One Step Back

a tag to season two episode One False Step

by

Jackjunkie

Click here for information and details

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the authors. This story may not be posted anywhere without the consent of the authors.

One Step Back

Jack paused at the door to the archaeologist's office and scanned the cluttered interior. The room appeared empty. A scuffling noise halted him on the point of walking away. A second look inside was rewarded by a view of the scientist rising from behind a table, arms full of books and papers.

Jack thought back to the scene where they'd ended up on the floor. Daniel had been shouting and had shoved them off the table in his frustration. It was true he'd been upset about the dying inhabitants of PJ2-445, but his headache had been a contributing factor. The low frequency noise from that plant had made them both irritable. They'd said things they didn't mean and would never have said under ordinary circumstances. Of course they'd apologized - sort of - but Jack thought it would do them good to get out and relax now the debriefing was over. He wanted to put the mission's unpleasant aspects behind them.

"Why don't you leave your, er, housecleaning until later," he suggested by way of a greeting. "Time to call it a night and go home. Whaddya say we stop on the way for a drink?"

"I dunno, Jack, I'm really not in the mood to go out," Daniel answered wearily, dropping his armload of stuff on the table. Cascading across the surface, it defied any pretense of neatness. The mess simply looked like it had changed position.

"I'm not talkin' about a night on the town," Jack persuaded. "Just a quick beer. And maybe we can pick up some take-out afterwards. Come on, Daniel, we both need to unwind."

Daniel ran his fingers through his fine hair. "We did just go through all that stress," he acknowledged. "Why not?"

"That's the ticket," Jack said cheerily. "Teal'c's already turned in, and Carter went home to talk to her plants or something, so it's just you and me. I know a nice little sports bar where we can have a quiet drink and forget all about aliens and missions and hidden noises and mysterious sicknesses and all that boring office stuff."

"Sounds good. Let's go."

***

"Two beers," Jack ordered from the bartender.

It was fairly early on a weeknight so the place wasn't very busy. A few patrons were scattered about the room. Two burly men sat at the bar watching a wrestling match on the TV mounted overhead.

"You know, Jack, professional wrestling is really quite fascinating," Daniel observed. "The outlandish costumes and the detail with which the matches are staged is very reminiscent of the dancing games of the aboriginal tribes we learned about on P2K-697. The men would paint themselves with mud and pretend to challenge each other to ritual combat."

"Uh huh." Only half-paying attention, Jack took a sip of his beer. Closing his eyes, he felt it wash away the last remnants of his nagging headache. That alien plant had really done a number on them.

"Hey, Rod, listen to the professor here. Dancing games? Outlandish? I think he's insulting our sport." One of the bruisers at the bar turned a frown on the two newcomers.

"That right, professor? What you got against wrestling anyhow?" his friend inquired truculently.

"N-no, not at all, n-nothing. You misunderstand," Daniel stammered.

"Now you saying we're stupid? He just called us stupid, Stan."

"Guess he ain't as smart as he looks." Stan scornfully took in the scientist's long hair and glasses. "On second thought, I take that back. He don't look smart. What he looks like is a wimp."

"Hey, there's no need for that," Jack interceded. "Back off and leave my friend here alone."

"Jack, it's okay," Daniel began.

"Oh, the wimp needs his buddy to fight his battles for him?" Rod slowly stood up. "That's fine with us. We can take on the two of you."

"You don't want to do that, trust me," Jack said.

"Settle down, boys," the bartender interjected. "I don't want any trouble in here."

"Come on, nobody's taking on anybody. Jack, let's leave." Daniel took a step towards the door.

"That's right, pretty boy, run away and hide."

"Sit down, Daniel. No one's chasing us out of here," Jack half-growled, standing his ground. "Especially not a couple of hassocks like these."

Stan leaned towards his companion. "What'd he call us?"

"I don't know, but I don't like the sound of it." Rod's scowl turned into a grin of anticipation. "Whaddya say we make him eat his words?"

Daniel reached over and tugged lightly on his friend's sleeve. "Jack, let's go; it's not important."

"Listen to your chicken friend, pal," Stan advised, "and go while you can still walk on your own two feet."

"I don't see any chickens in here," Jack said stubbornly. "And I'll leave when I'm good and ready."

"I say you're ready now. Maybe you need a little help," Rod blustered, swinging a beefy fist at Jack.

The colonel easily sidestepped the swing and delivered a jackhammer blow to Rod's soft belly. The man went down with a whuff.

"Hey, break it up!"

