Chapter Text
P4R-892 had two moons and no particular reason to be remembered — except that they hung low and white over the treeline, their doubled light turning the clearing silver at the edges while the campfire burned itself down to orange coals.
SG-1 had made camp before the light failed. Sam had the tent closest to the tree line; she'd wanted to catch a soil sample at dawn before the morning mist lifted.
Teal'c was sharing her tent — or rather, had positioned himself just outside the entrance, back straight, staff weapon across his knees, as much a gentleman as he was a sentinel.
That left the second tent to Jack and Daniel — and that had always been fine. Always comfortable, even in the field, even after long days that had gone sideways.
Except today hadn't gone sideways. Today had been perfectly routine: a survey mission, a quiet planet, a DHD that worked, nothing shooting at them.
And still something had gone wrong, quietly, in the way that the worst things sometimes did.
Daniel hadn't spoken more than thirty words since noon.
Jack had been counting.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Daniel had excused himself from the campfire early, which was its own data point.
Jack stayed. Poked at the fire with a stick, half-listened to Sam's and Teal'c's conversation, watched the sparks drift up and disappear. He gave it what he figured was a reasonable amount of time — not so long it looked like he hadn't noticed, not so short it looked like he had.
He unzipped the tent flap and ducked inside, leaving his boots at the entrance. Daniel was kneeling over his pack, pulling out his sleeping bag.
The lantern was lit and set in the corner, and it threw warm amber light across the tent walls and across the side of Daniel's face and made everything feel more enclosed than it was.
"Hey," Jack said.
"Hey." Daniel's eyes stayed on his pack.
"Good day?"
"Mm."
Jack dropped down onto his sleeping mat and sat for a moment, just watching him.
Daniel's movements were ... 'precise' - that was the word. Not relaxed, not absentminded the way he usually was when he was unwinding after a mission - rifling through his bag with half his attention elsewhere. Right now he was deliberate. Every motion thought about.
Jack pulled off his jacket and folded it without looking at it. "You know what I like about this planet?"
Silence — or not quite silence. Daniel was still rummaging in his pack, the soft scrape of fabric and the click of something hard against something else filling the space where an answer might have gone.
"I asked…"
"I heard you."
More silence. Jack waited, which he was better at than people gave him credit for. "The stimulating company," he finished, dryly. "I was going to say the stimulating company."
Daniel looked up at that - brief, pointed - and then back down. Something moved through his expression that might have been apology and might have been resignation and was gone before Jack could get a fix on it.
"I'm just tired," Daniel said.
"You've been 'just tired' since oh-nine-hundred." Jack kept his voice light. "Before that, even. Since the gate."
"Long morning."
"It wasn't, though. It was a very short morning. Carter had us through the gate by oh-eight-hundred, the survey took four hours, and you spent most of it looking at a wall of glyphs that you said, and I quote, 'probably aren't load-bearing.'"
The corner of Daniel's mouth shifted, fractionally.
"So," Jack said. "What did I do?"
"Nothing." He said it too quickly, which was its own kind of answer.
"Daniel."
"Jack." He finally turned and sat, settling cross-legged on his sleeping bag, elbows on his knees.
He looked at Jack directly, which was a thing he did when he wanted you to believe he was being straightforward. "I'm not…. you didn't do anything. I've just been in my head today. It's not about you."
"When you spend an entire day not talking to me and I ask you if it's about me and you say it's not about me…"
"That's generally evidence that it's not about you."
"Or it's evidence that you're trying very hard to make me 'think' it's not about me." Jack held his gaze steadily. "You're allowed to be annoyed at me, you know. I can take it."
Something flickered in Daniel's expression - something more complicated than annoyance. "I know you can."
"So?"
"So I'm not annoyed at you." He looked away at the tent wall. Then he lay back on his sleeping bag, hands folded on his chest, eyes on the ceiling, the posture of a man trying to close a conversation through sheer horizontal force of will.
Jack watched him.
The tent was small. That was the word the supply roster used - two-person, compact - which was the military's way of saying the two occupants would be aware of each other's breathing. Their gear occupied the middle strip between sleeping bags. If either of them reached out sideways, they'd make contact.
Jack had not been thinking about that. He'd been not-thinking about it for quite some time. He reached up and dialed the lantern down a notch, softer light, and lay back.
At the change, Daniel reached up and took off his glasses, folding them with the particular care of someone who'd lost a pair to a bad surface before, and set them on top of his pack where they wouldn't get stepped on. Then he lay back again.
The tent walls glowed. Outside, the wind moved through whatever the trees of P4R-892 were made of - something with broad, flat leaves that rustled like shuffled cards.
"You know," Jack said, to the ceiling, "the silent treatment only works on people who don't notice. I notice."
"It's not the silent treatment."
"It's a silent treatment. I'm not saying it's targeted. I'm saying you've been somewhere else all day and I would like…" He paused. To know you're okay. He left that part off. "To know what I'm dealing with."
