Cat's Cradle

by Corby

part two, of two

Chapter Six

"Sam, I'm not wearing a Santa hat."

"Go on. It will look adorable."

"Adorable?" Daniel whispered to Abby, and she shivered her distaste. "Agreed. No Santa hats, and no holly round your neck either."

"What do I do with these potatoes?" Sam called from the kitchen.

"Leave them, Sam. It's all under control. Um - why don't you pour the shortbat?"

There was no reply, and Daniel looked to see Sam grimacing at the bench top and the Egyptian bottle it held there.

"Do you mind if I stick to the burgundy?"

There was a sharp rap at the door, and Daniel stood. "Of course not. Now, Abby, pay no attention to Jack's insults. It's a form of affection. Sort of."

"Good advice," Sam smirked as she settled in a chair.

"Yes, well - if he gets too obnoxious I'm just going to keep saying 'Merry Christmas' to him in any of twenty three languages."

He opened the door on a walking pile of parcels that staggered past him without salutation.

"Oh, hi, Teal'c, come on… come on in…"

"See? What I tell you? Leave it to Daniel and it'll be something weird." Jack strode into the apartment with an expression of profound distrust. "No tinsel."

"Feliz Navidad, Jack. And welcome, Janet. Hey, Cassie!"

"Daniel! Hi! Where's Abby?" An armful of hair and teeth and long legs and then Cassie was gone in pursuit of her newest addiction.

Janet Fraiser gave him a hug. "Something smells wonderful, Daniel."

"Tell me you got a tree at least, Danny. A good old North American Christmas tree."

"Well, actually, the North Americans were not the ones who - "

"Ah! I don't want to hear it." Jack stomped past.

Daniel smiled, suddenly absurdly pleased to have all these people in his place of quietude. "Here - let me take your coats."

Jack clutched his jacket. "I might keep mine. In case furball decides to attack."

"And Hyvaa Joulua to you, too, Jack."

"So where is the mange-mobile?"

"Shub Naya Baras, and I daresay she fled at the first hint of your - really nice cologne," Daniel said, remembering the provenance of said cologne at the last moment.

"She's not going to jump out on us, is she?" Janet eyed the room with as much distrust as Jack had shown earlier. "I'm not very good with cats."

"Janet? You too?" said Sam, pouring a burgundy for her friend.

"I just - I don't know." Janet smiled her thanks as she raised the glass. "I can feel their bones under their fur. Or something. I just don't like it when they rub against my legs. And they always seem to sense it. They always come to me."

"You know, I did some research about that," Daniel said enthusiastically.

"Of course you did," Jack muttered.

"It seems that cats like non-threatening people who don't stare at them. So by turning your head away, she thinks it's a signal to come nearer."

Janet sipped from her glass. "Makes sense. So I'm sending the wrong signals?"

"Nah, they're just possessed." Jack checked the label on the bottle, brows raising in pleased surprise, then poured himself a large glass. "I keep telling you. They're mini-Goa'ulds."

"Nadolig Llawen, and I thought you'd abandoned that theory."

"It's with my adviser. And what the hell are you gabbling about?"

Daniel just grinned at him. "Gledileg Jol."

Teal'c looked thoughtful. "I see a flaw in your theory. I do not believe a cat could operate a ribbon device, O'Neill."

"That's the only thing holding them back, Teal'c. Minute they figure that out, we're toast."

"Well, food's ready." Daniel ushered them to where he'd set up the dining table. "I hope you like it."

"Turkey? Pork? Chicken?"

"Yes to all three, Jack. Well -that is - "

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture of great suffering and forbearance. "Ofer. What?"

"Ah, let's see." Daniel brought a steaming turkey to the table and offered Jack the carving tools. "The turkey is a recipe I got when I had Christmas on a dig near Jericho. It's got pepper, cinnamon, nutmeg and, uh, stuffing of rice, meat, pine nuts and almonds."

"Jewish turkey?"

"Kinda. And the pork's Hamborgarhryggur. I had that when I was in Iceland at Christmas. I was doing an investigation into Isis and her links with the Norse legends of Odin and Freya. They all kind of lead to this cult of the Black Virgin, which was followed all over Europe and showed how Christianity had supplanted earlier beliefs with - "

Jack held up a hand with the carving fork, managing to look comical and threatening at the same time. "Daniel? Is it pork?"

"With mustard seeds and brown sugar glaze, yes," Daniel affirmed, placing it on the table and reaching for the potatoes.

"I found her." Cassie re-entered the main room with a doubtful looking Abby hanging out of her arms. "She was on your bed, Daniel."

"She knows she's not supposed to be on there during the day." Daniel sent Abby a frigid look.

Sam burst out laughing. "Oh, Daniel, you don't seriously think you can call your soul your own any more?"

