Title: The Return
Author: Brenda
Author Page: Brenda
Date: August 7, 2000
Category: angst; h/c; J/D
Rating: NC17, possibly stronger in places
Disclaimer: Characters are property of MGM, etc.
Spoilers: A wee one for Small Victories
Summary: Daniel is stranded off-planet with a small group of archaeologists
Author's note: I've been a lurker on the J/D list for some time and it's been suggested by some (Lori, Judy...) that I might want to come out and say hi. So by way of saying hi, here's a small offering of J/D. I've been feeling a bit smarm-deprived recently, and this was the result. Thanks as always to my angel and apparently separated-at-birth sibling, Lori

Never again. Never fuckin' *ever* again.

I must have made that vow a thousand times over the last five days. Five days. Five days since we lost contact with Daniel and his little archaeological group on PCX-450. How many hundreds of times have we tried to dial up the coordinates during that time? Carter has the computer set to try them every fifteen minutes. Four times twenty-four times five... Doesn't matter how many times we tried and failed. It only matters the one time we get through, because that's the time I'm going to be in the Gate Room and the first one through the wormhole. The control room has been my bedroom and cafeteria for the last five days. Teal'c hasn't been much better. He's been silently standing vigil by the door, eyes on the Gate, right along with me. The only times he leaves are when Hammond comes up here and orders me away for a few hours.

Carter's like a ghost. She slips in and out, pale and silent. The first couple of days she was full of reassurances, certain we'd establish contact any minute. But she gave up that façade three days ago. When she comes she always brings something -- sandwiches, coffee, candy bars -- hands them over silently, then sits down behind the console and checks the computers, her jaw twitching with tension. But the chevrons never light up. We can't connect with where Daniel is.

Christ, when I think about the ten days I was cut off after Thor's ship blew, and what Danny must have gone through during that time... well, I didn't give him enough credit. It's only been half that time and I'm about nuts. In another five days if we can't establish contact, I'll be totally insane.

When they missed a check-in five days ago, I was worried but not overly so. SG-1 has been late with check-ins too, and it didn't necessarily mean anything was wrong. But when they missed the second, we tried to dial out and couldn't. We can dial to every other goddamned planet in the goddamned galaxy, but we can't dial out to the one Daniel's on.

I can still hear him. *It's an archaeological expedition, Jack. The planet is completely uninhabited, and besides General Hammond said we'd have three Marines along.* He gave me one of those pleading looks that always turn my insides to water. *Jack, I really, really want a chance to work on this dig.* I know Daniel loves his job on SG-1 and I know he loves being a peaceful explorer; but I also know he loves to dig in the dirt and be an archaeologist, and he doesn't get a chance to do that much. We'd found a planet that the UAV showed no had no signs of recent habitation, but it did transmit film of an incredible complex of ruins a good twenty klicks from the Gate. We had an archaeological team set to go there, headed by Rothman, and Daniel asked to go along. Hammond had been warning me SG-1 was due for an extended stand-down due to the incredible amount of missions we'd racked up, and he already had plans for us to be useful in other areas. There seemed to be no good reason to say no to Daniel's request -- other than my own reluctance to let him go play on another world without me along to watch over him. It didn't take Daniel long to point out in no uncertain terms, and in at least three languages, what a really bad reason *that* was, so I caved. Now I wish I hadn't, even if it meant Daniel not speaking to me for the next year and a half.

I drop my head into my hands and rub my eyes. Any minute now the general is going to show up and order me off for my obligatory four hours, telling me to get some sleep. Sleep? The only sleep I've had in the last five days has been snatched around the nightmares of Daniel being captured by Jaffa or falling off a cliff or eaten by wild animals, or... oh, fill in the blank. I've discovered I've got one hell of an imagination when it comes to how many ways Daniel could get himself killed.

Incoming traveler!

My head snaps up. Teal'c takes one giant step forward to be by my side as I whip around to Harriman who's manning the computer. And okay, we've been through this about a dozen times or so in the last five days, but --

"Is anyone --?

