By:
Kylie Lee
SEASON/SPOILERS: Season 9 “Ethon” and “Icon”
WARNINGS: None
AUTHOR’S
WEBSITE:
1.
"So...we've
gone four miles," Cam Mitchell said, shoving aside a branch.
Daniel
Jackson ducked, narrowly avoiding the branch as it slapped backward. "Four
miles more or less," he said. "I mean, four miles as I translate
their units of measure. Roughly four miles."
Mitchell
said, in the exact same voice, "So...we've gone about four miles,"
and Daniel suppressed a grin. Both of them had been happy to go for a hike,
leaving Sam Carter and Teal'c with their new friends, the Pelosians. Daniel had
been excited to hear of an artifact with writing on it, and Mitchell had been
happy to get away from the boredom that came with being on day three of a
diplomatic trip, complete with ritual food and ritual sitting on stools for
hours on end, looking polite while Daniel translated--that is, tried to translate.
"Let's take a look-see." Mitchell stopped, and Daniel came up next to
him, reaching for his pocket so he could grab his own field glasses. The Velcro
sounded loud as it ripped. Yeah," Mitchell said, squinting a little as he
thumbed the focus. "Trees. And whoa--over there. More trees."
"It's--it's
like we're in a forest," Daniel said. "A big forest. A big alien
forest."
"I
was having that very thought." Mitchell pointed, not lowering his glasses.
"Okay, I see the next cairn. And--could it be that? There's a stone over
there. Take a look-see."
Daniel
brought his own field glasses up, and the trees became huge as they sprang into
view, disorienting him. Mitchell didn't say anything about the delay. Jack
O'Neill would have said something--something sarcastic about Daniel's ability,
or inability, to peer through field glasses. Cam Mitchell said lots of
sarcastic things, but he rarely said personal sarcastic things. Daniel hadn't
yet decided whether Mitchell was waiting until he knew them better before he teased
them. He kind of thought so.
Daniel
finally found it: the pale flash of rock, too regular in shape to be natural.
"Could be. It's worth a look. Definitely worth a look."
Mitchell
gestured. "After you."
"Uh--thanks."
Daniel adjusted his pack and took the lead. He hoped he could find the
artifact. It hadn't been very far away. But now the trees had gotten small
again and he wasn't sure he knew where he was. Well, if Cam Mitchell had any
illusions left about Daniel Jackson, they needed to get exploded sooner or
later. Mitchell seemed like a nice guy. He was doing a good job. But Daniel
missed Jack, because he knew and could predict Jack.
Out
of force of habit, they didn't say much as they walked, the better to hear
stray
He
was done. Mitchell had joked about getting the band back together, but Daniel
was just...done. After the momentary excitement of the Ori and Vala, the
immediacy of the threats had receded, and now the repetition of offworld
missions was just killing him. Of course, it didn't help that his slowness
grasping Pelosian was driving him insane.
Daniel
caught a flash of white stone, its square shape resembling nothing as much as a
gravestone. "There it is," he said, pointing. "I'd say that's
our artifact."
"Cool,"
Mitchell responded from behind him as Daniel scrambled through low bushes.
"I can have me some lunch while you're doing your thing. A ration
bar--yes, a ration bar. I can hardly wait. If I eat any more of that stew they
keep feeding us--you know? I'm going to stop right there."
"Yeah,"
Daniel said, distracted by the stone. He circled it and found the inscription.
"Okay,
As
Mitchell, back to Daniel, said something indistinct into his radio, Daniel
knelt and brushed the artifact's top. Yes, words--this was definitely what
Mulualem had been talking about. Some kind of moss or other droopy plant grew
over the top of the stone and down, obscuring the carving. He held it aside to
get a better look. "Yeah, this is definitely it," he said over his
shoulder.
"Can
you read it?" Mitchell leaned over, blocking Daniel's light, curious.
Daniel
sat back, sending the moss cascading. "No."
"But
you'll be able to?"
"Maybe."
Daniel shrugged off his pack and pulled out the camcorder. He brushed at his
sodden knees as he stood up. "Okay, let me get some video."
"Sure."
Mitchell
backed up, and Daniel checked the battery and flicked the device on. "This
is Dr. Daniel Jackson on the planet P2X-483, local name Pelos," he began,
voice fast and automatic as he reeled off details. He circled the stone twice, then
got in close to image the top, his boots sinking into the mud, giving his
running commentary. "I'm handing over the camera to Lieutenant Commander
Cameron Mitchell," he said when he was satisfied he'd gotten enough
footage in situ. Mitchell, surprised, stuffed the rest of a ration bar in his
mouth and took the camera.
"Roll
'em," Mitchell said indistinctly, bringing the camera up.
"Lights?"
Daniel suggested, and Mitchell said, "Yeah, sorry," and flicked the
light on. "I'm going to clear away this moss," Daniel said, kneeling
again.
He
used his fingers to gently dig and scrape away the growth of long, spangled
moss that partly covered the inscription on the stone's front. It came away in
a piece, like a ragged patch of thick fabric. He spared it only a glance before
he tossed it aside: pretty moss, soft, thickly dense, with long, drooping
whiskers of gold poking out of the green. That was better. Daniel ran his hands
over the front of the artifact, roughly cleaning it, leaving smears of mud
behind. He finally resorted to dousing it with water from his canteen to wash
it clean, suppressing a smile as he considered his archaeology professors'
reactions to his very inappropriate preparation methods.
"Okay."
Daniel eyed the deeply incised inscription. "Preliminary thoughts. First,
it's definitely not goa'uld. I can see a repeated character shape here and
here." He pointed, and behind him, Mitchell shifted to get a better view.
"These little doodles off them, here and here, are probably inflection
markings. I don't see much exact-symbol repetition, so I'm thinking syllabary
as opposed to alphabet..."
When he was done, an hour and a half had passed and the sun was slanting toward twilight. Mitchell stuck the camcorder in Daniel's backpack as Daniel held it open. "What a great lecture," Mitchell said, and Daniel looked up sharply, but he saw no sarcasm in Mitchell's eyes. "I don't know how you got that much stuff out of a rock with some carving you can't even read."
Daniel
said, "I've found that if I talk long like that, I'm not asked as many
questions about my findings by the later teams, and it helps remind me what I
was thinking if I have do end up having to go back." He zipped the
backpack shut. "Of course, sometimes I'm totally off and in retrospect I
sound like a babbling idiot, but..."
Mitchell
sounded pleased. "Yeah, well, I find that hard to believe. That kind of
lecture you gave--that's why I wanted you. You're the best." He slapped
Daniel on a shoulder. "See? Bet you're glad you're in the field and not
behind some desk."
"Yeah."
Daniel, flattered by Mitchell's faith in him, felt a pang of guilt. Mitchell
was a nice guy. But it wasn't going to stop Daniel from doing what was right
for Daniel, and what was right was moving off the front-line team. He had only
meant for his time back to be temporary. He was just hanging on now.
"You
ready to get back? It's going to be dark pretty soon. We should hustle."
Daniel
couldn't meet Mitchell's clear eyes. Instead, he busied himself with putting on
his pack, then retying the scarf around his head, which had come loose.
"Yeah, sorry. I'm good. Let's go."
Right
after the mission debriefing, he'd talk to General Landry, and then he'd tell
Mitchell himself.
2.
"I
wish they understood us." Samantha Carter smiled at the woman who bent
over to take their bowls from them. "Thank you," she said clearly,
ducking her head. "It was delicious."
The
woman ducked back, obviously pleased, and said something long and complex.
"It
sounds so pretty," Sam said through her smile. All their smiles had grown
stiff from overuse, but the Pelosians seemed pretty understanding about things
like etiquette, although they were also quick to correct their visitors'
behavior. "I'm so sorry. I can't understand a thing you're saying. But you
are very kind."
"Thank
you," the woman said, her accent strong--one of the English phrases the
locals had picked up. She resumed collecting the wooden bowls.
"Thank
you," Mitchell and Daniel murmured. As usual, Teal'c merely inclined his
head. He had been even more silent than usual.
"They
are cutting us some serious slack," Mitchell said as the server exited.
Daniel knew that she would wash up in the kitchen in the next room and then
leave. He also knew that very likely, she'd be questioned about their
behavior--that's what he'd do, because how people treated social inferiors such
as servants was often telling. "I can't figure out their word for 'thank
you.' Sixteen syllables? What's that about? Say it again,
Daniel
obediently reeled off the phrase for "thank you" while Mitchell tried
again. Daniel hadn't yet figured out what it meant literally.
"I'll
get it," Mitchell promised. "Any word on whether they'll shelter some
of the refugees from P2L-228? I saw you talking with Mulualem after today's
session."
Daniel
shrugged. "I've established some rapport, but mostly we've been exchanging
personal histories. It's a common precursor to getting down to business. We all
watch each other, see if we think we can trust each other, and then we
negotiate."
"The
thing that gets me is the goa'uld." Sam rose and headed for the fire.
"It's like the one word everybody knows. And it's old news."
"The
enemy of my enemy is my friend," Daniel pointed out, joining her on the
rug, both of them warming themselves by the fire. Nights grew chilly.
"When I mentioned the Priors, they didn't understand."
"I
guess that's good." Mitchell stood up and stretched. "They're not
here. Yet."
"Gou'ld--Priors--that's
easy stuff," Daniel said. "Try explaining that the refugees need a
particular spectrum in the sunlight or they can't metabolize vitamin D, so this
planet is perfect while the last one we visited isn't."
"You
are equal to the task, Daniel Jackson," Teal'c said.
Daniel
gave a mirthless grin. "Well," he said. "Thanks for your
support. It's taking a little longer than I'd like. But I kind of wish we could
put the refugees on P3X-883 with a bunch of vitamin D supplements." He'd
done things far more difficult. And really, it had been a while since the basis
of a language had so eluded him. It probably seemed to the rest of the team
that he was doing fine, but he hadn't yet grasped the underlying structure.
"I'll show Mulualem the video tomorrow and see if I can get them to read
it to me. That might help me once I've had a chance to better study the
inscriptions. A root language would be so helpful right about now."
"That's
it for me," Mitchell proclaimed. "All this being awake makes me
sleepy. See you kids tomorrow."
"Night,"
Sam called.
Mitchell
paused in the doorway. "Don't stay up all night telling ghost
stories." He flicked his flashlight on and held it under his chin, so it
cast a reddish, eerie glow. "It was a hook hand on the car
handle!" he said with relish. "Oh, you've heard that one," he
said when Sam started laughing. "I've got more. Lots more. Ask me
tomorrow."
"A
hook hand?" Teal'c asked as Mitchell left.
"That
one's a classic," Daniel told Sam. "Don't you think?"
"One
of the best," Sam agreed. "You going too, Teal'c? Sit with us and
tell us a ghost story from Chulak."
"Perhaps
later," Teal'c said. "Good night."
"Of
course, ghost stories from Chulak are probably way scarier than ours,"
Daniel said as Teal'c followed Mitchell out. They all had rooms on the second
level of what Daniel theorized was a guesthouse. They met in the common area
for dinner, but other than that, they took all their meals downstairs with
their hosts, during the interminable and meaningless talks. "Demon
possession takes on a whole new dimension when Gou'ld are involved. The
god--the demon--absolute power--branding--sarcophagi--vats of squishy
symbiotes--wait. I think there's a whole study in this. I want to write a book.
Several books."
Sam
lay back on the rug. "Or a collection of short horror stories."
"Good
idea. Didn't Stephen King start out as a member of SG-6? No?" Daniel lay
back too and interlaced his fingers on his stomach. "I'm going to tell
Commander Mitchell I'm off the team after this mission," he blurted. He
hadn't meant to say anything to her until after he'd told the team leader, but
this was Sam. He'd already requested some files so he could research a new
posting--some archaeological dig on a nice planet somewhere.
"Yeah."
Sam turned her head to face him. "I'm not surprised. You haven't been--I
don't know. Happy. You haven't seemed that happy lately."
Sam
had always been able to sense his moods. "I think I need a change. A desk
job. Fieldwork where I actually stay in the field."
"Fieldwork.
That sounds cool."
"I had a really good year once, doing intensive fieldwork," Daniel remembered.
"Yeah?"
"Excavated
stuff. Learned a language." He turned to meet Sam's eyes. "Met a
pretty local girl. Got married. Fell in love. You know."
Sam's
gazed at him, her expression suddenly sad. "It's better than being
kidnapped by South American rebels," she offered. "Isn't it?"
She
was right. "Falling in love is way better than being kidnapped by South
American rebels," Daniel agreed. "I'll give you that."
"Yeah,"
Sam said. "Yeah, it is."
Daniel
asked Sam what he'd been wanting to ask her for weeks, but the time had never
been right, and they were so rarely alone together. "And you're happy with
him? With Jack?" It had been a long time coming, but from the beginning,
it had been inevitable. Even Daniel had seen it, and he wasn't known for his
insight in these matters.
Sam
smiled, and he saw that she was. "Yeah. I am. Although I never expected
Cassie to be living with us. And in my little Sam fantasy, I thought he'd be
around more. And that he'd do all the cooking. It's--well, it's clichéd, that's
how great it is."
