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Daniel was exhausted. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, no matter how many times he declared he was fine, Jack could see right through him.
Of course, Daniel wasn’t the only one feeling the pressure of the SGC. Between the persistent missions off-world, infrequent time to complete the resulting work, and the shortage of available teams lately, who wasn't? Jack sure as hell knew he was dog tired, and he could hear the toll it was taking in the sound of Sam’s voice. Hell, even Teal’c seemed, if only a tad, more laconic than usual.
But Daniel— young, stubborn, blessed, Daniel— was getting the worst of it. Unsurprising, given his irreplaceability. With good chunk of the archeological and linguistic personnel out of commission, he was the obvious first choice to assign to pick up the slack, at least until this string of bad luck stopped and they got their footing again.
Except, it hadn't stopped. Said 'picking up of slack' had lasted almost three weeks by now, and at this rate, Jack felt like he hardly saw him outside of missions anymore. He was almost never going home. He was volatile. He wouldn't even take twenty minutes out of his day to frequent the commissary with them anymore; he was always off-world or “in the middle of something really important” in his office with no time for a quick break. The one time that Carter had managed to drag him out of his office to eat, no actual eating had gotten done. He'd been too busy fighting sleep, head stuck in a vicious cycle of gentle bobbing and startled wakefulness as he slowly lost the fight against complete and total exhaustion, eyes bloodshot and fluttering weakly as though he might drop off into the sleep of the dead at any moment.
Not that he might've gotten any decent rest if they’d let him anyway. He’d bolted without even tasting his sandwich to gear up for another mission by the time he'd guzzled enough coffee to wire him awake, mumbling about some diplomatic ceremony scheduled for just two hours after he’d returned from his last mission.
So, yeah, Jack was understandably worried about him. But Daniel was Daniel. He would push himself until he burned out, broke down, or died. Sometimes even past that. And, being Daniel, he said yes to every new assignment without considering his own health. He insisted it was alright, but that was so obviously a lie that it made Jack feel sick. The first few days, the reassurances fooled them all. But not anymore. There was no hiding the look in those eyes. When the General had softly informed them a few days ago that Daniel was needed again in an hour for a volatile last-minute mining negotiation— right after he’d just returned from an absolutely brutal encounter with a group of Apophis-worshiping hostiles— Jack had truly, honest to God thought that Daniel was about to curl up in his chair and cry.
So when Janet had approached Jack that morning about Daniel's health? That had been the last straw.
So here he was. Hovering in the doorway of a sick and stubborn friend. The things he did for this job.
“Come on, Daniel. We’re going.”
Daniel straightened up in his seat like a shot, spinning around to face him with his jaw slack like a guppy.
“Wait, we’re going offworld already?” He turned back toward his desk, gathering papers together in a haphazard pile as he scrubbed a hand down his tense features. “God. I thought SG-1’s next mission wasn’t until next week. I told Hammond—.”
“Daniel.”
“—that I'd have time to go with SG-5 in a couple hours. But if we’re already scheduled, then I’ll just have to—.”
“Daniel!” The archeologist’s mouth snapped shut. Both of Jack’s brows shot up. “Hold your horses. No need to rush. We’re not going off world.”
The initial stress melted with immediate relief from Daniel’s form at the words, though Jack couldn’t help but notice the persistent, aching tension coiled just beneath his facade. Placing the papers back on his desk with a cautious hand, he tilted his head. “We’re not?”
“Nope.”
“Oh.” Daniel blinked owlishly, eyes glossing over for a moment with barely concealed exhaustion before clearing stubbornly. His frown deepened. “Wait, then what are you doing here? What’s going on?”
“What’s going on is you’ve been either hopping around the galaxy or cooped up in your office for the past, what, month? And I don’t think I’ve seen you sleep through the night in the past week.”
“I’ve slept,” he pouted.
“Oh yeah? When? More than two hours by the way. And no, passing out from injuries and being drugged doesn’t count.”
“Well—.”
“And don’t say ‘last mission’. We saw the flashlight from your tent on and off all night.”