"No one due back, sir," he says crisply, his jaw tight as his fingers fly over the keyboard, waiting for the signal, waiting for it... Suddenly he looks at me, face breaking into a huge smile. "It's them!"

It's them. No one has to ask who he means. Our little digging team had their own special designation for this mission, but none of us can remember it right now. All that matters is that it's them.

I'm out of the chair and running down the stairs before I realize it, hearing Teal'c thundering down the steps right behind me. I crash into the Gate Room at the instant the first travelers step onto the ramp. It's Rothman, being supported by another civilian whose name I can't remember. They both look like they've been through a war. Rothman's right arm is in a sling and he's carrying himself in a way that tells me he's got some bruised or cracked ribs under that uniform. The guy supporting him doesn't look much better. Another guy staggers onto the ramp: Kerriman, archaeologist, leaning on a makeshift crutch, a bloodstained bandage around one thigh. That leaves Lisa something-or-other, the very attractive female member of the group, the three Marines, and... Where the *fuck* is Daniel?

I can hear Hammond's booming voice, ordering a medical team to the Gate Room, and I wheel on Rothman. "Rothman, where the hell is --"

"O'Neill!"

At the sound of Teal'c urgent voice I turn my head to see Daniel stepping unsteadily onto the ramp. He looks awful. He's got a dirty bandage on his forehead, his face is almost grey with exhaustion, and his eyes are sunken and dull. But those eyes immediately find me, even though I'm now engulfed in the crowd of medical personnel surging purposefully toward the battered little group. I see it in his eyes the instant the event horizon disengages behind him and we're still four members short. Oh, Christ... I'm at his side in an instant, putting an arm around him, surreptitiously feeling for broken bones and taking inventory.

"They're dead, Jack."

There's a note in his voice that scares me, and I immediately tighten my arm around him. He's positively vibrating and I'm guessing it's from exhaustion and shock because aside from the bandage on his head, I haven't found anything else. "Let's get you to the infirmary, Danny," I tell him gently and begin to lead him down the ramp. Doc Fraiser is heading his way, and I give her a quick shake of my head. Meet you there, Doc. I've got him. Her lips tighten for a moment, but then she turns and follows her team out. Teal'c, Carter and Hammond are at the bottom of the ramp waiting for us, each of them radiating concern and anxiety.

"Oh, Daniel." Carter's eyes are a little too bright as she puts her arms around him in a careful hug. "We've been so worried about you."

"Sorry," he whispers, his voice like crushed gravel.

She pulls back and flashes him a quick smile. "We're just glad you're okay."

Teal'c reaches out and touches him gently on the arm. "Daniel Jackson, it is good to have you back safely. We were most concerned."

The twanging under my arm increases. "I'm sorry."

Teal'c gives him a puzzled look, but before he can say anything, Hammond steps in. "Welcome home, Doctor Jackson."

"They're dead, sir," Daniel says tonelessly. "I'm sorry. It happened so fast. There wasn't anything --"

"We'll get your report when you're up to it, son," the general breaks in gently. "Colonel, you'd better get him to the infirmary."

"Yes, sir." I lead Daniel firmly out of the Gate Room. "Come on. Let's get you seen to."

I watch him worriedly as we make our way slowly to the infirmary. He's positively swaying with weariness, but I know what response I'm going to get if I suggest a wheelchair or stretcher, so I just tighten my grip and encourage him to lean on me as much as he wants. We're pretty much alone as we move along, and I pull him a little closer so he's pressed tight against me. "Are you okay?"

He looks at me and manages a sick smile that is probably supposed to be reassuring, but all it does is edge my worry up another notch. "I'm okay. Just tired. Really tired." As we reach the doorway of the infirmary, he stops suddenly. "Don't make me stay here, Jack. I want to go home."

"Okay, okay," I soothe him. "We'll let Fraiser check you out and --"

"I mean it." He actually grabs a handful of my sleeve. "I want to go home."

