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As the movie credits rolled, Jack took his feet off his coffee table, stood up, and stretched. Daniel knew that was the subtle signal for him to get up, too. The time had come for him to climb the basement stairs to the front hall, find his coat, and drive home. Jack was wordlessly announcing that he was tired and that he wanted to turn in. So, another comfortable Friday evening passed together, just the two of them, was now over.
Since Thor had rescued Jack, since they'd established the new order of Jack running the show at the SGC, being The Man, with Sam taking over leadership of an SG-1 of three, Daniel and Jack had established this, too -- this comforting, comfortable ritual of two old friends getting together for chess, barbecue and a movie at Jack's place, on the weekends when Daniel wasn't off world.
Daniel appreciated, enjoyed, and had actually come to count on it, though at one and the same time, the by-rote nature of it, the heavy superficiality of doing this same thing, this same, predictable inadequate thing, week after week, was, he believed, gradually smothering him.
Sometimes as he made his slow way out of Jack's house, he would pause on the step that led from the living room up to the front door, and he would let his gaze linger, holding Jack's gaze. Jack would stand there, too, by the hearth, his hands quiet at his sides. They would have already said goodnight, and Daniel would already have his coat and his car keys, but he would stand there and they would look at each other, and the way Jack quietly, almost sadly, would return his gaze made Daniel know that Jack ... knew. Jack knew what Daniel knew, and he still, week after week, got up and silently showed him out. And this was weighing on Daniel, dragging him down -- the unspoken words, the absent acts.
This shared yearning had never led to anything. And if Daniel thought about it, he really didn't know why. Because they knew. They wanted each other. Had probably always wanted each other, Daniel had realized, sometime after his memories had returned, sometime around the mission to rescue Bra'tac and Ry'ac from the prison planet. He had realized that he had always loved Jack. He had realized that he always would.
But apparently, before his ascension and continuing still, today, Daniel had been following through on a decision made long ago: That it was not up to him to make the first move. He felt ... blocked. He wondered if there were some crucial conversation he'd not yet remembered, from before Kelowna, that would explain this endless wanting and not acting. It was out of character to be so passive, for him, and for Jack. He must have missed something, along the way.
So, since Jack had been saved once again by Thor, and promoted, and ended his venturing through the gate with his team, Daniel had continued to wait. He hoped he might remember something more that would guide him past this block, this wall of silence and inaction. He worked hard, he fought for Earth, he watched, a little obsessively, for a signal from Jack.
Sometimes, Teal'c and Sam and others from the mountain would join them to watch a movie or, more often if there was a crowd, to play poker. Jack loved poker, and Daniel had learned to love it. Once he had figured out it was not about the card game, which was pretty easy, but about reading the players and making judgments based on their demeanor, he started winning a lot more. Poker had not been part of his pre-Stargate education. The crowd he hung out with in his formative years tended more toward bridge, or backgammon, or smoking marijuana while listening to Frank Zappa. His poker-and-beer, Jack-ish sort of education had been sadly neglected, but he was catching up.
Sometimes it was team night, or poker night, but equally often, it was just the two of them. Chess instead of poker. Movies instead of chatty socializing.
One night, Daniel found himself promising, those Fridays, to himself, as he drove away, seeking with empty words to somehow medicate the weight on his chest. One night the party will be over, but I won't leave. I'll stay. One night.
Empty words. Until Antarctica.
The night of the day that they sent the Atlantis mission through the wormhole was, by chance, a Friday, so Daniel, following routine, drove to Jack's as usual, tired as he was. Since he'd returned from Antarctica to help Elizabeth get her show on the road, he'd not been able to get to Jack's. There had been no Friday nights of downtime since Antarctica, for any of them. Things had been busy, amazing, even, with the excitement of assembling and then sending off the Atlantis mission.
In fact, since he'd left Colorado to stay at the outpost, to do the work that had resulted in his deciphering the Atlantis address, he hadn't been back for an evening at Jack's. And, of course, he thought, excitement building in his stomach, he'd never, ever, been to Jack's in possession of his clue. Never parked his car and paced up the walk having received the signal that he was pretty sure would let him end their strange, passive waiting.
Tonight, despite his newfound cipher for Jack's heart, Daniel had a lot to mull over and he was still a little distracted. His head was full of visions of sugarplums, in the form of the tantalizing pictures of the control room of what he supposed was the city of the Ancients. He and Sam had played with filters and infrared and teased clarity out of much of the MALP footage. It was amazing, what the pictures suggested about those people, those beings. It was still a place Daniel really, really wanted to go. And Jack, of course, had known that. But ever since Daniel had come up with the address of the planet in the Pegasus Galaxy, Jack had been relentless in his refusals. Daniel had begged to go with the mission, and Jack said no. First, Daniel had been angry. Then he had been puzzled. He'd turned it over in his mind, the days at the pole, and for the weeks spent assembling Elizabeth's people from all over the world. He'd had to spare a bit of his brain for thinking about Jack and his puzzlement, even with all the work he had to do. And then Dr. McKay had hooked up the ZPM and sent the team as far as any of them except Jack had gone using the Stargate, so far. And Daniel had watched. Oh, he'd tried one more time to get Jack to let him go. But he wasn't serious then, and they both knew it.
