Entr'acte (Dreamverse Chapter Six), PG-13
Chapter title yet to be determined - feel free to leave suggestions. Thanks to
jd_junkie for pointing my brain towards a title. :-)
~2000 words. Thanks to melayneseahawk for the quick proofread!
Chapter One
Chapter Five
They were playing phone tag, and Jack was beginning to think that Bjorn was doing it on purpose.
Bjorn was calling Jack’s home number during the day, when Jack could reasonably be expected to be at Cheyenne Mountain. Where he might actually be was none of Bjorn’s business, of course, although it was tempting to leave messages in return saying, ‘Yeah, sorry I missed your call; I was on another planet at the time.’
Frankly Jack was more happy than not that Bjorn wasn’t calling him at the Mountain, which would raise its own issues. How many meetings could he realistically be tied up in when he couldn’t answer his line from P4X-whatever? And he didn’t have a problem with coming home to a blinking message light. The problem was that no one was picking up the phone at Bjorn’s place when Jack called back, and he was calling at hours when an Associate Professor of Languages might reasonably be expected to be home.
The first message, four days after Daniel died, had said: “Jack, this is Bjorn. I have some things of Daniel’s.” Long pause. “I don’t know what to do with them.” Then he’d left his number and hung up.
Jack phoned him back and said: “Jack O’Neill. Got your message. Yeah, just box up anything you don’t want to keep and I can arrange to have an airman pick it up. Just let me know when’s good.” Long pause. “Thanks.”
Bjorn’s reply two days later: “I have those boxes. And I have things at Daniel’s home. I should get those.” Long pause. “Do you need to be there?”
Jack spent five minutes re-listening to that one and trying to figure out where Bjorn’s head was at with that last question, and if he was imagining that he heard some anger. “Hey, it’s Jack. You can get your stuff from Daniel’s any time you want. Well, actually the sooner the better. The Air Force will be closing the apartment up at some point.” But not at any point soon, because Jack had recommended a ‘wait and see’ approach in case Daniel came waltzing back; fingers crossed and knock wood, it might still happen. “Let me know when’s a good time to send an airman for the boxes.”
Another two days went by without a response, but when Jack did his semi-daily stop-off at Daniel’s on the third day, to bring in the mail and throw out anything getting nasty in the fridge, he could tell that Bjorn had been there. Well, he’d confirm that Bjorn had gotten everything that belonged to him, and then he’d go through the place this weekend and remove anything of a personal or sexual nature that might prove embarrassing to Daniel if and when he returned.
Maybe he should re-think sending an airman for those boxes, in fact, he mused on the short drive home. Just to be on the safe side. Although it was a dull enough assignment that it shouldn’t excite any curiosity, and really, Daniel’s name didn’t even have to come into it. Unless Bjorn had written it all over the boxes… yeah, he’d probably labeled them somehow or other.
It only freaked Jack out a little when today’s blinking light led him to this message: “Jack, I was wondering if you could pick the boxes up yourself?” But Bjorn’s train of thought was traveling on a different track, as it turned out. “I would like to invite you to have supper with me here. I’m missing… having someone for whom to cook. Tomorrow night maybe? Let me know.”
Jack closed his eyes and sighed. Oh, fun! He picked up the phone and dialed. “Bjorn. Hi. Thanks for the offer. Yeah, tomorrow night might not work.” Depended on how traffic went coming back from the other side of the galaxy, and how long the debrief went. “Then again, it might. How much notice do you need?”
The phone rang three minutes after he’d hung up. Yeah, there was definitely screening going on chez Ludvigsen. “’lo.”
“Hello, Jack? Would tonight work better? If you don’t have plans….”
Jack rubbed a spot on his forehead which had suddenly begun to ache. “Ah, no. No plans.”
“Please come.”
“Well.” There was no real reason not to, other than the instinct to avoid pain.
“I promise faithfully, no lutefisk.”
Jack gave a crack of laughter. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
~~
It wasn’t bad. Hard, but not bad.
And the food was simple and good. A barley soup thick with carrots and mushrooms served with buttered Danish rye bread, washed down with Tuborg lager. They talked mostly about beer and food, childhood meals, studiously ignoring the elephant in the corner of the room. Bjorn took the empty bowls over to the sink when they were done, and came back a tray that held a cheeseboard, a bowl of walnuts and a smaller bowl for their shells, and a plate that held an apple and a pear.