I pull him around to face me and rest my hands on his shoulders. "If Fraiser says you're okay, I'll take you home. I promise." If there aren't any hidden injuries, I'd already decided there's no way she's keeping him here. I want him home, in my bed, in my arms, where I know he's safe.

"Doctor Jackson, we've been waiting for you." Fraiser appears out of nowhere and shoots me a meaningful look. With one last squeeze of his shoulders, I release him to her care, giving him a reassuring smile as she leads him away.

As I'm kicking my heels, I spot Rothman sitting on an examining table on the other side of the infirmary as a nurse cleans his arm. Daniel has disappeared behind a curtain, so I slip over to where the archaeologist is sitting.

He looks up as I walk over and asks, "How's Daniel?"

"He's with Doc Fraiser now. Rothman, what the hell happened?"

He takes a deep breath, then says tersely, "Earthquake."

"Earthquake?"

"Happened right after we got to the temple complex. Must've been a 7 on the Richter Scale. Just about brought the whole thing down on our heads." He swallows hard. "Wilkins and Jennings were killed outright. There wasn't anything we could do." He indicates his arm. "The rest of us were banged up, but Lisa..." A shudder travels through his body. "She had broken bones, internal injuries. It was...it was really bad. We couldn't raise Mallory on the radio, and Daniel was the only one still really walking around, so he made us all as comfortable as he could and decided to make the hike back to the Gate where Mallory was camped and get help."

"But ...?"

"But the DHD was almost buried under rock and Mallory was dead. There was no way Daniel could move all that by himself. So he came back for us."

I close my eyes. Twenty miles with walking wounded and a gravely injured team member. "Mallory was killed in the quake too?"

Rothman doesn't answer for a moment. "No. Not in the quake." Before I can ask another question, he continues quietly, "Lisa died the second night. Daniel did everything he could for her, but we only had one medical pack left and most of our supplies were buried under tons of rock at the temple. There really wasn't anything anyone could do." He 'ouches' as the nurse begins to wrap his arm, then rubs his forehead. "Of course, by this time we knew there was something wrong with the Gate itself because no one had come through from here when we were overdue checking in. Took us two more days to get back to the Gate. Daniel had his sidearm and Mallory's rifle, but those were the only weapons we had."

"Why did you need weapons?" I ask sharply. "I thought the planet was uninhabited." If I find out we'd sent them onto a planet filled with headhunters or Jaffa or --

"Uninhabited by human life forms," Rothman corrects bitterly. "These things weren't human. They were some sort of wolf-like creature, only twice as big, and they hunted at night."

I have a sick feeling. "Mallory?" I ask quietly.

He nods. "Daniel buried what was left. He said there wasn't much. He must've set a speed record getting back to us because we were pretty much sitting ducks back there at that temple. We had to keep a fire going as soon as it got dusk and set up watches all night." He shakes his head. "What with the aftershocks and the those packs of creatures howling at night, we were lucky if we got a couple of hours of sleep a night. Except for Daniel. He kept working on that DHD, trying to figure out what was wrong and why you couldn't dial in from Earth."

"Why couldn't we dial in?" I ask, more to myself than him.

Rothman shakes his head. "Colonel, I'm an archaeologist, not a physicist. All I know is Daniel spent every waking minute trying to make the Gate work and couldn't. And then we had another earthquake, not quite as bad as the first one, but bad enough. I thought the Gate was going to fall over it shook so bad. It actually did shift, and as soon as the quake stopped Daniel jumped up and tried the DHD, and *poof!* suddenly we had a wormhole." He rubs his eyes with a shaky hand and adds under his breath, "Thank God."

I give him a light clap on the shoulder. "Get some rest, Rothman."

"Right." An orderly helps him to his feet, and as he's being led away he turns back and says quietly, "And you look after Daniel, Colonel."

I stand there for a moment digesting everything Rothman has told me, then move over to a phone and place a call to Hammond. There's no way I want Daniel put through a debriefing today after what he's been through, and after I fill in the general he agrees. There's nothing we can do for the SGC members left behind; they will regretfully be listed as killed in action and their families notified, but Daniel's debriefing is postponed for the time being.

