Your Best Friend is Jack
“Thanks, Jim.”
There’s nothing malicious in the delivery, and I’m sure Daniel has no idea how devastating his words are, how they shred my peace of mind like a wolverine on a tear.
I feel the smart ass smirk drop from my face. Strangely, Carter’s picked it up, slapping it on as an additional means to mock me. Nice, Sam. Wonder if you’d find the gaffe so amusing if it was your best friend - a man who knew me better than my wife, for crying out loud - who forgot your name.
It’s enough to bring out the snark in even the most patient, understanding man, and no one has ever accused me of being either. Okay, threatening bodily harm for his lack of knowledge might have been over the line, but Daniel used to brush that kind of stuff off all the time. Now he just looks at me like I’m the hunter and he’s the rabbit.
Carter and Jonas drone on, but I’ve lost track of what they’re talking about, focused as I am on Daniel’s too timid reaction. I have to admit I was heartened when he showed up asking to take part in the briefing, even declaring he felt like he belonged here. The wary and confused glances he’s shooting around the table are telling a different story; he still has no idea - no memory - of what it is we really do.
As if it’s the starting pistol at a marathon, Hammond’s “Dismissed,” has us all surging from the table. Daniel is up like a shot and across the room to intercept Jonas, who had promised to supply Daniel with copies of relevant mission reports. If I was the cynical type, I’d think Daniel wasn’t so much eager to talk to his fellow historian as he was to get away from me.
Carter and Teal’c likewise stalk for the exit, headed off on some assigned task related to finding the Lost City. No one asked for my help, so I guess I’ll have to find some way to pass the time on my own. Never thought I’d say this, but thank God I have reports to review waiting in my office. I just hope there’s something interesting enough in that precariously stacked bunch of paper to distract me from my preoccupation.
Stopping for a cup of coffee along the way, I flip on the light, drop into my chair and grab the topmost report from my inbox. Last month’s base security report. A quick scan shows nothing out of the ordinary - no weirdo conspiracy theorists scaling the perimeter fence, no attempted alien incursions…no floppy-haired archaeologist, minus his security pass, detained on the main floor until I can get up there to verify his identity for the SFs. Bet Daniel was glad to see me that day.
Damn it. The idea was to NOT think about Daniel.
The next document is Reynold’s official report of the happenings on Vis Uban which instantly conjures an image of an uncharacteristically hostile-looking Daniel brushing aside Carter’s attempt to connect with him.
Growling in frustration, I rifle through my inbox. There’s got to be something here - there! The quarterly budget figures. Nothing makes me go brain dead quicker than a page full of numbers - except maybe one of Carter’s tech heavy reports. I gird myself with a slug of caffeine and a hearty sigh and flip open the folder. A figure larger than the amount I spent on my first house catches my eye.
We spent how much on paper? I know we have to provide copies of reports to all members of every SG team participating in a given briefing, but this looks more like we’ve shared that information with every resident of Colorado Springs. I thought we’d gotten a handle on this once Daniel- Crap.
I circle the number in red ink. I’ll have to check it against last month plus this time last year. Could be this is a seasonal thing, though I can’t for the life of me think of any occasion in the last seven years that warranted the mass murder of hundreds of innocent trees.
I snag my pad of Post-its and make a notation, sticking it to the budget report. Thank goodness for whoever invented these things. I’d never remember a thing if not for the ability to leave reminders for…
Wait a minute… No, it couldn’t be that easy…
Then again, all he needs is a mental nudge…
Fraiser thinks it’s better for Daniel to remember things on his own…
But it’s not Fraiser’s name he keeps forgetting…
‘Thanks, Jim.’
Like he’s addressing a stranger instead of his closest friend.
It’s Jack, remember? The guy who took you home your first night back on Earth, and gave you enough beer to turn the horror of your wife’s abduction by the Goa’uld into an alcohol induced trip down memory lane featuring all the best parts of your life with her on Abydos. Jack. The guy who held you tight, talked you through the soul-sucking effects of a sarcophagus addiction, reminded you why you had to keep fighting it. Jack. The guy who made it possible for you to become a glowy, ghost-like, other-worldly being, even though it was like ripping my own heart out, because you thought you’d be more content there.
I did that. Me. Jack. Your best friend.
Screw it. Fraiser’s not the boss of me. And, while Hammond backed her suggestion, no one’s made it an order, not even after Teal’c admitted to helping Daniel recall his battle with Anubis during their late night powwow.
Besides, what harm could it do? It’s not like I’m giving him his full biography - I mean, I can hardly record his entire life in Post-it notes. I’ll just leave a few hints, little dabs of memory. The important stuff.
I rip off the topmost sheet, think for just a second about the things he needs to know, and begin to scrawl:
YOUR BEST FRIEND IS JACK.
