New Fic: A Big Hunk o'Love
Story Title: A Big Hunk o’Love
Author's name: cestmoi01
Rating: PG, for a few maybe bad words
Pairing: Jack/Daniel
Spoilers: none
Warnings: none
Challenge: December Challenge, Elvis song titles - “A Big Hunk o’Love”
Notes: Wow. This one really escaped from me in length; it just kept getting longer and longer. I hope you find it a worthwhile read, though. And MANY thanks to Toasted Toad for the excellent beta, despite my doing my best to make it difficult.
Word Count: 1,944
Archive: Soon to Pepe's Place Website and Area 52. All other sites please ASK before taking.
Summary: "All of a sudden, his vision went gray and weird little colored sparkles danced around behind his eyes, and he swayed, off-balance." Daniel is very sick, but Jack can take good care of him. Mild J/D slash.
A Big Hunk o’Love
God, but he felt awful! His nose was running so much that it was red and sore from all the tissues he’d had to use. His throat was also sore and swollen, not to mention dry, and swallowing was a painful chore. His brain felt like it was trying to pound its way out of his skull, and he was alternating between burning up and shivering with chills. Thank God he didn’t have to go into the Mountain today because he didn’t think he even had enough energy in him to make the required call for a sick day. All he really wanted to do was stay in bed for the entire day and hopefully sleep in blissful ignorance of his illness.
Knock, knock, knock.
‘Oh, God. Go away,’ Daniel thought. He pulled the covers up over his head.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Daniel, you in there?”
‘Jack? Why is Jack here?’ Realization dawned. God, how could he have been so out of it that he’d forgotten it was his turn to host Sunday breakfast? They never spent Saturday nights together, unless one or both of them were injured, in an effort to waylay suspicion about their relationship, but the Sunday breakfast was a different matter. It was a tradition which had started with the two of them long before they were lovers, back when Daniel had first returned from Abydos in desperate need of a friend and Jack had taken him home. It was a great excuse to spend the day together doing... well... each other. And if, after a classy Italian dinner of pasta and wine, one of them was a little too sloshed to safely drive home... why then, spending the night was clearly the responsible thing to do, and no one could fault them for that, right? And now Daniel had overslept and felt sick and was in no way prepared to make - let alone eat - a big breakfast with Jack.
He vaguely registered the sound of a key sliding into the lock of his apartment door, and Jack’s voice as he entered, going on about traffic and OJ and pancakes. He supposed he should get up and try to be a good host.
Quickly, so he wouldn’t have any time to rethink his choice, Daniel swung his legs out of bed and stood up. All of a sudden, his vision went gray and weird little colored sparkles danced around behind his eyes, and he swayed, off-balance. After a moment in which he wasn’t sure whether he was going to continue standing or fall down, he regained his balance.
He was trembling, and his legs felt too weak to hold him up. Nevertheless, he opened his eyes and took a step forward, arms out to steady himself, and was very surprised to find himself nose-to-nose with what appeared to be a very concerned USAF colonel.
He reared backwards in shock, and would have fallen over had not the other man caught him by the shoulders and steadied him again.
“Jack?” He peered through hot, dry eyes that wouldn’t open more than half-way and tried to pull his brain out of the thick fog in which it was currently residing. “What are you doing here?” He winced; talking hurt.
“It’s Sunday, Daniel. I came over for breakfast. Looks like we won’t be doing that, though. Why didn’t you call and tell me you were sick? I’d’ve brought the fixin’s for some nice, home-made chicken noodle soup.”
Daniel had been going to protest that they could still have breakfast, but he got distracted by Jack’s question; it seemed his mind couldn’t focus on more than one thing at a time. Why hadn’t he called? He knew he’d had a reason. He tried to search his brain while Jack loosely held him there, but he was so out of it that questions just slid right by any answers he might’ve had. Scratch that previous statement - it seemed that his mind just plain couldn’t focus at all.
All thought fled, though, when his knees finally buckled beneath him, and Jack had to actively support his weight.
“Geez, Daniel! Ya okay?”
Daniel nodded sloppily and hummed what must have been an agreement.
“Okay, Danny, let’s see about getting you back into that bed.” Jack shifted Daniel around so that his right arm was supporting Daniel’s neck and his left was under Daniel’s knees before lifting him up and gently placing him back on Daniel’s wide, rumpled bed. Carefully, he worked the covers out from underneath Daniel and gently tucked them in around the now shivering man.
“Sleep, Danny,” Jack whispered softly. “I’ll see what there is for you to eat when you wake up.” He bent to kiss the archeologist, but jerked backwards the moment his lips touched Daniel’s forehead. “Shit, Daniel! You’re burning up. We need to get your fever down a bit.”
Jack rushed about, more than a little worried that his linguist hadn’t responded with anything but a blanket-muffled groan. He retrieved Daniel’s thermometer from the bathroom medicine cabinet, shoved it between Daniel’s lips, then got out some Tylenol and poured a glass of orange juice for his lover.
By the time he was done with that, the thermometer had beeped, ready for Jack to check on it. He paled a little when he read “102.7 degrees Fahrenheit” - not life-threatening (yet) but still waaay too high in Jack’s book. “You never do things halfway, do ya, Dannyboy?” he sighed, shaking his head as he turned the thermometer off again and placed it on the bookcase by Daniel’s bed. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and slid an arm under Daniel’s shoulders to help him sit up.
