DANIEL
“Doctor
Jackson?”
The
general's question makes me jump. I peer vaguely at my notes,
which I can't read. My eyes don't seem to be working. The
only thing in focus right now is Jack.
Jack.
"Doctor?"
George gently prompts.
Um.
Okay. They're all LOOKING at me now. Concerned.
Supportive. Complacent.
Jack.
Mmm.
What?
Oh. Right. Um…“The device was never intended to be a
weapon, Sir. It was in fact something in the nature of a call to
prayer. The inscriptions described a sonorous bell-like tone
echoing around the city, most pleasing to the senses.”
Jack
MUST stop smiling at me that way. He MUST.
“So
Carter broke it and THEN she blew it up?” Jack taunts but his heart
isn’t in it. He’s smiling. Still.
Gawd.
I can’t string a coherent sentence here. Sam is excited about the
way the aliens manipulated sound waves but she’s making no sense.
She’s just noise. Nice, friendly white noise.
“Are
you seriously telling me we were almost taken out by the frigging P.A.
system?” Jack demands incredulously. “That frosts my cookies,
Carter.”
“Sir,”
Sam snaps.
Three
hours ago Jack was kissing me awake and I’ve thought about nothing but
his mouth since. His beautiful, talented filthy mouth. And
where he wants to put his mouth the moment he gets me home. He
can’t LOOK at me like that. I can’t think when he…I can’t think.
We
made love. Jack took me to bed and made love to me, loved me
until I came so hard and long I’m still seeing stars. I know it’s
been a while, but still. Stars. Tonight he’ll be making
love WITH me. I can’t believe how gentle he was, how…how
giving. I thought it would be NICE. Pleasant. It
was…it was amazing. Shattering. HE was shattering. It
HAS been a while, a LONG while. I know. But he’s
GOOD. Oh, God, is he GOOD. He wouldn’t let me…I offered but
he refused. I was so clumsy. He told me that he wanted us
to be about what I want right now, but I lost sight of that in what he
gave me last night. Jack doesn’t want me touching him for his
sake, but for mine. When I want to be with him, when I want to
touch him, he won’t refuse.
I
want…I want him now. Now as in RIGHT now.
“Very
well, Major,” George acknowledges. “If you think you have enough
data to attempt some controlled experiments I’ll authorise some
downtime for SG-1.”
Oops.
I was so busy lusting after Jack I missed that. What experiments?
“Sonic
kaboom,” Jack mouths.
Mouth.
Mmm. Niiiice mouth.
“…expect
to have your report by the 25th, Doctor Jackson.”
Sure,
George. Whatever.
Report?
What
report?
“P9R-795,”
Jack mouths as George dismisses us.
He’s
smiling again. Not George. Jack. George is too, but…I
don’t know what I’m talking about here. My brain is in my shorts.
Jack
waits patiently while I gather up my files, which takes some time.
Teal’c has to hand me one that apparently escaped my attention as I
look absently round the table, then he bows in response to my equally
absent thanks and heads off with Sam to sonically kaboom stuff I
gather. From Jack’s mouth. Lovely mouth. Mine.
All mine.
Jack
beams at me. “Lunch?”
“It’s
ten o’clock,” I say blankly.
Jack
rolls his eyes. “Would you like to have lunch with me?” he
explains with exaggerated patience as he strolls around the table to
join me.
“My
office,” I say firmly as Jack gently steers my erratic course towards
the door. If he’s going to be doing things with his mouth, right
in front of me, he’d better do them in private for a while. At
least until my brain has been retrieved from my shorts. Which
will be a few minutes after we get home tonight if Jack is a man of his
mouth.
Word.
I
meant mouth.
I
mean word.
I
don’t know what I mean.
“Cool,”
Jack says brightly. “Lunch is on you.”
I
don’t miss the roguish look. Okay. Jack's rules. I
have to want. I want that. I definitely want that.
Not on base, but I want that. NO! NOT on base, so it’s no
good wanting it NOW.
I
want it now and I’m goddamn certain I’ll be INSISTING on it later.
“You
remembered about this reception thingy we got?” Jack prompts as he
calls the elevator.
“No.”
Yes. Dress uniform? Mmm. Niiiice. I ogle
Jack’s derriere shamelessly as he walks into the elevator ahead of
me. "We? Um…you weren't on that mission. You were
getting zapped by swarms of killer laser-bees."
"I'm
coming to the reception thingy," Jack insists.
"Why?"
Seriously. Jack has never knowingly schmoozed. He has to be
forcibly reminded about doing his duty to get him there when he has to
be, and nothing George says will induce him to BEHAVE when he
does. Volunteering? It's unprecedented.
“You
got that suit?” Jack hisses as soon as the doors close. “The nice
one?”
They’re
all nice, but I left my tweed jacket at home so...
“The
black one. The HOT one.”
Oh.
That one. Funeral suit. I nod weakly as Jack's smug
pleasure expands to fill every available inch of elevator complacent
lust didn't get to first.
“Shirt?”
Usually.
“The
grey one?”
I
nod again. Does grey really bring out my eyes?
“Wear
them home,” Jack orders emphatically.
Apparently
so. “You too,” I blurt.
Jack
winks. “Shades," he offers generously.
Those
aviator ones? AND the mouth? Ohmygod. It’s ten
o’clock. TEN o’clock. In the MORNING. I’m not going
to make it.
Jack
decided to come with. He had a vague conviction he should know
something about the Yjro if he's turning up in dress blues to annoy
them this afternoon, so he's currently camped out with my laptop and my
mission report. Major Martin's report is currently being
expressed to us via clerk, as my report is apparently coming up short
on local colour like how big the guns are.
I'm
watching Jack. USAF personnel are trained to knock, right? We
could do it. Right here. Lock the doors and do it.
His rules. He SAID whatever I want. I want to lock the
doors and do it. Right here. Right now. As in RIGHT
NOW.
10.07am.
I'm
not going to make it.
"Who's
this Lysander guy?" Jack asks casually, leaning back precariously in
his chair to put his feet up on my desk. The clerk brought Jack
his copy of Major Martin's report, then Jack brought us coffee and
himself doughnuts.
10.47am.
I still want to do it.
"He
was a historian, a scholar. At the age of fourteen, the Yjro move
into one of four Guilds for formal training. The Guild of
Warriors' function is fairly obvious, the Polites…"
"Ah,
I read that. Thought you meant polite as in nice people."
"Po-lit-ays,
Jack, not 'polite'," I explain patiently. "It's from the Greek…"
"Isn't
it always?" Jack grumbles, biting vengefully into a doughnut.
"NOT nice people?"
"From
the GREEK, polites meaning a citizen. This is the Guild from
which the Yjro draw their healers, lawyers, judges and public
servants. The Guild of Commerce produces artisans and
tradesmen. And the Schole - from the Greek meaning school - is
the Guild of philosophers, historians and scientists. The Yjro
spend a year in each Guild before their formal education is complete,
and then they choose which of the Guilds to commit to as journeymen,
the commitment to a Guild being for four years. The Yjro are
granted the rights and privileges of citizenship only after completing
their training as journeymen. The society has evolved in so many
fascinating ways from the classical Athenian…"
"Yadda,"
Jack waves his second or third doughnut dismissively.
"But
it's stable and functional. They haven't fought each other for
ten generations which is more than we can say," I snap tartly.
And consequently their technology is more advanced than ours.
"And
this guy Lysander?" Jack persists.
"The
historian the Schole provided to assist me with surveying the ruins of
the ancient city of Acis, the one the Goa'uld destroyed. He was
very helpful."
"Not
helpful enough to say HOW they beat the Goa'uld."
"Well,
no," I admit reluctantly, "but that wasn't the point. His
interest was in the ancient culture of his people. From what we
were able to piece together from the fragmented tablets which were all
that remained of the ancient Codex, it seemed clear to me the Goa'uld
were destroyed by 'divine intervention', a storm to end all storms out
of which bolts of lightning struck down the defilers of the
temple. Sound familiar?"
"Oma
get your gun!" Jack hoots.
"Something
like that. Her race seemed to have intervened, anyway.
Which means the Yjro don't have any big honkin' space gun we can use."