Such an innocent, happy question, from the safe circle of his dearest friends, and it slid under Daniel's ribs with the stealthy ease of a kris knife. He saw Janet and Jack looking at him, grinning, his sardonic, hers affectionate. Sam was shaking her head, distracted by the sight of Cassie plumping Abby upon an empty dining chair, watching as Abby decided whether Teal'c's symbiote warranted a further hiss. Cassie was giggling, and the words came to Daniel's mind unbidden, blazing, hiding everything with their limitless truth.

Never again. My soul never again.

A child screamed.

The potato dish clattered to the table, and Daniel ran. Past his friends, the food, the foolish festive touches that were so useless for the clearing of haunts and spectres. He pushed past Jack's chair, seeing him rise in concern but not stopping, not waiting, having to find a path through this worthless junk that cluttered his apartment, his life, that slowed the rescue that had to come for the child beyond the door.

He reached for the handle, wrenched the door open, his heart hammering.

Two small boys were in the hallway, and for a moment he thought they were smeared with blood. They were on the ground, and Daniel knew they were badly injured, and Belos was near, Belos was shouting, and the 'Gate would open too soon, too soon…

"Daniel!" Hands were on his arms, holding him tightly, and the smoky voice was in his ear. "Daniel, they're okay. They're just playing. They're okay."

One of the children, the younger it seemed, screamed again as his brother pulled the skateboard from him.

Daniel's mouth was opening, trembling for words, the treacherous words that seduced and abandoned him, the words that would tell these children they were spoilt and stupid and didn't deserve their presents when they fought over them like that because there were other children - other children…

"Come on, Daniel. Let's go back inside." The hands were turning him, bringing him back to this haven of quiet, now incongruous with people and noise and concern. Their eyes were pitying, and brought pain. He closed his own, briefly, and promised himself he was not going to be sick.

"Prrruppp?"

Abby was at his feet, weaving between his legs, gazing up at him.

"Not now, cat," Jack said, but Abby ignored him. She lowered onto her haunches, body rocking to find balance, then launched herself up Daniel's body, using her claws to pull herself up to his neck.

"Ow! Ow, ow, ow, ow!" Daniel cried out, then grimaced as she settled on his shoulders. "Abby!

"I take it that's an 'ow'?"

"Yeah, that's an 'ow'," Daniel winced, as he unhooked her front claws from beneath his chin. "I keep telling her not to do that. She knows I hate it."

"But she keeps doing it anyway. Yep," and Jack gently ushered Daniel into the kitchen, signalling to the others to stay where they were, "that's a marriage."

"It's okay." His voice was steady, if strangely breathless, and he patted Abby with a fierce kind of distraction. "She just got panicked. She just panicked, Jack."

"Yeah, I know." Jack was soothing, heading Daniel towards the kitchen stool. "Got a fright."

"Yeah. She's better now. She's okay with me."

"I can see that. Okay, Daniel, what else do we have to take in?"

"Oh." It was hard to focus for a moment beyond anything but the feel of Abby's fur beneath his hands, her warm breath against his ear, her faint chirrups of consternation. "Um - the chicken."

"Chicken? This stuff?" Jack sniffed it suspiciously.

"It's - it's doro wat, and that's injera - bread - to go with it." Oh, damn, damn, damn, he was shaking. He was shaking, and there were tears in his eyes, burning his shame in salt and water. He turned his head, buried his face in Abby's fur. "Shhh, it's alright, Abby. Just some kids."

"That's right, Abby. It's fine." So gentle was Jack's voice that Daniel could barely hear it as he crooned to the cat on his shoulders. "Okay, I think I've got this sorted. Why don't you take a moment, calm Abby down some more?"

"Okay." Daniel nodded his head, not looking up.

He heard Jack moving away, reassuring everyone with his loud commentary about the weirdness of Daniel's chicken.

A moment. Just a moment. And so much could happen, so much could go wrong in a moment.

"So, where's Dora Watts belong, Daniel?" Jack called from the dining table.

Daniel cleared his throat and pulled his face away from Abby, who was now purring. "Ethiopia. I was there one Christmas - "

"On a dig, I got it." Jack prodded it suspiciously with one finger. "I don't suppose there was a chance you were ever on a dig in New York? Near Maxim's?"

Daniel heard Sam say something, and there was nervous laughter. Damnit! He was ruining the day he'd worked so hard to make wonderful. He had precious few good Christmas memories, and he was fast doing his best to make sure this one was going into his scrapbook right alongside all those miserable pseudo-celebrations of foster placements and colleges and far-from-home worksites.

He stood, feeling Abby adjust her weight and balance to his motion. He could see his friends helping themselves to the food, talking with determined frivolity, and he steeled himself to join them. Ghosts had no place here today, not in this warmth and light and colour. Carefully, he picked Abby away from his shoulders and carried her back to the table.

"Everything okay?" he asked, and was relieved to hear the words sounding normally.

"Delicious." Sam had her face stuffed with chicken and Teal'c gave her an approving nod.

