Chapter Text
October 22, 2003
Late October winds fling icy raindrops to sting Jack's face and hands as he steps out of his truck and he tugs his leather jacket high enough to snag it in place against his forehead in a haphazard rain shroud. The mental image of the comical silhouette he must cut as he jogs toward the nearest entrance to Cheyenne Mountain Complex is enough to make him grin, but if the marines posted at the door find the damp and disheveled spectre amusing in the slightest, they give no hints. Jarheads. No sense of humor.
Inside, he signs the logbook and then shakes the water from his jacket as a scrawny airman with red hair and ears that would make Dumbo jealous marks down the date and time. Murphy or Moffat or Murray or something. "All clear, sir. Go ahead," the kid grants just as Jack's phone rings.
Jack nods his thanks and turns down the hall, checking the caller ID and flipping open the phone. "General."
"Where are you, Jack?"
The tone in Hammond's voice has Jack's spine straightening just a bit even as unease begins to simmer in his gut. "I just signed in. On my way up now. Why, what's wrong, sir?"
A beat. "We've got a bit of a situation. I'll tell you all at once. Briefing room, ten minutes."
"Sir."
A frown creases Jack's forehead as he returns the phone to his pocket. The general sounded...off. Not his usual stoic-in-the-face-of-potential-global destruction voice, not his you've-screwed-up-big-time-Jack voice, nor his exhausted, dead inside Heaven-help-us-the-politicians-are-coming voice. He sounded almost...uncomfortable. Nervous, even.
Jack's footfalls beat agitato on the concrete.
:|||:
He finds Teal'c already seated at the briefing room table, nursing a mug of coffee. The Jaffa greets him with a nod and answers Jack's silent question with a blink that efficiently communicates that he doesn't know any more about what's going on than Jack does. He gives the other man's shoulder a squeeze as he passes behind him in search of some caffeine of his own.
"The General sounded queer," Teal'c states thoughtfully after a moment.
Jack's mouth quirks as he fills his mug and pushes aside the mocking memory that it's Waffle Wednesday down in the commissary firmly out of his mind. "Indeed." He reaches for two more mugs, filling them both and then adding cream for Carter, cream and sugar for Daniel. He stirs. "I guess we'll find out why soon enough."
"Hey, Jack. Teal'c." Daniel enters the briefing room with all the energy of a tropical storm. Judging by the mussed hair and bloodshot eyes, he's spent another night with his face planted in a book. Ah, the energy of youth. Or the mania of scientists. Who can discern? "What's going on?"
"Drink." Jack orders, shoving the designated mug into the archaeologist's hand mid-gesticulation. "Morning, Carter," Jack calls out as the major enters at a much more sedate pace.
"Good morning, sir." She smiles in thanks as he passes her the second mug. At least she has the patience to wait until she's seated at Teal'c's side before she too asks, "What's going on?"
"Not a clue, children, except that it's not dire enough for Wildfire but it is dire that I am being deprived of waffles."
"Oh, horror," says Daniel.
"The audacity," Jack agrees, taking his seat with a shake of his head.
"Utter depravity."
"Heathenism, honestly."
"Good morning, SG-1," Hammond breaks in, sweeping into the room and plopping a very thin file folder in front of his chair before he, too, beelines for the coffee pot. After offering mumbled greetings of their own, SG-1 remains silent, watching as their fearless leader seems to stall by taking an actual age to fix his coffee. Or maybe they're just impatient. Jack rubs at a smudge on the table with his middle finger, succeeding only in making it worse.
Finally, Hammond sits down. Stares into his mug as if the answers to life will burst to the surface to bob amongst the tiny bubbles.
Daniel folds his hands on the table and leans forward a bit, eyes cutting to Jack's for half a second before returning to Hammond. "General?"
Hammond takes a deep breath and looks up. "We've got a bit of a...situation on our hands, people."
"What kind of situation, sir?" Carter helps him along.
"An awkward one. I'm sure you all remember the, uh," he winces ever-so-slightly, and Jack can practically hear him questioning each life choice that brought him to this point, "little cloning incident of this past spring?"
