‘We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish

bowl.’  Pink Floyd, Wish You Were Here

                                                                       * * * * *

“Vail.”

Jack rolled his eyes then stared at the spoon he was holding up in the air between them.  He jiggled it, admiring the way the shiny, red gelatin caught and refracted the light.

“Jackson Hole.”

Carter approached, carrying a lunch tray, and sat down across from him and next to Daniel.

“Squaw Valley.”

The Major glanced over at Daniel, then at Jack.  “Don’t tell me . . . he’s at it again.”

Jack let the spoon drop, causing heads to turn as the metal clanged noisily against the side of the dish causing red gelatin to fracture and wobble onto the blue tablecloth.  “What do you mean, again?”  His elbows on the table, he rubbed both his temples and stared at his second in command.  “Try still.”

Carter grinned and stabbed at her salad with a fork.  “You might as well give up, Daniel.  He’s never going to tell you.”

Daniel sighed.  “But why not?”

Lowering his hands to the table, Jack clenched his fists and forced a tight smile.  “And if I tell you, you’ll leave me alone?  Just like that?”

“Yes.”  Smiling, Daniel nodded and leaned towards Jack.  “Just like that.  I’ll never mention it again.”

“You won’t, say . . .,” Jack cocked his head, clearly thinking, “follow me?  Call me?”

Daniel frowned.  “What?  No.  Why . . . why would I do that?”  He glanced at Carter as if for confirmation.  “I would never do that.”

Carter snorted and Jack pushed himself to his feet.  “Of course not, Dr. Jackson.  You would never do that.”

Daniel watched as Jack sauntered out of the mess hall, then he stared over at Carter who was devouring her salad like she hadn’t eaten in days.  “Why would he say that?  Does he really think I’d follow him?”

Covering her full mouth with her hand, she choked back a laugh.

* * * * *

Hammond pushed his chair away from the briefing table.  “So, Colonel, I hope you plan on enjoying your time off.”

Jack smiled broadly.  “Yes, sir.  That’s the plan.”

“Going to your cabin, I take it?”

“Not this time, General.”

“Well,” Hammond glanced around the table at the other members of SG-1, “wherever and however you spend it, you all deserve it.  I’m just glad things have worked out so that you can take some much needed vacation time.  It’s not often that you get two weeks off.  Teal’c, may I assume you intend to visit your son?”

The Jaffa regally lowered his head.  “Indeed, General Hammond.”

Carter smiled at Teal’c, then looked over at the General.  “I’m going to hang around for a few days, if that’s all right, General.  Then, Dad is coming for a nice, long visit.”

“Yes, Jacob mentioned that the last time I saw him.  What about you, Doctor Jackson?”  Hammond studied the young man, who was closely watching the Colonel.  “Any plans?”

“Hmm?”  Daniel flinched, then glanced at the General.  “Oh.  No, not really.  I thought I

might . . . I thought I’d work on some translations that a friend of mine faxed to me from a dig she’s working on, and I volunteered to give a lecture at the Academy, but other than that . . .,” he glanced back at Jack then at Hammond.  “General, don’t you think it would be a good idea if we left each other telephone numbers?  Ways to get in touch?  You know, just in case.”

“In case of what, son?  Are you expecting trouble?”

“Well, no.”

Jack smiled over at Hammond, who gave Daniel a fatherly grin.  “I don’t think that will be necessary, Doctor.  I’m sure if something comes up, we’ll manage just fine.”

“But . . .”

“You’re dismissed.”

Daniel bit his lip, frowning.  “Yes, sir.”  He rose from his chair, looking across the table at a smug Jack.  “Hawaii.”

Jack shook his head.  “Oh, please.  Give me some credit.”

“Colonel,” Hammond had stopped in the doorway to his office, “I’d like to speak with you a moment before you leave.”

* * * * *

He was softly humming as he slid his card to access the elevator.

“Jack!”

“Crap.”  He’d thought he was home free.  He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and bounced on his toes in a futile attempt to hurry the car.  As his two younger teammates trotted down the hallway to stand beside him, he sighed heavily and finally, regrettably, he looked at them.  Daniel was grinning, oddly resembling a spectacled Cheshire cat.  Carter looked . . . interested.  “What?  What is it, now?”

“I figured it out.”

At the risk of creating more problems, Jack slid his card again.  “Is that right?  Well, good.  I’m very happy for you.”

“I’ll just bet you are, Jack.”

Daniel was wearing a big ass grin.  In return, Jack planted a tired smile on his own face.  “Well, I am.  Ecstatic.  Really.”

“Aspen.”

Jack snorted softly.  “What?”

Carter’s sudden smile nearly blinded him.  “He thinks you’re going to Aspen.”

