His dreams were melding together with reality—or so he thought.

Jack was in Meath, or at least that was what he finally concluded. The smell was finally what gave it away. The smell of snow was something you couldn’t hide from Jack O’Neill.

He had awoken a few minutes ago and was greeted by the quiet snoring of his attending archeologist in the dim half-light. It was either dawn or dusk—he couldn’t tell which and didn’t really care. The fact that he recognized the snore confused him more until he remembered Daniel had spoken to him before—and Jack hadn’t had any ill effects.

He drifted off again, already tired from his brief stint awake.

He did that several times during the ensuing week, each time able to stay awake longer than the previous time. The scenery didn’t change much. There was always someone sitting with him—usually one of his team members. It offered him a quiet comfort, that he wasn’t alone. He finally was able to piece together a lot of what had happened from his conversations with Carter, Teal’c, and Daniel. Those conversations helped. They let him put things in context and sort reality from dreams.

Sometimes that was the hardest part—telling the difference. Figuring out what was real, what was a memory, and what was just a dream.

He wished his memories weren’t so humiliating. Being weak and injured didn’t help. He was just a big bear with a sore paw. He usually just ended up growling at someone—no mean feat especially in his condition. He watched them all walk around him on eggshells, always worried that they might upset him in some way.

In some ways, he didn’t care what they thought.

It didn’t really matter. It was only a matter of time now, before Hammond would send him packing. Jack wouldn’t blame him, really. From just the memories Jack could remember clearly, he wouldn’t hesitate if he were in Hammond’s place.

Daniel’s voice dragged him back to the present, away from his thoughts. Jack raised his eyes toward the door, watching the archeologist saunter in, his hands deep in his pockets.

"Hey, Jack, good morning. It’s good to see you up. How are you feeling?"

"Fine, Daniel," Jack answered as Daniel settled into the chair adjacent to the bed. "I’m the same as when you asked me the last time."

"Well, I see Janet’s let you sit up a little more," Daniel noted, pointing to the pillows piled behind Jack’s back, propping him up.

"Yes, Daniel," Jack said, watching Daniel’s eyes check him over. "It’s not like I have anywhere to go."

"I know," Daniel said, quickly pulling his eyes up to Jack’s face, but Jack could see that Daniel wasn’t happy with what he saw. "Janet mentioned something about going home in a few days. Think you’ll be up for it?"

"Whatever the good doctor decides," Jack said noncommittally.

"Well."

"Well?"

"Jack…"

"What Daniel?"

"How do you…feel about all of this?"

"Feel?"

"That’s not a foreign word or anything, Jack. Yes, how do you feel about all this?"

Jack shrugged. "What’s there to feel?"

"I don’t know. Aren’t you…I don’t know, upset, angry, something?" Daniel was unable to keep still, his hands gesturing wildly, emphasizing each word.

Jack looked at him for a minute before answering. "Are you feeling neglected that I didn’t bring you back a T-shirt this time?"

"Jack, I’m serious."

"So am I."

"Jack."

"Daniel."

"Jack."

"Daniel, I can keep this up all day."

"Jack."

"Daniel, I’m tired. Why don’t you go annoy someone else?" Jack said, pointedly closing his eyes. The conversation was over as far as he was concerned. It wasn’t as if Daniel really cared what he thought about anything. He just probably had nothing better to do than pester a sick man.

They were in Meath nearly three weeks before Janet felt comfortable enough with the way Jack was progressing to suggest the hike back to the gate. During that time, SG1 slowly drew him into conversations as he mended. At first he had been gruff, refusing to speak unless absolutely necessary and then, only with cutting remarks. He mellowed, as he grew stronger. Gradually, Janet made him exercise to try and get his strength back, walking around the room, and then finally, roaming the halls upstairs in the castle—always with an escort, just in case.

But by this time, Jack was quiet and he had stopped complaining—that put everyone on guard.

