape or form, and Daniel flashed briefly onto the Jaffa patrol that had kept them pinned down for almost an hour that morning, until he and Teal'c had created a diversion that allowed Sam and Jack to get behind them to drive them out to where he and Teal'c could -

And for a second he wished he really were as defenceless as Travis obviously thought he was.

"Don't worry about me," he murmured. "But it is getting late. Your mom will be waiting for you." Only a tightening of his lips betrayed Travis's reaction to those words, and Daniel cursed himself for presuming too much about this thin child standing beside him, gripping onto knowledge and the concept of a future in the face of Dave and the ugliness around him. "Or at least, Abby will be waiting for me," he amended.

"She your girlfriend?" Travis's tone conveyed his belief in the unlikelihood of that being the case.

"No. She's the boss." Daniel smiled again, aware that Dave and his friend were getting closer by Travis's flickering eyes. "My cat."

"I gotta go," Travis announced suddenly, and spun away, reaching the edge of the park before Daniel was even aware he was going.

"Wha - oh, yeah. Okay." Feeling stupid and slow, he watched as the boy sped away, the lure untaken. What the hell did I expect? He brushed the dirt from his hands, acutely self-conscious under the approaching scrutiny of the teenagers. For one savage second, he hoped they would try something, so he could lash out and beat two boys innocent in their stupidity, stupid with their brutality. And wouldn't that be a fitting coda to a day dominated by violence and death.

Travis was a block away, and Daniel wanted to call to him, say he knew how it felt to run with a book in your hands, how you had to swing your body awkwardly to accommodate the weight and shape. How it felt when you fell, your hands too occupied to protect anything but the words so you skinned elbows and tore knees, every time. Every time. He wanted one last link before the child bright-eyed with intelligence disappeared from his life forever.

"Hey!"

The sound was so distant he almost missed it. He turned, hopeless.

"Five o'clock! Tomorrow. Be there or be square!" Travis was dancing on the spot, waiting for the signal to sprint again, and Daniel raised his hand, half-wave, half-salute. Travis stayed, another few seconds - then Daniel saw the grin of wild happiness, so brief he wouldn't have seen it if he hadn't been straining for just that, and his own face broke into an answering grin, the way boys had always sealed a bargain since the world began.

"Hey, Sam." Daniel breezed into the lab where Sam Carter was bent over the latest acquisitions from their bloody mission the day before. At least, that's what he felt he was doing. It had been so long since he'd actually done anything but trudge into a room that he couldn't be too sure. But it sure felt that way. "I know what you've got there. It's a signal box."

"Whoa." Sam straightened up, smiling. "Who replaced your batteries last night? And how did you translate that stuff so fast?"

"All-nighter," Daniel responded succinctly, ignoring her frown. He waved the translation before her. "Look, Sam - it's all cuneiform."

"I thought you said - "

"I know, I know, it seemed completely new yesterday, but once I took it home and tossed it around a bit, I realised that what they'd done was simply mirror each symbol to create one that looks different but is, in fact, the same as the ones found in Babylon. See?"

Sam peered at it, nodding slowly. "I see. Like putting two Ds together and creating a truncated oval."

"Exactly."

"Wow." She put the translation down onto the bench, shaking her head. "That's amazing work, Daniel."

"Thanks." He picked up the pen and flicked it across his fingers, a celebratory bow. "It gets easy once you've figured that out."

"Well, that's great. So," and Sam gestured herself, towards the article she'd been poring over. "This is a signalling device?'

"A kind of beacon, I think. The text itself is unclear, but essentially it's saying that this starts up whenever the gods come to visit. So I think it's a warning signal, but I guess - oh." Daniel blinked. "It could also be a weapon, couldn't it?"

"I think I better read this," Sam said, a slight frown on her face as she picked up the paper again. "And you better get some sleep. You're exhausted."

"I don't know how I missed that," Daniel muttered. Sam looked up, then came around the bench and lightly took his arms, the paper crackling as it was held against him.

"I think I just covered that part."

"Hmm? Oh, yes, I'll get some sleep. I have an appointment at five this afternoon."

"You sound pleased about it."

"Yeah, I am. I met someone yesterday, Sam."

Sam pulled back a little to get a clear look at his face.

"Daniel? You met someone -?"

He gave a weary grin. "Yeah."

She made the closest sound she ever did to a squeal. "That's great! No wonder you bounced in here this morning!"

Ha. I did bounce. But the bounce was well and truly gone. It was somewhat deflating to realise that he'd written out the words but hadn't really read them.

"So tell me about her," Sam continued, in full big-sister mode. "What's her name? Where did you meet?"

The pressure on his arm grew, an invitation to confidence, and he unconsciously leant into the support it offered.

"His name's Travis, and we met in the park."

The arm in his stiffened.

"Daniel -?"

With effort, he raised his head and looked into her startled blue eyes.

"Hmm?"

"'Travis'? You met a man in the park…?" She was blinking, her mouth slightly open in shock, and suddenly he understood her surprise.

"Oh, no, Sam, it's not like that. Travis is about twelve." Her mouth widened, and he wondered at his inability to communicate the simplest ideas this morning. "He's just a kid."

"I see." And she didn't, not in the slightest, but he was suddenly and overwhelmingly too tired to explain that a chance meeting with a dirty little boy had given him the energy to work all night.

"I think I need to go and sleep," he suggested, and she nodded rapidly.

"I think that's a great idea." She was shaking her head, but smiling, and he gave her arm a squeeze. "Come on, little man, time for your nap."

"Yes, Grandma."

They walked in companionable silence towards the sleeping quarters, and Daniel wondered when Sam had last taken his arm like this. It seemed a long time ago, and somewhere in his mind he marvelled at the fact. They'd been so busy, so committed, so pressured. So sad. And, he admitted to himself, if she had approached him yesterday morning he probably would have shoved his hands deep in his pockets, radiating self-reliance and rejection. So strange, that a chance encounter had changed that, and Sam had known.

"Here's your stop." Sam patted his arm, then released him. "I'm going to grab some coffee and then take that weapon slash signal of yours to the lower level labs. You get some sleep. Or I'll tell Trevor you can't come out to play tonight."

"Not going to play." Daniel yawned suddenly. "Gonna destroy Budge then move on to Reinhausen and Murdoch."

"Boys and their toys." Sam shook her head. "You're such a tearaway."

"I know. Kings of the park, we are."

Daniel hurried.

It would probably be very uncool to arrive panting and obviously rushed to their meeting, but he was very unsure as to how long the boy would linger. If Travis came to the park, glanced about and found no-one, would he wait? The odds weren't particularly good, so Daniel hurried, the backpack crammed with books and one or two artifacts banging against his hip as he half-walked, half-ran towards the park's entrance. It was three minutes to five, and he would not be late.

He got there at exactly five o'clock, and knew how desperate the fact made him.

The park was empty. The two thin trees that provided grudging shade in summer were now threadbare and looked miserable in the fine mist that sparkled the streetlights, gave them a romance they didn't deserve. Lights in the apartments facing the park had begun to come on as weary commuters returned home. Daniel's breath was ghosting in the cold as he stood, uncertain, wondering where a grown-up could wait with any kind of credibility for his new twelve year old buddy to arrive.

There was a concrete table and bench on the western side of the park, and Daniel decided that would have to do. The idea of crouching against the fence didn't appeal. Strategically, the table was possibly weak; anyone entering the park would immediately notice him sitting there, and Daniel was suddenly acutely conscious of the fact that, to the casual eye, he had no good reason to be lurking - he winced at the word - in a park at dusk on a cold day.

Well, he'd outfaced Goa'uld. He could endure the odd stares of passers by for a few minutes until Travis came.

From where he sat on the bench he could see the brightly-lit apartment block. He'd learned the truth about lights at night as a lonely foster child; the meanest of houses looked like paradise when viewed from outside, in the cold and dark. The little squares of light equated with warmth and love and food. No matter that the reality may be squalid; the warmth stifling, the love incestuous, the food rancid. The night made the excluded doubly aware of their status, their vulnerability. Those Outside were never more so than when the mundane lights of heavens unknown began to shine out.

He shivered, and shook himself. Not a time to be maudlin, and in truth it was a trait in which he rarely indulged. Another thing he'd learned as a child.

Carefully he extracted the books from his bag, and spread them before him on the table. With stupefying skill the builders of the bench had managed to place it just far enough away from the table that even a reasonably tall man like Daniel had to lean precariously to reach the surface from where he sat, and the fact brought a wry amusement. Better to sit on the table itself, and he no sooner thought it than he did so. It felt ridiculously liberating, to hitch himself up onto the cold concrete and swing his legs in the rapidly encroaching darkness.

And it was appreciably darker. Daniel frowned at his watch. Five-thirty.

Well, he wouldn't give up yet. Travis was no doubt simply delayed. He'd be there. That grin had been an oath.

Or he was a gullible fool so lonely he'd accepted a casual offer of a child as a promise.

He flipped through the books, almost readable in the light at the end of the park. He rubbed his hands, blew on them. He got off the table, stamping his feet to warm them. More lights were coming on, the apartment block now blazing. Far above his head he saw the lights of a jet moving steadily against the more obscured stars. He heard speakers blaring with incomprehensible beats as teens cruised by in their over-crowded cars. He sat back on the table, slid his hands under his armpits. He avoided looking at his watch.

