Leaving the Light On
 
 
by Travelling One
 
email: travelling_one@yahoo.ca
website: http://www.travellingone.com/
Season: Early 6
Related episodes: Meridian, Descent
Summary: Jack's POV, post-Meridian
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of MGM Global Holdings Inc, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Film Corp. I have written this story for entertainment purposes and no copyright infringement is intended. Any original characters, situations, and storylines are the property of the author.
 
Notes: This is not a fix-it; it is yet another Meridian POV. Begun in S6, I didn't want to complete it back then. With Daniel having been returned to us, I realized it's way past time that I did.
To everyone who keeps finding my stories so quickly! Thanks for sticking around.
 
April/06
 
 
As if to reinforce - or perhaps mock - his bitter mood, the inhospitable stillness of the dark house rushed at Jack the moment he opened the front door. Oppressive and unwelcoming, memories flooded back a dozen per second, whamming into his psyche before he could wonder if time had sped up or slowed down or maybe even stopped completely. It was a sensation that was happening more and more often these past few weeks, and Jack wasn't sure where it was coming from - or how to deal with it.
 
Caught up in that same automatic routine as every other day, he wiped his shoes on the mat and locked the door behind him. Shrugging out of his jacket he tossed it at the hook, watching it drop instead to a heap in the corner. Didn't matter; he knew where it would be next time he needed it.
 
The day had been long. The whole damn month had been long, and exhaustion had begun to overwhelm him. Not that his missions had been more dangerous than ever before, and not that anything more extraordinary than usual had happened, given his world at the SGC. Not this month, anyway. Not since being forced to find a replacement for Daniel.
 
Jonas was better than that Russian guy, anyway.
 
It all depended on one's perspective.
 
Standing motionless in the dark hallway, Jack rested his forehead against the wall. The stress was killing him.
 
Dealing with Carter hadn't been easy. Should have been, if he'd played fair. But the "strong level-headed colonel" couldn't let his emotions get the better of him, couldn't let them show, couldn't go down that road. Not again; not this time. He couldn't put that burden on the rest of his team.
 
"God, Daniel." The name sounded horrifying out loud in the stillness of his home, maddeningly depressing, as it twisted the knife into his gut and his heart and his lungs where his breath caught. So tired.
 
No, he had done a disservice to both Daniel and Carter by turning his back on her impending tears, ignoring her requests to talk. "We have nothing to talk about, Carter. Talking won't bring him back and it won't move our lives forward." Remain emotionless; that military credo had saved him countless times. Saved him from himself.
 
Daniel wasn't his only friend to die, nor was he Carter's first. The only friend to die from radiation poisoning while saving a whole damn planet maybe, but that was beside the point. That was just Daniel, going out with a flourish, making sure his life was worth something, even if he didn't believe it himself.
 
But while Jack would keep waking up and watching the days pass and then the years, until one day he would look in the mirror and wonder where time had gone, Daniel would never get any older.
 
Ignoring his thirst, the desperate craving for a beer that wouldn't give him freedom the entire drive home, Jack bypassed the kitchen and headed out the back door of his house. There was something else that came first, before even the shower, definitely before the beer.
 
Around the side porch and up a couple of steps, Jack breathed a sigh of relief. The company had done its job; Naomi the Dogwalker had kept the light on. Away from home, all he could do was hope she'd take the job seriously. No dogs to walk, and that's what she'd signed on for, but surely this was a lot easier and quicker for the money. How hard was it to come once a day and refill a small canister of oil?
 
"Your brother?" She'd asked when she saw what her job would be, saw the second photo on the small protruding shelf. "Yes," Jack had replied with no noticeable hesitation. And that was it; no more questions, no elaborations. But Jack could rest assured that Daniel would be taken care of when the team was off world and he couldn't be here to do it himself, busy on extended business trips to nowhere he could explain. Maybe it was a compulsion, maybe a superstitious obsession, but he wouldn't let that flame die out. Not Daniel's flame, not even over his own dead body. Six months' payment in advance had taken care of that.
 
Shifting his eyes from the small square window, Jack opened the door and stepped inside the narrow cabin. The size of half his small porch, all he'd needed to fit in here was a shelf and a chair. Even so, he'd built this shelter from the smoothest, sturdiest mahogany, waxed and polished until it reflected his own shadow in the tiny flicker of candlelight. Daniel would have admired the handiwork.
 