When Jack O’Neill was cooperative and civil when he was recuperating from an injury, there was something wrong. That much was obvious. Getting Jack O’Neill to admit it was impossible.

The walk back to the gate took longer than expected, with several breaks along the way. Egan had accompanied them himself, wanting to see them to the Stargate personally. While Daniel had enjoyed his time learning about Meath and her people, the time spent on Ildanach was bittersweet. The experience had changed his friend dramatically and Daniel was not sure what that meant in the long run.

They left Meath with promises to return soon with the scientists and anthropologists as was outlined in the treaty.

Once back in the SGC, however, Jack was still under the firm hand of Janet Fraiser. It was nearly another week—and multitudes of tests later—before Janet decided to release him. She finally let him go home, comfortable that he was recovering.

Jack had finally started participating in the discussions around him, contributing to the banter with what seemed like his normal level of gusto. For all intents and purposes, Jack O’Neill had bounced back once again. With a little time to rest, he would be back as good as new. To his team’s eyes, though, things fell just short. The sparkle in his eyes was gone. While he spouted one bad joke after another, one horrendous pun after pun, they knew it was just a show, a sham.

The laughter never reached his eyes.

Jack stepped out of Cheyenne Mountain and paused long enough to breathe in the fresh air of the Colorado Mountains. There was nothing like it in the universe.

Daniel turned around at Jack’s pause, his forehead creasing. "Jack, you okay?"

"I’m fine, Daniel. Stop hovering."

"Fine, Jack." But when Jack didn’t move immediately, Jack saw Daniel cast a glance at Sam and Teal’c before he starting jingling the keys in his hand. "Are you coming?"

Jack sighed, but answered the question. "Yes, Daniel," he said, stepping closer to the group. "You know, I’m perfectly capable of driving myself home."

"Janet said no driving for the time being," Carter said, matching her pace to his as they walked to one of the Air Force cars. General Hammond had offered the use of one of the cars for the time being—especially since Daniel and Carter had small cars. Jack’s truck had been placed in storage when he had been declared as missing in action and it would take a few days before Jack would be able to get it out.

"And how do you expect me to get groceries if I don’t have a car?"

"We did that already," Daniel said quietly, climbing into the car.

"What?" Jack stopped, his hand on the car door handle.

"Jack, get in already," Daniel called, starting the car. "I’ll explain on the way."

"Fine," Jack said, dropping into the front passenger seat and slamming the door. For a good portion of the ride home he listened to his team prattle on about one thing or another, not listening to most of it. Nothing really mattered in the long run. Nothing would change his mind.

He just needed time.

Daniel watched Jack carefully during the ride to his house. Jack barely said a word, causing the car to drop into one uncomfortable silence after another. It was plainly obvious he wasn’t listening and had practically tuned out everything except what was happening in his little world inside his head—and that was one place Jack had locked up tight.

Try as he might, Daniel hadn’t been able to break through the walls Jack had erected. In a way, Jack was just like he was during that first Stargate mission—maybe even worse.

At least then, he had been civil.

Pulling into the driveway, Daniel stopped the car, shutting off the engine. Jack’s hand stopped him from pulling the key from the ignition.

Daniel met Jack’s cold, dark eyes across the silence. "Daniel, thanks for the ride home. I appreciate it, but I’d rather be alone for a little while."

"Sir, are you sure that’s a good idea?" Sam piped up from the back of the car as she leaned forward. The air in the car was tense.

"Carter, you’ve been hovering over me for the last three weeks. It’s about time I had a little time to myself, don’t you think?"

"But, sir—"

"Do I need to make it an order, Major?" Jack’s voice was hard and cold.

"O’Neill, I do not believe you are yourself."

"Teal’c, I’m fine. A little tired, maybe, but fine," Jack said, sarcasm dripping from his words.