Until enough time had passed that he knew, for certain, he'd been stood up, and then he glanced down to register the fact that it was now 6:05 p.m.

No fool like an old fool. And suddenly, terribly, he did feel old.

He packed away the books, slid off the table again, hoisted the bag over his shoulder, and began the short walk home.

It was almost a relief to leave the darkened park and enter the main road. He could promise himself that no-one had seen his humiliation. A picture of Travis crouching in the bushes, watching to see how long he would actually wait for him and sniggering all the while came into his mind, but he banished it. Something came up, that's all. Children weren't masters of their fate. Others had control of them. Perhaps his mother had been appalled at the notion of her son meeting a strange man in the park at dusk, and he honestly couldn't blame her. In fact, the thought cheered him a little. Travis had a mother who loved him and cared for him, who would watch out for him. The hopelessly inadequate clothing of the day before was just a child's wilfulness, that was all. He could see it; the hard-working, loving mother carefully placing out the home knitted sweater, the sturdy jeans - and Travis's refusal, as he climbed into summer gear, not wanting to admit that summer was gone for another year.

Daniel hurried.

Back to his apartment, to Abby, waiting impatiently for his return. To his own place of refuge. Loneliness only hurt when other options existed, and it was time to admit that friendship was something for which he didn't seem to have a knack. Jack barely spoke to him these days, Teal'c could never seem to get past their history, Sam rarely looked up from her work, and when she did, it was to Jack she looked for advice and companionship now. The family he thought he'd found had proven to be as brittle as any fostering had ever been, and it really was time he accepted that certain things were not to be. That Shifu was lost to him, as lost as Sha'uri. That friends could grow cold. That stray children wanted nothing from him, and that was exactly what he had to offer any other human being anyway.

"Hey!"

Almost lost amidst the general traffic sounds, but a reedy call did come to him. He stopped, unsure if he was the one being addressed. But his heart began to pound.

"Daniel! Wait up!"

It was, it was, and he found himself grinning.

"Daniel! Hey, man, wait."

Slowly he turned, to find Travis hurrying towards him, running with the freedom of long, wiry legs and twelve year's worth of dodging. "Hey." Travis was panting, but smiling as he drew close. "Mom went out."

And that, Daniel instinctively knew, was the only explanation and apology he would receive.

"Ah - good. Good. Well, it's getting pretty late. Um…" Daniel glanced up the road, as if seeking guidance in the traffic. "Have you eaten yet?" He sent a diffident wave towards the garish colour of a Burger Barn.

Travis cocked his head. "You paying?"

Daniel shrugged. "Sure."

"Sure." The boy settled in beside him, quite content with the change of itinerary, and Daniel felt absurdly pleased, equally happy to allow the self-deception to play a little longer. The passers by he'd dreaded in the park would now see a father and his child, out for an evening treat. Perhaps they'd even think the kid had run to welcome him as he returned from his job in town.

A father and his rather noisome child. Daniel frowned as he realised that Travis was in the same shorts and shirt he was wearing the day before, and they were still pitiful protection against the elements. Briefly he wondered if the Chesney family in apartment 807 would have any hand me down clothes that would fit if he invited Travis home, offered him the use of his bathroom.

Better not, he decided sadly. He would hate any action of his to be misconstrued. Already, he knew how another could view his behaviour. Sam's tone of voice had shown him that. Single male adults and children did not mix in today's society, according to some, and he spared a moment to regret the invidious fact.

Travis said nothing as they entered the fast food store, his eyes wholly captivated by the brightly-lit signs above the counter that detailed the processed fat being offered for sale. He sent Daniel one quick glance, as if to ascertain that the offer still existed, then at the nod he received stepped boldly to the counter staff and proceeded to order three large burgers.

Daniel too said nothing, watching the boy's avidity, knowing how the aphorism of hunger being the best sauce was born of those with too much food and the need of restraint. Travis's eyes were fixed on his meal, and Daniel knew that his hunger was the real kind, the one that gnawed in the belly and growled at night and was never properly appeased.

"That enough?" he said, only half-joking, and Travis nodded, carefully bringing his tray to a table at the window. He knew that there'd be no conversation until at least one of the burgers had disappeared, and he was right. Travis seemed to inhale the first one, then sat back and sighed with a deep seated pleasure that brought a twinge of memory to Daniel. That was the full-blooded approval he remembered only as revelatory flashes from long ago, when he'd bought a frozen ice in the bazaar and quenched a sandy thirst, or crammed scented rice and korma after a long day's exploring through the jungle. How long was it since he'd done anything but eat to maintain energy? When was the last time he'd looked at a meal as anything but a necessity, and a nuisance at that?

"That was wack," Travis intoned, leaning back and lifting the chair legs off the floor.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

Travis curled his lip into a grin that was vaguely condescending.

"Wack's good."

Daniel raised his eyebrows and blinked.

"It is? It is."

Travis reached for the next burger and waved towards the backpack. "You bring books?"

Daniel grinned in return. "A few. But you're not getting your hands on them until you've finished eating."

Travis glanced at his grubby hands, then wiped them conspicuously on his shorts. "They're cool. Doesn't come off."

"Uh - yes it does, and the books stay where they are until you finish and wash them." He tilted his head. "Some people even wash their hands before actually eating."

The boy scowled, and vigorously shoved as much of the burger into his mouth as he could, ostentatiously licking his fingers afterwards. Daniel hid his smile.

"You gonna eat?"

Daniel looked down at the 'special meal deal' he'd ordered without thought. Travis was watching him, as though this was some kind of test; so Daniel just shrugged, said, "Sure", and tore off a mouthful. It was particularly awful, salty and bland with a kind of melted plastic cheese that surely constituted a breach of local hazardous waste laws, and he grimaced. But Travis nodded, as though satisfied, and Daniel worked his throat to swallow the mess.

When he'd finished the second one, Travis scraped back his chair and went to the washroom. He returned with hands so conspicuously clean a tidal mark of grey showed at each wrist. Then before Daniel could comment, he carefully wrapped the last burger in a couple of napkins and slid it inside his shirt.

The sight stung Daniel.

"For later?"

"My sister." A shrug. "She's at home."

"Ah." Daniel hesitated. "Who else is at home?"

"Mom. Joe."

"Your dad?"

Travis's mouth pulled up and inward, as if at the taste of something foul. "My dad's dead. He was in the Air Force. Pilot."

"So Joe is -?"

"An asshole." He was already dismissing the conversation, pulling at the backpack. Daniel jerked it back.

"Ah!" He held up one finger. "Wait. I have something else to show you first."

At once, the suspicion flickered across Travis's face again, and he sat back.

Daniel fumbled with straps for a moment or two, then reached in and retrieved a small item he held on his outstretched hand as if tempting an exotic bird of paradise to alight and feed. It glowed in the garish light from the neon sign outside, the bright fluorescence within.

"Middle kingdom. Bronze figurine, possibly used as a midwife's aid or bought by a woman facing childbirth. Can you name it?"

The boy's eyes were wide, and he lifted a trembling hand up to touch it. A bare fingertip reached the smooth surface, and he shuddered. His lips moved, but no sound came. Not a trace of condescension about him now; he was transfixed.

"It's real."

It wasn't a question, and Daniel nodded.

"Yes, it's real. Thousands of years old."

Travis's fingers brushed against it again, and Daniel moved it into his grasp. The boy held it as carefully as if it were spun glass, not the sturdiest of metals, indomitable for millennia.

"Taueret. Goddess of childbirth."

Daniel's face flushed with gratification. "That's right." He turned the figure in Travis's hand so that the light found a tiny fault under her belly. "See - here? The craftsman who made this used a mould, but he poured too much and was left with a little bump of bronze that he's tried to smooth away. But if you hold it - so, you can see it." He lifted his eyes from the figurine to Travis's face, completely absorbed, and felt something warm twist inside him. "Someone who lived thousands of years ago, and we can see where his hands have worked, where he's succeeded, where he's failed, like the rest of us, to reach perfection. Sometimes it's finding little things like that that are the most exciting. The graffiti, the mistakes, the little details that remind us we're looking at human beings like ourselves."

It was a speech, but Travis was enraptured.

"Cool."

And it was, Daniel thought, very, very cool to be sitting here with this boy in this appalling fast food joint, touching eternity together.

He shoved aside the rest of his meal, and began revealing the contents of his backpack with eager haste.

"That's not all," he grinned, piling book upon book, disregarding the artefacts that slid from the pile to the plastic table top, "wait till you see what else I've brought."

They bent over the books like thieves hoarding treasure, alone in the crowd with the gold of learning and the first tentative sparkles of something even more precious lying on the table between them.

He rolled over, hot and restless in the muggy night. A half dream, a warning, had teased him for an hour or so, the message full of symbols and signs and obscurities as useful to him as the entrails of goats. It was probably as profound and profane as the stone working into the point of his hip, and he arched up to send a clumsy hand beneath his sleeping bag, searching it out.

"Ants in your pants?" Jack, by the fire. "Another half hour till your watch."

"I know." Daniel kept his voice low, aware of Sam in her tent, Teal'c sitting in his peculiar trance state behind. "Too hot to sleep."

He heard Jack give a grunt of acknowledgment, and on an impulse he flipped back the sleeping bag and rose stiffly to join him by the glowing embers of the evening fire. In the faint red light he saw Jack gesture to where a tin utensil they'd labelled a coffeepot listed against the coals, and with a grateful sigh he reached for his mug and poured a drink.

