ONE TOO MANY BY PHOENIX
Daniel involved in a loving and committed relationship, which usually involves
'Post 'Divide and Conquer. Some inference to ep
but no real spoilers.
a huge confession, an even bigger misunderstanding.
you are offended by archaeologists au natural in
their native habitat.
|| 50 Kb
Originally Completed and posted to the net 24 Mar
Biblio made a request for drunken Jack and naked
Daniel. I did my best to oblige....
God, this water feels good. I bruised more than my dignity
when I took that header down the temple stairs on 759 this
afternoon. No permanent damage though, unless you count
the camcorder. The less said about that the better.
Mmmmmm. Between the shower massage and the pain pills
I’m feeling none. And you know what, for once in my life
I’m going to take my doctor’s advice and go straight to
bed. No sitting up ‘til three AM
hunched over a computer monitor finishing a report or going
blind trying to puzzle out that last, tricky line of text.
Nope, not me. Not tonight. Tonight it’s just
gonna be me, my nice big comfy bed and several consecutive
hours of blessed oblivion. Yep, that sounds like a plan.
Might as well get started on it right now. So as loathe
as I am to desert my warm, steamy sanctuary I figure almost
an hour getting the aches beaten out of my bones by this
lovely hot spray is quite long enough. Besides, I’m feeling
a little too comfortable, not to mention starting to get
a bit sleepy. No nodding off in the shower, Daniel, it’s
time to put your weary bones to bed.
With a regretful sigh I shut off the water, push open
the shower door and grope for a towel for my hair. I’m
not fond of getting the pillow all soggy so I’ll dry the
hair a bit but I’m not going to bother with the rest of
me, seems like too damned much work to towel off when I’m
just going to toddle a very short distance from here to
my bed at which point I’ll be collapsing and sleeping.
As I start to walk out of the bathroom briskly rubbing
my hair and happily anticipating my imminent collapse once
I attain my objective it hits me I’m so tired I’m almost
resenting the effort I have to expend getting from here
Need some. Why is the bed so far away?
I’ve barely cleared the bathroom and am stumbling on my
merry way still rubbing my hair and dripping when I emerge
from beneath the towel and come face to face with Jack.
Jack is standing in the middle of my living room, swaying.
I’m dripping. And naked. And about to pass out
from the heart attack I’m having.
“Jack!” I squeak, rearing back like he’s just bit
me, my heart pounding, hyperventilating, so shocked by his
unexpected presence it takes me several seconds to remember
to rectify my current state of moist un-dressed-ness with
the towel I’ve remarkably retained custody of. My hands
are shaking so badly I’m having trouble winding it around
my waist, but the time I have to expend concentrating on
forcing my fumbling fingers to finally accomplish the task
is necessary for me to be able to calm down enough to confront
my unexpected company. Which isn’t proving to be an easy
task, the calming down bit, that is, what with utter confusion
adding to my current mental chaos.
Jack is here. Jack! Here?
Jack is the last person I’d expect to be standing
in my living room, not that I customarily expect anyone
to be here when I emerge from my shower au naturel but
especially Jack, especially lately, it’s not as if we’ve
been close these past few months, what with the cold shoulder
treatment he’s been giving me since…
But there’s no point in opening that old wound
again, it hasn’t been easy, but I’ve grown to accept things
have changed between us; for whatever reason, Jack has
moved on, or lost interest, or found himself a new best
friend, all of the above, whatever, it’s all amounted to
the same thing, we don’t talk, we don’t hang out, he definitely
doesn’t drop by and he certainly doesn’t just appear
in my apartment in the middle of the night so pissed he
can barely stand.
O God, I just realised – Jack is drunk. I’ve been so
knocked off balance by him just being here snockered
or sober I didn’t really see him at first but the swaying,
the grinning and the unmistakable eau de brewski fragrance
rolling off him in waves…
He’s so marinated his breath is making my eyes water.
