Intervals Betwixt 3: Dear Jack

Post-Lost City

Pages/Words: 8/2,949
Pairing: J/D
Rating: M
Summary:  Daniel writes to Jack while he’s in stasis.


 

… dear jack …

 

 

July

 

Dear Jack,

Why the hell didn’t you heal yourself like you did with Bra’tac?

I know, I know.  That would have been a paradox.  You can’t heal yourself of yourself.  There’s got to be a way of healing you and I’m going to find it if it kills me.  I’ll do whatever the hell I have to, regardless of what it costs me.  I won’t take no for an answer.  Hammond can’t fire me if I’m not on world, can he?  I’ll contrive a way to get on a dig with SG11 and then I’ll disappear.  I know things the others don’t.  Things I haven’t written in a report or told Sam and Teal’c.  In case this journal gets taken, I won’t even write it down here.  You know what I’m talking about, don’t you, Jack.

I admit, I’m panicking a bit.  I’ve been holding it in, tamping down on it.  It’s me ignoring the grief process because I refuse to grieve.  I refuse because you’re NOT gone!  I won’t allow it!  But that damn fear is back.  The fear of failure.  That old enemy.  Snort.  You always told me I was my own worst enemy.

You know what’s been going through my head since you were frozen in carbonite? (ha ha)

That day about … 8 years ago now.  The day at your house after we were given antihistamines and … what were those tranks Janet gave us to get rid of the caveman effect?  I forget the name, which just goes to show how stressed out I am.  I never forget anything, which annoys the shit out of you.

I remember the heat deep in my belly.  I remember the weak feeling in my palms, under my arms, on the back of my thighs.  Hell, even the bottom of my feet.  Just the anticipation of having your tongue in my mouth.  And the other part of you.  I can’t say it.  I’ll start …

Okay.  After an hour of deep breathing and walking around—and when that didn’t work, I hit the bag in the gym.  I’m sorry, but thinking of you that way wasn’t going to get me anywhere.  So, where was I?  Oh, memories.

I remember trying not to tell Sam I was in love with you, back when that bitch Laira practically raped you just so she could have a goddamn kid…

You kept telling me to chill about that and I have.

Sort of.  Still makes me mad.  And jealous.  And hurt.

I keep thinking about that time that we went for a coffee at that café I like that you don’t.  You kept telling me, “It’s just a bunch of pretentious twaddle, Daniel.  It’s coffee with chocolate milk, whipped cream and chocolate powder.  To say it’s something else is stupid.”

I still like my mocha lattes, Jack.

 

 

September

 

Dear Jack,

So where the hell was I before all hell broke loose for the second time?

Memories.

Remember that day I remembered who you were, who I was, and what we were to each other?  It wasn’t when you thought.  I actually remembered earlier than I told you.  Yeah, I know.  Me, keeping secrets.  You like to think my job on SG-1 taught me to do that but it really started when I was 8.  I’d learned to hide my feelings for a long time because my brain was running a billion bits per second and adults just seemed so stupid to me.  Always asking, “Are you okay?” or “I’m so sorry you lost your mom and dad.”

One early foster mom—and they weren’t all bad—said, “You’re gonna have to learn to do without.”  I was 10 ½ years old.  She lost my bear, the one my mom gave me.  I wanted to tell her that I was already learning to do without, but there didn’t seem to be much point.  I was pretty old by that stage.

Never mind.  That’s pretty grim subject matter.  I’ll talk to you about it when you’re back.  Though, not right away.  I’ll be too busy devising ways to make you the happiest man on the planet. ?

Anyways, about that memory return thing.  It was when I was standing there in the gateroom and we were getting ready to go on that mission with Jonas.  It just … suddenly came to me.  I remembered my feelings, my memories.  It was like a flood.  But Jonas never knew about me, about you, about us, and you know how sharp he was, right?  I just pretended I hadn’t had an epiphany.  I buried it.  Did my compartmentalization thing.

Sam’s here for dinner.  Later.

 

November

 

Dear Jack,

Something happened you’d probably act like a perverted proud papa about:  I managed to walk right into a fight.  I gave as good as I got, thanks to lessons from Teal’c (don’t get your boxers in a bunch, you never made the time—except on the firing range).  First came the meditation.  Then came the Tai Chi.  Or rather, the Chulakian version.

I’m in the infirmary however.  Got a busted rib, a fractured pinkie, and a sprained shoulder.  Whatshername’s MAD.  Not just at the asshole who tangled with me but at ME.  I almost wrote Janet’s name.  Shit.

I was in the gym, hitting the bag again to get the frustration out.  Teal’c was supposed to meet me but he was running late.  Phoned up to tell me he had a call from his son in the gateroom.  So I’m getting in the groove, emptying my head of everything (shut up).

Then HE came in with a few of his buddies. 

Do you remember Major Thorson?  Head of SG-4?  Had that chip on his shoulder about not getting SG-2 and made comments about Sam when she, Teal’c, or you weren’t around?