The silence that filled the office spoke volumes.
Another sinking anxiety settled in Jack’s stomach. “Tell me you’ve at least eaten something today.”
His archaeologist looked up at him pleadingly, younger and more bone-weary than he’d seemed in a long while. The silence was enough to make their ears ring.
“Daniel." God, Daniel. "Tell me you’ve had an actual, good meal sometime this week.”
“I had an... MRE yesterday?"
Jack sighed. “For crying out, you— oh, never mind. Come on, up you get. Leave the rock. Brick. Thing. We’re going home.”
“What? No, I’m fine.” He waved a dismissive hand and turned back to his work; Jack leaned against the wall.
“Wasn’t asking.”
Silence once more. Jack sighed.
“Come on; we’ll put on a game, grab some beers, and eat something hot. My treat. Hell, I’ll even let you put on your boring history documentaries.”
“Seriously, Jack. Go bother someone else.” There was a sharp, piercing tone of longing beneath Daniel’s words, though it was dampened by his state of sheer exhaustion.
“How about some nice Chinese takeout?”
No response. Jack cleared his throat, and Daniel jolted from what the colonel could only assume was some fighting sleep he’d lost the battle against. He leaned in.
“Hey. Chinese?”
“Huh? No, this is the Asgard script.” Daniel gestured to the rock on his desk halfheartedly before looking up, the gaze he held on Jack’s shoulder bordering on delirious. “Yeah, Asgard. I think.”
If the dark circles around his eyes weren’t any indication of his state, the fact that even Jack could tell the writing was not the language of the Asgard told him everything needed to know. And Daniel, deep down, seemed to know it too. It almost broke Jack’s heart, finally seeing the emerging delirium and desperation in the younger’s fever-foggy eyes.
Carefully, Jack made his way over. He sat on the edge of Daniel’s desk, then ran a calloused hand through Daniel’s soft hair. At the warmth of contact, the archeologist’s unfocused eyes involuntarily fluttered shut and he leaned weakly into the touch like a nuzzling dog. It was a little concession, but one that Jack knew wouldn’t have been possible any other time.
‘Damn it, he’s worse off than I thought.’ “Oh, Daniel. What am I going to do with you?”
“Mm.”
Jack felt the younger’s body start to slump, wavering in his seat with all the strength of an autumn leaf. With tender care, he brushed some wispy hair from his face, thumb trailing across his too-warm brow. “Hey, you falling asleep on me?”
“Mm. Tired.” Childlike and exhausted, his voice pitched up at the end into a weak whimper. Jack carded the hand through his hair again.
“I’d bet. You’ve been ‘gating and translating for a long time. And not taking care of yourself, which— well, can’t say I’m surprised by, but…” Jack huffed softly. “You aren’t understanding a word I’m saying, are you?”
“Mm.”
“I thought so. Come on, can’t stay here forever.”
Jack pulled his hand back and Daniel’s eyes opened at the loss of contact. He looked up to Jack with poorly concealed misery. Blinked hard a few times to drive the sleepiness away, woefully unsuccessful. Then, after a short deliberation, his hand reached out for one of many cups of cold coffee on his desk. Jack caught him by the wrist.
“Ah-ah.” He nudged the cup out of reach. “No more caffeine for you.”
“Jack.”
“Daniel.” Jack raised a single brow high, but Daniel didn’t seem to find any amusement in it. Oh well. “You don’t need coffee, ‘kay? What you need is sleep, a meal, and a couple days off before you land yourself in the infirmary.”
“Why are you doing this?” The tone pitched toward skeptical, like he couldn’t even fathom the fact that someone might actually be doing something just for him. For a moment, he also sounded… something. Afraid? That couldn’t be right. Yet, that was what it sounded like. Jack shrugged.
“Oh, I don’t know. Could it maybe be because I care about my team? Because you’re being stupidly unhealthy, even for you?”
Daniel laughed, cold fear ringing in his voice like a sudden bad memory. “Oh, like you’re the shining pillar of self-care.”