As I hang up the phone I hear Daniel's raised voice from across the infirmary and make a beeline to the curtain he and Fraiser disappeared behind.

"You said I'm okay so there's no reason for me to stay."

"Daniel, you're dehydrated and exhausted, *and* you're mildly concussed --"

"All I need is rest. I can rest at home."

"I'd rather monitor your condition here."

"I don't *want* to be monitored. I want to go *home*."

When his voice cracks on the last word I see Fraiser's resolve waver. "A word, Doc?" I suggest.

She nods, but throws Daniel a stern look. "Doctor Jackson, sit down before you fall down," she orders, then follows me to the other side of the curtain.

"Is he okay?"

"Like I said, dehydrated and exhausted --"

"And mildly concussed," I finish impatiently. "Nothing that can't be mended by rest, and he'll rest better at home." When she looks like she's going to argue, I lower my voice so Daniel can't hear, "Doctor, I just found out what happened on that planet and what he went through. The infirmary isn't the place for him; when he wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat he needs to know he's safe."

"He's safe here." But it's a half-hearted argument, and I know I've already won. I have an idea she's heard some of what happened on that planet too. "Okay," she relents. "Rest, plenty of fluids, and make sure he eats."

"Not a problem," I agree, and sidestep her to collect my archaeologist. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around his chest, staring at the floor. We're screened from everyone else, and I cup the side of his face with one hand, gently stroking his prickly cheek with my thumb. "You ready to go home?" I ask softly.

He lets out a huge sigh of relief and gets to his feet, wobbling a little until I get a steadying arm around him. As we make our way out of the infirmary, he asks in an undertone, "How bad do I smell?"

He could smell like he'd fallen into a basket of rotten eggs and I wouldn't complain at this point, but I give his shoulder a squeeze. "We'll hit the shower as soon as we get home."

"And shave." He's so tired his words are a little slurred. "Itches."

He's leaning heavily against me as I push the button for the elevator to take us topside. "I think it's kind of cute," I deadpan. "Put you in a hat and give you a bullwhip and you'd look just like Indiana Jones..."

***

Danny and I have taken many showers together. On base, they're just showers, like the showers I've taken with hundreds of other soldiers over the years. Here, at my place, they're much more than that. Having a wet, naked, slippery Daniel Jackson pressed against you under a shower of warm water... well, does it get any better than that? But there are no shower games today. He's so tired he's swaying like a drunk, weaving and clumsy, and I have to concentrate to keep a firm hand on him so he doesn't slip out of my grasp and end up cracking his head on the tile. For his part, he leans against the shower wall docilely and lets me gently wash the grime away. He's covered with scrapes and bruises where he's been hit by falling rocks or tumbled or fell while doing those twenty mile forced hikes on that fuckin' planet. He keeps a hand on me, too, and I don't think it's for balance. He just wants to reassure himself I'm here. I'm here, Danny. I'm here.

He ducks his head for me to wash his hair and I hesitate. "Why don't we wait on that? I don't think Fraiser would approve of getting her stitches wet --"

"It's filthy, Jack. Please, I don't care about the stitches; I just want to get the stink of that place off me."

He sounds so full of despair that I immediately grab the bottle of shampoo and go to it, very careful not to get that line of neat stitches wet. I've never washed his hair before, and I tuck this away for future reference. Under pleasanter circumstances I could love doing this for him. But right now all I can think of is getting him clean and into bed -- and into my arms -- as quickly as possible.

He allows himself to be tugged out of the shower and leans against the sink as I dry him, once again being careful with the bruises and scrapes. His hair is next, and I rub that briskly. It's short enough now that I can towel dry it; if he still wore it long I'd have to haul out the hair dryer. "All done," I tell him gently, and take his arm to lead him into the bedroom.

"Shave," he mumbles, pulling away and fumbling around for the medicine cabinet.