Daniel shifted on his sleeping bag.
And made a sound.
It was small - barely a sound at all, barely more than a caught breath - but it had the particular quality of something that slipped out without permission. A low note at the back of the throat, quickly swallowed.
Jack turned his head. "What was that?"
"Nothing." Flat. Immediate.
"That was not…"
"Just pulled something. I'm fine."
Jack sat up on one elbow. In the low amber light Daniel's jaw was set, the muscles there visibly working. His right hand had dropped to his outer thigh, and the touch was careful - not rubbing, not pressing, just resting there with a consciousness that you only brought to something that hurt.
"Are you hurt?" Jack asked.
"I told you I'm fine."
"You're holding your leg."
Daniel looked down at his own hand as though it had made an independent decision and moved it away. "I bumped my thigh on the DHD housing when we came back through the gate. It bruised. It's not a big deal."
"Let me see it."
"Jack…"
"It might need to be looked at."
"It's a bruise. It needs ice, which we don't have, and time, which we have plenty of. It doesn't need to be looked at."
"Humor me." Jack swung himself upright, sitting now. "Two minutes. I look at it, I tell Carter in the morning, she notes it in the medical log and Janet stops glaring at me for not reporting field injuries. Everyone wins."
"No."
The flat refusal landed wrong. Jack went still with it, turned it over. Daniel wasn't precious about his injuries - he'd sat through debriefs with cracked ribs, let Janet work on him with the weary patience of someone who'd made peace with the indignities of medicine. He didn't like a fuss but he wasn't shy. This wasn't embarrassment about the bruise.
"Why don't you want me to look at it?" Jack asked, quietly.
"I just told you why."
"You said why you don't 'need' me to look at it. That's different from why you don't 'want' me to."
He kept his voice level. No pressure in it. The tone he used when he needed Daniel to stay with him, not bolt into his own head. "What's going on?"
Silence. The wide, careful kind.
"Daniel."
"It's nothing."
"It's clearly not…"
"It's nothing, I…" He stopped. He pressed the back of his knuckles briefly to his mouth, and Jack recognized the gesture - it was the one Daniel made when he was translating, not a language but himself, trying to locate the right words for something he hadn't yet said aloud.
"It's nothing I know how to explain without making it weird."
A beat of quiet.
"So it's not about the bruise," Jack said.
"It's about… the bruise is... part of it." Daniel turned his head. Met Jack's eyes across the narrow strip of tent floor between them, and whatever he'd been managing all day - whatever careful distance he'd been maintaining since the gate - was visible now in his face in a way it hadn't been before.
The tiredness of holding something at arm's length for hours. "If you touched me right now," he said, slowly, like he was feeling for the edge of something, "I don't think I could…" He stopped. Started again.
"I've been trying to hold you at..." He was struggeling for words. "...trying to keep you at a…" His mouth pressed together. "…a manageable distance today. And I don't know how to let you look at my leg without… without losing the distance. And if I lose the distance… “
He stopped again.
Jack waited.
"You're going to make me say it," Daniel said. It wasn't a question.
"I'm not making you do anything."
"You're waiting."
"I'm a patient man."
Daniel exhaled - a short, almost-laughing sound - and looked back at the ceiling.
His hands rested open at his sides. He was quiet for long enough that Jack started to think he'd talked himself back behind the wall, and then he said, without looking over: "It matters to me when you touch me."
Flat. Simple. Like a fact read off a tablet.
"More than it should," he continued, still to the ceiling. "More than - given the circumstances. Given everything. I've been aware of it for a while and I'm generally good at managing it, and today I was tired, and the run in with the DHD hurt, and you kept…"
A pause. "You kept being 'you'. All day. Checking in and making the faces you make and I was just…" His jaw shifted. "...running low on the capacity to manage it."
It was suddenly very quiet inside the tent.
Jack sat with it. He'd been not-thinking about Daniel - this specific not-thinking - for long enough that the architecture of it had grown complex in the dark, the way avoided things did. Load-bearing walls. Rooms he didn't open.
He reached out. Slowly. Gave Daniel every opportunity to clock what was happening and redirect it. He pressed two fingers to Daniel's forearm, just above the wrist. Light contact. Enough to require something back.
Daniel closed his eyes.
"For the record," Jack said quietly, "the ‘managing-it’ thing." He kept his fingers where they were. "It's not as invisible as you think."
Daniel opened his eyes. Didn't look over yet. "How long?"
"A while."
"How long is a while?"
"Long enough that I had to start actively not-thinking about it." A beat. "Which is its own kind of evidence."
Daniel turned his head then, and they looked at each other across twelve inches and a few years' worth of not-saying-things, the amber light between them warm and motionless.
"I don't know what to do with that," Daniel said. Honest, in the way he was honest when he was too tired to be strategic.