Jack cracked walnuts and watched as Bjorn deftly pared, cored and sliced the fruit. “So what’s the cheese?”
“Cream Havarti; I think you’ll like it. Try it.”
Jack picked up a cube and bit into it. Smooth and mild. “Nice.”
Bjorn passed him a slice of apple. “Try it with this.”
It was good. “Yeah, that works,” Jack said. He popped a walnut into his mouth, and the rest of the cheese cube when that was gone. “Nice.” He took a swallow of his lager and tilted his head consideringly. “That works, too.”
“Wine is more traditional, but you’re more of a beer lover, I think.”
“Hardly ever met a beer I didn’t like.” Jack popped more cheese into his mouth. “That goes for cheese, too.”
“This was Daniel’s favorite,” Bjorn said.
And suddenly the elephant in the corner was sitting at the table beside them. Jack nodded his head, too choked up to speak.
Bjorn pushed the plate of fruit into the center of the table and reached for a walnut. So Jack reached for a pear. A pear couldn’t be too hard to swallow. And then Bjorn ate some cheese and Jack had a walnut and Bjorn tried the apple and Jack drank some beer and they both reached for the cheese at the same time.
“Sorry,” Bjorn said, drawing his hand back to let Jack select first.
Jack stared at the cheese.
“One of us had to mention him,” Bjorn said quietly.
“I know.”
“Eat.”
Jack sighed.
Bjorn turned a walnut over and over in his hand. “I didn’t invite you here to talk about Daniel.”
Jack sighed again. “We can if you want to.”
“I can’t,” Bjorn answered simply. “Not yet. I can’t.”
The controlled grief in his voice was overwhelming. Jack didn’t care if Bjorn saw the tears in his eyes as he looked around the kitchen, avoiding looking at Bjorn’s face, giving him a small measure of privacy. “Some other time?” Jack suggested hoarsely.
“A week?” Bjorn said after a minute. “Will you come back in a week?”
“It won’t be long enough,” Jack said, looking at him now.
Bjorn smiled tightly. “It will be better. But you are right. Two weeks?”
“21st?”
Bjorn nodded. “Same time?”
“I’ll have to let you know for sure closer to the date,” Jack cautioned.
“Of course,” Bjorn answered. He knew the drill.
And supper was over.
Jack had to pull over once on the drive home and sit, gripping the wheel hard enough to make his fingers ache, until he got himself back under control.
Sometimes grief shared wasn’t grief halved, no matter what the old sayings said.
~~
On the 21st Bjorn talked and Jack listened and nodded and agreed and laughed, and excused himself quickly to the bathroom when the tears he didn’t mind showing began to swell into sobs. He flushed the toilet and ran water in the sink and allowed himself ninety seconds of outright bawling.
He was done in less than sixty. He splashed water into his eyes and looked himself over in the mirror.
The thing was, this little breakdown wasn’t about grief at losing Daniel, and it wasn’t sympathy for Bjorn’s loss. This was about having to lie. He couldn’t talk about his hopes with anyone. Bjorn was the one person who could even begin to understand why Jack clung, and would continue to cling, to the knowledge that Daniel was out there somewhere, that he didn’t have to be gone forever. That he could come back.
And the people who actually shared that knowledge? Jack had to hide and lie to them, too. They could know he hoped. But they mustn’t know how desperately.
It sucked to be him. Get over it.
So he went back out into the living room and told all the non-classified Daniel stories that he could think of, and he made Bjorn roar with laughter more than once.
And when he was walking out to his truck later and a breeze ruffled his hair, he wondered if Daniel watched over them and approved.
~~
At least once a month after that, Bjorn would invite Jack to dinner. And once, famously, to a Sunday morning of pickled herring, buttered rye toast and akvavit with a beer chaser that led to Jack napping on Bjorn’s couch most of the afternoon. Jack couldn’t quite remember at what point he started looking forward to their get-togethers. He even invited Bjorn over for his monthly poker game once.
Yeah, he probably should’ve asked if Bjorn knew how to play poker first.
But this particular dinner was a disaster zone and a minefield and….
This particular dinner had been postponed twice: once by Jack not calling to confirm and once by Jack calling to reschedule.