He walks in and the first thing out of his mouth is, “Oh look, it’s the faggot, mourning his boyfriend.  Got a replacement yet, Jackson?”  Honestly, how did he make Major?  Oh, right.  Stupid of me.  The assholes always get away with murder, don’t they?

Back to business.  I’m punching and concentrating, so I easily tuned him out.  You know that sort of talk goes right by me.  If I’d had the presence of mind to roll my eyes, I might have, but I was too busy focusing on the “proper conservation of energy”, as Teal’c puts it.

Then a basketball hit me in the right shoulder. Thorson probably said a few more things and got tired of me ignoring him.  I wasn’t ignoring.  I wasn’t listening.  I have no idea what he said after the initial goad.

It wasn’t hard enough to leave a bruise, but it knocked me off my rhythm, forcing me to stop and look at him.  During these times, I’ve learned from experience that when you ignore these dickheads, it only encourages them.  So I faced him.  I said a few things, he said a few things, and I said one more thing that was aimed at pissing him off.  And just as a few more guys came into the gym, this dick actually charged at me.  It’s the only reason I’m in the infirmary and not the brig.  If I’d been the aggressor (shocker, I know), I’d have been in there with him.  Even us civilians have to follow the regs, much as I hate to.

So.  I dodge, he falls, I turn and face him at an angle, he rushes again, swings, and I block, kick, and piss him off more because it was that “jujitsu shit” (his words).  He got a few licks in, I got a few more, and it was over in three minutes, when the new guys who walked in were led by Teal’c.  Thorson backed off, wisely.  Teal’c is no one to mess with.  A few of the SPs came in and hauled off the limping man to the infirmary.  I got his ACL, I’m pretty sure.  I was “escorted” by Teal’c.  After the truth was sorted out, he ended up in the cell and I’m stuck here, being smiled at by nurses and scowled at by the CMO.

Okay.  She’s not scowling at me.  She really just a nice person.  But it feels like I’m laying claim to Janet’s memory by dissing her replacement.  My mind is usually pretty damn good, but I can’t remember her name.  Paulson?  Peterson?  I’m hopeless.

Hammond was livid.  Thorson’s not coming back. ?

At least Sam brought me my journal.  The writing isn’t legible, thanks to my broken pinkie.  Left shoulder was sprained, or I wouldn’t be writing at all and I’d be going insane just lying here.  Yes, I’d have a book or three but still.  I prefer writing.  Oh god, here she comes with a pill.

 

 

Two weeks later

 

Dear Jack,

I fell and rebroke my rib, and dislocated the sprained shoulder.  I was all kinds of bandaged up and couldn’t write.  I was finally released to go home, which is where I am now.  No one’s leaving to go offworld.  No reason given.  Hammond’s in a bunch of meetings, Sam said.  Since I have yet to be able to convince anyone to let me leave, I’m healing and still plotting.

I’m actually not home.  I’m in OUR home.  I feel closer to you here.  At my house, it feels haunted.  Shouldn’t that be the other way around?  Nope.  It feels like You are haunting me, telling me to come here and stay, keep the place up.  I’ve been doing that anyway, refusing to let anyone pack it up.  Thanks for giving me Power of Attorney.  Surprised the shit out of Hammond, I can tell you. ?

Sam and Teal’c were by yesterday, bringing me pizza and British ale.  We ate and played Star Wars Monopoly.  Teal’c won.  Neither me nor Sam could figure out how.  He’s horrible at real estate.  But we had a rematch and Sam won.  I’m horrible about real estate.  Next time, in five days, we’re playing a fantasy role-playing game called “Descent”.  Sam’s bringing it.  Her nephews got her hooked, she said.  Teal’c should have us both laughing our asses off because he doesn’t grasp the concept of pretend.

 

 

December

 

Dear Jack,

I’m alone.  And I’m drunk.  Instead of drunk-dialing or drunk-emailing, I’m drunk-writing.  Fuck it.

You know how you cock that brow of yours whenever you get all up in the air snooty about something you don’t get?

Yeah.  I’ve been seeing that face of yours lately.  When that happens, I have to go look at some photos to get it out of my head.  That look of yours makes me wanna punch it off.

What? I never said?  Well, I’m sahying new.  Saying.  Now.

Pfft.  Ya know that time?  You know.  The one with the sock puppet and the …

I spilled my drink.  I started laughing and that was all she wrote, bud.

Wait, I don’t’ say that, you sy that.  Say that.

Are you infecting me?

God, are we lucky we didn’t give each other something.  I mean, we don’t screw anyone else but each other and all, but we skipped the hood wearing a few tmesi.  Times.  Shit.  I’m drung.  Drunk.

Fuck!  You screwed that bitch, didn’t you?!  God!  I need to get checked!

Oh, wait.  That was a few years back I think.  Would’ve shown by now.  Right?  Shit.  I need to test.  And when I get you thawed out and healed, you’re getting checked too.  Wait.  Will healing you heal that too, if you’ve gotten something and me something?  Well, it won’t heal me, you bastard.  What if…

Shut the fuck up, Daniel.  Go to bed.