"Damn."
"They
do however have copious quantities of naquadah, hence the three months
of tortuous negotiations with the Politarch Acteon which Stan Kovacek
doesn't want wasted and the reception for the treaty signing this
afternoon."
"Politarch?
Guy in charge?"
"Guy
in charge," I agree solemnly. "I liked him a lot. His
'nubile' consort Corralin was seventy-three and Acteon still looked at
her like she was seventeen."
Jack
grins broadly. "So you had a good time while I was getting zapped
by laser-bees and dodging the Brain Trust."
“I
had a great time.”
"So
it would seem. How come there are twelve hours of mission time
neither you nor Major Martin can account for?" Jack asks coolly.
Um,
I had a really great time? Unintentionally of course.
"Zoya. A fruit drink I was assured was good for stomach
disorders, which we all needed after the nio…a native delicacy which
may have been cheese before it was apparently fossilised," I admit a
tad bitterly. There’s not much to choose between nio and
laser-bees.
"A
fruit drink?"
"Not
fermented," I say firmly. "I asked." This doesn't seem to
help. A zapped, doped-up Jack might have let this one slip at the
time but raging hormones are no excuse for me letting him read that
report in his right mind now. "It was just punch."
"Apparently
it packed a big one," Jack snaps. "Given your report breaks off
abruptly at the Yjro Meet 'N' Greet feast and picks up twelve hours
later at an entirely different locale." Jack makes a great show
of perusing the report. "Known as the Damae Gardens."
"The
Great Library is at Damae," I say defensively.
"Dr
Fraiser refers to a narcotic of unknown origin," Jack informs me
crisply.
"I
can't remember a damn thing, Jack, but Janet checked me out THOROUGHLY
and I was FINE," I mutter sullenly.
"You
blacked out!"
I
avoid his eyes. It's probably not a good idea to mention I woke
up to a glorious sunrise in a verdant flower-filled bower by a lambent
pool, more or less in uniform, with a heap of scrolls tumbled wantonly
in the wet grass and Lysander spoiling for a fight, more or less at the
point of Major Martin's gun. Neither of them were Happy Campers,
especially when I broke up said fight and made them help me gather up
the scrolls. I don't know what Major Martin told Janet - possibly
something to do with the fact I couldn’t see out of my left eye for
three hours - but she was like a pit-bull during my painfully THOROUGH
post-mission examination.
"You
got stoned and went to the library?" Jack asks in quite another voice.
I
look up hopefully to find that incredible warmth and tenderness in his
eyes.
"Only
you," he says gently.
11.01am.
I
want to kiss him. He wants to kiss me. We're not…
"Oh,
Jack," I sigh into his throat as he engulfs me a vast hug.
Jack
shivers. "Not on base," he says desperately, palliating the
severity of the rejection by hugging me closer. "We are SO not
going to make it," he groans.
I
lean back and look at him.
We
don't.
"This
is a lousy party," Jack grumbles, gazing around the gateroom with a
jaundiced eye. "No eats."
"On
my advice," I mumble back. "It’s taken three months and lot of
hard negotiation for the Yjro to agree to grant us the status of
philoi, or friends, via treaty. As xenoi or foreigners we are
tolerated, welcomed even, but we aren't granted any protection in
trade. The Yjro societal values have evolved independently from
those of classical Greece, as I said, but every action, every decision
is based on reciprocity."
"You
scratch my back?"
"Try
pissing contest," I say wryly. "They're here to trade and I want
the focus to be on that, not our inadequacy as hosts. They've
already won the welcome wagon war."
Jack
turns to give Major Disaster Davis the evil eye. He says he's our
Pentagon liaison but Jack knows a bean-counter when he sees one.
Davis counted the beans on the kind of display we'd have to put on to
equal the Yjro feast in our honour and said 'NO WAY!' We could
run to Heinz, apparently.
I
turn and give Colonel Simmons the evil eye. I know a prick when I
see one. He glares right back. Maybe I should sic Jack on
him. Davis is wilting visibly because Jack is Not Happy about the
complete dearth of snacks in the immediate vicinity.
I
shift restlessly at Jack's side, watching George trying to get Stan to
breathe deep from the looks of things. I sympathise
entirely. Nobody has a clue about the agonies I go through for
these stupid things. You can't even comprehend the concept of
humiliation until you've been faced with the prospect of serving a
System Lord a chicken and mushroom vol-au-vent. You can't pander
to the whims of megalomaniacs or the mores of ancient noble cultures
with a budget of $10 a head. You just can't. I'm an
archaeologist. I shouldn't have to. How did 'linguist'
translate into military for 'diplomat on a shoestring'?
I
can't even be a normal diplomat. I have to write and speak in
clear, comprehensible English and live up to being
'inspirational'. On a budget of $10 a head.
Inspirational! Me! WHY me?
Stupid
question. It's just my luck. BAAD luck. I'd warn Jack
that he's doomed, but he's known me for years. He knows I'm
Murphy's Law in a boonie. He thinks my being so damn hot cancels
out his being doomed and if the worst does come to the worst, at least
he'll die happy.
And
if you want to talk inspirational, Jack has promised to wear his
uniform AND his shades home. I have something very specific in
mind for the extraction.
The
familiar klaxon sounds and George heads briskly over to take his place
at the head of our little party, ordering Davis – Walter, not Disaster
- to open the iris when he confirms the signal from the Yjro. The
party consists of me, Jack, Major Davis, Stan, Simmons – Colonel, not
Graham - and Major Martin, who oddly enough seems even more nervous
than Stan looks or I feel. George has had to cover all the bases
because the Yjro are being infuriatingly coy about quite what it is
they want in return for limitless pure naquadah. George has the
President's authority to negotiate, of course, but he'll need back-up
on the logistics.
We
stand in a neat line as the wormhole kerwhooshes and stabilises and
George is already moving out to graciously greet our guests.
"I'm
General Hammond, leader of this facility."
"I
am Acteon, Politarch of the Yjro."
Jack
gets his first good look at the venerable Politarch Acteon. "All
he needs is the red suit and the reindeer," he chokes.
The
beard IS fairly spectacular. I frown a little. Acteon looks
and sounds more frail even than the last time we spoke, at his
palace. He's failing fast.
"And
this is my son and Heir, Lysander," Acteon announces proudly.
Jack
snaps up to his full height and stiffens alarmingly as the cohort of
plumed guards parts and Lysander steps forward to shake George's
hand. Jack shoots me a look that could etch glass.
It's
not my fault! I didn't know he'd be here, and I certainly didn't
know he was Acteon's son. He didn't mention it. NOBODY
mentioned it. What exactly is Jack's problem? Lysander
isn't just a geek, he's a geek in a short skirt.
"This
Colonel Jack O'Neill, team leader of SG-1," George draws Jack into the
introductions, "And I believe you know Dr Jackson and Major's Kovacek
and Martin."
"Daniel,"
Acteon beams, clasping my shoulders to draw me into a fond embrace.
Jack
snorts when Acteon ritually kisses both of my cheeks.
"Daniel,"
Lysander acknowledges softly as he draws me in and kisses me in turn.
I
think I hear teeth grinding. Um, not Jack's. Or rather, not
JUST Jack's. Twilight Zone here. They're ALL straightening
up and going Jackian on me.
Just
what is everyone's problem?
"General
Hammond, know that we have thought long and hard on this," Acteon
announces gravely. "Though Daniel was xenoi to us but a short
time ago, he is the wish of my Heir's heart and pleasing to us
all. We will meet his eggue price, though a pledge such this has
never been asked before. This metal you seek is yours in full
measure."
Eggue?
George
looks at me expectantly. Jack glowers.
EGGUE?
"Shit,"
Stan whispers.
Woo.
Jack’s right. Only me. I got stoned on fruit juice, I got
lost for twelve hours, I went to a library, I got ENGAGED?
“Options?”
George asks briskly as he takes his seat at the head of the table.
“Teal’c
has already offered to kill Lysander in single combat,” Jack
snaps. “Finish off the tour of the base on a high note.”
“Sane
options,” I snap back.
