Title: G Is For Glasses And Grief
Author: Wonderland
Rating: PG
Disclaimer:
Don’t own ‘em, wish I did, you know who does, yadda,
yadda, yadda
Summary: Written for
sg fignewton’s Daniel alphabet soup
Season/Spoiler info: Gamekeeper
Author’s notes: Written for Whisper99 who asked for
Jack/Daniel/Vala.
I have my suspicions about the glasses.
That he doesn’t need them nearly as much as he claims he does. At least not for
the vision thing.
They’re his shield to keep folks from
seeing the real Daniel. Unfortunately for him, we’ve all seen the real Daniel.
I personally have seen him pissed beyond words, wounded beyond comfort, excited
beyond trying to act aloof.
His eyes are far too expressive for him
to fool anyone but he doesn’t know that yet. He thinks he’s got us fooled and
we indulge him enough to act like it’s working. I watch him avidly while he
adds to this particular debrief. Carter was more upset than I’ve ever seen her
when she described the scene from Daniel’s past. He, on the other hand,
schooled his voice to a rigid tone, kept his hands firmly planted on the table
at all times to prevent the inevitable twirling. But the eyes give him away.
This is a hurt far beyond anything I’ve yet to see. And that’s scary.
So I know I have to get him to open up,
talk about it. Yeah, I know, I don’t take my own advice, I’ve got a lot of
nerve to talk and I’m offensive and hypocritical. But what I don’t want for
Daniel is to follow my lead in this particular area. So I wait for him,
plotting the perfect ambush in the gear-up room. I wait until he’s showered and
changed before I stroll in and tell him that since we’ve got a couple of days
downtime, I want him to come home with me and get out of the mountain.
“Oh, Jack,” his eyes slide away from my
sincere ones. “I have a lot of stuff…”
“That needs to be done. Yeah, I know. But you need to get some rest, breathe
some real air, eat some real food. Things I guarantee you’re not going to
accomplish here. Get anything you need from your office. Providing,” I hold up
one finger, “providing it fits in one pack. And that it’s not classified. I’m
not kidding, Daniel.” I put on my official O’Neill voice. “I’ll be by to pick
you up in twenty minutes and I expect to see you ready to go.” I shove his
reluctant ass out the door, knowing he’ll be ready. He won’t be happy, but
he’ll be ready.
*
There is something more than faintly
awful about taking such ruthless advantage of him. But, dammit, he needs a
release. He needs to scream or kick things or bawl his head off. Fraiser thinks
he needs counseling. I think Daniel and I are in agreement that’s the worst
suggestion we’ve ever heard. The mention of the word sent shivers up my spine
and horror into his eyes. Hence, my haste in removing him from her immediate
area. I’ve fed him or tried to, let him lounge in the backyard most of the
afternoon, now comes the talking part. I contemplate liquor, but the doc has
already put the kibosh on that. No alcohol until she’s satisfied our systems
aren’t compromised by those chairs into which the gamekeeper strapped us.
However, I do have a secret weapon.
Chocolate. He’s worse than any woman I’ve ever known in his love of chocolate.
After we rescued him from Abydos, he inhaled every piece of chocolate cake in
the mess and they’re only remotely edible at the best of times.
Buy him a Hershey bar and he’ll follow
you anywhere. So I take a Hershey bar from the fridge, big block, no almonds,
and wander down to the backyard where he’s sprawled with a book that-gasp-looks
like a paperback.
I drop the bar in front of him and he
looks up, startled. “Eat. You barely touched dinner.”
“Not hungry.” He mutters, even though
his hand is reaching automatically for the chocolate.
“Dessert then.” I sit beside him.
“Oh, you cooked!” He grins suddenly and
unwraps the candy and takes a huge bite.
“Missed that, did you?” I just hope he
doesn’t devour chocolate in front of the Marines because if he does, I foresee
Teal’c and I having to beat up an awful lot of folks for picking on Daniel.
Fortunately, I like beating up people who pick on my friends and I’m guessing T
wouldn’t mind an occasional workout either. “So…”
“So?”
“Are you gonna talk or do I beat it out
of you?”
“What?” He gives me the genuinely
confused look that is less than genuine. “I…I talked, told you what happened.
End of story.”
“Beginning of story.” I correct him. “I
know it was hard, Daniel.” I soften my voice. “Talk to me.”
His eyes slide away from mine. “There’s
nothing to talk about, Jack.”
“Well, hell, I guess we’ll just sit
here all day and enjoy the weather and not talk about anything at all.”
“I guess we will.” He thinks he’s won
but I have many more years honing this patience thing than him. I can wait him
out.
It doesn’t take long.
“I’m okay, Jack, will you stop staring
at me?” He huffs.
“Maybe I just like the way you look.”
He nearly strangles on his candy bar.
“Are you…making a pass at me?”
I have to laugh. “Kid, you wouldn’t
know a pass if someone hit you over the head with it.” I let him settle back
down before I sneak in for the kill. “Carter said you had your mother’s eyes.”
Those eyes instantly widen in shock.
And begin to fill with tears. He scrambles to his feet, intent on running. I
anticipated that move and have my hand around one ankle, flipping him neatly
back onto the blanket. He tries it again so I grab him from behind and hold his
arms crossed in front of him, his back to my chest. “Daniel, its okay to be
upset about this. What’s not okay is trying to bottle it up. They were your
parents and you loved them and you shouldn’t have to relive what happened over
and over.” I feel the breath catch and I tighten my arms. “Just let go, Daniel.
Let it out.” This is where I am ruthless with him. He doesn’t like to be
touched, being held is way beyond his comfort zone and I fully expect the human
touch will break him. “Tell me, Daniel.”
“God, Jack,” he chokes out. “She was my
mother and I looked right at her and she looked at me. I never expected to ever
see her again. Ever. And I couldn’t save her..” He’s sobbing now. “I couldn’t
do anything
but stand there.”
“I know, it’s hard.” I move his glasses
out of harm’s way and try to turn him but he resists me. Okay, I guess he
thinks if I don’t actually see the tears, he can pretend he didn’t shed them.
We sit like that for a very long time, until I’m sure my legs are never going
to work again. The sobs finally stop and his breathing eases. I relax my arms
and he pulls away from me, stumbling to his feet and into the house.
I pick up his book and glasses and the
remains of his candy bar and follow him in. I put on a pot of strong coffee and
piddle around the kitchen waiting for him to leave the bathroom. Picking his
glasses up, I frown at the smudges on the lenses and take them to the sink,
clean them with hot soapy water and a clean kitchen towel.
He won’t meet my eyes when he slinks
back in. I leave his now spotless glasses on the counter beside the coffee pot
and head to the living room with my cup. I know just what he’ll do. He’ll fool
around in the kitchen until he thinks it won’t look like he’s been crying, then
he’ll come down here with his newly erected shield firmly in place.
I am so onto him.