Title: The Puck Stops Here Chapter One

Author: Wadjet

Fandom: Stargate SG1

Rating: NC17

Category: Alternate Universe Notes and disclaimer: This is set in the world of ice hockey. Jack O'Neill is a professional ice hockey player and Daniel Jackson is an anthropology student. Jack is married. Daniel is gay. Lori O'Neill, Brad Nelson and Stan Pankowski are my own characters, the rest of em don't belong to me. Scotty Bowman was coach of the Pittsburgh Penguins at that time. This is somewhat different to anything I've done before. I hope you enjoy it and Chapter Two is in progress :-)

The Puck Stops Here Chapter One

By Wadjet

Part 1

Lori O'Neill rolled across the mattress towards the warm body of her husband Jack, and raked her expensively manicured fingernails up the inside of his thigh. His hand gently took her wrist and picked up her hand, brought it to his lips, kissed it softly and let it go.

"Not tonight, baby. I got a big game tomorrow," he whispered.

"That seems to be your usual excuse these days, Jack," Lori pouted. "How come you never make love to me anymore?"

Jack threw his arm behind his head and sighed, "Aw, for cryin' out loud. I do make love to you. Just not every night."

She nuzzled into him further and purred, "You used to."

Jack stiffened, a wave of anger flooding through him and threw the comforter off. He sat up in bed and swung his legs over the side, facing the wall as he spoke. "Lori, I have a tough job. We're playing game 5 in the fucking Stanley Cup series tomorrow. We're 2 all with the North Stars - not so's you'd know - and I have enough on my mind without worrying about whether or not you're satisfied...which you never are."

"And whose fault is that?" she snapped.

Jack stood and turned around, a cold fire burning in his eyes. "I give you everything you ask for - and that's plenty - you spend money like it's water and you never say 'thank you', you never ask me how I'm doing." He threw up his hands in exasperation. "You never talk to me, dammit! All you seem to want is my dick or my wallet! I'm telling you that tonight...just for tonight; you can't have my dick, that's all. Jesus Lori, I'm a Pro hockey player - which I'm fully aware is the only reason why you married me, by the way - and I have probably the biggest game of my career in..." he looked at the bedside clock, which glowed 1:30am, " ...fifteen and a half hours. I need to relax and I need some sleep and I'd really appreciate some support, but seeing as I'm not gonna get any of those things up here, I'm going down to the basement with the dog!"

"You do that, Jack O'Neill!" Lori fumed. "One of these days I'm going to ban you from this bed altogether! Then you'll have to sleep with the fucking dog every night!"

Jack pulled on his robe and put on his slippers, "That's just fine by me!" he yelled, then stormed out of the bedroom muttering, "He'd probably be a better lay than you anyhow. At least he hasn't been fucked by half the NHL."

"I heard that, you bastard!" Lori screeched after him.

"Yeah, fuck you," he mumbled, padding down the stairs.

Jack sighed heavily and went into the kitchen to get a bottle of water from the refrigerator. He heard soft footsteps coming up from the basement and came out of the kitchen to be met by a pair of huge, limpid brown eyes gazing up at him.

"Hey Oz," Jack said softly, ruffling the shaggy head of his large, German Shepherd, Oscar. The dog shook Jack's hand off, and then licked it affectionately. Jack sat down at the top of the basement steps and Oscar rubbed his head against Jack's, licking his ear and making Jack smile.

"You and me, boy. Just you and me." Jack told him and cuddled up against Oscar's thick, warm coat.

*

The following morning Jack was up early, as usual. He threw on some sweatpants and a hooded sweatshirt then tried to find his running shoes. Oscar leapt around the basement, barking excitedly as Jack put them on.

"Calm down, buddy. You'll wake 'Her Highness'. C'mon, let's get outa here," he smiled, as the dog bounded up the stairs to the ground floor.

There was a distinct chill in the air as Jack opened the front door, and he shivered slightly as he took his first breath in. Oscar sat obediently at his side, his voluminous tongue already hanging out of his mouth in anticipation of their morning run.

Jack jogged down the steps and along the driveway, which eventually led to the security gates and out onto the street. It only took a minute for Jack to settle into his rhythm, the pounding of his feet on the sidewalk creating a comforting drumbeat as Oscar ran beside him. Jack's morning run was the favourite part of his day. Most of the people in the neighbourhood knew him, and knew him well enough to leave him alone. This was his time. The only time, day or night, when he was completely alone with his thoughts and no one demanding anything of him; just Jack, his dog and the open road.

This morning was a little different, however. Although the streets were still quiet, occasionally a car would go by and beep its horn, the driver giving him an encouraging wave, or shouting sentiments of good luck for the upcoming game. It seemed like the entire city was behind them. People waved at him from the other side of the street, smiling as he and Oscar passed. For once, Jack didn't mind the interruption. He felt fantastic. He was at the top of his game and although he knew that nothing is ever certain in hockey, Jack was convinced they could win the next two matches against Minnesota for the honour of winning the Stanley Cup, the supreme trophy in the National Hockey League. It would be the pinnacle of a long, solid career in the game. Jack O'Neill, #38 would have a Stanley Cup medal, he would have made it, at last. Maybe it would even make him good enough for his wife.

Jack's team, the Pittsburgh Penguins were currently 2 - all with the first NHL team Jack had ever played for - a million years ago, it seemed - the Minnesota North Stars. After their couple of losses in this 'best of seven' series, Jack felt that the 'Pens' were getting into their stride at last. Their defence (of which Jack was an important part) was tight, their forwards were moving the puck well and clicking into a rhythm, and Mario Lemieux, their star player, was finding the net with monotonous regularity. The only possible spanner in their well-oiled machine was a long-standing feud between Jack and one of the North Stars' wingers, Stan Pankowski.

Neither of them could remember how it had started, but Jack O'Neill and Stan Pankowski had always disliked each other. In Jack's opinion, Pankowski was an animal and way too keen on using his stick illegally. He had caused injuries to various players on all of the teams Jack had played for during his career, even back into junior hockey: including himself. His left eyebrow still bore the scar of a particularly vicious high stick way back when Jack had been in his second year with the North Stars and Pankowski had been a Boston Bruin.

Jack had spent more than enough time over the years in the 'sin-bin' as a result of knocking Pankowski on his ass. The guy had a glass jaw, and sometimes it was just too easy. No matter how many fights they had, the good feeling it gave Jack to see Stan drop to his knees like a sack of potatoes never got old. It was always worth the two or five minutes he spent out of the game, even though he usually got his ass kicked by the Coach in the interval between periods.

The Penguins' Head Coach, Scotty Bowman, had warned Jack to keep his temper in check when they'd found out the Penguins would be playing the North Stars in the final. Scotty was justifiably concerned that Jack could pick up careless penalties as a result of losing his rag and force Pittsburgh to be short-handed. This was especially worrying when Minnesota's power play was among the best in the league. The Coach knew the score though; he'd played against Pankowski too, and hated the guy as much as anyone else.

Jack had already picked up two five-minute penalties for fighting in the four games they had played so far, and both times he'd been pitched against the big Polish-American player. Jack vowed to himself and the Coach that this time, he wouldn't allow 'Stan the Man' to push him over the edge. Too much was at stake. Two more wins would do it. Two more wins and Jack would be the proud owner of a Stanley Cup medal. He turned the corner back onto his street and sprinted all the way back up to the house with a broad grin on his face and an exhausted Oscar panting at his heel.

*

At the Marriott Hotel in downtown Pittsburgh, Daniel Jackson towelled off his hair and looked out of the window across the street at the Mellon Arena, where later he would be watching the fifth game in this year's Stanley Cup series. A goofy grin spread over his face as it finally sank in that in a few hours time, he'd be over there watching his hero, Jack O'Neill, play again. His boyfriend Brad, who was still peacefully sleeping, had managed to get tickets as a Christmas present for him, before they'd even known who would be playing. Brad knew Daniel well enough to realise that it wouldn't matter; his lover just worshipped the game, but Daniel could remember how especially excited he'd been when Pittsburgh reached the final.

Pressure of work meant that they had unfortunately missed the first four games and they were both extremely grateful that the series hadn't been won by a landslide, but here they both were for game five, possibly the most crucial game in the series. Whoever won today would be only one game away from winning the Cup.

It had been many years since Daniel had seen Jack play in New York, while O'Neill had been playing for the Rangers. He'd had Jack's poster on his bedroom ceiling and it had fuelled many a hot, sticky fantasy on lonely nights during the time he was discovering his sexuality. When he'd first laid eyes on the tall, lean defenseman, with his deep, brown eyes, a shiver had gone through him of a kind he'd never felt before. In the days when all his friends were finding girlfriends, dating, making out and discussing which base they'd got to, all Danny could think about was having Jack's strong arms around him, holding him and making love to him and touching Jack's hard, muscular body.

To begin with, no one at school had taken much notice that Danny didn't seem interested in girls. He had been a well-built teenager: not bad looking, very bright, but bookish and a little shy. Even though he was a hockey player - and a good one at that, few of the girls had seemed interested in him, either. He'd dated a couple of the 'puck bunnies' who had made it their mission to screw their way through the whole school team, but when they hadn't achieved their goal, they'd dropped him like a hot stone. They had put the word around the school that Danny Jackson was a faggot and if he was honest, it hadn't been a major news flash either to the rest of the school or to him. The boys had accepted the girls' assessment without question, on the grounds that any guy of that age who would refuse full sex when it was offered to him on a plate would have to be gay. However, to the team's credit, it hadn't affected their attitude towards him. He was still Danny Jackson, defence, #19 and one of the hardest checkers the team had ever seen.

His foster family had been mostly accepting of it, while being a little sad and disappointed, particularly his father. Ted Jarvis had great difficulty dealing with the fact that although his foster son was a hockey player and built like a barn door, he wanted to have sex with men. In his mind, the two things just didn't go together. Fags were dancers, figure skaters, or actors: prissy, weak, flouncy types, not big, powerful hockey jocks. His brother, C.C. had been surprisingly supportive, always backing him up when the gay-bashers decided it was Daniel's turn for a beating. Many times they had walked home, arms around each other's shoulders, wiping off the blood from each other's faces.

His father had been immensely proud when Daniel had decided to try his luck as a professional hockey player. Daniel had thought that perhaps in the back of his father's mind was the idea that he'd be able to shake off this 'phase' he was going through, find a nice girl and settle down. Much as he'd wanted to please his father, by the time he left New York for British Columbia, Daniel had known his place in life. He was a homosexual and there was no point in trying to change that, even if he'd wanted to.

Daniel had been picked to play for Kelowna Rockets in the Canadian West Coast League and had acquitted himself well. He'd always known he wasn't good enough for the NHL but as long as he could play -and better yet be paid for it, Daniel was happy. He'd stayed with the Rockets for four seasons, until intellectual restlessness had made him re-evaluate.

He'd still loved the game, but he'd felt his mind was beginning to atrophy. He needed to exercise his intellect as much as his body and he'd felt a sense that something other than a partner had been missing in his life. Eventually, the pull of the books and the need to back into a world where he could meet other men like him began to overtake his desire to play professional hockey and he'd decided to go back to school.

A conversation with his brother while C.C. had been in British Columbia for a visit, helped Daniel to consolidate his decision to quit the game and hit the books again. They had discussed Daniel's options several times, and between them had tried to make the choice of which course would be the best for him to take. During one of these conversations, C.C. had told Daniel that he'd always been a 'people watcher', so why didn't he try anthropology?

Daniel had considered his brother's advice for the rest of the season, and had spent some time checking out the various colleges offering anthropology at degree level and above. He had finally settled on the University of California in Berkeley on the grounds that not only did they have an excellent Anthropology Department, their hockey team wasn't half bad either.

During his studies, Daniel had discovered a joy in anthropology that he hadn't imagined could be there. C.C. had been right, he'd been an anthropologist all along and never realised it. It was also at college where Daniel finally lost his virginity. He had been a freshman; Mike McCoy had been in the third year of an English degree.

To this day, Daniel had continued to be grateful to Mike. The older man had wooed him gently, had taken his time and never forced their relationship any further or faster than Daniel had been comfortable with. In fact, on a couple of occasions it had been Mike slowing him down. As a result, Daniel's first real adult relationship held nothing but good memories. Mike had taught him a great deal about loving and being loved and although theirs had been a relatively short relationship, Daniel still had feelings for him years after Mike had left Berkeley. He'd stayed pretty much alone since then...until Brad.

Brad Nelson was as persistent as he was cute and had gradually worn down Daniel's reticence until the older man had agreed to a date. Eight months later they were still together.

Brad sneaked up behind him and put his arms around Daniel's waist.

"Hey, sugar. Gettin' all excited about the game?" he asked, his slight Georgia drawl still evident even after all his time of living in California.

Daniel smiled enigmatically, "Oh yeah."

"Excited about seeing your teenage jerk-off fantasy play again, I'll bet," Brad grinned, kissing his neck. "Got a little competition, do I?"

Daniel turned in his embrace and kissed him softly, pushing him back towards the bed. "After last night? Are you nuts?" he laughed.

Brad returned his kiss, deepening it and slipping his tongue inside the other man's mouth, walking backwards and pulling Daniel with him, until he could feel the back of his knees touch the bed.

"Mmmm, I'd say he's got a fight on his hands, baby," Brad murmured, smiling.

Daniel grinned. "They don't call him 'Fighting Irish' for nothing y'know," he teased.