Disaster
Davis marches briskly out of George’s office and slips into the only
free seat, sandwiched between Stan and the disgraced Major Martin,
who’s as far away from Jack as we can get him. He still looks
pale and shaky, which has everybody wondering what the hell Jack
managed to do to him in the two minutes he had him cornered before the
SFs caught up and rescued him.
“The
Chief of Staff has ordered us to secure the naquadah by any means
necessary,” Davis reports. He instantly becomes the cynosure of
all contemptuous eyes, except for Simmons, and Jack, who’s just going
straight for homicidal hatred. “EXCEPT trading Dr Jackson, of
course,” he adds hastily.
“Big
of them,” Jack drawls.
Colonels
to the left of me…
“Not
really,” Simmons drawls back. “Dr Jackson has unique knowledge
and skills. We don’t trade up unique.” He glances at
me. “Not for naquadah, anyway.”
Colonels
to the right of me…Sam and Janet in front of me, looking pissed.
“Doctor?”
George queries gently.
I
blush. And here we go again. Charging back into the Valley
of Humiliation. “I can’t account for my actions in those twelve
hours, Sir,” I admit reluctantly. I’m pretty sure I’d have
remembered another man getting down on one knee and proposing,
though. Fairly sure. And I’m positive I wouldn’t have said
yes.
I
notice Janet grimacing and rolling her eyes at…at Jack! I stamp
on his foot. Hard. I would NEVER be stoned enough to have
sex with a total stranger, so he can cut that OUT, and anyway, I
suspect Janet checked. It was a very THOROUGH examination.
Jack can rest assured, he won’t be relieving me of my virginity any
time soon.
“MAJOR?”
George fires his annoyance the length of the table.
“Sir,
I or one of my men was with Dr Jackson at ALL times as per Colonel
O’Neill’s instructions,” Martin begins miserably.
I
glare at Jack. What am I? The kind of guy who can’t be let
out of Jack’s sight without getting myself engaged to another
guy? Or something?
“And
Major Carter’s.”
Sam
blushes and avoids my eyes.
“And
Master Teal’c of Chulak’s threats.”
Oh.
Um…
“Despite
Lysander’s obvious interest in Dr Jackson, I had no concern for his
safety.”
Janet
snorts and then SHE won’t meet my eyes.
“OBVIOUS
interest?” Jack and I demand as one.
“Blatant,”
Martin says firmly. “Lysander himself seemed concerned about the
presence of a chaperone. I accompanied Dr Jackson and Lysander on
their visit to the library on the night in question.”
“Even
if you can’t remember it,” Sam spits stormily.
“Colonel,”
George warns.
Jack
sniffs haughtily.
“Doctor
Fraiser?”
Gawd,
I could die. Why don’t they just come out and ask me if I think I
got laid? I’m certain I didn’t or I wouldn’t have come like a
freight train when Jack waved his hands at my dick.
“Dr
Jackson’s medical records are confidential as you well know,” Janet
responds icily, “but I can assure you he sustained no physical
injuries.”
Jack
relaxes infinitesimally, shooting Martin an ‘I may let you live’ look.
“That
brings us back to the question of options if we’re to secure the
naquadah,” Simmons interjects smoothly. “Colonel O’Neill’s
suggestion of rounding the Yjro up and marching them back through the
wormhole at Zatpoint aside.”
I
wonder if Simmons is Graham Simmons’ dad? I hope he’s not, poor
kid. He’s never lived down that crush on Sam. Having to own
up to an asshole like this, on top of that? Talk about a loser.
“For
the moment,” Jack emphasises.
“Could
one of us pretend to be Daniel’s wife?” Sam offers tentatively.
“Indeed,”
Janet says warmly.
They
both smile at me. I smile back, touched by their
generosity. Jack glares at them. They both glare
back. Jack needs to get a grip. They both look like they want to
get a grip on him.
“I’m
afraid I told Lysander about…about…” I falter awkwardly and the glares
melt to tender sympathy and concern. Jack is still glowering
though.
“I
understand,” George says sympathetically.
“That
doesn’t mean I can’t…” Janet begins. Sam scowls at her.
“Or
I can’t,” Sam snaps. Janet scowls back.
“Pretend
we’re with you now,” they finish.
“Both
of them?” Jack growls sotto voce.
“They
asked a lot of questions about marriage customs,” Stan says
heavily. “Dr Jackson was kind enough to prepare a PowerPoint
presentation on some of the key Western ideals and philosophies.
I’m afraid they would legitimately question why Dr Jackson kept secret
a relationship which would be the norm for our society.”
“A
POWERPOINT presentation?” Jack asks me incredulously. “‘Daniel’s
relative dating’?” he hurls at Stan.
Stan
stares at him stonily. “I can’t see any way it wouldn’t be
construed as a deliberate insult to their honour, given Dr Jackson
himself told Lysander he wasn’t seeing anyone,” he insists.
“They’ll walk.”
Not
in so many words! I did say I…I loved my wife. And I missed
her.
“Win
win,” Jack snaps.
“And
take the naquadah with them,” Davis and Simmons object.
Is
Disaster Davis Walter’s little brother? Cousin? He’s the
third Davis I’ve known at the SGC. I’m sure there was a woman who
was Technician Davis too. Was she married to Walter? She
left. Did they split up? And I really do hope Simmons isn’t
Graham’s dad.
“Who
cares?” Jack demands angrily.
“The
President,” Simmons snaps.
“And
the Joint Chiefs,” Davis says apologetically.
Sam
and Janet sniff disdainfully.
“So
the situation is we can’t refuse the eggue by their society’s
standards?” George prompts.
“No,”
I admit. “It would require a ninety day courtship either way,
living in the oikos of Acteon and Lysander. To refuse would be an
insult and they’d…”
“Walk
and take the naquadah,” George sighs.
“The
Zoya in the oikos? Frickin’ chalice in the palace,” Jack grumbles
under his breath. “So we can’t tell them you’re refusing, we
can’t tell them you have a wife because Loose Lips…”
“COLONEL,”
George booms. “Doctor, Major Kovacek? Based on what you
know of Yjro society, is there any way to protect Dr Jackson AND secure
the naquadah?”
“What
about a relationship that wasn’t the norm for our society?” Simmons
asks slowly. “Would that satisfy them? If Dr Jackson was
involved with someone but couldn’t talk about it because it went
against the norm…you can see where I’m going.”
Simmons
can see a sea of blank faces. “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”
Stan
straightens up, nodding. “Sir, I think that would do it.
They have no objections to homosexuality.”
“Pfffft!
Obviously!” Jack hoots.
“BUT
they accept there are differences between our society and theirs.
I think they’d buy that Dr Jackson wouldn’t choose to reveal such a
relationship unless he had no choice.”
That
actually makes a lot of sense. I can’t see another way to secure
the naquadah or to avoid offending their honour. It could
work. I’ve embarrassed myself in worse ways for the cause and if
we can secure anything without a shot fired I’ll be happy. If we
don’t get this supply of naquadah we’ll keep looking and perhaps next
time… “The Yjro understand the concept of sunokein, a marriage or
relationship which is a private contract, not recognised by the
state. Sunokein isn’t constituted by a wedding ceremony, but by
the simple act of living together, and it is binding when one partner
enters the oikos of the other.” The lord and master, which I
consider to be information they probably need to know, but I’m not
willing to tell them, particularly Jack, who already thinks he IS my
lord and master.
It’s
a small but necessary act of defiance. I’m usually as
enthusiastic as Sam about the warm glow of testosterone. Jack
gets to do that ‘I am colonel, hear me ROAR’ thing, but I have to make
do with ‘I am linguist, hear me correct your pronunciation’. I
tend to be a tad more reasonable and realistic about things.
“Gentlemen?”
George prompts.
I
look around and slowly realise the only ones to meet my eyes are Sam
and Janet, and they’re dying to laugh. All the gung ho hero
hormonal ‘aim high’ types at the table are hanging low, none lower than
Jack, who’d need a long ladder to reach snake spit.
“I’ve
actually shown Lysander photos of my kids,” Stan mutters defensively.
“I’m
requesting a transfer, effective immediately,” Martin says emphatically.
“Granted,”
George agrees automatically.
