Rating: NC17. Slash, Jack/Daniel, Daniel/Paul Davis. Angst.

Spoilers/Warnings: 1-4, including Broca Divide, Singularity, Matter of Time, Into the Fire, Foothold, Hundred Days, Shades of Gray, Crystal Skull, Nemesis, Small Victories, The Other Side, Divide and Conquer, Tangent, The Curse, Serpent's Venom. Warnings for graphic m/m sex, bad language, bad judgment and bad timing.

Summary: Relationships change.

Notes | Disclaimer

Once he'd started the coffee brewing, he slipped back into the bedroom and quickly donned a pair of shorts and a tee shirt and went out to pick up some breakfast. He was almost out the door before deciding he should leave a note on the off chance Daniel woke up in his absence.

Twenty minutes later he was back at his front door, a bag of freshly baked pastries in hand. He grabbed the paper off the porch and let himself back into cool interior, grateful to escape the humidity that hung heavily in the air outside, promising a brutal muggy afternoon. After dropping his acquisitions on the kitchen table, he returned to the bedroom, drawn there as if by an invisible tether. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the wooden jamb, once again watching Daniel sleep. The other man had shifted in his sleep and was now lying on his back, one arm resting across his middle, the other flung to the side, his hand dangling over the edge of the mattress. This was a sight he would never grow tired of, he thought to himself. He was smiling what he was sure must be a dopey grin, but frankly he didn't care. There was no one to witness it and even if there were, well, he'd earned the right to be a bit smug. He'd waited a long time to get Daniel in his bed and he was going to enjoy every moment of it. His eyes roamed over the lithe form spread out before him, hard and lean, powerful and oh so very sensuous and he felt his cock give a twitch. The temptation to walk over to the bed and rouse the other man for another round of lovemaking was almost irresistible and he suspected that Daniel wouldn't complain.

He resisted the urge, pushing off from the doorframe and heading to the shower. As tempting as it might be to loll away the day in bed, Paul didn't want to rush things. This was all so new for both of them and he didn't want the other man to get the impression that Paul was only interested in him for sex. Even if it was amazing, mind blowing sex.

He quickly stripped, and adjusting the temperature of the water to the uncomfortable side of cool, he stepped beneath the spray.

Truth be told, Paul's reluctance to ravish the slumbering linguist for the fourth time in under twelve hours had less to do with restraint than with his own unwillingness to take advantage of Daniel or to pressure him into doing something he might not be comfortable with. He and Daniel hadn't really discussed their relative experience or inexperience as the case may be. Paul was fairly experienced and had done a bit of everything, including penetration, both giving and receiving, but he had no idea if Daniel had ever been with another man, apart from that brief and disastrous encounter with O'Neill. He knew he was probably being overly protective, but he'd seen the aftermath of the failed relationship with O'Neill firsthand and he had no intention of repeating the earlier debacle.

Of course, Daniel had thrown him for a bit of a loop by trying to nail him against the front door. Not that he had any complaints about that. None at all. He hadn't been lying when he told Daniel that he was ready and willing to have sex with him anywhere or anyway he wanted. And Daniel's enthusiastic and rather aggressive reaction was a very good sign and suggested that he had at least some experience as well as an idea of what he wanted. Paul knew what he wanted: everything. He wanted to take Daniel's dick in his mouth and suck him off again like he had in the hushed hotel room; he wanted to feel Daniel going down on him, to have those soft full lips over and around him. He wanted to touch and taste and explore without restraint, without hesitation. But most of all, he wanted to be inside Daniel and have Daniel inside of him in return. He hoped that they would be able to test some of the limits that evening.

He was so lost in his own erotic thoughts that he wasn't aware of Daniel's presence until the other man pulled the shower curtain aside and slipped inside the tub behind him.

"Do you mind sharing?" Daniel asked, his voice low and husky.

Paul turned, wiping water from his eyes and was rewarded with the sight of the naked linguist wearing a distinctly lecherous grin. "Not at all," he responded keeping his tone casual though the filthy smile he gave in return said more than words what he thought of the idea.

"Here, let me," he offered, taking the bar of soap from Paul's hand and working up a rich lather before spreading it across the other man's chest. His gestures were supple and sure, his hands gliding across Paul's skin in long sweeping strokes, his fingers lightly massaging. Paul grabbed the discarded bar of soap and quickly worked it into a lather before repeating the same actions on Daniel's body. Yes, this was nice, this was what he wanted, this casual, comfortable intimacy. He was surprised at how easy it was and how natural it felt. Daniel grabbed the bar of soap, worked it into a lather again before turning his ministrations to Paul's back. This time, he intercepted the bar of soap, taking it from Daniel's suds covered hand. Once again, he repeated Daniel's actions, mirroring them, echoing them, as he trailed soap-covered hands up and down the well muscled back.

They were close now, close by not touching beyond the hands trailing along and across each other's backs. He could feel his cock swell and harden at the gentle touch of Daniel's hands, he could feel the heat rising as Daniel's eyes seared into his, speaking of hunger and need. There was lust there, but also a hint of challenge as they slowly and methodically worked one another into a state of intense arousal. This was different than the night before and the feverish, unbridled passion in the living room. It was different even from the languorous lovemaking in the bedroom. This was about control, about maintaining it and then stripping it away touch by heated touch. He knew even without looking that Daniel's cock was as erect as his, knew with absolute certainty that Daniel wanted more, wanted to feel their cocks rubbing together, their lips to touch and their tongues to clash and tangle together. It was like an erotic game of chicken, each man watching the other, waiting to see who would lose control first. They stood there doing nothing but stroking each other, chest, back arms, nothing below the waist. Paul had never been so turned on in his entire life. Nor was he alone. Daniel's face was deliciously flushed, his mouth parted emitting ragged gasping breaths. Then he bit down on his lower lip, holding it between his teeth, struggling to hold himself to stillness. Paul watched in a daze as water streaked down his face, along his neck and chest and the urge to lick the moisture from his skin was overwhelming.

And then his control snapped. With a low growl, he pulled Daniel into his arms taking his mouth in a fierce kiss. His hands reached down and clamped onto Daniel's ass, pulling him in as tight as possible, pressing their groins together with almost savage intensity. At the first touch of their cocks, both men moaned and bucked. It was like electricity suddenly rushing through them, firing every nerve in their bodies at once. Paul pushed Daniel against the wet tiles of the shower wall, grinding against the other man seeking release. He knew they wouldn't last, the feelings were simply too intense. Daniel wrapped one long leg around his, pulling him in closer still as he thrust into Daniel, while his arms wound around his neck and his hands twisted in Paul's hair.

Paul was thrusting frantically against Daniel now as the other man bucked up against him, his face pressed into Paul's neck and his breath gasping hot and moist against his skin. And then he was coming, his strangled cry of "Daniel!" echoing off the tiled walls, mingling with the sound of the spray pounding against the tub and then Daniel was there with him, tumbling over the edge with Paul's name on his lips.

They stood there for a long time, their bodies twined together, water splashing against their limbs while they regained control of their senses. Daniel was placing wet, sloppy kisses along his cheek, his chin, down his throat, his face glowing with contentment. Paul couldn't help but smile, that sappy, dopey smile he'd worn as he'd watched the other man sleeping

"Well, that was fun," he said leaning in to nibble along Daniel's ear. The other man laughed, no giggled, as Paul nipped a sensitive spot on his neck.

"Definitely beats the showers at the SGC any day," Daniel agreed wrapping his arms around Paul's neck and drawing his down for a kiss.

"I aim to please."

"And you do it very well," Daniel assured him.

"C'mon," Paul suggested as he pressed a kiss to Daniel's forehead, "lets get out of here and get dried off. I've got a pot of coffee and fresh pastries for breakfast."

