Jack eased himself down on the couch and sighed heavily. God it was good to be home. He slowly lifted his casted leg up on the couch and laid back, biting back a groan as his ribs protested the movement.

He closed his eyes and let his crutches slide from his grip, plunking down on the floor. He sighed again and felt himself relax for the first time in three long weeks. The normal sounds of the neighborhood surrounded him as he started to drift off. The faint drip of the kitchen faucet, the irregular growl of traffic on the street, Mrs. McClarey's dog yipping possessively in the background. Each sound was annoying in its own way, and incredibly comforting.

This was what he'd missed these past three weeks, ok maybe just the last two. For the first week he'd been so strung out on Janet's happy juice that it had taken him three days to realize that he had a catheter. That wasn't something that usually got past him.

The next several days were a seemingly endless stream of nurses prodding and poking, running tests and cold hands sticking things into the few un-sore parts of his body. So many people came in to peek at his leg he considered charging admission.

In the beginning he hadn't minded, once he realized that both he and Carter were alive and mostly in one piece. He'd even gotten a kick out of knowing he'd now set foot, or ass, on all seven continents. It had felt so good to be warm and safe and free from pain that he hadn't minded all the fuss.

Then came the seemingly ceaseless stream of well-wishers and visitors, each wanting to hear how fascinating freezing to death was and dying to regale him with all he'd missed. After the third one he was ready to make a break for it. The last week he'd literally dreamed of getting out of the hospital and going home, sleeping on a mattress that wasn't coated in plastic and pillows that smelled like home and not Lysol.

And now finally he was home. Home sweet home and four weeks to recuperate. He could just relax and ...BANG! He jumped, cursing as the sudden movement jarred his mending ribs. He wrenched his head around to see Daniel making his way in, balancing two full grocery bags. "Daniel, what the hell?"

"If you're going to be stuck here for a few weeks you need food," he said from the kitchen.

"That's what delivery is for."

"You can't live on pizza." He stuck his head around the corner. "And no beer or Janet will kill me…slowly."

"Daniel...."

"Jack relax. I'm just here with a few groceries then I'll leave you to sulk in peace."

Jack lay back on the couch and tried to ignore the rustling of Daniel in the other room. He knew his friend meant well but he just wanted to be alone. "I've got another load in the car," Daniel said.

Jack sighed in exasperation. He got up and grabbed his crutches. "I'm going upstairs. Lock the door behind you," he said not caring that he sounded rude.

"You need any help?"

"I think I can handle it," he dismissed making his way up the suddenly steeper than he remembered staircase.

<><><><><>

Jack rolled over, a stab of pain pulling him from sleep. Cursing in more languages than Daniel knew, he opened his eyes and stared at the numbers on the clock radio glowing mockingly on the table by the bed. 0100. Great. He slowly rolled to his back, deliberately breathing through the pain. He blindly flung out his arm and encountering only a barren surface, remembered that his pills were nice and safe, right where he'd left them, on the coffee table downstairs.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered, staring at the shadowed ceiling. In his pique filled retreat from the living room he'd broken rule number one of recuperation, never leave your pain pills halfway across the house, especially when the chances of you sleeping through the end of their effectiveness was 100%. It was a lesson he'd learned decades ago, the first time he went home to an empty house to lick his wounds.

He lay there for several minutes, watching the occasional flare of headlights from the street flash across the ceiling hoping that the pain would just go away. It didn't.

Giving a resigned sigh he slowly sat up, reaching for his crutches. Actually it wasn't all bad, he told himself. He'd go downstairs, pop some pills and sleep on the couch. Then he'd be all set to scrounge breakfast in the morning. He hobbled down the hall forgoing the lights. He knew his way around without them and anyway he'd just have to come back to shut them off later.

Struggling through the quiet house he fought off a wave of self-pity. Three years ago he'd have woken up with the nice warm body of Sara next to him ready to get him a glass of water or simply be there.

That was one thing he'd looked forward to most of all, going home to someone, having someone give a damn if he didn't come home. He remembered when he was a kid they'd found a body in a vacant lot down the street from his house, a body that no one had ever claimed.

That thought had always scared him in a way, being disposable. Dying and having no one even notice that you were gone much less mourning your passing. He'd served with men like that, men who had no families, no next of kin. Men who spent holidays on the base and that never got letters from home. He'd always felt a sense of pity for them and a determination that he wouldn't end up the same way. Throughout his life he accumulated things, friendships, favors, connections. Things that made him alive. The first mission he went on after marrying Sara had been different from all the ones before; he now had a 5'7" reason to go home. Oddly enough he'd almost felt superior to other men in his unit having a wife and then a son. That sense of family had been something he'd been more than willing to share. More than once Sara had ended playing reluctant hostess to a lost soul.