Jack feels every eye but Hammond's fall on him. "Actually, I don't remember, sir," he pipes cheerfully, heart rate kicking up a few notches. "I was asleep. For seven days."
Hammond lets out a huff. "Right. Well. It's come back up."
"It's happened again?" Daniel leans forward even farther.
"Thankfully not."
"Then this is about the boy, Nathan," Teal'c concludes.
"It is. There's been an accident."
Jack feels something sick settle in his stomach. "Is he dead, sir?"
Hammond meets his eyes with a secret kindness. "No. He's in the infirmary."
"Our infirmary?" Daniel breaks in.
"Our infirmary. He has some minor injuries, scrapes and bruises, mostly. The main concern is his head injury."
"How concerned are we talking?" Daniel again speaks for them all.
"Well, Dr. Fraiser says she won't know for certain until he wakes up. He's sustained a pretty serious concussion and she's concerned there may be some lasting damage." Hammond pauses and his eyes seem to fade to a murky sea gray before he plows on. "Unfortunately, Major Walters and her husband were killed in the accident."
Jack curses and Teal'c bows his head. Louisa Walters had done a stint at the SGC back when everything was still coming together. She joined SG-1 on an extended off-world mission when Carter was out of commission with a broken arm and Jack found her to be sharp, tough as a nail, and deeply kind and thoughtful—a rare combination to find in this line of work. He'd liked her immediately, and observing the way she gave Teal'c one long, appraising look and then trusted him without question, the way she listened patiently as Daniel waxed poetic about five thousand year-old chamber pots, the way she traded banter with all three of them as though she'd always been a part of the team only served to reinforce that. He'd been glad to get Carter back, and yet sorry to see the young major go.
"We've been meaning to get together. For months." Jack looks up to find Carter staring blankly at a spot of table by Daniel's elbow. "It just never seemed to..." She echoes Jack's curse and shakes her head before looking up at the General. "What happened, sir?"
Hammond heaves a sigh. "A drunk driver hit their vehicle. Completely crushed one side of it before wrapping his own car around a tree."
This time it's Daniel who curses as the small assembly falls into solemn silence. Visiting other planets nearly every week, fighting the Goa'uld, bartering with the Tok'ra, saving a planet that will never know anything of the sacrifices made to keep it safe what feels like every other month...Living as they do, it's easy to forget the mundane dangers that exist in their own backyard. Earth seemed such a cold and dark place before Jack traveled to Abydos that first time. Met Daniel, saw and believed in the simple beauty of humanity for the first time in years—a beauty made brighter against the harsh and hideous backdrop of a false god and his followers. When he came home, Earth seemed precious and full of light and kindnesses small and large. He wanted nothing more than to experience that light again for himself, save for to keep it safe. To shield this little planet from the enormous evil lurking beyond its laughable reach.
And yet wrong exists everywhere, and Earth is just another little planet full of sinners, prone to the heartbreaks that sinners wreak for themselves.
And now Jack's clone—his second chance—has lost his family. Again.
"What's going to happen to him, General?" Jack's voice comes out cold and disinterested and he hates himself for it.
"That's what we're here to discuss," Hammond says, bolstering. "It depends, of course, to a large degree on how his recovery goes. If all goes well, I expect we will try to find a new family for him as soon as possible."
"Uh, General," Daniel inserts. "Shouldn't Nathan have a say in this?"
"Well, what is the alternative, Dr. Jackson? However old he feels he is," this time even the general can't prevent his eyes from straying briefly in Jack's direction, "he's still a minor, and no amount of paperwork or identification is going to convince anyone outside of this mountain otherwise. Not to mention, this is what he asked for the first time around."
"Well, yes," now Daniel's gaze bores a hole into Jack's being for a brief moment before skipping back to the general. "But that was before he lost his family." His voice softens almost imperceptibly as he pulls off his glasses and polishes them on his T-shirt. "He may not want a new one just yet."
Jack fights the urge to squirm as the desire to crawl out of his skin becomes almost unbearable. He folds his hands to still his restless fingers, plants his feet firmly on the floor.