"You don't have to ask me twice," Daniel responded as he followed Paul out of the shower.

***

They spent the rest of the morning sprawled across the sofa in the living room, drinking coffee, nibbling on pastries and reading the Washington Post. This was nice, Daniel thought, this relaxed familiarity. Although the sex was spectacular, Daniel found that he was savoring the simplicity of a quiet morning spent together, trading off sections of the newspaper, splitting the last, slightly squished pain au chocolat and sharing the occasional charged gaze.

Daniel was surprised at how...well...comfortable he felt with Paul, how easy things were between them. It was so different from how things had been with Jack even before things went bad. With Jack there was a certain rivalry underlying their interaction, usually good-natured but occasionally shading into antagonism. With Jack there was a constant push and pull. His relationship with Jack was frustrating, exhausting and even a bit bewildering at times. And complicated, always complicated. Paul, by contrast, was easy; straightforward, thoughtful and considerate. And Paul certainly didn't drive him to distraction on a nearly hourly basis. No doubt about it. This kind of relationship was much, much better.

Daniel frowned to himself, taking a sip of his cooling coffee to hide the expression from Paul. He was doing it again. Comparing Paul and Jack. He had promised himself he wouldn't do it. It wasn't fair to either man and honestly, they were so different, despite their military background, that any comparisons would be simplistic at best. He put his mug back down on the coffee table and smiled fondly at Paul who was currently reading the sports section and mumbling mournful observations about the Orioles current standings in the American League East. 'Yes,' he thought, 'This was much better.'

***

The remainder of the day passed leisurely. Although it was tempting to spend the whole day snuggled on the sofa, or better yet sprawled naked and wanton across his bed, Paul finally lured Daniel outside. The eventually made their way to the National Gallery, a cool marble haven in the midst of the muggy, sweltering heat of downtown. They walked through the tasteful galleries, past depictions of imperious Madonnas swathed in mantles of lapis lazuli and seated on gilded thrones, past the portraits of middle class burgers in their somber black suits and stiff ruffled collars gazing sternly at them from richly paneled walls, past the limpid landscapes of the Impressionists, all charming sugary confections spun of light and air. Daniel had been alight with pleasure, basking in the simple joy of being surrounded by beautiful things in the company of someone who shared his enjoyment in equal measure.

Paul was determined to remain the consummate host: thoughtful, attentive and eager to please. From their excursion through the museum, through the early dinner on the Waterfront, through the concert at the Kennedy Center, Paul had pulled out all the stops to ensure they had the perfect day. He'd been especially lucky, scoring them seats in one of the upper boxes where the acoustics were at their finest. Now here they were, sipping champagne at intermission, gazing out at the Potomac and just enjoying one another's company.

Daniel suddenly chuckled.

"What?" Paul asked, taking another sip of champagne.

Daniel shook his head, still laughing to himself. "Nothing."

"C'mon, share." He wheedled, nudging Daniel lightly with his elbow, grinning at the other man's coy response.

"Well," Daniel drawled, 'I was just thinking back to the early days at the SGC. I was staying at Jack's place back then. I hadn't found a place of my own yet and I was still trying to get a lot of things sorted out. You have no idea how much paperwork is involved in trying to re-establish your status as a living breathing person once you've been declared legally dead. Not an experience I can recommend, by the way." He took a quick drink before continuing.

"Anyway, one day about a month after I'd arrived, Jack asked me if I wanted to go to a concert. I figured it was Springsteen or some rock singer or other. Imagine my surprise when it turned out to be a performance of 'Tosca' by the Colorado Opera Company. Hell of a way to learn that Jack is a huge opera buff. Needless to say I was a tad underdressed for the evening, though I put the blame squarely on Jack for keeping me in the dark on purpose. He got quite a chuckle out of the whole thing."

Daniel smiled again, his expression fond and even a bit wistful. He lowered his head to drink again so he failed to notice how the other man's expression hardened and his lips flattened into a line at the affectionate mention of his rival's name.

***

The rest of the night passed without incident. They returned to Paul's townhouse with a culturally sated Daniel smoldering wantonly at him all way home. Paul had poured them each a cognac they barely touched, electing instead to neck on the sofa like a pair of teenagers. He certainly had no complaints about the selected activity. They'd ended up sprawled the length of the sofa with Daniel draped wantonly across him while Paul received a first hand demonstration of why the humorous quip 'linguists do it with tongue' was so very a propos. He was thoroughly convinced that kissing, not English, was Daniel Jackson's lingua franca.

Daniel had once more taken the lead, efficiently and methodically separating Paul from his suddenly painfully restricting clothing, his long fingers deftly releasing buttons and latches with a skill Paul doubted he could match. Once he'd gotten Paul stripped to the skin, Daniel had leaned back, raking his body with a glance that was frankly admiring before following his heated gaze with lips and tongue. Daniel moved down his body in a deliciously erratic-and highly erotic-manner before he finally arrived at Paul's cock, already hard and aching with need. Daniel smiled at him then, a wonderfully filthy smile before he embarked on fulfilling one of Paul's unspoken fantasies by taking him in his mouth. Daniel revealed an unexpected skill at fellatio, setting up an alternating rhythm of long slow pulls and shorter, teasing sucks perfectly modulated to keep him on the brink. By the time Daniel finally allowed him to come, Paul was seeing stars. He had pulled a justly smug Daniel down and kissed him deeply, tasting himself on that talented tongue.

When they'd finally broken the kiss, both of them panting and dizzy, Paul had returned the favor, practically tearing the clothes from his lover's body before ravaging Daniel with mouth and hands. Daniel, he discovered, was responsive, sensitive and very ticklish so Paul had turned that knowledge against him, eliciting a chorus of groans and giggles until Daniel was a helpless, quivering, giddy wreck. Only then did he go down on the other man to the rousing refrain of gasping moans and whimpering sobs. And when Daniel came in his mouth, Paul couldn't help but think that life was very good indeed.

They'd lain twined together on the sofa, naked, sweaty and spent. Neither one had the energy nor inclination to move for a long time, preferring to just bask in the afterglow. Eventually they'd roused themselves and retreated to the bedroom where they'd explored one another's bodies, teasing and tormenting until they achieved mutual orgasm.

Although the sex was incredible, in some ways Paul enjoyed the aftermath even more. He loved trailing his hands along the sleek muscles of Daniel's back and thighs, feeling the sweat dewed skin as it cooled from the fever of arousal. He loved looking at Daniel, admiring freely what he'd so long coveted in secret, the taut swell of his ass, the solid bulge of a bicep or the curve of his cheekbone. Best of all, he loved gazing into those slumberous eyes, dark and contented and the sleepy smile that Daniel shared with him before he drifted off. Paul felt fiercely proprietary and not a little smug at the realization that he, not O'Neill, had this extraordinary man in his bed. Daniel was here with him, by choice, and Paul reveled in the satisfaction that the knowledge gave him. 'Mine' he thought as he followed Daniel into slumber.

The following morning, they'd repeated their little shower games. Daniel in any state was wonderful, but Daniel wet and slippery and covered with soap was truly amazing. They moved together under the warm spray, soap slickened skin rubbing and sliding and the two of them kissing and laughing into each others mouths as the mood shifted from erotic to playful and back again. His hands had been all over Daniel, drawing him to arousal and then beyond, pumping him rough and hard like Daniel wanted. And then Daniel had knelt down and taken his cock in his mouth. Paul found himself against the shower wall, fingers scrambling for a non-existent handhold as he desperately tried to hold himself still while Daniel sucked him off with that incredible mouth. He'd come sobbing Daniel's name, trembling with the force of his orgasm. He'd stood there, propped against the cold tiles of the shower wall waiting for the tremors to subside and when he looked down, he was treated to the irresistible image of a thoroughly sated Daniel Jackson, glowing with smug pride, while he slowly and provocatively licked his lips.