"Sam! You pig!" He could feel their tension relax as he teased her.

"I know! I can't help it. It's yummy!"

"Cassie, pay no attention to your Aunt Sam. That is not the way a lady eats dinner," Janet said drily.

Daniel found his seat and dropped Abby to the floor. She gave him a reproving look then disappeared under the table.

"You know, sir, I've put a memo to the General about that cat patrol thing. He thinks it's a good idea." Sam used her finger to capture a piece of chicken on her lip.

"You are joking, I hope, Carter?"

"Well, think about it, sir. One day we might find the Planet of the Cats."

Jack smiled sweetly. "We already did, Sam, it was called Netu."

Teal'c gave a sudden burst of laughter, an act guaranteed to bring all other conversation to a halt.

"Teal'c?" Jack said mildly. "Mind sharing with the rest of the class?"

"On Chulak, only priests may keep cats. It is said to be Lak Sho Mal, the marriage of the bald and the furry. It amuses me that you would mention marriage to Daniel Jackson in this context."

Daniel felt a shaky grin on his own face.

"The bald and the furry?" Jack was shaking his head. "Anyone else get a picture of Hammond in a mink?"

"Oh!"

"Works for you, too, eh Daniel?"

"No," Daniel said as he got up again from his seat. "I forgot drinks. Sorry."

He hurried past Jack at the head of the table, into his kitchen where he collected the bottles of white and red wine.

"So, who wants…" he began, and then he paused, lit with an unexpected shock of warmth as a sight he never imagined seeing was revealed to him.

Jack O'Neill surreptitiously breaking off pieces of pork.

And feeding them with equal secrecy to a very self-satisfied cat.

Chapter Seven

He met them on a night of insistent rain, that dropped past his balcony window like a shifting sheet of silk and served to remind him how warm his sanctuary had become.

He was sprawled in his favourite chair. The laptop was balanced precariously on one arm of it, and Abby was doing her 'Sphinx act' on his chest. He loved it when she chose that role; he loved how she bunched up and tucked under, how her face was ineffably serene as she turned it towards him and her eyes closed in utter contentment. There were times, like now, when he wondered at the usefulness for his spine, and he wriggled beneath her a little to ease a kink developing in his back. But he wouldn't disturb her, not for worlds, and he smiled at his complete servitude.

He had never had a pet before. There was the time a dog hung around his family's campsite for a week or so, and there were various dogs and cats at each of his subsequent foster homes. But the reality of communion with an animal was something at which he'd privately scoffed. In one part of his mind, the most coldly analytical, he had considered pets to be emotional crutches upon which people projected their needs. Animals became a reflection of their owner's personalities, and so the owner began to love them as they hoped to love themselves. It was all very Jungian, or something, and he'd written a paper on the role of sacred animals in Egypt, and how the people mourned the death of their animals because they recognised the passing as an intimation of their own mortality. It was one of the earliest papers he'd ever written, and unquestionably the most arrogant.

Abby gave a particularly loud purr, and Daniel smiled at her.

"Happiness is a fed cat," he murmured, pretending it was not to her. One green eye opened into a half slit and sent him a look that said, "Please, dear boy, don't bore me with truisms."

"Oh? You want Noel Coward? At this hour? Demanding woman," and he reached down the side of his chair for his coffee. Both green eyes were upon him now, and as he straightened he saw that dazed love light that she sometimes offered him, a look of approval and trust and hazy pleasure. It always enchanted him, and he stopped typing just to return the favour.

"Look at us," he said, softly. "Two revolting pieces of mush." With one finger he stroked the top of her head, and she closed her eyes to convey her delight in another loud purr. "Now, if I could only get you to do my laundry and cook the occasional meal…"

One eye slitted open again, daring further comment, and it was so appropriate for the tyrannical siren he cast her as in his mind that he burst out laughing. She rode the convulsions of his chest with equanimity, not bothering to use her claws.

"Oh, you are too much, Scrap," he finally chuckled.

A knock at the door surprised them both.

"You got gentleman callers I should know about, hmmm?" he said to her, before gently lifting her off his body and placing her on the ground. His chest felt warm where she'd been.

He padded to the door in bare feet, and leant to peer through the security peephole.

"Yes?"

"Ah, I'm Officer McConnell, this is Officer Walters - " and two identity cards were briefly flashed at eye level, " - and we need to speak with you sir. Apologise for the late hour. Won't take long."

Oh, hell. A myriad of disasters crashed through Daniel's mind, even as he told himself 'expired license' or 'parking ticket' or 'minor traffic infringement' and 'God, they wouldn't come for that at eleven p.m.'

"Just - just a minute," and he opened the door to pain, sudden, shocking, pain, as the door was flung back onto him and he smashed backwards into the wall. Two men were inside, two dark blue figures filling his eyes, his mind, as one of them grabbed his shoulder and flung him down, following him with a kick that drove the breath from his body.