Then he lost it all. Charlie…gone. Sara soon to follow. And alarmingly enough he'd found himself enjoying the solitude. He took refuge in the freedom of having no one around. No one to ask questions he couldn't answer. No one to give him hell for drinking too much, staying up until 0300 to watch a movie, or to yell at him for passing gas in bed. Freedom was good, solitude was good. If no one depended upon him he couldn't let them down.

So he retired. He shed most of what he'd accumulated over the years. Letters went un-answered. He started to look upon invitations to parties or weddings more as a nuisance rather than a chance to socialize. Slowly and steadily he divested himself of all his responsibilities. He'd saved enough to live comfortably for the rest of his life if he chose. Trips to Hawaii were a little out of his reach but he could manage. He was actually enjoying his peace and quiet. It was so much easier that way. He'd spent too many years fighting, for himself, for others. It was time to stop fighting and take it easy.

But easy seemed to be something the fates didn't want him to have. He found himself dragged back into the world kicking and screaming and flaunting orders as much as he could. Maybe it was seen as a lack of respect, in reality he didn't care. If they wanted him so badly, they'd get over it. And if they didn't like it and retired him again, all the better.

But it didn't work out that way. All of a sudden someone cared if he didn't make it out of bed in the morning, someone was on his ass about writing a report or wanting his opinion on something. At first it had annoyed the hell out of him. He'd had enough responsibility in his life; there was enough blood on his hands for five people. Why the hell couldn't they just leave him alone?

Of course Daniel had gotten under his skin far more than he wanted to admit. The guy was a geek, but a hell of a ballsy geek to not only stand up to Ferretti and Kawalsky's shenanigans but then he stood up to a glowing eyed alien. For a while Jack hadn't known if the guy was brave or stupid. Now he knew that it was a little of each, but for a while he really hadn't been sure.

Maybe that was why he'd left the guy back on Abydos, a chance to give him a future. He wasn't stupid; Daniel had even less of a life than he did. What could it hurt to leave him where he was happy? What was waiting for him on earth anyway? A stern 'none of it happened' warning? Hell the guy literally had nothing, all his worldly possessions in a battered suitcase. He could walk off a cliff and no one would even notice he was gone. He deserved better than that. So he left him behind, gave him a chance to start over, a chance to be with people that cared if he existed.

Going back to Abydos to get him had been the hardest thing Jack had ever done. He had no problem admitting that he'd lied, hell he was surprised it took them a year to figure it all out. And if Apophis hadn't come visiting, they might never have known.

What he hadn't wanted to do was tear Daniel away from his home. He just knew the guy was happy, he'd seen the glow in his eyes, knew that Daniel had found his soul mate. It was the same silly look Jack had seen in the mirror one day in June way too many years ago.

But as much as he didn't want to reveal Daniel's presence on Abydos, there was a part of him that had to know. Had those warriors come from Abydos? Was Ra back? Were those people still safe and alive or were they slaves again? He couldn't not know.

So he'd gone and dragged Daniel back home. Oh they could say that he was following orders, but in reality he knew that if he left Daniel on Abydos it'd be a matter of time before he headed off through the gate in search of Shau'ri. He knew because if someone had dragged Sara off he'd move heaven and earth to find her. Yes, Daniel needed to search for his wife, but he also needed help or he'd be dead in a week. And the only help available was at the SGC. He knew Daniel resented him for a while for bringing him back. He didn't care. He was alive and that was what mattered. There wasn't going to be any more blood on his hands if there was anything he could do about it.

That was the worst part about his and Carter's little trip, not that they almost died, but that she almost died. If she hadn't hung back to help cover his six she'd have been shot through the gate with Daniel and Teal'c and he'd have been the only one sent to the freezer. He could have lived with that, or died with that. His death really didn't matter to him, he'd been at death's door enough times to know no matter how bad it looks it really isn't over until the fat lady sings an aria or three, but he couldn't die knowing that he'd dragged her along with him. But that hadn't happened. She and he were both alive although he really needed to talk to her about her lack of optimism. He was the pessimist in this group.

He made his way into the kitchen, snagging a bottle of water from the fridge, grimacing at the relative brightness of the little 20-watt bulb in the machine. At least Daniel's bottled water craze was paying off; an unopened bottle was much, much easier to manage than a glass.