"You?"

Jack shook his head, and Daniel settled down beside him. He cranked his head back to stare up at the sky, to where the astonishingly bright stars of the early evening had disappeared.

"Think Sam was right?"

"Carter's always right." Jack took a sip from his own mug. "I don't even mind admitting that nowadays. Saves time and energy."

Daniel grinned. They sat in silence for several minutes, hearing the faint night noises of another galaxy as sampled on planet PX4-956. A sound that could have been thunder groaned in the distance.

"So - " Jack shifted on his bottom slightly, gaining a better view of Daniel's face, bringing his own into darkness. "Who's Travis?"

"Wha - what?"

"Travis. You were calling for him in your sleep."

"No." Daniel shook his head, dismayed. "I wouldn't have been."

Jack surveyed him silently.

"Then - how would you know his name?" Daniel filled in the blanks and sighed again. "He's a kid, Jack."

" 'Kid?' " Somehow Jack loaded that word with a multitude of meanings, and Daniel lacked the energy to sift through them all for the least offensive.

"I met him in the park. He's a bright, obnoxious, dirty kid who reads Budge for kicks."

"Ah. A JD with book learnin'."

"JD?"

Jack waited again.

"No, as a matter of fact, he's not a juvenile delinquent." Damn, but he was slow tonight. "He's a kid who seems to own one short sleeved cotton shirt, he hasn't had a bath since the Clinton administration, and he somehow taught himself to read and write hieroglyphics out of books he actually read in the town library because he doesn't even own a library card."

He couldn't see Jack's expression.

"So. A weirdo after your own heart, huh? What do his parents do? Where does he live?"

"I don't want to marry the kid, Jack."

"Got a last name?"

"Delaney. His father was an air force pilot." Daniel winced inwardly at the defensiveness he heard entering his voice.

"Was?"

"Dead, apparently. Not really sure."

"Ah."

"He's a good kid."

"Junior Indiana Jones."

"It takes a lot of study to learn what he has so far, without help."

"So you're going to give him the help he needs to go further?"

"And that's a problem -?"

"Daniel -" He almost felt Jack shrug in the thick night air. "It's a temporary obsession. All kids get them."

The familiar irritation was beginning to build.

"Which means I should ignore him and refuse to teach him anything, right?"

"Look, I'm just saying that - there's a handful of kids who play with racing cars and grow up to be racing car drivers. And then there's all the other kids who play with racing cars who grow up to be stockbrokers."

"Oh. Yes, of course. Like the kids who play with planes and don't grow up to be air force colonels, right?"

To his surprise he heard a soft chuckle, and it immediately lifted his heart a little. It had been a long time since he and Jack had shared anything to laugh about.

"Actually, it wasn't planes. It was cowboys and Indians."

"Very politically incorrect of you."

"Tell me about it. Sara nearly had a fit when I showed her my collection."

"You had a collection?"

Jack shifted back again, so that the soft glow reached his features. He looks ageless, Daniel thought, and in a strange way it comforted him.

"About a hundred little lead painted figures. This kid and I - Levi his name was, lived down the road, I think his family was officially the only Jewish people in Minnesota, had a plaque or something - we cleared out my basement and set up a whole landscape with these little - " He waggled his fingers. Daniel nodded, not really understanding but wanting Jack to go on with his unexpected reminiscing. "We'd play the day away in winter, making up all these battles and strategies. Read everything we could find on the time. Made a pile of log cabins out of egg cartons. Wagons. Tipis. Whole thing."

"Sounds great."

"It was." Jack gave a low laugh. "Till one day I decided that the Indians - that was me - would have flaming arrows."

Daniel felt his mouth stretch into a smile. "You didn't."

"Nearly burned the house down. After my father skinned me alive, we packed away the cowboys and Indians - the ones that hadn't melted - and Levi and I moved on to sea monsters and submarines."

"But you still grew up to be a soldier."

"And I didn't grow up to be a Wild West historian."

"What are you saying?"

Jack stirred the embers slightly with his boot, causing them to collapse and open up, showing the light within.

"I'm saying that a month down the road this Travis may well be into Star Wars. And he's going to be moving on."

Daniel's mouth clenched, but he kept his tone mild. "Could you be any more condescending?"

The faint movements beside him stilled. The bond that had always existed between them, the one that had been beaten as thin as stretched gold, the one that had unexpectedly shortened in the darkness, pulling them closer than they'd been in months, was stretching again.

The silence now was heavier than the humidity. Daniel closed his eyes, weary once more.

"Travis is a kid who deserves a helping hand. Maybe he won't become the world's leading Egyptologist, but since when was it wrong to befriend someone?"

More silence, then Jack spoke quietly.

"It's not wrong, Daniel. But maybe it's…"

"What?"

"A risky investment." Jack turned his face into the shadow again. "What do you actually know about this kid? His family?"

Daniel gave a snort. "I'm not adopting him, Jack." I'm finding I can still feel intellectual excitement and pleasure in teaching. And affection. Real affection, that warms my heart when I see him. Is that so terribly wrong?

Jack's hands spread, fingers black against the remains of the fire.

"I know. I just want you to be careful." He ducked his head, and Daniel heard him sigh. "And since you've never been known to be careful in any given situation in this universe or any other, I don't know why I'm wasting my breath."

The resentment died.

"He's just a kid I know, Jack." Was that a betrayal? Hard to tell, in the dark.

Another grunt. "You seeing him again?"

"When we get back. I thought I'd show him my Chaldean."

"You danger junkie, you."

"With the proper safety restrictions, of course."

"Of course. Helmets, gloves. The works."

Daniel felt himself smile a little, reluctantly, and wondered how it was that Jack could skate so close to disaster so often - emotional, physical, career disaster - and then, at the last minute, kick away from the abyss with a piece of charm so inconsequential it baffled all who saw it. His own stubbornness had never allowed him such a gift. But then, he reflected, he'd never known anyone who needed that gift as much or as often as Jack O'Neill.

The thunder rolled again, and he wondered what would happen when the storm about them broke.

"It's going to rain."

"So?" Daniel felt the shrug beside him, and glanced once more with growing horror at the small head bent over the books. Another little movement under that dark hair confirmed his suspicions of a day ago. Travis spoke without looking up; all his attention focused on the books spread beneath him on the absurd concrete table in the park. "I don't mind getting wet."

"I'm sure you don't, but these - " and in spite of Travis's cry of exasperation, Daniel leant forward to snap shut each book where it lay, "do."

"Oh, man…" Travis sat back, scowling. "What you bring them for if I can't get to see them? That's tight."

Tight? The linguist in him slotted that bizarre usage away with fascinated glee. He'd use it on Jack next mission when it was most likely to discombobulate his CO.

"Well…" he paused, as if hesitating, as if this wasn't part of a carefully considered plan. "You could always come to my place."

Travis stared at him in surprise. "Your missus won't mind?"

"I don't have a wife," Daniel snapped, vaguely annoyed by the term and the fact, but then saw the glimmer of light in Travis's black eyes. "Ah, you mean Abby." He reached past his friend and began piling the books together before sliding them into his backpack. "Well, she is a bit choosy. I don't know what she'll make of you, frankly."

"Huh." Travis shrugged again. "She's just a cat."

"You'll learn better in time," Daniel replied, with faux condescension. It always irritated Travis, and he gave a grin when the scowl returned. "Come on. It's not far."

Travis leapt off the table, all bravado firmly in place Daniel was amused to see. He didn't think the boy could get his chin any higher. "Sure. Whatever."

Daniel nodded as though this were no big deal, and the two of them left the park in its late November bleakness, unconsciously hurrying as the sky above them grew darker. Travis kept up easily, his wiry legs matching Daniel's longer strides. It was yet another of those little details Daniel kept noticing, little flashes of pride that belonged to the boy's father, that he stole with only the slightest compunction because he knew the long dead man would want this, would bless their friendship. And his own unborn children, the ones denied to Sha'uri, they would smile to see their father that never was giving another child a way forward.

The rain hit them a block before Daniel's, but it was only when they entered the lobby of his apartment building that Travis's swagger began to diminish. He came in close behind Daniel as the elevator doors opened, a young boy no longer in command of the situation, and Daniel managed to ignore the fact masterfully. He chatted instead about how elevators changed the face of America, how prior to their invention buildings couldn't be more than a few storeys in height, how they allowed entire communities of people to live and work in the sky, and Travis nodded and gawked as they rose effortlessly to the eighth floor.

"Here we are," Daniel said, rather inanely he thought, but Travis was in no mood to be critical. He'd never seen the boy quite so unsure, his hands forming fists in his rain-spattered jeans pockets, his stance an illustration of the human body tottering on the edge of fight or flight. "Come on in. Hey, Abby, I'm home."

Daniel entered briskly, leaving Travis to follow. Ahead of him, on her favourite chair - the one that had been his favourite until he had been comprehensively usurped, ousted and exiled - curled his little grey cat, Abby. She lifted her head on his entrance but didn't bother to call a welcome or greet him with a winding about his legs. Instead, she fixed unblinking yellow eyes upon him briefly before dropping her head back to form that infinite circle of fur he so loved. It was easily understood by Daniel, in the comfortably anthropomorphised relationship he and Abby shared, that she had not spent a second since his departure thinking about him.

Ah. She was in one of her moods. Daniel grinned.

"Travis - meet Abby. Short for Abydos."