I
glance at Major Disaster Davis. He looks at the Stargate.
Smarmy shit.
I
can’t believe this. They’ll kill or die for the naquadah but they
won’t hold my hand? What’s wrong with me? I’m so
unattractive none of them will help me out? Including the guy I’m
sleeping with?
Simmons
shakes his head wearily. “I’ll do it,” he announces in a tone
that leaves me with no doubt he doesn’t need to hear ANYTHING about
lords and masters. OR the teaching of lessons to upstart
archaeologists.
“Well
I won’t!” I refuse indignantly. I’m not having ANYONE
thinking SIMMONS is the best I can do!
“Sir,
I couldn’t think of a LESS convincing…” Sam begins anxiously.
“Agreed,”
George nods briskly.
Hey.
If I have to BEG I think I’ll head out and beg Teal’c to pretend I’m
not so repulsive he can stand to be seen with me in public.
Jeez! “Why don’t you put up a notice in the mess!”
“Jack,”
George turns to Colonel Custard.
“Uh
uh,” Jack flatly refuses.
“Colonel,
you are Dr Jackson’s team leader,” George reminds him coldly.
“You have a responsibility for his welfare.”
“Yes,
Sir,” Jack raps it out. “No, Sir.”
“Colonel,
I am ORDERING you…”
“With
all due respect, General, if Colonel O’Neill objects so vehemently, it
won’t exactly contribute to the verisimilitude of the masquerade.
And as my orders ARE to secure the naquadah by any and all means
necessary and I don’t work with Dr Jackson on a daily basis, so the
potential for embarrassment to both parties is greatly reduced.
Consequently…” Davis shrugs. “I stand ready to assist.”
Thank
you! I’m glad there’s one guy at this table who doesn’t find the
notion of spending time with me nauseating, even if it is the smarmy
shit. Shame it isn’t my lover, but I guess I can’t have
everything, can I? If I could, I wouldn’t be ME. “I…”
“Thank
you, Major, but the Colonel WILL do his duty,” Hammond snaps, glaring
at Jack.
Gee,
thanks. Underwhelmed, here.
JACK
“I
am very disappointed in you, Colonel,” Hammond tells me coldly.
“Having to be shamed into offering assistance to Dr Jackson by a junior
officer not of this command.”
I
look suitably apologetic and chastened. Dr Jackson’s rigid back
is pointedly turned as he glares out the window of Hammond’s office.
Even
for me, it’s been quite an afternoon. I’ve never pissed off so
many people so much so fast. Hammond is seething because I didn’t
hurl my reputation into the ring right off bat. Simmons and Davis
are pissed because they didn’t get to mess with Daniel, the former with
his mind and the latter…he’s a fluent little fucker I’ll be having
words with at my leisure. Martin is spitting blood.
Literally. He has an orthodontist in his future. I hope he
doesn’t find the Greenland Yellow Pages too challenging a read.
Kovacek is pissed because I dissed him. Teal’c is pissed because
he wants to kill Lysander. He should get in line. I feel
fat and old next to yon Adonis. DAVIS felt fat and old.
Carter and Fraiser are treating me like Jack the Ripper.
I
don’t know a WORD for how mad Daniel is, but I know far too many words
for how HOT he is right now. Oy vay! That SUIT! I
suspect Satan will be skating before I get to touch Daniel again at his
request, but thanks to my subtly conveyed concern for my reputation
during the briefing, I’m under direct orders not to keep my hands off
him, and unfortunately for Daniel, it isn’t in him not to suck it up
and put on a good show for the folks down home.
It’s
a fucking FABULOUS job and I’m THRILLED I get to do him. I
saunter over, spin him around and prop myself casually on the sill next
to him. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest, which used to
murmur ‘Daniel in distress’ but is currently snarling ‘touch me again
and you fucking DIE, O’Neill!’. God, is it any wonder I’m crazy
about him? I can’t wait to get him home and kiss the temper right
off his face.
I
actually think Daniel’s attitude adds to the overall romantic effect,
because only someone who loves you THIS much could get THIS mad.
However, my general is cutting his eyes disapprovingly at the meagre
show of togetherness. Tragically for Daniel, orders ARE orders,
and I do follow them even on occasions when I don't want to. Some
occasions, anyway. I reach out and twine my fingers through
his. He puts up quite a fight and kicks me surreptitiously yet
viciously in the shin at one point but I persist and he sullenly
subsides.
“I
hate this,” Daniel complains to Hammond, ostentatiously ignoring
me. “I absolutely hate this.”
God,
I LOVE my job. Fucking love it. Love him too. If I
don’t get to kiss him right there in the gateroom at least once I’m
walking. I’m slipping THAT much, they should just put me out to
pasture. Kindest thing.
Verisimilitude.
Love that word. That word gets me Daniel in my bed right here on
base under orders if we can’t show Santa and his horny little helpers
the wormhole toot sweet. Hammond is sneaking in an emergency camp
bed but unless he’s sleeping on it…
Daniel
is so goddamn hot and horny he’s about ready to explode. If
Hammond wasn’t playing third banana, Danny is so worked up he’d jump
me, right now, right here. Jeez, second day of dating and I get
make-up sex!
"This
way," Teal'c's grave voice sounds outside Hammond's office and a moment
later he ushers Santa and Son and Heir into the office. Teal'c
bows out at Hammond's unmistakeable signal. We haven't had time
to brief him on Operation Don't Ask Don't Tell.
I
eye Son and Heir. Sonovabitch more like.
Nobody,
and I mean NOBODY should look THAT good in a frickin' DRESS. Even
Teal'c was walking tall there. Son and Heir there is like John
Cusack's smarter, sexier, bigger, built brother. In fact, the
only guy who isn't smacked straight in the masculinity is Daniel, but
then in his case, it's pot and kettle. If Daniel wasn't shy, and
nice, and didn't love reading every frickin' guy on this base would
hate him with a passion.
Sandy's
eyes go straight to my hand, oh-so-casually holding Daniel's. On
the surface anyway. Reality is still pissed as hell and venting
on my fingers. I know Daniel told me he could grind flour but he
failed to mention he does fingers too.
Sandy
takes a hasty step forward, face freezing. "What is the meaning
of this?" he spits.
You
don't get to have him, you don't get to have him, you don't get to have
him, he’s MINE!, MINE!!, MINE!!!
Hey.
I am TOTALLY in touch with my inner child, and Psyche Kid is totally
fucking hell-bent on getting the rest of me in touch with the inner
archaeologist, ASAP.
"I
regret that we didn't respond to your generous offer right there in the
gateroom," Hammond says smoothly, "but the matter is one of great
delicacy as I'm sure you can appreciate. Dr Jackson is in fact
involved, as you can see." He gestures lightly at Daniel and me
as he ushers Santa and Sandy into seats and takes his own.
Sandy
is shooting killing looks at me and reproachful, longing glances at
Daniel. Daniel is fielding the reproach and batting back
sorrowful sympathy. Sandy gets the big blue-eyed charm, which is
exactly what got Daniel in this mess in the first place and I get
fe-fi-fo-fummed?
What
part of MINE, MINE, MINE don't they get? I'm the POSSESSIVE
type. This SHOULD be obvious. And if it's not, I'll MAKE it.
"He
and Colonel O'Neill have been together for some time now, but have
chosen not to reveal their relationship in accordance with our customs
here on Earth," Hammond explains sympathetically.
"Daniel
spoke of Sha'uri!" Sandy argues.
"Be
at peace, my son," Acteon soothes. "Remember your love is with us
even now. You do him no honour with your hasty words and
accusations."
"My
regret," Sandy bows his head to Santa and Daniel.
I'm
still getting the 'Homicide: Blood In The Office' treatment.
"Colonel
O'Neill's feelings for Dr Jackson are of long standing," Hammond
announces gravely. "It was his honour alone that bade him wait
until Dr Jackson had truly mourned the loss of Sha'uri. His
actions are such as to command MY respect."
I
stare narrowly at Hammond. Yeah, I think he would respect that,
given he just hit the nail on the head. Or he would if he
actually had a clue it was the truth, possibly in the five minutes it
would take him to draw up my retirement papers.
