Gigi Sinclair

December 31 had no cultural significance to the Abydonians.

Well, Daniel admonished himself, of course it didn't. The Abydonian New Year was celebrated based on a complicated system that involved keeping meticulous track of the new moons. Daniel kept his own records and that was how he knew today, a million miles away, was New Year's Eve.

If he'd mentioned this, he knew Shau'ri would have made a big deal of it, without really understanding what it was. No matter how many times Daniel told her otherwise, she still thought he'd been forced to give up his culture to stay with her, and she felt guilty about it. She didn't understand that Daniel had never had his own cultural identity, which was probably why he'd spent his entire life researching other ones.

Daniel didn't want a New Year's party. He didn't want to have to explain Hogmanay and first footing and all the other New Year's traditions he could think of to a crowd of eager, but uncomprehending, Abydonians, so he didn't mention it. Instead, when darkness fell and everyone went immediately to bed, Daniel took a bladder of Abydonian whisky and slipped out of the apartment.

Like all deserts, the temperature fell sharply once the sun went down on Abydos. Daniel pulled the BDU jacket around him, one of his few souvenirs of his time in the military, and found a spot on one of the dunes.

It was a clear night, and looking up at the stars, Daniel could almost imagine he was back on Earth, in Egypt or even California or Nevada. If Daniel closed his eyes, he could almost picture New Year's fireworks streaking the sky. The Abydonians had a version of fireworks, and used them for periodic celebrations—there had been plenty after the defeat of Ra—but they were much more likely to take off someone's hand or put out someon's eye or simply fizzle out on the sand than to light up the sky.

Daniel opened his eyes and pulled the jacket more tightly around him. It didn't help that he had come out only in loose-fitting trousers and sandals, and he tucked his feet underneath him in an attempt to warm them up.

Taking a swig from the bladder, Daniel choked down the whisky, which was strong to say the least (paint-stripper, Jack O'Neil had called it, and Daniel didn't doubt that as a possible use) and thought about all the parties that would be going on at home. On Earth, he corrected himself sharply. His home was here now, with his family. This was the first time he'd had either, and it was taking some getting used to.

Despite himself, Daniel's thoughts went to Jack. The most annoying man in several galaxies, Daniel knew that. Arrogant, irritable, narrow-minded. But surprising, as well. Daniel wondered what Jack was doing tonight, whether he was out getting drunk at one or more military shindigs, or whether he was getting drunk alone, at home, surrounded by his memories of Tyler.

Daniel thought the latter the more likely option. It was sad, but, Daniel had to admit, not far removed from what he himself was doing. Eventually, he'd wondered whether he and Jack might have more in common than either had first thought, and, towards the end, Daniel had even wondered if maybe they had something to offer each other.

Not a relationship, of course, that was completely out of the question. Jack was straight and on the verge of a divorce, Daniel was not-quite straight and newly married. Abysmal odds, even by Daniel's relationship standards. But maybe, he thought, they could have been friends.

"Dan'yel." Daniel looked up and saw Shau'ri crossing the dunes, a cloak wrapped around her. "What are you doing here?" She'd insisted he teach her English, and she was a very conscientious student, more than willing to learn. She spoke it to him as often as possible, even when he persisted in answering her in Abydonian.

"Just sitting."

"You are unwell?" She sat beside him, putting a cool hand against his forehead.

"I'm fine." He smiled and took her hand in his. "I was just thinking."

"Today is a special day." It wasn't a question. She frowned delicately as Shau'ri struggled to remember what Daniel had told her, months ago now, about human holidays. "Easter?"

"New Year's Eve."

"That is right." She laughed and squeezed his hand. "'Should auld acquaintance be forgot.'"

"What?" He stared at her.

"That is the traditional hymn, is it not?" She frowned again, clearly concentrating. "'Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind.'"

"That's right." Daniel beamed, filled with the same kind of pride he'd felt when one of his students had remembered some obscure dynastic detail, back in the days when he had students. "How do you remember that?"

"I attempt to remember much you have taught me, Dan'yel. This is a song of friendship, is it not?"

"Sort of." He squeezed her hand. "It translates literally as 'old long ago' but it really means 'times gone by.'" Not so long ago, really, since Catherine had taken him to meet Jack for the first time, but it seemed like years.

"We'll take a cup of kindness yet, for the sake of auld lang syne,'" Shau'ri continued, clearly proud of herself. She took the bladder from Daniel and knocked it back without flinching. It was one of many things he admired about his wife. "'And there's a hand my trusty fiere, and gie's a hand o thine, and we'll tak a right guid-willie waught, for auld lang syne,'" Daniel finished. Shau'ri clearly didn't understand that part, but not many people did. The advantage, Daniel supposed, of going to New Year's Eve parties with linguists. He'd always known there had to be one.

Hugging his wife close, Daniel took back the bladder and raised it to the stars, hoping that, wherever he was, Jack found a "trusty friend" to be by his side during the upcoming year. And, if he didn't, that he'd remember Daniel was just a multi-million mile Gate-trip away.