"That's a valid concern," Hammond grants. "However, in the past he made it very clear that he did not want to stay—"
"Pardon me, sir." Janet stands at the top of the stairs, a look of professional calm firmly set on her face. The hair at the base of Jack's skull prickles and rises as a crackle of apprehension shivers down his spine.
"Come in, Doctor. News?"
"Yes, sir." She takes a seat beside Carter and folds her hands on the table. "He's awake."
When she doesn't immediately continue, Daniel prompts, "That's good, right?"
She takes a deep breath. "It is. He's aware and responsive and seems to have control of all his motor skills."
"So what's the problem, Doc?" Jack asks, too sharply.
She looks at him for the first time since entering the briefing room and holds his gaze. "He doesn't remember anything."
:|||:
"So. When you say 'anything...'" Jack leads in hushed tones, hands safely in his pockets, eyes locked on the disconcertingly slight figure asleep in an infirmary bed several yards away.
"I mean anything," Janet confirms once again, patiently, leaning against the doorframe. "As far as I can tell so far, his semantic memories—his general knowledge: the sixteenth president of the United States, the alphabet, the capital of Colorado, and so forth—are all intact. We may notice a few holes moving forward, but so far everything is looking good. As far as his episodic memories? Zilch." She runs a hand through her hair and shakes her head, her own gaze falling on the sleeping kid. Jack realizes for the first time how tired she looks—hair a bit mussed, eyes lacking their warm glitter, the ever-present meticulous application of lipstick a thing of the far past. "He doesn't remember who he is, who we are. He doesn't remember where he...came from, and he doesn't seem to have any of your memories from your life up to that point, either."
"Will he recover them?"
"I don't know, sir." Soft, discouraged.
He extricates a hand from his pocket and reaches out to gently clasp her shoulder. "Janet."
Her eyes cut back to his.
"Have you been here all night?"
She huffs, but it's a drained, weary sound. "I'd almost managed to forget, thank you very much. They brought him in just before I planned to clock out."
Head tipping to indicate their guest, "He's stable?"
"He is. I don't expect any trouble now."
"Is Warner here?"
"Yes, sir."
"Great. Go home, Doc. Get some rest. Kiss Cass for me. That's an order."
Her eyes stray once more toward the bed.
"Aht! You have your orders. Go. Git. Skedaddle. Now."
Another huff, but this time genuine amusement warms her eyes and they sparkle with just a bit of their usual luster as she smiles up at him. "Thank you, sir."
"Yeah, yeah. Don't forget—"
"I'll give Cassandra a kiss right on the nose, just for you," she says, shrugging out of her lab coat.
"Good woman."
A few minutes later, he's alone with himself in the infirmary. He scowls, presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Why me, God?"
God does not immediately reply, and when he opens his eyes, the kid—he himself, Colonel Jonathan "Jack" O'Neill, USAF, fifty-one years in the body of a fifteen-year-old—is still there. A sigh bursts free with all the gusto of Old Faithful and Jack sinks into the chair by the kid's side, grumbling faintly as his knees creak in protest.
"What are we gonna do with you, O'Neill?" he breathes to his smaller self.
His only answer is the steady blip of the monitors.
:|||:
October 23
"News, General?" Daniel queries almost before Hammond is all the way out of his office the next morning.
The Hammond's eyes scan the occupants of the table—comprised of SG-1 and honorary member Janet Fraiser—as he takes his seat at the head of the briefing room table. He turns to Janet, studies her for a moment. The unflappable doctor appears to be slightly...flapped. But she meets his eyes gamely and straightens ever so slightly, waiting for his go-ahead. He nods and every eye turns on Janet.
"Well, everything is looking good. He slept all day yesterday, except for about an hour after his initial awakening, and then slept most of the night. He woke again shortly after I came in this morning, and he's been awake ever since. He continues to be lucid, though I suspect he will be experiencing a good bit of nausea and frequent headaches for the next week or two." She pauses, visibly gathers her thoughts, baiting their breaths. "He still doesn't remember anything. He does, however, remember the events of yesterday—the ones he was aware enough to form, anyway." She smiles slightly, meeting their eyes one by one. "This is a very good sign. With all that we've seen, I fully expect him to be able to make and retain both long and short-term memories going forward."
"And his past memories, Doctor?" Hammond queries.