"I say 'come on'. If there's gonna be a fuckin' contest, I'll take him. No problem. You are mine, Danny Jackson."

Daniel chuckled and pushed his lover down so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed, " Baby, have you any idea how many potential double entendres were in that sentence?"

Brad's eyes widened as he gazed up at him, trying desperately to avoid looking at his lover's erection. "Really? How many?" he asked, as innocently as he could fake it.

"Well," Daniel began, " there was 'come', and 'fucking', and 'take him'"

Daniel punctuated his words with kisses, working his way down from Brad's neck, then to his hairy chest. After the last word, Daniel knelt, opened the young man's robe and took his thickening cock into his mouth, sucking it hard as he looked up into Brad's eyes, wickedly.

"Hooooly Toledo, Danny. You should come with a health warning," he gasped and flopped back onto the mattress.

*

Jack walked into the locker room in silence, acknowledging no one, as was his tradition. None of the other players took offence at his apparent ignorance, they knew this was the way Jack always prepared himself for a game and they respected it; besides, they all had their own little idiosyncratic ways of psyching themselves up. They respected Jack as the elder statesman of the team and knew that no matter what; Jack O'Neill would get the job done out there, where it counted.

Sportsmen tend to be a superstitious breed and O'Neill was certainly no exception. He put his bag down on the bench in front of his locker and scratched his play-off beard. Some of the other guys on the team seemed to have trouble even growing designer stubble, but after not shaving since Pittsburgh reached the play-offs, Jack was by now doing a passable imitation of Grizzly Adams. He walked into the bathroom and looked at his face in the mirror while he took a leak, inwardly grimacing at the copious amount of grey in his beard. His face was still handsome, he supposed, not too many wrinkles anyway, and his almost shoulder length hair was still light brown; no grey there and no chemical assistance to keep it that way either, but the beard showed the passage of time and Jack sighed, knowing that he was looking at the twilight of his professional career.

He was determined to go out with a bang, not a whimper. He wouldn't be one of those ex-NHL players who were so desperate to keep playing, they joined teams in leagues further and further down the hierarchy as the seasons passed, only finally hanging up their skates when injury forced them into it. Jack's back was beginning to give him more trouble than he would admit to the team physiotherapist as it was, and Jack figured he only had at most a couple more useful seasons with the Pens, then it would be time to bow out gracefully. Maybe this year would be it. With a Stanley Cup winner's medal in his trophy case, he could retire at the top and no one would ever need to know that he was past it. There would be nothing more soul destroying for him than being traded to another team because he couldn't cut it out there any more.

After that, who knew? There were plenty of openings in coaching for ex-NHL players, although the lucrative endorsements that the stars of the game were offered were never going to come Jack's way. O'Neill had been a journeyman player his entire career. No matter what team he'd played for, Jack had always been a hard worker, but he'd never quite pulled in the stats to be in the spotlight. The truth was though, that Jack was happy to not be a star. Since he was naturally a little shy, the public part of being a successful hockey player made him slightly uncomfortable. Being asked for his autograph still surprised and unnerved him, and he was grateful in a way, that he'd never become a Brett Hull or a Wayne Gretzky. He'd spent his adult life being paid to do something he loved and regularly thanked his lucky stars that he hadn't been forced into a plumbing apprenticeship like his father and two brothers.

He smiled as he watched one of the equipment guys walk past him with a Styrofoam cup in his hand from Tim Horton's. If worst came to worst, he could always buy a coffee franchise. He chuckled quietly to himself at the thought and began to unpack his gear.

*

Daniel toyed with his Caesar salad, the excitement building up inside him killing off any hunger pangs. He looked at his watch for the fourth time in ten minutes, making Brad laugh out loud.

"Jesus, Danny. Calm down."

Daniel grinned, embarrassed. "Sorry. Can't help it. I've never been to a Stanley Cup game before and it's been so long since..."

"Wow, you really are stuck on this guy aren't you?"

Daniel's face reddened. "You have to understand, I spent my entire teenage years with Jack O'Neill on my ceiling. I even took the poster with me when I left for Kelowna. You have no idea how I wove my fantasy life around him."

"Bordering on too much information there, Dannyboy," Brad grinned.

"I used to watch him play at the Gardens," Daniel continued, wistfully. "Sometimes my High School team got a little ice time there before the Rangers training sessions and once I'd gotten changed, I'd go back out and sit in the stands, just watching him. Memorising the drills. Checking out his technique."

"And his ass," Brad interrupted.

"Yeah, that too," Daniel admitted.

"Did you ever meet him?"

"A couple of times. He seemed really shy and sweet, nothing like the animal he is out on the ice. He autographed one of his sticks for me once," Daniel smiled. "I spent hours just touching that stick; running my fingers over his signature. God, I was a hopeless case!"

"And now?"

Daniel took a sip of his iced water. "Now? Now I'm a grown up...and the prospect of seeing him again has got my stomach doing back flips. I feel like I've dropped about fifteen years off my age! It's like I'm that besotted kid again, waiting impatiently for him to skate out onto the ice, watching his every move, even looking at him sitting on the bench between shifts. He had the most incredible eyes, y'know? Deep brown, really deep, like bitter chocolate. I'd never seen eyes that dark before. It was like...when he was angry, when you just knew he was going to hammer some guy into the floor, they seemed to shine kind of golden, as if there was fire in there or something. I used to get the biggest boner when he was fighting. There was such a passion in him that...Christ. Would you listen to me?" he laughed.

A veil came over Brad's eyes as he listened to Daniel talking. It wasn't so much what Daniel was saying, or even the way he was saying it, it was the look in his eyes as his memory took him back to those days. If he hadn't known better, Brad would have thought that Daniel was actually in love with this guy. A shiver of jealousy ran through him. He may have had Daniel's body - for the moment - but his heart obviously still belonged to #38. No one can compete with a fantasy and it was a battle Brad knew he had no hope of winning.

"We'd better make a move, babe," Brad suddenly announced, jolting Daniel out of his reminiscences.

*

As they entered the main part of the arena, Daniel's breath caught. The atmosphere was electric, the crowd murmuring as they all took their seats in anticipation of the game to come and loud rock music playing over the sound system. A huge grin spread over Daniel's face as the smell of the ice hit his nostrils, eliciting a thousand memories of games watched and games played. Brad glanced sideways at Daniel and he was suddenly gripped by a feeling of sadness. He was desperately in love with Daniel and although he knew that the older man didn't feel quite the same way about him, it hadn't struck him this hard before. Standing on the steps looking at his lover, Brad had the feeling that it probably wouldn't have mattered whether he was there or not.

They weaved their way between hockey fans dressed in black and gold for Pittsburgh and green for Minnesota, down to their seats, which were behind and slightly to the side of the Pittsburgh bench. Brad had deliberately tried to get seats near to the front, but hadn't known that the Penguins' bench would be so close. Brad smiled at the irony of it, realising that once Daniel saw O'Neill again, his presence would be completely superfluous.

Daniel sat down and pulled his gold and black scarf tightly around him, shivering more from excitement than cold. His stomach was churning and he could feel his heart thumping in his chest. He mentally berated himself for allowing his adolescent crush on an untouchable - and almost certainly straight - hockey player to affect him so much at his age, but couldn't seem to help himself. He was going to be seeing Jack O'Neill again. The man who had made Daniel realise he was gay by doing nothing at all but being.

From the time he'd begun to have sexual feelings, he'd seemed to be more attracted to men than women, but it was seeing Jack for the first time and falling so hard for him, which had confirmed what he'd suspected all along. So many nights he'd fallen asleep after masturbating to orgasm, while gazing at O'Neill's poster and imagining what it would be like to have Jack inside him; feeling Jack's hairy, sweaty chest across his back as Jack fucked him hard, hearing Jack's low voice growling out his name as he came. Even now, the fantasy of seducing O'Neill in the showers after a game was guaranteed to get him off in no time. Sometimes, to his shame, he even used it when he was sleeping with Brad. He shivered again and tried to think of something other than Jack O'Neill naked, as his cock began to betray him.

"You okay, Danny?" Brad asked, a little concerned.

Daniel smiled, "I'm fine. Just got a chill, that's all."

The crowd suddenly roared and Daniel's stomach clenched as the Pittsburgh Penguins began to skate onto the ice one by one, introduced by the announcer.

Jack stood in line in the tunnel, leaning on his stick and shifting from one skate to the other as he tried to control his breathing and his rapid heart beat. He remembered what the coach had said to him in the locker room before they lined up.

"Just do your job, Jack. Forget Pankowski and don't let him needle you. I can't afford to have my best D in the box for half the game. You got that?"

He'd nodded in agreement. They had to win this one and Jack wasn't going to jeopardise that by allowing his temper to overtake his control. Every time he saw 'Stan the Man', Jack wanted to punch his lights out and Stan loved goading him into doing it. Pankowski knew as well as anyone how weak Pittsburgh could be when they were short-handed, and without Jack they were that much weaker.

"Just do your job."

Jack shuffled towards the front of the line and heard his name over the speakers. He skated out to join the rest of his teammates and raised his hand to the crowd as he circled the icepad. Daniel was standing up, clapping like a maniac and cheering loudly. As Jack skated past Daniel's seat, he turned and for a split second Daniel was convinced their eyes met.

Daniel remained standing, dumbstruck, as Jack skated to the end of the line.

Finally, he found his voice again. "Jesus H. Christ, would you look at him?" he muttered in awe, half to himself.

"He's lookin' fine, Danny. I can see what you saw in him," Brad conceded.

"He's...he's...fuck. I gotta sit down." Daniel flustered and sat heavily down in his seat as the Minnesota North Stars took to the ice. When Stan Pankowski skated past their section, Daniel rose and yelled after him.

"Pankowski! You sorry sonovabitch! Irish is gonna kick your ass!"

Pankowski raised a gloved hand in his direction, flipping Daniel the bird, he was sure, even though he couldn't see it. Brad grabbed his sleeve and dragged him back down to his seat.

"Jesus! Are you always like this? Siddown, you're embarrassing me!" Brad complained.

As it turned out, Daniel didn't have to sit down. As the American national anthem began to play, he remained standing, removed his Pens cap and placed it across his heart. He'd never been what one would call patriotic, but he always sang the 'Star Spangled Banner' when it was played at a hockey game. He had always sung 'Oh Canada' too, in the days when he'd been playing for Kelowna. It was just something you did, part of the experience. The cheer went up around the crowd almost before the last words of the anthem had been sung and the atmosphere was palpable as everyone sat down to wait for the teams to take up their positions and the first puck to be dropped.

Part 2

Jack skated around the outer edge of the rink, deliberately passing Pankowski on his way to his slot in defence, opposite Grant Jennings. O'Neill and Pankowski eyed each other warily as Jack skated by and spat on the ice just in front of him, knowing he risked a misconduct penalty, but hoping that the referee wasn't paying attention. Pankowski gave him a feral, mostly toothless smile and tapped his stick on the ice several times. Words were completely unnecessary as the two men swapped threatening glances.

Jack skated back into the Penguins' zone, nodding towards his partner, and then went over to tap helmets with Tom Barrasso, the Pens netminder, thus fulfilling another of his pre-game traditions.

"Stay solid, Tomcat."

"You too, Irish."

Daniel watched the exchange between O'Neill and Pankowski and grinned, rubbing his hands together, his eyes twinkling with wicked glee.

"Oh yes! C'mon Irish, gimme a hard-on. Gimme some Old-Time hockey and pummel that sonovabitch Polack to ground beef," he muttered.

Brad stared open mouthed, and then shook his head. "Unfuckingbelievable! Y'know Danny, if I'd known you were gonna be like this, I'd never have got the tickets."

Daniel shoved his elbow into Brad's ribs and smiled. "Aw c'mon, Brad. You're not getting jealous, are you? Let a boy fantasise. The guy's straight, for God's sake!"

Brad snorted derisively, "Like that would make a difference."

"Not to mention married."

"What did I just say? I've seduced more than one married guy, y'know."

"TMI babe."

"Maybe, but let's say Jack O'Neill got you down a dark alley or in a men's room and wanted to fuck you. You'd drop your pants so fast they'd leave a vapour trail. Am I right?"

The roar of the crowd mercifully interrupted Daniel's impending plea of the Fifth Amendment as the puck was dropped to begin the game.

Daniel became mesmerised as he watched Jack play: only Jack. He wasn't particularly interested in the rest of the game. When the big defenseman wasn't on the ice, Daniel would watch him on the bench; taping up his stick, taking a drink, wiping off the sweat from his face with a towel. Brad didn't think he'd ever seen such slavish devotion before. He was beginning to worry. Daniel had watched O'Neill's every move with unblinking eyes since the buzzer had gone for the start of the game. In between periods, Brad went off to grab them a beer and a burger each, while Daniel sat silently with his chin on his hands, frowning.

It was wonderful for Daniel, being able to watch Jack again. It had been a very long time, but all the things that had attracted the young Danny Jackson in the first place were still there in abundance. Forgetting for a moment the sheer power and presence of the man, (not to mention his beautiful eyes) Jack still gave the best hip check in the business and his slapshot put some of the new guys completely to shame. He still had a fair turn of speed up the ice and his stick handling was as awesome as ever. It was obvious to Daniel that the younger guys in the team looked to him for leadership, even though the 'C' was on someone else's shirt. As the game had progressed, O'Neill's line had stayed tight under his guidance, only allowing two shots on goal for the entire period but Daniel was worried. He'd been watching very closely and could see that O'Neill was in pain. Whether it was from his knees or his back, Daniel couldn't tell, but he was hoping that Jack was getting some treatment in the locker room.