"But?"
"But
what?"
"There's
a but."
"There's
no but."
Daniel
frowned at her. There was definitely a but. He could tell. Was it the slight
wrinkle in her brow? The tone of her voice? "There's always a but,"
he temporized, because very often, there was. His marriage with Sha're, which
had happened in the order he'd listed to Sam--first marriage, then love--had
had a big "but" hanging over it. Despite it, he'd been happy.
"No,
really, Daniel, there's not."
"Okay,
there's not," Daniel agreed. He changed the subject, because Sam's
reaction to his question troubled him, and because now he was thinking about
Sha're. Old wounds. "If you invite me over, he'll grill bratwurst."
Sam
said instantly, "The Friday after we get back. Give Teal'c a ride."
"Deal,"
Daniel said. "Want to invite the newbie?"
Sam
considered. "Nah," she said. "Just old friends this time. The
real band. The original band."
"I
used to be so young and handsome," Daniel said pensively. "People
would rush the stage and ask me to autograph body parts."
Sam
laughed. "Oh, yeah. Those were the days."
"Remember
your go-go dress? The really short one with the fringe? And your
tambourine?"
"The
lead singer always needs to wear something eye-catching," Sam said. What I
never understood was why you always wore sunglasses on stage. And the way you
went through basses! Smashing them after each set!"
They
stayed up late, making up outrageous stories about the good old days in the
band, even casting themselves in the made-for-TV-movie version of their fiery
breakup. But when he finally got himself to bed, Daniel found himself wondering
why Sam had lied. Something was wrong with her and Jack, but she didn't want to
talk about it. They'd waited so long--both of them. Daniel wished them the
best.
There
shouldn't be a but, but there was.
3.
The
word slipped away before he could catch it.
Daniel
woke up, feeling hot. "God," he muttered, utterly disoriented. It was
the middle of the night. He was on Pelos, in his sleeping bag on top of the
bed. He'd been dreaming, that was all.
He
had trouble making his fingers work well enough to unzip the sleeping bag. The
cool air hit him, instantly soothing. They'd all been complaining about the
cold in the rooms for three days, but now Daniel welcomed it. It immediately
chilled the sweat on his skin. He grabbed his tiny flashlight and made his way
to the lavatory. On his way back to his room, he noticed the crack of light
underneath the kitchen door. Was Almaz still here, cleaning up after them?
Daniel
tapped the door gently with the back of a knuckle. "Almaz?" he
called.
The
door opened, the light from the lamp flickering. Almaz, tiny and slight, like
most of her people, ducked at him in the way the women, but not the men, did,
and Daniel automatically ducked back, even though he thought men weren't
supposed to do that. Force of habit, imitating what others did. He would
probably just be perceived as overly polite.
"Is
everything all right?" he asked her, knowing she couldn't understand a
thing he said. She wasn't a member of the negotiation team; she was a servant.
But a kind voice and a concerned face couldn't be misinterpreted. "It's
late."
Almaz's
voice bubbled, no iambic stress on words--no stress at all, iambic or
otherwise. Somehow it reminded him of the first time he'd been in the
It
was going frustratingly slowly.
Almaz
gestured, and Daniel leaned over to peer through the door. To his surprise, he
saw a little boy, maybe five years old, asleep on the floor.
"Your
son?" he asked. "He doesn't look very comfortable. Isn't there an
extra bedroom? Why don't you sleep in there tonight? Down the hall?" He
gestured to illustrate.
Almaz's
voice told him that such a suggestion was out of the question, but Daniel
handed her his flashlight and bent down to pick the boy up.
"Hey,
guy," he said softly as the boy opened sleepy eyes. "I don't know why
you aren't home tonight, but let's move you to a bed, okay?" He nodded to
Almaz, who unwillingly held the door open. "The one at the end of the hall
is closest to the lavatory," he suggested.
Almaz's
quiet, troubled voice followed them down the hall, but she shone the light so
Daniel could see.
"I
don't see why not," Daniel said, responding to her tone. "We don't
mind, and you can talk to your boss tomorrow if it's a problem. It's an
emergency, after all. Okay, here we are. Down you go, little boy." He
leaned down to pull the blanket aside before he laid the boy on the bed,
releasing the pleasant scent of the dried flowers they scattered on stored
bedding.
Almaz
handed him his flashlight back as she said something.
"No,
I don't have any children," Daniel said. "My wife and I were just
discussing it when she--" When she was taken by the goa'uld. The pain had
faded long since, but he still felt hesitation, a dull pang. It was second pang
tonight. "--when she died. Sam has a daughter and Teal'c has a son, but
both of them are much older than your son." He gave Almaz the flashlight.
"Here, you keep this. I have another one. No, it's okay. See how it
works?" His fingers slipped. It was ridiculously cold in the rooms without
fires. "On. Off. On. Got it? Good night."
Almaz
followed him out. She gave him a tentative wave as he made his way back to his
bedroom.
"Good
night, Almaz," he said. "Sleep well."
"Sleep
well," she repeated.
4.
Daniel
made a rolling motion with one hand, urging Teal'c on.
"Teal'c,"
Sam hissed, poking him.
"Rya'c,"
Teal'c said at last, face impassive. He crossed his arms to show he wasn't
happy about answering such deeply personal questions. "My son's name is
Rya'c. He is recently married."
Daniel
translated as best he could, giving his hosts the gist of it. He had had to
resort to gestures much less today.
Teal'c
continued. "His wife's name is Kar'yn, of the Haktyl."
Their
host, Mulualem, stirred and spoke. Daniel translated: "He says you seem displeased
about your son's marriage."
"Not
at all," Teal'c said, Daniel translating. "Originally I was against
it. I thought Rya'c too young. I thought his marriage would sway him from his
life's purpose. But I have seen that he was wise in his choice. She is a
formidable woman."
Teal'c
lapsed into silence, and Daniel said in his broken Pelosian, "Teal'c will
likely say no more."
Mulualem
spoke again. Daniel felt relief. He had made the breakthrough--his mind had
gotten itself wrapped around the heavily inflected language, and suddenly it
was, if not exactly making sense, easy to figure out the gist. "Teal'c,
Mulualem wonders about your parents, their parents, and so on, as far back as
you want to go."
"They
are all dead," Teal'c said. "Most were leaders of the
"Eh,"
Mulualem said when Daniel completed his halting translation, the little catch
sound that all of the Pelosians made. He stood up, signaling that today's
interview was over. Daniel and the rest of the team stood too. Mulualem pointed
at Daniel. Although he spoke in Pelosian, Daniel could understand him as though
he spoke English. "Tomorrow we will talk about you. And then we may
negotiate."
"I look forward to it," Daniel said. "Thank you."
"Thank
you," Mulualem said in English.
"What
did he say?" Sam asked as Mulualem left.
"He
said that tomorrow, I get to give my life story, and then we'll talk about what
we want." Daniel scrunched his cheeks up and squeezed them. His face felt
oddly stiff and unresponsive from smiling so much. "So I guess we head for
the Gate for today's check-in and then head upstairs for dinner. I anticipate
we'll be here three more days." He draped his arm around Sam in a half-hug
and gave her a shake. He'd had a lot of fun with her last night, staying up
late and being silly. "Sam, great job with your life story, but you left
out all the good parts--Selmak, for example."
Sam
leaned into him. "I figured the whole 'my dad was a good Gou'ld' thing
would be too hard to explain. And Jolinar--just forget Jolinar. Was it my
imagination, or did Mulualem seem interested in adoption?"
"He
was interested," Daniel confirmed. "But maybe it was because Cassie
came through the Gate--that kind of outsider goes beyond known clans. Maybe
they perceive it as risky behavior." He let go of Sam. "I liked your
story, Commander," he offered, because Mitchell was looking at him and Sam
oddly, like he was puzzling through something. "I don't know much about
you, so it was great to hear--to hear what you had to say." In fact,
Mitchell had been pretty uninformative.
"Well,
I went for short and sweet, but Teal'c beat me to it," Mitchell said.
"So tell me this,
Daniel shrugged. He hadn't really been surprised at Mulualem's lack of interest, although it seemed at odds with his recommendation to visit the monument. Mulualem probably wondered why Daniel wanted ancient writing, rather than samples of the current writing system, of which there were many. Mulualem hadn't actually translated the stone. Daniel had the impression that he couldn't read it. "I'm pretty sure he said that the writing would make us understand."
"And
will the writing make us understand?" Teal'c asked.
Daniel
considered. "Possibly. There are several such stones--we just visited the
closest. I thought I'd survey them and see how the inscriptions relate to the
current writing. But mostly I was curious. I think the root is Semitic, but if
that's the case, it's pretty idiosyncratic. Of course, many of the languages we
encounter through the Gate are offshoots of the Semitic family--it makes sense
when you consider the location of the Gate on Earth, in present-day
He
broke off as Sam held up her hands and laughed. "Okay, Daniel!" she
said. "Stop! Stop!"
"You
ready to head for the Gate,
"Wait a sec," Daniel said, spotting Almaz, who had been quietly and unobtrusively puttering away over in a corner, clearing the sideboard and stacking dishes in a basket. He headed over. "Almaz, is everything all right? Was there a problem with you and your son sleeping in the guesthouse last night?"
Almaz
looked up quickly, her face registering surprise. "No," she said.
"No problem. Mulualem is kind, as are you. It will not happen again."
"It's
no trouble. If you need to use the bedroom, well, isn't that what they're
for?"
"They
are for guests," Almaz said firmly. "Your friends are waiting."
Daniel
turned, only to see Sam, Teal'c, and Mitchell staring at him.
"I think our boy genius has cracked the code," Mitchell opined.
5.
"Isn't
it a little...weird?" Sam said, voice low. Daniel had to strain to hear
her.
"The dude's a genius." Trust Mitchell to back him up. "So he had a breakthrough. Now he gets the language."
Teal'c's
voice rumbled. "Daniel Jackson has never before exhibited such behavior
when learning a language."
"What
Teal'c means is, Daniel does not suddenly start speaking the language like a
native. He kind of--he kind of goes slow. You know, like he was doing with
Mulualem."
Mitchell
sounded amused. "Yeah, Carter, I got it. But couldn't it be that he knows
a similar language and his mind finally just clicked on it?"
"Such
an explanation is unlikely," Teal'c noted. "He has studied the
Pelosian language's structure in both its spoken and written forms--and in
vain."
"When
you know as many languages as
Daniel
backed away from the door and leaned against the wall, pondering. Well, it was
a little weird, he had to admit that, but finally figuring out the language had
been an incredible relief. So what if had been rather...sudden? When he was in
the zone of another language, his mind thought it. He didn't translate per se;
he just spoke, and it came out. That was what had happened today with Almaz,
although he usually had an awareness of the language the other person spoke.
He'd almost perceived Almaz as speaking English, but of course she had spoken
in Pelosian. What was odd was that he hadn't perceived the exchange as odd.
Daniel
took a deep breath, pushed off the wall, and opened the door. "Hey,
guys," he greeted them as they looked up guiltily. He pulled up a stool
and plucked a piece of fruit from a bowl in the center of the table. He needed
to head them off at the pass by acknowledging their discomfort. "So I know
you're probably worried about the whole language thing--"
"It's
just--" Sam began, just as Mitchell said, "
Daniel
overrode them. "--but I don't want you to get too excited. The exchange I
had with Almaz might have sounded like I can meaningfully communicate, but keep
in mind that I don't have a lot of vocabulary words."
"Vocabulary?"
Teal'c prompted.
"I
mean, I know the words for simple things that we've heard the people here say.
But for complex ideas and negotiations--"
"You
still don't know the term for 'vitamin D,'" Mitchell put in.
Daniel
nodded. "That pretty much sums it up. Vitamin D, power struggle, Priors,
strategic defense, the nature of wormholes--well, I can't do that one in
English except by metaphor." He began peeling the fruit. "I made a
breakthrough today, but it's not like we get to knock off early or
anything."
"Fine
by me," Mitchell said promptly. "The weather here is great, the
people are nice, and I don't fear decapitation. It's like I'm on
vacation."
Sam
huffed out breath in exasperation. "For goodness' sake, Daniel, let
me."
"Hey!"
Daniel let her take the piece of fruit he'd been mangling and watched her
deftly peel it. "Your fingers are smaller," he pointed out.
"Not
that much smaller," she said. "These are good--kind of mango-y. Can I
have half?"
"Sure."
Daniel accepted what she handed him.
"It
was just--weird," Sam said as he bit into the sweet fruit. "Hearing
you talk to Almaz like that, her answering you--you were having a real
conversation."
"And
tomorrow I'll negotiate," Daniel said.
"You
do what you do best." Mitchell slid his stool back. "And I'll do what
I do best, which, on this mission, is basically sitting around, looking polite.
I've got a book in my room calling my name. Holler if you need me."
"That's
so sweet," Sam murmured as Mitchell left. "The whole hero-worship
thing he's got going for you, Daniel. Sweet."
"Hero
worship?" Daniel said blankly. Mitchell appreciated his contribution to
the team, and said so. How was that hero worship? In fact, it was a nice change
from Jack's sniping, affectionate as that sniping had become.