"We don't have to do anything with it tonight," Jack said. "Or at all. It can just…" He considered. "It can just be true. Both things. That you feel it and I feel it and we're still here." He paused. "Still functional."
"Still functional," Daniel repeated, something in his voice that wasn't quite humor but lived next door to it.
"High bar," Jack agreed.
The silence settled differently this time — less held, less careful.
"I'm still looking at that bruise," Jack said.
Daniel groaned, dropping his head back against the ground. “Jack!”
“What? Feelings don’t cancel out basic medical concerns.”
“You are un-believable.”
“I’ve been told.”
Daniel turned his head toward him. He held Jack's gaze for a moment, then exhaled through his nose. "Fine," he said. "Look at it. But then you drop it."
Jack's mouth curved. "Deal."
And in the small, too-tight space of the tent, with the wind whispering against the canvas and the world outside reduced to shadows and distant stars, that much, at least, felt simple.
-----------------------------------------------------------
The problem with making a deal with Jack O'Neill was that he actually expected you to honor it.
Daniel knew this.
He just hadn't expected to still be lying here, heart not quite settled, with Jack looking at him like that - soft around the edges, but absolutely immovable underneath.
"Fine," Daniel said again, quieter. Like maybe repetition would make it feel less like losing. "Look at it."
Jack nodded once. But he didn’t move.
Daniel exhaled, long and slow, staring up at the low curve of the tent ceiling. “This is a bad idea,” he muttered.
“Probably,” Jack agreed easily. “Good thing we’re doing it anyway.”
Daniel turned his head just enough to give him a look. “You’re enjoying this.”
“A little,” Jack admitted. “Mostly, I’m worried.”
That took some of the fight out of him. Daniel scrubbed a hand over his face. “It’s really not that bad.”
“Daniel.”
“Okay, it’s…” He hesitated, then corrected himself. “It’s worse than I wanted it to be.”
Jack’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture did - attention sharpening. “Alright,” he said quietly. “Walk me through it.”
Daniel huffed out a breath. “There’s nothing to walk through. I hit it. It hurt. It still hurts.”
“Sharp or dull?”
Daniel blinked at him. “You’re serious?”
“Very.”
“…Dull,” Daniel admitted. “Mostly. Unless I move wrong, then it’s…” He stopped, grimaced faintly.
“Sharper,” Jack finished.
Daniel nodded.
“Any swelling?”
“I don’t…” Daniel stopped. “I didn’t check.”
Jack gave him a look. “Okay.” He shifted slightly, bracing himself on one elbow. “Let’s check now.”
Daniel’s stomach tightened. “Jack…”
“Daniel.” There it was again - that steady, patient tone that somehow left no room for argument.
Daniel hesitated, then pushed himself up onto his elbows, wincing as the movement pulled at the sore muscle.
Jack noticed immediately. “Easy,” he murmured, one hand coming up instinctively, hovering near Daniel’s side before settling lightly against his ribs to steady him.
The contact was… careful. Deliberate. And somehow that made it worse.
“I’m fine,” Daniel said automatically, even as he leaned into the support.
“Yeah, you keep saying that.”
Daniel shifted, awkward in the cramped space, and reached for his waistbandt.
He stopped.
Jack waited.
Daniel didn’t move.
“Daniel?”
“I know.”
He just lay there for another second, not quite moving, like his body hadn't caught up with the decision his brain had already made.
Jack’s voice softened. “Hey.”
Daniel looked up.
Jack’s gaze was steady, but there was something gentler in it now, something that hadn’t been there before. “I’m not going to make this weird,” Jack said.
Daniel let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. “You already did.”
“Okay,” Jack allowed. “…not 'more' weird, then.”
That helped. A little.
Daniel nodded, then he pushed the fabric of his pants down, exposing the side of his upper right thigh.
Jack noted — catalogued, set aside, did not examine — that Daniel was wearing gray boxer briefs. Then he saw the bruise, and everything else stopped mattering.
It was darkening beneath the skin, spreading in uneven shades of purple and blue.
Jack’s expression shifted immediately. “Daniel…”
“I said it wasn’t…”
“That’s a hell of a bruise.”
Daniel glanced down, then away again. “Yeah.”
Jack leaned in slightly, careful not to crowd him. “Does it hurt to touch?”
“Yes.”
“Good to know.”
“Jack…”
“I’m not going to press on it without warning,” Jack said, a hint of dry amusement threading through his tone. “I’m not a monster.”
Daniel huffed softly. “Debatable.”
Jack’s mouth twitched, but his focus didn’t waver. “Alright,” he said. “I’m going to take a look. You tell me if it’s too much.”
Daniel nodded, more subdued now.
Jack’s hand hovered for a second - just like before - giving Daniel time to pull away if he wanted to.
He didn’t.
So Jack closed the distance, his fingertips brushing lightly against the edge of the bruise.