Uh huh. Jack’s had at least one too many. But
that still doesn’t explain…
“Jack, what are you doing here?” I wearily demand of the
sloppily smirking drunkard currently putting all his mental
energy into trying to prevent his eyes from being magnetized
by the tip of his nose. I can feel my happy fantasy of
soft mattresses and warm blankets being swallowed up
by the toxic clouds of alcoholic fumes rolling through
my living room and I’ll try not to hate Jack for belching
on my parade but I’m making no promises.
Jack blinks as if what I’ve asked him is beyond his mental
ability to comprehend, which actually might not be too
far from the truth given the astonishing level of inebriation
he seems to have achieved.
“I can’t remember where I live,” he finally announces,
evidently vastly amazed at his ability to articulate.
“But apparently you can remember where I live,” I frown
at him, trying to stay mad, but he has this adorable
five-years-old bad boy thing going for him right now, you
know, the 'awww, who, me?' face put on by the cute little
tyke who breaks your window with his baseball and he knows
he’s busted, you’ve got him dead to rights and then he
does the thing with the big, brown ‘I know I’m bad but
you love me anyway’ eyes…and….
I’ve missed you, Jack.
“Apparently,” he proudly announces. “This is where
the cabbie dropped me and I was too – well, too – too –
“Yeah, that – to argue with him. Danny?”
He hasn’t called me that in ages – I wasn’t expecting
it, hadn’t prepared myself for it and the memories of the
lost intimacy it stabs me with – not something I really
need right now. Or ever. I don’t make a habit of
jabbing sharp objects into my eyes and being reminded of how
much I’ve lost rates right up there in the same category
of stupidly pointless hurtful experiences I do not need
to subject myself to.
I’ll put some clothes on and drive Jack home. He can
throw up in his own toilet and pass out on his own bathroom
floor. I don’t need –
“Danny,” he says again, his blissful grin wavering, those
damned brown eyes wrapping right around my heart. “I
need to sit down.”
I’m a stupid, moronic fool, you know that. A
complete and utter sucker for those irresistible eyes and the
whole, complete, outrageous O’Neill package they come with.
A couple of ‘Danny’s and I’m right in there, holding him
up, getting him over to the couch and trying to remember
where I’ve stashed the spare bedding.
Drive him home and ditch him. Suuuure you will, Jackson,
sure you will. But I will put something on. Almost
lost the towel a couple of times in the process of getting
Jack to the sofa. Not like it should matter or anything,
I mean we are both guys and he has seen me in the altogether
before and vice versa but still – I’d feel a little less
– vulnerable – with a little more on. Not to mention
the warm glow of the shower has worn off and I’m starting
to feel slightly chilly.
Jack is sprawled all over my sofa, grinning foolishly
up at me, his eyes glazed, heavy lidded. He’s about thirty
seconds from passing out, I’m thinking. If I’m lucky. If
he does I won’t have to worry about him. He won’t move
‘til morning and I can finally get some sleep. But if he
Yeah, better put some clothes on, just in case.
“Just – just sit there,” I instruct him, wondering why
I’m bothering. The condition he’s in, not only is he
not capable of scratching his nose never mind getting off
the couch, he’s probably going to be unconscious by the
time I get back. Keeping my fingers crossed, anyway.
“I’m gonna – put something on,” I say, waving toward
the bedroom. “I’ll be right back.”
“Danny,” he drawls with a crooked grin. And then
I wish he’d stop calling me that.
I drop the towel inside the bedroom door, turn on the
overhead light and cringe. Oh God, what a mess. I’d forgotten
the way I left this place this morning. Slept in.
Again. I was in a bit of a hurry. It shows. Oh
dear. It looks like it’s time to do the laundry too.
Yeah, definitely time to do the laundry. Damn. A brief
hunt through the dresser drawers for a clean pair of sweats,
at least, proves to be a waste of time – wow, I
don’t even have any clean underwear. Looks like I’m
going to have to rummage through my dirty discards for the
remedy to my modesty problem.
Damn you, Jack O’Neill, you’re always doing stuff
like this to me! Can’t be bothered with me for months
and then when it’s the most inconvenient
– tah dah! And heeerrrre’s JACK! Bastard.
Selfish, inconsiderate bastard! I should be well on my way to
unconsciousness by now, but oh no, thanks to Jack instead
of happily sleeping my cares away I’m faced with having
to face my dirty laundry.
