TITLE: The Bonds of Friendship

AUTHOR: SGC Gategirl

STATUS: WIP

EMAIL: feedback@sgc-gategirl.com

RATING: Ages 15+. Please see warnings below.

CATEGORY: Angst, Hurt/comfort, Drama, Action/Adventure, Jack whumping

SUMMARY: How far does friendship go? At what point do you step over the line and go too far? How far will you go to repair those bonds once they break? And then, what happens when the past catches up with you?

SPOILERS: Takes place in Season Three, immediately following "Forever in a Day" and "Past and Present". Also references events in "Secrets."

WARNINGS: This fic contains some very intense and dark situations, mental anguish, severe whumping, torture, and sexual suggestions. The rating is a strong PG-13 and could be considered R in places. Please keep that in mind...

AUTHOR'S NOTE: For Lynette, Annie, Tricia, and Jackie...for their wonderful support through the process. Much thanks to Lynette for her wonderful edits. And thanks also must go to Sidney for being my second set of eyes once again and catching all my medical blunders.
All errors remaining are mine and mine alone.
And this was supposed to be a "short" fic...who knows what happened along the way...enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Sci Fi and Gekko Film Corp. The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names, titles, and back story are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions, and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea, and the story itself are the sole property of the author.

The Road I’m On

She said life’s a lot to think about sometimes
When you’re living in between the lines
And all of the stars they sparkle and shine every day

He said life’s so hard to move in sometimes
When it feels like I’m towin’ the line
And no one even cares to ask me why I feel this way

And I know you feel helpless now and I know you feel alone
That’s the same road, the same road that I’m on

He said life’s a lot to think about sometimes
When you keep it all between the lines
Of everything I want, I want to find one of these days

What you thought was real in life somehow steered you wrong
And now you just keep drivin’ trying to find out where you belong

And I know you feel helpless now and I know you feel alone
That’s the same road, the same road that I’m on

What you thought was real in life somehow steered you wrong
And now you just keep drivin’ trying to find where you belong

I know you feel helpless now and I know you feel alone
That’s the same road, the same road that I’m on

—Performed by 3 Doors Down (Away from the Sun, 2002)
Written by Arnold, Roberts, Harrell, and Henderson

Chapter One

Colonel Jack O’Neill raised his arm to knock on the door of his best friend’s apartment, but hesitated, his hand inches away from the wood. It had been two weeks now since the incident with Ke’ra…Linea, whatever you wanted to call her. And Sha’re’s death had been only a few weeks earlier.

Things had not been going well for Daniel Jackson lately.

And that was the understatement of the century as far as Jack was concerned.

When Daniel had approached him to ask for some time off shortly after Ke’ra/Linea and company had headed back through the gate to Vyus, Jack had been quick to grant it. Daniel needed to get his life—and himself—into some semblance of order. Jack knew what his friend was going through—the guilt, the despair, the loneliness, the grief. Jack had been in that very situation on more than one occasion over the years—on more occasions than Jack wanted to admit. Those emotions could be debilitating—and for Jack—nearly had been. And still, some three years later, those same emotions could well up unexpectedly with the same intensity as if it had just occurred.

For Jack, the pain and guilt would never fade since he’d never be able to forgive himself and move on. But for Daniel, the grief would pass and the pain would eventually fade, becoming bittersweet. He’d be able to move on with his life, but it would take time.

Jack had called Daniel several times over the past week or so, and while Daniel had been polite, things had been a bit awkward between them. Jack was never the one to discuss feelings or emotions, while Daniel wore his on his sleeve. The words Jack should say to help his friend, would not come—couldn’t come. Jack had been there before and knew that words were of little comfort.

Jack and Daniel saw things very differently most of the time. The underlying goodness of all people was a concept that Jack had a hard time believing in—let alone wrapping his mind around. People turning around and changing for the better was also "up there" on his list of "crackpot" ideas.

Daniel, on the other hand, took these as a matter of course.

In this instance, however, Daniel had been broadsided—with the death of his wife and his subsequent attraction to a mass-murderer. Daniel sure knew how to pick ‘em, Jack had thought several times during the incident with the Vyusians. Why her? Why did they have to have this mission now of all times—especially with Daniel so vulnerable?

Life was funny like that, giving you too much to think about. Coincidence or fate? That was one discussion Jack had no intention of ever having with Daniel.