Jack looked at her, wondering what kind of perverted fun she could possibly be getting from Daniel’s obsession.  Answering his own question, he sighed.  It wasn’t enjoyment but an odd sense of desperation that provided the impetus in this game of ‘Where’s the Colonel.’  He’d hardly had two minutes to himself in the last month.  Ever since SG-1's little trip to Shape-Shifter World, P7S-441, his teammates had been obsessed with dogging his every move.  Unfortunately, no matter how many times he tried to reassure them that getting left behind to watch Lieutenant Tyler’s back was far from the worst thing that had ever happened to him, his team refused to budge in their concerted guilt and efforts at redemption.  Then, just when he was beginning to see signs of a reprieve, they had managed to Gate through a freakin’ sun and get some of their best people blown up in a stupid dispute with the locals.  Apparently, going postal with the natives in the presence of your subordinates did nothing to alleviate any concerns they may have for you.

But starting now he was on vacation, and Jack was not going to think about anything except snow and sun and bed.  For two entire weeks, he was not going to be responsible for anyone . . . maybe not even himself.

“Daniel, let me put this as succinctly as possible:  No.”

“Are, too.”

“Not.”

“Too.”

“Aahh!”  Jack held up a hand, bringing a premature end to the verbal sparring match.  “I repeat: N-O.  No.  I am not going to Aspen.  Truth be told, I’d rather spend nine days in . . . in Purgatory than spend them in Aspen with a bunch of hoity-toity rich folks who don’t know the meaning of the words ‘Homer Simpson.’” Finally, the elevator arrived and he stepped inside, punching the button for Level 11.

“Come on, Jack.  We just need to know you’re okay.”

His need to be alone outweighing any sympathy he might have felt, Jack leaned against the back wall of the elevator and looked at them.  Carter had forced a tight smile on her face, but Daniel was frowning and staring back at him.

Just as the doors began to slide shut, Daniel’s face lit up.  “The Virgin Islands!”

“See you in two weeks, Dr. Jackson.”  The doors closed on Jack’s soft laughter.

* * * * *

Durango wasn’t an easy town to access.  Maybe that was one of the reasons Jack liked it.  This time of year, it would have been wisest to take a puddle jumper flight out of Denver directly to the small airport on the outskirts of Durango.  Or, he could drive Interstate 25 to Walsenburg and then head west on Highway 160.

But Jack had never professed to be wise.  Besides, for the last two days he’d kept a close eye on the weather forecasts, so on the appointed day he had no qualms as he tossed his suitcase and winter gear into the back of the Ford and headed south towards Pueblo.  Once there, he turned west onto Highway 50 and aimed the big pick-up towards Salida – Big Horn Sheep country – where he hung a hard left and arrived at Monte Vista in time for a late lunch.

Before leaving town, he topped off the gas tank and stocked up on chocolate bars and trail mix – even an unwise man knew it was better to be safe than sorry.  It was between Del Norte and Pagosa Springs that the real mountains reached the tarmac, but Jack was more than ready.  Entering the steep canyon, he eyed the flashing sign which reported the possibility of ice but no chain law restriction.  He slipped the truck into four-wheel drive and smiling to himself, he shivered at the sight of the Rio Grande churning its way down from the Continental Divide.  He didn’t know how it was possible, but the water even looked frigid.

Shifting the truck into third gear, he eased his way up, into the heart of the mountains.  Surrounded by pristine snow, forested slopes and exposed rock faces, Jack felt adrenaline thrumming through his veins.  It was with regret that he drove past the Wolf Creek Ski Area, consoling himself with the fact that this time tomorrow he’d be careening down the slopes at the Durango Mountain Resort.  He allowed himself a soft chuckle at the thought of how he’d fooled Daniel.  Up until a couple of years ago, the Resort had been known only as Purgatory.  It still was to the locals.

Nine days in Purgatory. . . .  Jack laughed again as he eased his way around an eighteen-wheeler that was straining its way past the sign for the Continental Divide.  Now, it was downhill all the way.  Sitting higher in his seat and flipping on the wipers against a brisk snowfall that was swiftly coating the western slopes, Jack shifted into second gear and let the engine hold itself back, keeping his foot off the brake.

By the time he pulled into the town of Pagosa Springs situated at the base of the mountains, Jack was tired and thirsty and couldn’t have been happier.  It was a clean shot to Durango, then on to Rockwood, which was just north of town and south of the Resort.  There, he’d rented a house for eight nights.  Hidden from sight just off of Highway 550, Rockwood sat near the banks of the Animas River and against the rails of the Durango & Silverton narrow gauge train – a secluded haven located somewhere between Purgatory and paradise.

