It's the first house Daniel has ever owned. For most people this would be momentous.
Daniel remembers now that dusty cardboard always makes his hands itch. He doesn't remember where most of the masks and figures and ceramics in the boxes marked "fragile" came from.
He pulls a Coke out of the refrigerator. It's not cold yet, but he knows he'll need it: unpacking, for him, is an all-night affair. But he takes a moment to sit at the table while he opens the can, and tries to figure out if he ever liked these chairs. At the moment he thinks they're the least comfortable things he's ever sat on, logs included.
His next-door neighbor, Daniel's figured out in the twelve hours he's lived here, has a habit of idling his car right under Daniel's kitchen window. He can taste the fumes right now; the motor chokes just a few feet from where he's sitting, innocently drinking his Coke.
Sensory overload is not a big enough phrase. Baal had, in Jack's words, "walloped Nuby's ass." Jonas, in turn, had saved Daniel's ass and gone home to Kelowna a hero. Daniel's only been Daniel again for a few weeks. He doesn't recognise these boxes, but he still has to unpack them.
He kind of liked his little hut on Vis Uban. No. He really liked his little hut on Vis Uban.
One of these days he's going to sneak out in the middle of the night and steal that guy's keys.
***
Two: Long Distance
She gets so tired of this sometimes.
It's been weeks since her last decent hot meal -- all that fast food on Hebridan doesn't count, and the only thing she cooks in her own kitchen lately is toast. So she arrives at one of her favorite restaurants at 5:10 p.m. on a Sunday, just after they open. The waitress smiles, recognising her, and takes her order quickly. She knows Sam is usually in a hurry.
When she's alone, Sam pulls out her book and tucks the leather bookmark in the back. It's not Sam's kind of thing at all, but Cassie made it in an arts and crafts class years ago. She'd probably be humiliated if she knew Sam still used it. It spells out Samantha in big, blocky capitals.
Two and a half chapters later, she orders coffee -- no dessert, it's hard to keep in combat shape at her age -- and the waitress clears away her dishes and her wine glass.
Sam's careful not to look around much, but she's also trained to notice details. The dinner crowd is starting to arrive and there's a guy eating alone three tables down. She sees, out of the corner of her eye, that he's noticed her. When she spots the waitress returning, she accidentally catches the man's glance. He smiles. She returns it, nervously, and looks away.
He doesn't make his move until Sam's signed her credit card slip and is just about to leave. He walks cautiously towards her, with a tight smile. He's kind of cute, she notices.
"Um, hi," he says. His voice is high, but she knows it's probably not the way he usually sounds. "I'm sorry. I never do this kind of thing, but -- can I maybe buy you a drink? I mean, if you don't have to be somewhere."
That's almost funny. Where would she have to be? Besides work, anyway. But she picks up her book and her jacket and stands. He's taller than she is.
She should probably say yes.
"I'm sorry," she says. "That's really nice of you, but I can't. I'm sorry."
Her arm accidentally touches his as she goes.
***
Three: Twenty-Eight Levels of Concrete
It is, Teal'c thinks, the windows that he will miss the most.
His old quarters are little changed. He lights his candles, though he no longer requires Kel-no-reem, and briefly touches the concrete wall. It is cold.
O'Neill invited him out to dinner for his first night back on the base. Teal'c declined. They will dine together tomorrow. Tomorrow, they and Daniel Jackson will join Colonel Carter and Detective Shanahan to celebrate their betrothal. Tonight, Teal'c wishes simply to be. He stretches out on his back on the bunk, comparing its firmness to the mattress he had purchased for himself. The room smells, as it always did, of matches and beeswax.
Regular earth humans, Daniel Jackson had explained, do not always give help where help is required. Teal'c has lived here for seven years and has only now admitted to himself that he will never fully understand the Tau'ri. Someday he will return to lead the Jaffa, and they will all taste freedom before they die. Someday he will return to his son and to his mentor and to the woman Ishta.
Sometimes he wishes that day would come soon.
***
Four: And a River for Crossing
He really should have insisted on picking up Teal'c. Really, really should have insisted. Never mind that Sam is coming straight from the mountain -- on a Saturday night, when they've got an eight o'clock reservation -- or that Jack, though he'd rather not admit it, probably is, too.
Daniel waits for his beer and glances sideways at Pete Shanahan. Sam's fiancé. Sam's fiancé. That's just so weird.