No speech, no thought but impossible, not happening, not here, Abby!

The door was closed behind him, and his place of sanctuary was intact once more and forever ruined.

"Where?"

Something hard and very cold was being pushed into his ear and Daniel thought I know that, it's a gun, they've got guns, Abby stay down, be calm, think, Jack, what would Jack do?

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you - "

Light, and fire, and his head was ringing from the gun barrel that had cracked across his ears.

"Where?"

Don't talk, don't say anything for a moment, get your bearings, think, Abby, stay safe.

From where his face was being pressed sideways into the carpet he could see a pair of poorly polished shoes standing two feet from him. He moved his head slightly so that he was addressing them.

"Tell me what you need. Don't hurt me again. Just tell me."

There was a pause, and then he was being dragged upright by his hair and oh god that hurt. But he found his knees, and managed to kneel, and that brought him a measure of control. He brought his hands up behind his head automatically, with a secondary awareness that they offered some protection against that terrible gun barrel.

The man in front of him was dark and quite dramatically dull looking. Perfect for a criminal, thought Daniel. The man had a gun, and he seemed unhurried, which was actually something that Daniel found very frightening.

"Where is it, Malcolm?"

Malcolm? Something fizzed in his blood, the remains of a juvenile sense of justice. They'd come to the wrong place, they had the wrong person, so they'd just go, they weren't allowed to hurt him.

"My name is Daniel Jackson." Don't tell them you're a doctor, don't let them think you're smart. Dumb. Play dumb.

The man smiled briefly, then nodded.

"No - "

The kick was brutal. It felt as though his kidneys were pulped, and he gasped at the feel and the fear of it.

Tears came to his eyes, and he blinked them away as he found his voice.

"Wallet… on bench…"

The man considered him for a moment, then took the steps over to the bench.

"Can't see it."

"It's there. I - I think."

"Malcolm." The man was back, and now he was smiling again, and holding the gun, and Daniel thought he might wet his pants.

He had no idea why he was so terrified. He'd faced death before, many times, faced Goa'uld monsters and armies, faced terrors and torments most people would never guess at. He had always found some kind of bravado, or maybe real courage, when he needed it. But now - now he was shaking, and a small voice inside him was babbling about surrender, and promises, and anything, anything, just don't kill us…

"I'm not Malcolm," he said, and his voice was cracked and high.

The man let out a long, slow breath, as if considering a deep problem.

"You have thirteen thousand dollars, Malcolm, and it doesn't belong to you. You know that. We know that. So let's see if we can't make this right."

Thirteen thou - ? Daniel felt a madman's laugh in the back of his throat. Hell, he had five times that in his bank account downtown. If that was all they wanted, a puny amount of money for God's sake, they could have the stuff. He'd give it to them.

"I don't have - "

Didn't expect that kick, it was out of rhythm somehow, and Daniel groaned as he felt his back turn to jelly.

"Malcolm, this isn't going to go away. Isn't going to stop. Not until you give us the money."

Daniel wanted to close his eyes, to summon up resistance, but he couldn't leave his open-eyed stare at the man and the gun before him. He wanted to see everything, every detail, he wanted to see what was happening behind him, he wanted to be ready for what they were about to do, to stare at it, shame it, deny it, because he didn't want to die a fool.

"Please - find my wallet. It has my ID. You have got the wrong place."

The man rocked back, finding new balance, and frowned a little.

"Why are you doing this? I am going to get annoyed, and my friend is going to kill you. You have to know this."

"Please."

"It's thirteen thousand, man," said a new voice in his ear, the voice behind the kicks. "Just give it to us and we'll go."

A mordant laugh escaped Daniel's lips, and he was vaguely horrified at himself.

"I have about eighty dollars in my wallet. I have my credit cards. That's it. That's all I've got here. I'm telling you the truth."

Something of sinister intelligence flickered in the man's eyes, something that told Daniel the man was re-considering.

A movement, a shadow behind the chair and Daniel cried out in his mind.

The man saw it, moved so fast Daniel's nerves sparked with the shock of it, and he grabbed her.

He had her.

Daniel was rising without conscious thought, until the fist and the boot behind him brought him back to the floor. Abby had balled up around the man's hand, claws and teeth embedded, ears flattened, a growl like a promise echoing in Daniel's ears.

"Son of a bitch." It hurt the man, Daniel could see that, could see blood beginning to trickle from between her teeth, but the man was smiling and Daniel knew real horror. "Whoa."

The man started swinging her in wide circles, still smiling, but she clung on for as long as she could, until the momentum dragged her legs away and she was splayed in the air with each vicious swing.

"Don't! Don't! I'll get you money, I'll get your stupid, stinking money!"

But this man was in love with pain, and he danced with his new pleasure, swinging her about the room as she continued to bite deep into his flesh.