Daniel sucked in a breath.
“Sorry,” Jack said immediately, easing the pressure.
“No, it’s…” Daniel exhaled slowly. “It’s okay. Just… sensitive.”
“Yeah,” Jack murmured. “I can see that.”
He adjusted his touch, gentler this time, tracing the outline rather than pressing into it, mapping the extent of the injury with careful, deliberate movements.
Daniel's muscles tightened under his hand. Jack glanced up. Daniel was looking at the tent ceiling.
He stilled. “Too much?”
Daniel shook his head, a little too quickly. “No.”
Jack studied him for a second. “Breathe,” he said quietly.
Daniel blinked. “What?”
"You're holding your breath."
Daniel hesitated, then he exhaled — slow, deliberate, like doing it for the first time.
“Good,” Jack said. “Again.”
Daniel did.
This time, when Jack’s fingers brushed the bruise, the reaction was smaller - still there, but less sharp.
“See?” Jack said.
Daniel gave him a look. “Don’t get smug about this.”
“I’m always smug about this.”
“Of course you are.” Daniel briefly closed his eyes. 'Of all the ways this night could have gone', he thought.
Jack continued, methodical now, checking for anything that felt off - heat, swelling, anything deeper than a surface bruise.
“Doesn’t feel like anything’s torn,” he said after a moment. “No obvious swelling beyond the bruising.”
Daniel let out another deep breath. “So I was right.”
Jack glanced up at him. “You were 'partially' right.”
“I’ll take it.”
Jack’s hand lingered for a second longer than strictly necessary. The air in the tent shifted again - quieter now, but no less charged.
“You’re going to have to take it easy tomorrow,” Jack said, his voice had dropping a notch.
Daniel snorted softly. “We’re on a mission, Jack.”
“Yeah, and I’d like you to finish it without collapsing halfway to the gate.”
“I’m not going to collapse.”
“You limped getting into the tent.”
“I did not…”
“You did.”
Daniel opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. “…maybe a little.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh?”
Daniel sighed. “Fine. I’ll be careful.”
“Good.”
Another pause. Jack’s hand was still there. Not moving now. Just… there.
Daniel swallowed. “You can…” He cleared his throat. “You can let go.”
Jack blinked, like he’d just realized it himself, and pulled his hand back slightly. “Right. Sorry.”
Daniel shook his head. “No, it’s…” He stopped. Because it wasn’t nothing. It was very much something.
Jack shifted back just enough to give him space, but in a tent this small, 'space' was relative.
Daniel lifted his hips off the ground - a small, effortful motion - and worked the waistband back up. "Thanks," he said quietly.
Jack nodded once. “Anytime.”
Silence settled.
Daniel let out a slow breath and stopped holding himself quite so carefully, settling back against the sleeping mat.
Jack watched him, then adjusted his own position. “Here,” he said, reaching for his pack. “Pillow.”
Daniel eyed the lumpy bundle skeptically. “That’s not a pillow.”
“It’s a military-grade comfort device.”
“It’s a bag.”
“It’s an 'excellent' bag.”
Daniel huffed a quiet laugh, then accepted it anyway, shifting until his head rested against it.
Jack hesitated, then added, “Try not to lie directly on that side.”
“I gathered.”
“Just making sure.”
Daniel turned his head toward him, something softer in his expression now. “You’re hovering again,” he said.
Jack shrugged. “It’s my thing.”
Daniel’s mouth curved slightly. “Yeah. It is.”
Another beat passed. Then Daniel shifted – carefully - and winced again, smaller this time but still there.
Jack noticed. “Okay, no, we’re not doing that,” he said, already moving.
“Doing what?”
“That.” Jack adjusted the edge of the mat beneath Daniel’s hip, then reached behind him, tugging at his own jacket.
“Jack, what are you…”
“Improvising,” Jack said, rolling the jacket and sliding it gently under Daniel’s thigh to elevate it slightly.
Daniel sucked in a breath at the movement, then stilled. “Huh...That actually helps,” he admitted after a moment.
Jack smirked. “I know.”
Daniel glanced at him. “You don’t know.”
“I absolutely know. I have excellent instincts.”
“That was luck.”
“Excuse me? I have skill.”
“You have….”
“Daniel.”
Daniel stopped, then smiled faintly. “Okay,” he said. “You have skill.”
“Thank you.”
They settled again, the tent quiet around them. The wind shifted outside, brushing against the canvas in soft, irregular patterns.
Daniel’s breathing evened out gradually. Jack watched him for a moment, then leaned back, letting his head rest against the tent wall.
“Hey,” Daniel said after a while.
“Yeah?”
Daniel hesitated. Then he said quietly, “I meant what I said.”
Jack didn’t pretend not to understand. “I know.”
Daniel’s fingers tightened slightly against the fabric of the mat. “I’m not…” He exhaled. “I’m not expecting anything.”
