Beneath the Briars

by Corby

Snap.

He clicked one stud into place, and his hands followed up the front of his shirt to find the next.

Six p.m. and he hadn't even finished dressing yet. He was going to be late.

Snap.

Jack would be annoyed with him. But that was okay. Just because Jack was sometimes annoyed, it didn't mean they couldn't work together. They were a great team, he and Sam and Teal'c and Jack. Everybody knew it. Everybody said so, from the general on down. The Tollans, the Nox, the Tok'Ra - they all knew what a great team SG1 was.

Snap.

Of course, they had their moments. What team - what friends - didn't? There were times he knew when he'd really pushed Jack's buttons, when Hammond really did want to grab him by the collar and britches and throw him the hell out of my office … His fingers paused as the words resounded for him again, and he swallowed.

A joke. It was a practical joke, nothing more. Jack had set him up, and the general had gone along with it.

Yeah, that's right. Great thinking, Daniel. George was going to cooperate with one of Jack's excruciatingly unfunny practical jokes, and Major Andrews, that no holds barred barrel of laughs was going to happily join in too.

Blindly, he fumbled for the next stud, his fingers catching on the edge of the soft fabric. Blue shirt, faded, an old favourite, because today he needed the reassurance of something warm and comfortable and familiar against his skin. And wasn't that a pathetic indicator of just where his mind was taking him right now? Some people looked for comfort food - he was into comfort clothing.

Almost angrily he looked down at where his fingers were groping, sighted the stud, and firmly pressed it home.

Snap.

Give me a fourth I can depend on.

Okay, now Jack would never really think that. They'd - been at cross-purposes sometimes, sure, but he and Jack had always been there for each other.

If he didn't think it, why did he say it?

Daniel blinked as another wave of something black and cold rolled through him, as the mantra seemed to fade beneath the hammering in his head. Only a joke, only a joke, only a joke.

The tape? Or him?

He shook his head, angry with himself again, summoning faith and a kind of desperate readiness to be the butt of yet another Jack attempt at humour.

After all, he argued silently as he grabbed his jacket, he'd proven himself in the program over and over again. Hadn't he? And not just with the opening of the Gate itself, but many times since.

He hasn't done anything that someone else couldn't have done.

Many times. Shyla, Hathor, Sha're, Ke'ra…

Oh, God.

He stopped at the door, motionless, as a miserable thought occurred to him.

Sam, threatening to resign three months ago. That was just about when he'd 'helped' her disable that mine. He'd completely misread the numbers, forgotten about zero, almost gotten them all killed… why wouldn't she be furious at having her life endangered by that sort of incompetence?

No. He straightened his shoulders and opened the door, rallying against the crippling sense of self-doubt that was washing through him once more. No. Sam had been on missions with him since. She'd been her usual self. They connected, he and Sam, always had, from the first. If she were truly angry with him, he would have known it. She would have said something. Given him a sign.

When was the last time she dropped by for coffee in my lab?

She was busy, they both were busy. Meant nothing.

Meant nothing.

He reached the elevator, pressed for basement level, watched as the light slowly came towards him.

Teal'c gets irritated?

It's - not pretty, sir.

Daniel shoved his hands deep into his pockets where they clenched against his thighs. The elevator doors opened, and he considered letting them close, letting them drop away without him while he stood here in breathless fear of his own friends.

He'd stepped into Gould strongholds; he could step into an elevator. He could go to a damn barbecue.

Even if the tape was true - and the hint of that thought was enough to make his stomach clench, his heart pound in his chest - Jack wouldn't do this. He wouldn't invite Daniel to a barbecue, to some kind of auto da fe A public flogging? That was ridiculous, and that one moment of conviction got Daniel to his car, carried him onto the street, drove him twenty minutes across town. By the time he parked his car opposite Jack's place, it had almost given him the courage to believe that an explanation was going to be offered, laughing apologies were going to be accepted, backs were going to be slapped, and foolish doubts were going to be cast aside with all the other paranoia a lifetime of being on the outside had bestowed upon him.

Well, Jack, I'll admit it. You had me fooled.