I was gonna say something else… what… Oh right!  Remember that bottle of Shnapps I drunk that one time and puked over the railing out back?  Gah.

Oh.  No.

 

. . .

 

Dear Jack,

I am so not doing that again.  Getting drunk, I mean.  At least, not on rum and coke.  I love me my coke but I’m not using it as a mixer ever again.  Maybe ginger ale.  Get rid of the nausea ahead of time. Ha ha.

Can’t write long.  Going back to the base for a checkup.  Shoulder and rib are feeling a lot better.

 

 

January

 

Dear Jack,

I got it.  I think.  Crossing fingers.  SG11 is leaving tomorrow for a finishing project on 888.  Chaka’s home.  Hammond said if there was nothing coming up for SG-1, we could go with.  I’d be leaving Sam and Teal’c tho.  I really don’t want to do that.

. . .

I couldn’t do it.  Leave them.  I’m sorry.  I hate myself.

 

 

February

 

Dear Jack,

I love you.  Please come home.  Please get healed.  Please.  I’ve been trying to contact Thor.  Sam helped.  We thought that since he knows the Ancients, the Asgard would be familiar with their healing.

This is actually an old idea, but we haven’t had the chance to send out a message thanks to the intergalactic generator failing.  But we got lucky (okay, Sam did) and we sent out a radio signal for Thor to intercept.  Hopefully, no Goa’uld were listening.

 

 

March

 

Dear Jack,

I want to fuck you so bad right now.  I woke up in the middle of the night, sweating, dreaming of fucking you in a Teltac, of all places.  Could’ve been worse.  It could’ve been behind the gate.

I have to take care of this.  Back soon.

….

I’m all screwed up.  After I came, I cried.  I’ve never done that before.  I’m exhausted and that’s going to mess with me, but I’ve been there before and … you were around then.

My heart is breaking.  I thought I had it handled but I don’t.

 

 

April

 

Dear Jack,

I spoke with Brightman (the CMO—I remembered her name this time, go me) about my mental health.  Yeah, I know.  I don’t like talking about it with anyone connected to the SGC, given that fuckup five years ago.  But she brought it up when I went in for the final checkup on my rib and shoulder.

I don’t know what happened, but I ended up spilling my guts to her.  DADT, I know.  But I said you were my best friend and I loved you.  Not lying.  I just couldn’t get past it.  Because you’re NOT DEAD.

Turns out that Sam and Teal’c have talked to her too.  Teal’c, it turns out, simply wanted an ear that wasn’t personal.  Ouch.  For the doc, I mean.  But she’s used to that by now, being around people who loved and miss Janet.

But I can talk to Sam and Teal’c about you — just not ABOUT you.  Yes, they know, but I can’t tell them how much I miss the way you stroke me, kiss me, the way you shift your hips when you’re inside me.  The non-sexual little things?  We got into a long chat last night.  I asked them over for dinner.  Made tacos, salad, nachos.  Teal’c loves them and he’s sick of pizza.

When I went to bed, I woke up a few hours later, as per usual.  This time, it was the memory of you nuzzling that spot behind my right ear.  It had me harder than stone, so I attended to that.  Didn’t cry after.  I think it’s because I wasn’t fearing that I would.  I was replaying a time we had back when we were still new.

You had come home after thawing out from being in Antarctica with Sam and called me.  You’d asked me over and when I came through the door, you’d hugged me and nuzzled that spot.  That was all it took, and I had you there against the door.  You’d taken fists of my hair, thrusting hard into me, and the door, oak and tough as it is, was thudding loudly in our frantic rhythm.  I refused to come so soon because I wanted to drag it out but you forced it out of me.  I swear, I haven’t come like that too much.  I think that when I get you back, I will.

 

 

May

 

Dear Jack,

I’ve been, as you so colorfully put it once, “cock-blocked”!  But maybe I should say “Jack-blocked”!

Hammond’s been promoted to Homeworld Security and Elizabeth won’t let me go anywhere.  You remember her, right?  The scientist who’s running things here.  God, does that sound wrong?  I’ve been hanging around you military types for too long, I think.

How the hell am I going to get what I need to heal you if I’m stuck here?

Fuck!

 

 

June

 

Dear Jack,

I’m still on base.  In my old quarters.  Everything is turned upside-down.  Sam’s pissed off.  She was gonna take leave and go out for a week on her Indian.  Teal’c is indifferent but he hides his feelings better than I do. 

I had a feeling that it wouldn’t be a smooth transition.

. . .

Sam and Teal’c are on their way to find Thor so he can fix you.  We basically badgered Elizabeth until she gave in.  I think Anubis showing up in the Oval Office did it.  I’m not sure.

I wanted to go.  I was so psyched when Sam and Teal’c told me what was happening, but then she said that I have to be here to help Jack if they fail.

Ya know, it sounds a lot like they didn’t want me around.  I know, it’s my imagination.  You were always saying that.  But just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not watching you. Ha-fucking-ha.  Thor has to get you back to me.  Us.  All of us.

Love,
Daniel

 

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