So why was he here tonight? Maybe he hadn’t liked the sound of Daniel’s voice when he had called earlier. Maybe it was because friends shouldn’t be alone on Friday nights especially when there was a hockey game on. Or maybe his reasons were more personal than he would have cared to admit. Maybe he needed company. Maybe this was the time of year when the worst of his buried memories somehow worked their way to the surface. Or maybe he just had to check on Daniel himself to make sure that he really was all right.

Jack sighed, shifted the bag of Chinese food in his arm, and rapped loudly on the door, the sound echoing down the deserted hallway, deafeningly loud in the silence.

He glanced around quickly, thinking that he had woken up the entire building with his knock. It was still early in the evening, but the hallways were deathly quiet.

He was about to knock again when he heard the clicking of the locks. The door was pulled open to reveal a scruffy-looking Daniel Jackson, sporting several days’ worth of beard growth. Daniel squinted up at Jack and rubbed a hand across his face.

"Jack? What are you doing here?" He asked, his tone emotionless.

Not the warmest welcome, but Jack would take it.

"I brought food," Jack said, holding up the bag and offering Daniel one of his most charming smiles. "Thought you’d want some company."

"Ah…thanks, Jack," Daniel said, clearly at a loss for words but he didn’t protest when Jack pushed his way through the door, past Daniel, and into the apartment. As Jack made his way to the kitchen he heard the front door close and the locks click. Daniel padded into the room a few moments later in his stocking feet, eyeing Jack warily as he puttered around grabbing plates and utensils.

"I hope you don’t mind. I picked up your favorites. I figured you’d need some company by now," Jack said, trying to break the uneasy silence that had fallen between them. With Daniel just staring at him, not making a sound, a comment, or anything, Jack was nervous. Usually Daniel could outtalk just about anyone, but obviously not tonight.

"Jack," Daniel said, pausing for a beat before he continued, "you know you didn’t have to go and do this. I’m fine. I told you earlier I really wasn’t hungry—"

"I know," Jack said, cutting him off as he hung his jacket on the back of one of Daniel’s high-backed kitchen stools. "But I figured you’d be hungry by now. I mean, come on. It’s been hours since we spoke. You’ve gotta eat sometime."

Daniel seemed ready to argue, but then he sighed deeply and nodded. "Fine, Jack. Thanks, I really appreciate this."

"No problem, Daniel," Jack said, patting Daniel’s shoulder and pushing him closer to the take-out containers. "Come on. Let’s eat. The game’s on."

They settled into the living room a few minutes later, Daniel taking his normal seat on the couch and Jack the overstuffed armchair. The television clicked on and the two men ate in silence, the play-by-play of the hockey game offering the only sound besides the scraping of their forks against their plates.

Even though the hockey game was on, Jack wasn’t paying attention. Instead, he found himself watching his friend. Daniel was eating mechanically, balancing the plate on his lap while he stared straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the television but not seeing anything on it.

Jack rose to his feet, heading back to the kitchen to get more food. In reality he was stalling. He knew they had to talk. He knew he’d have to raise the subject of Sha’re and Ke’ra and right now that was the last thing he wanted to do.

So for now, more food was the only thing on his agenda.

"Daniel," Jack said, startling his friend a little at the suddenness of his voice. "Do you want anything?" Jack indicated the kitchen with a wave of his hand.

"Ah, no thanks, Jack. I think I’ve had enough," Daniel said absently, dropping his fork onto his hall-full plate.

"Here, let me take your plate then," Jack said, bending down to grab it. "Want anything to drink? Water? Soda? A beer?"

"I’ll take a beer, Jack. There should be some on the second shelf in the fridge."

Jack raised his eyebrow in surprise, but didn’t comment. "Sure thing. Coming right up."

Daniel never kept a stock of beer in the fridge, Jack thought, emptying the contents of Daniel’s plate into the garbage and filling the dishwasher with their plates. Truth be told, he wasn’t hungry either.

Poking his head into the fridge, Jack saw a six pack on the second shelf, right where Daniel said it would be. Jack moved some stuff around and shoved the remaining take-out containers onto the bottom shelf. Who knows, maybe Daniel would be hungry later.

Grabbing two beers, Jack closed the fridge door and headed back to the living room. Daniel had left the game on, but had turned the sound down, barely above a whisper. Apparently, the time had come. Jack was going to have to "talk" to Daniel.