She lets out a soft sigh. "Unfortunately, that I do not know. I suspect we won't know, until and unless something changes. It's a waiting game, sir."
A long beat of silence passes before Dr. Jackson—as is frequently the case—voices the question they've all been thinking.
"So...what now?" His lips are pursed in that way that always reminds him of the face his youngest granddaughter makes when she's feeling precocious. "I mean, what do we tell him? Ordinarily I would be all in favor of the truth, but…"
"But in this case, he's already feeling vulnerable and probably very frightened and the truth is frankly ridiculous and very likely to send him over the edge," Janet finishes. "That's my concern as well."
"I mean, would he even believe us?" Major Carter asks.
"He would not," O'Neill supplies matter-of-factly and all eyes turn on him. He shrugs and returns to whatever doodle is taking place on his legal pad today.
"We have the Stargate just below us," Teal'c interjects, "freely at our disposal. If he requires proof, why should we not simply take him through it?"
"He's just awoken in a military base after a serious trauma—both physical and emotional—and he remembers nothing from before, nothing about where he is, who we are…" Janet's eyes cut to O'Neill's downturned face for the scarcest moment. "He's putting up a brave face—"
"No surprise there," Dr. Jackson mutters under his breath, causing Major Carter to place her hand strategically in front of her mouth.
"—but he's under tremendous stress and too much too soon is almost certainly a bad idea. He's got enough to process without learning there are aliens on our doorstep and he is the accidental creation of one of them."
Teal'c dips his head in understanding, though Hammond can see he feels they are giving O'Neill—both of them—too little credit. "I trust your judgment in such matters, Doctor Fraiser."
"So, we're back to our original question," Hammond redirects. "What happens to him now?"
"I don't think he should stay here, sir," the doctor states firmly. "The minute he's well enough to be out of my infirmary, that's exactly where I want him."
"You wound me, Doc," O'Neill blithes without looking up.
"Believe it or not, sir, in this case it's for his own good rather than to spare my nurses." She smirks slightly. "Your younger self is very polite and cooperative."
Major Carter presses a knuckle to her lip in yet another shoddy attempt to cover a smile and if Hammond didn't know better, he'd think perhaps the colonel's ears just tinged a shade or two pinker than usual.
Fraiser turns back to Hammond. "I just don't think this is a good environment for him right now, General. So much…"
"Concrete," Teal'c offers, efficient to the end.
"Exactly. He needs to be somewhere that feels laid back, something that will grow familiar and comfortable. I realize he's not just any teenager, but I can tell you he has all the hormones of one, and like any teenager—any person, really—he needs a home, sir."
"I agree with you, Doctor. However, Major Walters and her husband were almost uniquely qualified to handle his situation," Hammond says. "I'm not sure how we're going to find someone that's able and willing to take in—"
"He can stay with me, sir."
Five heads swivel to stare at Jack O'Neill.
"Pardon me, Colonel, would you repeat that?" Hammond can't quite keep the incredulity out of his voice.
"I said," O'Neill sets down his pad and meets Hammond's gaze, ignoring all the others, "he can stay with me." A shrug, slouching further back into the upholstery. "I mean, just until we figure out a good solution."
Hammond finds himself half-wishing he had a pin to drop.
O'Neill finally glances between the others. "What?"
The occupants of the room may be silent in technicality, but the air fairly buzzes as everyone tries to formulate their scattered thoughts into coherent questions.
"I said temporarily," O'Neill reiterates. "One would think none of you had ever seen a couple'a clones living together before. Sheesh."
Finally, Major Carter pipes up, bless her soul. "But, Colonel…" Well. Points for trying.
"What? If Daniel had offered none of you would have given it a second thought."
"Maybe, but uh," Dr. Jackson's lips are pursed again, "I didn't offer. You did." Hammond can't see the glare O'Neill turns to level on Jackson, but it must have been special because the undauntable doctor raises his hands in placation. "I'm just saying, it was a little unexpected."
"Exceedingly so."
"Et tu, Brute?" O'Neill shoots Teal'c a wounded look.
Teal'c's right eyebrow quirks an impressively explicit I said what I said and Hammond half-expects O'Neill to stick out his tongue at him. He waves his hand to reclaim their attention.