And that brought them to tonight, to a simple dinner, just the two of them, with Jack slowly forking up his slow-cooked brisket, doused in his own homemade sauce, talking about how he'd chosen the magnum of champagne, how Elizabeth had managed to find the right people, how it was such a long shot, but how it truly had to be worth it.
Then he said, "I'm preaching to the choir, I know."
Daniel pretended to glare at him and took their plates to the kitchen. He stacked dishes, washed his hands, paced a little. He came back, followed Jack into the basement, and got out the chess board. Daniel put a pawn in each fist and leaned toward Jack. Jack didn't look at him, but he let his hand lie a moment too long atop Daniel's fist as he chose. Daniel felt the heat rise in his cheeks. Jack had chosen the black pawn.
Jack tried some arcane defenses -- Daniel accused him of surreptitious studying -- that resulted in a couple of quick losses before the mid-games could even get rolling. This was very unusual, for Jack, and it had Daniel rubbing his eyes and cocking his head as he planned his counterattacks. The quick defeats meant they ended up playing more games than usual, though it took about the same amount of time. They ended at two and two, Jack having rallied by returning to his tried and true strategies, and when Daniel came back down to the basement from using the toilet, Jack was standing in front of the television studying the DVD box Daniel had brought.
Jack commented, "I've already seen Apollo 13. So have you."
"Well, it seemed apropos, in light of today's events, plus you know. Happy ending."
"Yeah." Jack smiled at him. Daniel had to look down.
"Popcorn?" Jack said.
"Of course." Jack went up to the kitchen to make it.
Daniel never really got tired of this movie. He hadn't looked into the space program much until he got the job in the mountain, having had his hands full with his own field, but after he had visited the stars, revisiting what Earth people had done to make their way toward them, before the Stargate, had been irresistible.
"Carter would love this part," Jack said, waving his beer at the screen. Daniel had to agree. The camera, apparently stuck to the ceiling, was lingering over the pile of debris the Houston crew was going to use to figure out how to re-engineer the capsule's air filters.
Daniel ate popcorn and drank beer and periodically closed his eyes so he could feel the heat coming off Jack. They were sitting on the couch together, the bowl of popcorn between them, but he could feel the living warmth of Jack's body, almost as strongly as if Jack were touching him.
They watched the fulfillment of the promise that "failure is not an option," and they both smiled.
And then, when the credits were rolling, Daniel turned to Jack and set his hands on the sides of the big, almost empty popcorn bowl. He felt a need to steady himself. He took a deep breath. "I'm not going home tonight."
Jack raised an eyebrow; very Teal'c like. "Okay; that's fine. You've crashed over here before."
"That's not what I mean," Daniel said, staring, eyes narrow, daring himself to hold still.
Jack stared back, for a long time. "Okay," he said slowly. Then Jack, carefully, checking Daniel's eyes once, reached over and cupped his hand over Daniel's. A simple thing, a small thing. Jack's big, warm hand, resting over Daniel's. Holding it.
Jack said, looking at their hands, "I'm not sure I know what to do next."
Daniel glanced up. He'd been transfixed by the look and the feel of his hand, under Jack's. He was surprised and amused, and his look showed all that.
Jack amended, smiling a half smile, "I mean, I know what to do next, I just--"
"Don't know what to do next."
"Yeah. That."
They looked at each other, and what Daniel mostly saw was that Jack was smiling. Daniel leaned over the popcorn bowl, not letting go of Jack's hand, and pressed his lips to Jack's. Jack inhaled, and moved his lips against Daniel's, and Daniel frowned, tasting, cataloguing. He wanted to know this, to get it. To get it all. Jack's soft mouth, against his. Popcorn, and beer. Warmth. Jack leaned back, separating them, and so Daniel opened his eyes.
"Okay, I can work with that," Jack said, and he was serious now, no twinkle at all. He let go of Daniel's hand and skimmed the bowl away across the carpet at their feet, spilling the unpopped kernels and the shiny husks, and he took Daniel's head in his two hands and kissed him again. Harder this time, warmer and deeper. Daniel wrapped his arms around Jack's shoulders.
When they leaned apart, they were both breathing a little hard. Daniel pulled his glasses from his face and turned to put them on the end table. Jack didn't let go of him, but tousled his hair, traced his sideburn, turned his hand and put the backs of his fingers lightly against Daniel's cheek. Daniel closed his eyes at the gentle touch. His lips felt swollen. His heart was pounding.
Jack said, his voice a little husky, like it was hard to talk, "What, what made you... what made you decide..."
Daniel opened his eyes. Jack looked happy, which was good, but he also looked a little stunned.
"You've been telling everyone that I couldn't join Weir's team. Because you needed me here...." Jack looked sheepish. Not in an ashamed way; in a "yeah, busted," way. Daniel smiled and went on. "Not we, not the program. You."
Jack cupped his head again, to bring him in for a new kiss. "I do need you here," he said as he tugged. "Right here."
A kiss to drown in, to disappear in. A kiss that lifted the weight from Daniel's chest, broke the heaviness of routine. A kiss that was the password to a new place, a big place, all blue sky and cool breezes. They pulled apart after a long time.
Daniel licked his lips. "Just so we're clear."
Jack was kissing his neck, now, small ticklish kisses, and reaching for Daniel's shirt buttons. "Clear. Definitely, clear. All clear."
end.