Letting Go: Epilogue

"You sure you're up to this?"

Jack was hovering – and doing a pretty good impression of the worried, mother-hen act he used to put on before … before so many things has happened between them. Daniel kept his eyes fixed on his hands as he buttoned up his fatigue shirt, remembering the irritation - and warmth – that Jack's over-protectiveness had once inspired. Back then, he never imagined that he'd miss it one day.

Daniel knew he'd been confused for most of the trip back to Revanna – and the SGC. That he probably hadn't been thinking straight on the space station. Janet had explained it all. But, for some reason, Daniel wondered if maybe the Tok'ra drugs had removed some of the … resistance; the stubborn, blinkered denial he'd been living in for years. That he might have been figuring things out for the first time. The numbing haze that still wrapped every thought and movement was like insulation wrapped around raw, sensitive nerves; it held him safely distanced from the whirl of loss and suspicion and concern and let him think.

Finally, Daniel thought he had a grip on that 'military detachment' that he and Sam had discussed so many times during those first missions. Looking back on his decisions, his assumptions, and his actions during this mission; answering questions, facing the accusatory stares and harsh judgments that he knew were coming in the formal debrief – he shook his head, grateful that he'd found a remote, unemotional place to speak from.

"Hey – you okay?"

Daniel looked up, blinking at the frown on Jack's face. "Oh, sorry. No, I'm fine. I'd rather get it over with." Put it behind him. Let the murderous rage on Sarah's face slip away, admit how his guts had twisted when he'd stumbled on the vat of live symbiotes, and transform the dumbstruck shock of Yu's first aborted attack among the kneeling lo'taurs into an opportunity for research. One more debriefing, another round of questions he couldn't answer, and maybe Daniel could let it go. At least his hands weren't shaking any more.

"I convinced Hammond to let me sit in."

Daniel stared at the man standing next to him, leaning nonchalantly against the next bed, hands deep in his pockets. He frowned, only one word surfacing.

"Why?"

Ah, there it was. That tiny flicker of annoyance that he'd seen appear on Jack's face more and more frequently over the past few days. It was almost like peeking behind Jack's mask of casual friendliness to the real man underneath. Daniel felt himself nod, felt something snap back into balance as if the pieces of his life that were still not quite fitting dropped into place. After all the hours of wary tension, of careful friendliness, it was a relief.

"What kind of a question is that?" Jack snapped.

He raised both eyebrows, hoping Jack would finally say whatever he'd been too worried, or too uncomfortable, to voice. When Daniel had first woken, all he'd noticed was Jack's presence. Always. Sitting in the chair beside his bed. Head buried in reports, or arms crossed feigning sleep. No matter who else came and went. Teal'c. Sam. Even Lou Ferretti, once. Jack was there. And when Daniel could stay awake for more than a few moments, the colonel started to talk.

About little things, at first. The surprising flakiness of the mess hall's breakfast biscuits. The abysmal state of the roads on Cheyenne Mountain. How the Blackhawks' new goalie needed glasses. The general layout of Janet's nurses along the Jack O'Neill 'cold hands' scale. It had folded Daniel back into the normal world, brought him back to Earth, and allowed him to draw back slowly into Daniel Jackson, linguist, archaeologist, anthropologist, man. A man who lived in Colorado Springs. Who needed to clean his fish tank and had library books to return. Neither a slave nor a soldier.

Gradually, as Daniel recovered, as the constant pain faded into aches and the shaking in his hands lessened enough for him to hold a spoon, the words changed. Jack told him about the Tok'ra base, about Elliot and Lantash, even admitted how Teal'c had confronted him with some harsh truths after Daniel and Jacob had left. And then he laid out the real conversation between Jack and the general before the mission began. And Daniel listened to the words.

The words 'sorry,' or 'regret,' or 'wrong,' were not among them, but Daniel wasn't really expecting them. No, sometime between feeling Sarah's hand clenched with unholy strength around his neck to laying the poison in Elliot's cold hand, Daniel had let go of expectations. He'd let go of a lot of things.