"Agreed,"
Acteon nods approvingly. "We would wish no less an observance in
respect of Daniel's loss."
Sandy
bows again. "You speak with care of your customs now, but Daniel
spoke freely of them at Damae. I have his word that he would let
the judgement of no man turn from what he knew to be right. If we
are to believe this love is right, why then was it not spoken of by
Daniel or by any other man? If there is shame in it for Daniel
and for this...O'Neill," he spits, "It cannot be right and must be put
aside."
"The
feeling are not wrong, Lysander," Daniel says softly, "But Jack serves
in the military and it is the policy, the LAW of the military that such
relationships are not spoken of."
"That's
correct," Hammond agrees.
For
the record, don't ask don't tell BITES. Daniel glances at me,
then again, for a long moment. His face melts suddenly…my heart
thuds sickeningly at the warmth in his eyes, the tiny smile playing
about his mouth. I know that ‘still can’t believe his luck’
face. Same face I kissed awake this morning. I tighten my
grip on Daniel involuntarily and he relaxes, returning my clasp instead
of fighting me. I’m thinking of suckling that champagne out of
his navel. Got my reservations for the Big Date. A
cancellation, the only way we could get the Dale Street gig before
Christmas. Dinner and Billy Joel covers in the Garden Room with a
Daniel who can look at me like this? God, I can’t WAIT.
Shame we’re working this weekend, we could have had a dry run.
Worked out the kinks.
Kinks.
Does
he have kinks?
"There
are consequences in the breaking of this law you speak of?" Sandy asks
smoothly.
"Indeed,"
Hammond agrees.
"Then
why is it spoken of now?" he snaps.
"Out
of respect for…" Hammond tries.
"I
do not believe you. If the law is to be silent you had only to
refuse the eggue and allow us to go on our way. Instead you would
have us believe these two are lovers so we give up our claim on Daniel
and still you take the price for him, is that not so?" he demands
edgily. "You want only this metal we have and you seek. I
tell you now, it offends my honour greatly to barter with such as
yourself. You say you seek to become philoi to the Yjro, but I
tell you true your thought is to be philoi to the metal only and I name
you ekhthroi to the Yjro for the liars you are. Daniel is not as
you, 'tis you who make him so."
Sandy
is one smart fucker. Hell, I'd fight to the death for Daniel
myself. "Ekhthroi?"
"Enemies,"
Daniel confirms gloomily.
Oops.
Guess we can kiss the naquadah goodbye.
"You're
right that Dr Jackson is bound to obey orders, but that doesn't change
the nature of his relationship with Colonel O'Neill, which he is
revealing now only to assure you of our good intentions towards you and
your people. We're prepared to trade other items of value for the
naquadah."
"You
have nothing we seek, excepting Daniel himself," Acteon announces
coldly. "We did not seek to trade with you, but to meet the price you
set for Daniel's hand."
"That's
what you thought this was all along," Hammond sighs wearily as he
answers his own question. "There's no possibility you might
reconsider and trade for technology or medicines?"
"We
would name you metoikoi and trade in kind if there could be trust
between us, but we do not believe this tale you have spun to keep
Daniel from Lysander's side," Acteon snaps.
Lysander's
bed more like.
Hammond
brightens up. "Well, then, if Lysander could be persuaded to stay
the night and judge for himself the relationship between Colonel
O'Neill and Dr Jackson," he invites.
That'd
do it. Happen to love the guy. Nothing will convince Sandy
we’re in love quicker and better than me driving Daniel into a
full-blown linguistic snit.
I
should NOT be thinking blow.
"A
night? If I could not see their love between one beat of the
heart and the next, how then am I to see it in a night?" Sandy sneers.
He
been hanging out with that Narim guy? He whitters on just as
embarrassingly.
"We're
not good at showing our feelings, Lysander," Daniel says gently.
"Neither of us."
Tell
it. And while you’re in the mood, tell me about KINKS.
"Perhaps
it is not in the speaking of it, but in the doing," Acteon muses.
"I agree a night is not enough to judge."
"SG-1
is scheduled to go off-world tomorrow," Hammond says calmly. "One
night is all I can authorise."
“It
does not matter,” Sandy sneers. “I will not believe this
lie. If the law of your military is that this is never to be
spoken of, what then will be the consequences for O’Neill if you speak
of it now? A night is not enough to judge.”
“You
speak wisely, my son,” Acteon praises. “If this affair were all
you would have us believe it to be, then you could have no objections
to an honour-guard of peltasts for Daniel.”
“And
that would entail?” Hammond asks cautiously.
“Peltasts?”
Daniel perks up.
Typical.
I can’t get him interested in ‘Guns & Ammo’ AT gunpoint but wave a
hint of a ceremonial spear and the man is TOAST.
“The
honour-guard would remain in the oikos of O’Neill and Daniel for three
moons,” Sandy gloats.
“That
is OUR law,” Acteon snaps. “If you will not accede, we will
declare you ekhthroi and leave this place.”
“In
my HOUSE?” For three months? I can’t survive another NIGHT
of downtime let alone three months, and if Daniel and I HAD public sex,
I’d have to retire. Daniel can’t have a lover who’s
RETIRED. It would be TOO embarrassing for him. Plus we have
shit to do like, I dunno…fuck the snakes over?
Hammond
just closes his eyes in pain.
Fuuuuck.
We
are SOOO not getting the naquadah.
Daniel
stalks at my side, head held high as we escort Santa and Sandy down to
the Gateroom. He’s absolutely furious about the fact I’m
blatantly strolling along with a song in my heart, though fortunately
not on my lips, and my hand clenched around his. He caved after
the first few undignified tugs. I don’t know what his
problem is. We tried. We failed, but we DID try. Call
me a crazy optimist but I happen to feel if I keep up the lovey-dovey
stuff until they actually book through the gate, there’s a chance
they’ll change their minds. French-kissing Daniel on the ramp
might help. It really might. Verisimilitude and all that.
And
if it doesn’t help them, it WILL help me satisfy an ambition I’ve had
for a couple of years now. I’m never gonna get naked porno
Spacemonkey in the gateroom but a nice kiss could ease me through the
pain of another dream crushed.
I
think Daniel’s stalking has a lot to do with the sorrowful and
sympathetic looks directed my way by my fellow Airmen, not to mention
the choked sniggers and abrupt exits. I wish memos travelled this
fast. Half an hour of fruitless arguing – us – and haranguing –
them – in Hammond’s office, and the ENTIRE base knows I was ordered on
pain of court martial to make the supreme sacrifice for and with my
linguist.
Give
it another fifteen and they’ll know it was all for nothing.
Hammond, bless him, is still trying to convince them that our interest
in the naquadah is humanitarian or something but he may as well give it
up. We’re not sending Daniel off for ninety days of hide the
papyrus with Sandy, and we can’t move Sandy into my spare room.
Daniel gets fucked either way.
The
Yjro think we fucked them over and there’s not a damn thing we can do
about that. Daniel and I are telling the absolute truth.
It’s a big honkin’ joke. Half the base thinks I’ve been fucking
Daniel for years and nobody believes us when we claim to be in
love. French-kissing him in the gateroom may not be enough.
I could…no. I couldn’t. Daniel has fond memories so I have
to play nice, I guess.
We
stand in respectful silence as the gate kerwhooshes. Santa and
Sandy march up the ramp and spit something at Hammond that makes Daniel
do a pit-bull impression.
The
general sighs when the wormhole disengages and we all stand for a
moment staring at the bare concrete wall out back of the gate.
Hammond sighs heavily and turns to give Daniel a commiserating pat.
“This
was not your fault, Dr Jackson,” he announces for the fascinated
audience, all of whom should be at home.
“Hallucinogenic
fruit juice could have happened to ANYONE,” I weigh in supportively.
Daniel
snorts disdainfully and turns his back on me.
Okay,
it COULDN’T. I’m TRYING here.
“I’ll
deal with Simmons and Davis,” Hammond informs us wearily.
I
can’t help but notice the lieutenant and the good sergeant snap bolt
upright at their consoles, looking slightly panicky. I cut my
finger across my throat meaningfully and look 'sympathetic' as Hammond
turns away to console Daniel.
