brainofck

Title: Grains of Sand
Author: muck_a_luck, posting in brainofck
Pairing: Daniel Jackson/Jack O'Neill
Rating: PG
Summary: Daniel considers the nature of many existances
Content/warnings: Pre-slash with alternate Jack. Is this what they call an episode tag? If so, it's a tag for Mobius.
Spoilers: Lots and lots, all the way through Season 8
Words: 1,301
Disclaimer: If anybody is planning a script like this for SG-1, I'm certainly not going to claim any rights to it. However, I'd be delighted to work in a co-writing/consulting/first-reader/advisory-type capacity, with my fee to be negotiated at that time. :D
Archive rights: Absolutely none. My journals only. muck_a_luck and brainofck
The Matrix: The Matrix is located here. This one is New Year.

For my loyal rugbytacklers, I have done a Stargate crash course located here.

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Jack found Daniel sitting behind the dune, with a bottle, or jug, or whatever, of the local hooch.

He sat down next to his new friend, laying back comfortably on the sand.

"So what's the shindig?" They were far away from the village, but the noise from the town was clearly audible, drifting through the still, cold desert night.

"I told you. It's the beginning of the new year."

"Ah." It was true. Daniel had told him. Funny how things slipped his mind, sometimes, in the hustle and bustle of fomenting revolution.

"It's cold," Jack observed.

"Then go back to the house," Daniel replied pointedly, though with no real venom. Jack took this to be an indication that the man needed company.

They sat a long time, the silence between them cushioned by the noise of the revelers, Jack staring up at the stars in the shockingly clear sky, Daniel apparently counting the grains of sand between his sandaled feet, occasionally drinking from his jar. From the sound of its contents, it was light and getting lighter. Jack realized Daniel must be well on his way to completely stinking drunk.

"Does it ever bother you to think of how many you's there are?" The question sounded tired and slurred.

"First, there are all those trips through the Stargate. I mean, I've been ripped apart, and transported, and recreated hundreds, maybe thousands of times. How do I know that the me that is recreated is the same as the original me?"

He took another long swallow, then Jack reached out for the jar and polished off the rest of it, tossing it to the sand and watching it roll down and away from them.

"I felt the same after I went through the Gate," Jack said, only because Daniel seemed to be waiting for acknowledgement to continue.

"But how would you know you felt the same, with no external basis for comparison."

"Well, you would have had an external basis for comparison," Jack pointed out. "Hammond, the medical staff. They hardly ever went though the Gate. Wouldn't they notice if you weren't the same when you came back."

Daniel was quiet for a long time, the flopped down next to him on the sand.

"Well, what about your clone? He was genetically identical to you, and had a complete copy of your entire brain – life history, hundreds of Simpsons episodes… He was you, but so were you."

"I have a clone?" Jack asked in surprise.

"No. Jack had a clone. I imagine you probably don't."

"I am Jack."

"See, that's exactly what I'm talking about!" Daniel practically yelled in… exasperation? triumph? It was hard to be certain.

"And what about our robot selves?" Daniel continued.

"Um…"

"It was the same as with the clone, only we were just, I dunno, brain clones, or something, put into robot bodies? We were us! And we went on missions apparently. We met ourselves on a mission once."

"Wow?" was all Jack could think of to say.

"And what about the time loop?" Daniel said accusingly, propping himself up unsteadily on an elbow over Jack, staring down at him as if he were to blame. "You and Teal'c looped dozens of times. Maybe hundreds. 300? Anyway, every loop, the whole thing started over. Not for you. You and Teal'c seem to have a continuous memory of the whole thing. Despite the fact that you somehow rematerialized for breakfast every morning. But anyway, you guys remember it all, but Sam and I don't remember anything. Loop after loop, it was a new me. A new Sam. Does that mean there were 300 different me's?"

Jack stared back up at the drunken archaeologist in amazement. He had already decided that there was nothing like Daniel, flushed with enthusiasm for his subject. Watching Daniel passionately defend his position, or focus all his attention on persuading his listeners to his point of view – it set something humming in Jack, something that was a hundred times stronger with Daniel sprawled loosely next to him on the ground, leaning over him, all that intensity all for himself. Not for the first time it made Jack think his own thoughts about alternate realities.

"And let's not even think about all the times I've died," Daniel finished, slumping down so that his head lay on his arm, and his breath tickled Jack's neck and ear.

Jack rolled over to face him. The were practically nose to nose. Jack could feel the heat of Daniel's body, inches from his own, contrasting with the cold of the desert night against his back.

Let's not, was what Jack thought. But what he said was "You think too much," resisting the urge to brush Daniel's hair back from his eyes.

"That's exactly what Jack would say," Daniel replied, all the fight suddenly taken out of him. He rolled away, onto his back again, and now it was Jack's turn to push up on an elbow. Daniel's eyes were closed, as if he were surrendering to the alcohol and drifting off to sleep. It wasn't going to be any fun, dragging him back across the sand to the village.

"I'm Jack."

"No," whispered Daniel softly, the tears coming soon Jack was certain. "Jack and Sam and Teal'c all died in a summary public execution weeks ago."

Daniel looked up at him.

"I miss you."

And Jack thought if there was a moment, this was it. He asked the question that he had been thinking ever since he met this Daniel. Not the shy, engaging geek of his own time, but this hopeless, beaten warrior scholar, who continued to seek a solution though it seemed clear that he had given up the idea that there was one.

"Were you and I – I mean Jack – I mean, your Jack – um… involved?"

That got a snort from Daniel.

"Me? And Jack? Why didn't you ask about Jack and Sam?" Daniel replied, tears forgotten and replaced by snide drunken anger.

"Either..." Jack replied carefully.

"Well, the answer to both is 'no.' And not because Jack didn't want us. I think given his druthers, he would have alternated nights." Daniel slurred something that sounded suspiciously like "slut," but Jack wasn't sure and decided not to ask. "But the good, upright colonel made it clear that the team, his pension, Sam's career, my reputation, just about everything was more important than his own base desires, so no. There was no me and Jack. There was no Sam and Jack. Not that it stopped the arrogant bastard from flirting with me constantly, and man handling me every chance he got. And he mooned over Sam so pathetically that the poor woman could hardly look at a man who would give her a real relationship without feeling like she was betraying the man who loved her..." Daniel rambled off into Egyptian. Jack was familiar enough with the flow of it now to pick up a few unflattering words, but that was all.

"Daniel," he said cautiously, when it seemed the worst of it was over.

"What?" he replied, washed out and defeated again. His eyes, when he turned them again on Jack, were strangely pale in the moonlight. "What do you want to ask me?"

Jack leaned down and kissed him. Tasted the harsh alcohol on his tongue, and tears for lost comrades on his lips.

"You're not Jack," he whispered, and Jack wasn't sure if it was protest, or something else.

He refused to break the kiss, just nibbled and licked at the mouth beneath his until resistance melted away and Daniel stopped thinking.

I am Jack, he thought. He held onto that certainty, as he lay on the sand under the stars of so many years ago, and tried not to think about alternate realities.