Swallowing again - dry, his throat was so ridiculously dry - Daniel crossed the street and made his way down the side of Jack's house. No point ringing the doorbell - everyone was outside in the late afternoon sunshine, laughing and talking while steaks sizzled. And shrieking? Ah - that would be Cassie, and that would be Jack tickling Cassie. For a second a smile began to warm his face, but then the name leapt to the forefront of his brain and he stopped dead as he said no, not Cassie, don't let her see this, don't let her be here. Because he understood, he knew what this was, it was their ticket out of Jacksonville, it was their pound of flesh. They were gathered here ("It's kinda about you, Daniel,") to announce the survey had removed one particular thorn from all their sides. It was a golden day, and they were finally going to be able to say everything they'd ever wanted to, right to his face, without rules or protocol or the ties of friendship to hold them back.

The grief hit him like a physical thing and he turned blindly to face the wall of Jack's house. Far away, in another world, he heard Janet's voice asking where Jack wanted the coleslaw, and Jack complaining that Daniel was late - "Go and ring him, Carter, tell him to get his butt over here. We're not waiting for him." He heard George's laugh, the one that bellied up from him so rarely. George was happy, they were all happy, and suddenly he knew he couldn't let them do this.

All those complaints piling up in Hammond's office, all the bitter threats and recriminations and arguments that must have gone on for years - for years - without him even realising (this is a guy who wouldn't take a hint if you shoved it up his ass…) - they were all owed payment. Retribution. Those people around the corner, his colleagues, teammates, friends - they were owed the chance to spit out their anger and disappointment. But he just couldn't give it to them.

There was courage left for one thing only. A plea for mercy, for an exit that left him with the faintest thread of dignity. They were good people, with good hearts - maybe they would let him have this one moment of grace.

His eyes were dry. His heart throbbed at the base of his throat. This feeling was neither fear nor sickness but some cruel miscegenation of both. All he could hope for was the strength to speak and be heard as he pushed back from the wall, straightened his shoulders, and stepped forward.

"Daniel!" He heard Sam's cheerful call, saw her wave awkwardly from beneath an armful of plates. Cassie gave a squeal and barrelled into him for a hug.

"Well, it's about time." Jack was standing at the grill, of course, sending him a scowl. "Remind me, Carter - did I say six thirty or six?"

"Well, you're here now, Daniel," and that was Janet, soothing things over but giving Jack an exaggerated frown even as she did so.

"Welcome, DanielJackson," and Teal'c was giving him one of his slight bows that could be mild or menacing depending on the terrain.

"You bring those meat things?" Jack continued, ignoring Janet. And everyone turned towards him, as if it were vitally important that he had brought those meat things, as if realising that he'd yet to say anything at all.

He opened his mouth, and was unsurprised when nothing came out. For one terrible second the thought came that tears might exist somewhere inside him after all, but the moment of weakness passed. He closed his mouth and took a deep breath.

"Daniel?" And Jack's voice had changed, the scolding was gone. Somehow, everything had gone very quiet, so that even the steaks seemed to sizzle more softly.

"Jack," Daniel began, and the name seemed to give him strength. "I'm sorry I'm late."

Janet peered at him. "You look dreadful, Daniel. Is anything - "

"I'm fine." He didn't mean to sound curt. This was no place for anger. Maybe later, when he was long gone and miles away, when his heart wasn't keening for his loss. "I just wanted - I know why we're all here today. You got the survey results." This to Hammond, who eyed him speculatively, but nodded nonetheless.

"Yes, I did. And I think we can safely say we got a damn fine result."

It was sharp, this pain, straight into his belly, and he almost gasped even as he saw George and Jack exchange sudden grins.

"Yes, that's - that's what I thought." Oh, God, this was hard. Well, suck it up, Daniel. You earned this place, this moment. "I know what you want to do, and I was hoping you'd let me say - say something before you - um, before you start."

Sam was staring at him, puzzled. Jack was frowning too, but they were waiting, giving him permission to continue. He'd been prepared for an argument, and the sudden realisation that they were granting him some kind of pardon almost undid him again. He swallowed, his hands coming together to clutch at each other in lieu of another's support.

"I just wanted to say that - it's been a privilege and an honour to know you. All of you." His throat closed up, and he cursed it, cursed his weakness, his lack of faith. Jack had a kind of half smile on his face, and was ducking his head. Thinking - what? Nice try, Jackson? Soften them up before they come after you? He pressed his lips together, raking determination from the bottom of his gut.