Oh yeah, putting a razor in this boy's hand is definitely a good idea. Not. "Hang on," I tell him, propping him once again against the sink. I pull out the electric razor neither one of us uses and plug it in. I've never shaved another man before, and it takes a moment for me to work out the logistics. Finally, I turn him around so he's facing the mirror and stand behind him to do the job. It's not perfect, but it'll do for now. "Now we're done," I tell him and lead his unresisting body into the bedroom.

He crawls into the bed, then freezes and gazes up at me, a pleading look in his eyes. "Are you going to...?"

"On my way," I assure him, and swipe at my own body with his towel, getting off the worst of the dampness before tossing it onto the floor and quickly crawling in beside him. As I pull up the covers, he presses against me as if trying to come in contact with as much of my skin as is humanly possible. I immediately wrap my arms and legs around him, pulling him in, surrounding him with as much of me as I can. "You're home," I murmur, pressing kisses onto the top of his head. "You're home, you're safe. I've got you back."

His chest heaves and he lets out a sound that is half-sob, half-sigh. His nerves are still twanging, from shock, from relief, from exhaustion, and I begin running a hand slowly up and down his back, trying to soothe him, to ease him into sleep. Every now and then I feel his fingers move on my ribs or back or arm, like he's reassuring himself I'm real. Charlie used to do that with his blanket when he was a toddler. He had a special blanket he needed to get to sleep, and if you'd watch him you'd see him crunching it between his little fingers as he slept, as if reassuring himself it was still there. I'm here, Danny. I'm here. I continue to caress him, murmuring in a low voice, telling him he's safe and he's home and I love him and everything is okay now. I only stop when I feel his body begin to relax by degrees and his breathing slow into the healing rhythm of sleep.

It doesn't last long, and I should have known to expect this. Every half hour or so his body jerks in my arms and he comes awake with a cry of alarm. His

body is trying to get the rest it so desperately needs, but his mind just won't stop. It's still in 'alert' mode, still worrying about those wolf-creatures that tore apart Mallory, still trying to figure out how to make the Stargate work, still trying to be the protector of that sad little band of civilian archaeologists. So while his body is screaming 'I need sleep!' his mind is whispering 'you have to keep going'. This is an argument he's never going to win.

The next time he stiffens in my arms, eyes flying open with a gasp, I'm ready for him. "Hey," I whisper, placing butterfly-light kisses over his face, "it's okay. You're safe. You're home now."

"I know I am," he responds quickly. "But I can't stop thinking about it." He pulls away a little and looks at me, face haggard, eyes heavy with lack of sleep. "What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing's wrong with you," I tell him, cradling his face with my hands. "You've been on overload for the last five days, and there's a part of your brain that just hasn't got the message yet that you're not in danger."

"I keep waking you up."

"Wasn't sleeping." That's the truth. It's still early enough to be light out, and although I haven't gotten much sleep over the past five days either, I'm content to lay here with Daniel in my arms and watch over him. I pull him toward me and give him a slow, sweet kiss. "I have a suggestion."

"No pills," he says quickly.

"I had something else in mind." Wrapping my arms around him, I carefully shift so he's on his back and I'm on top, straddling him as I take my weight on my elbows. Dipping my head, I kiss him again, and he opens to me immediately, letting me check out his mouth as thoroughly as Fraiser checked out the rest of him.

When we break apart he gives me an apologetic look from under his lashes. "Jack, um, I think I'm too tired to...you know."

I laugh softly and lean down for another kiss. "Thank God for that," I tell him dryly. "I'd be a little worried if you weren't. No, I was thinking about a massage."

"Massage?" He's skimming his hands up and down my arms, raising goosebumps on my skin.

"Might help you relax."

"I am relaxed."

I shake my head, and help myself to another kiss. "You're confusing exhaustion with relaxed. You're so tense you're vibrating." I take some time nuzzling the side of his face. "Want me to do something about that?"

The answer is so soft, so hoarse, I barely hear it. "I want you to make me forget."