Not really focusing on his surroundings beyond getting to the bottles of painkillers, he maneuvered his way into the living room. He made it to the sofa and lowered himself down.

"Oof!"

"What the?"

Suddenly the sofa bucked and moved, dumping Jack to the floor in a maneuver that sent daggers of pain tearing through his ribs and leg. He curled awkwardly on his side one arm trapped under his fallen crutch, as the room was flooded with light sending his other arm up to shield his eyes from the painful brightness.

"Jack? Oh my God, are you all right?" He heard as he felt his other crutch picked up off of him.

"Daniel?" He squinted. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Daniel carefully stood up and stepped over Jack, pushing the coffee table away so he could kneel beside him. "Keeping an eye on you. What are you doing skulking around in the middle of the night?" Gentle hands helped Jack sit up.

"It's my house and I'll skulk whenever I want." Jack paused and winced, one hand straying to his ribs. Trying to regain some dignity, Jack struggled to get up. Wordlessly Daniel helped him settle himself on the couch, pushing the afghan to the floor. He then picked up the crutches and set them aside so he could move the coffee table back closer so Jack could prop his leg up.

Settled, Jack leaned back and closed his eyes, deliberately breathing through gritted teeth. Damn it hurt, almost as bad as it did in that cave. Something cold touched his hand and he opened his eyes to see the bottle of water, open now, pressed against his palm. With a knowing look, Daniel held out his other hand and slipped two pills into Jack's palm. Jack tossed them into the back of his throat and washed them down with a gulp of the water. "Thanks," he said laying his head back.

"You know you could have just yelled or something," Daniel said, sitting on the table.

"I thought you were gone. Anyway, I was doing fine until I tripped over you," Jack groused.

"Well if you'd have turned on some lights…."

"I don't need lights." Jack sighed. "What are you doing here?"

Daniel shrugged and ran his hand through his hair. "I figured you might need something."

"If I needed a nurse maid I'd still be in the hospital."

"If you weren't such a pain in the ass the nurses wouldn't have threatened to mutiny if you didn't get sent home," Daniel said baldly.

Jack opened one eye. "They didn't."

"Maybe not mutiny…but there was talk of demanding hazardous duty pay for taking care of you," he teased.

Jack chuckled. He'd heard that rumor before. Sara used to threaten to send him to her mother's house when he'd push her too far. "Why ARE you here Daniel? You can't tell me my couch is so comfortable the you just couldn't pass up the opportunity to sleep on it."

"We drew straws," he dismissed, then caved under a killing look. "Look, I've done the 'crawl into a corner and lick my wounds in peace' bit. It sucks. I just thought that you would like some company is all," he finished with a shrug.

Jack looked at the sleep-tousled face of his friend and had to admit that it DID feel good. Yes it was sort of an invasion of his privacy, and there was a definite part of him that rankled at needing help, but there also was a certain comfort in having someone else around. A sense of security in knowing someone would be there if he needed them. "It would be rude to kick you out in the middle of the night," he said with feigned nonchalance.

"Ya think?" Daniel quipped, obviously seeing through his friend's prevarication but not commenting on it. "So…do you want to stay down here or go back upstairs?"

"TV's down here," Jack answered scooting to lie down on the couch, resting his head on Daniel's abandoned pillow.

His friend picked up the discarded afghan and laid it over Jack. "Want me to tuck you in?" he asked playfully.

"Want me to deck you?"

He laughed. "I'd like to see you try it Colonel Gimpy." Jack ignored his remarks and closed his eyes, feeling the gentle tug of painkillers. "I'm going to crash in the guest room. Yell if you need something," he urged, snapping off the lamp and plunging the room into darkness.

Jack heard his footsteps start to fade down the hall. "Daniel?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"For…everything."

"That's what friends are for Jack, now go to sleep."

Jack heard the door to the guestroom open and partially close. In the stillness of the night he could hear the soft rustle of the covers being pulled back and the slight creak of too rarely used bedsprings.

In his head he imagined he could hear the even breathing of his friend, the steady slowing of his heart beat as he succumbed to Morpheus. A part of him said he should be frustrated, he should be resenting this invasion of his space. In reality he let the sounds, real or imagined soothe him. He felt them sand the rough edges off of his battered soul.

A few years ago he resented his accumulated responsibilities. He was tired of caring, sick of being hurt and ready to give up on it all. He'd hated Daniel at first for the way he'd quietly pulled him out of his pit of self-pity and back to face the world.

And now? Now he wouldn't have it any other way. His friends weren't accumulated burdens weighing him down; rather they were a gentle anchor, keeping him grounded while letting him soar

~Fin~

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