From the Library of the Good Fathers on Abydos

Daniel pounds it into my head all the damn time - document, document, document. You never know who might read this a thousand years from now. Don't you want someone to have the real story? I really don't want to be writing this at all, but he insisted. He thinks he's dying. He says the end of a life is just as important as the beginning. He told me it's essential to see how you've changed by the end of the story, so you can see how much you've grown.

I don't know about all that. I feel pretty damn small and useless right now. All I can do is sit on my ass and wait for him to get better. It's been four days, and the fever hasn't broken yet. I'm getting scared. I don't want to lose him. Even though we've had a good long life here, I can't let him go that easily.

He wants me to, because he says it'll be better for me in the long run, but I don't buy it. I've told him in so many ways how much he means to me, but I still don't think he really understands how deep this goes. All I can say is, if what he feels is anything even close to this, then I've been winning the big prize in the universal lottery every day for the past fifty-seven years.

FIFTY-SEVEN YEARS.

I'm writing it again because even now, I still can't believe it's been that long. The folks we knew on Earth would have been shocked to know what we've been up to. Us, of all people. Two guys who pretty much just met, running away together? Married? With kids? They'd never have believed it unless they saw it for themselves. It makes me laugh a little just thinking of the looks on their faces if they'd ever found out.

One thing I'm still not used to is being treated like royalty everywhere I go. These people are very superstitious, and they believed at first that they had to try hard not to displease us, so we wouldn't get angry and destroy their city. I guess they considered us their new gods. They gave us this big house, and filled it with donated household goods from all over. We ended up with food, bedding, clothing, dishes, fuel, animals - even servants.

They kept leaving offerings outside our door for weeks after that, until Daniel got them to stop it. It took him a long time to convince them we were just a couple of regular guys, and all we wanted was to live a normal life like anyone else. Even then, I don't think they really believed him, but they did as he asked, just because it was him asking.

We didn't want any servants, but they wouldn't leave, so we let them live with us and take care of the daily routine stuff while we fixed up the house. Daniel started classes right here in the house to teach them their own written language as well as English and French. People heard about it and started showing up to listen. Before we knew it, he had to take over a whole other building just for that.

Now he travels every day around the city to the four other school buildings we have. A lot of former students are teaching there, and not just English and Egyptian anymore. When enough people were finally able to read and speak English, they wanted to read Daniel's books. When they did, they found words in other languages, and asked him to teach them those too.

Most of the superstitious older people who were still afraid Ra would punish them for learning have died off. That means most of the population now reads, speaks and writes at least three Earth languages in addition to their own. If anyone from Earth ever makes it here again, it's a pretty good bet they'll find someone who understands them.

Daniel says that, in ancient times, a person was defined completely by his percieved role in society. The people here apparently see us as being higher or better or wiser than them, so it all kind of fell into place naturally. When Good Father Kasuf died, he put us in charge, and the people seemed to like that idea, so here we are.

The bottom line is, we saved them, and now they see themselves as our responsibility. Whether we want it or not, they always look to us for guidance and decision-making. Even Kasuf started consulting us about everything. Hearing them call us "Good Father" was ... weird. That's all I can really say about that. It made me feel old, but somehow good.

I want to stop writing, but Daniel won't let me. When I asked what else I could possibly write about when all I can think about is him being sick, he said, "Write about how we got together. I mean, really write about it. Tell it all in detail from your perspective - what you thought, what you felt, everything. It's time you did."

At first, I didn't want to. I never have in these journals, even though he tells me all the time I should. I've referred to it in some of my other entries, but never given any details. It just seems too deeply personal to put out there for someone else to read.

I told him this, and he said, "No one but us will read these until after we die. Besides, everyone loves a love story that's true. Someday, hundreds or thousands of years from now, someone will pick up that book you're writing in and read it. They'll know it all really happened, that it's part of the history of this place. Imagine if that were you, and you were reading about us. How would that make you feel?"

I thought about that for a minute. I didn't know what to say, so I just blurted out the first thing that hit my mind. "Like I wished I'd been there, been part of the story."

"Exactly," he said. "And with all we've seen and done and felt together, who wouldn't yearn to be part of something this good and fulfilling?"

He always fucking does this. After he said that, I had to stop and wipe my eyes. Daniel and his words. He uses them so well, and he says things so much better than I could ever say them. In several languages. He's made me cry many times over the years just by unexpectedly saying something that knocks me breathless. No one else has ever had that effect on me. It's no wonder he's such a good teacher, and everyone loves him so much. It's impossible not to. I keep saying how lucky I am to have found him at all, and it's as true now as it ever was.