"He
called you a genius, I believe," Teal'c pointed out.
Daniel
swallowed a piece of fruit. "Maybe I am a genius."
"Yeah,"
Sam said skeptically.
"You
and Dr. Carter are both geniuses," Teal'c said. "I believe General
O'Neill has said as much a number of times. Admittedly, circumstances were
usually dire."
"Hero
worship," Sam repeated, grinning.
"Perhaps
a wager, Samantha Carter?" Teal'c asked.
"How
long it takes Colonel Mitchell to lose patience with Daniel here?"
Teal'c
inclined his head. "Indeed."
"Very
funny," Daniel said, but he was smiling. He stood up. He wanted to go over
the inscription on that stone again. "Very funny."
6.
First,
he was aware of the scent of the dried flowers the Pelosians scattered on
stored bedding. It wafted up from his pillow, released by the heat of his head.
Then
Almaz gestured, and Daniel leaned over to peer through the door. He saw a
little boy, maybe five years old, asleep on the floor.
"Your
son?" Daniel asked, even though he knew it was. The lantern on the
kitchen's worktable flickered, exuding sepia-toned light. Shouldn't everything
be darker? It was the middle of the night. Everything was soft-edged, sepia,
gray, like an old photograph. "He doesn't look very comfortable. Isn't
there an extra bedroom? Why don't you sleep in there tonight? Down the
hall?"
"That
would not be appropriate." Trust Almaz to be worried about propriety.
Well, maybe she would get yelled at if she slept in a guest room. Daniel handed
her his flashlight. He'd take responsibility if there was trouble.
"Hey,
guy," Daniel whispered as the boy opened sleepy eyes, hefting him up.
"I don't know why you aren't home tonight, but let's move you to a bed,
okay?" He nodded to Almaz, who unwillingly held the door open. "The
one at the end of the hall is closest to the lavatory," he suggested.
"My
husband did not arrive to pick me up," Almaz said. "It is most unlike
him. It is too late for him to arrive now. He would stay at home, thinking me
safe here." She flashed the light on the floor so Daniel could see to
step, following him as he walked. "It is not appropriate for us to stay in
a guest room."
"I
don't see why not," Daniel responded. "We don't mind, and you can
talk to your boss tomorrow if it's a problem. It's an emergency, after
all." He nudged the door open with his foot. "Okay, here we are. Down
you go, little boy." He tugged the blanket aside before he laid the boy on
the bed, releasing the pleasant scent of the dried meyata the Pelosians
scattered on stored bedding.
Almaz
handed him his flashlight back. "You are most kind. Do you have children
of your own?"
"No,
I don't have any children," Daniel said. "My wife and I were just
discussing it when she--when she died. Sam has a daughter and Teal'c has a son,
but both of them are much older than your son." He gave Almaz the
flashlight. "Here, you keep this. I have another one." The gift
definitely made her uncomfortable; he had to wrap her fingers around it.
"No, it's okay. See how it works?" His fingers slipped, but Almaz's
were sure. "On. Off. On. Got it? Good night."
Almaz
followed him out. She gave him a tentative wave as he made his way back to his
bedroom.
"Good
night, Almaz," he said. "Sleep well."
"Sleep
well," she repeated.
The
scent of meyata wafted up from the pillow, tickling his nose, and Daniel
woke up. He'd been dreaming of Almaz and her son. He had forgotten to ask her
son's name.
"Sleep
well," she had said.
Had she said it in Pelosian or in English? Had she been mimicking his last words? He found he couldn't remember.
He
rolled onto his side and settled his head deeper into the pillow. The meyata,
light and pleasant, smelled earthy, like green twigs, underneath the slight
sweetness of the scent. He liked cultures with soft pillows. The hard neck
braces made of stone or wood were the worst; you had to lie on your back. The
only thing they were good for, in Daniel's opinion, was saving hair from being
crushed, and as a man, that was not high on his list of priorities.
"Sleep
well," Daniel muttered, stretching out his arm. "Ayo
ababeme."
Nobody was next to him. It had been a little over a year since someone had shared a bed with him, and much longer than that since someone had been there when he reached out, since someone had spent the entire night with him. He stroked the smooth fabric of the empty space next to him, remembering. His hand was icy. He drew it back into his sleeping bag and tucked it under his arm. When he got warm again, he would be able to fall back asleep.
Ever
since Sam had teased him about it, he'd been thinking about hero worship.
7.
Out
of force of habit, Daniel stayed in the left-hand wheel rut as he ran. Farmers
stopped their work and lifted their hands in greeting as he passed, and he
waved back. The grass stayed short because the road was well traveled, but
despite this, the footing was more uneven than he would have liked. The road
had been roiled up by vehicles traveling during a rainstorm or something, and
it had hardened into huge, bumpy ruts. He'd never been much of a runner, but
the persistent chilliness, which he'd first enjoyed when he'd arrived on Pelos,
seemed to have settled in his bones. Running made him warm again, made his
fingers
flexible and flushed his face. The minute he got home, he was going to hop into
a hot shower, and he was going to drain the hot water heater dry. Billows of
wet heat would roil out of the room when he opened the door. He would resign
from the SGC altogether and excavate in some desert somewhere.
"
Daniel
slowed his pace and turned so he was running backward. "Commander
Mitchell!" he called. "What are you doing here?"
Mitchell
sped up so he could draw alongside Daniel. He took the right wheel rut, leaving
the left for Daniel. "I didn't think it's a good idea for our chief
negotiator to go off alone," he explained. "Consider me your jogging
partner for the morning." Mitchell extended his left arm and tapped the
watch strapped to his wrist. "And consider me your timer. Beep beep! Time
to head back. Negotiations in forty-five minutes."
Daniel
stopped. Mitchell ran a small loop and came back around. "Have you been
following me this whole time?" Daniel asked. "Yep," Mitchell
said. "But now it's time to turn back."
Daniel
checked his own watch. He hadn't realized how long he'd been out. He took in
Mitchell, who seemed to have barely broken a sweat, and contrasted his own
sweat-stained T-shirt, wet at the neck and armpits. Daniel figured Mitchell was
capable of a four-minute mile at the very least. He'd probably ramped himself
back for Daniel, and he'd stayed far enough back that Daniel hadn't even
noticed him.
"Good
idea," Daniel agreed. "Sorry--I'm sure my pace is a little slower than
you'd like."
Mitchell
shrugged, hands on hips as he breathed. "It's not my run. It's yours. You
ready?"
Mitchell
kept pace with Daniel. When Daniel slowed, Mitchell slowed too, staying right
beside him. Daniel found it disconcerting. He had no desire to race--that
wasn't it--but having someone basically act as his bodyguard during an early
morning run felt just a little weird.
"So
your life story is today?" Mitchell asked after a few minutes of mostly
silent panting.
"Yes,"
Daniel affirmed.
"Too
bad I won't get to hear it--understand it, I mean."
Daniel
looked sideways at Mitchell, but Mitchell was busy dodging a particularly deep
wheel rut. What did that comment mean? "I'm sure you've read my
file," he said. "I doubt I'll say anything that's not in there."
"I
was just--struck, I guess, about how unrevealing everybody's little
biographical sketches were," Mitchell said. "Just the facts, without
any emotion behind it."
"You
think the Pelosians are looking for emotion?" Daniel asked, curious. He'd
been treating the exchange as an opportunity for each to take the measure of
the other's culture, looking for hints that made the other acceptable, or
unacceptable, as a trading partner.
"I
think they're looking for our humanity," Mitchell said. "They're
looking for a reason why they should talk to us, do us a favor."
"So
why didn't you share when it was your turn?" Daniel asked.
"I
figured something would get lost in translation." Mitchell shrugged.
"But you talk, we can't understand, your privacy is retained, everybody's
happy."
"I'll,
uh, I'll take that under advisement," Daniel promised, because Mitchell
made an excellent point.
"See,
one thing I was happy about was getting to work with you guys," Mitchell
said. "I figured you'd have a Three Musketeers thing going and I would be
the odd man out, but I haven't really felt that way. You guys have all been
great--really welcoming."
"Uh,
thanks." There it was again, just like with Sam: a "but" that
didn't follow, but that just hung there. He thought he could guess what it was:
the three original team members had a rapport that Mitchell simply couldn't
share, at least not yet. But of course Daniel planned to resign from SG-1 after
this mission. "You're doing a great job." He'd probably waited a
second or two too long to say that. It sounded false.
"Well,
I'm no Jack O'Neill," Mitchell said.
"That's
really no problem," Daniel assured him, and Mitchell laughed.
"How
was it with he and Carter on the same team?" Mitchell asked.
Daniel
gave him a sideways look. "What do you mean?"
"Aren't
they...together now?" At Daniel's look, he added, "I know, don't
listen to the rumor mill, but two team members dating--"
"It
wasn't like that," Daniel cut in. "They were totally professional.
Nothing went on while Jack was Sam's direct superior."
"Nothing?"
Mitchell said skeptically.
"Nothing,"
Daniel repeated firmly. After all, he was pretty sure it was true. "You
know the Air Force. Nothing." Daniel slowed, and Mitchell paced him. He
couldn't talk and run at the same time. In the distance, he saw a farmer turn
and look at them, then return to work.
"And
now?"
"And
now they're living together," Daniel said. "They don't really talk
about it."
"Yeah, okay. I had to ask. When I saw you put your arm around Carter, it just made me wonder is all."
Daniel
actually appreciated Mitchell's candor, even if he was way off the mark. He was
doing just what he should do as team leader: he'd wondered whether he'd spotted
a problem, so he was handling it. He said, "I understand. Sam and I are
old friends. That's all."
"Okay,"
Mitchell said.
Daniel
threw him a look. "What else?"
Mitchell
shook his head. They'd slowed to a walk by now. "Nothing else. That's
it."
"You're
sure?"
"What,
Jackson? I'm sure."
"Okay."
"Okay."
"We're
going to be late." Daniel broke into a trot. He had to think about what to
tell Mulualem today, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Mitchell had wanted
to say or ask something, but hadn't, just as he was sure that Mitchell knew
there was nothing between Sam and Daniel. So why had he asked? Or why hadn't he
asked Sam?
8.
Daniel
set his mug down as Almaz held out a basket of something to him. They looked
like roasted pepitas--pumpkin seeds. He took a few, because refusing food was
rarely a good idea, and nibbled one. Strangely, it tasted sweet.
"Delicious,"
he told her. The sixteen syllables of "thank you" followed, now
spoken automatically, as fast as the Pelosians could speak it, the inflection perfect.
"Almaz, I forgot to ask your son's name. He is well?"
Almaz
smiled. "His name is Tulelo, the same as his father, and he is well."
"Your
husband didn't come to get you that day?" Daniel seemed to remember that
this was the case, but he couldn't say how he knew. She hadn't told him. Had
one of the other women mentioned it? That must have been it.
She
nodded. "His horse had thrown a shoe and he could not repair it in
time."
"I
am pleased he is well. I was worried."
"Thank
you. I was too." Almaz offered the basket to Sam next.
"Oh--sweet,"
Sam said in surprise as she politely tasted a pepita. She addressed Almaz, even
though Almaz couldn't understand her. "Thank you. They're good, but I was
surprised because we eat them salty at home, not sweet." She took a small
handful.
Almaz,
uncomprehending, smiled and ducked and moved on.
"Your
words fall like water from your lips," Mulualem put in, addressing Daniel.
"Should
I tell of my family?" Daniel asked. If they had time today, he hoped to
ask Mulualem again about the inscription on the monument. It didn't resemble
modern Pelosian writing, and Daniel hoped his host could provide some insight.
Now that Daniel's language skills were better, another conversation about it
was due.
"It
would interest me," Mulualem said, the phrase he'd used continuously
during negotiations. Daniel hadn't understood its literal meaning until today;
he'd taken it to mean "tell me more."
"Unlike
Sam and Teal'c, I have no children," Daniel said. "So I begin with myself."
The Pelosians began with the youngest generation and worked backward. "My
parents were scholars who died when I was young in an accident. I was cared for
by my grandfather, Nicholas, my mother's father, also a scholar. I too am a
scholar, of the words and actions of grandfathers and their grandfathers and
their grandfathers. And grandmothers."
"Ancestors."
"Thank
you, yes. Ancestors. The words and actions of ancestors. I learned of the
Stargate, of how to make it--to make it alive." Daniel mimicked the
Stargate's whoosh. "We went through, to
"Sha're,"
Mulualem repeated experimentally.
"Time
passed. Sha're and her brother were taken by the goa'uld. I went after them
with the help of my people, but I was too late. She and her brother became
goa'uld against their will, and they hid so I could not find them. I looked for
her for several years, wanting my wife back, but she died." Daniel's
limited vocabulary frustrated him. He wondered whether the Pelosians knew that
the goa'uld were parasites and the people they appeared to be merely the hosts.
He didn't know if he could explain that.
"Very
sad," Mulualem said. "How did she die?"
"Teal'c
killed her. But it was not my wife any longer. It was the goa'uld that had
taken her body. My wife was long dead."