"I know you deserve better. You deserved better all along. And I'm sure you had a whole lot of things ready to say to me. But - " he glanced at Cassie, looking bewildered, unaware of the kind of send-off the adults had planned, " - but I was hoping you'd just let me go. Just - let me leave and we'll take all those things as given."

"Nope," Jack said cheerfully, "no can do. Got a steak here with your name on it. Now, if you're finished speechifying, Daniel, I suggest you go grab a plate and then the general and I are gonna tell you exactly what we've been up to."

"For God's sake, Jack, stop it!" His voice was harsh, and everyone stopped, almost comically frozen in place. "I know what you've been doing. I heard the tape!"

Another time, another place and Daniel would have smiled at Jack's complete and utter shock. It was as though the corpse of their friendship had reared up on the slab for a chat. The insouciance drained away from Jack's demeanour, leaving him pale and verbally stumbling.

"What - the tape...?"

"Of your conversation with the general." The fizz of anger had gone, and Daniel could barely find the energy to respond. "I know why we're here, Jack, I know what you think. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I - couldn't take a hint. But please - just let me go."

Hammond was getting up from his seat, shaking his head, and Sam was saying, "Tape? Sir, what tape?" But Daniel had had enough. He turned on his heel and somehow managed to walk in a straight line towards the street above. He was numb, drained, stupefied with regret. And he prayed for the blessing of deafness as he heard the tumult begin, as the celebrations kicked off in style behind him.

"Daniel! Wait!"

Jack, of course, but Daniel gave a faint curse under his breath. Just for once, Jack, just this one time - leave it.

"Daniel!" A hand grabbed his shoulder, and he swung away from it, not stopping, not looking back. "Daniel, listen to me! Just - ow, sonofabitch!"

He glanced back, saw Jack trying to cradle a stubbed toe as he hopped forward, still reaching for him, and he would have offered a smile if he had one left inside him.

He knew this feeling. He knew it, he owned it. It was the feeling of suitcases, and packing crates, and No Forwarding Address; it was "I'm sorry, your parents are dead - I'm sorry, I can't take care of a young boy - I'm sorry, we're not going to adopt - your grant is rescinded - you're a fool…" He'd been waiting for this feeling to emerge for five years now. Made it all the more easy to accept its presence when it was nothing more than his due.

"It was a fake-out, Daniel! We were faking out NID. They wanted to reassign you!"

The car was waiting, and he fumbled for his keys, hearing meaningless words behind him. He knew what to do now, he knew what was needed for survival. He was gifted. Hell, he was an expert.

"Me and George got them thinking what we wanted them to think, because - ah, hell, Daniel!"

The key was rattling, scratching along and around and anywhere but in the lock.

"Wait - just one damned second! Daniel - " and then the voice dropped, and it was no longer rasping explanations, demanding, ordering. This voice - this voice was pleading. "Danny - Danny, please."

He froze, key finally in the lock, shoulders heaving, though he was unaware of breathing. He hadn't been able to ignore a plea for help since he could remember. And he could never ignore one from this man.

"It was all fake, Daniel."

He closed his eyes, trying to find the energy to answer. What he'd heard on the tape was the truth that whispered to him at three in the morning, when he lay in his empty bed and thought of promises broken, mistakes made, angry words and silences. It had shocked him to the core to hear that truth spoken aloud; but it hadn't surprised him.

"What does it matter?" he said, wearily.

The voice rose in pitch a little. "It matters because - ow. Sonofabitch."

Daniel frowned, even though his eyes remained closed and he still faced away from his pursuer.

"Ow, jeez, that's - I really hurt my toe."

He leant against the car. "You did not hurt your toe."

The voice was definitely back in rasp mode. "I think I'd know it if I hurt it, Daniel. And I - really hurt it."

It was the whine. It was that pathetic strong man's whine, the one turned on at the end of a mission when he really wanted to get home, or the one he used to send them to the movie he wanted to see, pick the restaurant he favoured. It was so familiar Daniel found himself turning towards it involuntarily - to see Jack sitting at the kerb, one foot lifted across his knee, his face a picture of woe.

Daniel sighed. It was a given - he knew it, Jack knew it - that he could not drive away from this.

He pushed off from the car and came reluctantly back to squat in front of Jack, who grimaced anew.

"I think I broke it."

Daniel scowled, resenting the delay of his grief. "You didn't break it - it's just bruised a little."

"I can feel the bone."