"Jack, maybe if we just came in for a little while—"

"Daniel, what didn’t you understand? I don’t need your company and I don’t want your company. End of discussion." Jack shoved the door open with his elbow, his left hand reaching for the keys in his pocket. Daniel watched dumbfounded as Jack walked across the yard and up the path to the front door. A beat later and Jack unlocked the door, slamming it behind him. The lights flickered on inside a few seconds later.

Sighing deeply, Daniel dropped his head down to rest on his hands resting on the steering wheel.

"That went well."

"He hates us, doesn’t he?" Sam asked, her voice quiet, harsh.

Daniel glanced up, catching Sam’s weary blue eyes in the rear-view mirror. "I don’t know, Sam, but I intend on finding out."

Day melded into night, time running together, becoming meaningless.

He wasn’t even sure what day it was anymore and that suited him just fine.

Janet had given him two weeks of medical leave and a few days after he began it, Jack had called General Hammond requesting additional time off. Hammond had granted it immediately, giving Jack an additional two weeks of time before he was expected to report back to Cheyenne Mountain.

That would give him plenty of time.

His team had called several times, leaving messages that he erased before listening to them. They had even stopped by the house several times, but he managed to send them away each time. He was sure that eventually they’d get the message. He didn’t want to see them. He didn’t need to see them.

With time, they’d come to understand the truth of the matter: they didn’t need him—never had. He just ended up bringing bad tidings—angry Jaffa, cruel Goa’ulds, and maddened, maniacal aliens—with his very presence. They’d be better off without him‚just like Charlie would have been.

Absently lifting the tumbler of Jack Daniel's to his lips, Jack finished it in one long swallow, the thump of the glass against the tabletop sounding hollow. His eyes gazed unseeing through the living room windows to the darkness outside.

Jack rubbed his temple with his hand, the slight bump of a scar, the only outward evidence of what he had endured this time around. There was nothing left to show for the pain he had endured except memories—and those he had plenty of.

Several days ago, he’d finally gotten his truck back which allowed him to stock up the house with various food items and beverages—most of which were on Fraiser’s list of do not dos.

He didn’t care.

He even bought two cases of liquor—the good stuff.

It helped dull the pain, the ache of his failures, the agony of failing his son.

He’d been to the cemetery to talk to his son the other day. To tell him he was sorry. Jack didn’t think Charlie would ever forgive him for what he’d done.

Jack had blood on his hands—the blood of good men who had died because of him.

There was only one way to atone for what he’d done.

It was as simple as that.

He still had the gun that had killed his son. Of course, it was locked away now, put out of reach. He’d learned his lesson the hard way, paying for his incompetence with the life of his son.

He even kept it clean. It was habit—a habit he had learned in the service. It was a good habit to keep since it could make the difference between life and death.

In the palm of his hands, he held the power of life and death.

He didn’t know how long he sat there staring at the gun in his hands before something made him look up, his eyes locking with Daniel’s wide blue eyes as he stood several feet from the living room coffee table.

"Jack…" Daniel started, "what’s going on?"

Daniel had made up his mind that today was going to be the day he confronted Jack. It had been three weeks now and Jack had managed to avoid everyone—Teal’c, Janet, Sam, Cassie, and General Hammond—even though each of them had been to the house and had left numerous messages.

Jack wasn’t taking calls and he certainly was not in the mood for visitors.

The last time Sam had attempted to talk to Jack, he didn’t even bother coming to the door. He had been home—his truck in the driveway—but he had ignored her knocks and entreaties to open the door.

Daniel pulled up, parking his car behind Jack’s truck, flicking off his headlights and turning the engine off. He sat in silence for several minutes, listening to the sounds of his car as it started cooling off. The lights were on inside Jack’s house—in the living room and kitchen, as far as Daniel could see.

In any normal circumstance, Daniel would have called first, warning Jack that he was going to drop by, but this time he wanted surprise on his side. He’d had a weird feeling all day. Jack was due to return to the Mountain on Monday, five days from now, but Daniel was doubtful that Jack would appear.