* * * * *

The drifts on either side of the highway gave silent testimony to the claim that this was indeed Colorado’s highest snowfall region. Fortunately, the plows had done their job and the road was clear. Munching on a handful of trail mix, Jack eyed the snow, feeling excitement and anticipation building. God, he needed this: time away from work, his team, and the pressures of command. He was so looking forward to his most pressing decision being whether he should have it with, or without, fries. Flicking aside a raisin, he wondered why that particular fruit was a given in trail mix? Any benefit it had to offer couldn’t make up for the fact that it was way too much like snacking on rabbit poop, or a fistful of beetles - one taste sensation he’d rather not ever have to repeat.

Jack flung the remaining snack back in the bag, deciding he could wait until he hit town to eat. It was better than the direction his memories were scurrying and he wasn’t going to let anything screw up the next nine days. Diplomacy had never been his strong suit and between dealing with those damn narrow-sighted Asgard on the High Council and the superstitious folks of K’Tau, he’d had enough of that consular crap to last a lifetime. Thor was okay as far as your garden variety Roswell grays went, but Freyr and the rest of the High Council could use their vast intelligence to figure out where to shove their benevolence. Actually, as far as Jack was concerned, the only good thing to come out of that whole fiasco was Daniel’s reaction to the ‘little gray butts’ comment.

Through the intermittent flurries, Jack spotted the ‘Welcome to Durango’ sign. Only a couple of miles to go. His grin dimmed momentarily as he drove past the Wal-Mart on his left. The mega-store had been there a few years now, and he still hated it as much as he had the first time he’d laid eyes on it. Damn.  Another sign of the times, even here. It pissed him off. This was a sidewalk, Mom and Pop kind of place, unique and poky.  And even though Durango was a college town, and it was just as common to see dreadlocks and ‘earth muffins’ sipping herbal tea as it was to see cowboy hats and gun racks, Superstores just didn’t belong here. It was wrong on so many levels.

Thankfully, the river-front park and his first glimpse of the Animas helped to restore his good humor. At least the river was unchanged. Jack shook his head wryly. Time and Wal-Mart might wait for no man, but the river flows on. Reaching the junction, Jack debated whether to go straight to Albertson’s and stock up on groceries, or to eat first. His stomach settled the debate with a noisy growl. With a chuckle, he drove past the high-priced tourist traps with their parking lots full of SUV’s, Land Rovers and Hummers, and headed down Main Street.

The Diner was all that the name implied. Heads turned, checking out the newcomer, as the bell above the door announced his arrival. The honest smell of greasy burgers, grilled to perfection, permeated the room, causing his stomach to grumble again.

“Welcome, hun, sit down anywhere you can find a seat.” The cheerful waitress tossed Jack a smile as she refilled the coffee cups of the customers seated at the counter, trading friendly banter with the locals as she went.

Opting to leave the tables for couples, Jack made his way to an empty stool towards the end of the counter. Nodding in response to the grunted greeting of an older man sitting to his left reading the local paper, Jack snagged a menu.

“Now, what in the world are you looking at that thing for, sweetie? Sirloin - medium rare with mushrooms, hashbrowns - covered and smothered, side salad with Ranch, hold the Texas toast.” She pushed a brimming cup of black coffee towards him. “You know you always get the same thing every time you’re here. Don’t let your coffee get cold.”

Several nearby customers snorted as Jack obediently picked up his coffee and took an appreciative sniff. “Smells good, Gayle.”

“It tastes even better. Drink up while I get your salad.” She looked over her shoulder and yelled towards a wiry apron-clad man grating fresh potatoes onto the sizzling grill. “Kill the cow, Owen - make it bleed - cover it with fungus - wrap the spuds in a stinky blanket.”

Never looking up, the man calmly lit a cigarette, as he reached into the cooler. “Aye, I got it,” he muttered around the butt.

“I see Owen’s still with you.” Jack’s eyes smiled over his cup as he sipped the strong brew.

Gayle plunked down a bowl of greens covered in dressing. “Owen’ll never leave until the day he goes back to the sea and the only chance of that happening is if Admiral Faragutt himself needs a chief cook on the USS Colorado.” Jack joined in the easy laughter surrounding her comment. “Eat up, Jack. You’re too skinny,” she said evoking another round of laughter.

“Yes, ma’am.” He obeyed the order, setting down his coffee cup and reaching for his fork. Spearing a huge bite of lettuce, he shoved it in his mouth as Gayle topped off his coffee. “Good,” he mumbled around his fork.

Giving him a nod and a smile, Gayle moved towards the register. “Hang on to your wallet, Hugh. That crowbar you got stuck in there isn’t going to go anywhere till I can figure up your bill.”

Jack grinned as he licked salad dressing off his thumb. Yeah, some things never changed.