Travis stood warily in front of her, his jutting-hipped suspicion and open hostility something Daniel found himself admiring. He'd never quite developed that particular defence mechanism as a foster child, though he'd made a few disastrous attempts to fake it. It just wasn't in him.

"Abydos, huh?" Travis twisted his face up as he leaned toward her. "That's in Egypt, right?"

"Right," and Daniel smiled again as Travis leaned closer and Abby opened her eyes once more, staring into his black ones, teaching another child the meaning of 'inscrutable'.

"Mom says cats stink."

"Not if they're cared for properly. Does Abby stink?"

Travis took a tentative sniff. "No. She kinda smells like … " But the analogy failed him in its deeper points, and he ended by helplessly saying, "wild stuff."

"Hear that, Abby? Travis thinks you're still the Queen of the Jungle."

Abby lifted her head to stretch her nose towards Travis's. They touched, a spark's worth of contact, and it was the child who pulled back, bemused delight on his face. Abby yawned cavernously, another conquest completed, and surveyed him with serene indifference. Tentatively, Travis extended a finger to rub awkwardly on her head, and she accepted it as her due.

"She's cool," Travis announced, and Daniel raised an eyebrow.

"Glad you think so," he said drily. Then his eyes flickered to where a small pile of clothes lay neatly folded on the end of his kitchen bench. "Um, Travis, I think it would be a good idea if - "

A knock at the door interrupted him, and he sighed. "Be right back," he told Travis, who had left Abby with reluctance and was now drawn inexorably to where Daniel's grandfather's swords hung on the wall. "Don't touch anything," he added, wincing as he realised he sounded like every harassed parent ever created to nag their offspring.

He checked through the peephole and groaned when he saw who stood there.

"Jack?" He opened the door in surprise and found the defensiveness he called upon so often lately creeping into his voice. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey Daniel," and Jack had breezed past him, barely brushing his shoulder. It was an O'Neill specialty, this ability to render Daniel invisible with a casual sidestep. "Knew you'd be wanting company this afternoon, thought I'd swing by."

"You never swing by," Daniel complained, immediately embarrassed to realise he was talking to Jack's back and he was whining. He cursed softly and closed the door, to follow Jack into the main body of his apartment and witness the fireworks.

Travis had turned around from where he stood stroking the satin finish on the ancient swords in direct defiance of Daniel's instruction. Jack had stopped on the step into the lounge area. Boy and man stared at each other. There was more sizing up and testosterone sniffing than at a sumo wrestling match, and Daniel sighed.

"Jack, this is Travis. Travis, Jack."

Travis gestured with his chin, determinedly unfazed by the sheer presence of this grey haired man.

"You Daniel's dad?"

He couldn't help it - a laugh shot from Daniel before he could stop it, and he grinned unapologetically at Jack.

"No, Travis. He's my - he's a friend."

Travis's quick wit had heard the hesitation, and he glared at the two men with increased hostility.

"You fags or something?" Daniel saw how the boy's eyes were searching for a way past them, fright surging behind the façade, and he sobered immediately. But it was Jack who spoke first.

"No, Travis, we're not homosexuals." Damn, Jack almost sounded prim. But Daniel was glad of his friend's surety, and he remembered, surprised he'd almost forgotten, that Jack was used to handling kids fresh to the military. Travis was younger than the new recruits they met, but Daniel had always been impressed by Jack's almost uncanny understanding of how the young male mind worked. "And even if we were, I think you'd find that you could expect the same courtesy and common decency from us. I'm Daniel's commanding officer."

Black eyes blinked. "You're an archaeologist too?"

It was Jack's turn to choke. "Not if you paid me a million bucks a day." He cocked his head slightly, sizing Travis up. "I'm Air Force."

Travis stared. "Air Force? You work - " And then he sent a fiery glare in Daniel's direction. "How come you never told me you work for the Air Force?" Before Daniel could answer, Travis turned back to Jack. "The Air Force has archaeologists like us? Do we get to fly? Why do you have archaeologists? You work in the mountain? What rank are you?"

Jack lifted his brows. "Which question do you want answered first?"

"All of them."

Daniel saw an opening, and slid into it. "Tell you what, Travis. You're wet. Why don't you go and grab a shower while I make the three of us some lunch. Then I'm sure Jack would be glad to answer any questions you have."

He watched as Travis considered the offer, which was little more than blackmail, almost visibly twisting it this way and that to find the hidden catch.

"Okay."

"And while you're in there, you might try using this." He picked up a lice treatment spray from the bench beside the clothes, knowing instinctively that junior alpha male would not want senior alpha male to see what it was and keeping it obscured in his hand. "Just follow the instructions."

Travis was caught, as Daniel knew he would be, between resistance to using the stuff and reluctance to argue and thus let Jack know what it was. He snatched it from Daniel with ill grace, and Daniel smiled sweetly.

"When you're done, I've got some fresh clothes here. Your stuff will be wet still." Again, Travis opened his mouth to argue, then eyed Jack and closed it again. "Great. Sandwiches okay with everybody?"

"Sandwiches? Amount of money we pay you, I'd have thought it was caviar every day in the Jackson household." Jack bent to gently stroke Abby beneath the chin as one conspirator in caring for Daniel to another.

"Caviar sandwiches," Daniel replied matter of factly.

"Make mine well done," and Jack flopped easily on the couch. Daniel hid a smile, then took Travis with him to the bathroom, where he showed him everything he'd need and left him with a fresh towel. It was only as he came out again and saw Jack had opened the screen that kept his television hidden that Daniel realised Jack's comment about money had been for Travis's benefit. Jack was boosting him in front of the child, and as this was the direct opposite of what he'd expected, he felt a moment of shame. And then filled with a warmth that was both new, and old as a friendship forged in the fight against Ra. He began humming as he made their mundane lunch, and the chicken and salad and almost stale bread was transmuted to the finest of delicacies in his happiness.

He deposited the sandwiches in front of Jack, ignoring Abby's conspicuous sniffing from the far chair.

"Hungry?"

"Now you mention it." But Jack didn't move to take a sandwich. Instead, his mouth was tightened in the way Daniel knew so well as a precursor to a Jack O'Neill philosophy session. They tended to be brutal and short, but they often held a kind of earthy wisdom, so he held his peace and waited. "Looks a lot like him."

"I know."

"Didn't mention that."

Daniel paused. "It's what made me talk to him initially. It's not what made me befriend him."

Jack considered that, then nodded and picked up a sandwich.

"That's it?"

"That's what?" Jack took a bite and grunted approval.

"That's the end of the inquisition?"

Jack frowned. "The kid's got shit on liver." He shrugged. "I like that. Though he needs to get his eyes examined."

A deeper happiness settled in Daniel and he took his own sandwich. "I think he's pretty bright, actually. Understandable error."

Jack's smile was sour. "Want to explain that?"

Daniel's mouth was full, so he gestured with his hands for a moment to advance understanding before swallowing. "Gravitas."

"Gravy ass?"

"Gravitas. Power. Wisdom well beyond your years."

"Ah." Jack nodded. "And this made him think I was -?"

"Older than you are. Yes."

"Uh-huh." Jack settled back in the couch and turned on the television with the remote. "Just when I think you've plumbed the depths of bullshit, Doctor Jackson…"

The freshly scrubbed Travis reappeared some time later. Daniel was inwardly delighted with the transformation. Travis's skin had lost that grey tinge, and his hair, though smelling of chemicals, was drying to a glossy dark brown instead of its previous dull black. The jeans handed on to him from the Chesneys fit him well, but best of all Daniel's protective heart was absurdly pleased to see the warmth of the sweater and jacket covering the thin body. He could tell Travis was pleased too, though determined not to show it.

"Here. Food. Couch. Hockey." Jack spoke without taking his eyes off the screen, and Daniel saw a flush on Travis's cheeks. It was one of pleasure, and he felt renewed gratitude for Jack's ease. Travis settled down between them, and soon displayed his remarkable ability to eat vast quantities of food without breathing for Jack's benefit. When he'd had enough, he sat back and as usual, ignored the niceties of small talk - another factor in his favour for Jack, Daniel thought wryly.

"How much did those swords cost?"

"I didn't buy them. My grandfather found them fifty years ago on a dig in Lebanon. They'd probably been lost on a crusade hundreds of years ago." He saw the light of excitement in the dark eyes, and noticed Jack was listening too, though his eyes never left the hockey. "I'd say someone found them, and cared for them for many generations before another catastrophe overwhelmed the owners. They were carefully wrapped and stored in a box, buried in the dry sand. There was no moisture, and very little access to the air, so they were reasonably unmarked. The Lebanese government of the time wasn't interested in them, because they were remnants of the invaders from the past, not indigenous artifacts. And my grandfather decided he liked them so much, he would keep them and study them before handing them on to a museum."

"Which he never got round to doing," Jack commented.

"No. I know I should, but - " Daniel hesitated. "They're the only things of my grandfather's I own. I guess I've always been reluctant to part with them because they gave me a sense of family."

The confession was greeted with silence, but it was a comfortable one.

Travis shifted. "How much would they cost, though?"

"Fancy buying one?"

The boy shrugged. "Maybe."

"Thousands of dollars, Travis. If you could find them for sale. Thing is, they're virtually priceless, because these kinds of things only exist in very small numbers. So many years have passed since the swords were made; most of them have been destroyed. By the elements, by people."