He knew Jack was very private, keeping most everything to himself. Daniel knew there were times when Jack needed his space to come to terms with a tough mission or just get his balance back. Daniel could understand. Throughout his life, Daniel had spent countless hours doing just that, losing himself in the work of one dig or another in an effort to help him put things in balance.

Some people considered it running away, whereas he knew the truth of the matter. It helped him get his balance.

This time, though, Jack had gone too far. This was a time when he needed to have friends around to help bring him back from the horrible places he had been.

Daniel was intent on making sure Jack got the support he needed—ready to do whatever it takes.

He was grateful that Jack had had the foresight several years back to give his team the keys to his house. It helped when they had to take care of the house if he had an extended stay in the infirmary or on base for one reason or another. It also helped when he was recuperating at home—like now.

Standing at the front door, Daniel leaned in, trying to hear anything—something—that would give him an idea as to what Jack might be doing. The silence was deafening in its absoluteness.

No hockey commentators commentating on the television.

No classical music blaring from the stereo system.

No sounds of running water from the shower or the kitchen sink.

The house was silent.

The tranquility covered the house in a thick wool blanket. It was smothering in its intensity.

The keys jingled loudly in the silence as Daniel found the keyhole in the dark, unlocking the front door and pushing it open a hair, trying to peer into the foyer.

There was definitely light coming in from the direction of the living room, but that was about it. The rest of the house was dark and silent—except for the pounding of Daniel’s heart.

Something was wrong.

He was certain of it.

"Jack?" Daniel called, quietly pushing the door open wider so he could enter, pocketing the keys. He shrugged off his jacket, hanging on a hook in the hallway, waiting for Jack to come bounding into the room. Daniel was prepared for a fight. He was staying whether Jack wanted him here or not.

Daniel just wasn’t prepared for the silence.

The hollow sound of a glass on wood echoed from the depths of the living room and Daniel quietly paced forward. He really didn’t want to scare Jack. He knew what Jack could do to someone with his bare hands and that was not on the agenda for the evening.

"Jack?" Daniel called again, peering into the living room.

The sight before him nearly floored him—Jack caressing a handgun, an empty bottle—make that bottles—of liquor scattered throughout the room. From the looks of things, Jack hadn’t moved from that spot for days.

Daniel stepped forward carefully, trying not to frighten his friend into doing something rash. That was the last thing on his mind.

Daniel wasn’t sure if it was his presence of the pounding of his heart that made Jack look up, their eyes locking together.

Daniel tried to speak in an innocent and non-confrontational a tone as he could manage. "Jack, what’s going on?"

When Jack didn’t answer him for several minutes, instead staring at Daniel, confusion plainly evident on his face, Daniel stepped forward a few more paces. "Jack, you know, this is not exactly the easiest way for me to have a conversation with you…with me doing all the talking." Daniel paused again, waiting for a response. "Jack, what’s going on?"

Daniel settled into the chair opposite from Jack, his friend’s eyes following him the whole way.

"Daniel?" Jack whispered.

"Yes, Jack. I’m here. Talk to me," Daniel encouraged, trying to keep his eyes linked with Jack’s but clearly cognizant of the proximity of the gun in Jack’s hands.

"What’s there to talk about, Daniel?" Jack said bitterly, leaning back heavily in his seat, his glazed brown eyes leveled at Daniel. His hands though, were constantly in motion, gently gliding along the object in his hands, turning it over and over.

"I don’t know," Daniel shrugged. "Maybe why you’re sitting in here on a perfectly clear night when you could be star-gazing."

"Doc said no strenuous energy. I think she would consider climbing the ladder up to the roof strenuous."

"Not that you pay attention to her orders generally," Daniel pointed out, his eyes flicking to the empty Jack Daniel’s bottle on the table.

"Yeah, well, drinking’s not strenuous. She did tell me to drink lots of liquids."

