1. Sara had been raised Catholic - so had he, for all that it was worth - and suddenly, Saturday evening wasn't enough. Their parish held a mass on Wednesday nights, Friday nights, twice Saturday and Sunday, and she was there for every one, in the same seat, never alone. When it wasn't Mike (it usually was), or her sister, it was Jack. He sat and stared straight ahead and kept breathing as she silently wept into her bible through every service, ignoring the sermons and reciting prayers of her own in her head. Lord, take this child.
Three weeks in, Jack took her home, dropped her off, and kept driving. Third time the thought of serving into the oncoming lane crossed his mind, he pulled off the road, killed the engine, and sobbed until he had to push open the door and vomit onto the asphalt. His boy was a month gone and his wife was surviving on the promise of a god Jack now knew for certain didn't exist.
2. It was a kind of panic, rising unbidden into his thoughts and rippling out like slow moving bubbles in something thick and heavy, he's gone he's dead he's gone. Jack had lost a lot of good men; he had been here before. He had sat at tables just like this one, looked into cameras just like that one, and given reports just as bad. Worse. No explanation why he should be clenching his hands until the bones ached, gritting his teeth, trying to see through eyes that stung and -- dammit.
Ironic that, in his head, Daniel was burning, and Jack felt as if he'd drown in it.
3. "Well, think about it. If you know in advance that everything will be going back to the way it was, then ... you could do anything ... for as long as you want, without having to worry about consequences."
Teal'c hadn’t reappeared in Daniel's office yet, was probably still off on his mission to determine where the infirmary staff stored the thermometers so that he could start ritually destroying the entire supply every reset before they were hauled in to see Fraiser. It wasn’t that Jack hadn’t been grateful for the big guy -- in fact, Teal'c's was probably the only reason left that Jack hadn’t yet snapped and gunned down the entire base at the slightest provocation. It was just that Jack and Teal’c did the warrior honor stuff, and Jack and Carter did the office stuff. The Stuff He Did Not Want To Do, the messy stuff, Jack usually did with Daniel, and he wasn’t up for an audience.
"Jack?" Daniel asked, the grin sliding from his face.
"You've said that once or twice before."
"Oh. ....oh. And, uh - and now you’re back."
Jack stared straight ahead, scanning the lines of text written out that Daniel hadn’t filled in the translation for yet, reciting in his head the jabber about the glorious world before the plague that would probably be burned into his goddamn brain until the day he died, if he ever got so lucky. "Can't do this anymore, Daniel." Jack says, unable to keep it completely together no matter how many times he says it.
"We'll find a way out of this." Daniel had gone quiet, the quiet that was all about his personal brand utter, unflappable conviction that only turned up when he was banking on someone else. "Once we figure out how the device works, Sam --"
Jack folded his arm across the table and put his head down on them. Carter had nothing. Daniel sort of had something every seven hours or so, and then he had nothing. The universe had nothing and the most undeserving man in it was going to live forever.
There was a pressure on his shoulder, fingers holding on. There were only a few things in the world that would make Daniel Jackson give up on talking, and apparently Jack breaking was one of them.
Three weeks in, Jack took her home, dropped her off, and kept driving. Third time the thought of serving into the oncoming lane crossed his mind, he pulled off the road, killed the engine, and sobbed until he had to push open the door and vomit onto the asphalt. His boy was a month gone and his wife was surviving on the promise of a god Jack now knew for certain didn't exist.
2. It was a kind of panic, rising unbidden into his thoughts and rippling out like slow moving bubbles in something thick and heavy, he's gone he's dead he's gone. Jack had lost a lot of good men; he had been here before. He had sat at tables just like this one, looked into cameras just like that one, and given reports just as bad. Worse. No explanation why he should be clenching his hands until the bones ached, gritting his teeth, trying to see through eyes that stung and -- dammit.
Ironic that, in his head, Daniel was burning, and Jack felt as if he'd drown in it.
3. "Well, think about it. If you know in advance that everything will be going back to the way it was, then ... you could do anything ... for as long as you want, without having to worry about consequences."
Teal'c hadn’t reappeared in Daniel's office yet, was probably still off on his mission to determine where the infirmary staff stored the thermometers so that he could start ritually destroying the entire supply every reset before they were hauled in to see Fraiser. It wasn’t that Jack hadn’t been grateful for the big guy -- in fact, Teal'c's was probably the only reason left that Jack hadn’t yet snapped and gunned down the entire base at the slightest provocation. It was just that Jack and Teal’c did the warrior honor stuff, and Jack and Carter did the office stuff. The Stuff He Did Not Want To Do, the messy stuff, Jack usually did with Daniel, and he wasn’t up for an audience.
"Jack?" Daniel asked, the grin sliding from his face.
"You've said that once or twice before."
"Oh. ....oh. And, uh - and now you’re back."
Jack stared straight ahead, scanning the lines of text written out that Daniel hadn’t filled in the translation for yet, reciting in his head the jabber about the glorious world before the plague that would probably be burned into his goddamn brain until the day he died, if he ever got so lucky. "Can't do this anymore, Daniel." Jack says, unable to keep it completely together no matter how many times he says it.
"We'll find a way out of this." Daniel had gone quiet, the quiet that was all about his personal brand utter, unflappable conviction that only turned up when he was banking on someone else. "Once we figure out how the device works, Sam --"
Jack folded his arm across the table and put his head down on them. Carter had nothing. Daniel sort of had something every seven hours or so, and then he had nothing. The universe had nothing and the most undeserving man in it was going to live forever.
There was a pressure on his shoulder, fingers holding on. There were only a few things in the world that would make Daniel Jackson give up on talking, and apparently Jack breaking was one of them.
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