* * * * *

Shoving the empty grocery box into the closet, a contented sigh escaped. The last of the groceries were put away and he was unpacked. Jack walked over to the fireplace and bent down to poke at the embers a bit. He watched the sparks dance, sending a shower of fireworks around the andiron and hearth. The heat caressed his face as he stared into and beyond the flames. Tomorrow he’d hit the slopes, but tonight he was enjoying the warm comfort of the fire and the quiet solitude of the woods. He smiled as the coyotes sang their evening sonata. Their eerie wailing raised the hairs on his arms even as he sat enjoying the song.

Jack walked over to the front door and stepped out onto the small porch. It was too dark to see it, but less than a hundred feet away the sounds of the Animas sang a duet with the coyotes. This was one of the reasons he came here, to this place, to listen to the sounds of nature. His Granddad would have loved it here. Jack could almost picture him standing in the river, teaching him the art of fly fishing for trout. Scolding him for being impatient. ‘Failure, Boy, is the best seasoning for learning.’

The cold was biting through his flannel shirt when Jack bid the river and his memories goodnight and stepped back into the warmth and cheer. It was early, but he caught himself yawning. Before shutting the door, he allowed himself a moment to wonder what his team was doing. He was here to relax and get his mind off work. It had been far too long since he could simply take his mind off the SGC. Far too long.

The couch was comfortable. Jack leaned back, his long legs stretched towards the crackling fire.  He thought for a moment about getting up and going to the bedroom to dig out the book he’d packed, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. Siddhartha was going to have to wait.

‘Siddhartha stood alone like a star in the heavens. . . .That was the last shudder of his awakening, the last pains of birth. Immediately he moved on again and began to walk quickly and impatiently, no longer homewards, no longer to his father, no longer looking backwards.’***

And Jack dozed. Granddad would have seen the wisdom in Herman Hesse’s words.

* * * * *

Buried beneath an avalanche of quilts, Jack awoke to the sound of birds chirping a noisy good morning chorus. He stretched, glad that the bed was long enough for his tall frame to enjoy a comfortable night’s sleep. Wrapping his arms under his neck, Jack cradled his head, enjoying the sound of the birds and the gurgle of the river.

“If you didn’t leave that window open like that, it wouldn’t be so damn cold in here.”

Jack grinned. “It’s just open a crack and I like to listen to the river at night.”

“Shut the window and turn on the faucet in the bathroom. Running water’s all the same and it’d be a hell of a lot warmer in here.” Playing with the hair on his chest, she frowned as Jack laughed out loud.

“You love the river as much as I do.” One long arm unfolded and drew her closer. “Besides I can warm you up, if you’re cold.”

Her answer was buried in a lingering kiss.

“That’s even better to wake up to than your coffee.” Jack sat up on the side of the bed as if trying to weigh the advantages of a day on the slopes over a day under the covers.

Making the decision for him, Gayle swatted his bare butt playfully with the back of her hand. “Get a move on, Jack. I have to get to work and open the Diner. And you have a slope with your name on it. Hurry up in the shower and I’ll fix us some breakfast before I leave.”

“Pancakes and links?”

“And scrambled eggs with cheese if you get a move on,” she laughed. “You’re too skinny.”

Jack moved into the bathroom. He shouted over the noise of the shower, “My ski equipment still at your place?”

“Where else would it be?” She walked into the bathroom and sat on the stool awaiting her turn. “I had the Martin kid get everything ready, but you’ll probably want to pick up some more wax.”

“Got it last night.”

Gayle nodded even though he couldn’t see her through the steam. She watched his filmy image through the fogged shower door as he ran the soap over his lean body. “So how long you going to be in town for this time?”

“Little over a week. I thought if you weren’t busy maybe we could get dressed up and go to Sweeney’s for dinner sometime this week.”

“That’d be fun. I haven’t been there in ages.” She watched as he reached to shampoo his hair. “You’re going to dress up?” she laughed.

His voice was indignant, making her laugh again. “What? I brought good jeans.”

“It’s a date then. Now get out of that shower if you want breakfast.” She stood up to make room for him in the small bathroom. “You still got the key to my place?”

Jack stepped out of the shower. Reaching for the towel Gayle held out, he quickly dried off and wrapped it around his waist. Bending down, he kissed the tip of her nose. “Yes, ma’am, I sure do.”

* * * * *

Jack stood on the small porch, a cup of steaming coffee cradled in his hand.  During the night, while he and Gayle had danced an age-old dance and slept the sleep of the satiated, several inches of new snow had silently blanketed the valley and the surrounding mountains.  The steep slopes, the rugged cliffs and the rock-strewn river were softened by the billowing layers of white powder.  Insulated by the pristine brilliance of the new-fallen snow, it was hard to imagine that anything existed, had ever existed, beyond the reach of the rushing waters and genteel pines.  Even the smoke from the chimney seemed reluctant to leave, choosing instead to linger along the surface of the river in the form of a fragrant cloud.