"Are you sure about this, Colonel?"
"Well, I've lived with the guy for the last five decades, sir. How hard can it be?" Spoken with the cocky lilt that means O'Neill has reservations he is not planning to share with the rest of the class.
"Jack…"
"I want to do it. Sir."
Hammond looks at him, long and hard. Brown eyes gaze back, guarded beneath a facade of nonchalance. He looks around the rest of the table. Doctors Jackson and Fraiser have matching gleams of something not unlike pride in their eyes as they watch, Jackson's eyes darting between the colonel and Hammond, Fraiser's settled steadily on O'Neill. In Teal'c's face is set a granite conviction as he intercepts and holds Hammond's gaze, a wordless but unmistakable show of support for his brother. Major Carter's focus skips to and fro about the table, observing all the reactions and no doubt attempting to calculate the most likely outcome of this unprecedented little scenario of theirs.
Finally, he settles back on O'Neill. Shakes his head. "You're sure?"
"Yes, sir."
Hammond leans back in his chair, a pent-up sigh gusting free as he throws up his hands. "Very well. I can't think of any reason to say no. It's your call, Colonel. But if you have any reservations, you are free to change your mind at any point. Understood?"
"Thank you, sir."
:|||:
After a rather grueling session of brainstorming between Hammond, Jack, and Janet Fraiser, it's decided that Colonel O'Neill will pose as Nathan's uncle to explain any familiarity or resemblance the boy might catch onto. And knowing his adult counterpart as she does, Janet has no doubt he will catch on. Conscience torn at lying to a patient—a patient who happens to be a version of one of the best friends she can ever hope to have, incidentally—she points out that Jack doesn't have any siblings, but he counters that Nathan won't be staying with him long enough for any real-life connections to point it out. Janet takes this to mean he doesn't have any real-life connections that check in on him often enough for it to be even a conceivable problem, and it pangs her. Hammond assures her that they will be working round the clock to find a more permanent solution for the boy, and at last she concedes, though the idea of shunting the poor kid around ruffles a few feathers of her inner mother hen. A few more details are discussed and decided upon, and dismissed, Janet and Jack make their way out of Hammond's office and into the briefing room. Janet snags his sleeve before he reaches the stairs.
He turns back. "Doc?"
"Colonel…" She drops her hand and shrugs helplessly as every shred of tact fails her. "Why are you doing this?"
For a moment, she thinks she's lost him, that he's shut her out. But after a few tense beats he deflates with a sigh and leans back on the table behind him. She joins him, crossing her arms over her clipboard and her chest. Waits.
Finally, softly, "Why did you take Cassie in?"
"I wanted to be sure she would have someone who cared," she starts, slowly. "And maybe knew, at least a bit, what she'd been through. Someone she could talk to, when she needed it. I didn't want her to have to bear her secrets alone."
"Hmm."
They linger there, the clock on the wall ticking a few cycles. Then Jack bumps her shoulder with his, straightens, and heads down the stairs, leaving her to wonder if she's just been the answered or the answerer.
:|||:
The increasingly familiar beeps and blips of infirmary monitors once again welcome Nathan upon what he counts as his fifth return to the waking world. A cautious peek through cracked lids reveals the same slate gray ceiling he's been staring at the last day or two. He lets out a sigh on a groan and scrubs at his eyes in a vain attempt to chase away the ever-present ache behind them.
"Morning, sunshine."
Nathan whips his hand away at the voice and turns his head to find his unexpected neighbor slouched in a folding chair a few feet away. He has gray hair, dark on the top, elsewhere whitening, and wears the same green fatigues he's seen the other staff wearing as they come and go. Dark eyes twinkle with muted mirth and...something else. Nathan pushes up on his elbows, blinking furiously when his head spins.
"Do I know you?" he asks in what he hopes is a polite tone when the world stops swimming.
The man's posture changes almost imperceptibly, head canting to the side. "Why, do you remember anything?"
Nathan thinks, hard. Lets out another sigh and rakes a hand over his face. "No. No, I thought—your voice. It sounded familiar for a second."
"Well, it should."