"How would you get the money?" Jack's voice was neutral, but he turned a sharp eye on Travis, who frowned.

"I can get a job. Just 'cos Joe won't work, doesn't mean there aren't jobs around, right?"

Joe? Jack mouthed to Daniel. Stepfather, was the silent reply.

Aloud, Jack said, "What sort of job?"

"I dunno. Anything. I'd be a good worker. Save me money. Take me and my sister - " But he stopped, abruptly, and Daniel knew that was a dream too precious to be shared in the dull afternoon light.

Jack nodded, as though Travis hadn't stopped.

"Always work around for someone who wants it enough," he said, casual and convincing; and Travis shot Daniel a look of sudden approval, as if the boy were the adult and gauging Daniel's abilities to cope in the real world. Apparently, having a friend like Colonel Jack O'Neill was a point in his favour, and Daniel's mouth quirked with a ridiculous sense of amused pride.

The pride was not solely for his own gradual transformation in Travis's eyes; it was for Travis's ease as he sat between the two men, for his courage in being himself despite being out of anything remotely like his own environment, for his honesty and curiosity and essential good nature. What kind of alchemy was it, Daniel wondered, that showed the truest metal at the heart of the basest scrap? What was it that had guided him to talk to a surly, dirty little boy, that had brought three such different people sitting together in quiet acceptance of each other's essential strangeness here, on his couch, on a rainy afternoon in a land half a world away from that of his birth? Alchemy indeed; and he caught Jack's eye with a sudden grin of his own that had Jack's brows rising in bafflement.

Abby surfed his chest as he blinked his eyes open in the dark.

It was something they'd discussed at length in the past - and most reasonably on Daniel's part, he always thought - but Abby continued to find the sight of Daniel Jackson, multiple PHDs, rolling onto his back in his sleep a clear and present invitation to climb on top and settle. He blinked again, and gave a soft huff of displeasure.

Automatically, his finger came out to stroke under her chin, and she arched forward into the caress. Mixed messages, he thought, suddenly smiling in the dark. I'm annoyed with you, and I'm petting you. Where does that get me?

With a surprisingly heavy bundle of fur on his breastbone. He and Sam had long maintained that the weight of a cat lay outside all known parameters of physical law. That a slim, fine boned little cat like Abby could somehow make herself weigh as much as a pair of old boots in the middle of the night was something devilish, perverse and quite without scientific explanation. Sam agreed, although she felt her own cat Schroedinger was simply heavy and heavier at will.

He smiled again, and wondered what had woken him. Not a dream. Probably not even Abby. Not the bruise he'd got from two days before, when he and Jack -

The smile turned into a grin, and he found himself staring at the ceiling in the dark, warming to a memory still fresh and healing. That the afternoon had become riotous was something for which he'd had no prior warning - or experience. Jack and Travis had decided that sword fighting would be the staple of the day's entertainment, and it was only when Daniel hastily found enough strong cardboard to make two fake swords that wholescale bloodshed was avoided. The thought of those two swinging his ancient swords about their heads was enough to send him diving for cover, but the cardboard ones were acceptable substitutes, and before he knew what he was doing an impromptu display of proper sword technique was taking place in his living room. Daniel knew enough from his studies to show a little of gladiatorial combat, and how the Ephesian soldiers liked to swing for the knees of their opponents from beneath long leather armour. Jack and Travis had been suitably impressed, and then proceeded to teach Daniel how they'd go about sword fighting - which seemed to require the use of the coffee table, the couch, the easy chair, and in one particularly surreal moment, the kitchen bench. At one point Travis shrieked with joy as he whacked Jack across the back, and the sound was so real and honest that both Jack and Daniel had burst out laughing, and found their eyes meeting, real and honest. So long since Daniel had heard Jack laugh like that. And he wondered if his own laugh had ever been quite so unfettered before.

Of course it all ended in tears, as Jack would have said if he hadn't been swearing violently after sliding across the divider bench and onto the kitchen floor. An icepack and a coffee had helped to soothe the wounded warrior, and he'd even been almost interested in the artefacts that Daniel subsequently brought out to show Travis and stop him continuing to Errol Flynn the apartment.

Twice more in that long, wet afternoon he and Jack had exchanged glances, full of a meaning that was simple and true. Fun. Friendship. They'd lost both somewhere in the grim struggle that constituted their daily lives. They'd never forgotten what they were fighting for, but they'd forgotten how it felt. That the lucky ones of Earth's billions were out there finding just that, and it was just those two things that the Goa'uld would most quickly destroy. They hadn't even had to conquer Earth to rob SG1 of them.

Jack had driven Travis home despite the bandage around his knee. Daniel had almost gone with them, curious to see where Travis lived, but he knew it would mean another trip for Jack so he wished them farewell at the lift doors and Travis had reached out, briefly, to snag his sleeve in goodbye. It was the final moment of perfection for Daniel, as the lift doors closed on Jack's grumbling and Travis's cheerful eye rolling, and he had grinned all the way back to his apartment. He imagined the pair in the truck, arguing and teasing till they pulled up at Travis's house, which existed in a bizarre time warp in Daniel's mind. He knew all about cognitive schemata, and his first sight of television at the age of eight formed his vision of what an average American boy lived in. It had been the Brady Bunch; he had watched it, open mouthed and vaguely repelled, in the hotel room he and his parents had taken while the New York exhibition of Ancient Wonders had been prepared. Daniel had never seen such girls - they looked and sounded like shrieking ghosts to him with their white hair and faces, used as he was to the dark beauty of Egypt and India. And the boys should all have been out working, supporting their family, not sitting about in sneakers and T-shirts, whining about football teams. It was a mystery to him why they hadn't got a village priest in to exorcise the evil spirit Alice from the kitchen. And the dog was so fat and lazy it was a scandal. Nevertheless, even as the many misapprehensions about American life he'd formed from that first viewing were gradually replaced by stronger reality, it was the Brady Bunch house he almost always envisaged when someone in America mentioned home. The thought of Travis on that ridiculously excessive stairway brought a smile to his face.

Daniel stretched in the dark, angling his back in a feeble attempt to encourage Abby off his chest. She rode it with equanimity and he collapsed back with a sigh, ever a martyr to his domineering cat. And a tingling began in his hands and feet, a rush both cold and warm, and his breathing stilled.

Someone was in his apartment.

He heard the soft susurration of cloth immediately after the muffled clink of steel. In a heartbeat, his awareness had trebled, and he knew with every muscle and bone in his body that an invader had come, was in his space, his home, his sanctuary. It had been ravaged once before, and the resistance rose in him so powerfully that he slid out of bed from beneath Abby and stood in his shorts, breathing heavily, before he even considered his best plan of action.

This was his home. The thought was a blood mantra, pounding in his head, and his anger and readiness to protect it thrummed through his limbs. In the corner of his bedroom stood a large wooden carving, a Malanggan from New Zealand, and he picked it up with a fiercely glad recognition of its purpose. This would be capable of driving the intruders from his world, and he gripped it firmly before him as he gently swung back his bedroom door and stepped into the hall.

It was only three steps to the study door that lead on into the livingroom and he paused, blood thundering, trying to keep his breathing low, trying to hone in on the Other he could sense so vividly. Another soft noise, and his lips peeled back in a grimace of determination. Slowly, carefully, he crept to the livingroom entrance and stopped again, straining to hear.

There was suddenly nothing, and a new flood of ice washed down his spine.

Daniel stood poised, the carving upright, a wooden club. But it was as if he could hear the Other now, breathing heavily in the almost dark, listening in turn for Daniel's position.

His hands were sweating. Small puffs of air escaped him, all he would spare, and he brought his balance more surely beneath his feet, squared as Teal'c had taught him, everything within him ready for attack. He took one silent step forward, then another, his eyes scanning quickly but without panic, and his other senses attuned so completely that he scented the intruder behind him before his hearing detected the faint rush of air. Before his body turned too slowly and pain burst behind his ear and he dropped, still clutching the carving, feeling the floor drop again beneath him, twirling in a sickening spiral away from him, away from consciousness and the boot that began pounding his ribs to help him on his journey.

He came back slowly, and only piece by piece. A thumping in his head was the first he knew of himself. Then a movement of something else and his back made itself known, fiery and relentless in its pain. Name, rank and serial number were lost in the semi-darkness because his eyes were nowhere to be found, but he could hear his own voice, making strange little mewling noises, and he felt fingers that were once his scrabbling on the carpet as if that would help keep the pain at bay.

Something wet and cold was touching his face again and again, and it confused him briefly before he heard an answering sound and realised it was Abby hearing his distress and sharing it in her own way. He tried to say her name, but his throat seemed too full of silent yells for anything so mundane to escape him. Instead he lay quietly, shivering, as each piece of him came back to a bruised and broken whole.

It would be a smart move to ring for help, he told himself. Just reach the phone and dial 911. He tried to remember exactly where he was in relation to the phone, but he seemed lost in the haze of boots and something else, something heavy that had swung at him in the night and stilled him as precisely as a rifle shot. Abby continued her ministrations, and he thought, Lassie, get help. Get the phone, girl. It almost made him laugh.

The intruder was gone, he could sense that quite clearly, even if other incidentals such as where his feet had gone and were his balls still intact remained a mystery. Opening an eyelid would not bring more pain upon him than he already had banked and waiting, so with infinite effort he raised it and tried to make meaning from the flashes of shocking light and dark that sparked into his brain at the effort.