“This is about you, not me. We can have that conversation when you’re not dead on your feet.”
“Jack, half the people in my department are dead. Actually dead. The others are sick or injured. If I don’t work, who will?”
“Someone. Anyone! Look, I know that we’ve been through a rough patch lately, but the people left standing are competent enough to hold down the fort. The SGC can manage to keep the lights on for a few days until you get back.”
Daniel’s eyes blazed— bitter, desperate, skittish, and enraged all at once. “Oh, and the universe will just stop spinning for me too? Apophis will dock his ships and stop murdering innocent people while I take a nap?”
“That’s n—.”
“Or, or maybe it’ll all just be fine and dandy in the galaxy while I feel sorry for myself, while I refuse to shoulder a little struggle for once in my life for the greater good! Yeah, the Goa’uld will understand, right? Well, if that’s what you think, Jack, then I must not know where you’ve been the last few years.”
Jack grit his teeth. He shouldn’t be so angry. He knew so. At least, not when the full picture of his friend’s mind was laid out in front of him. The man was hurting and seemingly sick, so of course he’d lash out quicker than usual. Neither Daniel’s nor Jack’s verbal barbs were dull even on a good day, and they’d both accepted that, but this was riling something else up within him. Barely keeping from tearing Daniel’s head off, Jack snapped, “What, do you think I don’t know the risks that come with this? Believe me, I know. And I know you too. You and I have been through it all together, so don’t you dare try to talk to me like you know better, Jackson.”
“Fine!” Daniel threw his hands up and pushed himself to his feet. Boots squeaked. Hands flew out for purchase. Despite these sluggish efforts not to, Daniel stumbled nonetheless, losing his footing until Jack caught him by the arms. A sneer. Daniel tore himself from his grip. And not even a moment after, his eyes glazed over again, and he staggered back against the wall with a half-fainted expression. “F-fine.” It was like the wind had been knocked out of him. With a choked whimper, he slid slowly down the wall to the ground, dropping down so he was half-sitting and half-slumped against it. His knees were tucked to his chest as, with a shaky breath, he shut his eyes.
Jack swore beneath his breath, dropping to his aching knees before the archeologist. Their argument was all but forgotten for the moment. “Hey. You alright? You with me?”
A nod, painfully slow. He spoke softly, almost like breathing. “Sorry.”
“Dammit, Daniel, I told you you’ll make yourself sick. You’re going to kill yourself for good one of these days, I swear.”
Daniel muttered something beneath his breath. Ignoring it for the moment, Jack checked his pulse by the wrist, then tapped his cheek lightly for a reaction. “You going to make it?”
“Mm.”
“Should I call Doc Frasier?”
A shake of the head, almost imperceptible. “It passes. Not the first time.”
Jack's stomach did a flip. “Do I want to know how many times you’ve conked out?”
“Mmmm. Prob’ly not.”
“Well, that’s great. Very comforting. Now are you ready to go?”
Daniel’s chin raised as though he’d wanted to nod, but stopped short. Sighing, he rested his heavy head against the wall.
“I shouldn’t stop, Jack. Not when, not when there’s so much I need to make up for. To fix. Maybe I could let myself if I could get one thing right in my entire life. If I could learn how to stop losing everyone I’ve ever…”
Loved. The word hung oppressing as a tomb. Heavy as an ancient cover stone.
“Daniel…"
“It’s only for a couple more weeks at most, alright? I’ll cope, I’m—.”
“Fine?” To that, Daniel had no response. His archeologist silenced, Jack wrung his hands. “You keep saying that, but you know you can’t keep doing this, right? You’re only human.”
“I know. It’s just…” No words came after. Just heavy breathing.
Jack’s gaze softened. “Hey.”
A beat passed before Daniel opened his eyes.
In that moment, all the walls of sarcasm and distance they’d built were lowered. Every defense they’d raised ceased fire. Tenderly, calling all his oft-hidden love to a gentle hand, Jack reached forward and cupped his feverish cheek just to speak one simple phrase: “It wasn’t your fault.”