He'd been watching Pankowski, too. The big Polack had a predatory look on his face and it seemed inevitable that they would lock horns again; it was just a matter of when. Daniel hoped that Jack could stay out of trouble for as long as possible, because the other defensive lines were struggling and the last thing the Pens needed was to have Jack taken out, either by penalty or injury. He was way too important for that. Daniel nervously chewed on his fingernails as Brad returned, almost unnoticed, with the food and beer.

"Hey."

"Hmm."

"You sure you're not takin' this a little too seriously, sugar?"

"This from a man whose home state has never had an ice hockey team," Daniel snorted. "This is the Stanley Cup, Brad. The Stanley Cup. For a hockey fan, this is it. Don't you understand?"

Brad sighed sadly, a little hurt that Daniel could snap at him so easily. "I didn't mean that, Danny. I meant him. I know he was your pin-up babe, but c'mon. You haven't taken your eyes offa him the whole game so far."

Daniel bristled. "I haven't seen him play in a long time. You have no idea how much he means to me," he retorted defensively, then quickly recanted. "How much he meant to me when I was growing up."

"No, I guess I don't."

Daniel's features softened as he looked at his young lover. Brad was right; he felt way more than he should for a man he'd never have and was angry for allowing Jack so far under his skin. The scary thing was, Daniel knew that if he just got so much as the crook of a finger from O'Neill, his eight month relationship with Brad wouldn't come into the equation. Daniel would go. He'd crawl over the proverbial half mile of broken glass. He nudged Brad gently and smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry. I'm being a prick, aren't I?"

"You are kinda distracted."

"I have this giant crush. It's like my hormones take over whenever I look at him. I don't mean to upset you. Honestly. He doesn't mean as much to me as you do." He said it with such sincerity he almost believed it himself.

Brad leaned in close to Daniel's ear and whispered, "Just drink your beer, eat your double chilli cheeseburger and fuck me into the bed later on, sugar. That'll do it."

The older man took a bite and nearly choked, as some chilli sauce stuck to the side of his throat on its way down. It burned like hell, making his eyes water and his nose run. He figured it was poetic justice for being a lying bastard. He chugged on the beer and eventually the burning subsided, just in time for the teams to come back out onto the ice. Daniel's eyes were locked on O'Neill again as he skated past to get onto the bench and Jack looked up just as he passed Daniel's seat and he smiled. Daniel's cheeseburger did a somersault inside his stomach.

Jack sat carefully down onto the bench, wincing. The team physio hadn't had time to give him a massage to loosen up the spasming muscle in the base of his back - one of the superstars had a pain in his finger - so Jack was stuck with the pain until the next interval. He cursed the pretty boys under his breath and his mind wandered as they waited for the buzzer to go. It wasn't his shift first up in any case, so he had a couple of minutes' grace. He looked over at where the young man in the glasses was sitting. Jack could almost feel his eyes boring a hole in the back of his skull. Their eyes met again and this time the young man smiled at him. He had nice eyes, Jack thought, a nice blue, what there was of it. Jack couldn't remember seeing pupils quite that dilated before. They were warm and sympathetic. He wondered if he was good with his hands. Jack smiled back and time seemed to slow down as they looked into each other's eyes.

All kinds of thoughts went through his mind, none of which were for public consumption. It really wouldn't do for an NHL hockey player to 'come out'. He'd never play again. He'd played with gay guys in the minors, but down there it didn't matter. Besides, Jack wasn't gay. Of course he wasn't. He was married. He had a very hot little wife at home, thank you very much. The fact that they hadn't had sex for weeks was irrelevant, as was the fact that right about now, Jack wanted to take the young man he was looking at somewhere quiet and comfortable and show him exactly how good his stick handling was. He shuffled up as the last shift came back to the bench, and reluctantly broke eye contact with the young man in the crowd as he waited for his own shift change.

Daniel's heart was beating a million times a minute. He didn't know how long he and Jack had been looking at each other, but there was sparkage there, Daniel was sure of it. He looked down at his hands: they were shaking. He quickly put them in his pockets and tried to calm his breathing. Could it be true? Could Jack O'Neill actually be interested in him? The rational side of his brain told him not to be such an idiot; that of course Jack O'Neill wasn't interested in him sexually. The guy was straight. Married. And his wife was some piece of eye candy but Daniel had seen that particular look a hundred times before and it was usually attached to a hard-on meant only for him. Maybe Jack didn't realise the desire that was shining out like a beacon. Daniel sighed. It was a moot point. Even if they were mutually attracted, there was nothing either of them could do about it. He moved to the edge of his seat as O'Neill prepared to take his shift.

Brad wasn't completely clueless; he'd noticed the look pass between the two men and wondered if he should just get up and walk away. It was doubtful that Daniel would notice. He decided to stay put for now; it was a crush, that was all. He'd have to get over it at some stage and Brad would be there for him when he did.

Brad had been struck by Daniel's beauty from the moment he clapped eyes on him in the university cafeteria. It had been a warm day, and Daniel had been wearing a tight white t-shirt with faded jeans. Brad had been standing four or five people behind him in the food line and had been hypnotised by the sensuous movement of Daniel's shoulder muscles as he moved along the galley. When Daniel had finally reached the check out and paid for his food, Brad had almost dropped his tray while he watched Daniel's ass cheeks fighting inside the tight denim as he walked over to find a table.

Daniel had been a little shy, and reticent to start a relationship with him. Brad had been determined however, and finally convinced him to go on a date. He smiled at the memory; he had little interest in the game anyhow and preferred at this point to retreat inside his own mind. At least that way he didn't have to watch his lover's heart leech away.

Brad had taken him to see the Red Hot Chilli Peppers in concert and then to a club. They'd ended the evening swaying in each other's arms to 'The One' by Elton John. Brad could remember a slightly tipsy Daniel singing the words to him.

'All I ever needed was The One

Like freedom fields where wild horses run

When stars collide, like you and I

No shadows block the sun

You're all I've ever needed

Ooh baby you're the one'

They'd gone back to Daniel's apartment and spent the night making love. Brad had been pleasantly surprised at how abandoned Daniel was in bed and what a sensitive lover he was. Actually, the sensitive part hadn't been a surprise. The man positively exuded compassion. Brad had been deliriously happy for the last eight months and completely head over heels in love, hoping against all hope that he really was 'the one'. Daniel on the other hand wasn't ready to abandon his heart. Brad knew that Daniel cared about him as much as he allowed himself to, but he could also tell that something was holding the older man back.

He'd thought that it was Daniel's first lover, but now, as ridiculous as it seemed, he was beginning to think that the reason Daniel couldn't love him was right there on the ice. He glanced over at his lover, his eyes still fixed on Jack O'Neill, a deep frown clouding his features. It was pointless trying to talk to him. Maybe it would be worth them having a heart to heart after the game. Brad had invested all of himself into this relationship. Surely it wasn't unreasonable to expect the same in return? The more that Daniel showed how deep his obsession really was, the more Brad was inclined to cut loose, find someone who could give him everything. He was no-one's second best, as much as he loved Daniel.

Daniel rose suddenly and shook Brad out of his daydream. O'Neill had stolen the puck from one of the Minnesota forwards in the Pittsburgh zone and was breaking away through a gap in the Minnesota defense. He raced up the ice, beating off a slash from a recovering defenseman, and handling the puck with expert skill. He let a blistering slap-shot go from the point, which wrong footed the net-minder and slammed into the back of the net, over the keeper's left shoulder.

The arena erupted in a sea of black and gold, flags waving, scarves waving and for the first time since the game began, Daniel acknowledged Brad's presence. He threw his arms around the younger man and hugged him tightly, whooping like a madman in his ear.

"Did you see it? Did you fucking see that? Holy shit! He's still got the moves. What a slap-shot. Jeeesus! WOOHOO!!! WAY TO GO, IRISH!!!"

Brad smiled, a little sadly. "Yeah, baby. I saw."

Daniel sat down in his seat, still bouncing, breathing hard with a huge smile on his face. The rest of the team was congratulating Jack as he skated back to the bench, searching the crowd again with his eyes. He grinned when he caught sight of Daniel beaming all over his face, and winked. It was good to know he could still cut it and nice to see a face that friendly. No-one had looked at Jack that way for so long he couldn't remember. A part of him wanted to go over there and kiss the guy. Jack sat back down on the bench, the twinge in his back much diminished by the adrenaline coursing through his system. He figured it would take him several minutes to get out of bed the next morning, but it would be worth it.

He'd just scored a goal in the fucking Stanley Cup, eight minutes into the second period. It could be enough to take them to a 3 -2 lead in the series. Even if it didn't, the North Stars would have to come back from behind. See if that didn't shut that dumb motherfucker Pankowski up. The exhilaration of scoring was multiplied by the expression on the young man's face. It was hard to miss adoration that obvious and it made Jack feel good. Damned good, in fact. He'd forgotten he had fans of his own. He was an old man in hockey terms and certainly no Mario Lemieux. People tended to leave him alone after games and he quite liked it that way, but sometimes just sometimes it was nice to know that someone in the world still rated him.

Daniel was thrilled by Jack's little gesture and feeling about sixteen years old. He was even surer now that there was sparkage, and still as desolate that it was going nowhere. Daniel was coming to the conclusion that one of two things had to happen; either he had to pull himself together and come back to the real world, which was Brad, or he let Brad go to find someone who could love him the way he deserved and pursue his dream. As that percolated through his mind, another more disturbing thought occurred to him. Now that Jack had scored, it was even more likely that Pankowski would try to take him out of the game. O'Neill would have to be very careful for the next two periods- Daniel couldn't put it past the defenseman to deliberately injure him.

Daniel was particularly watchful during Jack's next few shifts, which thankfully passed without incident. Jack flopped back onto the bench breathing heavily and looking as if the pain was beginning to bother him again. The coach patted his shoulder and spoke briefly to him. Daniel couldn't hear what they were saying, but whatever Jack's request was, it had been denied.

Jack grimaced and tried to stretch. He was in agony and had practically begged the coach to let him go to the locker room for an injection of anti-spasmodic into his back muscle. The coach had told him to hang in for another couple of shifts to see if they could consolidate their lead, then he could go. Jack wasn't sure he could play another two shifts, but this was the Cup and everyone had to make sacrifices.

Jack gingerly made his way up the bench towards the door. There was no way that he'd be able to do his usual leap over the boards. The call eventually came and Jack skated out with his line, immediately catching up to one of the Minnesota forwards and checking him hard into the boards behind the Pittsburgh net. Daniel stood up and yelled out "NOOOOOOO!!!!!" as he saw Pankowski charging towards them.

Jack and the other player were scrambling for the puck against the boards and neither of them saw Pankowski until it was too late. The huge defenseman hit Jack at full speed, hitting Jack with his full weight and slamming his head into the boards. The Minnesota forward's stick was jammed between Jack's legs and as the 300 pound defenseman connected, blackness descended and Jack crumpled onto the ice, unconscious. A split second later, as Pankowski fell to the floor on top of him, both the forward's stick and Jack's leg broke with a sickening crunch.

The colour drained from Daniel's face and he was gripped by nausea. Brad helped him sit down, and he tried to take deep breaths to stop himself from barfing all over the glass. Jack was spark out; at least Daniel hoped that was all. His lower leg was bent at an unnatural angle and Daniel figured that he'd broken both tibia and fibula - badly. It was a career ending injury and Daniel was almost moved to tears, silently praying that Jack would be all right.

The game stopped immediately and the Pittsburgh fans exploded in anger, all of it directed towards the Minnesota defenseman currently holding up his hands to fend off various Pens players who seemed intent on taking off his head. The linesmen broke up the fight and escorted Pankowski to the penalty box to await the referee's decision. The medics, carrying a metal stretcher, were being helped across the ice surface by a couple of the rink workers and they crouched down to where Jack lay, still seemingly lifeless.

One of them removed his helmet gently after attaching a collar around his neck to immobilise his head, then checked his vital signs, while the other carefully inspected his leg, paying close attention to the pulses.

"Do we splint it?" one asked.

The doctor nodded. "Right now, I'd say a transverse fracture tib and fib and it looks like the bones are displaced. We need to immobilise his leg so that the bones don't move any further. Let's get him splinted and on the stretcher. Call the hospital and tell them to get an OR ready and check his blood group. It looks like a bit of a mess."

Jack groaned and tried to lift his head, moving his arm in the process and eliciting a cheer from the crowd as they saw it. He still wasn't fully conscious and the pain in his leg was indescribable, but Daniel breathed a sigh of relief that at least he'd come to.

"What what happened?"

"You got checked outta the game, buddy. Your leg's badly broken, so we're taking you to the hospital. Just relax. I'm going to give you something for the pain, okay?"

Jack nodded, his face contorted in agony.

The doctor pulled up the sleeve of his shirt and tried to work around the padding to give the injection as one of the medics asked, "Will someone call his wife?"

Jack grimaced and mumbled, "Like she'll fuckin' care. Get that guy in the crowd. At least he feels somethin'. Nice eyes. I like him" then lapsed into unconsciousness again.

They gently strapped him onto the stretcher and members of his team carefully carried him across the ice to the locker room and then the medics took over to carry the stretcher out to the waiting ambulance. The doors were shut and the ambulance roared away, sirens wailing.