The bartender's words were overridden when Jack heard another sound – "Ow!"

Whirling at the cry, Jack saw Stan had knocked Daniel to his knees. The scientist was doubled over, nursing his jaw, his face scrunched up in obvious pain.

"Daniel!" In two swift strides, Jack stood facing his friend's attacker. Before the bully could do more than register his new opponent, Jack landed a sharp right jab, followed by a chop to the back of the man’s neck. Stan folded like a bad poker hand.

Jack quickly moved to Daniel's side, assisting him to his feet. He noticed the trickle of blood flowing from the quickly swelling lip and the wince as the younger man carefully felt along the sore area, checking for damage. "Doesn't look too bad," he announced critically. "We can get you fixed up in no time."

"Thanks," Daniel said sourly. "Can we please go now?"

"Yeah, sure," Jack agreed. "Sorry," he apologized to the bartender, laying several bills on the bar before accompanying his friend out the door.

***

"This should help," Jack said as he handed Daniel a washcloth wrapped around a handful of ice cubes.

Accepting the icepack, Daniel gingerly placed it along his tender jaw. Luckily nothing was broken, but the injury did smart. He was stretched out on the couch in his apartment.

Jack sat down in the armchair across from him. "How's it feel?"

"Fine," Daniel answered shortly. "I'm fine, it's fine, everything's fine. You did your duty, Jack. You drove me home and patched me up. Now, why don't you take off? I can manage on my own from here."

Jack's brow puckered in puzzlement. "Daniel, is something wrong?"

"Wrong? What could be wrong?"

"I dunno. You tell me."

Daniel knew Jack was perceptive enough to see he was ticked off, even if he didn't understand why. After all, Jack wasn't the one who'd decked him. "You really wanna know?" At the answering nod, Daniel decided to lay it on the line. "Okay, I'll tell you. Why does everything have to be run your way? Why can't you let me fight my own battles sometimes? This was my fight, Jack, not yours."

"I was only lending a hand..."

"Which got me punched out. Thanks a lot. Why couldn't you let me handle it the way I wanted to? We could have walked out of there, and no one would have gotten hurt."

"You can't let people push you around."

"It was my decision. Sometimes it's easier to walk away."

"Daniel, they called you a wimp."

"They were jerks, Jack. Who cares what they said?"

"I care."

"Why? Does it bother you to have anyone think you hang out with a wimp?"

"Of course it doesn't! And you're not a wimp!" Jack shouted.

Daniel shouted right back. "No, just a flake who's lost his mind!"

Jack looked like he'd been hit.

Daniel knew he thought they'd settled that unfortunate argument. He'd thought so, too. But Jack's hurtful words wouldn't go away. They'd clung to him all day, bouncing back every time he'd tried to push them away, taunting him like kids in a schoolyard. Nyah, nyah, Daniel's a flake, a flake, a flake...

He tried to ignore them, but they nibbled away at the edge of his consciousness, along with the tiny seed of fear, that maybe, just maybe, they were true. Maybe he was a flake. He respected Jack's opinion, and if that's what the man truly thought of him, maybe he was right.

Jack's next words contradicted that, but not with much conviction. "I never said you were a flake. I said you could be a little flaky. There's a big difference." At Daniel's unconvinced look, he continued, "You know I didn't mean it. It was the noise from that plant!"

"See, that's just what I don't know." Daniel sighed and gazed at the floor, searching for a way to put his nebulous feelings into words. "I know you didn't mean to say it, but I don't know that you don't think it." He sat up and looked candidly into the perplexed brown eyes. "Did you inadvertently voice your true thoughts, Jack? Do you think my mind's not all there? Do you really think I'm flaky?"

Jack returned the look for a moment, then brushed away the question with a wave of his hand. "Not exactly, Daniel. It's like you said, we have differences of opinion; we see things differently, that's all. Look, can't we put this behind us? We never did get to drink our beers. You got anything to drink around here?" He looked vaguely around as if he thought a bottle might materialize on one of the bookshelves.

Daniel tried to bring him back on track. "I thought we were friends in spite of our differences."

"Sure we are. Hey, are you hungry? Why don't I order us in a pizza?" Jack jumped up from the chair.

"Jack, we should talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about. Where's your remote? Here, see if there's a game on, and I'll go phone in the order." Tossing him the control, Jack walked away.