That you lost your parents. That you lost your friends. That you lost your wife. You were a child. You couldn’t know. You tried so hard. The words weren’t spoken, but they were there all the same like those ghosts they invoked.
That seemed to be the breaking point in any stubbornness Daniel had left.
“Danny?”
“I…” Daniel laughed unsteadily, voice trembling with tears and pain that suddenly threatened to spill over. Trembling with painful anxiety, he swallowed thickly. “Jack. I want to go home.”
Jack stood. “Ok. Ok, we can do that.”
“The missions—.”
“Are already canceled,” he finished. Jack silently thanked whatever benevolent beings were out there that he and a worried Dr. Frasier had already talked Hammond into giving them the next few days off. “Don’t worry about a thing, alright? Let’s just get you home.”
Daniel nodded, then stood from the floor. The very moment he was on his feet, his body began to sway on the spot, eyes shut like he was going to pass out from even the small action. Wordlessly, the archeologist took Jack's offered arm, swiping the corners of his eyes as he did so. It took a few moments, but he seemed to regain his composure to a satisfactory degree and, shuffling, followed Jack out the office door. It was a long journey to the Mountain's parking lot. Luckily, it passed without major incident. Daniel was practically asleep on his feet the entire time, sure, but there hadn't been any more unexpected faints or arguments, so Jack counted that as a win.
After flashing his ID and tearing the patches from Daniel’s jacket, the guard waved them through. They made their way across the lot, the sun blazing high in the sky as Jack unlocked his truck and waved Daniel into the passenger’s seat; it was already noon.
Daniel blinked slowly at the vehicle in front of him like it was an alien. Well, considering their line of work, Jack supposed it was more like he'd seen an especially odd alien. He practically saw the lightbulb go off in his head.
“This isn’t my car.”
“Yes. Astute observation, Doctor.”
“I need to drive home.”
Jack climbed into the driver’s side with a barking laugh. “Please, you can barely drive on a good day. Hop in.”
For once, Daniel didn’t need to be told twice. He slid into the seat and, within a minute of the drive, had fallen fast asleep with his head against the window. Tremors like little earthquakes wracked his form. Should he crank up the heat? Jack did so, but found no change.
It was a long, silent drive to Jack’s place. He dared not grab a CD or fiddle with the radio for fear of waking Daniel from his long-overdue reprieve, a sacred sleep that felt almost sacrilegious to intrude upon. Even once they’d arrived in his driveway, Daniel shivering and curled in on himself, Jack sat for a long few minutes before finally leaning over to shake Daniel awake.
“Up and at 'em.”
Daniel stirred. Coughing, he looked up at Jack with bleary, unfocused eyes before closing them once more, head heavy against the leather of the passenger’s seat. His small, humid breaths left little patches of condensation upon its surface that dulled the dark shine of the leather yet emphasized the sheen of sweat coating his brow.
The sleeping was no surprise, but the sheer amount of shivering was getting a bit worrisome. It made a pit deepen in Jack’s stomach every second it continued. Maybe Daniel was just cold?
Hell. Who was he kidding? The kid was already exhausted, delirious, and lightheaded— not to mention the unnatural but low-grade heat Jack had felt radiating off his body in the office. All these symptoms were pointing toward one concerning reality.
Slowly, he reached a hand out to feel his forehead. Daniel batted it away halfheartedly, but not before Jack got a good feel. He pulled back. Hissed.
“Jeez.” Yep, that fever of his was definitely higher than it had been in the office.
“I run hot,” the archeologist in question whined. Jack huffed, getting out of the truck and circling to the other side.
“Not this hot. Nobody runs this hot.” He opened the door and put his hands on his hips. “Wakey wakey, big guy.” No response. He deliberated between coaxing him some more and just tossing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, but for all his annoyance, Jack didn’t have the heart to so much as flick the forlorn, pained face in his passenger’s seat.