He was sprawled near the base of the dividing bench. The one Jack had slid across only two days ago. The one where he'd prepared sandwiches for the three of them on their golden afternoon. On top of that bench sat his phone. Only six feet or so away from him. Almost impossible.

The impossible takes a little longer. He could do this. Just a slide, a simple extension of his body and -

Ohhhh.

He lay still again, breathing hard and regretting that he did so as his ribs seesawed maniacally and blood seemed to wash across his vision. Oh, that hurt, that hurt, that hurt.

Okay. This was a time for patience while pain ruled him. He could do that. He'd done it all his life.

A deeper darkness claimed him for a space, and then his eyes were open with a knowledge of time passed and the need to begin the battle anew. He tried the sliding thing again, and this time he managed to bring himself, sneaky against his own pain, to the foot of the bench. He began muttering, nonsense words of encouragement, as he brought one leg up under his body and then the other, his head still lying on the floor, like a supplicant in a temple splayed before the bitch goddess Agony. Gently, slowly, he eased himself up against the bench and then forced his body upwards, dragging the monstrous pounding weight of his head off the floor, crying out as the top of it seemed to tear off with each inch gained. His shoulder bumped the bench overhang, and with a wavering arm he reached up and over it to find the phone. It was there; thank God it was there. His fingers closed around it, and then in a slow motion rush his body folded back down to the floor where he lay gasping, the pathetic little noises breaking from his mouth again.

Emergency dialling. He hit one number in a fog, and then was confused as he heard the phone make all the sounds phones did when they were off about their business. He was supposed to dial 911, and he'd managed only one digit. Had the phone sensed his urgency, jumped ahead out of an electronic desire to be helpful? Because he could hear it ringing, and then a voice was saying, "Yeah?"

Jack's voice. Was Jack doing the emergency number response now? But then he thought speed dial, and realised he'd called his own private version of rescue that was good across the galaxy.

"Yeah?" The voice was terse, but not angry; military men like Jack get used to summons in the night.

Jack, Daniel said. Help me.

"Hello?"

Oh, wait. He remembered this. Not enough just to think it.

"Jack…"

"Daniel?" The voice had changed, was even crisper. "What's going on?"

"Jack."

There was silence for a second, then Jack's voice was in his ear, loud and awake and sure.

"You better just be drunk, Daniel. I'm there in ten."

The voice was gone, but Jack was coming, and the pain would stop soon, very soon. From where he lay, Daniel could see the nearest wall in the faint strip of streetlight that showed between the curtains. It was so bare, now that the swords were gone.

He closed his eyes, curling into himself, and before he passed out one more time he reflected that he never realised twelve-year-olds could kick so hard.

It was always better to be in the USAF hospital, Daniel thought, than in the underground infirmary. Views, for a start, and sunlight. He chose to dismiss both, with heavy curtains pulled across to block the brightness, but they were there, if he wanted them. Bright and intrusive, like the friends he heard gathering in the corridor outside. If he could, he would choose to block them as well, but he knew the option would be denied him thanks to the tyranny of politeness and long acquaintance.

He shifted slightly, one arm lying across his eyes, disowning even the faint light that crept into his room around the curtains. Acquaintances. Old acquaintances. That was a hard term for the three people who waited out there, talking in not-so-soft voices. He knew them so well. He knew precisely how Sam would look as she bent an eye vivid with questions, demanding answers, towards the doctors; how Teal'c would glower at all who barred his way from Daniel's bedside, largely silent, effortlessly imposing; and how Jack would complain and scowl and roll his eyes at obfuscations offered by the medical staff.

And he knew, too, that they would come for him and support him as he lay here, their bustling concern surrounding and invading him. And he could call it friendship, but really, wasn't that the most audacious self-delusion of all? Because if he had learnt nothing else in the past year, surely the events of the last three days had shown him that friendship was something that he had never truly understood. All Sam's distraction, and Teal'c's withdrawal, and Jack's outright hostility on too many occasions over these miserable twelve months had convinced him that friendship was a tenuous thing at best. Now his disastrous judgement had shown him he lacked even the basic concept from which to make comparisons.

The door cracked open, as he knew it would, and Jack came in, comically tentative.

"Hey. You awake?"

It was loud enough that had he not been, it would have achieved just that. Daniel smiled, dull with indifference.

"Jack."

"So." Jack pivoted on his heels. "Nice room you got here. Great view."

"You can open the curtains if you want."

"Oh, I want." Five strides had Jack at the cord, ripping apart the material to let winter sun stream in. Daniel winced, and blinked. "There. That's better."

Oh, much better. You always have to fix things, Jack, don't you. Can't wait to see how you fix this.

"So…" Jack said again, never one to let a good inanity rest for long. "How's the head?"

"Fine. Just a concussion. Nothing serious."

Jack nodded, his eyes faintly squinting as he gazed at Daniel in the bed. He gave a jerk of the chin that signalled a question.

"I'm fine. Did they arrest Travis?"

Daniel saw that the blunt approach surprised Jack, made him drop his eyes briefly before returning them, serious and dark, to Daniel's face.

"They didn't find anything at the kid's place. No proof, Daniel. You sure it was him?"

If he could have shrugged without hurting, Daniel would have done so.

"I may be stupid and I may be slow, but hit me over the head enough with something and I usually get it."

Jack frowned, trailed his hand across the blanket over the end of the bed.

"It was dark. How can you know -?"

"He took the swords, Jack. He took the VCR and the laptop, but he also took the swords. A thief who just wandered in would have no idea they were on the wall, or that they were valuable. And Travis wanted them the moment he saw them." Daniel swallowed - not against hurt, because that didn't belong here. Just an acknowledgment of the humiliation that was flooding him, deep and all-consuming and as familiar as breathing. It had been the underscore for so much of his life, after all, and here it was again, newly minted, freshly discovered. "I always did admire the way that kid knew what he wanted."

"Travis isn't that tall."

"Didn't need to be. He had the drop on me, and he had a heavy sword with a handle that could take me out behind the ear without much more than a quick back swing. Then once I was down he could kick me until I was properly unconscious, and leave at his leisure. It's all right, Jack, I understand exactly what happened, and if you want to say 'I told you so', please, you're more than due a turn."

Jack's face darkened, and he drew closer to the end of the bed where Daniel lay back against the pillows.

"I'm not going to say that. I don't even know if it's warranted here, and neither do you."

"Oh, please," and Daniel managed a laugh. "God, Jack. Give me a break."

"Dammit - "

"Oh, come on. I mean, let's face facts here. I screwed up, I trusted the wrong person - again, I will quickly add - and I got a nice beating for my trouble. It's hardly a tragedy, or even that uncommon. No one's going to be shedding tears over Travis Delaney or the solid gold gullibility of Daniel Jackson. If he's been smart enough to get rid of the swords already, then that's the end of it. He wins, I lose, and you can tell me that the next time I feel so damned -"

But the words caught in his throat, just when he wanted them to be hard in denial. And just as well, really, because did he want Jack to hear how lonely and needy and pathetic he'd been? How he'd gulled himself with notions of teacher and student, mentor and acolyte, friend and father and son? Humiliation may be his familiar, but did he really want to bring it out for Jack to see and pity?

He waved a hand, tiredly.

"It's really fine. No harm done, except to my own silly pride." He laughed again, a raw sound, soft. "Where are the others?'

After a moment's silent consideration, Jack shrugged towards the door. "They said one at a time. They'll be in."

"Do me a favour?" Another hesitation, then Jack nodded. "I really need to get some sleep."

Jack chewed on his mouth, and Daniel realised that he, too, was subdued. There was nothing here that was tickling Jack O'Neill's fancy either, and Daniel thought, well, Jack had liked Travis a bit too. Maybe Jack was a little embarrassed about taking that tiny step into the realms of caring about someone else.

"I'll see to it. You get your rest."

"Thanks, Jack." It wasn't warm, but it was well meant, and Daniel smiled again. Jack nodded with finality, and turned away. At the door, he paused.

"For what it's worth, Daniel, I think you - " Then he stopped, as if he knew there was no point in going further. He frowned, and finished lamely, "I'm sorry about what happened."

"You and my insurance broker, Jack," murmured Daniel.

Jack looked unhappy, and Daniel was sorry about that, but his headache and his ribs gave him the right to relinquish any thought of helping out someone else right now. He had the luxurious selfishness of the injured, and if the wounds were deeper than any X-ray could show then he was the only one who could nurse them properly, in solitude.

Jack's truck had lousy suspension. Daniel suspected that it was part of the he-man approach to life so valued by the driver - never let it be said that Jack O'Neill needed the basic comforts of life to sustain him. Sure, he had a very nice house, to which they were presently driving, but that was mere show. He wanted the world to know he'd have been just as happy camping beneath a sheet of corrugated iron. So long as he had frequent access to hot showers and cable, of course.

Daniel had hoped for Sam as chauffeur, but she was mysteriously absent, so he sank down in the seat of Jack's truck and closed his eyes against the headache that the irresistible bouncing had begun. Beside him on the bench seat was an official USAF folder, the purpose of which remained unknown and unasked by him. It was only as Daniel re-opened his eyes minutes later and looked out on a part of town he had never seen before that he struggled wearily upright and sent Jack a questioning look.