I pull back and look down at him. It's all there on his face and in his eyes: the terrible memories of that place, the pain of the loss of those Marines and fellow archaeologist, the agonizing fear of never being able to get home, the terror of the flesh-eaters around them in the darkness, the responsibility he shouldered for the team, and the dread that he'd let them down. There's a lot to expunge. "That takes a very special kind of massage," I whisper huskily, "and it might take a while. So I'd better get started..." When I'm done with him, the part of his brain still trying to keep him awake is going to be so short-circuited with other messages he'll be lucky if he can remember his name.

I start with his eyes. Those beautiful eyes that are now dull with exhaustion and the shadows of the last five days. I kiss each one reverently, then move to those smooth, freshly-shaved cheeks, the spot between his eyes, the tip of his nose, and finally his mouth again. I spend a lot of time here. Daniel is without a doubt the best kisser I've ever known, and he loves to kiss. I explore his mouth a bit more, then invite him into mine, and he responds immediately. He sighs into my mouth as I feel his hands in my hair, holding me tight. We're gasping for breath when we finally break apart and his eyes are half-closed. He tries to pull me down for another session, but I have other ideas.

His throat is next. I lick my way across the thin white skin, smiling when he tilts his head back, offering me better access. Oh yeah, he does love this. I fasten my lips over the pulse point at the juncture of his neck and shoulder and bite down a little, then suck. He winces momentarily, then gives a little moan of pleasure.

"This is massage?" he gasps, as I move again and begin licking a rosy nipple.

"Told you," I mumble, preoccupied with his chest, "it's a special kind of massage."

And I massage every inch of that exhausted, tense, bruised and beautiful body. I gently kiss each bruise, tickle his ribs with my tongue, suck each long, elegant finger into my mouth, explore his navel with my tongue. His body is thrumming now, but with a different type of tension. We're well on the way to short-circuiting his brain. By the time I work my way to his cock, it's standing proud and eager in its nest of curly hair. For the last minute or so, he's had his eyes squeezed shut, his head rocking back and forth on the pillow as he moans my name. Now his hands are clenched in the covers and he squeezing them in an ever faster rhythm. Time to blow the circuits.

Without warning I take his cock in my mouth and suck hard. His hips come off the bed as he hoarsely shouts my name. I don't give him a chance to recover. I swallow him to the root and keep sucking as if I can extract every bad memory, every fear, every moment of pain and doubt that plagued him on that planet. His seed hits the back of my throat, and I swallow it until there's nothing left. Then I let his limp cock slide out of mouth, pausing only to give it a light kiss before crawling up to where he's sprawled bonelessly on the mattress, his chest heaving, eyes closed. Sliding my arms around him I pull him over so he's nestled against my chest, head tucked under my chin. He's as limp as a dishrag. Oh yeah, mission accomplished. I feel a warm wetness against my chest and know that's one more outlet he's achieved. He's been holding those tears back long enough.

After a few minutes, he gives a loud sniff, then says, "That was some massage."

His voice is a little husky and shaky and I grin as I press a kiss into his hair. "That was an O'Neill Special."

"Have to remember that. Might want another one of those one day."

"There's a whole lot more where that one came from -- and they've all got your name on them."

There's another sniff, then he pulls away so he can look at me. His lashes are damp and spiked, but there's a new peace in his eyes. "Thank you."

He takes my breath away when he looks at me like that; it's that 'you're my whole world' look. I never get tired of it, and please God don't let me ever lose it. I reach out and gently pull down some strands of tousled hair to try to hide that line of stitches. "Since you've been back have I remembered to mention how very much I love you and how it would kill me if anything happened to you?" I ask matter-of-factly.

He swoops forward and presses his lips to mine in a kiss that starts out fierce and hungry, but gentles into sweet, tender exchanges. Finally he sighs and tucks his head back under my chin, wriggling as I tighten my arms around him. Safe, Danny, you're safe. I smile at the familiar ritual: leg tucked between mine; arm over my ribs; restless fingers playing over my skin, touching, reassuring; tongue tasting my chest; the deep sigh of contentment.

I can almost read his mind: Home. Safe. I tighten my arms around the warm body pressed against me and give my own deep sigh of contentment. Home. Safe. For me too.

The End