Bjorn had prepared fish with a light herbed cream sauce, boiled new potatoes with parsley butter, the ubiquitous cheese platter. Jack was sure it was all delicious, but it might as well have been cardboard. He wasn’t long out of the infirmary, and things in general were off kilter still, but there was more to it in this case.
He’d come to a decision.
“I can’t keep doing this.”
Bjorn stared, mouth a little bit open.
“I’m really sorry.”
“Oh, Jack.”
“I know.”
Bjorn shook his head. Rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I’ll miss you.”
“Nah,” Jack said. “Not for long.” He quirked a smile, fought back a tide of loss.
Bjorn reached across the table and Jack took his hand. Held it tightly.
~~
He drove home, parked, went inside. Locked up, used the bathroom, undressed. Got into bed.
Stared towards the ceiling.
He didn’t know, might never know, how much of it had been real. If any.
But now that he thought he’d seen Daniel, he couldn’t face Bjorn any more.
And if it really had been Daniel with him in his cell in Ba’al’s fortress, and not just an hallucination, then Bjorn had been right all along.
Because the love in Daniel’s eyes had been unmistakable.
~~
Five months later Bjorn called and left a message. “You once wished me a good trip, Jack. I’m going home.”
Jack had been offworld for six days. He dialed Bjorn’s number frantically. It rang. He exhaled.
“Jack, hello!”
‘Hi! Hey! What’s this? Going back to Denmark?”
“Yes, it’s time.”
“Jeez. Fuck. I don’t know what to say.”
“Just wish me well.”
“You know I do. Right? You know that?”
Bjorn laughed. “Yes, Jack. I know that. And I wish you all the best as well. You know that, I hope?”
“Sure,” Jack said, holding his phone in a death grip. “Sure.”
“I would love to see you again before I leave.”
Jack opened his mouth but nothing came out.
“But I won’t,” Bjorn continued. “Because you were right. It was time for us both to move on.”
“Yeah, but not….” Jack took a deep breath. “You know where to find me.” He heard Bjorn exhale.
“I will email you my address when I am settled.”
“Best of luck. Best of everything. Bon voyage. All of that.”
“Goodbye, Jack.”
~~
It was three weeks later that they found Daniel.
Chapter 7: http://sidlj.livejournal.com/165918.html
jd_junkie for pointing my brain towards a title. :-)
~2000 words. Thanks to melayneseahawk for the quick proofread!
Chapter One
Chapter Five
They were playing phone tag, and Jack was beginning to think that Bjorn was doing it on purpose.
Bjorn was calling Jack’s home number during the day, when Jack could reasonably be expected to be at Cheyenne Mountain. Where he might actually be was none of Bjorn’s business, of course, although it was tempting to leave messages in return saying, ‘Yeah, sorry I missed your call; I was on another planet at the time.’
Frankly Jack was more happy than not that Bjorn wasn’t calling him at the Mountain, which would raise its own issues. How many meetings could he realistically be tied up in when he couldn’t answer his line from P4X-whatever? And he didn’t have a problem with coming home to a blinking message light. The problem was that no one was picking up the phone at Bjorn’s place when Jack called back, and he was calling at hours when an Associate Professor of Languages might reasonably be expected to be home.
The first message, four days after Daniel died, had said: “Jack, this is Bjorn. I have some things of Daniel’s.” Long pause. “I don’t know what to do with them.” Then he’d left his number and hung up.
Jack phoned him back and said: “Jack O’Neill. Got your message. Yeah, just box up anything you don’t want to keep and I can arrange to have an airman pick it up. Just let me know when’s good.” Long pause. “Thanks.”
Bjorn’s reply two days later: “I have those boxes. And I have things at Daniel’s home. I should get those.” Long pause. “Do you need to be there?”
Jack spent five minutes re-listening to that one and trying to figure out where Bjorn’s head was at with that last question, and if he was imagining that he heard some anger. “Hey, it’s Jack. You can get your stuff from Daniel’s any time you want. Well, actually the sooner the better. The Air Force will be closing the apartment up at some point.” But not at any point soon, because Jack had recommended a ‘wait and see’ approach in case Daniel came waltzing back; fingers crossed and knock wood, it might still happen. “Let me know when’s a good time to send an airman for the boxes.”