Quietly, Jack started to unbuckle him, ignoring the small babbling it elicited from the younger man. “You know, I’ve seen you run miles in the rain with a big, honkin’ staff-blast chomp taken out of your side. First year I knew you, you got practically shot dead and still made it out of Apophis’ ship before everything blew to hell. This? A few yards to the front door? This’ll be a piece of cake in comparison.”
“Piece o… what?”
He huffed. “Come on. Out of the truck. Don’t make me carry you thirty feet for a little fever.” The words were low and teasing, all raised brows and deadpanned staring, but there was an undercurrent of anxiety he couldn’t quite push down. “Think of my knees.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” Daniel snarked. Good. Snark was good. Better than whatever docile cluelessness had been on his face just moments before, so potent it pierced an old Colonel’s heart. With a bitten-back groan, Daniel finally pushed himself out of the truck and managed to get himself upright and moving. His skin was warm enough that Jack could feel the heat and indescribable aura of sickness radiating off him with every fast, thready heartbeat. Step, step. Daniel managed to start lumbering forward with his eyes half-shut, only needing to be prompted once to remind him that people generally did not enter a house via the bushes near the entrance.
Almost there. Then, a gasp. About halfway up the porch was as far as they’d gotten before Daniel’s legs shook and buckled again, practically dropping the weight into Jack’s arms.
“Woah! Give a guy a little warning next time!” Chiding words came out before Jack could think, Daniel wheezing and trembling with his fevered head against Jack’s chest. He awaited a response, any kind of breathy word, but nothing. Nada. Jack gave him a little jostle. Zip.
Crap. So much for that brief second wind. Jack focused on slowing his own racing heart as he waited, still supporting half of the other man’s body weight to give Daniel a chance to recover his bearings. For someone who managed to look so small and unobtrusive half the time, Daniel was surprisingly heavy. There’d been an unfortunate number of times he’d been forced to carry, drag, or otherwise manhandle Dr. Jackson in the past few years, enough that he was all too able to imagine the feeling of his weight on command, but Jack’s joints grumbled their complaints every time anyway. Back and knees protesting the movement, he maneuvered one of Daniel’s arms over his shoulders, bracing the man with one hand around his waist. Daniel groaned, but he leaned into the support. That was one good thing about having been in awful positions like this so often, he supposed: early on, Daniel went limp; nowadays, Daniel could subconsciously hold on. Usually. Small mercies.
With one awkward hand, Jack managed to open his front door and dump him onto the sofa. It wasn’t the most graceful landing, and Daniel moaned softly at the vertigo caused by the sudden drop, but being off his feet at least seemed to chase away the grayish tint that had been creeping over his face.
“Oy, what am I going to do with you?” Jack said softly. He guided Daniel to lay his head down against the throw pillow, feeling the tremors of chills and aching muscles beneath his hands.
“Oy,” Daniel whispered back. He peaked one eye open to watch Jack move around the room. Blankets were gathered, thermostat adjusted, curtains closed. It was almost domestic. Jack grabbed a couple Tylenols from the kitchen cabinet, then returned and slipped them between Daniel’s lips without waiting for any protest. Even as Daniel swallowed instinctively, the pull of unconsciousness combined itself with the need for sleep to color his features, pupils rolling quite slowly while his lips moved in quick, little, unintelligible words. Jack leaned closer, feeling the heat. He knew it wasn't possible, but he fancied it was already ticking down a few points.
“Yes?"
"Huh?"
"What’d you say?”
“…wha’?”
Yep, that was the world’s foremost linguist right there. Jack smoothed his hair. “You going to hang in there?”
“Yeah, sure, you betcha.” He shot Jack a lopsided smile that the colonel couldn't help but return.
“Good. You just crash here until you’re better; I'll wake you for dinner. Want anything else? Water, soup?”
Shivering, Daniel just gave a sigh and curled up on his side without any further regard for Jack’s presence. He sniffled. Then, his body relaxed as he drifted off into a heavy, feverish sleep.
Yep, out like a light. Jack just gave a fond shake of his head, finally letting him rest. He’d earned it.