"My, my. Quite a kick on her. Quite a kick."

"Hey." The one behind Daniel was concerned. The man threw him a devilish look as he spied the balcony doors. Still swinging his hand around and around in a dizzy display of cruelty, he reached for the door handles that would allow him to step outside, into the rain, into the night and the possibilities that come with eight storeys and no conscience.

"Don't!" And now Daniel was no longer a supplicant. He swung a fist behind him, connecting with bone and blood, and surged upwards towards the balcony. He could see the man standing at the railing, with Abby still clinging to him, still fighting. The man was shaking his hand as if to shake off a piece of particularly sticky dirt, and he was laughing, laughing, as Daniel lunged forward and the crack sounded in his skull before the pain exploded again.

For several seconds Daniel's vision was blurred and too bright. He stilled, as the floor tilted beneath him and nausea swirled the other way. He tried to breathe. He couldn't move. He knew Rage.

"Wow." The man was chuckling as he came back inside. "That's why they call 'em hellcats." His jacket was wet and glistening, there was rain on his face and hair, and he was wiping his hands with a handkerchief. His bloodied, empty hands.

"Spitfire," he added, approvingly. "Now, Malcolm. How would you feel about following your cat? They say that cats always land on their feet, but I'm not sure you could tell with what will be left of that piece of piss and vinegar."

The man was making noises, was saying other things, and Daniel knew he was going to die in a stupid, squalid mess not of his making. He wasn't shaking any more. Everything had become quite calm, almost slow. The man's words were coming to him through treacle, each one quite clear and certain, and none of them made any sense.

"Hey." The one behind him again. A limited vocabulary it seemed. Something flew over Daniel's head and the man caught it.

His wallet.

"Son of a bitch." The man didn't seem very angry or upset. He nodded at the one behind, and Daniel thought here it is, this is the last thing I will ever see, this patch of carpet and that bastard nodding, this is it. I can feel my heart. I don't want this. Jack?

But instead something else was tossed above his head, and the man caught a mobile phone. A quick dial later and he was speaking.

"Yeah. Give me that number again?… Check it for me, would you?... Got a different name here. Jackson….Then talk to him." With a sigh, the man hung up. "Ah, what a mess," he said, casually, to no one in particular.

Daniel could feel blood trickling down the side of his neck. It was the only thing moving for an eternity of two minutes. Then the phone rang.

"Yeah…Right…Tell him to meet me… No, not you, him. This is down to him. You don't want any part of that conversation." The phone was snapped shut, and the man's face cleared. "Okay. It seems apologies are in order. Someone messed up."

Daniel's body felt so heavy he knew he would never get up from this floor. This was where they would bury him.

The man frowned. "I think we can cut you a little slack, Jackson. I think we can talk deals here. Am I right?"

Daniel blinked, slowly. The words had left him long ago.

"Now, we've had a little stay, and maybe things were unpleasant, but I think we both know they could have got a lot worse. We're professionals, we don't do things to people unless they deserve it, and I think we have established that you don't deserve it. Not tonight, anyway. So. We know where you live; you know what we can do. You're smart enough to figure this out. You say nothing to no one, and we can draw the line under this little episode. You even look at that phone, you even think of confiding in a buddy over a beer, and you get a physics lesson about falling objects. Do you understand?"

What was the man talking about? He wanted something. A nod? Daniel nodded.

"Good. We'll show ourselves out. Oh, and hey - sorry about your cat." A hand was coming down to Daniel's face, and he almost flinched; but at the last moment his eyes were able to track and focus on the object in the hand. It was a ten-dollar bill. "Here. Buy yourself a new one."

He heard the door close and the room was silent as he waited for death.

It took almost five minutes before he realised that it wasn't coming for him after all. And for a moment that realisation brought regret so profound he knew it came from the second of conception, when his flesh gazed beyond at the next level to come. Then the body's relief was so great he gave a gasp, and began to shudder where he lay.

His fingers pressed into the carpet as they'd once pressed into black, tumbling hair, in the search for infinite sweetness. As they'd once pressed into silvery, soft fur, in the search for salvation of sanity. The open balcony door ushered in the sound of rain and traffic, far below; if he listened closely he could swear he heard the wailing of children, and the final tumult of his own heart falling through the night.

Chapter Eight

There was a film across the food in the small earthen bowl, a grey and soft growth that hid the true colours beneath. So much decay in just a week, thought Daniel. How much flesh was rotten and corrupted in a month? A year? It had been two years since Sha're died.

He stooped to pick up the bowl and gazed at it without emotion. A stench rose from it, and he wrinkled his nose, briefly, before tapping the contents into the garbage bag at his feet.

So many things he'd accrued in the few years he'd lived here. Quite remarkable, for the child who'd once lived out of an ugly plaid suitcase, one that never properly closed and had to be strapped down to stop its contents from spilling everywhere at the slightest knock. A useful lesson, there in his own, old suitcase, the one long since discarded in a Chicago dumpster. He'd left a trail of spilled tears and seed and blood behind him, throughout the galaxy. More than time to find a strap or two.