Nathan's head comes up. "So I do know you."
A smirk that can only be described as loaded stretches slowly across his guest's face. Before Nathan has time to zero in on any specifics, he says, "Yeah, you could say that. I'm your—m" his right eye twitches slightly, "I'm your uncle. I'm Jack." He clears his throat and shifts.
"My uncle." Hope and anxiety surge in equal measure.
"Yeahp."
"Oh." Nathan frowns. "Hi. Uh, nice to meet you. Again. Apparently. Sorry."
"Not your fault."
"Yeah." Nate leans forward as much as he can without starting off the tilt-a-whirl effect again. "Listen, can you tell me what's going on?"
"What do you know?" Jack asks cautiously.
"They said—they told me I was in an accident and my foster parents were—were, um, they were killed."
"Do you remember any of that? Your parents?"
Nathan shakes his head. The pain in it spikes and he settles back against the raised pillows, picks at a loose fiber on his blanket.
"That's okay. Don't worry about it, we'll get it all figured out."
Nathan swallows. Easy for him to say. "So, what happens now?"
"Now...you rest up and get better. Then when Doc gives you the go-ahead, we'll get you out of here."
Nathan looks up and studies Jack's face, not exactly sure what he's looking for. "Where is here?"
"Cheyenne Mountain Complex."
Apprehension drops like lead and adrenaline soars to dizzying heights. "Cheyenne Mountain C—why?"
"Your mom—foster—used to work here." The answer is soft and a little sad. "She still had us listed for emergencies."
"Is that normal?" It doesn't seem normal.
Jack hedges. "For someone in her line of work, it is."
"I'm...getting the impression you can't tell me what that line of work is."
An apologetic smile. "I can tell you she was in the air force, and that I had the pleasure of serving with her briefly. She was a fine officer."
Nathan nods and wishes that meant something to him. To his mortification, hot tears spring up, coming on too suddenly for him to catch the first several that slip free. He swipes at them and presses his thumb and forefinger to his eyes, willing the tears to stop and fighting to take in a breath that won't turn into a sob.
"Oh, don't...uh, listen, it's. It's okay." The chair scrapes on the floor and Jack's voice comes from somewhere over his head as a stiff hand drops a couple awkward pats on his shoulder. "I guess I'll just...I'll let you get some rest." He stands there for a beat or two longer before hesitant steps fade toward the door and down the hall.
Alone, Nathan sucks in a sobbing breath.
:|||:
October 28
Leaning against the counter, Jack crosses his arms as he studies the kid sitting at his kitchen table. The kid studies him back with disconcertingly familiar brown eyes as he picks at the cuffs of his too-big jacket.
Jack clears his throat and shifts. "So." He jerks his chin toward the small bandage on the side of the kid's head. The usually close-cropped hair on the lower portion of his scalp is all but shaved to accommodate the stitches. Janet had actually managed a pretty decent crew cut, and when Jack said as much she just smiled enigmatically and offered a smug this isn't my first rodeo, Colonel. "How's the head?”
The kid shrugs. "It's fine."
Jack resists the urge to roll his eyes.
"Listen," the kid starts, suddenly fixated on the fingers still doing their best to unravel his cuffs. "I uh, I appreciate this. Thanks. I know it must be weird, having some kid you don't really know all that well come to live with you."
Jack coughs, fighting to keep his eyebrows at a regular altitude as he swallows the I know you better than you know yourself that tries to come out. "An amnesiac kid, at that."
The kid actually squirms.
Jack softens. "Hey, look, kid. Believe me, on the list of interesting situations I've found myself caught up in these last few years, having a kid who's lost his memory come stay with me for a while ranks pretty near the bottom." Having a mini clone of himself come to stay with him, on the other hand…
"Really?" The youngling shoots him a doubtful look.
"Oh, yeah."
"What's at the top?"
"Well, you know what they say. I'd love to tell ya, but then I'd have to kill you."
The kid snorts. "Yeah, right."
"Yeah. Right." Jack turns to the fridge and opens the door, seeking words among the condiments. "Thirsty?" Not particularly eloquent, but effective.
"Got any beer?"