“Why
don’t you go on home?” he orders Daniel kindly. “Jack?” he
prompts meaningfully as the colour floods Daniel’s face.
Like
I’m Daniel’s daddy or something. Oy.
“Dismissed,”
Hammond orders and heads off, leaving me to deal with Daniel.
I
glance at Daniel. Gee, thanks Homer. Anything BAD happens
to me in here, at least the techs will catch the footage. “Shall
we?” I gesture grandly at the exit. Daniel turns on his heel and
makes like a greyhound.
I
catch up with him and, regrettably, SG-2 at the elevator. They
got no reason to be down here, so…I glance at Ferretti. Okay,
they got ONE reason to be down here. To make Daniel’s life a
living hell for as long as it takes for him to realise they LIKE him.
The
more a guy gives you hell, the more he likes you, which means Ferretti
apparently worships the ground Daniel walks on and amiably tolerates my
continued existence.
“Jeez,
Colonel, all this time and I never knew you and the Doc were goin’
steady,” Ferretti teases, shaking his head over the tragedy of it
all. The guys snigger. “Talk about bein’ outta the loop!”
“Don’t
you men have anything better to do?” I snap as Daniel shifts
uncomfortably. He’s not exactly God’s own definition of a fluent
liar.
“No,
Si…”
I
glare at the idiot who was just firmly stepped on by his
teammates. Literally. He’s yelping.
“YES,
Sir,” Technical Sergeant Evans - who’s about a foot wider than I am -
raps out.
“Well
go and DO it.” I love having this full bird on my shoulder, did I
mention that? I love gettin' people to obey me. I just wish
it worked on certain other people, especially when you bring ‘bed’ into
the equation. ‘Sir’. It’s a turn on. He could at
least THINK about it.
Ferretti
shoots me a ‘wuss’ look and herds his men into the elevator car.
Then he grins at me. “You guys start eatin’ quiche, I’ll worry.”
"Oh,
Daniel," I call, stretching comfortably out on Daniel’s bed, in
Daniel’s spot, obviously.
"Fuck
off."
Yeah,
I love you too, Danny. "My hand slipped, I swear."
"From
my shoulder to my ASS?" Daniel snarls, with much vindictive clashing
echoing out from the bathroom. "Which it then SQUEEZED.
Right in FRONT of everybody."
Everybody
being Carter and Teal'c who both thought I could have given it more
gas. “It was just a JOKE, Daniel. I was trying to lighten
things up.” I’ve been to funerals more fun than that
debacle. Excuse me, debriefing. Simmons is a first class
PRICK. He doesn’t like ANY of us, Daniel especially. Teal’c
had to LOOM to shut him up, which he did fairly convincingly. I
couldn’t get NEAR Daniel for Carter and Fraiser, so I had to enjoy
myself in a limited way venting all over Davis. Not the tech
guy. The other one. Slim ‘n’ Slimy. I wanted to slip
Daniel the tongue in the gateroom. I won’t get to.
EVER. That’s plenty right there to vent about FOR ever.
I
think in my own modest way I was fairly successful in convincing the
debriefees that if they said word one to Daniel I’d fucking kill them,
Carter and Fraiser included. My mood has not improved since
Daniel’s guilt over his Drinking Problem manifested itself in an
emphatic refusal to allow me to peel him out of that suit. He
stalked off into his bathroom and has been undressing in there behind a
locked door since we got home. I made hurt noises about the door
being locked and he indignantly accused me of picking his lock.
I’ve
never picked Daniel’s lock. I’m pretty sure I’d remember.
It’s either a metaphor or there is WAY more going on Daniel’s head
about me than I ever imagined. Which is great, obviously, if only
Daniel would come to realise it.
No
pun intended.
I
DO mean that literally, and starting any minute now, I hope.
"Either
you have the razor sharp reflexes of a throw rug or you're a prick who
is SO not getting any, not ANY time soon!" Daniel threatens
dangerously, arriving from his protracted stay in the bathroom
endearingly damp and ruffled and filling the evening’s jammies
selection BEAUTIFULLY.
"HEL-lo!"
I sit bolt upright. Woo Hoo! How can FLANNEL be so fucking
sexy? Heathery-purpley flannel this time. The fuzzies
CLING. EVERYWHERE. Totally fucking EDIBLE. It's
incredible how much of a turn on they are when we're still at the stage
of not having actually been naked together. I've held Daniel's
dick in my hand, and like the rest of him, it's a thing of beauty, but
I like the fuzzies. I REALLY like them. They could add a
lot to the as yet unexplored option of friction.
I
flip up a corner of the quilt insouciantly and pat the bed invitingly.
Daniel
sighs heart-rendingly and slides nervously into the bed beside me,
biting his lip. He rolls onto his side, one VERY stiff back
pointedly turned.
I
figure we're ALL gonna die sooner or later and I may as well go with a
smile on Daniel's face, so I spoon in and pull him back against my
chest, my arms crossing over his to hold him close. That's
all. I toss a leg over his too, just lean into him and nuzzle at
his nape.
Daniel
shivers. "Prick."
"I
know," I murmur soothingly. He didn't mean to, he actually asked
if that stuff was alcoholic BEFORE he drank it, and he had no way to
know that would lead to this. I know he's sorry, and I know he's
humiliated. Hammond isn’t blaming him, I’m not blaming him, and
après Teal’c, Simmons isn’t blaming him. Davis, Carter and
Fraiser are apparently blaming me for not being with him in the first
place, and Teal’c is backing them up. Re Daniel’s absences?
One very unhappy Jaffa made it clear he does not wish this state of
affairs to continue. I’m blaming Martin, and Daniel is blaming
himself.
"I
am SO not buying this 'I'm sleeeeeping' act," I whisper into his ear.
Then I nibble on it, gently tugging the lobe between my teeth.
Daniel shivers again as I trace the curve with my tongue.
"Jack,"
he whispers a soft protest.
Mm-hm.
Easiest thing in the world for me to trail kisses down onto his throat,
to settle in and feast on his soap-scented skin. Daniel turns
jerkily in my arms and his hands come up to frame my face. I let
him pull me down for a kiss, let him nibble and tug in his turn at my
lower lip, let him thrust into my mouth and suck out my tonsils. I only
smile when his hands tangle urgently in my hair, nowhere near as urgent
as his lips on mine, his tongue over mine. He pulls at me and I move
over him, lower my whole weight onto him, easy nudges of my knees
enough to part his thighs.
Daniel
looks away from me, biting his lip as my weight settles snugly, my body
reacting instantly to the feel of him beneath me, to his arousal.
He's not used to it, not used to his nearness making my dick swell and
throb against him, or his against me. He needs a moment to
process, then he smiles shyly up at me, eyes brilliant, accepting,
wanting.
"Jeez,
took you long enough to take the hint," Daniel complains gently.
I
look a question and he nods, swallowing. I take it slow and easy,
hitching up to tug at his waistband. Daniel's fingers stroke over
my shaking ones as I smooth the fabric down over his hips, all the way
down this time, until he's naked and blushing from the way my eyes are
devouring him.
He
takes a deep breath and pushes at my own emergency night-wear, which is
also my non-emergency underwear and I - okay, I help him. Can't
get the buggers off quick enough. Daniel nibbles his lip, brow
wrinkling thoughtfully as he strokes gentle fingers down over my
belly. He's looking only at my face, guess there's a lot of me to
take in first time out, but he explores tentatively lower until he
skims into my pubic hair. Daniel falters but the sweet, intense
look doesn't; his hand keeps right on moving slowly down. He
jerks as violently as my dick does when he takes me in his hand.
"Jesus,"
I groan softly, toppling forward, barely taking my weight on my hands
in time. Daniel is getting a clue, he's holding a clue what he
does to me, just how fucking BAD I want him. I've got no pride,
no shame in me. I am going to DIE if we don't...
"Let's
make love," Daniel pleads urgently. "Let's…God, Jack, I'm SORRY,
I'm SO…"
"Don't
be," I say roughly, dropping my head to tongue his nipples mercilessly
'til he writhes, wantonly arching up into me. It's not pathetic
to wait, not if I get THIS, get HIM, wanting me like this, hands
yanking me down, close, closer.