Back in the arena, the atmosphere was turning ugly. The fans hadn't started fighting yet, but in a few blocks it was a close thing and security were much in evidence. The referee spoke to both Captains, and then skated over to the announcer's booth. After exchanging a few words, the referee skated back to centre ice to begin the game again as the announcer informed the crowd.

"Number 26, Stan Pankowski, game misconduct for a deliberate attempt to injure."

Pankowski began to protest and was swiftly silenced by his coach.

"Get in the fucking locker room you dumb bastard. I'll deal with you later!"

He rose from the bench and stomped down the tunnel back to the Minnesota locker room, smashing his stick from side to side and showering splinters all over the floor.

Daniel's first instinct was to leave and follow the ambulance. He'd been to Pittsburgh several times, although he'd never been around for a home hockey game, and he knew where they'd be taking Jack. He had an overwhelming desire to be with him, but Brad laid a gentle hand on his arm.

"They'll take care of him, sugar. Let me take care of you. D'you wanna stay, or shall we go back to the hotel?"

"I I don't know. I I guess at least if we stay they'll keep us up to date on how he is. They'll probably take him to the University Medical Centre. Oh God. Jack"

Part 3

Jack moved in and out of consciousness as the ambulance raced through the city streets to the university. He was disoriented and despite the injection the doctor had given him, he was still in a great deal of pain. What the hell had hit him? A truck? No, it couldn't have been a truck; he'd been on the ice. He still had his uniform on. The Cup, that was it, he was playing in the Stanley Cup. Didn't he score? Yes, he seemed to remember the crowd going crazy and that guy that cute guy in the crowd.

"He's nice," Jack mumbled.

"Hey Jack, how're you doing?" the doctor asked.

Jack smiled, groggily. "'m fine. What am I ah! Fuck that hurts! What happened to my leg?"

The doctor patted him on the shoulder. "You got a bad break there. We'll have to operate, get the bones back into line again. I need to take some details from you; name address, that kinda stuff. D'you know what your blood group is?"

"Ah crap. B. I think. Head's fuzzy. Can't think straight."

The doctor nodded. "You got a mild concussion too. That Pankowski hit you like a freight train. Sonovabitch. Should be banned."

"Pankowski? Fuck!" he tried to get up, but was gently restrained by a hand on his chest. "What's this thing on my neck?"

"Easy, now. We put a collar on you, just in case of any neck or spinal injury. I don't think there is, but we should get you X-rayed to be sure. I've given you some morphine for the pain; it should start kicking in soon. Just relax. We'll get you fixed up." He smiled, "That was a helluva goal, Jack. Nice job."

Jack smiled back, weakly. "Thanks. See if the pretty boys can't keep it goin'"

*

Daniel couldn't concentrate. He kept checking his watch, trying to gauge how long it would take the ambulance to get to the medical centre, wondering how Jack was doing and wishing he was with him. His hands drummed nervously on his thighs, and he had to wipe the sweat off them on his pants leg every few seconds. He was worried sick, but Brad was just becoming more and more pissed off.

"Daniel, what is it with you? It's a damned shame, but your man will be fine. His leg's broke, they'll operate. I guess he won't play again, but dammit he's nothing to you! You don't even know the guy. What the hell is all this about?" Brad's eyes narrowed. "Unless unless you're bullshitting me about just how well you know him?"

"NO! No, I'm not bullshitting. God knows I wish I did know him. Look, I know this is ridiculous. I know it is. I I can't help it. I'm sad and pathetic and completely devoted to Jack O'Neill. It's juvenile and ridiculous and I should grow up. I should forget about him and concentrate on loving you. I'm sorry. Maybe we should go."

Brad put on his coat and began walking up the steps to the arena exit and Daniel slowly followed, still torn about going, just in case the announcer was able to update the crowd on Jack's condition.

They walked along the mezzanine in silence, both men's hands in their pockets. Neither of them spoke until they were back in their hotel room, where Brad threw his coat onto the bed and went straight for the mini-bar. Daniel sat on the armchair, his head bowed.

Brad chugged on the beer he'd taken from the fridge and sat on the edge of the bed.

"You wanna tell me what this is all about? Cause I'll tell ya somethin' for nothin', I'm nobody's also-ran. You got that?"

Daniel sat in silence.

Brad walked over and lifted his chin, softly. "Talk to me, sugar. I love you, but I'm not wasting my time and my energy on someone who won't love me back."

The older man shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. I didn't know it was going to have that effect on me, I really didn't. I wish I could help it I think, but I can't. Like I said, I know it's stupid and I know it's pointless, but" he looked at Brad with sadness and confusion. "I don't think I've ever felt like this about anyone before. Maybe maybe we should call it quits, at least for a while. I can't concentrate right now; I can't give you what you want or what you deserve. It's not fair."

Brad sighed. "No, it's not." He knelt between his lover's open legs. "God, Danny. I feel more for you than I ever have for anyone, but I can't compete with a fantasy. You have to do what you have to do, and when you're done and you've decided how it's gonna go, you never know, I might still be waiting."

"I'm so sorry, Brad. I'm really fucked up. You'd be better off without me anyway. I need some space to get my head straight."

"I'll pack my stuff and head back to L.A. I'll see you at school, hmm?"

Daniel nodded. "Come down and say goodbye before you go, yeah?"

Brad nodded his ascent and Daniel left him to pack alone. He went down to the bar and ordered a beer, then took out his cell phone and began to dial.

"Pete? Hey, long time no speak. It's Danny Jackson. Yeah, I know, it has been a while, eh? Listen, maybe we can meet later to catch up on what's been going on, but right now I need some information. You've just had a hockey player admitted with a badly broken leg. Can you find out how he is and let me know? His name is Jack O'Neill."

*

Brad sat down on the bed for a few minutes after finishing his packing. 'One dumb way to lose a boyfriend,' he thought bitterly. 'I'm trying to compete with something I have no hope of beating. It would have been easier if it were someone real, even a woman. I could cope with that, but this?'

"Sad bastard," he murmured to the empty room, and it wasn't entirely clear in his mind who he meant.

Daniel was on his second beer by the time Brad came down to the bar, carrying his holdall. A wave of guilt and shame rolled over Daniel as he looked as his crestfallen ex-lover. He'd never meant it to go down this way; never realised how hard he'd fall as soon as he saw O'Neill again. The whole scenario was utterly ridiculous, he was behaving like a stalker for God's sake, but until he at least knew that Jack was recovering, he could barely think of anything else. He could hardly blame Brad for walking away.

"Hey," he said, softly.

"Hey," Brad replied, unable to look him in the eye.

"I'm sor"

Brad stopped him with a raised hand. "Enough 'sorries', Danny. Enough. Work your way through whatever this is; just don't forget how much I care about you. This worries me, y'know. To see you this obsessed, it's it's weird man, I don't know how to handle it, other than shake you up and I don't think even that would work. Just just be careful, sugar. Okay?"

Daniel nodded and pulled him in for a hug. Tears pricked at both their eyes and Daniel wanted to kiss him goodbye, but didn't dare in a public place. He settled for squeezing the very life out of him, then sniffing. "See you back at school, yeah?"

Brad nodded. "Sure. See you back at school." He picked up his holdall and turned away, walking slowly out of the bar and into the hotel lobby.

Daniel watched him go, not knowing if he was doing the right thing, only knowing that it was the only thing. His cell phone rang shrilly, interrupting his train of thought.

"Hello? Oh! Hi Pete. What's the news?"

Pete told him that Jack had been admitted, and was currently having surgery to reset the broken bones. It was a reasonably straightforward operation and although Pete couldn't say exactly what was happening, he tried to reassure Daniel that Jack would be fine.

"Is there any chance of me getting to see him?"

"Are you a friend?"

"Kind of," Daniel lied.

"Well, I'd give it at least until tomorrow. Let him stabilise and get comfortable after the operation. I expect he'll have a private room; the team insurance is paying the bills and they usually have us pulling out all the stops. How come you know a hockey star, Danny?"

"It's a long story."

"Oookay. Listen, are you free for dinner? I haven't seen you in months. You feel like coming over to my place, about 7:30?"

"Sounds great. Thanks Pete."

"No problem. See you later."

Daniel clicked off his cell and let out a long breath. He'd have to work out some kind of story before the evening, and tomorrow tomorrow he'd go see Jack.

*

Lori O'Neill sauntered into the hospital, heavily made up, with her blonde hair immaculately styled in a French plait. Her spiked heels clicked across the tile floor and she sashayed up to the nurse's station in a cloud of Chanel.

"My name is Lori O'Neill," she announced. "You have my husband here. Jack O'Neill, the Pittsburgh Penguins player? I'd like to see him, please."

The nurse looked up from her report and glanced up and down at Mrs. O'Neill, with the phrase 'mutton dressed as lamb' running through her mind. She smiled. "Just one moment, Mrs. O'Neill. I'll find out if he's out of surgery yet."

The nurse made a brief telephone call, discovering that Jack was indeed out of surgery and settled in his room. She was surprised that Mr. O'Neill's wife had left it so long to come down and see him, and that she didn't seem overly concerned. The nurse had heard about Jack coming in and it sounded like he'd been pretty badly hurt. She mentally berated herself for being judgemental. It must have taken some time to put that face on.

"Room 1703, down the hall and to the right."

"Thank you," Lori replied haughtily and clicked down the hallway to Jack's room.

She swept in and sat down, frowning at Jack's leg, which was stuck out in front of him surrounded by metal rings and pins.

"Will you play again?" she asked.

Jack smiled, humourlessly. "Why, hello dear. I'm not too bad, all things considered. Thank you so much for asking. The morphine shots the Doc keeps giving me are making the world look nice and rosy. Which is why I didn't throw up when you came in. How are you, Lori?"

"Hmmph. I see he didn't break your sarcastic sense of humour. So. What have you done? How much will it cost? I hope the team insurance is paying for all this."

"Jesus H. You never cease to amaze me. I have a busted leg, if the fucking metal screws sticking out of it didn't throw you a clue. That sonovabitch, bastard, fucking Polack, Pankowski. He was after me the whole damned series. He must be yuckin' it up big style to know he ended my fucking career. Asswipe. The chances are I won't ever play again, but don't panic, I have good insurance and my pension is up to date. You won't miss so much as a manicure, sweetiepie."

"Glad to hear it. I have to have some compensations for being married to you," Lori spat.

Jack's façade crumpled and he rested his head back onto the pillow, closing his eyes.

"Christ, Lori," he whispered. "Has it really been that bad?"

"Well, you were the one who said it, Jack. I only married you because you were the first NHL player to ask me. It hasn't exactly been a stellar ride for either of us, has it? I sometimes wonder if you only asked me because of all the rumours going around that you were a fag."

Jack's eyes snapped open and his jaw dropped in shock. "Is that what you think? Dammit Lori, if you really think that, I guess you never knew me at all."

Lori smiled, coldly. "Let's call a spade a spade, Jack. Knowing you wasn't part of the brief. Come to think of it, loving you wasn't part of the brief either."

"God, you're a bitch. You never were much more than a puck bunny. Why don't you just get out? Leave me alone."

She rose from the chair and slipped her fur stole around her shoulders. "Oh, I will. I've done my duty as the loving wife. I'll come see you tomorrow and we can trade insults all over again. Bye, Jack."

The door closed gently behind her and Jack rested his head back on the pillow again with silent tears trickling down the side of his face as he listened to her clicking up the corridor. He angrily wiped them away with his forearm and reached for the phone. He could hardly see the numbers as he made the call to his manager; the tears still pooled behind his eyelids, making his vision blurred. Someday soon he'd be rid of that bitch once and for all.

So, they all thought he was a fag did they? He thought back to the young guy in the crowd and how he'd made him feel. Maybe they were right. And maybe he just didn't give a shit anymore.

"Jeff? Jack O'Neill. I'm at the hospital. What do you mean no-one told you? Weren't you watching the damn game? Fuckin' Jesus. Is there no-one in my life who gives a shit? Get your ass down here. I want to protect my money, what there is of it, and get rid of that fucking leech that calls herself my wife."

*

Daniel watched the TV in the room he'd shared with Brad, trying to catch the end of the game. Thank God for ESPN. Jack's injury had moved the Pens up into a higher gear and not only did they not lose their goal advantage, they scored twice more before the end of the game. Daniel smiled. That might take the sting out of things a little for Jack.

Knowing that Jack was fine other than a broken leg was a huge relief. Realising that he had fucked up a perfectly good relationship for the sake of a teen crush was a huge disappointment, but that said, he knew that he could kick his own ass from here to Cincinnati and it would make no difference. Something had passed between them at the rink. Something. And Daniel couldn't rest until he'd at least followed it up. He'd been convinced up to now that Jack was straight, but that look had his gaydar throbbing, let alone twitching. He could feel his balls tingling just thinking about it, and what he'd like to do to Jack if he was given half a chance. He massaged them and his burgeoning hard on, preparing to drift away into fantasy and take care of business before going off to Pete's for dinner.

*

Jeff Cohen arrived at the hospital clutching his briefcase and slightly out of breath. Every year he took out a gym membership, and he hadn't once taken advantage of it. Still, if you were going to have a heart attack, this would be the place to have one. He'd been nicely settled in his bed when Jack had called his cell phone. Of course he hadn't been watching the goddamn game. He'd been balls deep inside an eighteen year old girl, Sandy. The latest in a long line of young lovelies to share Jeff's downtown love nest. They loved his money, his power and his Mercedes 300. He loved their youth, their vitality and their tight little pussies.

