Sweet Dreams

Ruffle

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Sweet Dreams

I watch Jack sink wearily onto the couch, the line between his brows carved even deeper than usual. "The fumes from that goop sure clear out your sinuses, but I can't say much for the mini hockey pucks smacking against the inside of my skull like they think it's the goal."

"The chief did say they served us their strongest, uh, goop, to honor us."

The gooey, amber-colored substance in the bowl presented ceremoniously to Jack had looked harmless enough until he took a deep breath as instructed. Dropping the dish with a cough, he doubled over as he clutched his head in pain. The locals explained this was a common reaction among youths inhaling the vapors from the intoxicating de'plu gel for the first time, but they were surprised to see it in a man of Jack's age. They'd grown so used to it that the effect on an inexperienced adult hadn't occurred to them. According to their apologetic explanation, it should wear off by tomorrow. Janet agreed, which was the only reason she'd let Jack come home tonight instead of keeping him in the infirmary.

"That's a relief." Jack manages a faint smile. "At least I wasn't taken out by any ordinary, wimpy goop."

"Apparently no one gets drunk the first time either, which is kind of too bad because it might have lessened the headache."

Sitting back, he throws an arm across his eyes. "It's like I skipped the buzz and went straight to the hangover. That trade-off sucks. Daniel, make a note somewhere in our cultural exchange to introduce the inhabitants of P9X-yadda to the benefits of a good brewski."

"I'll be sure to include it in my report. Thanks again, by the way."

The arm lowers, and he blinks in puzzlement. "For what?"

"For insisting on going first. It could just as easily have been me or one of the others hurting right now."

He waves that aside with a look of fond exasperation. "I'll be more careful next time. Forgot that old saying, something about beware of geeks bearing potpourri?"

I shake my head, grinning in spite of myself.

Jack may have hidden it under a joke about rank having the privilege to be the first to sample the local hooch, but he didn't fool any of us. Sam and Teal'c know as well as I that it's his sense of responsibility as team leader to always take the first risk. Jack was protecting us. He always takes care of us.

Well, now it's my turn to take care of him. He's telegraphing tension in his tightly held posture, in the tiny crinkles at the corners of his shadowed brown eyes. "Let me try something to help."

"Like what? I'd suggest a little hair of the dog, but we don't have any of the scratch and sniff variety."

"I have a better idea. Here, lie down."

Slowly Jack stretches out his long frame as I walk around the room switching off lights.

Kneeling at the end of the couch, I reach down and begin to massage Jack's scalp.

He leans his head back into my hands. "Mm, that's nice."

My fingers slip through the fine, silver hair glinting in the darkened, moonlit room. Jack always teases me that his gray hair is my fault. I tell him since it's his sexiest feature he should thank me. We do have an awful lot of fun finding new ways for him to show his gratitude, which he can express in as many "languages" as I can. I certainly have no trouble understanding what he's communicating physically.

Hearing a soft sigh I see the crease smooth a bit as his tension eases.

That's it, Jack. Let down your guard. It's my watch now.

Swirling my fingers across his scalp, I stroke a pattern of small circles as I press lightly. The rhythmic movement soothes me as well as him. It stirs a sense memory, a task that required the same motions - kneading yaphetta bread back on Abydos.

I never did get the knack of grinding the flour, but kneading the dough was a chore I could master. There was something very satisfying in the basicness of it. My skill stopped at the preparation, however; my baking never measured up to Sha're's. Her bread was infinitely better, although she claimed it wasn't as good as her grandmother's, which she remembered from her childhood as tasting as light as kreltah wings.

Sha're. Her thick mass of dark curls such a contrast to the silverspun silk strands now weaving through my fingers. After I lost Sha're, I never thought I'd find love again. I was prepared to spend my life alone, the way I'd already spent most of it.

I didn't even dare to dream of love. In fact, my dreams were far more likely to be nightmares. That didn't seem unnatural given the circumstances of my existence.

Yet love happened anyway. With Jack I found love again like I'd never dreamed possible. Jack drove away the nightmares and replaced them with good dreams, strong dreams, sweet dreams. Dreams of hope and happiness and life.

Jack knows loss as well as I do, and nightmares. We share the pain and comfort of that, but our feelings for each other are about so much more. It's a connection on so many levels, a love deep and all the more precious for having come so unexpectedly, and an abiding knowledge that we'll go through the rest of our lives together for as long as we have left.

His breathing's steady and even now, tautly coiled muscles relaxed. Long, black lashes form sooty semicircles above the high cheekbones. My fingers still as I regard his sleeping form. The tense lines on his face are gone, and I'm sure when the lids next open the shadows will be chased from the lively brown eyes brimming with warmth and love.

Sleep, Jack. I'm here. I'll always be here.

Lightly I brush my lips across his brow.

Sweet dreams, Jack.

THE END

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