Jack's anger was clear as he took a step closer. "Maybe because I'm your commanding officer, Daniel. Maybe because this is bound to be a witch hunt and the Washington types are more than willing to put your name at the top of the list. Maybe," Jack swept both hands through his hair before turning away in obvious frustration, "maybe because somebody has to keep you from opening your mouth and shooting yourself in the damned head."

The mixed metaphors made Daniel smile for a moment. He perched on the edge of his bed to tie his boots. "So …" The flash of need, the pang of loneliness, was swallowed up by the swamp of his persistently deadened emotions. "So, who's here?" he asked instead. Instead of begging for some other explanation from his team leader, his … friend.

"That useless excuse for a major – Davis, General Vidrine and some suited flunky from the Pentagon." Jack's tone set them all on the level of pond scum.

Daniel shrugged one shoulder. It didn't really matter. The truth was the truth, no matter who was asking the questions. He'd been there. Alone. He'd made the decisions. Alone. For better or worse, nothing could change it.

He straightened, smoothing both hands down the front of his shirt, double checking that the buttons were even, making sure the surface that he showed to the world was properly put together. A heavy warmth on his shoulder finally registered and he turned his head – surprised to find Jack standing so close, his piercing grip on Daniel's right shoulder.

"You're not okay, Daniel. This," he let go and waved one hand up and down in front of Daniel's chest, "this quiet, accepting guy isn't you. What happened to the arrogant prick who always knows what's best? Who isn't afraid of snake-heads or Air Force generals? Who talks like 300 miles per hour?"

Jack's eyes were hot and fierce, narrowing down to slits. Demanding. Dangerous. Daniel felt a sharp surge of answering fury coil in his gut.

"I mean it, Daniel." Jack's lips twisted. "It's too soon – Frasier said it could be weeks until your system's straightened out. Your hormones are all out of whack from those Tok'ra uppers."

The anger drained away. Jack was probably right. As usual. Janet had said the physiological effects of this mission would be far-reaching. The dark irony of that statement had given him a brief moment of heart-pounding, breath-stealing despair, the trusty medical monitors firing off ear-splitting alarms as images of Yu, of Sarah, Elliot's cold, grey skin, and especially his own team's dismissal echoing along his nerves.

K'tau. The Aschen. Sha're's lifeless face. Dreams of murder and world domination. Sam's disbelief. "You're just going to take off with dad and Selmac and make a strike behind enemy lines?" Teal'c's loaded silence. Hammond's quiet doubt. "Do you think you're up to it, son? I will not give this mission a 'go' unless you're one hundred per cent sure." And Jack. "Aw, cut the crap, Daniel. The 'tough-guy' act doesn't really fit you now does it?"

Nothing fit anymore. Not the fatigues, not the weapons, not the trappings of an archaeologist. Too big, too small, too … wrong.

It had taken long moments – and a hastily administered sedative - until he could steady himself, wiping sweat-laced palms against the clean, white sheets. That was the last time his emotions had betrayed him; now they'd hidden down deep, buffered by his own indifference and erratic brain chemistry.

"It doesn't matter, Jack," he said. "I remember everything pretty clearly. How I say it won't make any difference."

"And that, right there," Jack poked one finger into Daniel's chest. "That's why I'm sitting in. Somebody's gotta keep them from eating you alive."

Daniel clenched his teeth. "How are you going to do that, Jack? You don't know … you weren't there." He drew in a shaky breath. No one was there.

"I know that, Daniel."

It sounded like anger, but it looked like something else. Something softer, something kinder … something Daniel hadn't seen in far too long.

"It doesn't matter," Daniel repeated, turning towards the door. "The civilian failed. No one is going to be surprised." 'I'm not – and neither are you, Jack,' he added silently.

Jack watched Daniel's back disappear into the corridor. "Fine," he shouted after him. Ungrateful little shit.

And he let him go.

End

A/N: I don't know how I can thank you all for reading and reviewing so loyally for SO long! I hope you're not disappointed, I never intended these stories to end on a high note, but rather, with the atmosphere that prevailed in waning Season Five, leading up to a tearful confrontation in the 'gate room over a dead robot, and a Daniel who felt his entire life had been a failure.

Comments, as always, are highly appreciated.