He loved his father, and lost him far too soon. Sometimes he wonders what kind of man he would be if his father had lived. Sometimes he worries that he mourned his mother so much that his father’s death became a footnote. Sometimes he catches himself scratching his chin just like his dad used to do. Once he caught a whiff of familiar yet unfamiliar aftershave and in his mind he was once again sitting on his father’s lap, toying with his tie, wrapped in the scent that said ‘special occasion’, while the two of them watched his mother finish dressing for a party.

He loved his grandfather. Always. Fiercely. Even when he felt abandoned and rejected. Even when he thought Nick had cracked up. Even when Nick thought Daniel had lost his mind. Nick was his. No one else had a claim on either one of them that matched the claim they had on each other, giant aliens notwithstanding. There’s a bright star in the universe today that says to him, you have family.

He loved Father Warren at the Catholic school he attended for a year and a half when he lived with the Spauldings. Father Warren showed Daniel that he was welcome, even when Daniel knew he didn’t belong. He sat and talked comparative religion with an eleven-year-old boy and got him started learning Latin and Greek. He explained to Daniel just why twelve-year-old Sally Spaulding kept pinching him. Daniel owes his first kiss to Father Warren. Sally tasted like peppermints.

He loved Kasuf. Father of his wife, advisor to Daniel, leader of his people, practical joker extraordinaire. Kasuf was good, wise, loving, accepting, forgiving. Mocking, yes, but gently, always gently. A good companion to get drunk with, and a better companion to mourn with. Another bright star in the universe.

It’s hard to remember a time when he didn’t love Teal’c. He will always love General Hammond. He supposes that, before long, he will love Mitchell. But for some strange reason, Jack O’Neill is the one who stole his heart away and refuses to give it back.

And Daniel’s fine with that.