what_works | SG-1 Fic: Sixteen Hundred Miles (PG-13)

Fandom: Stargate: SG-1
Title: Sixteen Hundred Miles
Author: Em
Rating: PG-13 for mentions of sex, slash
Word Count: ~2200
Spoilers: "Avalon," set in Season 9
Pairing: Jack/Daniel
Prompt: Jack/Daniel, angst, continuation of Firewhiskey to Forget
Summary: He's further away now. Physically he's still next to Jack. Jack reaches and holds Daniel just as he was before, but there's a distance now, a distance more tangible than the sixteen hundred miles that usually separate them.
Dedication: For

dragonbetween,

faithsqueen,

fangirljen,

gateruner,

icarusancalion,

janedavitt,

jedimara77,

kefira,

lizardspots,

malnpudl,

queende,

roadrunner1896, and

scifigirl
Notes: A continuation of Firewhiskey to Forget, a SG-1/Harry Potter crossover. This can be read as a standalone story. When read as a series, this is the second part.
Written as part of the 2005 Gift Fic Project for my flist.
Special thanks to

janedavitt for betaing duties.

Part 1: Firewhiskey to Forget, NC-17, Jack/Sirius
Part 3: Soft Private Places, NC-17, Remus/Sirius

Sixteen Hundred Miles

Jack comes home quietly, placing his keys on the coffee table, rather than just tossing them there. He pulls his shoes off so he'll only have to tiptoe through the house in socks. But when he gets to the bedroom, the lights are on, and Daniel is sitting up with books, notebooks, photographs, and scraps of paper covering the bed. He's scratching at his nose, accidentally smearing blue ink on his face because he hasn't put down the pen.

"No need to be quiet, then," Jack says, dropping his shoes next to Daniel's suitcase.

Daniel looks up and blinks, a surprised look on his face. "You're home? What time is it?" Daniel looks to his right—in Colorado Springs Jack kept his clock on the right side of the bed.

Jack heads to the bathroom. "I suppose I shouldn't ask if you were waiting up for me."

Jack can imagine Daniel still blinking, three-quarters in the past and only a shadow of thought on the present.

"Of course I was." The rest of Daniel's sentence drowns in the mumbles of another language that Jack is almost certain is Ancient.

Jack brushes his teeth, trying to scrub away the alcohol. He's completely sober by now, but he can still taste and smell the drunkenness in his skin and on his clothes. He's chased away the hollowness in his eyes, filling his mind with Daniel and a list of the things Daniel might be doing in Jack's new D.C. home.

Finding Daniel in the middle of an all-night research session is number three on his list of possibilities. Numbers one and two involve Daniel snuggled up or trussed up, and are not so much based on actual fact as on Jack's private fantasies.

Daniel has a photograph in each hand, his glasses raised to his forehead, and shifts his gaze between the two images—each about an inch from his nose. Jack smiles as he walks to his dresser. Daniel is comfortably predictable.

After retrieving clean clothes Jack changes in the bathroom. He fingers the bruise on his shoulder, the teeth marks, before putting on his shirt. Daniel's only in town for one more night—recalled to the SGC—and he doesn't want to bring up what happened. Jack wants to kick himself for letting it happen; he's grown accustomed to not having someone waiting for him at home. Not that it is an excuse for forgetting about Daniel, but he's heard enough about that Vala chick to know that Daniel hasn't exactly been completely monogamous in Jack's absence either. That thought combining with Daniel's visit being cut short—because of Vala—might have slightly impaired Jack's judgment earlier this evening.

Jack sighs, rubbing his hand through his hair, shaking off the bad vibes, the unfair accusations. He hates being away from Daniel, and he can almost admit that to himself. Taking this new job at the Pentagon has its perks, but the biggest downfall is that the only eye he can have on Daniel is from sixteen hundred miles away—and that's only when Daniel is on planet.

Jack hears the paper shuffling, knows Daniel has realized that Jack's home and this is their last night together.

Jack braces his hands on the rim of the sink and examines his reflection. Slight bags under his eyes (not nearly as bad as when he'd been at the SGC for sometimes days at a time), and there is a desperate, guilty look in his eyes. He sighs again, knowing he sounds over-emotional. The only thing for his guilt is to deny and purge. He and Daniel may not have one last perfect night together on this trip, but they'll have other nights.