It was a harsh reality and difficult to believe that the overwhelming beauty of this place harbored death and destruction.  But staring up at the muted colors of an early morning sky, Jack knew that more than the sun lurked within the shadows of the looming mountains.

“You cleaned off my car.  Thanks.”

Jack smiled over at Gayle, who exited the cabin in a rush of warm air that smelled of sausage and coffee and something unidentifiable.  Jack wondered briefly if it was the scent of them – the essence of a comfortable, subdued passion.  Bundled in a parka, hat, gloves and knee-high Sorels, Gayle’s form was as indistinct as the shrouded landscape.  He stretched an arm around her waist and tugged her close, pressing a cold smile against her warmer one.

“You, sir, are an officer and a gentleman.”

He groaned softly and rested his forehead against hers.  “How long have you been waiting to use that line?”

She laughed softly and rocked against him.  “A really, really long time.”  Looking up at him, she studied his face and ran a glove-thickened finger along his cheek.  “You look tired, Jack.”  A moment later, she added, “Something’s happened, hasn’t it?”  She hadn’t really expected a response and she didn’t get one.  Staring at him a moment longer, she smiled and pulled away, crossing the porch and looking out over the river as she walked.  “I’m jealous.  It’ll be great skiing today.”

“Come with.”  He regretted both the sound of his loud voice and the invitation as soon as they breached the quiet morning air.

“Can’t.  I’m late as it is.  Besides,” Gayle opened the door on the dented Cherokee and smiled back at him, “you ski alone.”

It was said without rancor and Jack raised his mug of now-cold coffee to cover an embarrassed smile of gratitude that she was letting him off the hook.  He swallowed loudly as she got into the car, wishing he was better at putting into words what he was feeling.  Hell, he’d settle for even knowing what he was feeling.  The motor churned and caught, idling roughly.  He hesitated, then brushed snow from the railing, set down his cup and stepped off the porch, approaching the vehicle.  Seeing him, she lowered the window.

Jack leaned his head down, peering in at her.  “Will I see you tonight?”

Gayle smiled and eased the gearshift into reverse.  “Do you want to see me tonight?”

He looked at her face, pale in the early morning light, and wondered what it was about her that he found so appealing.  She was good in the sack, but it was more than that.  Even he wasn’t that shallow.  Maybe it was because life had knocked the wind out of her sails much like it had his own.  First in the form of an overbearing father who’d taken advantage of her willingness to take care of him, and next in the form of an abusive husband.  The father was dead; Jack didn’t know what had become of the husband and he wasn’t going to ask.  What he did know was that she’d willingly walked away from a corner office and a six-figure job back East somewhere in order to sling hash and drive a beat-up Jeep with more miles on it than the Stargate.  He frowned, studying the tiny lines around her eyes and the small scar running along the bottom edge of her left jaw, lasting momentos from the men in her life.

“Jack, are you okay?”

He smiled as he realized what it was that continued to draw him back to her each winter:  It was the fact that she’d been beat up and knocked down, and she’d still managed to come out on top.  Battle weary and visibly scarred, she’d persisted until she found a peace so complete that the feeling emanated from her very pores.  She was an aphrodisiac and kelno’reem all wrapped up in an ugly, pea-green parka.

“Yeah.  Yeah, I’m fine.  And yes, I’d like to see you tonight.  Sweeney’s?  Eight o’clock?”

Gayle shook her head and smiled seductively.  “How ‘bout we eat in?”

* * * * *

Thirty minutes later, bundled up for the slopes, Jack pulled the cabin door shut behind him and stomped through the snow drifts towards his truck.  At the last minute he veered to the right and, stumbling over the railroad tracks which lay buried in the snow, he made his way towards the river.  Fifteen feet beyond the tracks, he stopped at the rim of the gorge.  Bracing a gloved hand on the white bark of a leafless aspen tree, he cautiously leaned out over the edge and stared down at the rushing waters.  Cold year-round, the waters now, at the height of winter, were absolutely frigid.  Even from twenty feet up, his breath fogged in front of him as warm air met cold and the noise of the wet turmoil below drowned out all other sound.

Flowing past the small town of Silverton, over thirty-five miles to the north, the Animas rushed around the base of Kendall Mountain and wound its way through the steep canyons of the San Juan Mountains, gathering volume and speed as it went.  Laying in bed at night, listening to the churning of the powerful current, Jack often imagined that he could hear the voices of the old prospectors who had followed the river to its source in their quest for buried riches.