"Water. Juice. Not alcohol."

Jack tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "What do you care?"

"What do you mean?"

"Since when do you care what I think? Remember, I’m just the stupid, shallow, shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later Air Force Colonel who doesn’t know any better."

"Jack," Daniel said, a tone of warning in his voice. "You should know me better than that."

"Yeah, well, things have changed."

"What’s changed, Jack? I haven’t," Daniel said, his tone conversational and calm, unlike the tensing muscles in his shoulders.

"Sure, you have."

"Jack, I’m not here to talk about me, as you are so elegantly changing the topic of the conversation."

"Then why are you here? Didn’t I throw you out of my house enough this past week?"

"Week? Jack, you’ve been home a little more than three weeks already."

"It doesn’t matter. You still didn’t answer my question."

"Which one?"

"Why are you here?"

"To talk to you."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you want to talk to me? It’s not like I’ll have anything enlightening to add to the conversation. Remember to use small words and don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out," Jack said, rising unsteadily to his feet, grabbing the glass on the table, and heading into the kitchen.

"Jack," Daniel said, trying hard not to sigh. "Why do you insist on berating yourself? It’s really not becoming."

"Not berating, merely speaking the truth, Daniel. You should know something about that." The clinking of glass was heard from the kitchen, accompanying Jack’s words.

"Jack, would you please just talk to me?"

"What do you think I am doing?" Jack asked, standing in the doorway to the living room, a refilled tumbler in one hand and the gun in his other.

"We are tossing words back and forth, yes, but we’re not really talking."

"What do you want from me, Daniel? I’m a tired old man and you should really be leaving."

"While you may be tired, and I’d have to admit that from my perspective you could do with…several…hours…days of good quality sleep, but I would never classify you as an old man."

"Wonderful," Jack said, sarcasm dripping from his tone. He took a long sip of his drink, closing his eyes as the liquor hit the back of his throat.

"Jack, what are you doing with the gun?"

"Nothing."

"Jack…"

"Daniel."

"Jack."

"Again, I have to ask, why do you care?"

"Because you’re my friend."

Jack sputtered into his drink, nearly spilling it all over his lap. "Yeah sure. Since when?"

"Jack…we’ve been friends for years now."

"I’ve had better enemies than you."

"Jack…" Daniel said, but anger flared in Jack’s eyes.

"What kind of friend are you to leave me behind? You have no idea what I went through just to make sure you got your sorry asses back home and what do you do? You come back and make a treaty with those god forsaken people!"

"Jack, we had no idea. Morgana tricked us…fooled us, we didn’t even know we’d left you behind…"

"You left me behind! End of story." Jack’s eyes were cold and hard.

"Jack—"

"Do you have any idea what happened to me? Oh, what do you care?" Jack said, throwing up his hands in resignation.

"What do you want me to say, Jack?" Daniel asked, raising his voice. "I’m so sorry for what happened to you. I wish—"

"I don’t want your pity. That’s the last thing I want."

"Then what do you want?"

"I want you to go away."

"Why? So you can blow your head off? What will that solve?"

Jack paused, the fight leaving his body in one swift breath, his answer no louder than a whisper. "Lots of things."

"Like what, Jack? What do you think this will solve? Will it take away your fears, your memories, your pain? Sure, but what will that leave you with? Nothing." Daniel leaned forward in his chair, trying to reach across the table to touch Jack’s leg—anything to help ground Jack in the here and now. "Jack, we’re here to help you get through this. We want to help you. We don’t want to lose you—especially since we just got you back."

"Wasted your time," Jack muttered, his head down, his eyes half-closed but intent on his hands and the object they held.

"I don’t think so, and neither does anyone else," Daniel said, quickly rising to sit beside Jack on the couch.

"You should have just let me die—would have been easier."

"Never let that happen, Jack. You should know that by now."

"Can’t you see, Daniel?"