Daniel closes a book when Jack comes out of the bathroom. Part of the bed has been uncovered and there's a promise that Daniel will move more out of the way. The focus has returned to his eyes and he blushes at Jack.

"I didn't realize it was so late," Daniel apologizes. He gets this way after getting absorbed in his work. It's cute in a completely manly way.

"Yeah, well. Sorry I ran out earlier, just . . ."

"You were pissed," Daniel says. He leans over, stacking three books on the bedside table, two notebooks on top, both thick with loose pages. "My vacation was cut short."

Jack toes an abandoned shirt. "When is your vacation not cut short?" He leans over and picks it up, realizes that it's Daniel's shirt and puts it on top of Daniel's suitcase. "Have you tried not being so damn indispensable?" His smile—as well as Daniel's responding smile—is a bit flat.

Jack pulls the covers back and slips between the sheets, Daniel sliding in next to him. Jack lies back, relaxing into his new mattress—the mattress that up until two days ago still smelled like it was fresh from the factory.

Daniel shifts and drops his glasses on the bedside table behind him. He leans over Jack and kisses him, opening Jack's mouth with his tongue, licking inside, and quickly pulling away.

"Blech. Mint whiskey. Not nearly as appealing as you'd think." His tongue hangs out like he's trying to air it out.

"Sorry." Jack is almost sincere.

"You were drinking?"

"Yeah." Jack scrubs his face. "There's a bar close by. Just needed some time to . . ."

Daniel leans closer and kisses Jack's jaw. "I'm sorry. You know how it is. Our jobs are a little insane."

"Insane?" Jack pulls away slightly.

Daniel shrugs. "It's what Mitchell always says." Daniel trails kisses down Jack's neck leaving a wet, sticky trail.

Jack slides his eyes closed, enjoying the feeling, enjoying Daniel's skin underneath his fingers. Daniel's finger hooks into Jack's collar, pulling, and Jack suddenly remembers that there's something there that he's trying to forget.

He pulls Daniel back. "Hey," he says softly. "Didn't get enough of that the first two nights?"

Daniel is incredulous. "No."

Jack has to laugh at that—honestly, he didn't get enough either.

Jack scratches at the sparse hair covering Daniel's chin. "You're not growing this out again, are you?"

Daniel settles down next to Jack, head propped up on pillows, one arm snaking around Jack's neck. "No one to kiss back in Colorado." Daniel closes his eyes, nuzzling into the pillow in a way a forty-year-old man should never admit to doing.

"What about—?"

"Jack. There's no one." Daniel's eyes are wide and honest, staring through Jack like a lie detector. Jack stares back to see if he can tell when the tick moves, giving Jack's little black secret away.

He pulls Daniel to him, wrapping him in a tight hug. "Tell me something no one else knows." Jack kisses Daniel's head, brushing his hair back from his face.

"The indigenous residents of P3R-451 worship turnips."

Jack nudges him. "I meant something—turnips?"

Daniel shrugs, his shoulders bumping into Jack's arms.

Jack shakes his head. "I meant about you—something no one else knows."

Daniel bites his lip, considering the question. "Why?" He eyes Jack, his eyes remarkably focused without his glasses.

Jack fidgets as Daniel's hair tickles his nose. "Just . . . wanted to. . . . Come on, Daniel, you know I'm crap with emotions." He turns away, releasing Daniel from the cuddle that has suddenly become too intimate.

"I used to fantasize about Sam," Daniel admits to the ceiling.

Jack sits up. "What?"

"Sam." Daniel tucks one arm behind his head. "I used to think about having sex with her."

Jack closes his eyes, his face scrunching up in a grimace. "Could have lived without those visuals."

Daniel kicks him. "Come on, like you didn't."

Jack smirks and waves his hands, cutting Daniel off. "Not the point."

Jack settles back down, turning to his side and running his fingers over Daniel's short sleeves and on to his biceps.

"What about you?" Daniel's eyes are wide and so very blue despite the dim light. "What's something no one else knows?"

Jack purses his lips, coughs, and coughs again. He tugs Daniel's sleeves, straightening out the wrinkles, then spreads his wrinkle hunt to Daniel's shoulder, chest, stomach.

Daniel is silent, giving Jack time to gather his thoughts.