If this is some capricious deity’s idea of a cosmic joke,
well, this is what I look like when I’m not laughing.
Or sleeping, dammit!
Okay, focus, Daniel. Sweats. Find some. Wait
a minute, I think - that pile sort of half under the bed
there. That looks like a good place to start.
We’ll check this one out and hope we get lucky.
I’m on my hands and knees peering under my bed when I
get my second shock of the evening.
Jack. Jack’s in my bedroom. Odds are he’s still
drunk. I’m definitely still naked. With my bare
ass hoist in the breeze to boot.
When exactly did I lose control of my world? Stupid
question, I’m currently unwittingly mooning the answer.
What I want to know is how in the hell did he manage to
follow me in here and why couldn’t he have waited until
I at least got some pants on? And why couldn’t he have
managed to do at least one considerate thing since he showed
up here soused and unannounced and pass out – out there
– where he was supposed to.
And not – aw geez!
I get my head out from under the bed and shoot up in time
to see Jack blinking at my ass, a sloppy grin roaming all
over his face as he does a spectacular swan dive, toppling
forward onto my bed.
And theerrrrre he goes. Ka-BLAM.
Jack is sprawled, drooling and from all appearances finally
passed out. On my bed. Not just on it, all over it,
splayed out good and proper, and it’s a pretty big bed, so
him by himself occupying most of it is a fairly impressive
accomplishment. As well as excruciatingly
inconveniencing. Typical Jack. A total pain in the
ass even when he’s a sodden, drunken mass. I could almost
hate him right now, if I didn’t…
Exhausted and exasperated I plunk myself down on the side
of the bed and plop my head in my hands. I’m a grown man
I will not cry. Some low key whining,
surreptitious snivelling, possibly some wailing but absolutely
It also looks like I’m going to be sleeping on the couch
tonight. In my own apartment.
on, laugh. You know you want to.
Ugh, I’m so tired. I can’t decide what I need to do
first, find the sweat pants or the spare sheets but whatever,
I need to get moving so I can get some sleep. Good
night, Jack, you bastard. Enjoy my nice comfy bed and I
hope your head caves in in the morning.
On second thought, maybe not, because I’ll be the one
stuck having to listen to him bitch and whine about having
a hangover. Unless I do the pre-emptive strike thing and
kill him now. That’d save us both a lot of grief.
Go to sleep, Daniel, you’re delirious.
I do not believe this! I’m hearing things, Jack
can’t possibly still be conscious.
“Feelings, I got all these feelings…” Jack dazedly
warbles into one of my pillows with appallingly tuneless
Oh God, now Jack is singing. Badly. Loudly.
“….I’m such a putz…”
Did I say badly? An interesting variation on the
standard lyric, though. Oh God, can this night get any
“Go to sleep, Jack,” I wearily beg him. Not that I
think for a moment it’ll do any good.
“Can’t,” he grumbles and heaves a huge sigh.
“Can’t. Can’t sleep. Been bad. Very, very
bad. Oh Danny, I’ve been a baaaad boy.”
“Jack, it’s late, you’re – it’s late, I’m really
tired and you’re – “
“I’m shit-faced,” Jack snorts. “I know that.
Drunk as a punk. Wanna know why?”
No, and I can’t stress this strongly enough. But
you’re going to tell me anyway, aren’t you?
“Feelings!” Jack announces with vehement
satisfaction. “I got ‘em. Lots and lots and lots
of ‘em. Bad feelings. Bad. Not right. Not supposed
to have feelings for someone you work with. But I got
‘em. Yep. I got ‘em and I can’t make ‘em go away. Tried,
you betcha I’ve tried. Booze does not work, by the way.”
Yeah, I know.
I’m starting to get that tight, sick feeling in my chest
like I’m trapped in a box with too little air and I can’t
breathe. He hasn’t said much, not yet, but he’s
already said enough to make me more than certain I don’t
want to hear any more. I could tell him a few things
about ‘feelings’ as well, if I thought he gave even the
slightest bit of a damn.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had any cause to believe
he did, and I certainly haven’t heard anything yet to
convince me things have changed.