He hefted one of the large packing crates onto the bench, and began sorting through his crockery. It occurred to him to simply leave it all behind. To close the door and abandon the place as one of nightmare and loss. Perhaps dragging these wretched pieces of kitchenware and antiquity around behind him simply dragged the ugliness from one place to the next. The thought of a clean start, unimpeded, untainted, was quite appealing. The vision of it, the fresh scent and light of it, lasted for almost a minute. Then he gave a soft chuckle, and began wrapping newspaper around the nearest plate.

As if this ugliness was something other than his own weary spirit.

The bowl sat on the sink, and he rinsed it, using his finger to dislodge a piece of dried meat on the bottom. It was a nice little bowl. Pleasing. No reason to throw it away.

A key sounded in his front door and he froze, eyes wide, until Jack's grey head appeared around the dividing wall. He equated that door with the egress of evil, now, and even Jack's familiar face wasn't enough to calm the sudden thumps that rang in his chest.

"Hey, Daniel." Jack was keeping things casual. "Can I come in?"

Daniel smiled to himself. He'd seen this before, how death brought solemnity and manners to the most facetious of men. Death spooked people, made them mind their tongues and wipe their feet. Death was not to be trifled with, and he nodded his approval.

"Sure." He lifted another plate, set it in the centre of the newspaper sheet, folded the corners of paper into the middle.

"So…" Jack squinted at the packing that surrounded him. "You're really moving, huh?"

"I'm really moving."

His friend dropped his gaze, fumbled with the keys for a moment. Death brought embarrassment too, and Daniel packed and folded without comment.

"Uh - Cassie wrote something for you. She thought you might - well, she thought we could go down the park, maybe say some words."

"Words?" Daniel paused in his mechanical work. "What for?"

"For - you know." Jack gave a shrug towards the balcony, and then winced. "For Abby."

Daniel stared at him. "It's a cat, Jack."

"It was Abby, Daniel," Jack corrected gently. Daniel continued to stare until Jack made a brushing motion with his hands, as if to rid himself of the look, the thought. "Come on. We know how much you miss her."

"As a matter of fact, I don't."

"Daniel."

He paused in his packing again, slightly irritated. "Yes, I miss her presence round the place. Yes, I miss the company. No, I am not in mourning."

Jack said nothing to that, and Daniel resumed packing with a tension across his shoulders that prophesied more aches to come. The bruises were still spectacular. If he wanted pain, he had a ready source.

"You hear about the arrests?" Daniel had to admire Jack's tenacity. He gave a twitch of assent, and Jack nodded. "You did good Daniel. Gave them a great description. Couple of nasty guys who won't be around for a long time, thanks to you. You did real good."

This couldn't go unchallenged. "Did I?" he said, heavily.

"Sure. You survived, and you got them arrested. What's not to like?"

"Oh, I don't know." A plate collided sharply with another; he was surprised there was no crack. "Maybe the fact that I was almost pissing my pants the entire time."

"And this - bothers you?" Jack sounded incredulous.

"Yes, it bothers me." A cup slammed into a corner of the box, jammed against scrunched paper. "I would think it would bother you too, since you're our team leader."

"Daniel - this wasn't a mission."

"Thanks, Jack. That must be why you're the colonel."

"Daniel, will you look at me a second here?"

Reluctantly, Daniel lowered the last dinner plate and lifted his eyes to Jack's. The compassion he saw there sent a tiny spark of pure grief into his gut, and he smothered it immediately.

"It's firewalking."

"Excuse me?"

"Those firewalkers don't just get off the couch and stick their feet onto the nearest barbecue, Daniel. They have to get ready for it. They have to be prepared, mentally. Emotionally."

Daniel's lips curved into a sarcastic grimace. "And that relates to this because…?"

"Because you were home. Safe. Relaxed. Nobody goes from zero to a thousand in ten seconds, no matter what the brochures say."

"So - you're saying that in my natural, relaxed state I'm a coward?"

"What I'm saying, Daniel, is that anyone under sudden attack has trouble adjusting. Even a trained soldier, when they're not on duty. At the base, we always know there could be a crisis at any time, but here… here, you're supposed to be safe. And the rules change."

"Huh." Daniel swept his arm at the range of half-packed boxes, as if in disgust. "Rationalisation, Jack." A thought struck him, bitter and biting and just what he wanted. "Did I ever tell you how I found her? When?"

As Jack shook his head slightly, his eyes never leaving Daniel's face, he continued. "The night after P48X22. In the basement. Abandoned. And I rationalised, Jack. I told myself, hey, if I save this kitten maybe it makes up for all those children I slaughtered today. The art of rationalisation, Jack. Keeps everybody sane and sleeping at night."