"Almost there," was all Jack said; so Daniel pulled his despair about him more firmly and watched as the dull coloured streets rolled by, past the burned out cars and trashcans and graffiti-emblazoned walls. They slowed finally by a strange house that sat by itself in a concrete yard, its double storey proportions somehow wrong, intrinsically ugly even before the bleakness of the surroundings had worked its own miserable spell upon it. Numbers on the broken letterbox showed four dwellings inside.

"Where are we?" Daniel asked, but he knew, of course. He wanted to hear Jack say it.

"I think it's time we got to meet the whole Delaney family. And Travis owes us a meal."

Daniel felt the fire flash in his eyes and knew 'unreasonable' wasn't going to cover his response. "This is a lunch date? For God's sake, Jack- "

"Not a date," corrected Jack. "They don't know we're coming."

"Oh, that makes it so much better." Daniel slammed out of the truck and stood with his arms crossed, fuming. "My head hurts, my ribs hurt, and I want to go home. I do not want to make charity visits to outer Sarajevo, or wherever the hell we've come."

Jack's smile was grim, and he brought his face close to Daniel's, deliberately invading his space.

"You gave this kid a chance, Daniel. You let him think he had a chance. Don't you dare let yourself down now."

Daniel's mouth opened in outrage, finding it almost impossible to breathe in against the injustice of it all.

"What the fu -"

Before he could finish, they heard a roar from inside the house, and a dark-haired figure came flying through the door, pulling a smaller child by the hand. As Daniel and Jack whipped about, Daniel gasping at the wrench the sudden movement caused, they saw a third figure, a wiry man with thinning hair and arms too large for his body, chasing the first two. Daniel heard a voice cry his name, and then Travis was before him, tear streaked, frightened, bringing the girl beside him tight against his own small ribs.

"Come here, you little sack of shit!" the man swore. He glared at the other two men, and scowled again as a small red car pulled in by the yard. "Get back in the house."

"No." Travis had planted his feet, his bottom lip quivering but defiant.

"Get back in the house or I'll tan your ass."

"No." Travis moved back, closer to Daniel who instinctively brought a hand to his shoulder. Travis jerked away.

"Afternoon," Jack greeted the man cheerily. "Great weather we're having." Daniel didn't spare a glance at the fine chilling mist that lay upon the house. He matched the man's stare, feeling a loathing move beneath his skin. A connoisseur of bullies, he knew and marked this one as a minion of the beast. "Am I right in thinking you'd be Joe Mancini?"

The man didn't answer. Instead his mouth lifted in a smirk as he met Daniel's eyes. His expression held such destitution of the soul that Daniel could almost shudder at the sight.

"You're the faggot. You're the fine doctor who's been fingering my kid."

"I'm not your kid," Travis spat, but Daniel heard what wasn't denied, and his stomach slowly turned over.

The man, Joe, nodded slowly, as if infinitely satisfied in his contempt. Daniel felt movement behind him, and half turned to find Sam and Teal'c at his side. Joe's sneer slipped a little as he eyed Teal'c's size.

"Got the lawyers out this morning," Joe continued hurriedly, bolstering his cause in the face of unexpected reinforcements. "They took his statement. You'll be hearing soon enough, Mr 'Egypt and a quick grope in your bathroom'."

Travis had his back to Daniel, but he could see how the thin shoulders tightened.

"Travis…?"

And oh, God, how he wished his hurt didn't sound quite so undeniable in this cold winter's day.

"Yeah, that's right, high and mighty doctor with your fancy place and fancy words. I know what you done to my kid. You'll pay for what you done, you fucking pervert."

Travis's shoulders were shaking now, and idly, as if it mattered, Daniel wondered what had become of the jacket.

"Oh, come on, Joe." Jack's smile, if anything, grew wider. "Here we are, coming to visit a friend, and we get all this grief. How about we forget all this talk of lawyers before we all say something we might regret. Like me saying unless you return the swords you stole from Doctor Jackson here, I am going to ask Murray to tear your arms off, shove them down your throat and choke you with them. Now, I ask you - is that any way to spend a nice day like this?"

Travis grabbed the girl's shoulders tighter and swung her around so that he was half facing both Daniel and his stepfather.

"I never took your swords!" he yelled, fury in every cell of his being. "We haven't got them, you son of a bitch!"

"You got no right!" Joe shouted, his voice echoing Travis's. "The cops came here, they turned our place over 'cos of you and your big mouthed shit. Found nothing!"

"Which would indicate you have the rudimentary sense of a born thief," Teal'c said calmly, his obsidian gaze never leaving Joe's face. The man flinched, as though the words were flesh and his face a target, and Daniel heard the brutal strength in Tealc's' voice.

"Hey, hey, now. Let's keep this nice, Murray," Jack said in grave disapproval, and Teal'c gave a slight incline of his head. "Maybe he's got more than rudimentary sense. Maybe he got those swords to a fence that night. All I'm saying is, when he shows us that he's got enough sense to realise he made a big mistake, he's going to be getting on the phone to his fence and arranging for their return, before things get very messy and painful."

Joe began to speak, but Travis had turned to face him completely.

"You stole them!" The outrage was unmistakable.

"Get back in the house!" Joe muttered, flustered, but Travis thrust the girl behind him, into Jack's startled arms, and threw himself onto the man, curses and fists and feet flying. Daniel cried out, "No!", and followed, dragging Travis away from Joe's instinctive punches. One caught the side of Daniel's head, and the flare of pain whitened his face, but he ducked the next and merely shoved hard into Joe's chest. It sent him sprawling.

"Stay there!" Daniel snapped to Joe, who looked surprised enough for the moment to obey. He turned back to Travis, who stood with his chest heaving, his mouth so tight it broke Daniel's heart again.

"Travis, I'm sorry about the swords. I thought you took them. I made a mistake."

Travis shook his head and looked down but said nothing, still gulping in air. The door banged loudly in the damp and cold afternoon, and a thin woman no taller than Travis came carefully into the yard. She held herself awkwardly, as if hurt, but she kept resolutely past Joe until she reached her children. The girl went to her in silence and they stood together with a kind of fragile strength Daniel had witnessed before in the bodies of those wholly owned and powerless. Joe scrambled upright, and both the woman and girl took a step back and inwards, towards each other.

"Megan Delaney, I presume?" Jack said, gently, and Megan sent him a scared look. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I should introduce us. My name's Colonel Jack O'Neill of the USAF. This is Major Samantha Carter, Mr Murray, and Doctor Daniel Jackson. We all think quite a bit of your boy, ma'am."

It was prime O'Neill charm, but it met little success in Megan Delaney's expression, which matched the weather perfectly.

"Air Force. What do you want with me? Pete's dead six years, ain't heard nothing till now. Oh," and her face twisted a little, "unless you count being told to get out of the air force house in ninety days from the day he died. Appreciated the warning."

"My condolences on your loss," Jack said, sincerely, and she narrowed her eyes at him, obviously wondering if he was mocking her.

Joe laughed, a bitter sound.

"Told you they'd be here, didn't I? Put a lawyer up them and they'll be here, wanting to buy us off. Well?" He strutted up to Daniel, standing close enough that Daniel itched to shove him back again. "What's your precious reputation worth? Want me to take my boy to the police? Huh? What's it worth to keep that from happening?"

Megan made a distressed sound, but Daniel simply shook his head.

"I never harmed Travis," he said simply. "He's my friend."

"Ha! Hoo, ha!" The laugh was jagged, an attack despite the name. "Big son of a bitch like you, big doctor, grown man and you're talking to a little piece of filth like him? Oh, yeah, the police are gonna eat that up!"

Daniel kept his voice mild, and certain. Something was stirring in him, somewhere deep beneath the bitterness and loss, and he remembered the simple joy he had found with this young boy and this tried and tested man at his side. "Travis is my friend because he is a decent and bright young man. He taught me more in one afternoon about swordplay than in all my years of study." He glanced at Travis. "Did you talk to lawyers this morning, Travis?"

The boy with the face of a Harsesis but only the wisdom gained from a harsh lifetime's struggle looked up into Daniel's own face. He trembled, and Daniel wanted to reach for him, but the choice had to be clear and self-made. At last, Travis nodded.

"Did you tell them I molested you?"

He saw Travis's throat work as he swallowed before answering.

"Yes."

Daniel heard Sam drag in a breath, but he nodded, as if it was of no consequence at all.

"Why?"

He didn't need to look at Travis any more; he watched Joe, who lifted his greasy chin, malevolent and angry. At the last moment, Daniel reached out and touched Travis lightly on the shoulder.

"Doesn't matter. I know why you did it. Doesn't matter, Travis."

"Ya know something, Joe?" Jack gave a little shrug, somehow managing to make it a threat even as he casually gestured around the yard. "Whether we get those swords back or not, I'm thinking the day just couldn't get any better unless we beat the living crap out of you just for fun."

"I agree." Teal'c drew himself to his full height. "It would give me much pleasure, O'Neill, to break this kul'shak into pieces."

"Leave some for me, Murray," added Sam. Daniel suddenly realised that she had one hand on his sleeve.

"I'll get the cops." Joe swore, viciously. "Get back in the house, all of you."

"Oh, 'get the cops'? 'Get the cops', is it? The way Megan has tried to get the cops for the last three years, and you keep beating her black and blue till she retracts the complaints? That the way of it, Joe? We can beat up kids and women, but anyone comes gunning for your hide, well, hell, we'll 'get the cops'." Daniel heard the control slide from Jack's voice, and he knew that his friend was smouldering with anger. "Been doing some checking, Joe. Found out how hard Megan's been trying to get away. But your name's on all the cheques, isn't it, Joey? And you beat someone down enough they get to the point they can't see the open door in front of their face."