Jack paused by the small flame, allowing the mementos to hold his attention and the light to outline his weariness. Reverently he let his finger oh so lightly slide down the photo of his team, Daniel sitting on the left holding an unopened beer. That was taken at some barbecue; couldn't have a picture of the stargate out here in near-public, where Naomi could gaze upon it and wonder. No, dressed in his jeans and blue shirt, this one sported Daniel the Person, not Daniel the Interplanetary Explorer and Diplomat, Casualty, Statistic. But Daniel the Person had also died of radiation poisoning while saving a whole damn planet, and was never coming home. Were real people ever supposed to do things like that?
 
Jack's eyes lingered for a brief moment on the miniature magnetic chess game. Meant to be symbolic, it had never been used. Well, only once, as Jack had played half a game with himself, leaving it half finished - and half unfinished, just in case. At moments like this, he would eye the board while pretending not to, waiting and hoping that one day he would find a piece out of place, moved neither by himself nor by Naomi. But so far, it still wasn't his turn.
 
He let his fingers drift to the amulet, then to the clay flute, made especially for Daniel by the elders of Pholys. Maybe those relics had no special meaning for Jack, but they'd been found on Daniel's desk and that was incentive enough to salvage them. Carter had kept the journal and pen, Fraiser had taken the glasses, and Jack had kept, well, a few more things which had no meaning for him. Except that they'd been special to Daniel, which allowed him to hold them and ponder them and look up at the starlit sky through that narrow window and ask, "Why?"
 
Jack sighed, and his body made its own way into the chair, not many paces to move and not a long way down. He could still see the relics, and the illuminated wick, mere inches above his head. Good place, he thought; just where he wanted them to be.
 
"God, Daniel."
 
Carter would laugh if she ever found out he'd built this shelter. No, not laugh. She wouldn't laugh at all, just as she hadn't laughed in a month. She'd stare with wide astonished eyes, and feel offended. Hurt, that he'd kept this from her. That he'd responded with his abrupt "We have to move past this, Carter. We have to keep living" and allowed himself to hurt her in the process, but he couldn't help it and didn't know how to fix it. But those words were only partly his, and partly, he thought, Daniel's. Daniel wouldn't have wanted them to mourn for so long, or to miss him so badly. No, Carter would be angry, knowing that this was here, kept as Jack's own sanctuary, while she cried alone in her empty house. He hadn't played that part fair at all.
 
Jack leaned back in his armchair, a chair bought with the thought of comfort in mind. The few minutes he'd planned to spend here every night that he was home had turned into an unsuspecting half hour, and he no longer wanted to be chased out by an aching back. This was his catharsis, his personal version of kel'no'reem. One day he might even get up the courage to invite Carter; but now, right now, these were private moments, and his thoughts were not open to inspection by anyone.
 
He'd considered bringing the beers up here. But in the end, the mere thought had seemed disrespectful. Not that Daniel would have minded, but the split in attention just seemed… wrong, somehow. No, moments up here were just for himself. Himself, and Daniel.
 
"So." There was more to say than there had been four days ago, the last time he'd been home. They'd been on a mission, his new team. New and old, but even the old was trying to reconfigure itself. Carter, and Teal'c, and - in the emptiness beneath the façade - himself as well, putting the pieces together in a new and strangely unfamiliar way. Jonas's piece was squeezed in there somewhere, a piece that didn't really fit. Had its own shape, and was trying to mold to theirs. They'd let it, bit by bit, but it would take a while.
 
"So." This was always awkward, starting up the conversation with his self-conscious awareness glimmering out in the open like this. But the door was closed, no neighbours could hear him. Was it Daniel who'd laugh, if he were here to listen? If only. No, not laugh. Daniel wouldn't laugh at all, just as he hadn't laughed in a month.
 
Damn it.
 
No, Daniel would stare with his wide, astonished eyes, perplexed that Jack would have built this place… for him. Because of him. Disbelieving that the hard façade was even close to falling apart under that shell… because of him. That would stun him the most. No, Daniel would be surprised, then touched, and he'd say something nice. Something caring and considerate, something to spare Jack's feelings, even validate them.
 
"So." Jack knew he could use some of that kindness right about now, right about every time he sat in this chair after a long or hard or boring or scary mission. Kind words in a soft voice that could suddenly make things seem right again, balance the world with a point of view that hadn't occurred to the solid reasoning of a disillusioned colonel. Where had that sort of balance gone, anyway? Lost. It was lost, had disintegrated with Daniel, and now SG1's world was a blur of work and military logic and Jonas Trying To Fit In.
 
"Have to give the man credit, Daniel. Joining a new world for a cause. Kind of like Teal'c did, only Jonas defected mostly for himself. Wanted to avoid retribution on Kelowna." Yet in some small weird way, he really did believe the man wanted to make amends, make things better. Why would Daniel want to hear about that, though?
 