“I care, you know,” he continues to burble, as oblivious
as ever as to the effects of his actions, especially where
I am concerned. “More than I should. Way more.
Too, too much. Member of my team - care for them lots
and lots. Bad – bad thing to do, Danny.”
And there it is. The one thing in the world I really
do not want to hear about, know about, or have a heart
to heart discussion with Jack about with or without the
benefit of the booze.
My hair hurts, my back aches, my eyes are stinging, I’m
getting a headache. I want to go to sleep, I wish Jack
was anywhere but here but most of all, what I want – I
do not want to have this conversation, not now,
not ever. I don’t care to know anything about Jack and
his ‘feelings’ especially about Sam. It’s been hard
enough to come to terms with it and now I’m mostly past the
shock and disappointment and I can almost stand to see
them – simpering at each other – still,
I don’t need my nose rubbed in it.
I’m not that good a person, Jack, and I won’t pretend
to be. Not even for you.
“Did you hear me?” he suddenly demands with petulant
brashness after having finally realised I’ve not said a
word since he started unloading.
“Yeah,” I manage to get out. “I heard you.
And I think maybe you should close your eyes and sleep this
off before you say something you’ll regret in the
“I don’t know what to do,” he loudly laments as if he
hasn’t heard a word I’ve said. As usual.
“I’ve tried to get a handle on it – I know I’ve compromised
both of us, maybe the whole damned team and what I’ve done
– to try and stop – keep away – not fair, mean, even, just
making things worse and it’s not enough, it’s not working
and I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this.”
He’s hurting. Really hurting. I’m trying not to
listen, but I can’t help it. I care more than I
About him. More fool me.
“You know what’s really funny,” he laughs bitterly, an
ugly, nasty sound. “Probably wasting my time.
The whole thing’s damned hopeless. Doomed.
Doomed from the start. After all,” he sneers. “It’s not
like they’ll ever – love me back.”
“Maybe it’s not as bad as you think it is, Jack,” I
start to say after taking a deep breath. To be honest, I
can’t believe I’m saying anything at all, but especially
this. I have to be out of my mind, giving the person I
love advice about how to deal with his feelings for someone
else. But I do love him, and I don’t like to see him
so unhappy. Even if helping him means I’ll be helping
him into someone else’s arms.
It’s okay, you can say it, I’m an idiot. But at
least I can sleep nights. That is, when I don’t have
drunken, besotted colonels crying into my pillows.
“Oh, I know it’s a one way street, all right,” he
continues, his voice scratchy with self-pity. “I’ve
been looking but I haven’t seen…”
“Well how could you?” I gently try to reassure him.
“I mean, think about it for a minute. The same reason
why you can’t – applies both ways. I’m sure things
aren’t as one sided as you think they are, it’s just –
as long as you’re both – I mean if you can’t act on it
because of the regs, well then – “
“You think so?” he asks, sounding so pathetically hopeful
I feel a little sick. If I had any brains I’d walk out
of this room right now and leave him to stew in his misery,
but I can't.
“Maybe if they were no longer an issue,” I start to say
to him, feeling light-headed with dread in anticipation
of his answer. “If the regs were no longer a barrier.
What if one of you wasn’t – wasn’t on the team any
longer? Then – the team member – who hasn’t been able to
show you – because they’re not free to – because…”
I can’t finish. Fortunately I don’t have to.
Jack might be soused to the gills but remarkably, against all
odds he does seem to possess a few functioning brain cells.
I’d be impressed if I wasn’t too busy being heartsick.
“Retire?” he mumbles. “If I that was all it took –
what they needed to be able to say – youbetcha.
Oh God, he’s not kidding. This isn’t some ego
driven, middle aged crush – thing. Not if he’d give
up SG-1 for her. He means it – he really loves her.
This is more, way more than I wanted, needed to know. I
haven’t just lost him as a friend, as – well I never had
that so I can’t very well claim to have lost it but if he
leaves, for her – I’ve really have nothing left.
‘Well, if you’re that serious, maybe you should find out
how they feel,” I murmur, blinking furiously. My eyes
are starting to sting and my head feels like it’s going
“I can’t do that!” he protests, suddenly panicking at
“Why not? How else are you going to know?”