“C’mon, sit up for me, Daniel,” he murmured to the other man, “I need you to take this.” Jack pressed the Tylenol into Daniel’s hand. Daniel automatically placed the pills in his mouth. Jack then held the glass of orange juice to Daniel’s lips and coaxed him into taking a sip, “C’mon, open up, Danny. Just a little swallow. Help me out here, just a little. C’mon, c’mon, almost done, swallow...” Finally Daniel had taken the Tylenol and a couple sips of orange juice, with much help from Jack.
“Good, Danny. Alright, just hold on a sec, and I’ll be right back.” Daniel just squinted at the older man as if trying to understand what he was saying, and that disturbed Jack. For a long time, the two of them had not needed even words to communicate, and now Daniel’s light-speed brain was having difficulty processing normal English. Jack was sure they were in trouble. So he pressed a hand to Daniel’s cheek and repeated himself, looking into Daniel’s eyes, “I’ll be right back” before hustling out of the room.
He filled a large bowl with lukewarm water, gathered as many washcloths as he could find (which was probably more than he was going to need, but dammit, he wasn’t going to take any chances with Daniel), and pulled a chair up next to Daniel’s bed. The bowl he settled onto a nearby foot-stool, then soaked the washcloths in the water it held. He wrung one out and laid it gently across Daniel’s forehead, fingers lingering a moment, brushing strands of damp hair away, caressing.
Next, Jack undid the buttons of Daniel’s pyjama shirt and pushed it mostly off his upper body. With another washcloth, he bathed Daniel’s chest, neck and shoulders, wiping off the sheen of sweat that Daniel’s fever had produced. He washed Daniel’s torso again with a clean washcloth and replaced the one on Daniel’s forehead. Always, his eyes flicked between the task his hands were performing and Daniel’s face, watching him closely. He was encouraged to see that, by the end of his ministrations, Daniel began to appear at least comfortable and relaxed.
“Okay, I’m sorry to make you move, Daniel, but I think you’ll feel even better in a clean pair of pyjamas and with clean sheets on the bed.” With great care and concern for his lover, Jack helped Daniel maneuver himself into the chair Jack had just vacated, then helped him out of his used pyjamas and into a fresh pair; Daniel was weak and tired, and his fingers had difficulty grasping the buttons. Quickly, Jack also stripped the bed and replaced its sheets and blankets with a softer set. Finally, Jack supported Daniel back into bed and tucked the covers lightly around him, bestowing another affectionate kiss on Daniel’s forehead.
Daniel sighed. It was so good to be clean and comfortable, and he knew it would not be long before the Tylenol began to do its work.
“You’re doing great for me, Danny. Now just rest, and I’ll take care of things.” He stood up, intending to leave Daniel to his sleep, but felt a hand loosely grasp his wrist.
“Stay,” Daniel pleaded. “Jack, stay.”
“Okay, Danny,” Jack acquiesced, pleased that he was wanted.
“Stay.”
“I will, shhh, I will.” Jack sat back down on the edge of the bed and returned to rubbing Daniel’s back.
“Stay...” Daniel’s voice drifted off as his eyes finally slid closed.
“Don’t worry, Danny, I’m staying,” Jack whispered. He watched the rise and fall of Daniel’s chest for a short while, comforted by the steady movement. Then - he couldn’t say why - he started to sing softly, a lullaby he thought he had forgotten with Charlie’s death, all those years ago...
When he was sure Daniel was slumbering deeply, Jack smiled affectionately and slipped out of the bedroom to prepare some warm broth for his love.
* * * * *
The next day, Daniel was propped up in bed, many pillows stuffed behind his back as he wrote in his journal with only somewhat shaky hands:
“I’m still not completely recovered - I feel weak and writing is more tiresome than it should be, so I think this will just be a short journal entry - but I feel a whole lot better than I did yesterday. My fever has finally dropped below 100 degrees Fahrenheit, and my headache has receded to a dull throb. My nose is still runny, but at least it’s no longer Niagara Falls, and Jack had the idea of rubbing Vaseline into the sore skin around it. My throat is still sore, but I can deal with it now that everything else isn’t so awful.
“Right now Jack is on the phone with General Hammond, explaining that I’m going to need a couple of sick days and that he’s going to stay home to take care of me.
“And I know I will be. Taken care of, that is. A lot of yesterday is hazy, but I remember Jack was here, and that he helped me out. A lot. In fact, he probably did most of the work himself, including a load of laundry, and he heated up some chicken noodle soup I didn’t even know I’d had in my cupboards, and which he then spoon-fed me.
“I think he sang to me, too, but I can’t be sure. I’m really sorry to have missed that if he did!
“At the same time though, I didn’t really miss out on anything important. Most of my memories of yesterday are vague notions of great discomfort, but throughout it all, I remember Jack’s caring presence. He pretends to be a tough old colonel, but he’s really a big hunk o’love.
“Heh - I wonder what he would think if I told him that. Probably say I was crazy.
“It doesn’t matter, though - because he is a big hunk o’love, and he’s all mine.
“And of course, I love him too.”