***

Sunday followed the same basic pattern as the day before. They lingered over coffee and croissants and tussled playfully for control of the paper. Daniel relinquished the 'Sports' section without a murmur of protest and Paul graciously conceded the 'Arts' section, though they'd eventually had to flip a coin over the front page. He didn't even bother asking about the crossword puzzle, wisely selecting not to enter into that particular skirmish with a multi-lingual genius.

They'd once again spent the afternoon making a tour of the museums along the Mall before eventually ending up at the Hotel Washington for drinks. They'd ensconced themselves in a pair of wicker chairs at the edge of the terrace, enjoying the spectacular view, the cool breeze and chilled marguerites in equal measure. It had been a perfect day. Only one thing marred Paul's pleasure of it: O'Neill. Paul was becoming painfully aware that Daniel Jackson and Jack O'Neill were a package deal; you simply couldn't have one without the other.

All weekend long, Paul had felt O'Neill's presence almost as keenly as if the man himself were there rather than back in Colorado. Daniel evoked the name of O'Neill again and again over the course of the day, apparently oblivious to that fact that the Colonel held such an eminent place in his thoughts and memories. Everything seemed connected to O'Neill in some way, every sight and experience drew forth some recollection of the other man. Some were obvious, such as the mention as they walked in front of the Air and Space Museum. Some were more elliptical, such as their viewing of the brightly colored Native American textiles on display at the Museum of American History which brought to mind the woven textiles of the people of PR5-277 which in turn led to a story of the Colonel's participation in a local game that bore more than a passing resemblance to field hockey and how O'Neill's obvious skill had so impressed the Chief and the council of elders they'd happily approved a treaty that gave the SGC access to a number of indigenous plants that boasted amazing medicinal properties.

Others of Daniel's tales had featured the team in its entirety, but they always inevitably featured the Colonel in a prominent role like his story of a dinner at a local Mexican restaurant not long after the team had been formed and how the Colonel had had to explain to a bemused Teal'c that the proverbial worm in the bottom of a bottle of Tequila had no connection to the Goa'uld whatsoever.

It wasn't the stories in and of themselves that bothered Paul, nor was it the frequency with which O'Neill's name was mentioned. He was, after all Daniel's friend and a member of what Paul knew to be an incredibly tight-knit team. No, what Paul found most disconcerting was the obvious fondness with which the name was evoked. Daniel's eyes would grow soft, his laugh and smile indulgent and there was a warmth that ran through his narratives that spoke more loudly that the words themselves of how close the two of them really were.

And though he knew it was futile and even a bit childish, Paul couldn't help feel a bit jealous at these continuing manifestations of Daniel's devotion to the other man. Every time he managed to swallow down his sullen resentment, Daniel would go and mention O'Neill once more. Each reference to the other man became like a prick of a knife; each tiny slash was bearable in itself while the cumulative effect pained him beyond words.

As the weekend progressed he found these continuous reminders of his hated rival to be increasingly infuriating. He wanted to say something to Daniel, perhaps even chide the man for the unintentional hurt he was causing but he couldn't bring himself to say anything, as if giving voice to his jealousy and resentment would simply serve to strengthen the hold that O'Neill seemed to maintain over Daniel's heart.

For the rest of the evening, from the dinner downtown, to the perfectly forgettable film they'd rented so they could spend a quiet night alone together, through the cognac they'd sipped outside seated on the steps leading down to the tiny, narrow backyard of Paul's townhouse, Paul found his mind going back to the painful and irrefutable truth that O'Neill still reigned supreme in Daniel's heart and that Daniel himself was only dimly aware of that fact, if at all. That sudden and unwelcome realization cast a pall over the little time that remained to them. Every time Paul looked at Daniel it was with the knowledge that he was only borrowing him and that anything between them was only temporary and paled in comparison to what still lay between Daniel and O'Neill. It was a humbling insight and one he could quite happily have lived without, but now that he experienced it, he knew there was no going back.

They made love that night, long and slow and sweet, as if for the very last time, because Paul knew that in all likelihood that was the case. He catalogued every sight, every sound, every sensation, guarding them close to his heart. They lay at last twined together on the rumpled cotton sheets as their overheated bodies cooled and slumber called.

Paul didn't sleep. He lay there looking at Daniel for a long time, caressing the lean body and beautiful visage with covetous eyes and hands just as he had for the three nights preceding this one. He felt a terrible ache in his chest because he could deny it no longer; Daniel wasn't his, he never had been. He'd never again lay like this and admire Daniel's body, never again know the delight of waking up together and loving one another in the still, hushed hours before dawn, never see those heavy slumberous eyes gaze into his own as his mouth curved into a sweet, contented smile. Never again.

He lay there beside Daniel for hours, watching him sleep until the first gray light of dawn began to seep through the curtains. Paul rose then and quickly dressed. He needed to be alone to think and prepare himself for what he knew would most assuredly be an unhappy farewell. He stood in the doorway, gazing once more at Daniel's face blurred and softened in the early morning light before turning and walking away.

***

When Daniel awoke, he was surprised to find that he was alone in the bed. His hand stretched out, feeling sheets that were cold from a protracted lack of body heat. He rolled over on to his back and strained his ears, but he couldn't hear the pounding spray of the shower that had been the site of some rather boisterous aquatic games the two previous mornings. Rolling out of the bed, Daniel snagged Paul's robe and padded out of the bedroom and down the stairs. He peered into the living room and then the kitchen but there was no sign of the other man. It was then that he noticed the piece of paper resting on the marble countertop. He picked it up and read it, recognizing Paul's neat script immediately.

Daniel,

I needed to do some things this morning. The coffee is brewed and there some pastries on the table.

Be back soon,

Paul

Daniel frowned, then put the sheet of paper down, trying to dispel the sudden and no doubt unwarranted notion that something was wrong. He was sure it was nothing but his overactive imagination. He pushed the idea aside as he poured himself a cup of coffee, allowing the familiar aroma to soothe his jangled nerves. 'He probably just had to run some errands,' Daniel chided himself. 'His schedule is pretty hectic on a good day and he's spent every waking moment playing attentive host for your benefit. So cut the guy some slack, for crying out loud.'

Half an hour later, freshly showered and dressed, Daniel walked into the living room to find that Paul had returned and was now seated in his leather armchair, lost in thought. He looked up at Daniel's entrance and offered a quick smile and a soft "hey" in his direction. Daniel smiled and gave his own greeting in return as he moved further into the room.

"Daniel," Paul began looking at him and holding his gaze. "We need to talk."

Daniel stopped in mid-stride. He felt a sudden uneasiness rise up at those words, or perhaps it was the tone, somber and slightly strained, that was making him uncomfortable. Daniel chastised himself for his foolishness. There was no reason to be nervous. Why should there be? Everything had been going wonderfully-no, perfectly--between he and Paul all weekend. He sighed inwardly. This was yet another side effect of his ill-starred liaison with Jack, this expectation of disaster in the midst of romantic bliss.

"Sure," he responded, making sure to keep his tone light as he sat down on the edge of the sofa nearest to Paul. "What's on your mind?"

Now that he was seated next to him, Daniel could see the tension permeating Paul's body, the stiffness of his carriage, the fine creases in his brow. Daniel's anxiety rose another notch.

Paul drew a deep breath, then expelled it noisily. His gaze skittered to the side and Daniel watched as he swallowed before directing his gaze at his once more.