"Give me a look." Daniel took Jack's foot in his hand, pressed firmly on the toe.

"Owww! Jesus, Joseph and - what are you doing?!"

He dropped the foot, and sat back. "It's a bruise. It will be fine."

Still muttering, Jack peered again at his toe as if expecting it to be sitting at right angles after Daniel's ministrations. At last he looked up, doubtfully. "Bruised?'

Daniel nodded.

Jack contemplated his foot again, with the grave respect he reserved for minor injuries.

"Hurts like hell, Danny."

"Yes," said Daniel. "It does."

They sat in silence for long seconds, Daniel on the road, Jack still settled on the kerb, nursing his foot.

"You ever bruise your toe?"

Daniel stared at Jack, trying to collect what had been said, to understand what was happening here. "Yeah. Big hunk of rock, El Uqsor. Sandals like these."

Jack peered at them as he might regard a troublesome Jaffa. "You know, they're real comfy but I'm starting to think they don't offer much protection."

Daniel nodded. "Protection is important."

Jack put his foot gingerly down onto the road. "Yeah."

More silence, and Daniel sat still, without the energy or will to move in either direction.

"So… "

He nodded, granting permission.

"This tape. Who gave it to you?"

"That personnel guy. Major Adenoid."

"Asshole."

"That's the one."

Jack looked down at his hands, hanging loosely between his knees, and all trace of whining was gone. "He did it to get to you. To get to me. To screw up SG1." Daniel swallowed, willing the right answers. The gods of the packing crates were waiting, eternally ready for the rejected, always happy to see him.

"And why did you - do that?"

Jack met his eyes levelly, without humour or evasion or apology. "We did it so that he'd think the last thing on the planet we wanted was to have you stay just exactly where you are. Hammond knew they were trying to get you to Area 51. No good reason, except to make all of us miserable. Telling him how much we wanted you was gonna get the wrong result." He shrugged. "We sold him the dummy."

Daniel dropped his eyes to the bitumen at his feet. "So the recommendation…"

"Was to keep SG1 intact."

"And that's what you were - "

"Celebrating, yes."

"I see." Daniel nodded. "Jack, I think I want to die."

"Hey, relax." Jack leant forward, gave him a brief shake on the shoulder. "As dying swan scenes go, it wasn't as bad as it could have been."

Daniel groaned, and covered his face. The fingers in his shoulder tightened.

Jack went on. "I mean, you could have reamed us all out. But you went for that kind of Greta Garbo angle - I vant to be alone. See, if it happened to me, I would have - " He paused, considering, and when he spoke next it was with sudden feeling. "If it happened to me, I don't know what I'd do."

Daniel took his hands away from his eyes and looked into genuine sympathy. Wasn't often Jack O'Neill let that shine through, and that made it all the more potent.

A hand was proffered. "Come on, dummy. Let's get back to the barbecue."

He hesitated, briefly, then felt the warm hand grasp his own as he was hauled to his feet.

"I suppose an apology is out of the question?" he asked.

"No, fine." Jack grinned at him. "Go right ahead."

"Nice, Jack. Real subtle."

"That's me," and Jack's arm was across his shoulders, propelling him smoothly back around the house to apologies and explanations and hugs and laughter so close to tears it was difficult to say where one ended and the other began.

Daniel swayed in the middle of it all, as Sam, his sibling by choice, slipped her arm around him and said don't ever leave us; as Hammond, with a general's prerogative in hindsight, clapped one hand on his shoulder and said the smartest thing he'd ever done was insist Doctor Jackson become a part of SG1; as Janet the ever practical shoved a plate of food into one hand, a beer into the other, and kissed him quickly on the cheek; as Teal'c loomed. Benignly. Somewhere in the far distance of his mind he could hear the sounds of empty suitcases being locked, and stored anew; and the wash of relief that filled his body left him dizzy with a sense of acceptance. Approval. Belonging.

It was overwhelming, but wonderful, and he didn't waste a moment of it trying to decipher what Hammond meant when he said, "Looks like a couple of those briars caught us in the ass, Jack." All he cared to see was the look in Jack's eyes as he caught Daniel's and said, "Still picking them out, General."

And he didn't waste a second of it considering the fact that Jack had gotten up from the kerb, wheeled him into this heaven - and not limped once.

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 © November 1, 2001, the author