"Jack,"
he sighs, straining up to kiss me.
I
meet him halfway, take him first in my arms and then down to the
bed. "Ah, Danny." Love you. Don't you know
that? "Danny." The first slow glide of my dick over his has
both of us shuddering, we're both so hard, so hot, so fucking
READY. I love having him like this, the firm, vital length of him
wrapped around me, so generous, so giving. He's awkward, clashing, but
so very willing. So very sweet and willing, opening up to me
completely as I rock and roll, going in HOT.
So
long I've dreamed of making love to him like this, so many ways, and
the reality is so much more. He's so perfect, soft and hard at
once, satin skin taut over heavy bone and sleek muscle. Strong,
but so gentle, gentling me despite myself, clashing only because I'm
moving too fast for him. I slow and he FLOWS into me, sighing his
pleasure.
"Good?"
I ask softly, and Daniel nods vigorously. I sense he's gaining in
confidence when his legs wrap around mine, toes gently massaging down
my calves as his hands start to wander. Up into my hair, to roll
the strands between his fingers, skimming down to trace the arch of my
jaw, over my lips.
I
can take a hint; Daniel's soft, inviting eyes are enough. I drop
my head and we kiss lingeringly as Daniel roams far and regrettably
wide, particularly at the ass end. He touches delicately, strokes
inquisitively and finally fondles, squeezes, kneads and generally
gropes every accessible inch of me with gratifying enthusiasm and
little murmurs of surprise and appreciation.
Apparently
I'm hard. Hairy. Heavy. Hot. Horny.
"Did
I mention hairy?" Daniel asks in between a lot of distracting nips at
my shoulder.
Did
he mention HORNY?
He
mentioned heavy. Heavy?
Daniel
is smooooth. Died and gone to Clinique heaven here. I'm
picking up the pace again, can't help myself, but Daniel is with me,
bracing his feet against the bed to rock and thrust up to meet
me. His breath is quickening, beads of sweat standing proud
everywhere I look. With his legs lifted either side of me, I
reach out and stroke the droplets the length of his thigh, lifting my
fingers first to my mouth, then to his.
What
he does to me.
I
look into those blinding eyes and have to figure…what I do for
him. Already.
Life
is GOOD.
Probably
gonna die.
Dying
happy.
"Oh,
Go-o-od, Ja-aack," Daniel groans, back arching high off the bed as I
angle my hips and glide powerfully, jolting him beneath me.
"Oh,
YEAH, Danny, yeah," I gloat. We LIKE that. We like that a
LOT. Come and GET IT. I drive into him as he urgently
thrusts against me, fingers scrabbling for purchase on my slick
skin. He arches hard enough to lift us both clear of the bed and
I go with it, toppling onto my back, Daniel shoving my shoulders flat
in his desperation. We roll around until I'm wrapped round him
and go MENTAL, bucking and heaving madly, grinding into one another,
more clenched teeth than kissing as we tumble around the bed.
I'm
close, both of us close, as the friction eases and our bodies slip and
slide. I clench my fingers into Daniel's luscious ass, haul him
in as close as I can plaster him to me as we writhe and strain
together, beyond subtlety, grunting and gasping harshly as the pleasure
builds and muscles tighten.
Daniel
drops his head and does his damndest to suck my orgasm out my mouth as
he screws his hips desperately into mine, almost sobbing with need.
Not
a dry eye in the house.
Daniel
wheezes as my arms tighten convulsively around him, throws back his
head and in a moment of intense stillness lets out a low, keening cry
as he comes explosively, slick heat splashing over me as his dick
spasms.
I've
rarely seen a sight as beautiful as Daniel like this, flushed beet-red,
sweat rolling and dripping, wide open to me, his gentle mouth agape in
silent, screaming ecstasy as he comes and comes, raw and real and so
much mine in this moment I feel sick with wanting…and keeping.
LoveyouloveyouloveyouMIIIINE…"Ah,
Christ, DANNY," I howl as I come, my death grip on Daniel's quaking,
shuddering body not letting up for an instant.
MINE.
They'll
have to fucking KILL me to make me let him go.
So-o.
This is P2C-123. "Don't tell me, the cheque's in the mail," I
call as flashlights flare around me. The darkness seems to
swallow the beams, virtually at our feet.
"I
don't understand it, Sir," Carter's voice falls away, muffled by the
walls of the chamber we know is out there. Somewhere.
I
don't know about time, but distance is definitely relative when there's
only a battery between you and that chummy coffin-for-four
feeling. "The lights were ON when we left, right?"
"Right,"
Carter confirms. "The power must have malfunctioned while we were en
route."
"Fan
out and don't fall on your faces," I order wearily. "Carter, find
the MALP and hit the lights. Daniel, check on the DHD.
Teal'c, you're with me. Take the right flank, I'll take the
left. Perimeter search. As in, FIND the perimeter."
"We're
only looking at a distance of about forty metres, Jack," Daniel calls
encouragingly.
The
flashlight beams edge cautiously down the steps and away from the dais
the gate is sitting on. I hate gates in locked rooms. You
get your brain sucked out or your life stolen or your head almost
shaved. Gates in locked rooms are BAAAAD.
"Ready?"
Carter calls.
Everyone
turns to protect their slowly adjusting night vision as the powerful
lights on the MALP pierce the darkness to gloom.
"Got
it," Daniel calls cheerfully. "I'm oriented now. Want me to
make for the front of the chamber and the stele with the panels of text
the MALP detected?"
"Be
careful," I give permission as I pace slowly out of the little pool of
gloom towards where the MALP telemetry says the wall should be.
My carefully fumbling fingers finally hit wall; a little pitted,
metallic, not dissimilar in colour to Daniel's jammies, and shot
through with veins of gold. We didn't see a door, but we did see
the gold. I want buried treasure. Daniel wants ancient
mythic culture. Carter wants toys that don't go kaboom.
Teal'c still wants to kill Simmons.
We
came, we ain't seen squat and we're conquering shit.
"Carter?
Take the rear wall, behind the gate." A fingertip search in the
dark for a door we couldn't see with the lights on? Woo. Do I
know how to show my kids a good time or do I? I skim along the
pitted metal and the occasional slickness of the gold. "Daniel?"
"Phoebe!"
"Feeble?
No need to get personal there."
"PhoeBE,"
Daniel corrects excitedly. "One of the original Titans, Titan of
the Moon. She's known as Gold-Crowned Phoebe, daughter of Uranus
and Gaea. I think the way out is via solving a riddle. A
pretty simple riddle, actually."
"DO
tell," I drawl.
"Well
I would if you'd stop interrupting, Jack," Daniel says patiently.
"Everybody stay where you are. I'm heading over to the front wall
to check out something, just give me a minute."
"Hold
your positions," I call, leaning against the wall. Days like
these, shoulda stayed in bed. I grin in the general direction of
the snatches of muttered archaeological comments and
imprecations. Especially the bed I was in. Huge, honkin'
bed, stairs up to it and all the modern conveniences, including hot and
cold running Daniel. More hot than cold. WAY more.
Triple header. Feeling NOO pain this morning. Except the
usual pain in the ass. "Daniel." Get ON with it. I
could scrub the mission, take my kids home figuratively and Daniel home
literally and then I could scrub Daniel. I’ve got everything the
discerning bather requires, including inflatable fruit.
"Got
it!" Daniel calls triumphantly. "The gold tracery isn't
random. I've found an icon, a pattern suggestive of a crown and
it's directly opposite the gate. You can see where this is
going!" he adds excitedly.
"Daniel,
I can't even see where I'M going," I bitch.
"This
is the door," Daniel sounds a little deflated.
"You're
assuming it's the door," Carter corrects. "Is the tracery
raised? Anything that looks like it might be…"
"A
handle?" I interrupt.
"Concealing
the door mechanism," Carter finishes regardless.
I
can feel the glare from here, even if I can’t see it.
"Are
you able to detect the outlines of the door, DanielJackson?" Teal'c
calls. "If there is sufficient purchase we may be able to force
the door ajar."
"Or
blow it," I suggest.
"I'd
rather try to locate the door mechanism first, Sir," Carter insists.