"Daniel!" Jack's face was screwed up as if he were in real physical pain, and briefly, Daniel wondered if he was angry. "God, Daniel, it's been six months."

"Oh, of course. Whatever was I thinking?"

"You did your job. Best you could. Nobody could have done it better."

"And you know this because…?"

"Because I know you."

"I was the one who wanted to chase down Belos!" There, it was said, the words an ineradicable testament to his guilt.

He saw Jack swallow. "You saw that fish guy's grief. What was his name - Nem? It's understandable. It's what makes you who you are."

"I saw another Goa'uld to hunt down and destroy!" He made the words vicious, flails to draw blood. "I didn't care about Nem."

"Daniel, you care about everybody."

"Not any more. I am - sick of this!" Daniel slammed the small bowl across the bench. It skittered over the slick surface, ringing against the coffee machine. "You know, I used to think my burden, the thing I had to get rid of, was hate. I had that pretty clear in my head. But now I realise it's giving a damn. Just - just think about it. God knows, I do. If I hadn't cared about Nem, I wouldn't have gone after Belos. If I hadn't cared about those children, I wouldn't have shepherded them all to the Gate. If I hadn't cared about that stupid cat - "

There was silence for a moment, then Jack gave the ghost of a smile. "It wouldn't hurt so much."

Daniel shrugged. He was suddenly deeply bored with the conversation, and terminally sick of himself. "I've never regarded myself as a slow learner, but lately I'm starting to wonder. Here's a pop quiz; I tried to save Sha're, I tried to save those children, I tried to save the cat. What do all three scenarios have in common? Built in failure."

Jack tilted his head back, his mouth grim. "If I'd known this was a pity party, I would've worn a tie."

"Pity? You think this is pity?" A half-laugh escaped him. "Yeah, you're right, Jack. I pity anyone who relies on me."

Even to his ears, it sounded melodramatic, and he closed his eyes to summon his thoughts.

"No. Okay. I know I…" Damn, this was so hard to say, when the truth of it was so easy to understand, deep in his bones. "Death and I. We've got some sort of dyad going between us. We get together and create misery."

"Right. Nothing like personifying the old Grim Reaper to prompt some really top level thinking, Doctor Jackson."

"It's a cycle," Daniel continued, ignoring Jack. "Love and death, and I don't need a psych consult to tell me all about that. An endless cycle, only mine seems to rotate too fast. I don't get a lifetime to explore the love part. Just the death." He reached for a sheet of newspaper, clumsily shoved it into the box.

"I know you don't want to hear this. I know you will think - less of me. But I've had enough, Jack. I've finally learned my lesson."

Jack's eyes were bright and hard, boring into him. "All a little cliched, don'tcha think? Here's a dime; I can find fifty jukeboxes in the district with this old song."

Daniel closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "Fine. Why don't you go and play them, Jack? I'm just - too tired."

He heard Jack sigh, the same sigh he'd been hearing for months. "Ah, hell, Daniel." Barely a whisper, and something about the man's seemingly endless capacity for getting under Daniel's skin brought a surge of real anger into his throat.

"I'm busy, Jack. Here. Do me a favour." He picked up the earthenware bowl - it was from Abydos, it was Abby's, it had home and heart in each crafted whorl - and threw it at him. Jack clutched at it and saved it from destruction at the last second. "Toss that in the dumpster on your way out."

Something sparked in Jack's dark eyes, an answering fire. "Daniel - "

Another knock, and Daniel knew he hadn't hidden the way it made him start, the way his hands gripped the edge of the box.

"I'll get it," said Jack warily, and he put the bowl down on the bench before making his way to the door. Daniel turned back to his packing, not wanting this new intrusion. Angry, and sick, and wondering if a grown man was allowed to weep for a day and a night without end.

"Can I help you?" Jack's voice. Then another's, rough, deep. Italian.

"Yeah. Maybe. Spoke to Abel. I'm Lambruzzi, 503. Say - this your cat?"

Chapter Nine

The last of the soft French syllables faded into the early evening light.

"That's Goa'ulds, Abby," murmured Daniel. "That's who he was talking about."

"Who?" Sam asked, lazily sprawled against the far wall.

"Theophile Gautier," Daniel said, never looking up from the bundle in his arms.

"I do not know this language, Daniel Jackson."

"It's French, Teal'c. One of the Romance languages. I'll try and translate for you, if you like. Um," and Daniel dropped his head back, against the seat of the chair. "It begins - 'A cat, with its phosphorescent eyes that shine like - lanterns, I think would be the best reading - and sparks flashing from its back, moves - uh, fearlessly through the darkness, where it meets wandering ghosts, witches, alchemists, necromancers, er… wait, that would be 'robbers of graves' - well, grave robbers, lovers, thieves, murderers, grey-cloaked patrols, and all the obscene larvae that only emerge at night.' "

"I see." Teal'c considered the words. "I believe Goa'ulds would be appropriately placed in such a list."