Another two days went by without a response, but when Jack did his semi-daily stop-off at Daniel’s on the third day, to bring in the mail and throw out anything getting nasty in the fridge, he could tell that Bjorn had been there. Well, he’d confirm that Bjorn had gotten everything that belonged to him, and then he’d go through the place this weekend and remove anything of a personal or sexual nature that might prove embarrassing to Daniel if and when he returned.
Maybe he should re-think sending an airman for those boxes, in fact, he mused on the short drive home. Just to be on the safe side. Although it was a dull enough assignment that it shouldn’t excite any curiosity, and really, Daniel’s name didn’t even have to come into it. Unless Bjorn had written it all over the boxes… yeah, he’d probably labeled them somehow or other.
It only freaked Jack out a little when today’s blinking light led him to this message: “Jack, I was wondering if you could pick the boxes up yourself?” But Bjorn’s train of thought was traveling on a different track, as it turned out. “I would like to invite you to have supper with me here. I’m missing… having someone for whom to cook. Tomorrow night maybe? Let me know.”
Jack closed his eyes and sighed. Oh, fun! He picked up the phone and dialed. “Bjorn. Hi. Thanks for the offer. Yeah, tomorrow night might not work.” Depended on how traffic went coming back from the other side of the galaxy, and how long the debrief went. “Then again, it might. How much notice do you need?”
The phone rang three minutes after he’d hung up. Yeah, there was definitely screening going on chez Ludvigsen. “’lo.”
“Hello, Jack? Would tonight work better? If you don’t have plans….”
Jack rubbed a spot on his forehead which had suddenly begun to ache. “Ah, no. No plans.”
“Please come.”
“Well.” There was no real reason not to, other than the instinct to avoid pain.
“I promise faithfully, no lutefisk.”
Jack gave a crack of laughter. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
~~
It wasn’t bad. Hard, but not bad.
And the food was simple and good. A barley soup thick with carrots and mushrooms served with buttered Danish rye bread, washed down with Tuborg lager. They talked mostly about beer and food, childhood meals, studiously ignoring the elephant in the corner of the room. Bjorn took the empty bowls over to the sink when they were done, and came back a tray that held a cheeseboard, a bowl of walnuts and a smaller bowl for their shells, and a plate that held an apple and a pear.
Jack cracked walnuts and watched as Bjorn deftly pared, cored and sliced the fruit. “So what’s the cheese?”
“Cream Havarti; I think you’ll like it. Try it.”
Jack picked up a cube and bit into it. Smooth and mild. “Nice.”
Bjorn passed him a slice of apple. “Try it with this.”
It was good. “Yeah, that works,” Jack said. He popped a walnut into his mouth, and the rest of the cheese cube when that was gone. “Nice.” He took a swallow of his lager and tilted his head consideringly. “That works, too.”
“Wine is more traditional, but you’re more of a beer lover, I think.”
“Hardly ever met a beer I didn’t like.” Jack popped more cheese into his mouth. “That goes for cheese, too.”
“This was Daniel’s favorite,” Bjorn said.
And suddenly the elephant in the corner was sitting at the table beside them. Jack nodded his head, too choked up to speak.
Bjorn pushed the plate of fruit into the center of the table and reached for a walnut. So Jack reached for a pear. A pear couldn’t be too hard to swallow. And then Bjorn ate some cheese and Jack had a walnut and Bjorn tried the apple and Jack drank some beer and they both reached for the cheese at the same time.
“Sorry,” Bjorn said, drawing his hand back to let Jack select first.
Jack stared at the cheese.
“One of us had to mention him,” Bjorn said quietly.
“I know.”
“Eat.”
Jack sighed.
Bjorn turned a walnut over and over in his hand. “I didn’t invite you here to talk about Daniel.”
Jack sighed again. “We can if you want to.”
“I can’t,” Bjorn answered simply. “Not yet. I can’t.”
The controlled grief in his voice was overwhelming. Jack didn’t care if Bjorn saw the tears in his eyes as he looked around the kitchen, avoiding looking at Bjorn’s face, giving him a small measure of privacy. “Some other time?” Jack suggested hoarsely.
“A week?” Bjorn said after a minute. “Will you come back in a week?”
“It won’t be long enough,” Jack said, looking at him now.
Bjorn smiled tightly. “It will be better. But you are right. Two weeks?”
“21st?”
Bjorn nodded. “Same time?”
