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2019 Jack/Daniel Ficathon
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2019-08-09
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1/1
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Moving Ahead

Summary:

They're moving on and taking their past with them.

Notes:

Written for this year's Jack/Daniel Ficathon to the following prompt: Post-canon curtainfic. Daniel and Jack are in an est rel and living in Washington. Perhaps Daniel stumbles across the cigar box we see of Jack's mementos in S1 "Cold Lazarus." Weaving this into the brief glimpses we see of the two of them in "Stargate: Universe" would be a bonus. Please fade to black for any sex scenes.

Work Text:

Moving Ahead by jdjunkie

 

They're moving. From a rented apartment to a house they've bought with a yard, parking for three vehicles and plenty of room for a dog.

It's been a long time coming, Daniel thinks, as he hauls boxes from the room that should have been a den into the living room that is being used as a storage staging post as moving day edges closer.

The den has never actually been a den because Jack hasn't wanted to stay long-term in the tiny, soulless apartment. And now Daniel is spending more time in Washington, wielding cameras as well as words in defense of the program and in support of Jack, the need to move somewhere that could be a home is overwhelming for both of them.

It's not their dream home, or their forever home, but it's another step along the way.

He's tired and hungry and a little cranky. It's late and Jack isn't home yet. Shifting the damned boxes is a two-man job and why they're not employing people to do the heavy lifting is beyond Daniel's comprehension.

“We're perfectly capable of moving a few boxes, Daniel. The new furnishings are being delivered direct. We can handle pots and pans and a few shirts. We're not decrepit yet,” Jack had said, re-reading a very old National Geographic instead of actually boxing it up and getting on with the task at hand.

“Oh, okay. I'll remind you of that when your knees crap out and it all gets left to me,” Daniel had fired back, making a very big deal of packing Jack's record collection. At least one of them should be doing something to get ahead here.

And so here he is – hauling boxes alone while Jack hauls asses over the coals at the Pentagon. Probably. He can hardly complain when Jack's late home. Daniel's missed dinner, drinks with friends and movie dates too many times over the years. But he is still irked, currently. He loads the latest packed box on top of two others and sighs. There's still a lot to be done.

He wanders into the bedroom and surveys the scene. The bed is military-tidy; Jack won't leave the house without tucking in sheets and smoothing pillows. Daniel likes it better when the bed's rumpled. It reminds him of recent lovemaking or, just as likely, a companionable night spent with limbs entwined, spooned up and content. The latter is every bit as important to Daniel as the former. To Jack, too. Smiling to himself, he crosses to the closet and reaches for the small box he knows is tucked away at the back, largely concealed by winter coats.

The contents are precious. Daniel or Jack will carry this particular cargo to the new place personally.

Inside the unremarkable cardboard that once contained packets of potato chips are two smaller boxes; one that initially housed Van Dyck cigars and another that used to hold tissues and had the words Send More written in now-fading ink.

Daniel sits on the bed and pulls out the cigar box. He knows what's inside. Photos of Jack's other life - his wife, his son, Air Force buddies – his wedding ring, letters from Sara. All those reminders of a life that are too painful to remember but too important to discard.

Daniel had known about the box since the incident with the crystal entity. Sam had told him about not-Jack sorting through the contents in the locker room. Daniel had never looked inside the box and never asked Jack about it until they were celebrating on the night Daniel moved into the Springs house post-Ascension and they got slightly drunk and began talking about the wives they'd loved and lost.

Jack had opened the box up, told Daniel stories about the pictures inside, about the day he took off his wedding ring for the final time.

“I locked these things away for a long time, Daniel, literally and metaphorically, I guess. I kept them in my locker at the SGC because I couldn't stand to have them at home. Now … I can stand to have them at home,” Jack had said, fixing Daniel with a look that said, I know you know why. And Daniel knew right then that moving in together had been the right thing to do. That admission from Jack had moved Daniel in ways he couldn't articulate. Instead, he'd whispered, “I'm glad,” and smiled softly and pulled Jack in for a long kiss that had said more than the words he'd been unable to find.

Daniel runs his hands over the box and carefully replaces it, picking up the tissue box with slightly trembling fingers. Inside, wrapped in paper from an old archaeological journal, is a small wooden carving of the Earth symbol. Sha'uri had gifted it to him on the day of their marriage. She'd offered it hesitatingly, as though unsure it would be welcome.

“We should all remember where we are from, my Daniel. Home is in your heart and your heart is mine to care for from this day,” she'd said, proffering the small gift in an open hand that trembled as his were doing now.

He'd taken it, cherished it, kept it safe in a pocket hidden in his robes, and when Jack somehow smuggled the tissue box out of the SGC when no one was looking, and when he handed it to Daniel that first night Daniel stayed at Jack's house on his return from Abydos, Daniel realized where the simple wedding gift belonged.

Two men, two lives tinged with sadness and loss, two small boxes that belonged together, just like Jack and Daniel.

He places the small boxes inside the larger one and takes it out to the living room where he tapes it up carefully.

“Little boxes, little boxes and they all look just the same.”

Jack. Back from the Pentagon, looking weary and stressed, briefcase in hand.

“She was singing about houses, not boxes,” Daniel admonishes, crossing the room to envelope Jack in a long, gentle hug. The briefcase thuds to the floor as he he feels Jack relax against him.

“Hmmmmmm,” Jack sighs. “This is kinda nice.”

Daniel pulls back and leans in for a slow, deep kiss.

“That's kinda nice, too,” Jack says, smiling tiredly and cupping Daniel's face. “Something up?”

“Why should something be up?”

“Because you're not normally this affectionate outside of that room.” Jack inclines his head towards the bedroom. “And I was expecting not inconsiderable grief over the lateness of the hour.” Daniel feels Jack's eyes on him, searching, assessing.

“Doesn't matter. You're here now. We're here. The rest is details.”

Jack seems satisfied with that. Or maybe he's just too damned tired to pursue it.

“Wanna eat?” Daniel asks, picking up the briefcase and placing it on the small space left on the box-laden coffee table.

“Wanna sleep. I gotta be back in the office for 5am.” He yawns, shucks his jacket and kicks off his shoes.

“That's early. Even for you.”

Jack moves a bunch of aeronautical journals and sits down heavily on the sofa. “It's Destiny-related.”

Daniel grimaces. His feelings on that matter are complicated. Among other things, communication stones still have the power to haunt him.

“Want me to run you a bath?”

Jack stretches and looks at the boxes piled up Jenga-like around the room. “Should really help with the packing.”

Daniel shakes his head. “Nope. It'll wait. Assuming you don't need me for anything tomorrow I'm taking a day to finish up here.”

Jack holds out his hand. “I always need you.”

Daniel takes his hand, bends down and kisses him again. “Smooth talker.”

Jack smiles as Daniel hauls him to his feet. “Come on. I'll make some chamomile tea and we can make plans for installing that hot tub at the new place.”

“I thought you'd nixed my hot tub idea.”

“I just said that to annoy you.”

“You do that, Daniel. A lot.”

“I know. Fun, isn't it?”

They wander slowly towards the potato chip box, which Daniel pats gently as they pass. It'll find a safe space in their new place. Their past taking its rightful place in their tomorrow.

 

ends