Jack turned his head toward him. “I know that, too.”
Daniel nodded, eyes fixed somewhere near Jack’s shoulder rather than his face.
Another pause.
Then Jack shifted, just enough that their arms brushed more fully this time. Intentional.
Daniel stilled.
“Get some sleep,” Jack said, voice low and steady. “We’ll figure the rest out later.”
Daniel let out a slow breath. “…Okay.”
A few minutes passed.
“Jack?”
“Yeah?”
“…Thanks.”
Jack huffed softly. “You already said that.”
“I know.”
Daniel’s eyes slipped closed, the tension easing out of him piece by piece, helped along by exhaustion, by the careful support under his leg – and by the quiet, steady presence beside him.
In the cramped, dim-lit space of the tent, with barely enough room to move without touching, it should’ve felt suffocating.
It didn’t. It felt - not really 'simple', but something close to it.
-------------------------------------------------------
The field lantern cast a steady amber glow through the tent, but the shifting canvas walls turned it into moving shadows that stretched and folded with every breath of wind outside.
Daniel didn’t fall asleep. He got close - hovered in that drifting, half-aware place where his body was heavy and his thoughts loosened - but every time he edged toward it, something pulled him back. Part of it was the bruise. A dull, persistent ache that flared if he shifted wrong. But most of it was due to the man lying near enough that every small shift registered.
Jack’s breathing had evened out, slow and steady, one arm tucked awkwardly between them because there simply wasn’t anywhere else to put it. Their shoulders still touched. Their legs, too, from knee to ankle, a line of quiet, constant contact.
Daniel told himself to focus on the rhythm of his breathing. It didn’t help. He shifted, carefully. The jacket under his thigh held, cushioning the sore spot, but the movement still pulled something unpleasant through the muscle.
“Mm…” The sound slipped out before he could stop it.
Jack’s breathing changed instantly.
Daniel froze.
Jack murmured “You’re doing that thing again.”
Daniel closed his eyes briefly. “Go back to sleep, Jack.”
There was a soft rustle as Jack shifted onto his side, facing him more directly. “Can’t,” he murmured. “You’re making noises.”
“I am not making…”
“You just did it again.”
Daniel exhaled, more annoyed with himself than anything else. “It’s nothing.”
Jack was silent for a second. Then, he asked in a soft voice. “Hurts more now?”
Daniel hesitated. “…a little.”
Jack didn’t say 'I told you so.' He didn’t say anything at all, actually - he just moved. Carefully, deliberately, he slid his hand back to Daniel’s thigh, not touching the bruise yet, just resting nearby like a question.
Daniel felt it immediately. Every nerve seemed to light up in response, awareness sharpening in a way that had nothing to do with pain. “You don’t have to…” Daniel started.
“Shh,” Jack said quietly. “I’m not doing anything yet.”
Yet. That wasn’t helping. Daniel let out a slow breath, trying to will his body to settle.
Jack’s hand shifted slightly, brushing the fabric just above the bruise. “Tell me where,” he said.
Daniel swallowed. “You remember where.”
“Humor me.”
Daniel huffed faintly, but he guided him - just a small movement of his leg, a subtle tilt. “Here.”
Jack’s fingers moved in, slower this time, more certain. He didn’t press. Just rested his hand there, warm through the fabric, grounding more than anything else.
“How’s that?” he asked.
Daniel blinked. “Fine.”
“Fine as in ‘fine,’ or fine as in ‘Daniel fine’?”
Daniel almost smiled. “Actual fine.”
“Good.” Jack stayed there, hid hand steady, like he’d decided this was where it belonged now.
Daniel’s breathing hitched, then evened out again, deeper this time. The pain didn’t vanish. But it shifted - less sharp, less insistent. “You’re… weirdly good at this,” Daniel said after a moment.
Jack huffed softly. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I am a little surprised.”
“Rude.”
Daniel let out a quiet breath that might’ve been a laugh.
Silence settled again.
Jack’s thumb moved - just slightly, an absent, almost unconscious motion against the fabric.
Daniel’s entire body reacted. He went utterly still.
Jack noticed immediately. “Too much?” he asked, already starting to pull back.
“No.” The answer came too quickly.
Jack paused. “…No?” he repeated.
Daniel forced himself to relax, even as his pulse kicked up. “No,” he said, more evenly this time. “It’s…fine.”
Jack didn’t move his hand away. But he didn’t move it further, either. Just let it rest there, that same careful, steady contact.
Daniel stared at the dim outline of Jack’s shoulder, trying very hard not to think about how close they were.
“Jack.”
“Yeah?”
Daniel hesitated. After a moment, he said, “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Your thing.”
Jack’s voice shifted, just slightly. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”
Daniel turned his head, meeting his eyes in the low light. “This,” he said quietly. “You… taking care of me like it’s… normal.”
Jack held his gaze. “It is normal,” he said.