"I don't quite know how to say this," Paul began and there was no mistaking the very faint tremor in his voice when he spoke those words. "Daniel, I think we've...I've made a mistake here."

"Paul?" Daniel queried, his heart suddenly pounding madly in his chest.

"It's too soon," he explained somewhat cryptically. "I jumped the gun and moved to soon."

"Paul, I'm not sure I understand," Daniel remarked tentatively though a part of his mind was shrieking that he knew exactly what Paul meant by those words.

"You're still not over him, Daniel."

He didn't need to identify the 'him' in question.

Daniel opened his mouth to respond. But Paul shook his head.

"Please," Paul said, raising his hand to arrest any further comment. "Let me try to explain." He took another deep breath and released it before standing and beginning to pace the length of the living room.

"I've always known about you and O'Neill. It was there right from the start." He paused, giving Daniel, a wry smile that shaded faintly into bitterness. "Did you know, the first time I saw the two of you together, I thought you were already lovers? You were so close, even then, and when you looked at one another, I swear, you generated enough electricity to power the gate." He chuckled at his own quip before continuing.

"I'd already fallen for you by then, you see, so I noticed these things. It drove me crazy every time I came to the base and had to see the two of you together. All the intimate little touches, the private smiles, the way your eyes lit up every time he entered the room. I wanted you to look at me like that. I wanted you to look at me with your eyes full of tenderness and affection. But you didn't. You didn't even know I existed. So I buried my feelings deep, told myself it wasn't meant to be and I went along and did my duty.

"It never went away, though, no matter how much I wanted it to. It was always there right beneath the surface. Desire, need. Regret. But as long as O'Neill was around, I knew that I never stood a chance in hell of having you. So I decided that if I couldn't have your love, then perhaps at the very least I could try to gain your friendship. It wasn't what I'd dreamed about, but I'd decided it would be enough.

"And then eight months ago it happened. O'Neill fucked up and he took himself out of the picture, repressed bastard that he was. Every time I came to the SGC after that I could see the distance growing between you, the rift getting wider and my hope grew with it. And when word came down that you and O'Neill would be coming to the Pentagon, I believed that the chance I'd been waiting for had finally come. You were free at last. No commitments, no obligations to O'Neill or anyone else. I could finally tell you how I felt."

He looked at Daniel then, his eyes filled with affection but tinged with sorrow.

"These past few days with you, they've been wonderful, Daniel. Not just making love to you, but all of it; the conversations, the quiet moments together, waking up and seeing you asleep in my bed. Its every thing I've dreamed about. The problem is, even though you're here with me, you're still not mine. Your body may be here with me, but O'Neill still has your heart."

"No," Daniel said, standing as well and shaking his head vigorously in denial at Paul's words. "That's not true. It's over between Jack and I. I told you that. He made his choice a long time ago and so have I."

It was Paul's turn to shake his head. "You're wrong Daniel. O'Neill is still every bit a part of you as he's ever been. D'you know, you talk about him constantly? You don't even notice it because you're so accustomed to him being at the center of your world. You've built your life around him, Daniel. He's your foundation. You can't just change that overnight, even if you wanted to."

Daniel's eyes narrowed at that last comment. "Are you implying that I don't want to get over Jack?"

"Yes," he stated simply. "At least on some level. You might think you do, you might even be trying to, but I don't know that you really can."

Paul looked him squarely in the eye. "You're still in love with him, Daniel."

Daniel paled at that pronouncement..

"It's my fault. When I saw my chance, I grabbed it both hands without thinking through the consequences. I should have known you couldn't just get over O'Neill so easily. It's not your style to give up on the people you care about, even when they don't treat you the way you deserve. That dedication is one of the things I admire most about you."

Paul shook his head again. "I guess the Colonel doesn't have the patent on denial and bad judgment when it comes to you. And in my case, I suppose you can also add bad timing."

He turned pleading eyes once more upon him. "I'm sorry, Daniel. I really am. I do want you." He laughed then, a pained little sound. "How could I not? But I won't be a substitute or a pleasant diversion until you and O'Neill reconcile. We both deserve better than that and I'm too selfish to share you with another man. He's been here haunting us all weekend and he's standing between us even now. Until that ghost is laid to rest, there can never be anything between us, Daniel. I'm sorry. My bed isn't big enough for all three of us."

Daniel flinched as if he'd been struck. No. No. Nononononono. That was his only coherent thought and it echoed maddeningly around in his brain.

Paul moved towards Daniel, hand extended. "Maybe some day it'll work out for us. Hope springs eternal after all."

He reached out to touch Daniel's cheek, but he moved away quickly, stumbling just out of reach. "No," was all Daniel said.

"Daniel, please," he said, stepping towards him once more. Once again Daniel moved away from him. "I never meant to hurt you. Believe me, this is tearing me up inside, but it has to be this way. There is no way we can be together, not until you are finally over him once and for all."

Paul moved forward one more time. This time he succeeded in placing a hand on Daniel's shoulder before he shrugged it off. "Don't," Daniel said, his voice sounding distant in his ears.

"Daniel, please," Paul repeated, pleading for understanding.

Daniel gazed back at him coolly, making Paul stop his forward motion. "I think I should leave now," he announced.

"At least let me drive you back to the hotel," Paul offered, his voice slightly shrill with desperation.

"I don't think that would be a very good idea," he replied coolly. "I'll hail a cab."

Daniel moved towards the front door as swiftly as his wounded pride and his fractured heart would allow. He had just placed his hand on the knob when he heard Paul's soft voice call out to him. "Daniel, I am sorry."

He stopped for a long moment, but he didn't turn around to look at the other man. "So am I."

And with that, Daniel opened the door and walked out, closing it firmly behind him.

***

After nearly a week away from home, Daniel felt the same mild disorientation that he experienced in the wake of an off world mission with SG-1. As always, he felt strangely wired and restless, filled with too much energy and not enough direction. He conducted his typical post travel rituals on autopilot; checking the mail, the answering machine, his e-mail account. He made note of the groceries he needed to buy, milk and bread, fresh apples and pasta, toothpaste, but decided to leave that tiresome chore until tomorrow. He'd watered the plants that he hadn't yet managed to kill and hastily unpacked his suitcase, tossing his clothes in the hamper and the bag of toiletries back unto the shelf in his linen closet. Those necessary tasks completed, he found he still had too much energy to sit still.

So he prowled about his apartment aimlessly, looking for something to focus upon, to hold his scattered attention. He walked into the kitchen, thinking about putting on a pot of coffee, but as he stood in front of the coffeemaker he decided that the last thing he needed was a dose of caffeine on top of his already considerable nervous tension. He returned to the living room and careened over to the stereo and turning it on. A few more quick jabs to the buttons and the apartment was filled with the soothing strains of the "Suite Bergamasque." He paused for a moment, his hand hovering over CD player as he contemplated changing the CD. He let it play.

He walked into his study then, its walls covered with bookcases crammed to capacity with books. Still more tomes were scattered in crooked little piles on the floor or nested in the narrow space on top of the bookcases themselves. Daniel moved along the shelves, his fingers ghosting across the spines, pausing now and then to caress the binding of an especially well loved book.

He suddenly stopped, his hand reaching out to withdraw a thin volume wedged between two more impressive and weighty tomes. He gazed down at the book in his hands, tracing the stamped gold lettering on the covering with his fingertips. It was a book of Victorian poetry Paul had given him some months back, a reminder of one of those strange and unexpected interests they shared.