I have no idea how to start. There was just so much ... now Daniel's made me go to my weaving room to write by myself. He says I need to be free of distractions, but he probably just wants to take a nap. Having him out of sight means I'm constantly wanting to go and see if anything's changed for the better. I sent one of the servants up to sit with him, so he won't be by himself. That's the only way I can focus on this. He says he won't let me back in the room until I finish writing about us. I feel like one of his students doing an assignment.

So where to begin ... I think right now I'm just taking up room on paper with pointless crap while I try to think of how to describe the start of our relationship. To show how everything really, truly felt to me would need words I just don't have. It kind of pisses me off that Daniel's making me do this. I'm just not up to the task. Something that incredible deserves someone like Daniel to tell it. He always knows what to say, and the right way to say it.

He has this way of making the words do a little dance for him. He juggles them around in his head until they're arranged exactly the way he wants, and then out they come. And all this happens at warp speed, in every language he knows. Why someone who can do that would want a grunt like me is just ...

It's a few minutes later, and I'm still trying to figure out how to word all this. There's a half-finished rug on the loom, so I worked on that for a while to help clear my head. Weaving always calms me down when I get into the rhythm of it. Helps me think. I feel a little better now, but still unable to say what I want to say.

I guess the most logical place to begin would be the beginning. I'll try that and see how it goes, and if it works out, fine. If it doesn't, then whoever you are reading this thousands of years later - sorry about that. Please believe me, not all the writers of this time are crap. If you want proof, go read Daniel's journals. They'll be the ones with nice straight readable lines of words and actual writing skills. I've practiced enough over the years now that I can manage a pretty consistent plain block printing style, as Daniel calls it. My actual handwriting is much worse, so be grateful for small favors. And I hope you can read English.

Ok, enough dicking around. Daniel wants me to do this, so I'll do it. The beginning.

The first time I saw Daniel Jackson's face was in a black and white dossier photo. Dr. Langford had been investigating him for the Stargate project. It was a nice picture, but nothing like the real thing, I found out later. I didn't think much of it at the time, other than he looked very young, and very geeky. I think I called him a dweeb. It was only a picture, how was I supposed to know?

Meeting him was a lot different. I first saw him across the room talking to one of the female doctors on the project. He was talking with his hands, waving them all over the place. He had a very soft voice. I remember thinking how odd that seemed, because he wasn't exactly speaking quietly.

He turned around when he heard me speak, and suddenly I'm staring straight at the most beautiful human being I've ever seen in my life. It's stupid and corny, but that's literally the first thing that crossed my mind when I saw his face. I couldn't take my eyes off him. The next thought was, why in the hell am I reacting like this to a man?

I was never anti-gay, and I don't think I was a homophobe. Frankly, I don't care what people do with each other, gay or not. Even showering with dozens of other naked guys for years in the military wasn't a big deal. I just didn't care. You got one, I got one, we all got one. Now let's all wash 'em and get back to work. But I never expected this kind of reaction. I was actually shaking, and I got a hard-on. I just looked back at that last sentence, and realized I have a hard-on right now just remembering that. At MY age. Damn him.

Now I want to go back in and lie down with him. I really need to touch him right now. I wanted to touch him then, too, and it literally scared the shit out of me. After I left the room, I had to go find a bathroom and take a dump. I sat on the toilet shitting and trying to make my heart slow down. That sounds so fucking stupid. Daniel, curse you for making me use ink and the good paper for this. You should know better by now.

Ok, let me try that again. No, never mind. Fuck it. That's exactly what happened. I know Daniel will laugh his ass off at this, but I guess people shitting is as much a part of history as anything else that happens. I'm sure our "Dear Readers" - as Daniel calls our future audience - will have plenty of experience with that. So deal with with the shit or put down the book, Dear Reader.

I can't seem to stop being a comedian here. I know it's just because I'm just so fucking scared out of my mind right now. I need something to release the tension. I need to be back in that room with him, so I can see him, but he made me promise to write this. Goddamn it. I hate doing this. More than you know.

Ok, Daniel. You're always telling me I need to be more "intimate and conversational" and less "military report" in my journals, so I'll do what you want, and give all the details. You know I don't want to. I'd rather just hold them all inside where only you and I can get to them. But I'll do it because you asked me to. Because I love you so much I'd even embarrass myself by writing - very badly - about my most sensitive and private thoughts.

You might laugh when I say this, but writing this entry is the hardest thing you've ever asked me to do. You're in there not getting any better, and I'm supposed to sit here and dig up all those raw memories of us and somehow put them on paper so they make sense? Do you have any idea how scary that is to me? I think I need to go work on my rug for a while.

It's after dark now. I lost track of time and the rug is almost finished. Daniel let me go back into the sickroom for dinner with him, and made me leave right after to finish this. I feel better after eating, but it was mostly just being around him again for a while. The fever still hasn't broken, but he's awake and talking and eating. He seems to be in a good mood, but he might just be faking it so I won't worry.