He buys the guy's drink, too, and leaves a generous tip. Then he offers the smallest of toasts. "Congratulations," he says.
Pete beams, and clinks his pint glass against Daniel's. "Thanks," he says. Or something like that. It's hard to hear over the thumping bass. They can't be seated at their table until their whole party arrives, and knowing Jack and Sam, that might take a while.
"I was getting pretty sure she'd say no," Pete says, talking over the music. "I was starting to plan which bridge to jump off."
Daniel chuckles. "I'll bet." He's always been secretly glad that his marriage skipped right past the down-on-one-knee thing. Pete isn't so lucky, and Sam ... Sam, Daniel's sure, much as he loves her, has got to be an absolute pain in the ass in a relationship. This amuses Daniel. It also makes him think that Pete must be an okay guy if he not only puts up with her, but even loves that indefinable Sam-ness that'd send most guys running.
Seconds pass. Daniel sips his beer, watches the bartender towel up a spill at the other end of the bar, sips his beer again. He realises Pete is saying something.
"You know, I, uh," and he fiddles with the tie he's put on for the occasion, "I know you guys don't have a very high opinion of me, and I -- "
"It's not that," Daniel interrupts. Well, it is, really, but only in the way a brother wants to beat up his sister's boyfriends. Well, that and the Osiris thing, but Daniel is having an easier time forgetting that than certain other people are. "It's just that nobody'll ever be good enough, you know?"
Pete breaks into a crooked smile. He is, Daniel has noticed, almost as sharp with the self-deprecating humor as Jack. "Most days I'm pretty sure I'm not good enough."
"Sam seems to think you are."
"Yeah. Yeah, she seems to."
The moment of camaraderie slips away. Daniel reads the bar mat, flips it over, reads the other side. Pete checks his watch.
"Don't suppose you could tell me what's keeping her locked in that mountain all day, huh?"
"Um," Daniel says, "I don't suppose I could."
***
Five: Seven Years
The air here is dry, the ground he's standing on hard and cracked. Teal'c begins to lick his lips, realises that's a Tau'ri gesture, and reaches for his canteen instead.
Firelight plays on the two tents. From the nearest, he can hear the click, click of a laptop keyboard, telling him that he is not, as he should be, the only one awake. He cannot fault her for this, however, as he rarely shuts his eyes offworld himself. And O'Neill, he remembers well, also found sleep elusive when he commanded SG1.
Teal'c finds himself smiling. While Colonel Carter is concerned for her team, and Teal'c feels he must look after his two Tau'ri friends, Daniel Jackson is the only one who gets any rest.
He drinks more water and looks carefully around the campsite, to the edges where the low light deepens into shadow. He can see very well in the dark, but he does not expect any disturbance. They are many miles from the nearest settlement and the only motion is that of the nocturnal desert creatures. By the scratching of small feet, Teal'c guesses that they are mostly rodents and hardly a threat.
Then there is additional movement, and one tent flap slides aside. Colonel Carter emerges, bending through the opening and stretching her arms as she stands.
"No excitement, Teal'c?"
"Daniel Jackson spoke in his sleep twenty-seven minutes ago," he lies. "He pronounced several Goa'uld obscenities."
She laughs quietly and moves to sit near the fire. Teal'c joins her. The boulder is large enough for both of them to lean against.
"Can you not sleep, Colonel Carter?"
"Too hot," she says. O'Neill, also, used to make such excuses. In fact, the temperature has dropped some 20 degrees since nightfall.
"It is very warm," he agrees.
They are silent for some time. Teal'c sees her eyes scanning the shadows. This is also unnecessary, but he understands.
"Teal'c," she says eventually. "Thank you."
She does not elaborate, and he does not respond. There is no need for either.
***
Six: These Fading Stars
He should probably regret it more.
Millions of dead Jaffa, potentially. Maybe not. But he froze. He should regret the freezing.
Jack shelves the thought for now -- he's good at that -- and returns to the three maintenance reports and two budget proposals he's determined to get through tonight. There's a bunk on twenty-five calling his name, very loudly. But he's got nine teams offworld and only a few hours until daylight, when two of them will come home and he'll have briefings to lead and actual decisions to make. Sleep is a powerful lure. Jack has a lot of experience with lures. And this general thing really sucks sometimes. Maybe most of the time.
He swallows the rest of his now-cold coffee and checks his watch. Their next scheduled contact is at 8 a.m.
He should probably regret it more.
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