"I think I liked it better in French," Sam added.

Daniel smiled at her, tiredly. "So does Abby."

Sam levered herself up from the wall and tottered towards the kitchen. "I'm beat. Do you want a drink, Daniel?"

"No thanks. We're fine." As if to accentuate the fact a faint purr began to buzz through his arms, and he gently stroked the small head resting against his chest. She nuzzled at him, her eyes closed, and a sensation of tenderness so strong it was almost dizzying swept through him.

He could see how she had filled out again, how those gaunt cheeks that had simultaneously exhilarated and terrified him - for her existence and her state - had rounded again to something of their former beauty. But she still felt frail against his chest, and he knew it would be another week or more before he would see her pounce on sunbeams or worry a cushion to submission. He was just infinitely thankful that she was here, and that he had learned what she had to teach him.

The last days had been disorienting, overwhelming, and he knew he needed time to gather their patterns and pulses together into something coherent.

There had been a frantic dash to the veterinary clinic, while Jack drove and he had held the bundle of bone and fur close against his body, hardly believing her presence, still sensing a debt to Death that needed to be paid. The vet herself had been bluff and unworried, if fascinated, regaling them with cat survival stories and cheerfully pumping Abby with food and vitamins as if she simply were a cat, and not some tortured and twisted symbol of Daniel's hope.

And that had been his mistake, he realised. The same mistake he had made with Sha're, with Shifu. On some level he had objectified the people he loved the most, turning them into quests to be conquered, Grails to be won, salvation to be earned. As if all his hope of heaven lay in the hearts of others, and his own heart was nothing but a ransom of misery, to be paid on demand. He knew this was the 'magic' thinking of primitive peoples. He knew it was the magic dreaming of an eight-year-old boy.

Mr Lambruzzi had hovered at the vet's elbow, explaining how he found Abby behind the trashcans in the alley alongside their building. "So thin, so weak. I didn't know where she came from. I figure next door, right? But they don't know nothing. Nobody knows nothing, till I talk to Abel. He's a good guy, that Abel." And Jack had picked up the conversational demands, and agreed about Abel's virtue, while Daniel had stared at the stick thin legs and knew nothing but dread and a terrible joy.

Bringing Abby home a day later had been a triumphal procession. Jack had signed off on a week's family leave for Daniel, without a second thought, and then all of SG-1 had accompanied them back to Daniel's half-packed apartment to assure themselves that all was again right in their world. They'd made an attempt that night to try and re-organise him, but it soon became clear that quiet and time were the healers of this hurt, and his teammates had slipped away at some point as he settled himself for a long night of nursing her home. They'd returned that afternoon, and the packing crates had been emptied, the apartment re-claimed in a hustle of activity that swirled around the centrepiece of Daniel Jackson holding his beloved cat.

Jack's voice hailed them from beyond the door, and Sam opened it to allow him entry, handicapped as he was by several pizza boxes and a six pack of beer.

"Hey. How we doing?"

"All done. Did you get Hawaiian?"

"Yes, Carter, I got Hawaiian. You got to know that's a chick pizza, right?"

"I can smell the oestrogen from here, sir."

"I asked for extra." Jack dumped the boxes unceremoniously on the bench, and came to squat beside where Daniel was blinking up at him in the last glow of the day's sun. "How's our girl?"

"Good, Jack." He shifted his arm so Jack could reach across and add his finger to the caress.

"See, I'm thinking she's an Air Force cat. Great knowledge of aero-dynamics, right?"

"She flew, sir," Sam agreed.

Daniel lifted his head. "No, she - they've done studies, that show a cat can sort of spreadeagle herself if she falls from a certain height. Half the height, and she wouldn't have made it."

"Glided, perhaps, " said Teal'c, and Jack waved his arm.

"Glided, for sure."

"She made it," and there was something wondrous in those words that Daniel uttered, a new kind of faith. Not in magic, not in fate or unimpeachable destiny, but in will and courage and the kindness of strangers. And friends.

"Hey, anyone done the nine lives line yet? Because I'm good for it." Jack straightened up, smiling, a man at peace with the world.

"We thought we'd leave it for you, sir," Sam grinned.

"Great." Silence followed. After several moments a slightly constipated look crossed Jack's face. "I know I had one."

"I'm sure it would have been remarkable, O'Neill."

"Yeah." Deflated, he nodded towards Daniel. "Well, I got to admit, Teal'c, that inspiration's hard to find when I'm looking at Daniel Jackson, human cat's cradle. This does not get around on base, folks."

Daniel nodded. "No one hears it from me, Jack."

And he bent to whisper his fortune in the twitching grey ear of his Abydos cat.

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Within the context and limitations of the site Disclaimer, Any and All original characters, situations, story line, dialogue and narrative © September 15th, 2001, the author