Jack straightens so fast he almost earns his own head trauma on the freezer handle.
The kid holds up his hands in placation. "Whoa, hey, relax! Kidding."
Jack gives him a single slow nod, knowing the kid probably isn't kidding as much as he thinks he's kidding, and makes a mental note to remove temptation from the house at the nearest possible opportunity. "Ah. Thirsty for something else?"
The mini-me shrugs. "I'm okay."
Jack pulls out a jug of orange juice and reaches up to retrieve a couple glasses from the overhead cabinet before filling them both and sitting down across from his new...roommate. Kid. Thing. He slides a glass to the kid, who catches it and stares down at it dumbly. "Look," Jack flounders to remember the name the kid had chosen for himself last year, "Nathan." Jonathan "Jack" O'Neill. Jonathan minus Jon equals Nathan. Jack was only a little irked when the kid had declared his new name back at the start of this mess and he'd been able to follow the thought process behind it without asking for hints. "It looks like you're gonna be here for a while. You may as well make yourself at home. You need something, you get it. If you have trouble finding anything, you ask. No need to stand on ceremony, here. Mi casa es su casa." In too many, too literal a way.
Nathan nods but he doesn't look up from his juice. "Yes, sir."
Jack closes his eyes, suddenly regretting the old-fashioned manners ground into him by his grandmother and cemented by the Air Force. "You don't have to call me sir." The kid looks up at him. Jack shakes his head, grimacing, and waves his hand as though the awkwardness is a vapor and he can dispel it with a few good swipes. "Seriously, please—ah, please don't. You can just call me Jack."
Nathan shrugs. "Okay, Jack."
"Good! Great." Jack clasps his hands together. "Glad we got that all figured out. If you wanna try drinking that OJ instead of admiring its admittedly vibrant hue, I can show you around."
A few minutes later, Jack makes his way up the stairs, one mini-me in tow. "What."
"What?"
"I can hear you thinking. What?"
He doesn't have to turn around to see the kid offer yet another shrug. "It's nothing, it just—it almost feels like I've been here before."
"Hmm. Yes. Well...it's one of those houses," Jack hedges, stopping by a door at the end of the hall and pushing the door open before the kid can say anything else. "This is your room. I changed the bedding and made sure the drawers were clean and everything, so you should be good to go. If you find signs of critters, let me know and I'll take care of it."
Nathan steps past Jack and sets his backpack on the bed. "You don't get many guests, huh?"
"Daniel stays over sometimes, but he usually takes the room downstairs."
"Lot of guest rooms for a bachelor." Jack's head cants to one side and Nathan blushes, his own head dipping. "Sorry. Not my business."
Jack takes pity and offers him a smile. "No problem. C'mon, I'll show you the rest." They make their way back down the hall and Jack pauses in front of his own door, giving it a knock but leaving it shut. "This is my room. You have any—uh, you need anything during the night or whatever, you can get me up."
Nathan gives a single, non-committal nod and Jack knows he won't be taken up on his offer anytime soon. Of course he won't. He's him.
"Bathroom's here," Jack pushes the door open, "and there's another one downstairs. Downstairs has a tub, too. Bathroom in my room has the first aid kit." That had been a conscious decision. Usually the first aid kit lived in the downstairs bathroom, closer to the kitchen and to the guest room where his friends—and occasionally himself—stayed when recovering from an injury. But the last thing he needed was his idiot kid self injuring himself and trying to cowboy it out alone. Like Jack would. Okay, so maybe they're both idiots, but at least Jack is a fully-fledged adult idiot. So the kit was tucked safely away above the sink in the small bathroom off his bedroom, Jack figuring this would give him at least a bit of insurance in that department. "But if you need anything more intensive than a bandaid for a paper cut, you let me check it out before you do anything with it, deal?"
The kid pauses, frowns, shrugs, and nods, shoving his hands in his pockets and meeting Jack's eyes. "Deal."
Jack offers a nod in return, searching the kid's face for any signs of bull excrement. He finds none. "Gonna hold you to that."
"What, are you expecting me to go running around with a chainsaw or something?"
Jack makes a show of considering it. "Are you?"
Nathan makes a show of considering it. "Ya got one?"