"Here, Daniel," Jack said, handing Daniel a beer before perching on the end of the chair with his own opened bottle. He eyed his friend carefully, taking in the unshaven face, the dark circles under his eyes, the rumpled shirt and jeans, and his mismatched socks.

"So, Daniel…" Jack said, unsure of how to begin. Thankfully, Daniel saved him from the embarrassing situation by speaking up.

"Thanks, Jack," Daniel said, offering Jack a weak smile. "It means a lot, your coming here and all. I know this isn’t your cup of tea or anything, but I really appreciate the effort."

"Ah, thanks."

"I’ve already called General Hammond. I’ll be back at work on Monday, first thing. I figured it was about time I got myself back into the swing of things," Daniel said, his eyes fixed on a spot on the wall just over Jack’s right shoulder. Jack wanted to turn around to see what Daniel was looking at, but he resisted the urge.

"That’s great, Daniel. It’s good to hear. They always say that a normal routine is one of the best things to do when you’re trying to…well…when you’re trying to…"

"Get over the death of your wife?"

"Well, yeah."

"Thanks, Jack," Daniel said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Jack’s eyes narrowed as he took in the change in his friend’s expression. Where a few minutes ago there had been grief, anger now replaced it. "Look," Daniel continued forcefully. "I know what you’re trying to do and right now I’m really not in the mood."

"What, Daniel? What do you think I’m trying to do?" Jack asked, getting defensive. This was so not how this was supposed to go. He was going to come here, have a nice chat with his friend, and leave several hours later after enjoying a few drinks and a good hockey game.

"You’re trying to pretend that everything is the same, that it’s just business as usual. Bringing the food, watching the game."

"Well, yeah."

"Well, that’s not gonna happen, Jack. Not for a very long time. I just lost my wife for God’s sake! How do you expect me to pick up where I left off and get on with my life just like that?"

"Daniel—"

"What Jack? Are you just going to offer me yet another round of platitudes and insincere apologies? I’ve gotten enough of them from everyone and I don’t need any more, thank you very much. You have no idea what I’m going through or how I feel."

This was unbelievable. This night was spiraling down faster than Jack had ever imagined. Daniel was up, pacing around the room, his arms swinging as he gestured wildly, his hands trembling with suppressed anger. Part of Jack just wanted to look Daniel in the eye and say, "Welcome to my life," but that wouldn’t help matters. He tried for a more patient and understanding approach but his own Irish temper was slowly bubbling to the surface.

"Daniel—"

"God, Jack, why don’t you trust me? Why can’t you just leave me alone for once in your life? Are you worried that you’re not going to get your pet archeologist back? Well, you have nothing to worry about."

"Daniel—"

Daniel stopped in front of Jack, staring down his nose at him. "You know, I think it might be a good idea for you to go now," his tone emotionless and matter-of-fact.

"Daniel," Jack said standing suddenly, placing his hands on both of Daniel’s shoulders and shaking him slightly. "Would you just listen to me for a minute?" Once he had Daniel’s attention, he continued. "I came here to see how you were doing, to offer my support, my friendship—not to have it tossed back in my face."

"Like I said, Jack, I’m fine." Daniel’s voice turned harsh, his blue eyes as hard as stone. "I’ve dealt with death before. Remember I lost both of my parents. Besides, you’d never understand what I’m feeling, what I’m going through."

"Oh, so you don’t think I know what you’re going through huh?" Jack asked, his brown eyes narrowing in anger, feeling as if Daniel had just yanked his feet out from under him. He took a deep breath, trying to control the emotions running rampant through his mind and his heart. "I know how you feel. I know you feel alone. You feel helpless. There’s too much to think about and yet you keep turning the same thoughts over and over in your mind wondering what you could have done differently.

"Do you think bad things only happen to you? Why don’t you try my life for once? Have you held the dying body of your only child in your arms and watched as the life slowly drained out of it, and realizing that there’s nothing you can do to stop him from dying? Why don’t you try walking the road that I’m on instead of spouting off accusations?"

Jack was raging now and he didn’t care. So maybe he had come here looking for his own sort of comfort. Maybe his had been more of a selfish motivation, but right now he didn’t care. He didn’t care if his words hurt the tortured and defeated man before him.