"Teal'c!"
Mulualem turned to face the
"Yes."
Mulualem
pursed his lips. "Hard to see him every day."
"No,"
Daniel said. "He is my friend. He saved my life on that day, and on many
days that followed."
"Your
wife long dead, but her body remains, as if alive," Mulualem mused.
"We have such stories, but they are not real."
"We
have such stories too," Daniel said. "I never thought them real until
I saw it with my own eyes."
"And
her death touched your heart?" Mulualem reached over and, shockingly,
because he had never touched him before in such a manner, laid the tip of index
finger on Daniel's chest.
"It
did," Daniel said, blinking in sudden confusion and dizziness. It was as
though he could feel Mulualem's finger cutting through his body.
"None
of you speak of your heart." Mulualem didn't move his finger. His black
eyes glittered. "You have hearts?"
"We
do," Daniel gasped.
"Permit
the water to fall like tears," Mulualem said. "Speak to me of love.
Show yourselves worthy."
"Daniel?"
Sam's
voice sounded from far away. Unexpectedly, in a rush, Daniel's eyes filled with
tears.
Permit
the water to fall like tears.
9.
He
said, "I understand. Sam and I are old friends. That's all."
"Okay,"
Mitchell said.
Daniel
threw him a look. "What else?"
Mitchell
shook his head. They'd slowed to a walk by now. "Nothing else. That's
it."
"You're
sure?"
"What,
Jackson? I'm sure."
Daniel
stopped. The air was too clear; the sun was too bright. It was morning again. A
bird wheeled overhead. When he looked up, the sun blinded him. His eyes filled
with tears from the brightness, and he blinked them away.
"Nothing
else. That's it."
"You're
sure?"
"What,
Jackson? I'm sure."
"What
do you want to say?" Daniel spoke the words distinctly, felt his mouth shaping
them, but the word that came out was, "Okay."
"Okay,"
Mitchell said.
And
they stood there, sweaty from the run, small against the plain, standing in
wheel ruts that wound through the grass, leading nowhere but the horizon, not
speaking. Mitchell wanted to say something, wanted to say it so much that he
shouted.
"Tell
me," Daniel begged. He wanted to know. The sun glinted on Mitchell's hair.
Mitchell's clear blue eyes reflected the sky.
"Speak
to me of love," Mitchell said, but his mouth didn't move.
And
he was running. "...Sam and I are old friends. That's all."
The mission report, about a year ago. You were on a planet--I can't think of the name. The Rand Protectorate. A woman named Leda cared for you after you were wounded. You spent a lot of time alone with her. A lot of time.
"Okay,"
Mitchell said.
Daniel
threw him a look. "What else?"
She
was young and beautiful, and her husband was out of town--I mean, for months on
end. So what was the deal?
Mitchell
shook his head. They'd slowed to a walk by now. "Nothing else. That's
it."
"You're
sure?"
You're telling me that the two of you weren't up to something? I read your report. It's clear you cared for her. I just want to know how far it went. I just want to know how far you go. I mean, you're on another planet, she's available, you're available...
"What,
Jackson? I'm sure."
10.
"Okay,"
Daniel said.
"
Daniel
looked down at Mulualem's finger, then into Mulualem's face.
"Love,"
he said. Mitchell wanted to know if he'd had an affair with Leda. But he hadn't
asked. He had tried to lead the conversation by asking about Sam, but then he
hadn't followed through.
"Love,"
Mulualem repeated.
"Sha're
was given to me as my wife, as a gift of friendship," Daniel said.
"It is the way of her people, but not the way of mine. She was unasked
for. My people ask. She was beautiful, a leader's daughter, intelligent. I had
not thought to marry. I had not thought to love a woman. I had tried before.
But Sha're showed me I was capable of it. When she was taken by the goa'uld, I
searched because she had come to mean more than herself. She had come to mean
that I could have a family and children."
"She
opened a door for you," Mulualem said. "I understand. She is in your
heart still?"
"She
will always be in my heart," Daniel said. "But she is gone. I am
still alive."
"And
now?"
Who
was in his heart now? The glint of sun on hair, blue eyes, hero worship. Daniel
struggled to breathe. He knew now; he understood. It was another reason why he
had to leave SG-1.
"I
do not want to speak of now," Daniel said. "Now is too new."
"Now
cuts," Mulualem agreed. "The past has healed." He withdrew his
hand, and Daniel sat back.
"Daniel
Jackson," Teal'c said, and Daniel, surprised, realized that Sam, Teal'c,
and Mitchell were all standing up, and had been during his entire exchange with
Mulualem. But he hadn't noticed them getting up or moving. Their faces looked
grim.
"What?"
Daniel asked, blinking up at them. "What's wrong?"
"You
were just--uh--really quiet for a while," Sam told him. "Kind of a
long while."
"Four
minutes." Mitchell tapped his watch. "You and Mulualem here stared at
each other for four minutes, and then I guess you told him about Sha're,
because I heard her name."
Daniel
reflexively checked his watch. Had it really been four minutes? He hadn't been
paying attention to the time one way or another. He'd had that weird flashback
about the morning run, and then he'd done as Mitchell had suggested: he'd
revealed something about himself. Mitchell had been right. It seemed that
Mulualem wanted something of them.
Daniel
found he was shaking a little. "May we end for today?" he asked
Mulualem. Maybe tomorrow you can tell me about your heart."
"My
wife carries my heart, as Sha're carried yours," Mulualem said.
"There is little to tell."
Daniel
knew strategizing when he saw it. "It would interest me," he said,
the syllables sounding strange coming from him instead of Mulualem.
"Eh."
Mulualem stood up and theatrically threw his arms overhead. "Yes," he
announced before stomping out.
"Guys--I'm
fine." Daniel held up a hand to stop them, because of course they were all
talking at once. Although he was little confused about what had happened, he
was comforted by the simple fact of Mulualem being Mulualem. "I asked
Mulualem if we could knock off early. If you don't mind, I think I need a nap.
All that translating."
"It's
almost lunchtime," Mitchell objected.
The
thought of food made him feel faintly ill. "I'm not hungry." Daniel
headed for the door. "Everything's fine. He asked about Sha're, and
Colonel, I remembered what we talked about this morning. So I told him what he
wanted to know."
"Which
was?" Mitchell prompted.
"Kind
of personal," Daniel said. "Excuse me."
11.
The
light leaked around the edges of the curtains. Daniel briefly considered
finding his sunglasses and clipping them onto his glasses, but taking a nap in
sunglasses seemed silly, plus he'd have to get up and walk across the room to
pull them from his vest, and such an event seemed unlikely. Although he'd pled
fatigue so he could be alone and think, he now found himself legitimately
sleepy. Mitchell had theorized that Mulualem wanted something of the visitors
to his planet, and he'd been right. Mulualem wanted self-revelation.
Daniel
turned that around in his mind. He'd been asked about love, so the Pelosians
were interested in that concept. They were likely interested in ascertaining
their visitors' intentions, peaceful or not, so questions about love and
empathy were to be expected. Evoking emotion from Daniel had proved that the
Pelosians were dealing with people capable of experiencing empathy, love, and
loss.
Mulualem's
line of questioning made all the more sense because the Pelosians understood,
in basic terms, that SG-1 was asking them to accept refugees. During today's
check-in, Daniel planned to recommend to the SGC that leadership from the
refugees come to the planet to meet with Mulualem, because Mulualem was
assessing SG-1, and he needed to assess the refugees instead.
Preliminary
analyses with the MALP had revealed favorable environmental conditions, but
that was just the first step. SG-1 had been sent in because it was a first
contact situation. Nobody needed an incident stemming from the dissimilarity of
the two cultures. They agreed on the basics--the refugees and the Pelosians
both came from monogamous cultures without slavery. But the refugees' level of
technology was higher, and, like many technologically advanced civilizations,
they had less rigid sex roles. That could result in tension.
And
he should be worried about missing time--four minutes' worth of time, to be
exact. Four minutes, during which time he'd apparently been running with Cam
Mitchell, just as he'd had that morning, having the same conversation over and
over again.
He
couldn't possibly know what Mitchell was thinking. Did Mitchell want to know
whether Daniel had had an affair with Leda last year? Or had Daniel just made
that up in some kind of fever dream? There was no way he could know what
Mitchell was thinking. But then again, he'd known that Almaz's husband hadn't
picked her up, so she'd had to spend the night in an extra room in the
guesthouse with her son, but someone had probably mentioned that--one of the
other servants. Or maybe she'd mentioned it when they'd talked that night.
But
he hadn't understood her. That had been before his ability to speak Pelosian
had turned on--turned on like a tap, with words running out like water.
Daniel
took his glasses off, folded them up, and laid them on the chair next to the
bed that he used as a night stand, next to his flashlight. He reached out and,
like he had last night when he'd awoken, he gently stroked the empty side of
the bed.
And
a plain, and two men running in wheel ruts, himself and someone else, someone
with dark blond hair and blue eyes, a war hero, someone who smiled at him.
And
Sam, blonde hair and big blue eyes, smiled at him. He'd always loved her
expressive eyes. She was terrible at poker because of those eyes.
"Falling
in love is way better than being kidnapped by South American rebels,"
Daniel agreed. "I'll give you that." He wiggled his toes and edged
closer to the fire. The chimney smoked a bit, and his eyes teared a little at
the acrid smoke.
"Yeah,"
Sam said. "Yeah, it is."
"And
you're happy with him? With Jack?" He'd been wanting to ask her for weeks,
but the time had never been right, and they were so rarely alone together. Now,
Teal'c and Mitchell had gone to bed, and it was just the two of them.
Sam
smiled. "Yeah. I am. Although I never expected Cassie to be living with
us. And in my little Sam fantasy, I thought he'd be around more. And that he'd
do all the cooking." Daniel had to grin at that one. Sam wasn't much of a
cook, and neither was Jack, unless the cooking was being done over a manly
grill. The two of them would probably starve to death if all they had to eat
were Cassie's cookies. "It's--well, it's clichéd, that's how great it
is."
"But?"
Sam
hesitated.
But he doesn't want to get married. Well, that's not true. I don't know whether he wants to get married or not. Actually, I'm afraid to bring it up. He hasn't said anything. I don't know what I expected. We didn't talk about it and I guess we should have.
"But
what?" she said.
Daniel
blinked. "There's a but."
"There's
no but."
But then I think I should just be happy with what I've got. I mean, I've been engaged twice, and it didn't exactly work out either time. So what's the big deal? When it becomes an issue, a real issue, one of us will say something. Right now it's still new. Give it time, I think, especially now that I'm back in the field. Everything seems stable, and Cassie is doing well.
"Tell
me the truth," Daniel begged, but what came out instead was, "There's
always a but."
You
want a "but," Daniel? Here's the biggest one of all: But I want kids.
I want his kids. And then I'm overcome with my own selfishness. I'm not getting
any younger, and neither is he. But then I think of Charlie and--oh, god, the
guilt. You have no idea. What would it be like for Jack? Or for--for Sara?
Would it be like negating his previous family? Because I don't want that. Of
course I don't want that. But what about Cassie? It's a role model thing too. I
want her to be part of a stable, committed family. It's not all about me, me,
me. I get that. I so get that. It's about us--the two of us, and the three of
us. But.
"No,
really, Daniel, there's not." Sam's eyes were clear, as though everything
were fine, as though she weren't obsessively worrying about something she had
no control over.
"Okay,
there's not," Daniel agreed, because he couldn't do anything else. He
wanted he could help, but he couldn't do anything. "Maybe tomorrow you can
tell me about your heart."
"Jack
carries my heart, as Sha're carried yours," Sam said. "There's not
much to tell."
"It
would interest me," Daniel said, the Pelosian catch phrase dropping from
his lips like water.
"Eh."
Sam theatrically threw her arms overhead, stretching out long on the floor.
"Yes," she said. "All right. I don't choose where to give it. I
would have given it to Pete otherwise. If I could have chosen, I would have
given it to Pete. I wanted to love him more than I loved him. I wanted the
things he represented more than I wanted him."
"I
know how you feel," Daniel said, thinking of Sha're.
"And
your heart?" Sam's eyes looked dark, almost black, in the flickering
light. Night had come. "Your heart now?"
He
hadn't said it out loud yet. He tasted it on his tongue, clear like water.
"Cameron
Mitchell," Daniel said.
"Cameron
Mitchell," Sam repeated. "Well, I must say--I'm surprised."
12.
"Yes,
"What?"
Daniel said, coming up onto his elbows. "What time is it?" It had
gotten dark.
"Sleeping
the entire afternoon away," Mitchell said as Daniel sat up and rubbed his
face. "We have that tea ceremony thingie to attend. So up and at 'em,
because it's in ten minutes."
"Right,"
Daniel remembered. "Tea ceremony. Good. Interesting. I'm--where are my
glasses?"
"Whoa,
Daniel
slid them on. "Thanks." Mitchell had come into focus, and Daniel took
him in. He was definitely having some crazy dreams. His subconscious was having
a field day. Freud would be proud. This was all Sam Carter's fault. If she
hadn't made that remark about hero worship—
"Can
I ask you something?" Daniel said.