He'd offered to share with Jack more than once, but although he knew that Jack and Lori had a less than perfect marriage, Jack never took him up on it. Jeff found it a little suspicious, but didn't dare open his mouth. Jack was his only high profile client, even though he was on the lower rungs of the NHL ladder and coming to the end of his career. Jeff figured that discretion was the better part of keeping his bank balance healthy.

He knocked on Jack's door.

"Yeah, what?" came the grumpy reply.

Jeff poked his head tentatively round the door and smiled. "I take it Lori's already been in?"

"Hmmph. Ya think?"

"Okay. What do you want from me?" Jeff asked, sitting down beside the bed.

"I don't want anything from you, Jeff. I want a divorce from her. Yesterday. With as small a settlement as I can get away with. Can you do that?"

"Well, now, Jackare you sure you want to do this? It could prove very expensive."

"Yes, I'm fucking sure. I don't want that bitch's French fucking manicure on my money, my stuff, my dog, my car, my pension are you getting the picture, Jeff?"

"Getting the picture, Jack."

"I want you to schedule a meeting with Zack for this evening. I don't care what he's doing, I've earned the pair of you enough fucking money in my time and now it's my turn. I want a pre-emptive strike before she gets the idea that I'm planning anything. I want her and her fucking fur coats, and her inch thick make-up and just get her out of my fucking life, Jeff."

Jeff sighed and nodded. "I'll speak to Zack and see what I can do."

Jack relaxed. "Thanks Jeff. Now, if you don't mind, I'm tired. I think I should try and get some sleep."

"Sure. Rest up, buddy." He picked up his briefcase and prepared to leave.

"Jeff?"

"Yeah?"

"Which one was it this time?"

Jeff chuckled. "Sandy."

Jack smiled. "I hope she was a good fuck, bubbeleh. I was out there breakin' my leg for you."

"She was. See you tomorrow, Jack," Jeff grinned and closed the door quietly behind him.

Jack lay back and closed his eyes, memories of the young man at the rink running through his mind, as he drifted into sleep with a small smile on his face.

The nap didn't last long and Jack was just about to kiss the beautiful young man with the kind blue eyes, when the door opened and wrenched him out of his dream.

"Mr. O'Neill! Time for you to get up and about."

Jack jerked awake and instinctively covered his groin.

"Wha..?"

"Hi. I'm Mike, your physical therapist. We need to get you moving and do some therapy. Don't want you keeling over with a thrombosis, now do we?"

There was something about the young man's jaunty manner in the face of Jack's pain, that made him bristle immediately. He could see a difficult relationship looming.

'Fuck! Not another one,' he thought.

"Mike. Howya doin'?"

"Oh I'm fine, thanks. And you'll be feeling better once we get you up on these crutches. Have you used crutches before?"

Jack shook his head.

"They're not too bad. It'll take a short while to get into the rhythm, but once you do, piece of cake for a strong, fit guy like yourself. C'mon, swing your legs over the side of the bed and let's see if we can't get some weight bearing on that leg."

Jack sighed and did as he was told. It was something he was famliar with. The external fixator was a royal pain and took some getting used to, not to mention being heavy and looking like some alien device. Still, Jack figured it would be no heavier than a cast and at least there wouldn't be the irritating question of itches beneath the plaster.

The few minutes of PT and the short walk up the corridor tired Jack more than he'd expected, and he had the world's worst headache. All in all though, Mike had been pleased with him, and he'd been right, the crutches weren't too bad. Jack began to feel a little better, especially when he was told he'd be out of hospital in a couple of days.

That piece of information was a double edged sword, however. Coming out of hospital meant going home, which was fine, he missed Oscar already, but what to do about Lori? He couldn't bear the thought of walking into his home and her still being there, but Zack would need time to sort out the paperwork and get her out of the house. He shifted awkwardly in bed and turned on the TV. Fifty seven channels and nothing on. He sighed and picked up the phone again.

*

Daniel's dinner with Pete had gone well. Pete had prepared a delicious light meal of grilled halibut, julienne vegetables and potatoes Dauphinois. He always had been something of a gastronome. The wine they shared had been equally light and just the right side of sweet for Daniel's taste. It had been a long time since he'd enjoyed a meal like that; Brad's taste was more for fast food and take out and Daniel was delighted to be spoiled.

They traded news and stories, tales of boyfriends and work, until finally Pete asked the question.

"So, you were going to tell me, Danny. How do you know Jack O'Neill?"

Daniel took a long slurp of wine and swallowed.

"He was my pin-up in High School. Played for the Rangers then and my school team sometimes trained up at the Gardens. I met him a few times, but we lost touch when I went to Berkeley. I was at the game today. I saw it happen. That stupid bastard Stan Pankowski steamrollered him. I just want to stop by and show a friendly face, that's all. How long is he likely to be in hospital?"

Pete shrugged. "If it's a straightforward fracture and there aren't any other complications, a few days. They'll get him up on his crutches and he'll be away. He's married, isn't he?"

Daniel nodded.

Pete grinned. "Pity. I could go for him myself. He's just my type."

Daniel chuckled. "You always were a slut."

"So sue me," Pete laughed. "I took my chances where I could get 'em, even if most of them were your cast-offs. You planning to seduce him?"

The colour rose in Daniel's cheeks and he hoped that he could blame it on the wine.

"Seduce him? Are you kidding? He's straight."

Pete leaned across the table. "Not necessarily. You and I both know that just because a man has a wife, doesn't mean he can't take the occasional ride on the other bus, if you know what I mean?" he winked. "Besides, you must have heard the rumours."

"What rumours?"

"That his marriage is a sham and he's really one of us."

Daniel almost choked on his wine. "You're kidding!"

Pete shook his head. "Maybe it's just gossip, maybe it's not, but I'll tell you this, he married the biggest puck bunny in Pennsylvania. I don't think there's been anyone on the Pens team for the last five seasons she hasn't had. And all while she's been 'married' to Jack O'Neill." He poured himself another glass of wine. "I haven't heard anything about him having a boyfriend or cruising, anything like that. I expect the poor boy's been celibate. You're just the man to show him what he's been missing, Daniel. I seem to remember your French being outstanding," he grinned. "Just one request, sweetheart, don't give him a blow job in the hospital. We couldn't cope with the scandal."

Part 4

Jack slept fitfully. The meds helped the pain, but he couldn't turn properly with the fixator on his leg, and besides, it didn't help that every time he closed his eyes he thought of the guy in the crowd. Right now it felt like he was the only one who gave a damn; and he was a stranger. The rest of the team were concerned about him, and several of them had called to speak to him, but they had all taken a plane out to Minneapolis straight after the game and no-one was able to come visit.

It was 11 o'clock in the morning and Lori had already done her wifely duty. She'd come in and asked him about his finances, how much money he'd be likely to get from his own health insurance and from the NHL insurance fund, how long it would be until he was home, would he need help, if they'd pay for that too because she certainly wasn't about to help him to the bathroom. She'd stayed for all of fifteen minutes and he was glad to see the back of her, but her visit had left him feeling desolate and alone.

Daniel walked up to the nurse's station with sweaty palms and a rapidly beating heart. His stomach was tying itself in knots and even now there was a part of him that told him to stop. Fortunately – or not – the other side of him, the side that was in love with O'Neill, won out and after finding out his room number, Daniel made his way down the corridor.

He knocked softly on the door and heard Jack say 'Yeah?', then took a deep breath and sidled into the room. At first O'Neill looked a little puzzled, but then recognition swept over his face and he smiled.

"Hey! You were at the game, right?"

Daniel smiled and nodded, offering his hand. "Daniel. Daniel Jackson."

Jack shook it and motioned him to sit beside the bed.

"You didn't have to come see me, y'know."

A slight flush crept up Daniel's cheeks. "Yeah, I did. I needed to see how you were. I guess the rest of the guys are already in Minneapolis, so they can't come see you. Besides, I was worried. That was a helluva hit you took."

Jack smiled. "Yeah, it was. If I ever catch up with that motherfucker I'll rip his lungs out."

"Does it hurt a lot?"

"Nah, they keep sticking me with morphine injections, which kinda makes the world look a little fuzzy around the edges, but it keeps most of the pain away."

A slightly awkward silence descended as Daniel fought his nervousness and tried to think of a way to make conversation. As it happened, Jack pre-empted him.

"I'm glad you came," he said quietly, looking down and picking imaginary lint from the blanket. "I saw you looking at me at the game y'know. It… it was nice to see a friendly face. I don't seem to see many of those these days. I'm gettin' past it."

Daniel's mouth opened in shock. "No way! That was an awesome goal! You're every bit as good as you were in New York."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "You watched me with the Rangers?"

The younger man chuckled, "I was a fan: A big fan. I played defense for my High School team and you… you were my hero."

Jack grinned. "Well, how 'bout that? I don't think I've ever been somebody's hero."

"You're the best D I've ever seen!" Daniel exclaimed; then pulled himself up. "Jesus, listen to me. I didn't intend to come in here and prostrate myself on the floor chanting 'I'm not worthy'!" he laughed, relaxing a little. "I just wanted to say 'Hi' and see how you were doing. When d'you think you'll get home?"

Jack snorted, "With any luck about ten minutes after the whore I'm married to moves out."

"Oh…"

Jack waved his hand. "Fuck! I'm sorry, Daniel. That just kinda came out. I guess one of the side effects of the morphine is losing your sense of decorum. You don't need to know all my sordid secrets."

"Maybe, but if you need anyone to listen… I guess you have plenty of friends and fans who'll be there if you need 'em. I don't mean to intrude."

Jack laughed. "Friends? Ah yeah, friends. Well, I reckon I'll probably have quite a few less now I won't be in the NHL any more. The only real friends I have are back in Chicago. They've known me since I played Pee-Wee and they've always been more than ready to kick my ass if I got too big for my skates. Here? Here they're concerned with your stats, how big your house is, whether you have a kidney shaped pool. As for fans… I reckon you're it, buddy."

Daniel blushed and looked at the floor, then at Jack who had the same look in his eyes as he had at the rink. Time slowed down just as it had the previous evening, and neither of them knew quite what to say or do about it. Daniel wasn't sure enough of anything to make a move, even a subtle one, and Jack wasn't even sure what he was feeling. Daniel coughed and smiled. "Well, I'll leave you to rest."

"Can… can you come back tomorrow? I mean, if you're not too busy. I could really use the company," Jack asked tentatively.

Daniel's face lit up. "Sure! Of… of course, I'm in town for a while. Can I bring you anything?"

"Food!" Jack laughed. "Bring me food, for God's sake. The slop they serve in here I wouldn't give to my dog!"

Daniel chuckled with him. "What should I get?"

"Oh anything. Chips, dip, Twinkies, all the essential food groups," the older man smiled. "I'll straighten up with you when you come back."

"No! Wouldn't hear of it. It's the least I can do. You helped me a lot when I was a teenager, even though you never knew."

Jack was genuinely moved. "Really? Gee, I… I don't know what to say. You're welcome?"

"You don't need to say anything, Jack. I'll see you tomorrow," he smiled and rose from the chair. He offered his hand and Jack took it, squeezing gently, but not shaking it this time. Their eyes met again and Jack pulled him closer, putting his free arm around Daniel's shoulders and hugging him. Daniel nestled further into Jack's shoulder than he intended and would have been happy to stay there for at least the rest of the week, but Jack let go and Daniel moved back sheepishly.

"Thanks," Jack said quietly. "I needed a friend today and I guess I just made one."

Daniel smiled and stepped out of the room, then practically floated up the corridor, beaming. He was certain: absolutely certain, that there was a mutual attraction. Whether Jack realised it was another matter. Daniel had the feeling that Jack was in denial and had been for a long time. It was going to be a challenge to drop the scales from his eyes and Daniel would have to be very patient, but he'd waited twenty years, a few more weeks or even months would be hardly noticeable and definitely well worth it.

Jack felt… odd. Cared about, for the first time in so long he couldn't remember: Desired? He didn't really know. This Daniel kid had stirred up feelings he hadn't had since… since the Pens signed that cute forward the year he married Lori. He could remember jerking off and having filthy fantasies about him, then feeling unbelievably guilty and ashamed. Did that mean he was gay? Or maybe bisexual? He certainly felt attracted to the young man who had just visited and was looking forward to seeing him again and getting to know him. However, although his dick perked up at the thought of having Daniel's lips around it, or being buried inside him, a deep rooted voice in his mind continued to tell him that it was wrong; that he shouldn't feel that way toward another man. He closed his eyes and sighed, cursing his lack of privacy.

*

Daniel had had a very hot night, his already detailed fantasies fuelled by the smell and touch of the object of them. By the time he'd woken, jerked off (again) and showered, he had to hustle to get groceries and head out to the hospital.

The 7-11 was fairly empty and Daniel wracked his brains as he wandered through the aisles; chips and various dips duly went in the cart, along with a half dozen Twinkies, but he wanted to make a fuss of O'Neill; get him something special. The trouble was he had no idea of Jack's likes and dislikes, so he loaded the cart with an assortment of cold-cuts, fresh bread, cheese and fruit.

He arrived at the hospital loaded with bulging paper bags just in time to see a woman, whom he presumed was Lori, slamming the door of Jack's room and storming noisily back down the corridor towards him. He pushed the door of the room open with his ass as Jack let rip with a stream of abuse. Jack paused in mid-rant, his jaw wide open as he realised that it wasn't Lori coming back, but the young man who'd caused his dick to be half hard all night.

"Daniel! Fuck! I'm sorry, come in. You just missed the lady wife, and I use the term 'lady' very loosely."