As if he were searching for signs of ghostly trespassers, Jack looked to the north.  He could see only a short distance up-river as the glistening, sheer rock walls twisted and turned, accommodating the surrounding mountains.  As far as he could see, large boulders, smoothed by centuries of rushing water, littered the surface of the river.  Today they were snow-covered, easily recognizable, but Jack knew that with the spring runoff they would retreat beneath the surface, playing silent, deadly games of chance with hordes of kayakers.

Turning to the south, Jack watched as the river careened against a steep, rocky wall a few hundred yards past the cabin before veering sharply to the east.  At the bend in the gorge, the train tracks emerged from the drifts and crossed the river by means of a trestle.  The wooden framework seemed flimsy, set as it was against the backdrop of the surrounding cliffs.  It didn’t look like it could possibly accommodate the thick layer of fresh snow that covered it, let alone the one hundred and forty tons of steel, water and coal that comprised the old narrow gauge railroad that ran from Durango to Silverton during the summer months.

The very same train that in the 1800's had hauled ores and miners now transported tourists by the thousands, and as much as he detested the thought of the wilderness being raped by the curious, Jack could understand their need to ride the rails.  A solitary blast of the lonesome whistle and a single belch of black coal smoke was enough to mesmerize even the most stoic adversary.

Because he vacationed here in the winter, the train had passed this far north only a handful of times during Jack’s sojourns.  The last time was two years ago.  Jack had stood on the deck of the cabin and had offered a casual wave to the smiling faces as he’d watched the train’s passing, simultaneously loving what it represented and hating what it had become. Even now, part of him longed to see the metal beast with its huge plow shoving the deep snow aside as it chugged its way through the mountains.  But another part of him, the part that was weary beyond words, was thankful for the solitude.

Leaning heavily against the tree which anchored him, Jack followed the flow of the river with his eyes, losing his thoughts amidst the tumbling waters that disappeared behind the rim of the nearest mountain.  He took strange comfort in knowing that further south, several miles away, the same water would thunder its way through the narrow, rocky gorges at Baker’s Bridge and then level off as it meandered almost haphazardly through the Animas Valley before diving into the heart of Durango.

Without warning, a cold shiver ran through him, breaking his trance and offering a not so subtle reminder that the disastrous mission to K’Tau was a thing of the past, its events as irretrievable as the water flowing past his feet.  Pulling his cap lower on his head and pushing himself away from the edge of the deep crevasse, Jack plodded silently towards his truck.  As he left the ever-rumbling river behind him, he tried not to dwell on the fact that the Goa’uld and men like Malchus seemed to be everywhere he turned.  And always they were at odds with good people like Elrad and with peace-loving, shape-shifting aliens.

* * * * *

After stopping by Gayle’s and picking up his skis, Jack headed up the mountain to the Resort, where he spent most of the day on Legends and Dead Spike runs.  They were rated ‘more difficult.’  More difficult than what, he wasn’t sure.  More difficult than when he’d been ten years younger?  Yes.  More difficult than dodging staff blasts and high-tailing it to the Stargate with a buttload of angry Jaffa on his six?  Uh . . . no.  Either way, a foot of fresh, dry powder made the skiing fun and invigorating, and the cold wind on his face as he plummeted down the slopes cleared his mind in a way nothing else could.

His cheeks reddened by the sun and the cold, it was nearly 1500 hours when Jack sat on the deck outside the small grill at the base of the mountain munching on a thick, slightly under-cooked buffalo burger.  He stared up at the busy slopes, watching the small, bright spots zipping down the mountainside, growing in size and taking on human form as they neared.

His hunger temporarily sated, Jack pushed away his plate and leaned back in his chair, quietly surveying the crowded restaurant and the congestion around the lift a few hundred feet away.  Maybe it was nothing more than a matter of bringing his work with him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.  He took a sip of warm Irish coffee and glanced over at the table nearest him.  A young couple with two small children was having lunch, the mother trying to squeeze in a few bites for herself between cutting sandwiches and dividing fries and cleaning up spilled drinks.

Jack downed the last of his coffee and stood, zipping up his parka and grabbing his skis and poles.  Glancing at his watch, he decided to make one final run before heading back to the cabin.  Slowly, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder, he made his way through the crowds to Grizzly Lift.  He wanted to check out Cathedral Tree Way.  Earlier, he’d heard a young man telling his buddy that it cut over to Legends and that despite being short, it was one of the better runs on the front side of the mountain.

Cathedral Tree Way: that had been his goal.  But when he hopped off the lift and headed downhill, Jack made a split second decision at the first junction.  Instead of taking a left he went straight, fully aware that he was headed down Bull Run.  At the top it was rated ‘most difficult,’ but the bottom two-thirds was Double Black Diamond - experts only.  Jack knew that, but he wasn’t worried.  He was an expert skier and he’d just spent the better part of the day getting his ski legs back under him.