"
"This
is important."
Mitchell
reacted to Daniel's intensity. "Yeah, shoot."
"And
I need you not to lie."
"Okaaaay,"
Mitchell said. "No lying. Check."
Daniel
took a deep breath. "This morning, when we were on this run. We were
talking about Sam and Jack. I got the feeling you wanted to ask me something
else. You didn't ask. What was it?"
"What?"
Mitchell asked, looking at Daniel as though he were insane. "I
don't--"
Daniel
interrupted. He didn't have time for coyness. "Remember the no lying
thing? And the important thing?"
"Okay.
Okay." Mitchell moved Daniel's flashlight and a journal where Daniel had
transcribed the writing on the stone, to try to translate it, and sat down in
the chair. "I wanted to ask you about a mission report, maybe a year ago.
I don't remember the planet designation--"
"P3X-811,"
Daniel supplied.
"--or
maybe it was P3X-811," Mitchell agreed. "Could be, because I don't
remember, but yeah, that sounds right. You were wounded. You were there for
weeks, in the countryside, on their country estate. This woman Leda took care
of you. This young, attractive woman Leda, with her husband in town, far away
from home. You wrote a lot about her. And I wondered if you and she--"
"--had
an affair," Daniel said in unison with Mitchell.
"Well,
yeah." Mitchell fidgeted. "You left that part out, so I'm thinking
no."
That
was nice. Mitchell was giving him the benefit of the doubt. Either that, or he
was embarrassed. Daniel unzipped his sleeping bag and threw it off. He'd tossed
his trousers across the foot of the bed, and now he pulled them on. He felt
Mitchell's eyes on him. He found himself keeping his back to Mitchell as he
buttoned up.
"This
is the thing." Daniel sat and felt under the bed for his shoes. "I
had a dream about our run this morning, only instead of saying the stuff we
said, you said...other stuff."
"Stuff
like what?" Mitchell asked. "Stuff like, did you have an affair with
Leda?"
"Yeah."
Daniel shoved his feet into his shoes and began lacing. "Exactly that
stuff."
Mitchell
pondered. "That is pretty damn weird," he said at last.
"I
thought so," Daniel said. "It's all cascading. I've had other
memories--events--happen like that one. The one you just told me about took
four minutes. You timed it. And I've been having--dreams." At least, he
thought they were dreams. Visions? Maybe that was a better term.
Mitchell
put his forearms on his legs and clasped his hands together. He looked earnest
in that posture--earnest and worried. "So it's not just language. It's
also the stuff we don't say."
"This
goes way beyond subtext." Daniel got up and found his jacket. "I
mean, I could maybe have inferred that you wanted to ask me about my romantic
life, just from what we were talking about during the run, but nothing so--so
specific. That planet. That mission. That woman, Leda." He dug through his
duffel. "Don't forget your ceremonial hat," he reminded Mitchell.
"For the tea ceremony," he added, putting his own hat on, because
Mitchell seemed confused. "Are you coming?"
Mitchell
twisted around in the chair. "Oh, nice,
Daniel
opened the door. "It wasn't Leda," he said. "Since you wondered.
It was her husband. Jared Kane."
Mitchell
stared at him. "Oh," he said. "I--oh."
"Yeah,"
Daniel said. It hadn't been an affair as much as a desperate coming together.
In the end, Jared had suspected that Leda had fallen in love with Daniel. He'd
had the body of one and the trust of the other. It had been more than a year
ago. Daniel still remembered the intensity. It had consumed them. It hadn't
mattered that Jared was married. Daniel had known but didn't care. The wife had
been far away, until Jared sent Daniel to her, and the wife that didn't seem to
exist had indeed existed: Leda, who became his friend. She was to be Daniel's
salvation, and their punishment. A lot of emotion and turbulence had been
packed into those weeks. "And no, I don't make a habit of this."
Mitchell
stood up. "I, uh, I guess I need to go find my ceremonial hat."
Daniel
nodded. Mitchell was trying hard to play it cool, but it was clear to Daniel
that his revelation had been just that--a revelation.
"Good
idea," Daniel said mildly. Mitchell would approach him when he was ready
to talk--Daniel knew it. That was just the kind of man Mitchell was.
13.
Daniel
cupped his teacup in both hands, imitating Mulualem's posture. He inhaled the
fragrant smoke from the tea as he watched the Pelosian woman pour. The teapot
had a wooden stick for a handle, worn smooth with use, and a blackened bottom
from being set in the ashes of the fire. The woman tipped it gracefully, with
the ease of long practice. She lifted the pot up as she poured, so the stream
of tea lengthened as it cascaded down, splashing a little. She handed the full cups
to Almaz, who took them and presented them to the guests. Daniel was pleased to
hear the correct pronunciation of "thank you" from each of his
colleagues, each of whom wore his or her ceremonial embroidered and beaded
pillbox hat. Sam had perched hers on the back of her head and bobby-pinned it
into place. It gave her a vaguely rakish air. Daniel thought the hats clashed
with their usual drab green military wear. Mulualem's and the women's loose
trousers and long tunics looked better with the hats.
Pelosians
did not wait for all to be served before partaking. Mulualem took a sip
immediately upon being presented his cup, and Daniel followed suit. "A
beautiful ceremony," Daniel offered.
"You
have seen others?" Mulualem asked.
"I
have. Tea and coffee ceremonies. I have not seen coffee here. It is not leaves
but a--a--" Daniel didn't know the words for "bean" or
“bush." He settled for, "A thing that grows on little trees that
grows more little trees."
"I
understand," Mulualem said, clearly amused at Daniel's workaround.
"All
are different, and all are beautiful. It would interest me to know the name of
the woman who does this ceremony." Daniel took another sip of pale,
slightly bitter tea.
To
his surprise, the woman who was pouring looked up and said, "Thank you. My
name is Meseret."
"My
wife--the mother of my children, and the light of my house," Mulualem put
in. Daniel nodded. He had assumed that the woman performing the tea ceremony
was their hostess, and they seemed to be inside Mulualem's house, in a living
room with the ubiquitous backless stools arranged around the fire.
"May
I?" Daniel asked, indicating the other members of the team, and Mulualem
said, "Of course." Daniel introduced Meseret, then translated small
talk about weather, health, children, and the status of the household. Daniel
made particularly sure that he inquired about Almaz's son, Tulelo, whom Daniel
hadn't seen since they'd spent the night in the guesthouse, and was rewarded by
Almaz's smile, the usual duck, and the assertion that both her Tulelos were
well. A little flustered at being paid attention to when there were others
there of greater status, Almaz offered around a basket of pepitas. They were
salty this time instead of sweet, which made Sam smile but which made Mulualem
grimace.
When
the conversation wound around, as Daniel had known it probably would, about the
status of Daniel's health after the early end to their talks, Daniel handed his
empty cup over for a refill and delivered the speech he had prepared on his way
over: "Since I have come, such strange things have happened to me. A thing
happens over and over again. It would interest me if you would tell me of
this." He hated how stilted he sounded, how simple his words and phrases
had to be, but his vocabulary was coming along nicely.
Mulualem
cocked his head. "Such is to be expected, to speak the language."
Daniel
pondered that for a moment. Mulualem did not seem concerned, and his lack of
concern worried Daniel. "A thing happens, but the language is
unspoken."
"Yes,"
Mulualem said, as if this were self-evident. "You understand."
Daniel
did not understand. Or did Mulualem mean that the language was unspoken but
Daniel understood the words underneath anyway? "This is new to me and
makes me worry," Daniel persisted. "Am I sick? Will I make my friends
sick?"
"No,
no," Mulualem said. "Only you, to speak the language, so we might
know you. I thought perhaps your friend who went with you, but I think it is
only you."
"What's
going on,
"Just
a second," Daniel said in English, not looking away from Mulualem. His
friend who went with him? What did Mulualem mean? Went with him where? They'd
been so many places, all together or in smaller groups or two or three--the
market; the square; a farm; workshops for weaving, pottery, and quilting; the
incised monument; their runs. "How did this happen?"
"The
water," Meseret said serenely, lifting the teapot high, the column of tea
long and sparkling in the firelight. Her voice was unexpected. Daniel snapped
around in response. "The water on the words." She extended the cup to
Almaz, who brought it to Daniel.
"The
water on the words," Daniel repeated, staring at the rippling of the tea's
surface. The firelight glinted on the surface. The only words he had seen
recently were on the monument he and Mitchell had videotaped the other day--and
Daniel had been completely unable to make head or tails of it. And there had
been water on the words, because Daniel had poured some on. But how would they
know he was going to do that? And how did it relate to his stunning improvement
in language acquisition?
"Daniel
Jackson," Teal'c said warningly, and Daniel made a rolling motion with one
hand, urging Teal'c on.
"Teal'c,"
Sam hissed, poking the
"Rya'c,"
Teal'c said at last, face impassive. He crossed his arms to show he wasn't
happy about answering such deeply personal questions. "My son's name is
Rya'c. He is recently married. His wife's name is Kar'yn, of the Haktyl."
The
light had changed. It was daylight now, but everything seemed bleached, like an
overexposed photograph. Mitchell's hair looked blonder and finer, his eyes
bluer as he observed, patiently sitting. Daniel pulled his eyes away as he
automatically translated, and Mulualem stirred. "Please ask about this: He
seems displeased about his son's marriage."
"Not
at all," Teal'c said when Daniel had finished speaking. "Originally I
was against it. I thought Rya'c too young. I thought his marriage would sway
him from his life's purpose. But I have seen that he was wise in his choice.
She is a formidable woman."
After
he had translated, Daniel, recognizing the stubborn look on Teal'c's face, told
Mulualem, "Teal'c will likely say no more."
"If
he will not speak of his son, perhaps he will speak of his mother and his
father, and their mothers and fathers, and so on. It would interest me."
"Teal'c,
Mulualem wonders about your parents, their parents, and so on, as far back as
you want to go."
"They
are all dead," Teal'c said. "Most were leaders of the
Daniel
looked up at Teal'c, who was suddenly, inexplicably looming above him. His
pillbox hat--his ceremonial hat--was red. The teacup had virtually disappeared
in his large hand, but Daniel could see the steam rising from it.
"Daniel
Jackson," Teal'c repeated.
"They
are all dead," Daniel murmured. "Most were leaders of the
There
is nothing else to know.
14.
"Look,
I'm fine," Daniel said as Mitchell dropped his ceremonial hat on the table
in the common area. "You're overreacting."
"I
don't think so," Mitchell said. "I say we dial up and get you home
ASAP, because you're all weird in the head. Mulualem as much as admitted it.
And
"Mulualem
is not worried," Teal'c put in.
Daniel said, "Teal'c's right. Mulualem thinks everything is fine. I asked him if I was sick, or if this was catching, and he said no."
Mitchell
threw up his hands. "Okay, yes, that's great. I'm so glad that whatever
bizarre alien...thing you've got going in your head that lets you speak the
lingo won't take us all out. Thanks for checking on that. That's a huge load
off my mind."
"Mulualem
said I got it from the water on the words," Daniel said, ignoring
Mitchell's sarcasm.
"The
water on the words?" Mitchell repeated. "Does that make sense to you?
Or is Mulualem being all poetic-like?"
"I
don't know," Daniel admitted. "I thought maybe the incised monument,
but I don't see how."
"Maybe
he means it's a waterborne--uh--whatever it is," Sam offered.
"It
sounds that way to me too," Daniel agreed. "I'm sure Dr. Lam and her
staff can handle this no problem. I think we should just wait until the
negotiations are over. Then I can just go home as scheduled, and Dr. Lam can
test me to her heart's content."
Mitchell
snapped, "Are you telling me that you really have no problem with these
little, uh, flashbacks you're having?"
"They're
a little disorienting, but they don't actually seem dangerous." Daniel
crossed his arms. "It's useful for what I'm doing, and I really doubt the
Pelosians are out to get us. I don't get that vibe. I think they thought we
wanted this."
Mitchell
sighed. "Daniel, I have this tremendous urge to--to--"
"What?"
Daniel asked, frowning, when Mitchell froze. "Colonel?"
"--to,
uh, to knock you unconscious and drag you through the Gate, and damn the
negotiations," Mitchell finished.
"What's
wrong?" Daniel demanded, because clearly something had struck Mitchell that
Mitchell didn't want to mention.
"Nothing's
wrong," Mitchell said. "I'm--I'm remonstrating with you, is
all."
Daniel
lifted his eyebrows. "You're remonstrating with me?"
"Guys,"
Sam broke in soothingly.
Mitchell
ignored her. "Yes, it's a big word, but I happen to know what it
means." He leaned in threateningly. "It means that I'm the team
leader, and you have been deliberately infected with some kind of--of--bug or
something, and I don't care if it's helping you. I don't care if you think the
Pelosians can walk on water with no special shoes. You didn't see yourself zone
out at the tea ceremony for two minutes, when you were out in la-la land. It
was just...freaky. You're going back to the SGC right now, and you're going to
submit to a medical examination. And if Dr. Lam clears you, then you come back
and finish up."
"Of
course I'll submit to an exam," Daniel said, striving for reasonableness.