Daniel smiled, "I saw. You had a fight?"

"Our whole marriage has been one long fight. Man, are you a sight for sore eyes. Wow! Did you buy up the 7-11?"

"Food you want? I bring food." He began slinging packages on the bed, being careful to avoid Jack's leg. "We have cheese, we have bread, we have meats – various - we have Twinkies for dessert, or fruit if you're feeling pious, we have chips; Phileas Fogg, naturally, and a coupla dips. I wasn't sure how spicy you liked it, so I brought sour cream, hummus and salsa. I brought Sprite and Coke, too. I guessed they wouldn't let you have beer in here."

"Oh my God! I think you just saved my life."

Daniel chuckled and passed Jack a plastic plate and utensils, so that the starving man could eat his fill. The two men ate and talked about everything and nothing, getting on so well that the regulation hour passed way too quickly. The bell rang for the end of visiting hours and Daniel groaned in disappointment.

"Shit!"

Jack waved his fork in the air, dismissively. "Pay no attention to that. I have this private room and I can pretty much have visitors whenever I like. Stay. If you want to, that is. Hope I'm not boring the ass off you with my hockey tales," he grinned.

"God, no! It's great hearing them. I just don't want anyone to get into trouble. Are you sure it'll be okay?"

"Hell, yeah. I'm paying enough, or I should say my insurance company is paying enough and over the years I've paid them enough, so, sit. Eat. Have another Twinkie. Y'know that reminds me of when…"

Daniel laughed and sat on the bed as Jack recounted yet another tall tale of the NHL. They were both guffawing when Jeff Cohen and Zack Wolff arrived, both of them stern faced.

"Hey guys, c'mon in a grab a bite. What's up? You got faces as long as the Mishnah, both of ya."

Jeff cleared his throat. "We need to speak to you, Jack." He glanced at Daniel. "In private."

Daniel got off the bed and finished his mouthful. "I'll go. I'll leave you my cell, then you can let me know when you get home, okay?"

"You don't have to go. This is just business crap."

Daniel smiled as he saw the faces of the two 'suits'. "Yeah, I do. It's okay, Jack. I'll see you before I get back to L.A."

"You make sure you leave me that number, kid."

"I will. Look. Writing it down now."

"All right. I'll be in touch, and… thanks Danny. For everything."

"You're welcome. Get better and do as you're told," he grinned, and then left the room.

Jeff and Zack looked at each other, then at Jack. "Touching," Zack noted with a hint of sarcasm.

"And who peed on your fries, Zachariah?"

The lawyer snorted and turned to look out of the window, watching Daniel walk across the parking lot to his car. Jeff sat in the armchair and drew a sheaf of papers from his briefcase.

"She wants the house, Jack."

"What?! That's my home goddammit! I was living there for two fucking years before she moved in. How the hell…?"

"And the Lexus, and a monthly payment of ten grand for 'expenses'."

Jack pounded his fists into the mattress. "Fucking bitch! We're not letting her get away with that…" he looked at his two advisers. "Are we?"

Zack shrugged. "It's up to you, Jack, but if we don't she says she'll go public and 'out' you."

"She'll what?"

"Out you as gay, Jack. She'll go to the press, tell them you haven't had sex for years, that you prefer men," Jeff clarified.

"But that's complete bullshit!" Jack protested. "We had sex…shit, when was it? Just before the play-offs! Not that it was much good, but… D'you think they'd believe her?"

Zack shrugged again.

"Jesus Christ, Zack. I know you're Jewish, but can we please stop with the shrugging?"

"I don't know, dammit! What else am I supposed to do? Look, there were rumours flying around the place before you two got married. I know there are some members of the local press who thought it was a scam to begin with."

Jack's jaw dropped. "Where do they get this stuff from? I've always been straight. My whole fucking life! I've never been with a guy for cryin' out loud!"

"Because they know Lori," Jeff sighed. "She's pretty much the bottom of the heap as far as the hockey whores are concerned, and I know you won't take offense at that. They figured that because you married so late on, and because you'd drifted from girl to girl before you married her…"

"So, I had a lot of girlfriends, and all of a sudden I like fucking guys? Come on. That's the most feeble excuse I ever heard!"

"Whether or not it's true is irrelevant at this point, Jack," Zack interjected. "The point is, she can say it. And mud sticks. Worst case scenario, she gets into it with Pankowski – you did know she was fucking him… didn't you?"

Jack was rendered speechless.

"I guess you didn't. Anyhow, they could easily cook up a little story, now it looks like Stanley is going to be suspended pending a hearing with the Commissioner. Stan tells the press you made a pass at him, which is why he went so hard for you out on the ice, Lori chips in with the fact that your sex life is nil and when you were having sex you had to get yourself ready by reading porno mags or something… It's so easy, Jack."

"But… she'd do that to me?" he asked, the hurt evident in his face.

Jeff nodded, sadly. "Could and would, buddy. She's in it for the money, pure and simple."

"Jesus. Y'know, I actually thought I loved her once."

"Well, I suggest you forget that small fact and concentrate on not becoming bankrupt. She could cripple you financially just as easily as her lover has crippled you physically."

Jack wiped his face with his hands. "Can we deal?"

"Possibly on the monthly payment. Absolutely not on the house and car, oh and you have to take the dog."

"There's no way I'd leave Oscar with that whore in any case."

"Do you have anywhere to stay?" Jeff asked.

"What?" Jack was stunned and confused.

"She doesn't want you to go back. She found out somehow that you were planning a divorce; either that or she put two and two together. She wants you and your stuff out of the house. You can't go back there. I can go and get your stuff and move it into the loft downtown if you want? It'll piss Sandy off, but I was gonna cut her loose anyway."

Jack nodded dumbly.

Zack patted him on the shoulder. "We'll do what we can to get you as good a deal as possible, go through your accounts, see what we can hide away and what we can't. We'll do our best, Jack."

"Thanks Zack, Jeff. God, this was something I needed like a hole in the head. I'm fucked. I have a busted leg, no home, no car, and no job. What the hell am I going to do?"

Part 5

The two sharp suited advisers wandered slowly down the hospital corridor towards the entrance; their expressions grave.

"So," asked Zack. "Whadya reckon?"

"About what?" Jeff answered.

"About Jack being a fag," Zack replied, bluntly.

The smaller, portlier man shrugged. "How the fuck should I know? He's never made a move on me."

Zack chuckled. " I doubt you'd be his type, Jeff."

"Yeah, and fuck you too," Jeff snorted. "Why do you ask, anyway? Do you think he is?"

"Alls I know, is that there's no smoke without fire and I'm saying no more."

Jeff stopped him with a restraining hand on his arm.

"Are you telling me you know something?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Zack sighed. "Look, it makes no difference to me one way or the other. Most of my best clients are gay, for God's sake. They earn a lot of money and they pay their bills on time. Who they get their rocks off with is none of my concern and I'm happy that way."

"C'mon Zack Dish the dirt."

"There's no dirt, Jeff, I swear on my grandmother - oleha ha shalom. Just rumours, that's all. They've followed him around since he was in New York, but no-one ever had any hard evidence. If you'll pardon the pun."

Jeff snorted.

"Whether he's gay or straight, or bi or into having sex with kangaroos, we have to save him as much as we can from that little bitch. He's a decent guy and he's been a lucrative client for both of us."

"Yeah. Who knew she was that bright?"

"Not bright, Jeff. Just a good eye for a patsy, and unfortunately 'Irish' back there was that patsy. I guess she'll move on to that dumb fucking Polack now. If both his brain cells ever bashed together there'd be a nuclear explosion and his whole head would be sucked into a black hole."

"Oooh, Zacariah, now that was profound. And nasty. He welch on a bill?"

"No and enough with using my full name, already. His family are Polish Chasidim; mine are Mitnagdim from Lithuania. Does that give you a clue?"

Jeff nodded, knowingly. "Okay, old country politics. I'm down with that. You wanna go down to Manischevitz and get some blinis?"

"Lead the way. I'll need something in my stomach if I'm going to pull O'Neill's ass out of the fire on this one."

*

Jack was becoming more depressed by the hour. He wondered if there were any more nasty surprises on the horizon. The only positive thing to come out of this whole mess so far was the kid. Daniel. Jack sighed. He couldn't exactly be surprised at the rumours; as much as he wanted to tell himself it wasn't so, he was attracted to guys as well as women. Maybe it was worth facing up to it and letting the whore do her worst? One thing was for sure, he wouldn't ever play again; not with this kind of injury, but truthfully it had only robbed him of a couple more seasons and then he'd have been forced to retire anyway. Sonovabitch could have waited until after the Stanley fucking Cup though.

It pissed him off to let her win and the thought of that ugly bastard Pankowski sleeping in his bed, swimming in his pool and, worse yet, driving his car made Jack nauseous… or maybe that was the pain meds; but in any event, it would almost be worth the furore of coming out as bisexual to stop that scenario from happening. It might even be a good thing; maybe he could become a role model for young bisexual and gay guys who were damned good hockey players, but unable to show it for fear of having the crap beaten out of them in the locker room. The people of the twentieth century weren't as enlightened as they purported to be, if the bald truth were told.

He was torn. Afraid that he'd never get any kind of job in hockey again, yet unwilling to just lay down and let that bitch walk all over him in her Jimmy Choo's. He wanted to call Daniel… but why him? They'd only just met, yet Jack couldn't deny to himself – even if he would deny it to anyone else 'til his dying breath – that he was more than attracted. He wanted to do things with this guy that he wasn't even sure were legal in Pennsylvania. He'd never felt so strongly drawn to a man before: physically, perhaps, but with Daniel there seemed to be the possibility of so much more than that. Love even? Maybe, but Jack didn't know how to fall in love with another man and besides, he wasn't completely sure the kid was that way inclined. Perhaps that was the other shoe; the fact that Jack was falling for a man who was straight. He chuckled to himself : yep, that would just about ice the cake. He settled back and flicked on the TV while munching on the leftover chips Daniel had brought with him. After a couple of days of hospital food, he figured he could fall in love with the kid just for that.

Back at the Marriott, Daniel was restless. He couldn't help wanting to go and see O'Neill again, but didn't want to push his luck. At some point, he was convinced that Jack would see through the 'fan' façade and realise that not only did Daniel have an adolescent crush, it was becoming inescapably deeper every time Daniel was with him. 'Jack's straight,' Daniel kept telling himself. 'He wouldn't be interested in you that way. He couldn't be,' but in the back of his mind he'd replay the look at the arena, the way Jack had held his hand in the hospital, and allowed Daniel into his personal space by hugging him. Was he making too much of it? Probably, but damn it felt good to be that close. Holding his pillow tightly, he tried to remember the smell of Jack's hair, the tangy fragrance of his sport shampoo mixed with sweat, and the touch of h is hand, its finger pads slightly callused from years of having them wrapped around a hockey stick for hours on end, day after day.

Daniel's balls ached and his dick throbbed with wanting him and after he'd relieved the tension accompanied by a beautiful fantasy, Jack making love to him slow and deep, both of them looking into each other's eyes and holding on tight while they came together, Daniel cried with frustration that the man he'd waited his whole life for would probably never be his. He was just cleaning himself up when his cell phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hi Daniel, it's… ah… it's Jack. Jack O'Neill."

"Hey Jack, how's it going?"

"Well, ah… are you… I mean, can you… ah shit, I'm just gonna say it. Can you come down and see me again today? I'm gettin' bored outta my melon here. I really want someone to talk to that isn't after my money, one way or another."

Daniel smiled, "Sure. I'll see you in a half hour, okay?" He could hear Jack's sigh of relief.

"Thanks kid, I owe ya one."

"Don't worry about it," Daniel replied, trying not to chuckle as he imagined how he'd like to collect. "See you later."

Jack grinned like an idiot at the thought of seeing Daniel again. He wondered how long he could keep him in Pittsburgh before he really had to go back to school. He would need a little help for the first few days after coming out of hospital, after all; someone to make sure he didn't fall on his ass in the shower, someone to help him clean the pin sites in his leg… it was possible. He felt guilty, however. It was almost as if he were using Daniel, but what if Daniel wanted to do it? That would make it okay, surely?

It was nice being someone's hero; Jack hadn't felt so valued in a long time. Goals like the one he'd scored had been few and far between, which was okay for a defenseman, but not scoring goals didn't get you noticed. Jack had always been a hardworking D, out there doing the job with no fuss and no flourish. The most people had to say about him these days was, 'Hey, he's doin' pretty good for an old guy' and yet here was Daniel, whose beautiful blue eyes shone with genuine happiness whenever they met, who seemed eager to do anything he could to make Jack's life easier, and who was currently racing down to the hospital as fast as the traffic would allow.

There was a soft knock at the door and Jack wondered who it could be. It was too soon for Daniel, Jeff and Zack hadn't been gone all that long and the bitch wouldn't be back 'til the morning.

"Yeah, come in."

It was his physician, Doctor Reynolds. "Afternoon, Jack. I'm just going to have a little look at this leg of yours and if all's going well, I think we can let you go, once we've completed the paperwork."

Jack perked up at the news. "Really? Oh Doc, that's great! Not that the service around here hasn't been outstanding y'understand…"

The doctor smiled. "I'm guessing that's why there are empty packets of chips, dip, ooh look, Twinkies! And all kinds of other good foodstuffs all over this room, hmm? Fully satisfied with the accommodations?"

