Title: Coming Home
Author: Cathy
Author Page: Cathy 
Category: Gen
Rating: G
Spoilers: none
Warnings: none
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.

He came over the rise of the hill and saw them. A child and a man beneath a lone tree. The child sat in the tall grass at the base of the old elm, the man lay curled beside him–eyes closed. The breath in Jack's chest tightened. It might have picked up a layer of dirt and the kevlar seemed to have acquired a large burnt-edged tear straight across the back, but the green fatigues and dark vest were unmistakable. Of course, if there'd been even the vaguest doubt in his mind the shoulder patch insignia would have cinched it. A grey chevron with the number one inscribed upon it was easily identifiable even at that distance. Jack's grip tightened against the barrel of his weapon, sharply scanning the horizon.

But there was no one else. No hidden enemy. No trap.

Only the tree.

The child.

And the man.

Daniel.

He moved forward, half running, half sliding, down the steep slope.

His boots brushed past the long blades of wheat grass and he frowned, almost involuntarily his steps slowed as he approached. The child seemed unaware of him. Daniel's head was pillowed in the little boy's lap, one small hand gently stroking back the short strands of hair. He was crooning softly, a lullaby or maybe a child's rhyme. The young archeologist looked like he was simply sleeping, as if perhaps he had sat down and fallen into a light doze under the clear blue sky of the late summer's day while reading one of those interminably long research articles Jack was always finding him nodding over in the early hours of the lab, eyelids at half mast.

But there was no book by Daniel's dirtied out flung hand. Nor coffee mug Jack needed to rescue before it tipped over and fell to the floor. And no glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his naked nose.

In fact, Daniel's lashes lay dark against pale skin. The sable spikes a soft contrast to the angry purple bruising currently marring the normally smooth surface from temple to cheekbone. The man noted the small red polka dotted splotches which also left their tracks at temples and his jaw muscles tightened at seeing the burns.

Oblivious to his scrutiny, the child continued to pet the unconscious man in a soothing gesture. "Don't worry. It's going to be okay. It's going to be okay." Jack finally realized what the little bowed head was saying over and over again as he stopped before them, his shadow falling across the pair.

The child stirred. Wide, impossible eyes looked up at him, seemed to see right through him, but the hand never ceased its calming motions. "He's sleeping."

Feeling suddenly too tall, too big, too towering over this little boy and his burden, Jack slung the AK-47 to his back and knelt down. His gaze swept across Daniel, and then back up to the child's face. Jack studied him. The boy couldn't be more than six, seven at the most, but he had a solemn mouth and wary sky colored eyes that watched his movements anxiously. From somewhere a soft breeze came up and tangled the long locks of blonde hair, lifting them away from his brow. "He's been sleeping a long time."

"Yes," Jack agreed, "But he needs to wake up now."

The child frowned and looked down. "The bad men tried to take him away."

Jack nodded his head. "I know."

The little boy sucked on his lower lip, all his concentration seemingly bent on sorting through the strands only a shade darker than his own. "He tried to be brave, but they hurt him."

Jack swallowed past the lump forming in his throat and laid a protective hand across the child's, stilling the small fidgeting fingers. "I know that too."

The air went still around them.

For a long moment the little boy silently studied the back of the larger hand. The words when they finally came were simple, but they carried a wealth of bewildered hurt. "You left him behind."

Jack wanted to explain. Wanted to remind him about the deserted city. The artifacts that had been left as a lure. To tell about the ambush. About the mad dash to the Stargate. About the sinking, drop you down a roller coaster, pit of the stomach sensation, he'd had when he had dived down the ramp and counted heads only to come up one short. Of how he had counted again and again checking to see if he'd suddenly lost the ability to make out the number four, only to come up with the wrong answer every time. To explain how they had searched. Bribed. Threatened. Cajoled. Even begged for information. He wanted to tell about Carter's look of horror when they'd heard the name Sokar. About Teal'c actually busting two of his fingers when he'd "accidentally" put his fist through the back of the door to his quarters. But he stared into those soul deep pools of too familiar blue and all he could think about was the way he'd thrown up his hands when it had been an hour past the time to check in with General Hammond, and because Daniel had forgotten, Jack had had to do it and how Jack had stomped off to leave him to his "rocks". And all he could think about was how he'd muttered all the way through his MRE rations about how Daniel was more trouble than he was worth some days, just because he'd had to eat the thing stone cold while he was sending the report through the gate. It had been while he was making that report Daniel had been taken. The encampment attacked. Sending people running for safety while bullets and zat fire flew six ways to Sunday. And that was how he, Jack O'Neill, had left Daniel Jackson behind.