He had said nothing less than the truth: the flashbacks, or visions, or dreams
were certainly disorienting, but he honestly didn't think he was in any danger.
And really, they were almost done here. "Tomorrow, after the negotiations.
In fact, I can tell Mulualem that you're worried and we need to cut them short,
and just cut right to the chase. We could be done by, say, three hours after
sunup. You guys can stay behind to mop it all up."
"Not
good enough," Mitchell said. "Are you maybe not understanding that
this is an order?"
Daniel
was in the best position to read the Pelosians, to make recommendations, but
Mitchell was stubborn--as stubborn, in fact, as Jack O'Neill. Daniel was only
talking about maybe ten or twelve more hours on Pelos. And he felt fine. He
wasn't sick--Mulualem had said so. How could he get Mitchell to let him stay on
Pelos, with the mission nearly completed? He was about to start arguing when
Teal'c spoke up.
"Perhaps
a compromise," Teal'c suggested. "Hear me." He lifted a hand to
silence Mitchell's sputtering. "We take blood, tissue, and urine samples
and send them through the Gate tonight. Dr. Lam can analyze them. We each have
a medical kit with the necessary equipment."
Why
hadn't he thought of that? Teal'c was brilliant. Daniel nodded and said,
"Yes, yes," as Sam said, "That's a good idea, Teal'c." She
turned to Mitchell.
"I'm
as worried about Daniel as you are, but he doesn't seem sick, and I don't think
a few more hours will hurt. Dr. Lam would do all that stuff first anyway. She
can contact us if she finds something. The town is near enough to the Gate for
her to radio through. She would contact us immediately if she found
something."
"That's
true," Mitchell said unwillingly.
Daniel
pressed their advantage. Sam and Teal'c were both on his side. "We'll take
my temperature, blood pressure, all of it. A complete field physical."
"She'll
want to know how you got infected," Mitchell added unwillingly, and Daniel
knew they'd convinced him. "Water. We'll send water samples too."
"It's
not the water," Mitchell said. "We've all been drinking bottled
water, or water that's been boiled, like in the tea. And you're the only one
affected."
"Mulualem
said the water on the words, so we send water," Daniel said stubbornly.
"Fine.
We send water." Mitchell turned. "I've got a medical kit too. Let's
double up on everything so we know they have enough samples. And I'll send the
videotapes through too."
"Fine,"
Daniel said. "And Colonel--thanks. I really want to see this through.
We're so close."
"I
know you do,
15.
"Here
they are." Daniel set down a field medical kit down on the table. He'd
emptied it; now it only contained his samples. "Stool, urine, saliva, and
skin scrapings. Two of each. And a little form thing I filled out with all my
vitals--temperature, blood pressure, that kind of thing." His temperature
had been a little high, but he wasn't running a real fever. His handwriting had
gone to hell, though.
"Whoa,
thorough," Mitchell said, following Daniel into the common room. "I
just finished sorting and labeling all the videotapes." He tossed a small
duffle next to the field kit. "Are we good to go? Want me to run it out to
the Gate?"
"No--I
can't draw my own blood, so I need someone to help with that." Daniel
unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off, so he was only wearing his black
short-sleeved T-shirt. He sat. He felt self-conscious, and he deliberately
didn't look at Mitchell. "Anybody? Anybody?"
"Yeah,
I can do it," Sam said, which didn't surprise Daniel.
"The,
uh, stuff is right there." Daniel pointed to the items he'd removed from
the field kit, which he'd dumped on the table.
"So
this is why we had to take all those field medicine workshops." Mitchell
picked up the rubber tourniquet and snapped it. "This is my favorite
part--all Sid and Nancy."
"Go
ahead," Sam said, nodding at Daniel to indicate to Mitchell that he could
help. She pulled on gloves and began sorting through collection tubes.
"Who
and who?" Daniel asked, confused, but Mitchell just laughed as he wrapped
it around Daniel's left arm. "Ow," Daniel complained mildly as
Mitchell pulled it tight.
"Okay,
ready here," Sam announced, seating herself on the stool next to Daniel.
She'd laid out what she needed. "Let's find a vein," she murmured,
bending over. "Uh, Colonel, you're in my light," she said, glancing
up at Mitchell, who was leaning over them, interested.
"Oh.
Sorry." Mitchell moved off and stood next to Teal'c.
"What
is this, a spectator sport?" Daniel complained.
"Do
you want us to go?" Mitchell indicated the door. "We can go. Because
for us, this is like TV. This is what we call entertainment here on
Pelos."
"Its
interest rivals that I find for men in the football arena," Teal'c mused.
Mitchell
shook his head. "Me, I was thinking more of reality TV."
"Fine,
fine, stay, I don't mind," Daniel said, resigned, as Sam, her light
unsullied by Mitchell, leaned in to find a vein.
"I
hope this won't take too many tries," Sam said.
"Oh
dear," Daniel said.
Sam
flashed a grin at him. "Kidding. You have great veins." Alcohol wipe
held ready, she touched the inside of his elbow with her thumb.
He
looked up at the gentle pressure and saw Mitchell watching him, arms crossed,
weight on one leg, a posture he'd seen Mitchell in a hundred times. But he'd
never seen that look on Mitchell's face, simultaneously intent and worried, a
slight frown on his face, and underneath--something Daniel didn't recognize.
His eyes met Mitchell's, and from very far away, he heard Sam say,
"Gotcha," and wet touched his arm, wet and cold, only it morphed into
wet and heat, and someone licked the inside of his arm, circling slowly and
tenderly. Daniel opened his mouth at the impact of the explosively erotic rush,
and suddenly it was daytime. The shutters had been thrown open. The daylight had
a bleached sepia quality. He didn't dare breathe, because of what he feared. He
was afraid to move.
Mitchell
sighed. His blue eyes didn't blink. "Daniel, I have this tremendous urge
to--to--"
"What?"
Daniel asked, frowning, when Mitchell froze. "Colonel?"
There
were no words. Instead, there was sensation--the tickle of a tongue against the
inside of his arm, the slight drag of stubble against the skin of his arm, and
when he looked down, he saw what he feared, because he had not dared to think
of it. He'd touched the emptiness of the bed next to him and he'd thought,
Jared, because Jared had been the last person he'd been with. But he'd thought
that because he didn't want to think about who he wanted there, or of how much
he wanted it. Cam Mitchell's head, Cam Mitchell's mouth, Cam Mitchell's touch,
Cam Mitchell's sigh, an exhalation of warm breath that chilled the wet on his
arm. Through the press of
"Daniel,
I have this tremendous urge to--to--"
Skin
slid against skin, chest against chest, fingers against his face, sliding
around neck, along his shoulder, then down his back to his waist, then lower,
slow and exploring. Arousal didn't center in any one place but suffused his
body. When
"Daniel,
I have this tremendous urge to--to--"
"What?"
Daniel asked, frowning, when Mitchell froze. "Colonel?"
They
rocked together,
"--to,
uh, to knock you unconscious and drag you through the Gate, and damn the
negotiations," Mitchell finished.
"Oh,
god," Daniel said, because he could still feel it: the need that had
shattered him. He could hear how raw his voice was.
"Daniel?"
Sam's concerned voice asked, and Daniel looked down at his arm, where Cam Mitchell
and started making love to him. The tourniquet was gone. Instead, he wore a
Band-Aid. He felt no pain. The explosion of heat had not been real, Daniel
realized. Once again, he was cold. Teal'c was saying, "I believe he has
had another episode."
There
he was--Mitchell. They stared at each other. Mitchell looked stricken. It was
as if he knew what Daniel had seen, what had caused Mitchell to freeze when he
realized what Daniel would learn if he replayed a conversation and learned
something that Mitchell was trying to keep hidden. He barely heard Sam and
Teal'c discussing his latest zone-out, its short duration, what they had
observed him doing--or not doing, because he had simply stared into space,
unresponsive.
"I'm
fine," Daniel said a moment later, when Sam broke into his and Mitchell's
unspoken connection by pressing a gauze pad onto the covered wound, because a
trickle of blood had oozed out. He didn't know what to say to Mitchell. He
wasn't sure how to act. "It doesn't hurt. I'm fine."
Sam
lifted the gauze, folded it over, and dabbed again. "You had a vision
thing? A flashback?"
"Yeah,"
Daniel said. "Just a--a conversation I had with Colonel Mitchell earlier
today."
Mitchell
cleared his throat. "So if those samples are ready to go--"
"Allow
me." Teal'c finished packing the sample tubes into the medical kit, and he
added it to the duffel. "Colonel, I will join you on your sojourn to the
Gate."
"Great,"
Mitchell said. To Daniel, his cheerfulness seemed false. "Saddle up. Let's
ride."
16.
It
was late. From his window, he could see Mulualem and Meseret's house, and he'd
watched Almaz leave. She had probably helped clean up. She'd hurried away,
heading toward the city center, a white scarf tossed over her head and
shoulders, like the women wore when they were out and about. She looked like a
ghost as she flitted down the street, dodging back and forth, likely avoiding
ruts, until she was out of view. Her husband was probably meeting her somewhere
with his reshoed horse, to pick her up and take her back home, to their house
and son. As she walked by the guesthouse on her way into the town proper,
Daniel saw a shadow detach itself from the house across the street, and he
heard a woman's voice and Almaz's quick response, but they spoke too quietly
for him to hear, and Almaz didn't stop. Daniel stepped back from the window, so
his pale face couldn't be seen staring out.
Of
course the guesthouse was being watched. Likely they were followed as well.
Daniel suddenly remembered the farmers during his run, leaning on hoes,
standing around with baskets of something or other, watching him, lifting their
hands in a wave. They'd been such a part of the landscape that he'd barely been
aware of them. All of these were simple security precautions, but it seemed at
odds with the friendliness of the people. A prickle of uncertainly touched him:
he didn't know if the Pelosians were kind or hostile. He didn't know if they
watched him because they cared for the safety of their visitors, or because
they had something to hide.
The
darkness of the town struck him: so many people lived here, but by about six
hours after sundown, no lamps were lit. Everything was profoundly dark. It let
him see the unfamiliar stars. He waited, half in dread, for another flashback, another
vision, but nothing came. He wondered whether they perhaps needed to be
triggered--a scent, a touch, something that would link what happened in real
life with what happened in memory. But every time he tried to connect a
flashback with an event in life, he'd think about Mitchell yelling at him and
then abruptly freezing, about Mitchell thinking exactly about the thing he
didn't want to think about, and Daniel would flush with heat--embarrassment or
arousal or both--as he remembered the explosion of ecstasy, the intensity of
the two of them together that Mitchell wanted.
Teal'c
had come back a few hours ago, but Mitchell hadn't been with him. Teal'c had
gone to his room to meditate. Sam had hovered over him in the common room until
he couldn't bear her solicitude any longer, and he'd retreated to his room.
He'd heard Sam's door shut, and later, as the large moon rose, he could tell
that everyone was asleep. From his vantage point by the window, he saw Mitchell
heading in, and he knew he'd been waiting for him, even though he hadn't
consciously thought so. He grabbed his flashlight and headed downstairs, trying
to tread lightly so he didn't awaken Sam or Teal'c. He managed to make it to
the small foyer before Mitchell opened the door, and Mitchell froze, hand on
the
latch, when he saw Daniel.
"You'd
better come in," Daniel whispered. "Shut the door. We're being
watched. Someone across the street."
Mitchell
obeyed him immediately. "
"Any
word from SGC?" Daniel asked, ignoring him.
Mitchell
shook his head. "They agreed with our call--to let you stay. They don't
want to jeopardize relations so far--it's been so much trouble to find a
Prior-free planet with the correct spectrum. But I'm supposed to shove you
through the Gate at any sign of illness or instability. Dr. Lam had left for
the day, but the lab is going to do all the tests. She'll review the results
tomorrow." He looked over his shoulder, as though he could see through the
door.
"Watched?"
"Just
your typical surveillance. I don't think anybody's in the guesthouse itself.
They're more interested in our comings and goings than what--what we do in
here." Daniel was glad of the dark, because inexplicably, he felt himself
blushing. What we do in here--which was nothing, nothing at all. "I think
it's just a safety thing. Did you notice anybody following you just now? While
you were out?"
Mitchell
considered. "No," he admitted. "Why? Got a bad vibe?"
"I
don't know. I don't think I can tell."
"Your--uh--flashbacks."
"Yeah."
Daniel felt hyperaware of Mitchell's proximity to him. The foyer was small.
Daniel was backed up almost to the stairs that led to the common room.
"Uh--what
about you? Bad vibe?"
"I
don't know. I don't think I can tell."
Daniel
blinked at Mitchell, confused: he thought he'd slid into a flashback there for
a second, but Mitchell had just repeated his words back at him. "Oh,"
Daniel said inadequately, and the two of them just stood and looked at each
other.
"I
think I'll go on upstairs and get to bed," Mitchell said at last--a hint
for Daniel to move out of the way, or lead the way upstairs, that Daniel didn't
take.