"Well, er, I mean, a friend brought them in and…"

"Don't worry, Jack. I think hospital food is designed to make the patients want to get well as quickly as possible," he chuckled, while completing his exam. "We'll need you to come in for physio three times a week, and you'll have to keep the fixator on for six weeks. We'll X-ray again after that to make sure the bones are knitting together, but to be honest, Jack, although it was a bad break, it wasn't a complicated one from a medical point of view. There's no reason why you shouldn't be walking reasonably well on it in a couple of months."

"Cool, thanks Doc. What about skating?"

"I think we both know your career is over, don't we?"

Jack sadly nodded his agreement.

"But as for rec skating, give it a few months; maybe 'til the season starts up again in September and start slowly. The ACL problem in that other knee still giving you trouble, by the way?"

Jack nodded, rubbing it reflexively. "Always does when I've been on my back for a while. It gets stiff."

"I'll ask the physio to work on it when he comes down. Maybe we should look into fixing that up for you in a few months time. Anyway, I'll get the paperwork done and filed and you can be out of here by dinnertime. How's that?"

"Sounds good to me, Doc. Thanks a lot."

"No problem, Jack. Looks like the Pens only have one more game to go to win the whole thing. Have you seen the highlights?"

"No, I didn't. I think the meds you guys gave me knocked me out," Jack smiled. "That's cool. I'd like to see 'em finish it, it might wipe the smile of that bastard's face who did this to me."

The doctor frowned, "Yeah. That was a nasty move. I hope they ban the sonovabitch, he's had it coming his whole career."

"Hmm."

"Anyway, let's get you out of bed and see if you can walk up the corridor a little bit for me. Mike tells me you've taken to the crutches pretty easily."

Jack eased himself around and hung his legs over the side of the bed. "Yeah, he seems pretty pleased. Pocket dictator," he grinned.

Reynolds laughed, "That's what he's for. To be on your case until you get better. Think of him as another Scotty Bowman."

Jack chuckled, "I don't think the world's ready for another Scotty Bowman." He bore his weight on the crutches and his good leg and slid gingerly off the bed, placing his feet on the floor. At least he'd managed to get a pair of pyjamas to wear, even if they did have to cut off one of the legs to get it over the fixator. Hospital gowns weren't designed for public display and Jack was always afraid that someone would get a good look at something they weren't prepared for.

He slowly edged towards the door, taking a little weight on his bad leg and the rest on his relatively good one. The doctor smiled. "Doin' good, Jack. You've taken to those like a natural; it's just a matter of balance and rhythm. Like skating."

"Now that I can do," Jack replied, concentrating and making his way slowly up the corridor. "Only thing is it puts more strain on my bum knee. Can you do anything 'bout that?"

"I'll tell Mike, he can do a little manipulation for you, ease out the hamstrings a little. That might make it easier. When we get the fixator off, I'll authorise you to use the hydrotherapy pool – unless you have a Jacuzzi at home? That would do just as well."

Jack snorted bitterly. "I don't have a home anymore, Doc," then brightened as he saw Daniel walking down the corridor towards him, smiling broadly.

"Hey Irish, lookin' good!"

"Flattery'll get you everywhere, kid," Jack grinned through the discomfort. Daniel was quite a sight in shorts, tight-fitting tee and sandals. It showed off enough skin and muscle definition to pique Jack's interest, but not enough to make him embarrass himself.

"Okay, Jack. That's probably enough for now, besides, I have rounds. I'll send Mike down later on to put you through your paces again and have a look at that knee."

"Gee thanks, Doc. You're all heart," Jack grumbled.

"Can I help him back to his room?" Daniel asked.

"If it's okay with Jack. He's pretty steady on the crutches now, I don't think he'll be falling," the doctor replied, grinning. "He wants to get out of here today."

Jack smiled. "Sure, c'mon back and let me bore the ass off you some more. And you, get outta here and get that paperwork through."

Doctor Reynolds walked away up the corridor, chuckling.

Back in Jack's room, Daniel gently helped him onto the bed and put his crutches in the corner.

"Aaah, that's better. Hurts like a sumbitch when I walk. I know I gotta, but it's a royal pain. Thanks, Danny." He leaned forward and began to rub his aching knee.

"Welcome. That ACL thing kicking off again?"

Jack looked surprised. "How did…?"

Daniel smiled. "19…87, you were playing for… Vancouver. You only played for half the season, but I managed to get to a couple of games. I was playing in B.C. myself at the time. Kelowna Rockets."

Jack nodded in recognition.

"The Canucks were playing… Winnipeg, and you were checked hard against the boards by…Craig Endean, their left wing man," Daniel continued. "He popped your knee and you've had trouble with it ever since."

"Jesus Christ! You really have been keepin' an eye on me, haven't you?" Jack asked in amazement.

Daniel felt the colour rushing up to his face and chuckled. "I told you, I'm a fan. Anyway, let me have a look at this knee."

"It's right there, under the jammies. Kinda bends a little to let me skate and walk, but it's not much different from any other knee you ever saw."

Daniel rolled his eyes. "I'm a qualified sports masseur, Jack. Maybe I can help you with it."

"Oh! Oh… well… okay, go for it," Jack replied, instantly regretting his choice of words and hoping that having the young man's long, elegant hands around his leg wouldn't cause an unwanted reaction in other parts of him. What did the Doc say about stretching out the hamstrings to alleviate the pressure?

Oh, brother.

Daniel applied pressure around the joint, over the top of Jack's clothing. It wouldn't be as effective at treating the injury, but it might take Daniel's mind off the fact that he had his hands on Jack O'Neill's thigh. He really didn't intend to do any more than help Jack with the pain and was conscious of keeping up his professionalism and keeping down anything else.

Jack tried to relax while the young man worked. His fists were clenched, as was his jaw, but he could still feel stirrings as Daniel's long fingers rubbed around his knee and applied pressure either side. Worse was to come as Daniel began to strip the muscle of Jack's thigh to alleviate some of the tension in his hamstring. The young man's hands stroked all the way up from knee to groin, pressing hard, which was the only saving grace. Jack's head lolled back on the pillow as a bolt of sensation shot through his dick and an involuntary groan escaped his lips.

"Oh that's good, Daniel. Oh… ah…" His eyes snapped open. "Ah! Danny… I… er… I think we'd… oh… better stop…before I…"

Daniel looked up at him, with a half-smile. "You okay, Jack? I'm not hurting you, am I?"

Jack shuffled up the bed, away from Daniel's teasing fingers and put his hand over his groin.

"No! No, not at all, I'm just… I think we should… ah fuck!"

Daniel moved back slightly, and took his hand. "You know I'm attracted to you, don't you?" he asked quietly.

"Ah… I hadn't really… um…"

"And I'm not on my own here, am I?"

"Well, I… I mean… I don't…ah Christ, Danny. I don't know. I mean I do know but I… Look, I'm in a difficult position," he began, absentmindedly stroking Daniel's knuckles with his fingers. "Yeah, I am attracted. Of course I am, I'd be blind not to be: but not only do I not know what to do about it, because I've never been with a guy before – at least not since I was sixteen – but my wife has threatened to out me as gay if I don't let her have all my worldly goods. I'm not saying I don't want to. Jesus, thinking about having you in my bed has been keeping me up since I first laid eyes on you, so don't think it's that, I just…"

"I think I understand, Jack. It's cool. Listen, do you want me to come home and help you out for a few days, 'til you get more steady on your feet and can look after yourself?" he raised his hands. "No strings. Scout's Honour."

Jack snorted. "You were so never a Boy Scout."

Daniel chuckled. "Okay, you got me there, but I promise I won't push. It's your call: whether we take this any further or not, how far we take it, all up to you, Jack. I care about you too much to fuck it up. Even if we part as friends and nothing more happens, I'm happy with that. I just want to help."

Jack smiled and stroked his face. "Danny, you have no idea how much you've helped me already. If you won't get into trouble for not going back to school, that would be great."

"I've finished for the semester. I don't have to go back to L.A. until September. Think that'll be long enough?" he grinned.

Jack looked at Daniel's beautiful face, his eyes full of happiness, affection and desire for him and something inside him said, 'Fuck it.'

"Maybe. C'mere."

Daniel's heart somersaulted in his chest and he swallowed hard.

Jack pulled him down and their lips tentatively met, sending electric shocks through both of them. Daniel steadied himself on the pillow with one hand and stroked Jack's bearded cheek with the fingertips of the other while slipping his tongue gently inside Jack's mouth. Jack moaned and thrust his own tongue inside Daniel's mouth and they kissed until they were gasping for air.

Jack stroked Daniel's face with a look of wonderment on his own.

"Holy shit, Danny. That was amazing!" he whispered.

"There's plenty more where that came from, Irish," Daniel smiled. "Give me the chance and I'll rock your world."

Part 6

"Is that a promise?" Jack smiled, pushing an imaginary strand of hair from Daniel's brow.

"Scout's Honour," Daniel grinned.

Jack chortled. "Again with the Scouts. Jesus. I never… I can't remember what it was like, y'know? The last time. Hell, it was the only time and it was so long ago."

The phone began to ring just as Jack was about to kiss Daniel again.

"Let's be careful for now, hmm?" Daniel said, leaning away from him, but running the back of his hand down Jack's cheek.

Jack picked up the telephone. "Yeah? Oh hi, Jeff. Nothin' much, I'm in hospital, y'know? What's the news? Uh –huh… Oh, she has, has she? Okay, well can you do me a coupla favours? Go to my place and pick up my truck, then take Oscar down to Jared's. He likes it down there. Yeah, that's the one. Oh and throw some clothes in a bag, would ya? I'm gettin' out this evening. I know, how 'bout that, huh? So after you drop Oscar off, can you come get me and Daniel? Yeah, Daniel. You met him when you were here. He's gonna give me a hand for a coupla days while I get back on my feet. Well, I don't give a fuck how it looks, Jeff and I object to the fucking question! I'm not gonna take on some bimbo agency nurse with big tits, just so that Lori has less ammunition to throw at me. What's she going to ask for next, hmm? A goddamn rectal exam? Yeah, whatever. See you later."

He slammed the phone down and growled, sending a shiver down Daniel's spine.

"You okay?"

"Hmmph. Why? Why is this so goddamned hard? Would somebody please mind telling me? That little whore and that sonovabitch, bastard fucking Polack. FUCK! If I had any clue of how to go about it, I'd put a contract out on the both of 'em, I swear to God!"

Daniel sat close to him on the bed, putting a comforting arm around his shoulders and holding him gently. Jack rested his head on Daniel's chest as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Christ, Danny. What did I ever do? I wasn't the world's best husband, I know that, but for Chrissakes she wasn't the world's best wife either. I feel like an idiot. I feel like she's taken me for a ride and I've just been thrown off. Is love always like that? I mean, I did love her, once upon a time."

"No, love isn't always like that, Jack. One day I'll show you."

"Yeah?"

Daniel smiled, kissed the top of Jack's head tenderly and then rested his cheek there.

"Sure. Listen, I have to go get my stuff and check out of the hotel. Will you be okay?"

Jack nodded and Daniel got off the bed. He held Jack's hand and kissed him softly on the lips, just a ghost of a kiss to let Jack know.

"I'll be back. That's a promise, too."

"Okay," Jack replied, miserably.

Daniel hated to leave him like that; he looked so vulnerable and alone. He just wanted to put his arms around him and never let him go. However, although he was going to stay with Jack, he wasn't taking anything for granted. There was a very long way between a kiss and full sex, and Daniel was well aware that for his own good, if for no other reason, Jack would have to make baby steps. Besides, they had to keep their relationship beyond reproach while the mess with Lori was straightened out. Daniel cursed both her and Pankowski under his breath. He was dumbstruck that they could treat Jack this way, but he also knew that he didn't really know the man at all. Yet.

*

Jeff swung his big Merc around the circular drive of Jack's house, and parked by the small fountain. His Gucci shoes crunched on the gravel as he walked up to the front door and rang the bell. He stood impassively as Lori opened the door in a red silk housecoat, looking him up and down like he was last week's liverwurst.

"Mister Cohen," she spat.

"Lori. How are you?"

"Rich. How are you? Come to plead for that useless maggot… or should I say faggot?"

"Jesus Lori, what did Jack ever do to you to deserve this?" he asked, exasperated.

"Off the record? Nothing. He was just in the right place at the right time and he had a hard-on for me like a California Redwood. He's no different to most guys, damned easy to lead around by their dick. On the record, he's gay, we haven't had sex in years and even when we did, he couldn't keep it up for more than five minutes at a time."

"He's right, you really are a bitch," Jeff retorted, his voice full of contempt.

"Make that a rich bitch, Jeff. A girl has to take care of herself, y'know. Jack was getting old in any case, and now his career is over. How in the world am I supposed to keep up with the new season's wardrobe if my husband is a crippled ex-NHL hockey player? Look, I really don't have anything against the guy personally, I just have to make sure my lifestyle is protected. Surely you can see that? I guess I'm sort of sorry that he's being hurt by all this… actually I'm not. If he wasn't bright enough to see that I was marrying him for status and money, he's got it coming. If he did know, he obviously didn't move fast enough. You snooze, you lose."

"Can I at least come in the damned house? I have to pack him some stuff and pick up Oscar. Oh, and I'm taking the truck."

"Whatever."

Jeff stomped upstairs to Jack's bedroom and through to the walk-in closet. As he hurriedly packed a hockey bag with various items, he made a promise that he'd do whatever was necessary to see Lori O'Neill out of this house. As an attorney, Jeff Cohen was no stranger to ruthlessness and manipulation, but Lori O'Neill was in a different league altogether. She'd be tough to beat, but Jack didn't deserve this from anyone and besides, he had a little leverage of his own which neither of them knew about.