“For you, maybe.”
“For us,” Jack corrected.
Daniel’s chest tightened. “That’s the problem,” he said softly.
Jack frowned, just a little. “I’m not seeing a problem.”
Daniel let out a breath, something unsteady slipping into it. “You don’t see how this…” He gestured vaguely, then stopped because there wasn’t really room for gestures in a space like this. “…makes things worse?”
“Worse how?”
Daniel stared at him. “Jack.”
“Daniel.” There it was again - that refusal to let him deflect, to let him hide behind half-answers.
Daniel’s gaze dropped, then lifted again. “You don’t do this halfway,” he said. “You either don’t care, or you care like this.”
Jack didn’t flinch. “Yeah,” he said simply.
Daniel’s throat tightened. “And you don’t even think about what that does to people,” he went on, quieter now. “How it - blurs things.”
Jack’s expression softened. “Is that what this is?” he asked. “Blurred?”
Daniel let out a quiet, humorless breath. “No. That’s the problem. It’s not blurred at all.”
That landed.
Jack went very still. Daniel felt it - the shift, subtle but unmistakable.
“If it were just the bruise,” Daniel said, voice barely above a whisper now, “this would be easy. You’d check it, make a joke, tell me to walk it off.”
“Hey…”
“You would,” Daniel insisted gently.
“…Yeah,” Jack admitted.
Daniel nodded. “But it’s not just that,” he said. “It’s you being careful. And patient. And…” He broke off, searching for the right word. “…kind. In that way you don’t even realize you are.”
Jack didn’t look away.
“And that makes it really hard,” Daniel finished.
Jack’s hand shifted then, slightly higher, fingers curling just enough to be unmistakably intentional now. “Hard how?” he asked quietly.
Daniel’s breath caught. “You know how.”
“Say it anyway.”
Daniel closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, he didn’t look away. “It makes me want things I don’t get to want,” he said.
The words hung between them, heavier than anything that had come before.
Jack’s thumb moved again - just once, a small, grounding stroke. “And if you did get to want them?” he asked.
Daniel’s laugh was soft, disbelieving. “That’s not how this works.”
“Humor me.”
Daniel searched his face, like he was still expecting to find the deflection, the escape hatch. It wasn’t there.
“It would still be complicated,” Daniel said finally.
“Yeah,” Jack agreed. “It would.”
“That’s not exactly reassuring.”
Jack’s mouth curved faintly. “Didn’t say it was.”
Daniel huffed, then stilled as Jack shifted closer.
There was almost no space left between them now - just the thin layer of clothing, the shared warmth, the steady point of contact where Jack’s hand still rested against his thigh.
“Daniel,” Jack said, voice low.
Daniel swallowed. “Yeah?”
“You’re hurt,” Jack said. “You’re tired. And you’re overthinking.”
“I am not…”
“You are,” Jack cut in gently. “You always do this. You take a moment and turn it into a whole… existential crisis.”
Daniel opened his mouth. Closed it again. “That’s not entirely inaccurate,” he admitted.
“Yeah, I know.” Jack’s hand shifted again, this time sliding - slowly, deliberately - away from the bruise, up along the side of Daniel’s hip, stopping there.
Daniel’s breath hitched. “Jack…”
“I’m still taking care of you,” Jack said quietly. “Just… adjusting the method.”
Daniel stared at him, heart beating somewhere in his throat. “That’s not helping,” he said.
Jack’s gaze held his. “Doesn’t seem like it’s hurting, either.”
Daniel couldn’t argue with that. Which was, in itself, a problem.
Silence stretched.
Then Daniel did the only thing he could think of. He reached out. It wasn’t a big movement - just his hand, lifting, hesitating for the briefest second before settling against Jack’s shoulder. But in the tight space of the tent, it felt like a shift in gravity.
Jack went still.
Daniel almost pulled back. Didn’t. "See?” He said quietly. “This is exactly what I mean.”
Jack’s voice was softer now, but steady. “Yeah.”
“And you’re still not stopping.”
“No,” Jack said.
Daniel let out a breath that trembled at the edges. “Neither are you.”
Daniel’s fingers tightened slightly against his shoulder. “…No,” he admitted.
That was the moment. Not loud or dramatic. Just two people, in a space too small to pretend distance mattered, choosing - quietly, stubbornly - not to pull away.
Jack shifted the last fraction closer, their foreheads almost brushing now. “Get some sleep,” he murmured.
Daniel huffed softly. “You said that already.”
“Still applies.”
Daniel’s eyes flicked down, then back up. “This doesn’t…” he started.
“Have to be figured out tonight?” Jack finished.
Daniel nodded.
“Good,” Jack said. “Because I’m fresh out of big decisions.”
Daniel let out a quiet laugh. Then, after a beat, he let his head tip forward that last inch, resting – lightly - against Jack’s.