"Well, perhaps if I hadn’t trusted you to find my wife, she wouldn’t be dead right now."

Those words from Daniel stopped Jack cold.

"Is that really how you feel, Daniel?" Jack finally asked, his back stiff, his words quiet in the deafening silence that had fallen over the room.

Daniel turned back to face Jack, anger still evident in his posture and on his face. "Yes, Jack. I think that now it really is time for you to go."

"Fine." Jack strode into the kitchen, grabbing his jacket and throwing his beer into the sink, relishing the crash it made as the bottle broke. He didn’t care.

Moving to the door, his eyes seeing red, he roughly unlocked the front door, slamming it shut behind him.

How dare he, Jack fumed, throwing the door of his truck open and climbing inside. He started the truck, holding the key a little too long as the engine grated loudly. He threw it into gear and shoved his foot down to the floor, the tires squealing as he backed out of the spot. Changing gears, he floored it again, racing off down the street, the cars darting out of his way around him, not paying attention to where he was going, or to the solitary car following him several car-lengths behind.

After all this time, how could Daniel even suggest that Jack’s friendship wasn’t real, that he didn’t care? He trusted Daniel with his life. Couldn’t Daniel see that every time they stepped onto another alien planet?

Apparently, Daniel had had a change of heart somewhere along the line. Or maybe Daniel had merely seen him as a means to an end. It wouldn’t have been the first time that Jack had been used—and it wouldn’t be the last. Jack had just thought that things with Daniel could have been—had been—different.

Apparently, he was wrong—in so many ways.

Nearly halfway across town from Daniel’s apartment already, Jack spotted one of his old hangouts. He’d be able to get lost in here, he thought, pulling into the parking lot, the tires screeching a little as he came to an abrupt stop.

He didn’t want to go home—couldn’t go home—at least not now.

Leaving the truck unlocked, he strode to the pub’s front door, the noise and the smoke hitting him as soon as he opened it.

He took a deep breath as he stood just inside the entranceway, letting the door close silently behind him as his eyes adjusted to the dimmed lighting within. The place looked the same as it had three years ago. The same bartender paced behind the bar, talking with everyone, listening, laughing, and serving up his own brand of comfort.

"Hi ya, Fred. How’s things?" Jack asked, stepping up to the bar, leaning on an elbow.

The bartender stopped in his tracks, studying Jack thoroughly before recognition dawned. "Well, the years haven’t exactly been kind to you, Jack," he said, offering his hand. "What’s with all the gray?"

Jack shook the offered hand warmly, a sincere smile touching his lips briefly. "Good to see you too, Fred."

"So what will it be tonight?"

"The usual, Fred. Just line ‘em up," Jack said, settling into the darkest part of the bar, along the back wall.

"Jack Daniel’s is it then," Fred said, turning with an ease and quickness that belied his age and gray hair. The five shot glasses that appeared several beats later were quickly filled with the amber liquid. "Running a tab tonight?"

"Oh, yeah," Jack said, lifting the first to his lips, saluting Fred with the lifting of his eyebrows. The first shot hit the back of his throat and glided down, warming him. A sigh escaped his lips as he closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation. Jack fingered the shot glass absently before finally turning it over and slamming it back down on the counter.

"You still know how to pour ‘em, Fred," Jack said, already eyeing the second shot.

He’d need every one of them tonight.

"Things don’t change much around here. People come and go, but most of the time things stay just the way they are. People like it that way."

"That they do, Fred. That they do." Jack nodded, the second shot quickly following the first one down. The warmth was slowly spreading from his belly, giving Jack the comfort that he had been looking for.

"So what brings you here tonight?" Fred asked, coming back several minutes later as Jack overturned his third empty shot glass on the tabletop. He’d finally started nursing the shots, savoring the taste.

"Oh, you know. Just looking to kick back a few."

"You can do that just about anywhere."

"True, very true," Jack nodded. "But I wouldn’t have your scintillating conversational style anywhere else."

"Scintillating my ass," Fred said, smiling as Jack saluted him with the fourth shot of Jack Daniel’s. The opening door pulled Fred to the other end of the bar as more lost souls piled into the bar’s dark interior.

Time ticked forward slowly, the comforting sounds around him—the soft rumble of conversations mingled with the songs from the jukebox in the corner of the room—bringing back memories—too many memories. There was a time when he could have been found here every night of the week. This was his stool, his place, and his hideaway.