“I’ll have to let you know for sure closer to the date,” Jack cautioned.
“Of course,” Bjorn answered. He knew the drill.
And supper was over.
Jack had to pull over once on the drive home and sit, gripping the wheel hard enough to make his fingers ache, until he got himself back under control.
Sometimes grief shared wasn’t grief halved, no matter what the old sayings said.
~~
On the 21st Bjorn talked and Jack listened and nodded and agreed and laughed, and excused himself quickly to the bathroom when the tears he didn’t mind showing began to swell into sobs. He flushed the toilet and ran water in the sink and allowed himself ninety seconds of outright bawling.
He was done in less than sixty. He splashed water into his eyes and looked himself over in the mirror.
The thing was, this little breakdown wasn’t about grief at losing Daniel, and it wasn’t sympathy for Bjorn’s loss. This was about having to lie. He couldn’t talk about his hopes with anyone. Bjorn was the one person who could even begin to understand why Jack clung, and would continue to cling, to the knowledge that Daniel was out there somewhere, that he didn’t have to be gone forever. That he could come back.
And the people who actually shared that knowledge? Jack had to hide and lie to them, too. They could know he hoped. But they mustn’t know how desperately.
It sucked to be him. Get over it.
So he went back out into the living room and told all the non-classified Daniel stories that he could think of, and he made Bjorn roar with laughter more than once.
And when he was walking out to his truck later and a breeze ruffled his hair, he wondered if Daniel watched over them and approved.
~~
At least once a month after that, Bjorn would invite Jack to dinner. And once, famously, to a Sunday morning of pickled herring, buttered rye toast and akvavit with a beer chaser that led to Jack napping on Bjorn’s couch most of the afternoon. Jack couldn’t quite remember at what point he started looking forward to their get-togethers. He even invited Bjorn over for his monthly poker game once.
Yeah, he probably should’ve asked if Bjorn knew how to play poker first.
But this particular dinner was a disaster zone and a minefield and….
This particular dinner had been postponed twice: once by Jack not calling to confirm and once by Jack calling to reschedule.
Bjorn had prepared fish with a light herbed cream sauce, boiled new potatoes with parsley butter, the ubiquitous cheese platter. Jack was sure it was all delicious, but it might as well have been cardboard. He wasn’t long out of the infirmary, and things in general were off kilter still, but there was more to it in this case.
He’d come to a decision.
“I can’t keep doing this.”
Bjorn stared, mouth a little bit open.
“I’m really sorry.”
“Oh, Jack.”
“I know.”
Bjorn shook his head. Rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I’ll miss you.”
“Nah,” Jack said. “Not for long.” He quirked a smile, fought back a tide of loss.
Bjorn reached across the table and Jack took his hand. Held it tightly.
~~
He drove home, parked, went inside. Locked up, used the bathroom, undressed. Got into bed.
Stared towards the ceiling.
He didn’t know, might never know, how much of it had been real. If any.
But now that he thought he’d seen Daniel, he couldn’t face Bjorn any more.
And if it really had been Daniel with him in his cell in Ba’al’s fortress, and not just an hallucination, then Bjorn had been right all along.
Because the love in Daniel’s eyes had been unmistakable.
~~
Five months later Bjorn called and left a message. “You once wished me a good trip, Jack. I’m going home.”
Jack had been offworld for six days. He dialed Bjorn’s number frantically. It rang. He exhaled.
“Jack, hello!”
‘Hi! Hey! What’s this? Going back to Denmark?”
“Yes, it’s time.”
“Jeez. Fuck. I don’t know what to say.”
“Just wish me well.”
“You know I do. Right? You know that?”
Bjorn laughed. “Yes, Jack. I know that. And I wish you all the best as well. You know that, I hope?”
“Sure,” Jack said, holding his phone in a death grip. “Sure.”
“I would love to see you again before I leave.”
Jack opened his mouth but nothing came out.
“But I won’t,” Bjorn continued. “Because you were right. It was time for us both to move on.”
“Yeah, but not….” Jack took a deep breath. “You know where to find me.” He heard Bjorn exhale.
“I will email you my address when I am settled.”
“Best of luck. Best of everything. Bon voyage. All of that.”
“Goodbye, Jack.”
~~
It was three weeks later that they found Daniel.
Chapter 7: http://sidlj.livejournal.com/165918.html