"What, Jack?"

"My hands."

"What about them?"

"They’ve killed hundreds of people. Hundreds."

"We’ve all had to do some damn distasteful things in the course of the program, Jack. We don’t hold that against you. We never have and never will. We’re at war with the Goa’uld. They don’t make things easy."

"I’m tired, Daniel," Jack said, raising his head, his eyes showing his inner turmoil and anguish.

"I know, Jack. But you have to trust me. Things will get better. You will get better."

Jack shook his head, his eyes closing as a deep sigh escaped his mouth. "How can you even trust me?"

"What do you mean, Jack?"

"I told her everything she wanted to know. She broke me. What’s to say someone can’t do it again? I’m too tired and old for this."

"Jack, you might have told her things, but codes can be changed and, besides, she’s no longer around to worry about. But, she didn’t break you, Jack, not by a long shot. You’re stronger than she ever was."

"Daniel, I was there. I watched myself. I know what I did. I gave my life to her. I killed for her—I would have killed you if I had been given the chance."

"But you didn’t."

"I would have."

"But it didn’t come to that. It never happened. Besides, there were extenuating circumstances."

Jack sighed, looking away from Daniel, his emotions playing across his face. Daniel could never remember seeing Jack so vulnerable, so scared, so unsure. The last thing he wanted to do was screw this up somehow.

There had to be a way for Daniel to get through to him.

"I don’t know why we’re even having this conversation," Jack said, finally turning back to Daniel several minutes later. "It’s not going to change things."

"Why not?"

"Because it’s not."

"Why? Just because you said so? Well, that’s not an answer."

"You want me to spell it out for you, Daniel? You don’t need me, you never did. Between you and Carter and Teal’c, you’ve managed to save the world several hundred times over. What do you need me for? I’m just an overgrown babysitter who manages to draw more attention to you than necessary. You’d be better off without me."

"And where did this come from?"

"It’s the truth."

"Jack—"

"Daniel, why argue? You know it’s the truth."

"Jack—"

"Daniel, don’t you get it? I killed my son! I’ve killed hundreds of people—many of them under my command. I’ve almost killed all of you on several occasions. What’s to say that next time I won’t miss?"

"Jack, is that what’s this has been all about? Is that why you’ve been backing off—you’re worried that you’re a bad luck charm?" Daniel was incredulous.

"Fine, laugh it off. Maybe the next time you won’t live to tell the tale."

"Jack, I trust you with my life. I always have and I always will."

"You’re apparently denser than I thought."

"Jack, this isn’t a joke and this isn’t the answer," Daniel said, laying his hand on Jack’s over the gun in his lap. "You need to stop fighting me. Do you think Charlie would want you to give it all up?"

Jack’s head came up sharply. "I’m doing this for him."

"What do you mean?"

"It’s something I should have done a long time ago…I promised him…I promised him…"

"What did you promise him, Jack?"

Jack responded, but the answer was slow in coming. "That I’d…do the right thing…but…I’ve just managed to bring…death to my friends. I can’t do that anymore."

Jack looked deflated. The fight was gone.

Daniel took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. "Jack, you’re the most honorable man I know and, I have to tell you, that it’s not your choice as to who your friends are or what they do." Daniel looked carefully at his friend sitting beside him. Jack was listening, even though he was staring across the room, his eyes unfocused. "It’s not like you’re the only one who has a price on his head. Besides, we all chose to live this kind of life. We know the risks just as well as you do. It’s just harder on you because you’re the one who has to make the decisions—and live by them no matter what the consequences. Sometimes…most of the time, I forget about that. I forget that for you, the missions live on. You’re just as human as the rest of us, although you’d never admit it to anyone, let alone yourself."

Jack turned his head, his tired eyes meeting Daniel’s.

"Don’t push us away. We’re family. We’re not going anywhere—and neither are you." Daniel grasped the gun in his hands, gently pulling it from Jack’s grip—and getting no argument.