Daniel gave up – at least for the time being. And in a short while he attempted to focus on the basketball game, munching his pizza carefully to minimize any pain in his still-tender jaw. But his thoughts kept drifting back to the anxieties weighing on his mind. After a while he broached another question. "We don't have a lot of the same interests, Jack, so why do you spend time with me? Why aren't you out with Teal'c instead?"

"I don't know, why aren't you out with Carter or some other scientist?" was the impatient response.

"Would you rather I was? If that's what you want, you can just say so, you know. It won't bother me," he lied. No matter how badly he'd miss hanging out with Jack, he shrank from the thought of tagging along where he wasn’t wanted.

"For cryin' out loud, Daniel, how'd we get into this? No, that's not what I want. Whoa, that was a clear foul! Is the ref blind?"

Daniel stared blankly at the TV screen. Jack was determined to avoid the issue. There was only one explanation. Daniel was mistaken in thinking of them as friends. The colonel tolerated him on his team and no more. What Daniel had thought were acts of genuine friendship were undoubtedly simply gestures of pity or team building to help the flaky scientist fit in. When his true feelings were blurted out in the aching haze caused by the plant, Jack was unable to deny them or explain them.

Huddling into the corner of the sofa, Daniel felt his illusions of friendship crashing down around him like the ruins he'd spent his life studying. The warmth produced by imagined feelings of acceptance and belonging slowly seeped out of his heart, replaced by the chill of loneliness. Hugging the too-familiar emptiness to him like a long-lost friend, he berated himself for being such a fool. It was his own fault for mistaking mere politeness for something more – because he'd so desperately wanted it to be more.

He blinked as Jack erupted from his chair with a cry of "Yes!" pumping his arm in the air. The game was over. The Nuggets must have won – a rare enough occurrence to cheer the man.

Clicking off the TV, Jack looked around for his jacket. "I'll say good night and get going. You look like you're still feeling a little woozy from that sock to the jaw. You should turn in and get some rest. It'll feel better in the morning."

"Thanks."

Jack rested his hand on Daniel's shoulder. "You okay?"

Daniel shivered under what should have been a friendly touch but now felt like a false front. "Yeah, 'm okay. Just tired."

With a final pat, Jack turned away. "See ya tomorrow."

"Uh-huh. Tomorrow," Daniel echoed as he watched his friend – correction, his co-worker – walk out his door, closing it behind him with a click of bleak finality.

***

Daniel hunched over his computer console. He stared at a line of figures he'd videotaped on P-something or other – he couldn't even remember the planet designation – but the symbols blurred together. He'd buried himself in his office all morning and into the early afternoon, trying to catch up on his backlog of work, but he was having trouble concentrating. His mind kept straying back to the events of last night.

The sound of footsteps penetrated his fogged senses, and he turned to see Jack approaching his open door.

"How's the jaw?" the colonel asked.

"It only feels as bad as it looks." A wry quirk of the lips accompanied his answer as he gestured to the fading bruises. "I'll survive." He looked awkwardly back at the computer screen. "I'm pretty busy here, Jack, so if that's all...?"

"Not quite. I also wanted to drop this off."

Daniel accepted the small cardboard rectangle and turned it over curiously. "A ticket?"

"Just something I thought you might be interested in." The offhand tone was belied by a nervous shifting from foot to foot.

Adjusting his glasses, Daniel held the ticket up to the light to read it. "It's for the planetarium. A program on mythology and the constellations. What...?"

"Picked one up for myself, too." Jack held up a matching stub. "Thought we might go together if you want."

Daniel was baffled. He knew Jack liked astronomy, but... "What happened to your opinion of mythology as rumors, lies, and fairy tales?"

Jack shrugged. "It's a view based on... ignorance of the subject. So, maybe it's time I learned more about it. Maybe it's not as... flaky as I thought."

Daniel's confusion fell away as a clear light illuminated his friend's gift. And Jack was his friend. This act spoke volumes more about that friendship than any words ever could. This event connected their disparate interests the way the two men connected, learning from their differences and being strengthened by them. Daniel smiled, the security of their friendship warming him once again. "I would like to go. Thanks."

Jack flashed an answering smile. "Great. It's all set then. I'll let you get back to work. See ya later."

"Right. Later."

Daniel watched Jack stride off down the corridor and looked at the bit of paper in his hand. Being friends with Jack O'Neill wasn’t easy. Why did it always feel like he was taking two steps forward and one step back? Well, he'd heard it said that nothing worthwhile was ever easy, and Jack's friendship was definitely worthwhile. It might be slow going, but they did seem to be making gradual progress. And Daniel treasured every hard won inch.

The End

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