"Not anymore, I don't." He starts back toward the stairs and pauses. "Don't. Don't do that, by the way." Better safe than sorry. Best not to give the kid—himself—whatever—any ideas regarding chainsaws. Or any other kind of saw. Or anything sharp, for that matter.
Nathan snorts as he follows Jack down the stairs. "No promises."
Jack feels a grin coming on and shakes his head. "I swear, kids these days."
:|||:
Daniel shows up around five, laden with fragrant cardboard boxes that can only mean one thing.
"Nate, you want pizza?" Jack calls over his shoulder before relieving his friend of his burden. "Hey, Daniel. Wasn't expecting you," he lies.
"Well, I figured you probably didn't have a chance to shop before you picked him up and I didn't want Nathan's first meal with you to be beer and moldy salsa."
Jack squints. "That's very specific. But thanks. I think."
"You're welcome," Daniel smiles, pushing past Jack and into the kitchen. "Hey, Nathan," he greets as the kid comes down the stairs. "You're looking better."
"Feeling better. Except for that little thing with the amnesia."
Daniel grimaces. "Yeah…"
Nate ignores the awkward situation and lifts the lid on the topmost box as Jack deposits them on the counter. "Bacon and olives. Nice."
"Hey!" Daniel grins, too chipper. "That's something you remember!"
Nate shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets. "I saw it and I just knew what it tasted like."
"That seems like a good sign."
"Maybe." Nate looks down at his feet for a moment before straightening and raising his eyebrows at Jack. "Where does a guy go to find plates around here?"
As they eat, Daniel is pleased to see Nathan and Jack seem to have developed at least a few tentative threads of friendship. The awkwardness of the last few days has smoothed into a patchy camaraderie between the two of them. Daniel, on the other hand, can feel himself being appraised by a smaller, younger set of eyes he knows better than his own and feigns oblivion even as he fervently hopes the kid version of Jack sees whatever friendship material the adult one found—albeit begrudgingly—all those years ago.
Nathan's energy flags as the meal comes to a close, and Jack sends him upstairs, volunteering Daniel's help with cleanup. Ordinarily, Daniel would at least pretend to complain, but tonight he's glad for the chance to talk with his friend in private.
Except they don't talk. They pack up the leftovers in silence, Jack cleans out the remnants in the salad bowl with a fork as Daniel gathers up the dishes, and then they slip back into the well-oiled wash/dry routine they'd established in the months when Daniel stayed with Jack after returning from Abydos.
"Spit it out, Daniel," Jack finally says, handing Daniel a plate.
Daniel squints at a leftover dollop of bubbles and runs the plate back under the water before he applies his towel. "What?"
"Oh, I don't know. 'What were you thinking, Jack?' 'This is a terrible idea, Jack.' 'I can't believe you're doing this, Jack.' Whatever it is you're thinking."
Daniel nods slowly. "Actually, I think it's a good idea."
Jack shoots him an incredulous look.
"What? I do. He's lost right now. He's in way over his head and he has no idea what's going on. He needs someone. And who's gonna understand him better than you?"
Jack mutters something indecipherable under his breath and flings bubbles off of the next plate with just a bit too much force. "You really expect me to believe that's the only thought you have on this?"
"Why not?"
Jack doesn't even bother to reply, opting instead for the most deadpan glare Daniel has ever seen.
"Okay, fine," he concedes, pointedly ignoring Jack's triumphant nod. "I guess I was a little surprised when you offered to take Nathan in." Jack inhales. "Okay, I was a lot surprised."
"Yeah, well." Jack scoops up a particularly large bubble and holds it before his face, studying the eddies of color that dance across its surface. "You weren't the only one."
"So why'd you do it?"
Jack shrugs and the bubble pops. He stares at his empty hand for a moment before plunging it back into the warm water. "I don't know, yet."
Daniel suspects that's not entirely true. He remembers the expression on Jack's face when he'd petitioned Thor to save his clone's life. He's just a kid. But it's not the time or place to die on this hill and he swallows the urge to push his friend for a real answer, settling instead for a non-committal, "Hmmm." Just to let Jack know that he knows.
Jack flicks bubbles at him.