The tone was murderous now, and Daniel saw Joe's recognition of the fact. He felt that thrill of fear and unacknowledged pride he often got when Jack O'Neill decided that enough was enough and someone would have to pay for injustices done. Part of it was a fantasy from every playground confrontation he'd ever had, when visions of an all-powerful friend to stand at his side and frighten away thugs kept him upright and defiant as the blows and taunts rained down. Jack O'Neill was the friend from Someday, who'd turn up and 'Show Them'. The realisation brought a brief, twisted smile to his lips before he stepped forward to soothe.

"Jack…"

"Oh, it's okay, Daniel. I think Joe and I can come to an arrangement." Jack reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a roll of dollar bills and an envelope. Joe's eyes flickered to them, then back to Jack.

"I've got a thousand bucks and a ticket here, Joe."

Another sneer, this one less assured than before but just as venomous. "You think my boy and me will take a thousand bucks? Gonna cost you fifty times that, asshole, before your little faggot friend will get away with it."

"Joe, Joe, Joe," Jack remonstrated, shaking his head. "This isn't payoff money. This is 'get on the next bus out of town and start up somewhere else' money. Specifically -" he leaned to squint at the envelope, "Los Angeles. Hear it's nice this time of year."

"And why would I take that?" Joe postured, his hands flexing into fists at his sides.

"Because the alternative is getting up close and personal with Murray here in an oh, so not Oprah kind of way. And then you'd get to know Major Carter, and believe me, Joe, what's left after that won't go into a bait bag. And finally - finally, Joe, I'd just start showing up when you least expect it, just so you'll never get to miss the smell of fresh plaster and iodine. I'm thoughtful like that."

"And, of course, Travis will never testify against Daniel," added Sam, with utter conviction in her words.

Joe was not an intelligent man, but he had the cunning born of a long acquaintance with hard times. He licked his lips, clearly weighing odds. Daniel felt Travis shift his weight back into the hand that rested lightly upon his shoulder, and he raised his head with a smile.

"I trust Travis to tell the truth. In fact, I insist on it."

He watched without pity as the man's eyes darted for escape. At last, Daniel reached for the money and envelope that Jack held. Jack released them, wordlessly. Then Daniel stepped past Travis to stand before Megan and her daughter. He felt a terrible gentleness swell inside his chest as he looked at them, that desperate desire to protect as he himself had so often needed to be protected in a younger life. Megan looked into his face, beaten, weary, but something she saw there made her accept what he offered.

"Megan? Do you want Joe to take this?"

Without words, she collected the money and the ticket, left the girl behind her, stalked to where Joe stood trembling with anger and fear, and threw them at his feet.

"Get the hell away from me, you son of a bitch. You never come here again. Ever. Or I'll set Mr Murray on you fast as look."

For a long moment, no one moved or said anything. Then slowly, as if suddenly very old, Joe bent and picked the pieces up from the wet concrete. It was almost a solemn moment, powerful and raw; but then Travis crowed.

"You're gone! You are so out of here, dude!"

"Um, Travis - "

"Woohooo!"

Daniel turned to see Sam grinning, and Jack setting back on his heels with an air of immense satisfaction. Even Teal'c couldn't refrain from quirking his lips in a manner that indicated he too was pleased with the sight of Joe Mancini brushing past them to disappear into the gathering mist.

"Ah!" Jack reached out a hand to stop him, and Joe flinched. "The fence?"

A muttered name, and Jack nodded. "Have a nice trip, Joe," and the man was gone, his footsteps jerking to a run in seconds.

"Yeah! Your ass is grass, sucker!"

"Travis, uh -"

"What Daniel is mewling about there, Travis, is perhaps we better get your mom and sis inside and get some things sorted before we start doing victory laps." Jack went to put a hand on Travis's neck, but the boy surprised him by grabbing his waist in a sudden and fierce hug.

"Hey, whoa, okay, Travis, that's great." Jack held his arms awkwardly above his head for all of five seconds before finally bowing to the inevitable and wrapping his arms about the thin body. "And it's not me you have to thank. It's Daniel."

"No, no, I didn't - I didn't do anything," Daniel protested. "I didn't even know we were coming here today. Travis, I promise, it's Jack and Sam and Murray who -"

"Who you haven't even met properly," Jack interrupted. Travis grinned at all three.

"No, but I heard lots," he said. "Daisy, come and say hello to Daniel. Daisy's autistic," he explained, with that same note of protective pride Daniel had heard in the Burger Barn. Daisy came towards them, one hand clutched tight against an ear, her delicate features skewed slightly, as if listening to a faraway conversation amongst people she loved.

"Hello, Daisy," Daniel said gravely, and her eyes flickered past him to rest on Sam's golden hair. She made a sound something like a squeal, and reached for it. Sam froze, tense, but then gradually a smile appeared on her face as Daisy stroked the hair that was darkening in the moisture heavy air.

Megan's voice broke into the moment.

"Well, he's gone for now. But what's going to happen tomorrow, when you aren't here?"

"Megan," and Jack changed again, all business. "I did some digging around. Asked at PACS about how things stood. They said you never applied to collect Pete's insurance."

Megan stared at him, then her face flushed.

"I don't know about insurance." She tilted her chin. "I don't read so good."

Oh, God. Daniel's heart gripped with compassion and a kind of savage despair that people in this day and age could still be so isolated by illiteracy. It offended every part of his scholarly soul.

"Pete was covered by SGLI. Soldier's Group Life Insurance. There's sixty thousand dollars sitting there, waiting for you. Enough to take the kids and get a place away from here. And you're entitled to welfare in your own right. You've never once claimed."

Megan swallowed, then she reached out, blindly, and Travis went to her, held tight. As he'd always done, Daniel saw, ever since his father died and he became the only one she could rely on.

"Let's go inside," Jack suggested, gently again, and at once everyone became aware of just how wet the deceptive mist had made them. Travis glanced around to find Daniel, his eyes shining, and Daniel nodded towards the house. For a second, Travis's grin faltered; then Daniel met and matched his blazing smile, and he saw that golden connection, forged at the beginning of this winter now old. Travis and his mother followed Sam and Daisy and Teal'c.

Jack hesitated, then clapped a hand on Daniel's arm.

"Come on, Doctor Jackson. I think we all deserve a party. You think they'll deliver pizza out here? Armoured vehicles, maybe, with advance scouts and back up."

"Jack." There must have been enough in that single word to slow Jack, because he stopped and regarded Daniel with narrowed eyes. Daniel opened his mouth, and nothing come out beyond a hoarse thanks; and that was so far from being all he wanted to say that he despised himself again.

Jack stood silently for a minute. Then he nodded.

"And this is where you beat yourself up for losing faith, that it? And why you'll go in there and tell Travis that everyone else did all the heroics, and you were the low-life that doubted. That about it?"

It hurt to hear the facts of it, so bare and undisguised in the chill, and Daniel lifted his head as though to accept a burden.

"I'm not going to deny the truth, Jack. I did think Travis had betrayed me. I did give up." A shrug. "I'm not a low-life, but I'll never be a hero. I leave that to you military types." It was a bold attempt at dry humour, and it almost worked, but Jack stayed standing where he was, in the wet and cold, his hand still gripping Daniel's sleeve.

"Daniel - " Jack frowned, dropped the sleeve, and turned to go inside. Both relieved and ridiculously disappointed - as if Jack could offer him absolution for his moral cowardice, here and now! It was absurd - Daniel made to follow, only to bump into Jack where he had suddenly stopped again.

"Daniel, let me tell you just one thing before we go inside. I can bully a cowardly wife beating shit. I can chase down records and make some phone calls. I can make a pretty fair bet at figuring out a criminal mind." Daniel's own eyes widened at the look in Jack's. "But guys like me are a dime a dozen. Takes something else to find gold in a snot-nosed brat. Takes some other kind of guy altogether to pull a kid like that out of crap like this just because you gave a good goddamn. Despite what anyone else said or thought. Everything I know about taking a chance... nothing. Nothing compared to that kinda risk. Guys like that, my friend - they're rocking horse shit."

And Jack had gone; leaving Daniel blinking in what was definitely now a downpour.

"Rocking horse shit? Jack?"

"Think about it," floated the reply from the dark inside stairs.

"Um - black and woodchippy? Splinters in their -?"

A burst of Jack's laughter from somewhere above, and then a light showed down and Travis was calling "Come on, Daniel, shift it, man!"

Uncomprehending but aware that in some arcane way Jack had just said something profound - and against all likelihood, he suspected, complimentary towards Daniel himself - he began to climb the stairs. A masterclass in loyalty awaited, in a shabby room amidst poverty and light and laughter. And whether he was to be the tutor or student this time around, he understood with an almost painful clarity deep in his lonely soul that he'd been accepted into a circle of learning it would take him the rest of his life to understand.

Good thing he had friends with whom to compare notes. And sometimes even cheat a bit, here and there. He smiled, almost sadly, and shrugged off the rain made golden by the spilling light.

Feel free to contact the author... e-mail to: thepossum_au@yahoo.com.au

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Within the context and limitations of the site Disclaimer, Any and All original characters, situations, story line, dialogue and narrative © February 1, 2003, the author