He didn't recall how the topic of Victorian literature had crept into the conversation in the first place, though he did remember telling Paul how he'd grown to love the Victorians and especially the Pre-Raphaelites while studying at Oxford. 'So much fierce passion held in check,' he'd explained. 'Repressed and sublimated and bound up in painfully constructed prose and sumptuous imagery. So wonderfully decadent.' Paul had enthusiastically agreed, citing his own fascination with the grand lyricism of Tennyson, the dramatic monologues of Browning, and of course the razor sharp wit of Oscar Wilde.

They'd laughed and joked, debating the relative merits of "Lady Windemere's Fan" versus "The Importance of Being Earnest." It was the kind of conversation that he'd never been able to have with Jack, or with anyone else at the SGC for that matter. Although the personnel of the SGC were a fairly well educated bunch, their interests as a whole tended to be more pragmatic than literary in nature. Daniel understood this, but every once in a while he enjoyed discussing some of his more esoteric interests purely for the pleasure of it.

When Paul had next visited the SGC, he'd come bearing the thin volume of Victorian poems. He handed it to Daniel almost shyly, smiling and explaining how he'd come across it at a bookseller's stall at Eastern Market one Saturday morning and he'd thought immediately of Daniel. It wasn't an especially rare or early edition and the leather binding was starting to crack and the pages were yellowing and smattered with a few dark stains of encroaching mold, but Daniel was deeply touched by the gesture. It was a souvenir of a pleasant night of easy conversation and spirited debate, a tangible manifestation of their budding friendship. He hadn't been surprised that Paul had been a bit embarrassed when he'd tendered the gift. He was, after all, giving what constituted a book of love poetry to another man. At the time, Daniel had interpreted the book as a simple token of friendship, but in light of more recent developments, Daniel recognized it as symbolizing a good deal more. He wondered how long Paul had been nursing his apparently unrequited crush.

Daniel walked back into his living room, the book still clutched in his hand. He sank into the cushions of the sofa and flipped the book open to a random page and let his eyes scan the text. He'd opened to one of Christina Rossetti's poems, not the "Goblin Market," but one of the less familiar ones, "No, Thank You, John." As his eyes moved across the text, they latched unto the last two stanzas of the tale of a non-existent romance.

Let us strike hands as hearty friends;
no more, no less; and friendship's good;
Only don't keep in view ulterior ends,
And points not understood.

In open treaty. Rise above
Quibbles and shuffling off and on;
Here's friendship for you if you like, but love,--
No, thank you, John

He closed the book and tossed it and his glasses on the coffee table. He scrubbed a hand across his face as he leaned back into the sofa's embrace. 'Christ,' he thought to himself. 'Even the Pre-Raphaelite poets seemed to have an opinion on my love life.' Of course Daniel's John didn't even want the friendship, now did he? He sat there for a long time with his eyes closed, just breathing, concentrating on the intake and exhalation of air.

This was a mess, all of it. He wanted to hold on to his anger. He wanted to rant and vent and smash things. He wanted to scream to the heavens at the injustice of it all. Why couldn't he be happy? Why was it every time he seemed to find a bit of happiness it was taken away from him? Why did he always end up alone?

That was the crux of the matter. No matter what happened, Daniel always seemed to end up alone. It was as if fates were conspiring against him. The death of his parents, Nick's rejection, his acrimonious split with Sarah, Sha're's abduction and subsequent death. Every time he'd dared to love someone, he'd lost them. The pattern repeated itself again and again, variations on a single theme of loss and regret. It was defeatist he knew, superstitious and childish even, to think in such terms. The world didn't revolve around him, no supernatural forces were at work plotting to deprive him of the warmth of human contact. It was bad luck, bad judgment and the fickle will of human nature.

He'd finally begun to believe that he'd moved beyond it at last when he became part of SG-1. Jack, Sam, Teal'c, they were his friends, his family. He loved them deeply, as deeply as he'd ever loved anyone, and they were still there. They hadn't gone away, or abandoned him, or scorned him. They remained firmly entrenched at his side, buoying him up with the strength of their love.

At least until he and Jack had allowed their fraternal devotion to shade into something different and distinctly carnal. More bad judgment, on both their parts. If he'd known how it would end, he'd never have accepted Jack's kiss the way he had. He'd have stopped it then and there and laughed it off as a moment of drunken foolishness. The problem was, he had accepted the kiss and he'd welcomed, hell, he'd actively encouraged everything that had followed that night. He was as much to blame as Jack for that part of it.

As for what had come afterwards, well, he refused to take the blame for that.

His head was starting to throb and he rubbed his temple trying to ease the pressure. He needed a drink. Badly.

He pushed himself off the sofa and went to the cabinet where he kept the rarely touched bottle of Scotch. He pulled out a glass and poured a finger's width of amber colored liquor, slamming it down in one long pull. He turned to move back to the living room, then paused, grabbing the bottle and taking it with him. He settled on the sofa once more and poured another drink.

He took a sip, feeling the alcohol burn a path down his throat and made himself relax into it. He'd been so angry with Paul when he'd stood in front of him and told Daniel that he still had a thing for Jack. He'd been angry and hurt and utterly devastated, much as he'd been when Jack had pushed him away. And Daniel had reacted badly. He had read Paul's actions as yet another rejection. Paul didn't want him anymore and so he was using Daniel's erstwhile feelings for Jack as a convenient means of escape.

Daniel had spent the entire flight back to Denver and the drive to Colorado Springs grappling with that idea. The problem was, it didn't ring true. Paul had never lied to him, not once, in the entire time of their acquaintance. And now that he had a bit of physical distance as well as several hours to consider Paul's words, Daniel was forced to admit that maybe Paul was right. Paul's assessment that Jack was the bedrock upon which Daniel had built his existence was painfully accurate. Jack was the one bridge he had between his life prior to Abydos and new life at the SGC. But more than that, Jack was the one constant, the one thing Daniel could always rely upon, no matter what. And that was why Jack's rejection had hurt so damned much. He had trusted Jack absolutely, with the unshakeable, instinctive trust of a child for a beloved parent. The very fact that Daniel was still so terribly angry with Jack even after eight months had elapsed was fairly conclusive evidence that Paul was right about something else. Daniel wasn't over Jack, not yet. Maybe not ever.

God, but this was fucked up. He couldn't even blame Paul for wanting to steer clear of the whole mess. His relationship with Jack was a giant fucking train wreck. There was no point of adding one more bystander to the list of casualties, there were already enough people caught in the fallout. Until he cleared the air with Jack and got his own head on straight, there could never be anything between he and Paul.

He took another sip of his Scotch before resting his head on the back of the sofa and closing his weary eyes, trying to block out the pain of a heart twice broken.

***

Jack squared his shoulders before knocking firmly on Daniel's door. He didn't know for certain whether or not Daniel was home, but he felt fairly certain he must be by now. Jack had made a point of checking the schedules for flights from DC to Denver and they would all have arrived by now, except for the red eyes which Jack knew Daniel hated with a passion because he could never get comfortable enough to sleep and consequently he would arrive at his destination muzzy and overly tired.

Jack hadn't called Daniel, either. He knew from experience that it was best to just ambush the man when he was upset or angry. Calling him up simply gave him advance warning and ample time to marshal his arguments. He stood a better chance of hashing things out with Daniel when he hadn't had time to stew and prepare. And he needed to hash things out with Daniel, right now.

Initially, he'd planned to wait until he saw the younger man at the SGC the next morning. But over the course of the last three days, Jack had had a lot of time to think--too much time to be honest--and the more time that passed the more he came to realize he couldn't put this off any longer. For eight months he'd been avoiding Daniel, tap dancing around his own feelings and wallowing in denial. Now that he'd faced facts and acknowledged his true feelings, he found he simply couldn't wait. Perhaps it was the deep-seated fear that his resolve would fail and he'd lose his nerve again, just as he'd done after their night together. Perhaps it was superstition; now that he knew what he'd wanted and was ready to take action, it would forever be placed beyond his grasp like some kind of bad karma turning around and biting him on the ass.