Because it was on Jack's mind again tonight, and had to be said. And Daniel always lent a shoulder when one was needed. Where had that gone, anyway?
 
It wasn't always completely true what they say, that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone.
 
"So." Jack cleared his throat, and looked around at the large shadows cast by this tiny tiny flame, on polished mahogany walls. One or two stars glimmered through the window in an otherwise clear, black night sky.
 
Friends had died before, right in front of him. But none had warranted a shrine, or compelled him to sit in the light of their candles. Not for more than a few minutes, anyway. So… why Daniel?
 
Because.
 
He couldn't let go. Just as Sam couldn't let go. There was something special in the way the civilian had touched them, something that crept under their shields and into their souls and stretched and stretched until pulling it away caused too much pain to acknowledge, taking some of their own spirit with it, breaking a oneness that should never have needed to be broken.
 
Damn. Even Teal'c would laugh at him now, if he could hear those words, those unvoiced thoughts.
 
No, not laugh. Teal'c wouldn't laugh; he had never laughed, at least not since he was a child. Both Cronus and his nearly life-long service to Apophis had removed that ability from his repertoire, although five years with SG1 had slowly started to heal those ninety-plus years of scars, set back now with the demise of Daniel. That had pulled at Teal'c's stretched spirit too. But the warrior in him had an easier time of acceptance and letting go than either Jack or Carter did. Or was Teal'c shielding himself behind a façade as well? Was the former First Prime in his room right now, surrounded by his candles, talking to Daniel? Jack knew he'd never ask him.
 
"So." Somewhere deep in his soul he'd always known the time would come when Daniel wouldn't be able to come home, or stay home, or wake up again in the morning. Known that a time long before he should have died, Daniel would somehow give too much of himself. It had been a deep-seated dread and because of it, Jack supposed he'd had more time to prepare than the others had. But no; that wasn't fair to himself. Suspecting, dreading, didn't mean it would happen; it only meant he'd had more time to work himself up and accumulate fear. For this reason, Jack thought maybe it was even harder for him. But what the hell; this wasn't a contest he wanted to have any part in. The only certainly was that each and every time they'd gone through the gate, Jack wondered if it would be the last time for one of his teammates. Mostly for Daniel, their unwitting, self-sacrificing martyr, clinging to his benevolent diplomatic principles in spite of the dangers involved.
 
But Daniel sure hadn't wanted to die. No, he'd been scared and relentlessly courageous, and Jack held nothing but admiration for that. Half-listening to the guy enumerating his symptoms, outlining his impending decline, Jack could only see a friend who was petrified inside, and his own heart was breaking, his soul dying along with Daniel. "What can I do for you?" he'd asked. Pleaded with his eyes, begging Daniel to allow him to help ease his pain and terror. "Just name it, I'll do it." But Jack hadn't been prepared for the answer.
 
Daniel's expression had softened, a solitary moment's escape from his misery. No one could help bear his burden, and they both knew it. "Go to Teal'c's room and light a candle," Daniel had stated after a moment's thought, and their eyes had met in a brief flash of brotherhood.
 
"So." Jack puckered his lips, sucking in air. "We went to check out an abandoned Goa'uld ship today. Dead in space. Dropped out of space straight into the Pacific. Carter and I nearly drowned." He shrugged it off. "We didn't."
 
But Daniel didn't need to know any of that. Didn't need to know about Jack's day, or week, or Sam's, or Teal'c's. The man… if that's what he was… had more important things to think about now, ones that didn't involve the miserably trivial lives of the Tau'ri. And Jack didn't need to tell him.
 
No, all Jack needed was to sit here, in the candlelight, in Daniel's sanctuary, surrounded by flickering shadows on walls polished with loving care. Maybe Daniel would one day know about this refuge, but Jack would swallow his pride and accept that, for Daniel would not laugh.
 
And if he were ever to see this hideaway, the little room built into the corner of Jack's now smaller porch, then that meant Daniel would have come home. And that would be very acceptable.
 
Until then, the light would be waiting.
 
Jack rose and poured a few more drops of oil into the lamp, and the flame flared. "The light's always on, Daniel, in case you need to find me."
 
The flame wavered.
 
"Yeah, like that."
 
Satisfied that the oil would last the night, Jack opened the door and retreated to where the sky was large and the breeze lightly licked the bare skin of his forearms. Shutting the door quietly, he pressed his nose up against the small square window, looking in, checking that the brief breeze hadn't blown out the candle. He couldn't let it extinguish, not even for a minute. The flame rose higher, then settled, still flickering gently.
 
"I miss you, buddy."
 
He watched the flame flicker again. "Good night, Daniel."
 
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