"Most of it's classified," Jack finally says. That's true. Black ops missions, assassinations, accidental deaths—secrets Jack shouldn't tell anyone, not even Daniel. Though Jack often wonders what would happen if he tells Daniel. He's not concerned about some secret branch of the government rappelling into their bedroom in the middle of the night to silence the world's only expert on the Ancients. But he wonders what Daniel would say. Will Daniel still let Jack's hands touch him if he knows the number of lives Jack has taken—the circumstances under which they've died—that Jack remembers the part of his younger self that wasn't disgusted by it?

Daniel's skin is soft. His mouth parts in a relaxed smile.

"I cheated on Sara," Jack blurts, the memory surfacing and spitting out before Jack could consider the ramifications.

Daniel closes his mouth, blinks. "Oh."

"I hadn't meant to." Daniel's hand tangles up in Jack's and he's relieved; he hadn't wanted to be the one who reached out. "I got drunk, got stupid—it was a long time ago."

Daniel nods. "Before or . . . ?"

"Before Charlie," Jack quickly says. "Before we were even thinking about kids."

Daniel squeezes Jack's hand. "That was a long time ago."

Jack nods and tries not to look away. If he looks away, Daniel will ask why he brought it up. And if Daniel asks, Jack will have to tell him that things don't change, people don't change, and that the same boy who didn't think about what it meant to take a life is the same man who carelessly cheats on the one person who has seen him through so much. Jack and Daniel came back from the dead for each other, but Jack can't be faithful to that.

"She never found out?" Daniel's voice is soft, pulling Jack in, welcoming him to their intimacy.

Jack shakes his head, resting on Daniel's shoulder, inhaling deeply and smelling the night sweat and anti-allergen soap.

Daniel swallows and licks his lips. "I'd want to know."

Jack tries to keep his body loose, but is fairly certain his shoulders tense for a brief moment. He never should have said anything.

"I didn't think I could tell her. I thought. . . ." Jack doesn't need to finish, Daniel gets it. Jack is a little concerned about how much Daniel gets.

"It was a long time ago," Daniel repeats.

He's further away now. Physically he's still next to Jack. Jack reaches and holds Daniel just as he was before, but there's a distance now, a distance more tangible than the sixteen hundred miles that usually separate them.

"You went back to her, though."

Jack nods. He rubs his cheek against Daniel's forehead and kisses Daniel. He keeps nodding. He's caught; Daniel's caught him because with Daniel there is no deny and purge. Daniel has truth and knowledge. He records history for a living, he accepts it in context.

"My flight is pretty early."

Jack strokes Daniel's hair and shoulder, lingering over the taut muscles. Daniel's back is always stiff from being hunched over some translation. "You want to go to sleep?"

Daniel shakes his head. "I should, though. I mean, it's an early flight."

Jack catches on like the Stargate coming to life—a sudden whoosh of understanding. Daniel isn't making an excuse; he's offering one.

"You're right," Jack says. "You should sleep. I know what you can be like in the morning."

It's the right tease, and Daniel chuckles.

"Hey." Jack lifts Daniel's chin, matching up their line of sight. Daniel's eyes are a little watery from sleepiness. "I know we don't say it all that often . . . I know I usually avoid it entirely." Jack's eyes flicker all over Daniel's face taking in his full lips, long eyelashes, and tanned cheeks—he really is beautiful.

Daniel darts up and kisses Jack firmly.

"I . . . you know," Jack whispers when Daniel pulls away.

Daniel's eyes crinkle in a smile and he pats Jack's cheek before rolling to his side—they've never been able to sleep cuddled up. After a few minutes, he falls asleep; Jack has always envied him that talent.

Daniel turns in his sleep, instinctually rolling towards Jack's warmth. Jack traces his knuckles over Daniel's cheek. Daniel knows, or at least suspects, but won't confront Jack. It will take a conversation, explanations, and an apology to fix this properly, to make amends with Daniel—all things Jack has little interest in doing.

Jack brushes the fuzz on Daniel's chin, promising himself that he won't let Daniel leave without first taking a razor to it. He rolls over and curls up in the sheets, pulling them over his shoulders, over the marks that evidence his betrayal. The physical bruising will fade in a few days.

There are worse secrets he's had to keep.

~Comments and feedback are appreciated.