He'd fucked up big time. He knew that, accepted it openly and without reservation. He'd been an absolute bastard and he'd hurt Daniel terribly and it would take more than a smile and an 'I'm sorry' to repair the damage he'd done to their friendship. But he was determined to do whatever was necessary to win back Daniel's trust, and more than that, his love.

When Jack had boarded the plane to DC six days ago, he never imagined that his entire world would be flipped upside down before the week was over. During the flight to DC, he'd finally acknowledged that he had to put things right between Daniel and himself. In truth he'd already come to that conclusion but he'd been at a loss as to how to accomplish it. He recognized the trip for what it was, an officially mandated bonding experience. Hammond wanted them reconciled and had given them the occasion to begin the process of mending fences. It was, without a doubt, the perfect opportunity.

What Jack hadn't expected was a wake up call in the person of Major Paul Davis. He hadn't expected to find himself the complete outsider in Daniel's life and worse, to discover that his place as Daniel's friend had been usurped by another when he wasn't looking. It was an unwelcome revelation and had forced him to think seriously about his own actions that had caused the rift between them. That had been bad enough in and of itself but then Jack was forced to confront the grave possibility that Davis and Daniel had become more than friends. It was an idea that had haunted him from the moment it had surfaced, tormenting him, prickling like something pulling beneath the surface of his skin. And then he received the confirmation that he'd been dreading: Daniel and Davis were lovers. Daniel had invited Davis into his bed and there could be no doubt, no denial, because Jack himself had been reluctant witness to the consummation.

And it was then that Jack received the biggest revelation of all: he loved Daniel. He'd always loved him and despite everything that had transpired between them, he loved him still.

God help him. God help them both.

There was so much irony in all of this. For all his vaunted bravery in battle, Jack had been a fucking coward when it came to his own feelings. Daniel made him feel, really and truly in a way he hadn't since Charlie had died. The warmth, the passion and above all the aching tenderness that Daniel sparked within him should have been a source of jubilation but instead it had scared him. No, it had fucking terrified him. It was too much, Daniel was too close and Jack simply couldn't bear it. So he'd pushed him away. Jack was safe once more but in the process he'd lost the very best part of himself. He'd lost Daniel.

And now he'd come to get him back.

Jack sighed. 'Easier said then done.'

Jack knocked on the door a second time, the tattoo of his knuckles on the hard wood sounding unreasonably loud in the silence of the hallway. This time Jack heard the soft shuffle of footsteps moving towards the door, followed by the double click of locks being turned. The door opened and there was Daniel standing there dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a loose tee shirt, his bare feet curling into the pile of the carpet. He hadn't known quite what to expect, but somehow this wasn't it. Daniel looked pale, his expression wary and his mouth tilting downward into a frown.

"Jack," Daniel greeted him, his tone neutral.

"Daniel," he replied. Jack offered a tentative smile before continuing. "Mind if I come in?"

Daniel stared at him for a long moment and suddenly Jack was afraid that Daniel would refuse him entry. Jack couldn't allow that. Now that he'd finally had his great epiphany he found he couldn't wait any longer to act upon it. Daniel held his gaze a moment longer before steeping back and to the side in tacit invitation.

Jack walked into the living room. He felt mildly unsettled being in this place where he'd spent many pleasant evenings but which had become proscribed in recent months. As he moved towards the couch his eyes fell on the open bottle of Scotch and the empty tumbler resting next to it.

"Been having a drink, Daniel?" Jack queried, trying to make it sound casual. Obviously he failed because Daniel's eyes narrowed and his expression hardened.

"What if I have?" Daniel shot back, challenge apparent in his voice and every line of his body.

'Shit.' This was not how he'd envisioned this conversation going. He'd been in the apartment for all of thirty seconds and he'd already managed to antagonize Daniel. Time to step back. He shrugged, trying to maintain an air of nonchalance.

"Feel like sharing?" he quipped, and as soon as the words left his mouth he wanted to shoot himself. 'Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What kind of a moron are you, O'Neill?' he chastised himself. Of all the things to say, he'd picked the exact words Daniel had used to gain entry to his home during the covert sting to bust up Maybourne's little off world operation. Things had been tense then too, but nothing like they were now. He held his breath, waiting.

If Daniel caught the significance of the words, he gave no sign, moving instead into the dining area to pull out a second tumbler which he handed to Jack before sitting on the far end of the sofa. Jack poured himself two fingers of Scotch, knowing he would need every ounce of courage-Dutch or otherwise-that he could muster. He titled the bottle in Daniel's direction in unspoken query. Daniel hesitated, then nodded, encouraging Jack to refill his glass as well.

They sat there on opposite ends of the sofa not speaking. Jack was suddenly aware of soft music drifting from the general direction of the stereo. He heard the gentle tinkling of a piano and he recognized it as one of the Debussy "Arabesques." Not exactly his style, but he knew Daniel was very fond of them and actually found them to be very soothing.

Taking a sip of his drink, Jack steeled himself for what he knew was going to be a difficult conversation. "So? Did you have a nice weekend in DC?" he asking, praying it sounded sufficiently casual.

"Yes," came Daniel's reply.

'Short and sweet, huh?' suddenly Jack knew the conversation was going to be even harder than he expected. He tried again.

"I think the meetings went really well. I called Hammond right after I got back to let him know, but obviously he wants to talk to both of us. He asked us to meet in his office at 1000 to give him a quick rundown before the 1100 briefing."

"Fine."

"I just thought you'd like to know is all." Jack explained.

"You didn't have to come here for that, Jack. You could have left a message on my answering machine, saved yourself the trouble of coming all the way over here."

"No trouble." He took another sip of his Scotch, but didn't put the glass back on the coffee table. The feel of it, cool and smooth and oddly heavy, grounded him and helped him to hold unto the sense of purpose that brought him here in the first place.

"Actually, Daniel, I kinda wanted to talk to you about something."

"Oh?" Daniel asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise and Jack could almost here the unspoken rider, 'since when?'

"Yeah. Look, Daniel. Things haven't been too great between the two of us of late." He stole a quick glance at the other man who wasn't giving anything away. He continued. "And I know its been my fault. I..."

He suddenly faltered, unsure of how to explain. He stood, and started to pace, needing the movement to counter the torrent of thoughts and feelings racing through his mind. He could feel Daniel's eyes on him, tracking his motions, silent, wary.

"I hurt you, Daniel. I know that and I'm sorry." He shook his head. "I know there is nothing I can say or do to justify my actions and I can't just make it all go away, no matter how much I wish I could."

Jack took a deep breath and then he blurted. "Daniel, I love you."

All of the color drained from Daniel's face at the pronouncement. Jack didn't know if that was a bad sign or not and he held himself still awaiting Daniel's response.

"You bastard." Daniel's voice was low and strangely hard. "How dare you?"

"Daniel?"

"How dare you come here and say that to me?"

Jack shrugged his shoulders, trying to maintain his rapidly fraying calm. "Because it's the truth, Daniel."

Daniel laughed, a harsh, mirthless sound. "And this suddenly occurred to you?" he sneered, his voice still low.

He sighed. "In a way, yeah. I guess I'd always known on some level but its only now that I've come to understand it."

Daniel's eyes narrowed and his face was suddenly as cold and unyielding as carved alabaster. "You know, don't you?"

Jack was confused. "Know what?"

"You know," he repeated. "About me and Paul. That's why you're here now, isn't it?"

Now it was Daniel's turn to stand and pace. He prowled the length of the couch as restless as a jungle cat, and Jack knew, twice as dangerous.