After packing Jack an assortment of clothes and toiletries, Jeff wanted to get the hell out as quickly as possible. The stench of her not-so-cheap perfume was beginning to clog his sinuses. That left one more job to do. Pick up Oscar.

"Are you done?" Lori asked, the front door still open.

"Almost, where's Oscar?"

"Out in the yard. I only put up with that mutt because of Jack. I guess he's the only friend the poor sap has." She smiled, grimly.

Jeff walked outside to the yard to find Oscar chained up and looking forlorn. His ears pricked up a little when he saw Jeff coming towards him, but he was missing his master, that was painfully obvious. Jeff knelt down, scratched him behind the ears and spoke to him softly as Oscar slurped Jeff's ear with his long tongue.

"Hey Oz. Don't you worry a bit, I'm takin' you out of this hellhole. It'll be okay, Jack'll come to see you in a day or so. C'mon."

The big German Shepherd visibly brightened at the sound of his master's name and happily followed Jeff out to Jack's truck and jumped in the back.

"Hey! What about the Mercedes!" Lori yelled as Jeff revved up the big Chevrolet's engine.

"Someone from my office'll come get it. In the meantime, why don't you pretend it's yours, sweetheart? You may as well, if I've got anything to do with it, you won't be driving the Lexus for long!"

Lori's face was like thunder as Jeff eased the truck out of the gates and into the street.

By the time Jeff arrived back at the hospital, Daniel was there and looking out of the window. Jeff looked at the young man and frowned. He didn't like this one bit. Zack had now planted a seed of doubt in his mind that perhaps Jack wasn't completely straight and although he didn't give a shit from a personal point of view - being honest, having Lori O'Neill as your wife was enough to turn any man gay – from a legal point of view it was bad. In fact it was potentially disastrous.

He wandered up the corridor with his hands in his pockets. He didn't think he'd be able to get away with telling Jack the young man couldn't stay with him, yet Jack couldn't afford to have the kid in his home long-term without giving Lori exactly what she was looking for. He knocked on the door of Jack's room and went in.

"So. We ready?"

"Absofuckinglutely. How's Oz?" Jack asked.

"He misses you, but he's basically fine. He perked up pretty good when we got to Jared's. Him and Jared's dog tore across the yard like they'd been chained up for a year."

Jack smiled. "That's good. He's known Rebel since they were pups, he'll take Oz's mind off me not bein' there and as soon as I get back to my house, I'll go get him. Thanks for takin' him down there, brother."

Jeff frowned. "Don't worry about it. We need to talk about the house, Jack. We have to devise some kind of strategy. Zack is at work with your bank accounts, and he thinks he can salt a lot of it away into your offshore company. Lori doesn't know about that one."

Jack eased his way down the corridor gingerly, with Daniel at his side. " Bexel Inc.? You sure about that, Jeff?"

"Positive," he nodded as the automatic entrance doors opened.

The girls in reception waved him goodbye as they left.

"Come see us soon, Jack!" yelled one.

Jack turned and grinned, losing his balance slightly and causing Daniel to hold him protectively. "Don't worry Lucy, I will. You gals look after yourselves."

The girls watched sadly as he left; he always had a smile or a joke for them as he wandered up and down the corridor and even though he had only been there for a couple of days, they'd been captivated.

"He could charm the birds from the trees," one of the girls sighed.

Another looked at her with amusement. "How old are you, Cheryl?"

"57," she sighed again. "But I could sure give that one a run for his money…and his cute buddy."

The four of them collapsed into giggles as they continued watching him limp across the parking lot.

Fortunately, there was plenty of leg room in the front seat of Jack's brand new Chevrolet Silverado. He was grateful that Lori had deemed the truck unworthy of her behind. She hadn't so much as touched it since it had arrived three weeks before. At least it meant there was something in his life that she hadn't tarnished. Before Daniel helped him in, Jack stroked his fingers down the metallic midnight blue paintjob and smiled.

"Mine," he muttered. "All fucking mine."

"C'mon Jack, I want to get you settled into the loft. Kim has some people coming over for some WIZO charity thing tonight, d'you feel like some company?" Jeff asked.

Jack coughed. "Nah, we'll be fine. Thanks anyway, Jeff. You'd better get yourself a new piece of ass now whatshername is outta the picture," he grinned.

"If you say so, Jack. If you say so," Jeff conceded, inwardly wincing at the use of 'we'. He pulled out of the hospital parking lot and drove down the street towards downtown Pittsburgh.

*

The loft was spacious and open-plan. The whole of the lower area was covered with light cedar floorboards and comprised the living space, a well-equipped kitchen and a dining area. Underneath the open stairway was a bathroom with a toilet and shower, then upstairs was the bedroom and another large bathroom, with a shower cubicle big enough for two and a similarly sized Jacuzzi bath. The loft was light and airy and its location down in North Shore offered wonderful views of the Ohio River through the large picture window.

Daniel followed Jack inside, carrying his and Jack's luggage, and looked around.

"Wow! Classy digs."

Jeff smiled. "Why, thank you. It's the culmination of a lot of hard work and beats the shit out of taking Prozac for keeping me sane. The couch over there pulls out into a double bed with an orthopaedic mattress. You should be comfortable."

Jack looked at the stairs and grimaced. "Tell you what, Jeff, I'll take the couch. Daniel can have the bed. The idea of tackling those stairs with these crutches scares the crap outta me. Besides, it'd be a bitch if I got the munchies in the middle of the night. I'd probably go head first down the damned things and really fuck myself up!"

Jeff sighed with relief that they weren't intending to share a bed - at least not at the moment.

Daniel grinned. "Don't tell me. They hit at two or three in the morning. Peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches and a glass of milk."

Jack chortled as he eased himself into the large leather Chesterfield, which was in front of the TV. "Shit! The stuff they put in my bio!"

"That wasn't your bio, Jack. I have the same problem," he laughed. "Used to drive my Mom nuts. She'd come down in the morning and there'd be no milk left for cereal, so she'd kick my ass out down to the store to get some more, whether I was awake or not!"

"Ah, memories," Jack smiled wistfully.

Jeff coughed. " Well, ladies, as compelling as these little reminiscences are, I have to go. I've still got work to do to save your ass, Mr. O'Neill. Not to mention your money, your reputation," he counted off on his fingers, "shall I go on?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Listen Jeff, I really appreciate you comin' through for me like this. You're a real mensch, y'know that?"

The attorney chuckled. "Yeah? Well, tell that to my Rabbi. Actually, tell that to my wife!"

"Send her over, buddy. Just send her over. I'll bet we could have a real interesting conversation about some of the long hours you're about to work on my behalf," Jack grinned.

Jeff laughed. "I'll get a cab back down to the office and I'll call the insurance company to let them know Daniel will be driving the truck."

"It's insured for any driver," Jack pointed out.

"I know," Jeff replied. "It's a courtesy call more than anything. Say, you're not wanted in seventeen states for parking violations are ya, Daniel?"

Daniel grinned. "Nah, only twelve. Oh, and in another three for speeding."

"Hmmph. Okay, I'll keep in touch, Jack. You, keep him on the straight and narrow," Jeff instructed Daniel, immediately regretting his choice of the word 'straight'.

"Got it," Daniel replied, saluting.

"See ya later," Jeff waved as he dropped the keys on the coffee table and left.

"So," Jack began. "Just you and me, then?"

Daniel squirmed in his seat, as his heart beat a little faster. "Yep. I guess."

"So…"

"So…"

"So… y'wanna lay another lip lock on me, Danny?" Jack asked with a mixture of teenage nerves and bravado.

Daniel smiled, a glint of mischief and amusement evident in his eyes. He wandered slowly over to Jack's chair and equally slowly straddled his hips, careful not to put all of his bodyweight on Jack's thighs and groin. Jack's eyebrows rose and his breathing quickened as Daniel fixed him with a challenging look.

"It was a little difficult to kiss you properly in the hospital. Someone might have come in, and besides, I couldn't get the angle right with you in bed and all."

"Is this more comfortable?" Jack asked, his voice a little shaky.

Daniel leaned forward and whispered in his ear. "Much."

The sensation of Daniel's breath around the sensitive outer shell travelled straight to his dick and Jack let out a sigh as Daniel licked around his ear with the tip of his tongue. He planted small kisses around Jack's neck where the beard wasn't growing, and then across his cheek to eventually capture Jack's lips in a tender kiss. This time it was Jack's turn to enter Daniel's mouth with his tongue. He figured that kissing was a technique that crossed the gender barrier and he curled his tongue around Daniel's, drawing it into his mouth and sucking it softly.

Daniel wriggled on his lap, his ass cheeks rubbing over Jack's dick, which was becoming harder by the second. Jack moaned and broke the kiss, trailing his tongue down the side of Daniel's neck and lapping gently at the dried sweat on the pulse point at his shoulder. Daniel rolled back his head to allow Jack better access; his neck had always been particularly sensitive and he'd been known to come just by stimulation of that part of his body alone. He was convinced he'd died and gone to heaven, having his neck nibbled, sucked, kissed and licked by the object of his fantasies; but he was a mere object no longer. Jack O'Neill was real. And here. A flesh and blood man, writhing beneath him and so damned hot, it was all Daniel could do not to rip off both their clothes and impale himself in one go on the impressive hard-on straining to escape the co nfines of O'Neill's shorts.

"Ah God! Jack! You have to… Stop! One second!"

Jack stopped immediately with a slightly puzzled and apprehensive expression.

"You don't like it? You seemed like you liked it."

Daniel laughed, cradling his cheek in his hand. "Jesus, did I like it? I'm about to come in my pants, Jack. I just thought we should slow things down a little. See how far you want to go."

"Hell, I don't know! How far do you want to go?"

"That's a completely unfair question, don't ask me that one."

Jack smiled. "Seriously, how far do you want to go?"

Daniel's eyes darkened and his face took on a look that scared Jack a little.

"How far? How far inside me d'you think you could get? Your cock embedded so deep in my ass that neither of us knows where the boundary is. You thrusting into me so hard it feels like I'm going to split in two. Me making you crazy and both of us coming like the end of our dicks are going to explode and our balls are going to disappear inside our bodies forever. That's how far I want to go: but not tonight. Tonight it's all down to you, Jack. What can I do for you? What do you want to do to me?"

Jack's breath was by this time coming in ragged gasps and his pulse pounded in his ears and through his cock. He didn't know. The kid was giving him the choice and he didn't know! Something. Anything. Everything.

"I… I don't know. I want… I want to touch you. I… I want you to touch me…I…"

Daniel leaned forward and kissed him softly, then got off his lap. He kicked off the sandals and peeled off the tee as sensually as he could, then unfastened the zipper on his shorts slowly, teasingly, allowing Jack to see his erect cock an inch at a time. The shorts pooled around his ankles and Daniel stepped out of them, moving closer to Jack. Pre-come glistened on the circumcised head of Daniel's cock as it bobbed in front of him. Unable to resist giving O'Neill a show, Daniel ran his fingertips along the length of his shaft, pausing at the end to spread pre-come all over his dick's plum coloured head.

Bending forward, he set to work freeing O'Neill's own aching erection and Jack had to use much of his control not to come on the spot. He felt like a virgin all over again and in a way he figured he was. A sixteen year old fumbling with another sixteen year old hardly counted as sexual experience. His fingers dug hard into the leather of the couch as the scent of sex assailed his nose and his fingers itched to wrap themselves around the silky length of Daniel's cock.

Gently, Daniel removed Jack's shorts and underwear, drawing them all the way down to his feet, taking care not to touch the fixator. His breath sucked in when he saw how hard Jack was for him. He wanted to suck him so badly he salivated at the thought of it, but a promise was a promise and whatever Jack wanted was so much more than fine.

Daniel sat beside him and stroked his thigh as Jack put his arm along the back of the sofa.

"Touch me, Jack. Please. It's all right."

Jack tried to steady his breathing as he reached over to wrap his long fingers around Daniel's length. He shifted slightly towards Daniel's body and stroked his cock with fascination, tightening his grip and watching Daniel's face.

"Oooh yes. That's good, Jack. That's so good. Stroke it harder. Just like you would if you were jerking yourself off."

Jack squeezed and pulled, rubbing the end with his flexible thumb, occasionally stopping to explore Daniel's aching ball sac and stroking the perineum beneath it.

Daniel was becoming incoherent, and it was obvious that he was close to coming. Jack nuzzled his neck, licking some of the extra special spots on it and judging Daniel's responses while speeding up his strokes. Getting as close to Daniel's ear as he could, Jack whispered, "Come for me, Danny. Just for me. I want to see you shoot."

The knowledge that he'd already come so many times in his life only for Jack sent Daniel over the edge and he gasped out Jack's name, a stream of white come erupting out of the open slit at the end of his cock and arcing upwards to splash onto Daniel's chest. Volley after volley of pearlescent fluid boiled out of him as he panted the name repeatedly, covering Jack's hand with his semen. Jack leaned even further over and kissed him passionately, thrusting his tongue inside Daniel's mouth and Daniel grabbed the back of his head, unwilling to let him go. Finally, Jack pulled away from him and Daniel leaned back with his eyes closed, calming his breathing.

"Fuck! Oh fuck that was amazing! You're…" he chuckled. "You're so much better than the fant