Jack didn’t move. Neither did Daniel.
Outside, the wind shifted again, softer now, like the planet itself had settled.
Inside the tent, the space felt just as small as before.
But the distance between them - That was gone.
-------------------------------------------------------
The first thing Daniel noticed when he woke up was that the pain was still there.
The second was that Jack’s hand was no longer on his hip.
The third — the realization that he kind of missed it.
He stared at the inside of the tent for a long moment, not moving, letting the quiet settle around him. The lantern had burned out hours ago, leaving only thin daylight filtering through the canvas.
Beside him, Jack shifted. “Morning,” he said, voice rough with sleep.
Daniel swallowed. “Morning.”
Neither of them moved right away.
Then Jack pushed himself up onto one elbow, blinking against the light. “How’s the leg?”
Daniel exhaled, grounding himself in something practical. “Still sore.”
“Scale of one to ‘I told you so’?”
Daniel huffed faintly. “Somewhere around ‘you were annoyingly right.’”
Jack smirked. “I’ll take it.”
And just like that - something shifted.
They got up carefully, navigating the cramped space with the awkward choreography of two people very aware of each other’s bodies now.
Every brush of an arm lingered a second too long. Every almost-collision felt deliberate, even when it wasn’t.
“Easy,” Jack murmured once as Daniel winced pulling on his boot.
“I’m fine.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Daniel shot him a look.
Jack raised his hands. “Not arguing. Yet.”
Outside, the world was bright and sharp, the kind of morning that made everything feel a little too exposed.
Sam was already up, crouched near a small cooking setup, while Teal’c stood a short distance away, scanning the horizon.
Both of them looked up as Jack and Daniel emerged from the tent.
Sam’s gaze flicked between them — quick, assessing. “Morning, sir. Daniel.”
“Carter,” Jack said easily. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Rations,” she said. “Unless you’ve suddenly learned how to cook off-world.”
“I can cook.”
Daniel muttered, “He absolutely cannot.”
“I heard that.”
“Good.”
Sam’s mouth twitched.
Teal’c inclined his head. “You appear… well-rested, DanielJackson.”
Daniel choked slightly on absolutely nothing. “I —yes. Thank you.”
Jack coughed, covering something that might’ve been a laugh. Sam’s eyes narrowed just a fraction. “Everything okay?” she asked, casual but not really.
“Fine,” Daniel said quickly.
“Fine,” Jack echoed.
They said it at the exact same time.
Sam blinked. Teal’c’s eyebrow lifted.
“…Right,” Sam said.
The silence that followed was… noticeable.
Jack clapped his hands once. “Okay! Great talk. Let’s go look at some rocks.”
Daniel pinched the bridge of his nose.
--------------------------------------------------------------
The mission itself was straightforward.
Too straightforward, which meant Daniel had too much mental space - and Jack had too much opportunity to watch him.
“You’re limping,” Jack said under his breath as they moved along the edge of the ruins.
“I am not limping.”
“You are favoring your left side.”
“I am walking carefully.”
“That’s just limping with extra steps.”
Daniel shot him a glare. “Do you want me to fall over instead?”
“Not particularly.”
“Then maybe don’t comment on my gait every five minutes.”
Jack leaned in slightly. “Then maybe stop pretending you’re fine.”
Daniel opened his mouth — and stopped. Because Jack wasn’t looking at his leg. He was looking at him.
Daniel’s expression shifted, something quieter settling in. “…I said I’d be careful,” he said.
Jack held his gaze for a second longer. Then nodded once. “You did.” And let it go. Which, somehow, was worse.
---------------------------------------------------------------
By midday, Sam had definitely noticed something.
Daniel caught her watching them at least three times - once when Jack handed him his canteen without asking, once when Daniel adjusted his pace automatically to match Jack’s, and once when they both reached for the same tablet and froze for half a second too long.
She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t need to.
Teal’c, on the other hand —
“Your dynamic has altered,” he said calmly as he fell into step beside Daniel.
Daniel nearly tripped. “I… what?”
Teal’c regarded him. “There is increased… proximity.”
Daniel could feel his face heating. “We are sharing a tent, Teal’c.”
“Indeed.”
“That’s… logistical.”
“Of course.”
Daniel glanced at him. “You don’t believe that.”
Teal’c tilted his head slightly. "I believe some things do not require immediate definition."
Daniel stared at him. "That's… not helpful."
“I have found it to be accurate.”
Daniel groaned softly.
Across the clearing, he saw Jack watching them.
Of course he was.
---------------------------------------------------------------
By the time they made camp again that evening, the air felt different. Not tense or awkward. It felt… charged. Like something was waiting.
Sam stretched her arms over her head. “We should be able to head back tomorrow.”
“Good,” Jack said. “I’m running low on patience and decent coffee.”
“You never 'had' decent coffee,” Daniel said.
“I had hope.”
“Rookie mistake.”