"You son of a bitch. You can't stand it, can you?" Daniel accused, his eyes ripping into Jack. "The idea that someone else might want me, might care about me. For eight fucking months you treat me like a goddamned leper, barely tolerating my existence, but the second someone else shows an interest, you suddenly decide you want me."

He laughed, a harsh sound that seemed edged in razor wire. "Well, excuse me if I doubt your sincerity here, Jack. Its not as if you've given me even a hint that you cared whether I lived or died of late."

Jack winced inwardly, the barb hitting home with full force. Daniel was right. He had no reason to believe Jack under the circumstances. And suddenly he realized that his timing truly sucked. He was so ready to face his feelings for Daniel that he had failed to consider that maybe Daniel wouldn't want to hear about them, let alone accept them. God, he'd fucked up again.

He moved towards Daniel, reaching out a placating hand. Daniel immediately danced out of reach, his eyes flashing blue fire. "I'm sorry, Daniel. You've got every right to be angry with me. My timing sucks, I know, but what else is new?" he remarked self-deprecatingly. He took another deep breath.

"Yes, I know about you and Davis. I should have seen it coming, would have seen it if I hadn't so busy pushing you away and being in denial."

Daniel's expression hardened further if such a thing were even possible. Jack swallowed and continued.

"And you're right about my timing. Its not a coincidence. Seeing you and Davis together, well...it hurt like hell. But it also forced me to finally confront my feelings about you. I've spent the last three days sitting in my living room thinking about you...about us...and I finally came to the undeniable truth that I love you. No, more than that, I'm in love with you. What happened in DC between you and Davis was just the catalyst that made me own up to what's been in my heart all along."

Jack stood looking at Daniel, holding his breath. The room was absolutely silent now except for the sound of their breathing and the melancholy strains of Debussy in the background. He felt like a prisoner awaiting sentencing, knowing he'd already been found guilty, but praying nonetheless to receive the undeserved mercy of the court.

Daniel turned away from him and Jack could see the tension in every line of the other man's body and the thick knot of muscle clenching in his shoulders, visible through the thin cotton of his tee shirt. "Get out," he said softly, so softly Jack almost missed the words.

No, he couldn't leave, not now, not like this. He knew if he walked out that door right then, there would never be a way to set things right again.

"No," he said, his own voice firm.

"Get out!" Daniel demanded, his own voice rising in volume to match his obvious anger.

"I can't do that Daniel. I'm sorry."

Daniel turned at that, glaring at him fiercely, his eyes as hard and cold as glaciers. "Fine. If you won't leave, then I will." Daniel moved towards the door, his shoulder bumping into Jack as he passed.

No! Jack couldn't let him leave. He grabbed Daniel's arm, spinning him around, "Daniel..."

Jack got no further. Before he could utter another word, he felt the full force of Daniel's fist slamming into his jaw, sending his tumbling to the floor. He lay there for a few moments, literally seeing stars before his vision cleared and he regained some semblance of thought. He lay sprawled on the floor, one hand unconsciously rubbing at his aching jaw as he gazed up at the furious countenance of Daniel Jackson.

Daniel stood there, towering over him, his fists clenched at his sides so tightly the knuckles were white. His face, which had been pale before, was now flushed, and his eyes burned with a fury. Jack was stunned speechless. He'd seen Daniel angry before, but he'd never witnessed anything quite like this from the normally taciturn man. Nothing like the rage that he was witnessing now.

"You fucking bastard!" Daniel snarled down at him. "Don't touch me! Don't you ever dare touch me! You have no fucking right!"

Jack felt suddenly like a bug pinned to a display mount, unable to move beneath the harsh glare that held him.

"You have no right, Jack!" Daniel repeated. "I'm sick and tired of being your whipping boy and carrying around all your guilt for you. You might as well have pinned a scarlet 'A' to my chest for all that you've treated me like a goddamned pariah.

"You made a mistake. One night when you were drunk, you screwed your friend, your male friend and afterwards you felt, what? Guilty? Embarrassed? Fine, I can understand that. You got worried about your career and all that 'don't ask, don't tell,' crap. Fine, I get that too. You're career military, you've got a lot at stake, and a hell of a lot to lose if anyone ever finds out. I can understand that."

He paused, the heat of his glare searing into a helpless Jack.

"Then you freaked out about the whole 'gay' thing. Again, I can understand. You're straight, always have been and you wigged at the thought that maybe, just maybe you weren't as straight as you thought you were. Fine. That's pretty scary stuff to deal with. Then you go and start sniffing around Sam, trying to prove to yourself and anyone else in a five-mile radius what a big, macho stud you are. I can understand that too, though you are a fucking piece of shit to use Sam like that."

Jack couldn't escape the scorn in Daniel's voice anymore than he could the truth of his words. That was exactly what he'd done and hearing Daniel give the recitation of his sins against him felt like nails being driven beneath the skin.

But Daniel wasn't done. "I can understand all of that, Jack. I don't blame you for being afraid. What I can't forgive is the fact that you took away your friendship. I thought I could trust you, dammit. The one thing I'd always been able to count on was that you'd be there for me. But you weren't, were you? You pushed me away and you did everything in your power to make sure I understood that I no longer had a place in your life, that I was no longer permitted to be your friend. That's what hurt, Jack. I could have forgiven you anything so long as you still let me be your friend."

Jack still lay there on the floor and he watched as the rage began to dissipate and was slowly replaced by the hurt. He ached to see it. He wanted to turn away from the pain he saw written upon Daniel's face, but he knew to do so would simply add to his already sizeable list of crimes. He was responsible for this, the least he could do was face it.

Daniel drew a long shuddering breath, trying to maintain the control that seemed so ragged all of a sudden.

"And then, I finally find someone who seems to care, who seems to want me. I finally think I have a chance to find a little happiness, that I don't have to be alone anymore, and you manage to fuck that up as well."

He looked at Daniel, at the grief etched on his face. He was confused by Daniel's most recent accusation. What had he done to cause problems between Daniel and Davis? Granted, he hadn't exactly been a model of decorum around the junior officer, but he hadn't said or done anything overt. What was Daniel talking about? Daniel's obvious hurt spoke to him and he responded without thinking.

"Danny?" he asked in a soft voice.

Daniel's eyes widened and his anger flashed through the hurt like summer lightning. "Don't call me that!"

There was a fine tremor racing through Daniel's body, echoing the raw emotions displayed so plainly on his face. Jack carefully pulled himself off the floor, wincing slightly at the ache in his back and the throbbing in his jaw. He was going to have a hell of a bruise when he showed up on base tomorrow. He took a careful step towards Daniel who was now watching him with a mixture of fear and sullen resentment overlaying the hurt and anger from before.

Jack moved slowly, so as not to startle the obviously wrought and skittish man. He had no doubt that Daniel wouldn't hesitate to belt him again if he felt threatened in the least. Under normal circumstances, he was pretty certain he could take Daniel, but in their current situation with emotions running high, he wasn't sure. Daniel was no lightweight and he could throw a wicked right cross, as Jack could now attest to from personal experience. He had no intention of finding out if he'd mastered the right hook and the uppercut as well.

"Daniel?" he asked, foregoing the earlier diminutive, as he stepped forward. Daniel continued to eye him warily, his breathing harsh and rasping. He took another step forward and then Daniel moved, shifting away from Jack. This time, however, he was prepared. He grabbed Daniel's arm and pulled the younger man towards him, wrapping his arms around him, pinning Daniel's own arms to his sides so he couldn't lash out again.

Daniel twisted and turned in his embrace, bucking against the arms restraining him. "Let go of me!" Daniel snarled, wriggling and twisting like a madman. "Let me fucking go, you son of a bitch!"