“No, no, no, can’t do that,” Jack babbles, inching
closer, reaching out toward me. I shudder as his fingers
brush against the bare skin of my back before his hand thumps
heavily back down on the mattress. “You don’t
understand it’s – tricky – and what if I take that
chance, put it out there and they don’t feel the same – I
could lose everything – no, no,” he moans into the pillow,
“I don’t think I could take it, if they didn’t, if it
costs me – “
“And what if they do?” I say, covering his hand with mine.
I know I shouldn’t, I really shouldn’t – touch him.
But I can’t help it. It’s been so hard to be so
close to him for so long, and yet be so far away. I
might not get many more chances. Once things…change,
he’ll be gone. With her. I probably won’t see
him much after that.
I’m not feeling so hot right now.
“But what if they do, Jack? Are you going to throw that
chance away and spend the rest of your life being miserable,
never knowing because you never tried – “
He suddenly grips my arm, hard, almost hard enough to
hurt. He’s raised his head slightly, is staring at me
intently, his eyes suddenly piercing, full of meaning I
don’t quite understand.
“Do I have a chance, Danny?” he asks me, his eyes raking
over my face as he abruptly pulls me over onto the bed
beside him with a lot more strength than I believed him
currently capable of.
“Do I?” he asks again, softer this time as his eyes close,
his head drops heavily on my shoulder and his arm flops
lifelessly across my chest.
It’s like a knife inside me, to feel him so close, to
be lying with him in this false embrace of counterfeit
intimacy. I’ve dreamt of this moment for such a long time
and now it’s finally here, irony of entirely appropriate
ironies the dream has proven to be just as false and empty
as the end of every other hope I’ve foolishly chased after.
He wouldn’t be here – this wouldn’t be happening if he
wasn’t plastered because he’s in love with someone who
isn’t me. Someone he doesn’t think he can have.
Or at least, he hadn’t let himself hope he could have, until
I wish him better luck than mine.
“Why don’t you ask Sam and find out?” I whisper,
half hoping he’s passed out and won’t hear me.
“Sam?” he snorts and rubs his face against my chest.
“Why would I do that? Don’t think so. Won’t be
bringing Sam into this particular loop. Could be dicey.
You know – don’t ask, don’t tell – that crap, nope,
not talking to Sam. Talking to you,” he finishes with
a small sigh, stroking his fingers up my arm with hesitant
I’m having trouble breathing again. One little phrase
– just sunk in.
Don’t ask. Don’t tell.
He doesn’t want to talk to Sam, doesn’t want to ask her
– not Sam, it’s not Sam, she’s not the one he wants,
loves, would walk away from SG-1 for.
Not Sam. Oh God, I’ve been – all this time I’ve
had it all wrong. Looking, but not seeing, listening,
but not hearing.
He’s not asking Sam he’s asking…
“You see, it’s like this. I sorta love ya, Danny,” he
sighs as he draws in closer to me, moulding his body to
mine, sinking into me as he hugs me tighter. “Lots.
Lots and lots. That’s not just the booze talking – well
it is, a little – giving me the guts to say it, but not
why I’m sayin’. That’s me. The way I feel.
For you. That’s not bad, is it?”
“No Jack,” I choke, my chest so full of joy it’s almost
crushing me. “That’s not bad at all. To tell
you the truth, I sort of love you too.”
“You do?” I can feel his smile spread like sunshine
across my skin. “You do.”
“Yeah. Lots and lots.”
“That’s – that’s good.”
I’m still too overwhelmed to do much but lie here and
hold him and try to not break down completely and for a
time he’s so quiet and still I think he must have finally
Oh – still with me. “Jack?”
“I’d kiss you, but I’m not feeling so good right now.
Don’t want to puke on you or anything like that. Can I
kiss you in the morning?”
“Yes, Jack,” I tell him as I gently stroke his cheek.
“You can kiss me in the morning, and every other morning
after that, if you’d like.”
“I’d – I’d like,” Jack murmurs as he finally drifts
off to sleep.