Yeah, he wasn’t worried a bit.

* * * * *

“Holy crap.”  Tossing his socks and insulated underwear into the corner of the small bathroom, Jack pulled himself upright and hobbled over to the tub.  It took a fair amount of cussing and groaning to ease his long frame down into the steaming water.  Scooting his butt against the end of the tub, he was barely able to get his swollen knee under the surface of the water.  “Oh, shit.”

Shutting his eyes, he grasped the edges of the porcelain, waiting for the pain to recede.  It

didn’t . . . not much anyway.  Eight nights, nine days, and he had to blow out his knee on his first day on the slopes.  Fraiser had warned him to take it easy.  She’d very diplomatically reminded him that he wasn’t as young as he thought he was, and that SG-1's last few missions had left him physically and mentally exhausted.  Damn!  He hated it when she was right, and now she was going to have his hide.  What had he been trying to prove anyway?  Well, truth be told he hadn’t been trying to prove anything, except that he wasn’t being followed.  He’d figured that if someone was on his trail, he could lose them on Bull Run.  Well, he’d lost something all right.

Jack soaked until the water turned cold.  By the time he pulled on a pair of sweats and hobbled out to the kitchen, it was dark and Gayle was pulling up outside.  As she shuffled her way through the snow to the porch, Jack quickly swallowed a Darvocet tablet from the prescription bottle he’d found in his shaving kit.  It was a little past its expiration date, but he figured it had to beat aspirin.

Gayle began shrugging out of her parka almost before she had closed the door.  “Hi.”  She smiled over at him as she tugged off the tall boots.  “How was Purgatory?”

“Great.  The powder was perfect.”

“Yeah, that’s what people in town were saying.”  In her sock feet, she moved over beside him and kissed him on the cheek.  He slipped one arm around her and rested his other hand on the counter in order to keep his balance.  “Hey,” she sniffed his breath, “do I smell alcohol?”

Jack grinned and pointed to the open bottle of wine and empty glass sitting on the small kitchen table.  He’d downed two glasses an hour ago while he’d painfully worked his way out of his ski pants and boots.

“Hmmm.”  As she rummaged in the refrigerator, he limped towards the sofa in front of the fireplace.  Clutching a cold beer in one hand, she grabbed the wine bottle and his glass, and followed him into the living area.  “You’re hurt.”

“Just a twinge.”  Biting his lip and groaning ominously, he sank onto the sofa.

“Dammit, Jack.  Your knee again?”  At his grim smile, she shook her head and settled on the floor near his feet.  “Did you at least get it checked out?”

He accepted the glass of wine from her and took a hearty swig.  “No need.  I just twisted it.”

“You’re a stubborn ass.  But I don’t suppose I’m the first person to tell you that.”

“It’s been mentioned.  Hey,” he dropped a hand onto her shoulder, “how was your day?”

Eyeing him closely, she sipped her beer.  “Despite the crappy segue . . . guess what some tourist asked me today.”

Jack chugged his wine, emptying the glass, then holding it out for a refill.  “No telling.”

Grinning, Gayle filled his glass.  “‘Excuse me, ma’am, but can you tell me something?  When do deer turn into elk?’”

He chuckled, his voice ringing hollowly in his ears.  “You’re kidding.  No one’s that stupid.”  Gayle merely watched as he downed half the wine in one swallow.  “So, what’d you tell him?”

“When they reach Wolf Creek Pass, of course.”

Jack laughed, slopping the remainder of the wine over the side of his glass.  Wiping his hand across the wet stain on the aging sofa, he vaguely wondered if his awkwardness had something to do with the mixture of drugs and alcohol.  “Did he believe you?”

“Not at first.  Not until a couple of the boys told him I was a part-time waitress and a part-time consultant with the Forest Service.”

He dabbed at the wet spot with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.  “God, you guys are brutal.  I’m surprised you didn’t take him snipe hunting.”

Gayle grinned, quietly observing his pathetic attempt to clean up the mess.  Then, setting down her beer, she idly picked up the book laying on the coffee table and studied the spine.  “So, are you Siddhartha?  Trying to blend with nature?”

“Thought I’d give it a shot.”

“Hesse was always a bit too philosophical for me.  Kind of like Ayn Rand with a splash of sex.”

“Speaking of which,” Jack nodded towards the book in her hand, “you’re mentioned in Chapter 6.”

“Yeah?”

Holding his empty glass in one hand, with the other he took the book from her and turned to the passage he’d been reading earlier today.  Holding it aloft, he squinted his eyes and read aloud. “Much he learned from her red, smart mouth.  Much he learned from her tender, supple hand.”