"Colonel--"
That was stupid, calling him "Colonel." But he couldn't call him
"Mitchell," because that was his last name. "
Mitchell
cut him off. He clearly didn't want Daniel to say it out loud. "I
figured," he said. "So I need to tell you that it's unprofessional of
me, and I'm sorry. You're a member of my team. I hope we can continue working
together. I hope it won't be a...a problem." He sounded like he knew it
was a problem; he sounded like he was saying what he thought he should say, not
what he really thought.
Daniel
couldn't think of a response. It struck him that maybe Mitchell didn't
understand that Daniel reciprocated, and then it struck him that it didn't
matter, because not only was Mitchell career military, where he'd face
dishonorable discharge if he was caught seeing men, but also Mitchell was the
leader of SG-1, and he wouldn't become involved with a member of his team, much
less a subordinate, even though Daniel wasn't military. Daniel remembered
Mitchell's questions about Sam and Jack.
"Okay,
so it's a problem," Mitchell said at last, when Daniel didn't respond or
move out of the way. "You know how you think things, and the more you try
not to think them, the more you think them? And the worse they get?" His
words tumbled out, fast but still quiet. "It's like that. Us working
together--at first it was just coworkers, and then when it wasn't any
more--well, I thought it would end up being okay, that you wouldn't know and I
would just, I don't know, get over it or something, but I guess now you know,
and--it's not okay."
"I
was going to resign from SG-1 when we got back from this mission." Daniel
added, "Before I knew, I mean."
"Don't."
Mitchell shuffled slightly, a dark shape in the dark foyer. "It's
not--look, it's fine. We'll get you cured and--it's all me, it's nothing you
should--I mean, it would be maybe a...a relief for me personally, but for the
team--for the SGC--"
"No,"
Daniel said, overlapping into Mitchell's words. "It's not fine. You're
upset."
"I'm
not upset, I'm embarrassed." Mitchell stepped forward. "Look, we
don't need to talk about this. I don't want to talk about this."
"No,
we need to talk about this." Daniel put an arm out to block the doorway
that marked the foot of the stairs. "Colonel." Damn it. "
"Daniel,"
Mitchell said, annoyed, pushing Daniel's arm aside, and Daniel stepped forward
just as Mitchell tried for the doorway. The two of them collided. "Look,
would you just--"
"
"Jesus,
Daniel!" Mitchell hissed, and he shoved Daniel, none too gently.
Daniel
grabbed the front of Mitchell's jacket and yanked. "Shut up," he said
distinctly, and he leaned in and kissed Mitchell hard on the mouth, a signal,
he thought, that even Mitchell should understand. "Shut up," he
repeated.
Mitchell
responded by grabbing the front of Daniel's T-shirt. "Don't," he
said, breath warm in Daniel's face. Daniel could see the glint of Mitchell's
eyes, the shape of his face. He sounded pissed off. "Just...don't."
Daniel
pushed Mitchell backward a few steps, until Mitchell hit the wall across from
the stairway. He put his hands on the wall on either side of Mitchell, pinning
him, and leaned in. "
They
tried to be quiet, but to Daniel, every creak of the steps, of the floor, was
magnified. When he shut the door behind them and delicately let the latch down,
it sounded like it slammed, even though he knew that it didn't.
"We
shouldn't--"
"Come
here," Daniel interrupted, and Cam came, so Daniel could kiss him again,
could taste and smell him, so Daniel could strip off Cam's clothes so he could
touch skin, so Cam could gasp at Daniel's touch, so Cam could stroke him,
sending shivers through him, the lightest touch magnified. The moonlight
through the window was just enough for them to make out expressions. It had
been easy to start in the dark; now it was easy to continue in the half-light.
They
couldn't use the bed because it was too narrow and creaky. Daniel unzipped his
sleeping bag and laid it on the ground on the far side of the bed, so anyone
coming in wouldn't immediately see them. When they lay next to each other,
Daniel thought just for a second of Jared, but there had been few words between
them. It had all been looking, then touching. This wasn't the same at all.
"You
started by kissing me here," Daniel said, kissing the inside of
"Yes,"
Sweaty
skin slipped. Every sound was subdued, muffled. Daniel's fingers gripped,
keeping
At
last. At last.
17.
Mitchell
sighed. "Daniel, I have this tremendous urge to--to--"
"What?"
Daniel asked, frowning, when Mitchell froze. "Colonel?"
--the
tickle of a tongue against the inside of his arm, the slight drag of stubble
against the skin of his arm. Cam Mitchell's head, Cam Mitchell's mouth, Cam
Mitchell's touch, Cam Mitchell's sigh, an exhalation of warm breath that
chilled the wet on his arm. Sweaty skin slipped, fingers gripped, mouths found
each other and then broke apart to gasp in pleasure, to murmur a name, until
"--to,
uh, to knock you unconscious and drag you through the Gate, and damn the
negotiations," Mitchell finished.
"What's
wrong?" Daniel demanded.
"Nothing's
wrong," Mitchell said.
"...And
in my little Sam fantasy, I thought he'd be around more. And that he'd do all
the cooking."
Daniel
blinked at Sam, momentarily surprised by something, and then confused about his
surprise. But had to grin at that one. Sam wasn't much of a cook, and neither
was Jack, unless the cooking was being done over a manly grill. Sam continued,
"It's--well, it's clichéd, that's how great it is."
"But?"
Sam
hesitated.
"But
he doesn't want to get married." The words hung there for a long moment,
bald and true. "But what?" she said, as though she hadn't just
spoken.
Daniel
blinked. "There's a but."
There's
always a but.
18.
"Don't,"
Daniel said. "
"A
flashback?"
It
was hard to remember. He had a confused memory of making love with
"I
don't know. Not long."
Daniel
placed his own hand over
Instead,
he said, "Have you ever had sweet pepitas--pumpkin seeds--before?"
Daniel
had never heard of kettle corn. But now that
"I
had spicy ones at a party once--like curry or something,"
"That
sounds good," Daniel murmured. Something about the pepitas niggled at the
back of his brain, but he couldn't think of what it was. "You like
spicy."
"Yeah,"
Daniel grinned. "Medium hot, not hot hot. Not inedible hot."
"No
such thing,"
"It
does," Daniel agreed. He'd just been thinking the same thing.
"Speaking of pillows--"
To
his disappointment,
"But,"
Daniel agreed.
In
the dark, mostly in silence, with only an occasional whispered word,
"Okay,"
"Goodnight,"
Daniel said.
They
didn't kiss. Instead, Daniel silently opened the door for
Before
he slid into bed, he peered out the window. He knew where to look now for
whoever was watching, but although he thought he could see a slight thickening
of the shadow, a human-shaped blob, merged with the side of the building across
the street, he couldn't be sure.
19.
He
was heavy again. The electrical jolt that had come with
That
wasn't right. When had he first noticed this lack of sensation? When had he
gotten so clumsy, his handwriting so bad?
It
was probably right about the time he suddenly became able to speak Pelosian.
During
tomorrow's negotiations, he'd hear about Mulualem's love for Meseret--Meseret,
who held Mulualem's heart. It would interest him to hear it. He'd liked
Meseret, even if they'd only met during the tea ceremony. He knew they had
children, because Mulualem had mentioned them in the abstract, in an offhand
way, but he had no idea how many or how old they were. They were probably grown
up by now, with children of their own.
"Do
you have children of your own?" Almaz asked.
"No,
I don't have any children," Daniel said. "My wife and I were just
discussing it when she--when she died." He'd seen her heavily
pregnant--pregnant by Apophis. It had been doubly hard for him: to see her in
her right mind, free of the goa'uld influence, and to see her pregnant. He
didn't want to talk about that. Instead, he wanted to remember Sha're turning
to him one night and suggesting that they start their family. Every time he
reached out and the other side of the bed was empty, he was struck by the
memory of her turning to him and saying, "My Daniel. Just two of us?
Surely three would be better."
He
couldn't say any of this. Instead, he said to Almaz, by way of distracting her,
"Sam has a daughter and Teal'c has a son, but both of them are much older
than your son."
He
could see the interest in her eyes. "Tell me," her eyes told him.
"Tell me about people far away, ones you love, so I may know you." He
gave Almaz the flashlight. "Here, you keep this. I have another one."
She didn't want to take the unfamiliar piece of technology. He had to wrap her
fingers around it. He wanted to tell her all about Cassie and Rya'c, both
brave, both fighters, but in different ways.
"Rya'c,"
Teal'c said at last, face impassive. He crossed his arms to show he wasn't
happy about answering such deeply personal questions. "My son's name is
Rya'c. He is recently married."
Daniel
translated automatically. He understood the words very well today, but still,
they wouldn't come out of his mouth as smoothly as he would have liked. He was
frustrated with himself.
Teal'c
continued. "His wife's name is Kar'yn, of the Haktyl."
"Teal'c!"
Mulualem turned to face the
"Yes."
Mulualem
pursed his lips. "Hard to see him every day."
Sam,
stretched out on her back, warming her toes by the fire, sounded rueful.
"And in my little Sam fantasy, I thought he'd be around more. And that he'd
do all the cooking." Daniel had to grin at that one. "It's--well,
it's clichéd, that's how great it is."
"But?"
Daniel asked, because it hung there like a dark cloud.
Sam
hesitated. "But he doesn't want to get married," she said. "I
think I did something stupid. And then I think I did everything right."
"My
wife carries my heart, as Sha're carried yours," Mulualem said.
"There is little to tell. She opened a door for you. I understand. She is
in your heart still?"
"She
will always be in my heart," Daniel said. It no longer hurt to think of
her. "But she is gone. I am still alive."
"And
now?" Mulualem said. It would interest me.
"I do not want to speak of now," Daniel said. "Now is too new."
But
He
zipped the backpack shut and looked at Mitchell. "Of course, sometimes I'm
totally off and in retrospect I sound like a babbling idiot, but..."
Mitchell
sounded pleased. "Yeah, well, I find that hard to believe. That kind of
lecture you gave--that's why I wanted you. You're the best." He slapped
Daniel on a shoulder. "See? Bet you're glad you're in the field and not
behind some desk." "With me in the field," Daniel thought while
his mouth said, "Yeah," knowing it was true, and he had a confused
impression of touch, of he and Cam twined together, and he remembered unzipping
the sleeping bag and laying it on the floor, and he remembered, oh god, he remembered,
with a visceral immediacy, Cam on top of him, coming, saying his name but
trying not to because they had to be quiet--Cam, ferocious and frantic.
Daniel
swatted his knees. His pants were wet and sticky from kneeling in the mud by
the monument. The scarf he'd tied around his hair had come loose, so he retied
it. He remembered the slow fall of the leaves on the way back as he scuffed
through them, as he and Mitchell broke into a run when the way became clear,
just because it felt good to let go.
"So
your life story is today?" Mitchell asked after a few minutes of mostly
silent panting.
"Yes,"
Daniel affirmed. He saw a farmer look at them curiously as they ran past.
"Too
bad I won't get to hear it--understand it, I mean. Because I would like to hear
what you have to say. I want to know you. I want to know everything about you,
Daniel Jackson. Everything."
Daniel
looked sideways at Mitchell, but Mitchell was busy dodging a deep wheel rut.
There was no water in the indentation, and the mud had dried into crumbling
dirt. It was dry.
"I'm
sure you've read my file," Daniel said. "I doubt I'll say anything
that's not in there."
"I
was just--struck, I guess, about how unrevealing everybody's little
biographical sketches were," Mitchell said. "Just the facts, without
any emotion behind it."
"You
think the Pelosians are looking for emotion?" Daniel asked, curious.
"I
think they're looking for our humanity," Mitchell said. "They're
looking for a reason why they should talk to us, do us a favor. They're looking
for good faith, or love, or both. Tell them who's in your heart, Daniel."
"Such
a boy!" Almaz laughed, rolling her eyes to show what trouble her son was.
"And my husband no better." She loved them both with all her heart.
She gave a duck. "Both are well, and I thank you for asking." She
looked a little afraid at her outburst, as Mulualem and Meseret were both
looking on sternly, and covered her confusion by offering a basket of pepitas.
Daniel smiled a little at her subterfuge as he took a handful. He expected the
usual sweet honey taste, but instead, they were salty.
"Oh--sweet,"
Sam said in surprise as she politely tasted a pepita. She addressed Almaz, who
held the basket lined with a jaunty green cloth. "Thank you. They're good,
but I was surprised because we eat them salty at home, not sweet."
Daniel
gently dug and scraped away the growth of moss that partly covered the
inscription on the stone's front. It came away in a piece, like a ragged patch
of fabric, like the napkin under the pepitas. That was better. Daniel ran his
hands over the front of the artifact, roughly cleaning it, leaving smears of
mud behind. He finally doused it with water from his canteen to wash it clean.
"Okay."
Daniel eyed the deeply incised inscription. "Preliminary thoughts. First,
it's definitely not goa'uld. I can see a repeated character shape here and
here." He pointed, and behind him, he was very aware of
20.
"Daniel,"
Sam's voice said insistently. "Come on. Are you with me? Teal'c, slow down
a little."
"They're
probably inflection markings. I don't see much exact-symbol repetition, so I'm
thinking syllabary as opposed to alphabet," Daniel mused. His eyes teared
at the sudden bright light, and he had to squeeze them shut. He had a sensation
of moving, of jerking.