Placing the gun at the far side of the table, out of Jack’s line of sight, Daniel turned back to his friend. "Jack, are you going to be okay?"

He nodded slowly, refusing to meet Daniel’s eyes.

"Jack, why don’t we get you to bed? You look like you could use some sleep."

Jack nodded again, allowing Daniel to hoist him to his feet. Steadying Jack on his feet, Daniel pulled Jack’s arm across his shoulders, carefully guiding him upstairs to the bedroom. He helped Jack undress and put him to bed, closing the shades once Jack started snoring softly.

Daniel made his way downstairs, staring at the papers and bottles scattered throughout the living room and kitchen. He cleaned up a little bit before walking back upstairs to check on Jack. He wanted to make sure he was sleeping—after all the drinking he was doing, Daniel didn’t think it would be a problem—but he wanted to make sure.

Daniel peered into the room, the light from the hallway casting a small beam of light on the bed. Jack was sound asleep.

Daniel moved back downstairs, grabbing the phone off the cradle in the kitchen before stepping into the living room, curling up on the couch. He had some calls to make.

Jack awoke to a darkened room, distant sounds coming from downstairs. He had a headache, but was surprised that it wasn’t as bad as he expected. Rubbing a hand across his face, trying to wipe away the sleepiness, Jack turned, squinting at the bedside clock.

He blinked several times, trying to clear his eyes, but the numbers stayed the same.

He’d slept through the night and the majority of the next day. No wonder he didn’t have such a bad headache—he’d slept off his hangover.

He rose, his muscles stiff, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet lightly touching the floor. Yawning, he padded over to the bathroom, taking care of necessary business before taking a good look at himself in the mirror.

He looked old.

He looked tired.

He looked alive.

Splashing water on his face and brushing his teeth, he moved quietly around the room, getting dressed in an old pair of jeans and a comfortable sweatshirt.

A soft knock at the door made him pause as he tried to pull on his socks. "Come in," he called, his voice a little rough.

Daniel poked his head in the room, a hesitant expression on his face. "Hey Jack, how are you doing?"

Jack thought for a minute before answering, clearing his throat. "Okay, Daniel. I’m okay." He looked at the socks in his hands before continuing, finding it hard to meet his friend’s eyes. "Thanks for last night."

"Don’t mention it," Daniel said, a comfortable smile on his face. "I’m just glad I was able to help."

Daniel reached deep into one of his pockets and pulled out a handful of metal, stretching his hand out to Jack. He looked up, meeting Daniel’s eyes with hesitant ones of his own. He let Daniel drop the object into his open hand. The familiar weight of his dogtags surprised him.

"Daniel," Jack said a few moments later, finally tearing his eyes away from the item in his hands. "Where…how did you get these?"

"Egan gave them to me when we were on Ildanach. I was just waiting for the right time to give them to you." Daniel offered a hopeful smile.

"Thank you, Daniel," Jack said, emotion threatening to overcome him.

"You know," Daniel said, continuing after a moment of silence, letting Jack compose himself a little, "we’ve been cooking up a storm for most of the day. Do you think you’re in the mood for a little food and company?"

"Do I have a choice?" Jack asked, looking up, as he slid the chain over his head, the dogtags clicking reassuringly on his chest.

"Not really." Daniel smiled.

"Then I guess I’m ready," Jack said, rising to his sock-clad feet. He placed his hand on Daniel’s shoulder, stopping him from walking away. "Daniel, I really mean what I said. Thank you. If you hadn’t been here last night, things would have been a lot different today."

Daniel offered him a small smile. "I know. I’m glad I was the one who was here. Whether you want us or not, we’re your family. You’re stuck with us. Come on," Daniel said, throwing an arm around Jack’s shoulders. "I’m starved, let’s get some grub."

"Sounds like a plan," Jack said, smiling his first true smile in days.

Things were definitely looking up.