Sam smiled, then glanced between them again. “I’ll take first watch,” she said.
Jack blinked. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” she said lightly. “You two look like you could use the sleep.”
Daniel nearly dropped his pack.
Jack recovered faster. “I look fantastic.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Teal’c stepped forward. “I will join Major Carter.”
“Great,” Jack said quickly. “Team bonding. Love it.”
Sam’s smile widened just slightly.
Daniel did not look at her. He absolutely did not look at her.
------------------------------------------------------------
The tent felt smaller the second night. Which was impressive, considering it had not physically changed.
Daniel ducked inside first this time, moving carefully, already aware - too aware - of everything that had happened the night before.
Behind him, Jack followed.
Silence settled almost immediately.
Daniel set his things down, slower than necessary.
“So,” Jack said.
“So,” Daniel echoed.
Neither of them elaborated.
Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “Leg?”
“Still attached.”
“Good start.”
Daniel huffed softly. “Still hurts.”
“Expected.”
Daniel nodded, then hesitated. “You can check it again,” he said, like he was commenting on the weather.
Jack went very still. “Yeah?”
Daniel shrugged, not looking at him. “If you want to.”
A beat.
Jack stepped closer. “I want to,” he said.
The words landed differently this time. Daniel felt it. Still, he sat down, adjusting his position, giving Jack access without quite meeting his eyes.
The routine repeated - but it wasn’t the same. Nothing about it was the same.
Jack’s touch was just as careful, just as deliberate.
But now — Now they both knew what it meant.
Daniel’s breath hitched as Jack’s fingers brushed the edge of the bruise.
“Still bad,” Jack murmured.
“Mm.”
“You really did a number on this.”
“Thank you for that clinical assessment.”
Jack smiled faintly. “Anytime.”
His hand lingered. Then, slowly, it moved up, just slightly, not by accident.
Daniel’s breath caught. “Jack…”
“Yeah?”
“That’s not the bruise.”
“I’m aware.”
Daniel swallowed. “You’re not even pretending now.”
“Nope.”
Daniel let out a shaky breath. “You said we didn’t have to figure this out tonight.”
“We don’t.”
“Then what are you doing?”
Jack’s fingers stilled, then shifted - turning from assessment to something unmistakably intentional, his hand settling warm and steady against Daniel’s hip again. “Not figuring it out,” he said quietly.
Daniel closed his eyes for a second. “That’s a terrible plan.”
“Yeah,” Jack agreed. “It is.”
Daniel looked at him. “Then why…”
“Because I’ve been thinking about it all day,” Jack said, cutting him off. “And I tried the ‘ignore it’ thing.”
“And?”
Jack met his eyes. “Didn’t take.”
Daniel’s chest tightened. “Jack…”
Jack shifted closer. “We can go back to pretending nothing’s happening,” he said softly. “We’re real good at that.”
Daniel let out a quiet, almost broken laugh. “Yeah. We are.”
“…or,” Jack continued, “… we can admit that something is.”
Daniel searched his face. “And then what?”
Jack’s mouth curved faintly. "Then we go in knowing exactly what we're risking, being the highly trained professionals we are."
Daniel huffed. “That’s not reassuring.”
“Wasn’t meant to be.”
The silence stretched. Then Daniel did the thing he’d done the night before — He didn’t pull away.
Jack’s gaze dropped briefly - to Daniel’s mouth, then back up. Slow enough to be seen. Clear enough to be understood.
Daniel’s breath caught. “Still not stopping,” he murmured.
Jack shook his head, just slightly. “No.”
Daniel nodded, equally small. “Okay,” he said.
That was all it took. Jack closed the distance first - but barely, just enough that the space between them disappeared. Daniel met him the rest of the way.
The kiss wasn't rushed. Careful in the same way everything else had been - like they were both aware of exactly how much this mattered, and neither of them wanted to break it by moving too fast.
It started almost tentative - a question more than a statement, Jack's mouth just barely pressing into Daniel's, giving him every chance to pull back.
Daniel didn't. He leaned in instead, and something in Jack seemed to settle at that - the slight tension in his shoulders easing, his hand tightening at Daniel's hip.
Daniel's fingers curled into the fabric of Jack's shirt, anchoring himself. Jack tasted faintly of the terrible instant coffee they'd been living on for three days, and somehow that was exactly right - familiar, unglamorous, real.
The world outside the tent - Sam, Teal’c, the mission, the rules - fell away for a moment. When they pulled back, it wasn’t far. Foreheads resting together again, breaths uneven.
“Still complicated,” Daniel whispered.
Jack huffed softly. “Yeah.”
Daniel’s mouth curved faintly. “Still worth it?”
Jack didn’t hesitate. “Oh, yeah.”
Daniel nodded, something settling into place behind his eyes. “Okay,” he said.
Outside, the night carried on like nothing had changed.
Inside — Everything had.