“Sounds about right.”  She laughed when he tossed the book at her.  “Isn’t there something in there about him being a boy when it came to love?”

“I thought you said you hadn’t read Hesse,” he softly slurred.

“Pay attention.  I said he was too philosophical.  Therefore, I obviously have read him.”

Jack grinned and closing his eyes, let his head drop back against the sofa.  “Obviously.”

Already dozing, he barely flinched as the glass was pulled from his hand and warm breath brushed his cheek.  “Why, Colonel, I do believe you’re quite drunk.”

* * * * *

There was a hollow indentation telling him her pillow had been used, but no lingering body heat. God, he barely remembered staggering from the couch into bed last night. He had vague notions of Gayle’s arm wrapped firmly around his waist, guiding him between the sheets. From there only snippets of memories remained: her head on his chest; a slender arm thrown protectively over his stomach; his fumbling attempt to coerce his fingers into undoing those damn tiny buttons on her nightgown; a soft laugh and her hand over his, stopping his groping efforts with an order to go to sleep; closing his eyes against the pain in his knee and relaxing because she understood. Understood and was giving him permission to not perform, to not do what was expected, to not be the Colonel.

The cabin isolated enough to not need shades for privacy, the room was bright. Jack squinted in the sunshine. He couldn’t remember when he’d last slept so late. Groaning as his knee declared war with his bladder, he debated whether he stood a chance at winning a temporary siege. He surrendered as his bladder sounded a trumpet call informing him just how late he had slept and that the conditions of his surrender were non-negotiable.

A small piece of paper propped up on the opposite night stand drew his attention. Stretching across the bed to snag the note, Jack buried his face in Gayle’s pillow, inhaling her scent - that musky, smokey smell that was as much a part of the Diner where she spent her days as the coffee she poured and the gossip she shared. It was a comfortable smell - earthy and unpretentious.

Her handwriting was neat, the writing of someone who had spent years taking down orders.

Good morning, sleepyhead. Breakfast is on the stove. Heat it and eat it. Call Doc Tucker if your knee isn’t a lot better, or stop in at the Diner around noon. He’ll be there having his lunch. Don’t overdo. That’s an order, Colonel. Give me a call if you need anything, or want to get together tonight. You know the number, but in case you’ve forgotten, it’s on the advertisement for the Diner on the calendar in the kitchen.

                                                              Gayle

P.S. ‘You can search throughout the entire universe for someone who is more deserving of your love and affection than you are yourself, and that person is not to be found anywhere. You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.’ And that means go and be good to yourself today, Jack. You deserve it according to Hesse. See you tonight?

Jack grinned, the irony of the quote not lost on him. Trust Gayle to choose that particular sentiment. Rocking himself to his feet, he grimaced as he tested his knee. Not too bad. It’d been worse. Wrap it up with an Ace bandage and he should be good to go. Even if Bull’s Run and the other Double Black Diamond runs were out, he was confident he could handle the Blackburn or Poet’s Glade runs with little trouble.

Limping towards the bathroom, Jack was eager to hit the slopes.

* * * * *

His mind on white powder and the anticipation in freedom of speed, Jack nearly missed the sound of the kitchen chair as it scraped over the wood floor. He debated briefly whether to go get his sidearm before determining who was in the cabin with him. It wasn’t Gayle; he’d just spoken to her on his cell, making plans to meet at Sweeney’s for a late dinner. Daniel? If Daniel had somehow followed him here after the seven unanswered messages he’d left on Jack’s voice mail, then maybe the Beretta wasn’t a bad idea.

“Morning, Jack.”

“Maybourne, you’re eating my sausage.”

“I’m not going to touch that comment.” He smirked at the disconcerted look on Jack’s face as he speared another link and chewed with exaggerated relish. “Help yourself to the coffee. I just made a fresh pot.” He pushed another mug in Jack’s direction. “You never were much good until you’d had your coffee.”

Harry raised his own mug and took a long swallow. “It’s good, Jack. Sit down and relax. I left you some eggs.”  He ignored Jack’s scowl and polished off the last of the biscuits.

Silence stretched between them, before Jack shrugged and snatched the mug. Limping to the stove, he filled his mug and sniffed the hot liquid with begrudging appreciation. Ignoring the eggs, Jack glowered as he spun another chair around and straddled it. “So who’d you steal the coffee recipe from, Maybourne?”

“It’d surprise you, if I told you.” Leaning back easily in his chair, Harry smiled, letting out a contented belch as he picked his teeth with his thumbnail.

“I seriously doubt it.”

“You really want to know?” When Jack refused to answer he added mockingly. “I’m wounded, Colonel.” His smile widened as Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Just shut the hell up and get your ass out of my chair. You know where the front door is? Or did you slide in through the sewage pipe?”<