There’s nothing malicious in the delivery, and I’m sure Daniel has no idea how devastating his words are, how they shred my peace of mind like a wolverine on a tear.
I feel the smart ass smirk drop from my face. Strangely, Carter’s picked it up, slapping it on as an additional means to mock me. Nice, Sam. Wonder if you’d find the gaffe so amusing if it was your best friend - a man who knew me better than my wife, for crying out loud - who forgot your name.
It’s enough to bring out the snark in even the most patient, understanding man, and no one has ever accused me of being either. Okay, threatening bodily harm for his lack of knowledge might have been over the line, but Daniel used to brush that kind of stuff off all the time. Now he just looks at me like I’m the hunter and he’s the rabbit.
Carter and Jonas drone on, but I’ve lost track of what they’re talking about, focused as I am on Daniel’s too timid reaction. I have to admit I was heartened when he showed up asking to take part in the briefing, even declaring he felt like he belonged here. The wary and confused glances he’s shooting around the table are telling a different story; he still has no idea - no memory - of what it is we really do.
As if it’s the starting pistol at a marathon, Hammond’s “Dismissed,” has us all surging from the table. Daniel is up like a shot and across the room to intercept Jonas, who had promised to supply Daniel with copies of relevant mission reports. If I was the cynical type, I’d think Daniel wasn’t so much eager to talk to his fellow historian as he was to get away from me.
Carter and Teal’c likewise stalk for the exit, headed off on some assigned task related to finding the Lost City. No one asked for my help, so I guess I’ll have to find some way to pass the time on my own. Never thought I’d say this, but thank God I have reports to review waiting in my office. I just hope there’s something interesting enough in that precariously stacked bunch of paper to distract me from my preoccupation.
Stopping for a cup of coffee along the way, I flip on the light, drop into my chair and grab the topmost report from my inbox. Last month’s base security report. A quick scan shows nothing out of the ordinary - no weirdo conspiracy theorists scaling the perimeter fence, no attempted alien incursions…no floppy-haired archaeologist, minus his security pass, detained on the main floor until I can get up there to verify his identity for the SFs. Bet Daniel was glad to see me that day.
Damn it. The idea was to NOT think about Daniel.
The next document is Reynold’s official report of the happenings on Vis Uban which instantly conjures an image of an uncharacteristically hostile-looking Daniel brushing aside Carter’s attempt to connect with him.
Growling in frustration, I rifle through my inbox. There’s got to be something here - there! The quarterly budget figures. Nothing makes me go brain dead quicker than a page full of numbers - except maybe one of Carter’s tech heavy reports. I gird myself with a slug of caffeine and a hearty sigh and flip open the folder. A figure larger than the amount I spent on my first house catches my eye.
We spent how much on paper? I know we have to provide copies of reports to all members of every SG team participating in a given briefing, but this looks more like we’ve shared that information with every resident of Colorado Springs. I thought we’d gotten a handle on this once Daniel- Crap.
I circle the number in red ink. I’ll have to check it against last month plus this time last year. Could be this is a seasonal thing, though I can’t for the life of me think of any occasion in the last seven years that warranted the mass murder of hundreds of innocent trees.
I snag my pad of Post-its and make a notation, sticking it to the budget report. Thank goodness for whoever invented these things. I’d never remember a thing if not for the ability to leave reminders for…
Wait a minute… No, it couldn’t be that easy…
Then again, all he needs is a mental nudge…
Fraiser thinks it’s better for Daniel to remember things on his own…
But it’s not Fraiser’s name he keeps forgetting…
‘Thanks, Jim.’
Like he’s addressing a stranger instead of his closest friend.
It’s Jack, remember? The guy who took you home your first night back on Earth, and gave you enough beer to turn the horror of your wife’s abduction by the Goa’uld into an alcohol induced trip down memory lane featuring all the best parts of your life with her on Abydos. Jack. The guy who held you tight, talked you through the soul-sucking effects of a sarcophagus addiction, reminded you why you had to keep fighting it. Jack. The guy who made it possible for you to become a glowy, ghost-like, other-worldly being, even though it was like ripping my own heart out, because you thought you’d be more content there.
I did that. Me. Jack. Your best friend.
Screw it. Fraiser’s not the boss of me. And, while Hammond backed her suggestion, no one’s made it an order, not even after Teal’c admitted to helping Daniel recall his battle with Anubis during their late night powwow.
Besides, what harm could it do? It’s not like I’m giving him his full biography - I mean, I can hardly record his entire life in Post-it notes. I’ll just leave a few hints, little dabs of memory. The important stuff.
I rip off the topmost sheet, think for just a second about the things he needs to know, and begin to scrawl:
YOUR BEST FRIEND IS JACK.