Sam
said despairingly, "I think he's talking about language."
"At
least he speaks," Teal'c said.
"Yo,
hurry up, folks,"
"The
water on the words," Daniel said. "
"It's okay, Daniel,"
He
opened his eyes, squinting at the brightness. He reached out and grabbed the front
of one of
"You
want me to watch the video we took at the monument,"
"Yes,"
Daniel said, releasing
Sam
and Teal'c picked up his litter again, and as they stepped through the Gate to
Earth, Daniel wondered if he would again say to Mulualem, "It would
interest me." He might never learn about Mulualem's love for Meseret. It
would interest him to know about that.
He
had been so close to making Mulualem understand. But then again, Mulualem
understood far more than he let on. And so did Almaz.
21.
"Fungus,"
Carolyn Lam said crisply. She held up a remote control and hit a button.
"I didn't suspect it initially because Dr. Jackson's fever wasn't that
high, and because it took a long time to grow anything in the blood sample you
sent through the Gate. However, his white cell count was very high, so I knew
he had some kind of infection."
Daniel,
who had been wheeled to the conference room by Teal'c, looked with interest at
the screen, which presumably displayed the fungus. It looked like modern art.
"The
infection is responding well to intravenous amphotericin B." Another
slide, also resembling modern art, apparently illustrated how much better
Daniel's blood was doing. "I'm monitoring him closely to make sure there's
no liver toxicity. I report that the patient's hallucinations have ceased, and
he is well on the road to recovery." Lam set the remote down. "And
Dr. Jackson, the tip you gave Colonel Mitchell helped us find out how to cure
you."
"Good,"
Daniel said, looking over at
"Yeah,"
On
the screen, Daniel scraped the moss aside, then began wiping the resulting mud
from the face of the monument.
Lam
resumed the story. "The moss had fine golden filaments in it--a fungus.
Colonel Mitchell went back and collected a sample for me. That is what infected
Dr. Jackson. Colonel Mitchell wasn't infected when Dr. Jackson was because he
didn't touch it--and of course, when he collected the sample, he wore
gloves." Her voice took on a dry tone as, on the screen, Daniel began
shaking water onto the monument from his canteen. "It probably didn't help
that about ten minutes after this, during his, uh, lecture, Daniel drank out of
the canteen, the mouth of which, as we see here, touched the monument while he
was cleaning it."
Daniel
leaned forward. He didn't remember that part. "I just remember that it was
wet there, but dry everywhere else," he said. "When Colonel Mitchell
and I went running, the ruts had dried and left big ridges. We had to dodge
them. And when we walked to and from the monument site, we were kicking up dry
leaves. I don't remember it raining while we were there. The weather was sunny
and beautiful the whole time. I spent all my time trying to translate the words
on the monument, but now, in this context, I don't think the words were
important. The water was important."
"One
side effect of the fungal infection--besides enhancing Dr. Jackson's language
abilities, apparently--was lack of sensation," Lam added. "That was
why he was so hard to understand when he came in. His slurred speech was a
result of his inability to control his mouth and tongue. And Dr. Jackson
reported some loss of sensation and manual dexterity before his collapse."
General
Landry, at the head of the table, swung back around to face everyone seated at
the conference table. "The Pelosians have tried to contact us a few times,
but they haven't tried to come through physically. They don't have radio, and
if they tossed a note through, it hit the iris and was destroyed. They may want
to follow up with what Colonel Mitchell told them while he was there gathering
the specimen for Dr. Lam."
Daniel
spoke up. "I'm willing to back and finish negotiations."
General
Landry smiled. "I knew you were going to say that," he said, shaking
a finger at Daniel as though he were an amusing child. "It's because you
were only six or seven hours from completing the mission, right?"
"Well,
yes, but of course," Daniel agreed. "But anybody can go back and
finish instead of me, if you don't want to wait. Colonel Carter could do
it."
Sam
looked at him blankly. "Daniel, I don't have your ability with
languages."
"Wait,
you--you don't know?" He looked around at the polite looks of inquiry on
everyone's face.
"Know...what?"
Sam asked.
"Well,
you don't think this fungal infection translation ability goes one way, do
you?"
"Son
of a bitch."
Daniel
temporized, "Probably not the whole time, no. But I'm sure they could
understand us sooner than we could understand them. Mulualem did all the formal
negotiations and was their spokesman, but I'm sure you noticed who else was
always around: Almaz."
"The
servant," Teal'c said.
"I
kind of doubt she's a servant," Daniel said. "I mean, think about it.
If you met strangers and wanted to figure out their intentions, you'd find out
what they said when they thought nobody could hear you." He crossed his
hands on the table. "I also became aware that we were being watched. At
first I thought it was for our safety, and they were keeping it from us out of
politeness, but of course it was also surveillance. I noticed someone watching
the guesthouse from across the street. I think they know everywhere we
were."
"Mostly
just trips to and from the Gate, which they told us we could visit and use at
any time," Mitchell said. "Other than that, we were usually in an
escorted group, getting the grant tour."
"Our
runs," Daniel reminded him. "There was always someone watching."
"And
our trip to the monument?"
"I
didn't see anyone," Daniel admitted. "But that doesn't mean someone
wasn't there." Daniel sat back in the wheelchair. "I knew Almaz could
understand English when she offered us salty pepitas."
"Pepitas?"
Landry asked blankly.
To
Daniel's surprise, Teal'c spoke up. "The seeds of pumpkins or
gourds."
Daniel
added, "They'd been sweet before, and Colonel Carter said, in English of
course, that we ate them salty at home, not sweet. The next time they were
offered to us, at the tea ceremony, they were salty, which surprised
Mulualem."
"Do
you want me to go and finish negotiations, sir?" Sam asked Landry.
"I
do," Landry said. "We need allies, and we need those refugees
settled. They have some valuable intel, including some Gate addresses of a few
remote worlds that they assure us are still Prior-free." He looked at each
of the SG-1 team members around the table. "Please tell me you were polite
and straight with them the whole time."
"Oh,
we were, sir, we were,"
"Their
little deception displeases me," Landry said with admirable restraint.
"As does their willingness to infect strangers willy-nilly with this
fungus stuff. But I don't know that I would have done any differently."
"They
probably had no idea it would make Daniel so sick," Lam offered. "If
they've been exposed, perhaps over years--or maybe their body chemistry has
adapted to it."
"I
don't think they meant to make me sick," Daniel put in. "I think they
just wanted to communicate without tipping their hand."
Landry
put his hands on the table and pushed himself up. "All right then. Dr.
Jackson, you're on medical leave until Dr. Lam clears you. Colonel Mitchell,
Colonel Carter, and Teal'c, head on back to Pelos. Colonel Carter, you're the
lead negotiator. Get me a deal, would you?"
"Yes,
sir," Sam said.
22.
Daniel
took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. It was hard to concentrate because
even after a week and a half, he still wanted to sleep. "Hey,"
someone said from the door of his not-at-all-private hospital room, and Daniel
slid his glasses back on as he balanced the small pile of files on his lap.
"Colonel,"
he responded, because he didn't want to say "
"See
for yourself," Cam said, stepping into the room, followed by a woman
Daniel didn't immediately recognize, because now she was dressed up, in the
style of her people, in a loose tunic and long, soft pants, with an exquisite
white scarf wound around her head and shoulders.
"Almaz,"
Daniel said, extending his hands, and she came to his bedside, Cam trailing
behind her, staying out of the way even as Daniel remained aware of every move
he made, every shift of weight.
"Daniel
Jackson," Almaz said, clasping his hands briefly. She pulled her scarf
back, revealing her hair, now elaborately braided. "It's good to see
you." Her English had only a slight accent. "We were worried when you
left so abruptly. We learned later that you had been ill."
"The
water on the words made me sick," Daniel explained.
Almaz
nodded. "So I discovered. We didn't want that."
"I
know."
"Your
Samantha Carter talked to us instead of you. I am here now to negotiate with
the refugees. I and the rest of the delegation from Pelos are to meet with them
soon, here on this planet."
"Who
else?" Daniel asked with interest.
"Meseret
and my husband Tulelo. Mulualem stays behind with the little Tulelo."
She
dimpled. "They are of course my parents."
Daniel
smiled. Of course they were.
"They
will come to see you--to meet you--later, when we are not in such a
hurry." A look of concern crossed Almaz's face. "When you first
came--we were afraid you were cold. I must explain. You came armed. We wondered
why you spoke for others--why they didn't speak for themselves. Yet you treated
me kindly when you thought I was worried and in trouble. You asked my son's
name. You treated me, a servant, with courtesy. Once I knew enough to
understand you, your words were the same to our faces as they were behind our
backs. We thought you were people of honor. We thought we could deal with you.
But just as we had decided this, you got sick and left. We were afraid for many
things--your health, but maybe also something bigger: an alliance between our
people." She leaned down to grip Daniel's hand. "I was so glad when
Samantha Carter came through the Gate to let us know that you were all right,
and that they had been sent back to talk to us."
"Well,
I'm glad you came by. I want to ask you something." Daniel shuffled
through the files on his lap and held up the photographs of the monument that
he'd been unable to translate. "Maybe you can help me. Can you read
this?"
Almaz
took the pictures from him to get a better look. "No," she said as
she turned over the last one. "I know that monument. The language is
really old. Some of our scholars think it's not native to Pelos but imported. I
do know what some of the scholarship says, though. Here's something that might
help. Look."
Daniel
watched as she traced a finger, not right to left, the way Pelosian was read,
but left to right. Something in his head clicked: a Semitic language, read left
to right--he'd read something about that. Ge'ez? Could it be an offshoot? Or a
precursor?
Before
he could express his thanks, Sam stuck her head in the door. "Almaz,"
she called. "Come on--it's time. The other delegation is sitting
down."
Almaz
leaned down and kissed Daniel on the cheek. "I'll come back later, and
I'll bring everyone with me." She returned the photos to Daniel, then dug
through a bag slung over a shoulder. "Oh, after something Samantha Carter
said, I thought you might want these."
Daniel
accepted the small bag. "Pepitas," he said, feeling them, light and
crispy, through the cloth with his fingertips. "Thanks. Good luck with the
negotiations."
Almaz
turned at the doorway, and both she and Sam waved before disappearing.
"I
thought they'd never leave."
Daniel
turned his attention to
"Sweet
or salty?"
Daniel
tried one. "Salty," he said.
"Ah,
just the way I like them."
"She
gave me a place to start." Daniel stuck the photos in their manila file
folder.
"Ah,
you'll crack it, never fear."
Daniel
retied the bag. "I'm sure she'd make some."
"Oh,
yeah." Daniel tossed them all onto the ground. "I requested some
files before I left about some offworld archaeological digs."
"You're
not really thinking about resigning from SG-1,"
"No,
no, I'm not." Daniel adjusted the bed so he was reclining rather than
sitting upright. "I really think my strengths lie in front-line work--my
initial insights do seem to be on the mark more often than not." A little
data mining on follow-up missions had proved that. "After this little, uh,
vacation, I'll be ready to get back to work. So--do you want to tell me all
about the mission?"
Daniel
summarized. "Sam convinced them to show their hand, they admitted they
spoke English, negotiations went well, and everyone lived happily ever
after."
"Pretty
much,"
"Dr.
Lam thinks I was hallucinating, making it all up." Daniel shrugged.
"Maybe she's right." Still, he'd been right about a few of the
flashbacks. He hadn't dared ask Sam about Jack and marriage, though. Maybe Dr.
Lam was right and he'd made it all up, using only what he'd observed, both
consciously and unconsciously. Maybe he'd made up words for Almaz to speak that
fit with his responses to her. Maybe dreams had gotten confused with reality.
He really did think that the infection had provided him with insight, but Dr.
Lam had ruled otherwise, and the doctor was always right.
"Well,
anyway, the Pelosians are useful folks. You should have seen Almaz after she
started watching the videotapes we brought. Like, zero accent in three days.
And it's cute watching her sing Sesame Street songs."
"Got
any more of those things?"
"Sorry,
no," Daniel said. He wanted to save a few to offer his guests when they
came back later. "So before Dr. Lam throws you out again for disturbing me
when I'm supposed to be resting, could you tell me one thing? Okay. On Pelos,
when you--left--when you left my room--"
"Uh-huh,"
"--you
said, 'If you replay this, you'll know what I'm thinking. So I'll just say
goodnight.' It never replayed. So...what were you thinking?"
Daniel
looked at him expectantly.
"Oh,
you know I can't tell you,"
"It
could be better," Daniel suggested.
"Do
you want me to tell what I imagined at first?"
"Sure."
Daniel
wrapped his arms around his knees. "I imagined...that you were thinking
that it had been a terrible mistake, that we would never do that again, that it
was one night of bliss, and our seeing each other daily would be sheer agony,
but we would pine--pine!--silently for one another, never to have
fulfillment."
"Self-control,"
Daniel murmured as
"Way
more of that,"
"I'm
fine with it," Daniel assured him, and as he closed his eyes,
At
last, he thought. At last.
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