But Jack would do no such thing. He held onto the other man as if his life depended upon it because the simple truth was, his life did depend upon this.

Daniel's body had twisted completely around in his embrace so that his back was pressed up against Jack's chest. Daniel managed to free his right arm slightly and he pulled it forward, then brought his elbow back hard against Jack's ribs. Jack's breath was expelled in a sharp gasp, but before Daniel could take advantage of the move, Jack managed to tighten his grip around the squirming, bucking body.

Daniel was cursing madly, turning the air blue with the sheer virulence of his epithets. Jack hung on, leaning forward to whisper in the other man's ear. "I'm sorry, Daniel. I'm so sorry."

It was all he said, all he could say really, under the current circumstances. Anything more would have to wait until Daniel stopped fighting him. It had now become a battle of wills as each man waited for the other to tire. But Jack held the advantage; Daniel's earlier emotional outbursts had already taken a toll. It was just a matter of time before the adrenalin that was fueling his rage burned itself out. All Jack had to do was hold on. For both of them.

When it happened, it happened with a suddenness that took Jack completely by surprise. One minute Daniel was fighting like a wild animal, the next he was practically slumped in Jack's arms like dead weight. The sudden shift threw Jack off balance as Daniel's knees seemed to give out from under him. Jack followed him down. They wound up on the floor in a tangle of limbs, with Jack braced against the back of Daniel's sofa, and Daniel pressed up against him, his hair soft against Jack's cheek.

They sat there for a long time, Jack's arms still holding him tight, while they regained control of their ragged breathing and Debussy played on. Jack found himself back where he'd been when he'd first arrived on Daniel's doorstep. He needed to talk, but he was uncertain as to what to say. This time, Daniel spoke first.

"He didn't want me." Daniel's voice was low and rough from screaming.

"What?" Jack prompted, keeping his voice as gentle as possible.

"Paul. He told me it wouldn't work out between us."

"Why not?" Jack felt unaccountably angry with the other man, despite his relief.

"He said I wasn't over you yet. He said I was still in love with you."

"And are you?" he asked, trying to contain the desperate hope that suddenly rose up at Daniel's words.

The other man was very still in his arms. Jack waited as the silence stretched and his own heart lodged in his throat.

Finally after an eternity, Daniel spoke. "I...I'm not sure. I loved you so much and then you turned around and broke my heart."

Jack closed his eyes, tears stinging his lids at Daniel's confession. He'd loosened his embrace and his hands began to stroke soothingly up and down Daniel's arms almost of their own volition.

"I'm sorry, Daniel, more sorry than I can ever say. But I do love you. It took me forever to realize it, but now that I have, I'm not gonna to give up on you." He leaned in, his lips close behind Daniel's ear. "You're my world, Daniel and it took almost losing you to make me understand that I can't be without you. You're the very best part of me. You always were."

One of Jack's hands slid down to rest on one of Daniel's and squeezed it gently. Daniel's hand shifted in his until their fingers were twined together. They stayed like that for a long time, their hands clasped together before Jack lifted them and gently placed a reverent kiss on the back of Daniel's hand.

"I was scared, Daniel. You made me feel too much and it scared the crap outta me. It wasn't your fault, ever, and I'm sorry that you were the one who had to suffer because I was too chicken shit to own up to my own feelings."

He paused, giving Daniel a chance to absorb his words, to weigh them and feel the truth they carried. There was too much at stake to play games or hide behind half-truths anymore. He could feel the solid weight of Daniel's body, the warmth of his skin radiating from beneath the thin cotton tee-shirt. He could feel the fine silk of Daniel's hair against his cheek and smell the scent of his skin, a unique blend of sandalwood soap, the light musk of his cologne, the hint of coffee that seemed to rise up from his pores as if secreted beneath the skin. In that moment Jack knew he held the world in his arms, strong as high tensile steel, fragile as spun glass and more precious than naquadah.

"I can't do anything about what's already happened. I wish to God I could. All I can do...we can do...is to go on from here. All I ask is that you give me another chance. Please, Daniel, let me love you."

Daniel turned in his arms, gazing up at Jack, his eyes bright with unshed tears, but clear, free of the bitter grief that Jack had instilled within their depths. Jack placed a kiss on his temple before leaning forward to place another on Daniel's lips. It was a chaste gesture that spoke a wealth of tenderness and simple affection. They held the kiss for a long, breathless moment as Jack's lips clung to Daniel's and Daniel's responded in return. When they pulled apart and Jack gazed once more into Daniel's eyes, he was dizzy with relief. No more words were spoken, they has ceased to be necessary in this time and place. The kiss was their covenant, a silent vow tendered in humility and devotion and accepted without reservation. It was enough for now. No, it was everything.

Jack gently threaded the fingers of his free hand into Daniel's hair, drawing the younger man's head down to rest on his shoulder, cradling him against his body in a loose embrace. With the lightest of touches, he stroked Daniel's hair, lulling him into a peaceful, exhausted slumber. Jack simply sat there, his back still braced against the sofa, Daniel's body a pleasant weight against his chest, feeling the soft exhalations of Daniel's breath against his neck.

He turned his gaze towards the balcony doors. The drapes were thrown wide and he could see the darkness beyond, relieved only by a scattering of lights from nearby buildings. There was no moon tonight, but Jack didn't mind. He would stay here with Daniel and await the dawn. He knew that there was still much that needed to be said, so much pain that still needed to be excised before they could truly move on. They had established a truce this night. It was a fragile truce to be sure, but it was a beginning.

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Daniel's forehead and smiled. And when the sun rose, he and Daniel would talk. Later had finally come at last.

Alright, this fic requires a bit of back story. The bunny that started it all first appeared in the midst of Season 4. Like pretty much everyone, I found that season to be disappointing in the extreme. It had everything against it: hackneyed storylines, plots with more holes than Swiss cheese, such rampant character assassination I kept checking to see if Lee Harvey Oswald was receiving a writing credit; contrived, heavy handed and thoroughly unconvincing ship. The worst affront, however, was the complete breakdown in the team dynamic, especially the Jack/Daniel relationship that had always resided at its core. For most of Season 4 Jack and Daniel barely interacted, giving rise to much humorous speculation regarding Jack taking out a restraining order to keep Daniel from moving within a five foot radius of his illustrious person. And on the rare occasions when they did interact, they seemed more antagonists than friends. I became increasing frustrated with this state of affairs, so much so that I: a) wondered what had caused this apparent rift between the two, and b) thought that if Jack was going to be such a total and inconsiderate shit towards Daniel, maybe I should give him to someone who'd appreciate him, like say, that nice Major Davis who so clearly had the hots for him.

Thus a bunny was born. The thing was, I wasn't writing fic in those days, so nothing happened. But as all fic writers know, unused plot bunnies never die, they just go to ground and wait for their opening to leap forth and attach themselves to one's anatomy in the most painful place and manner possible.

Fast forward to two months ago and a pleasant conversation with Anais and Spring during which I mentioned the old (and I presumed defunct) plot bunny. Alas, just mentioning its name, resurrected the little bugger. It was a rather nebulous thing then but day by day it grew and become increasingly fierce and now two months and 100+ pages later, here we are. Sigh I had no idea what I was letting myself in for.

Now, for those of you who know my humor stuff, be warned. This is angst, big honkin' angst, in point of fact, and everyone gets to play. This is something of an experiment for me and now that its done, I'm going to go lie down with a glass of Scotch, a bottle of Tylenol and practice my ducking skills should another monstrous angst bunny come my way again. Oy!

One final warning. This is a J/D fic but it is not an OTP. If the thought of Daniel with anyone other than Jack, even temporarily, offends you, then just walk on by