I guess I should pick up where I left off a few hours ago, and try not to get off the subject this time. So there I was on the toilet with a hard-on. On top of that, I was on my way to meet with General Weston. My day got even better when he showed me the remains of what looked like ancient armor from the site of the Stargate dig. I wrote about all that already, not long after it happened, so I won't go into detail again here.

To sum up - by the time I locked myself in my quarters for the night, I had a brand new set of problems I couldn't have seen coming a mile away. The armor didn't surprise me that much. War is universal, and I was a soldier - it was just a new set of bad guys to shoot at. Only now they were on some planet on the other side of the known universe. As far as we could tell.

My wife filed for divorce right after I left home, and I'd just been served with the papers that morning. It's not like I didn't expect it - just not like that. It wasn't typical of her to do something like that, but then, things hadn't been normal for years anyway.

And now there was this Daniel Jackson guy who just would not get out of my head. I kept seeing his face when he turned around to look at me for the first time, and feeling that same urge to walk over and stand next to him. Definitely not normal for me.

He closed himself up alone with a bunch of books and papers, so I didn't see him much after that, other than passing in the hall and so on. But every time it happened, I found an excuse to stare at him. I found myself hoping I'd run into him, just so I could catch a glimpse. Once, when we were walking in opposite directions, one of the project doctors caught up to Daniel and stopped him to ask him something.

I remember being thrilled that he was standing still so I had more staring time as I walked by. That was when I got my first whiff of him. He smelled like clean sweat and soap. No cologne, no hair crap, no aftershave, and none of that smelly fabric softener shit on his clothes - just pure Daniel. It hit my nose like a drug, I swear to God. My whole system just went crazy - rapid heartbeat, lump in the throat, lump in the pants - you know what I mean. If you're a guy, anyway.

I went to my quarters and sat on the bed for a long time, trying to figure out what I should do about this. I had to make myself calm down and break it all down logically. I started with the obvious - regardless of my physical reactions, sex wasn't happening. Period. Also obvious was that I was never going to tell Daniel or anyone else about this. So what did that leave? Yeah, you guessed it - lots of self-attention in the shower every morning. I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't very well run around with a stiffy all day.

I'd also started having dreams about him. They started out pretty innocent. In the first few we just held hands, sat close together, maybe kissed a little. The ones after that kept getting more and more sexual. More than once I woke up in the middle of an orgasm, and had to get up and go wash myself off.

I couldn't get away from it - it was in my face day and night. I started showering twice a day just to take care of business so I could concentrate on my job. At this point I seriously thought I might be going crazy. I hadn't dreamed about anyone this way, for this long, since my mid-twenties. And never a guy.

But what could I do? Who could I talk to? There was no one whose office I could walk into and say, "Hey, I have the hots for Dr. Jackson. What do you think is wrong with me, and can you fix it?" I was stuck.

I even broke down and went to a high-dollar call girl. I thought a professional would be able to get this crazy thing out of my system. And she was really, really good. And gorgeous. I mean holy shit, this girl was hot, hot, hot. Any guy would have killed to have sex with her. But when I finished, it was Daniel's face I saw.

I almost lost it totally right then and there. She knew something was up, and asked me what was wrong. I guess it showed on my face. So I told her. What the hell, she was a hooker. What did she care? She knew nothing about me. When I finished talking, she looked at me for a minute, and then said, "Honey, you're going about this all wrong." I asked what she meant, and she said, "You shouldn't be going to a woman."

I told her I wasn't gay, and she said, "Look - you can do one of three things, ok? One, you can keep whacking off in the shower and getting nothing in return. Two, you can pick up a hot guy somewhere and get it on. Or three - in my opinion the most sensible - go find out if your crush feels the same way. If he does, you both get laid. Everybody wins."

"But I'm still not gay," I said. "And I don't even know if he is. It's just not going to happen."

She said, "Gay, straight, bi, whatever - none of that matters. Look, I've been doing this a long time. I've seen and done every kind of sex you can possibly imagine. Bottom line, whatever gets you off, gets you off. No good or bad about it, just is what it is. If you've never wanted a guy before, and now all of a sudden you want this one - there must be a reason. You in love with him?"

That question hit me in the gut like a hammer. I had to really think about it. I finally said, "I really don't know. That's the truth."

She said, "Well, you should go find out."

I laughed really hard and said, "How the fuck am I supposed to do that?" I could just see myself asking Daniel out on a date. What a joke.

She said, "If you decide you really want him, you'll find a way."

In the end, it was Daniel the explorer - as always - who took that first step, but there'll be more about that later in this entry.