Unprotected.

Unguarded.

Uncared for.

Taken.

But instead of saying any of those things, he could only murmur uselessly, "I'm sorry. It was a mistake. I'm sorry."

A face full of pinched sadness. "He was alone." One free arm reached up and swiped across his eyes and he sniffed. "He's always alone." He accused.

"Not anymore." Jack's voice was rough.

The child stared up at him and then looked back down at Daniel. He pulled a hand out from beneath the colonel's, freeing it to stroke the strands again, patting them smooth over and over as if it took great attention. As if all of his energy were fixed on imparting the one soothing gesture. His breath hitched as his fingers continued their sifting. Once. Twice. Finally he gave a great wobbling sigh and his face seemed to crumple. "P-P-Promise?"

Jack felt like crying too. He reached out and cupped the cheek, still baby-round. It was so young and yet so familiar. As familiar as the soot covered face which had stared back at him from a manmade hole in a prison cell wall, stunned and bewildered after watching his wife being wrenched away, but yet still having the courage to state that a person might not be okay right then, but he would be again someday.

As familiar as an earnest voice pointing out the wonders of the "meaning of life stuff" found in a fortress crumbling into a foreign sea. A voice which hadn't yielded to disappointment even when his audience hadn't appreciated it all with him, but merely turned gazing back up towards the artificial heavens pronouncing it wonderful all the same.

And it was as familiar as a darkened corridor in a Goa'uld mothership, the smell of charred flesh burning in Jack's nose, while pain filled eyes begged from him an entirely different vow than the one he made now.

He swallowed and his voice was as gentle as he could make it, "Promise," Jack said.

The child cocked his head, in a considering gesture identical to the one he would use twenty-eight years later, weighing the truth to his words. Measuring the scale of his friendship. Then he gave Jack a watery half smile and nodded. "Al-all right then."

He leaned forward placing both hands upon the too still green clad shoulder. He gave it a little shake. "Daniel." The boy, who was not really a child, whispered against the unconscious man's ear, "Daniel, it's safe to wake up now. Daniel, Jack says wake up."

And, Daniel Jackson sat up with a gasp.

There was a sharp sound of a chair scraping back, swiftly a steadying hand came to rest upon his shoulder. It's warm presence serving as an anchor as the jumbled sights and sounds of true consciousness washed over him and formed into that of the SGC infirmary.

In bewilderment, Daniel took in Jack's quickly suppressed look of relief which belied the sudden bone crushing tightening of the older man's grip. Sam's startled expression which melted into a welcoming smile from the chair by his bedside, her rumpled clothes and creased face hinting of where she'd been sleeping before. And even Teal'c's involuntary step of surprise from his habitual position of sentry duty by the doorway, taken up as if he didn't feel any of the other MP's could do the job quite as well he could. Their expressions were each heart warmingly profound, and simultaneously utterly bewildering to him.

"Welcome home," Jack murmured his voice scratchy and graveled, in a way which reminded Daniel of how it got after some of their longer missions and too many nights spent beside an open camp fire. He gave Daniel's shoulder a last solid squeeze, before taking a step back to let Dr. Fraiser and her staff swoop into the space.

In confusion, Daniel could only blink at him in surprise as a pen light was shown into his eyes and medical personnel began to ask him questions. But somehow through the flurry of activity surrounding him he was still aware of the three shadows standing tall at the foot of his bed. And it was their presence rather than Dr. Fraiser's and her aides which reassured him that everything really was all right. That there wasn't any real need to worry

That he was no longer alone.