It might have not been the best idea to come here, Jack thought, carefully studying the fifth shot, holding it up to let the light shine through the liquid, giving it a twirl of sorts, the amber liquid glowing as if lit from within.

Probably not a good idea at all, he decided as the fifth shot of liquor glided down his throat. He’d already gotten quite a pleasant glow and he was sure it wouldn’t wear off anytime soon. "Fred," he called, beckoning the bartender back to his end of the counter, waving several bills in the air.

"You’re done already, Jack?" Fred asked, his eyes narrowing as he got closer.

"I think so. Wanna give me the damage?"

Fred waved off Jack’s money. "It’s on the house tonight, Jack. Do I need to call you a cab?"

"Come on, Fred. What do you mean it’s on the house?"

"Just that," Fred said, folding up the money Jack had left on the counter and tucking it back into Jack’s hand, closing it over the bills. "Don’t worry. The next time I’ll charge you."

Jack smiled, rising to his feet. He was still steady but that wouldn’t last for long. "Thanks again. See you around sometime."

"See you around, Jack. You sure you don’t need me to call you a cab?" Fred called after him, but Jack waved him off.

"I’m fine, Fred. It’s not far," Jack said, stepping out into the dark parking lot.

Jack paused, looking around before straightening his back and walking slowly to his truck. Sliding in carefully, he sat for a few minutes in the silence, the stale smell of cigarette smoke and the heavy smell of his own alcohol-laced breath the only telltale sign of where he’d been and what he had been doing.

He aimed the key for the ignition, missing twice before it finally found its place. Yeah, Jack thought, squinting a little to read the dashboard clock, probably not a good idea. He’d been in there a little more than an hour. He knew he shouldn’t be driving home, but there wasn’t anyone he could really call. Any other night and he could have called Daniel. Hell, Jack thought acidly, any other night he wouldn’t have been here in the first place.

It wouldn’t be the best idea to call Carter either. Not exactly the best of examples to ask your Second to come take you home because you couldn’t hold your liquor. As good a solider as Samantha Carter was, there was no need for her to be dragged down to his level—especially now. Besides, she’d ask questions that he didn’t want to answer.

Teal’c, well, he really couldn't ask him to leave the base for something as trivial as this so that wasn’t really an option.

He could call a cab, but then he’d have to leave the truck here in the dimly lit parking lot—and he didn’t want to do that.

Doesn’t leave you many options, Jack thought, flicking the headlights on, the lights bright. There was a storm system coming in, Jack vaguely remembered as he carefully pulled out of the parking lot. The clouds were thick and dark—making the night seem colder than it truly was. He kept the truck in the right lane, concentrating intently on the middle line, and trying his best to drive moderately under the speed limit, but not slow enough to draw any undue attention to himself. The last thing he needed was a cop to pull him over, although that would be the icing on the cake tonight. A night where everything had seemed to go wrong.

About thirty minutes later, Jack pulled the car into his driveway, his house dark and silent. He hadn’t been back here after work and apparently, he’d forgotten to put the timer on this morning before he left.

He sighed as he switched off the headlights and the engine, the truck clicking softly as it began to cool. Jack placed his head on the steering wheel on his crossed arms, closing his eyes.

He’d had better days. Hell, yesterday was a much better day.

How was he going to resolve this? He had no idea and right now the only thing on his mind was a tumbler full of another amber-colored liquor. Maybe then he’d be able to forget—at least for a little while.

Jack reached for the door handle, missing the first time, his fingers snagging it the second. He opened the door, stepping out slowly, trying to keep the world from spinning. All those shots had finally caught up with him.

Now he just had to get into the house without falling on his face.

Unfortunately, that was going to be harder than he ever thought possible. As he turned, steadying himself with one hand on the side of his truck, he slammed the door closed. At first he thought the pain on the side of his neck was normal—a pulled muscle or something—until he reached up and pulled out a small dart.

Looking intently at the small, feather tipped object, he realized that something was very wrong. Everything was tilting strangely, the ground moving quickly, getting closer, while the truck and the house were stood on their sides.

Just before he hit the ground, he realized what had happened. Someone had drugged him—shot him with some kind of poison-tipped dart.

"Oh shit," was his last coherent thought as the ground rushed up to meet his head and blackness claimed his senses.