"Ah,
purl one, Carter."
"Sir?"
As
in what the hell are you whittering on about, Sir.
"Relax,
Carter, just needling you."
"Sir."
As
in shut up, Sir.
"OR
YOU COULD ALL JUST GIVE ME A MINUTE SO I CAN OPEN THE DAMN DOOR."
"Daniel!"
"DanielJackson."
"PIS-SY.
What side of whose bed did you get out of this morning?"
"Sir!"
"O'Neill."
Yeah,
yeah. What? I can't tease him just 'cause I love him and he
stupidly caved and had sex with me? Where's the fun in
that? I am NOTHING if not multi-skilled. And pushy, that
goes without saying.
"Listen,
I don't think this place was built by the Goa'uld. I think they
found it after it was abandoned. The stele contains panels of
Goa'uld text, but the symbols on the door aren't glyphs, they're
RUNES," Daniel announces dramatically.
And?
So? But? Who gives a damn, just open the DOOR already.
"The
Goa'uld have taken full advantage of a fortuitous coincidence.
Phoebe is the Titan of the MOON. The gate is obviously symbolic
of the FULL MOON," Daniel snaps.
"It
is?" Carter and I snap right back.
"Explain,
DanielJackson."
"Is
there ANY way we can STOP him?" I demand. Jeez, big guy, don't
encourage him! We'll be here for EVER and I've got suds and
inflatable fruit plans.
"The
cycle of the moon is one of the key symbols of the Ancients
culture. Stargate, stone circle, sympathetic magic," Daniel
sing-songs rapidly.
The
silence is the silence of the damned.
"Cosmogony,"
Daniel sighs. "Stonehenge is aligned with phases of the moon as
well as the sun. The moon is more than simply a convenient time
keeping device. The moon's waxing to maturity as a full moon and
waning to invisibility as a new moon in myth symbolises the same
universal law of birth and death that govern human life.
Stonehenge has alignments not just to the moon at summer and winter
solstice but to the significant standstills."
"I
think I know where you're going with this," Carter calls. "Which
phases do you think we should be looking for?"
She
always says she thinks she knows where he's going and she usually only
knows where he's been.
"If
the gate is full and the door is directly opposite, which makes it new
- that fits, the door equating with the beginning of the cycle - I'd
say we're looking for waxing and waning," Daniel suggests brightly.
"Forty-five
degrees, counter-clockwise from the gate," Carter orders briskly.
"Teal'c?"
"Major
Carter?"
"Okay,
you sound as if you're about two thirds of the way down the wall.
The chamber is square, so could you head over to the back wall and pace
it out back to me?"
"I
will," Teal'c affirms.
"Don't
try this at home," I mutter. I can feel my mission report
biting. The high-point of the mission was Teal'c pacing the
length of the wall. It was dark, but we knew he was there.
"I
took twenty-four paces, Major Carter," Teal'c confirms.
"O-kaay.
Turn and pace back to Daniel, roughly six paces," Carter orders.
"And
trace the gold veins in the wall for an icon, a pattern suggestive of a
crescent moon," Daniel orders just as briskly. "Jack…"
"On
my way," I call, heading back towards Carter.
"The
waning moon, Jack." Daniel prompts.
"I
SAID I'm on my way." What do they think I have my telescope
FOR? Apart from spying on the neighbours that is.
"Two
hundred and seventy degrees, Sir," Carter calls helpfully.
Which
is twelve paces-ish and then I too can have the joy of not just walking
a wall in darkness but feeling it up. I march up twelve paces,
lower my weapon and fondle the wall. “You remember what happened
the last time I did this?”
“Yes,”
Daniel responds flatly.
“Bad
enough having to learn that language once, but being forced to go
through it all again,” I grumble. Waste of time.
Literally. All those loops when I could have been molesting
Daniel I spent learning the language of the Ancients with Joe the Latin
schmo. I feel around, thinking it would be easier if I took off
my gloves but that is not an option. I may be a first-class shit
but frankly, my objective is to get the hell out of here and go do the
molestation thing to Danny with my watermelon slice. The banana
is just TOO obvious.
A
random swipe at face-height reveals a vein of gold which I follow up
and around. I’ve hung out with kids. I’ve seen kid
art. It’s wobbly and amorphous, but it’s a crescent moon
alright. “Got it. Face height.”
“Teal’c?”
Daniel prompts.
“I
too have located a shape which resembles a crescent moon,
DanielJackson.”
“Now
what?” I ask.
“Are
there any markings in the crescent or on the floor near it?” Daniel
asks intently.
The
flashlight isn’t exactly picking up fine detail here, but I do see a
faint sheen in the purpley metal that looks like…”I found a golden
crown.”
“As
have I.”
“What
happens when you touch it?” Carter asks.
“The
crown glows,” Teal’c reports.
“Mine
doesn’t.” If Teal’c’s does, and mine doesn’t, and the only
difference between us is Junior…”Carter, get over here, Joli it up for
me.” I’m not completely dumb. I’ve been known to string a
coherent thought in my time. Daniel + Jack = hot animal
sex. That’s a good one, right there.
“Yes,
Sir,” Carter acknowledges, sounding a little irritated I got in first.
I
mosey on over towards Daniel as Carter slips into position behind
me. “You glowing?” I call back.
“Sir.”
“I’ve
been thinking.” Silence greets this pronouncement. Not
flattering silence. Sceptical. “The Titans? Not just
a football team, right?” Silence. “Old gods. Old
Greek gods, right?”
“Ri-ight,”
Daniel sounds like he’s regretting admitting even that.
“Cronus
was a Titan. You said so.” I distinctly remember. And
WAS is very much the operative word.
“Ye-es.”
“Well,
hard as it is to imagine a Goa’uld named Phoebe, if Phoebe was a Titan,
at some point she had to be a Goa’uld. Right?” It seems
logical to me.
“I
am unfamiliar with that name, O’Neill.”
“Humour
me! There’s a point to this,” I complain. Not just the
point of getting over here and groping Daniel where no one can see us,
but that plays a definite part. “We know sweet F.A about the
Goa’uld pre-Tau’ri slave scum hosts, but we know the Goa’uld originated
on a planet full of Unas.”
“You’re
suggesting the Unas were the Titans?” Daniel sounds interested.
“It
makes sense to me, Sir,” Carter agrees.
“If
Cronus,” Teal’c spits the name, “was himself a Titan, then he too once
had an Unas host.”
“You’re
suggesting the Goa’uld traded up for hosts who offered more than basic
transportation and brute physical strength. They arrived en masse
on Earth, took humans as hosts and assumed the roles of our gods,”
Daniel says approvingly. “The progeny of the Titans, the First
Ones, creating themselves roles as lesser gods in the pantheon.
Many of the later gods assumed the attributes of the older gods they
replaced, which fits what we know of the war of attrition the Goa’uld
have been waging for millennia, the progeny killing their parents and
each other to secure their position. Excellent reasoning, Jack,”
Daniel admires.
Yup.
I was thinking what he said. More or less. Maybe
less. In the privacy of my own head, a LOT less, but still, he’s
feeling fairly receptive now so it’s the perfect time for me to arrive
at Daniel’s behind.
“Okay,
I think I have the correct sequence of runes here; Sam, Teal’c, if
you’ll just keep your hands over the devices,” Daniel announces crisply
as he treads heavily on my foot just as I’m reaching out for him.
“Ow!”
I hiss. “Devices? Those little moony things?”
“If
you didn’t trigger the device to glow, it’s Goa’uld technology,” Daniel
explains absently, grinding his heel into my foot. “It works for
Sam because of the Naquadah in her blood and for Teal’c…”
“Because
of the symbiote I carry,” Teal’c informs us.
I
think I GOT that at the TIME. “I hope Daniel doesn’t fry you
where you stand,” I call cheerfully. “These locked room thingies
tend to blow up in our faces.” I reach out and…
“Get
your hand off my ass, Jack,” Daniel murmurs coldly.
"I
kneaded you."
“You
prick!" Daniel hisses indignantly. "Ready, you two?” he calls.
They
make encouraging noises. Time to book. Just in case.
For the protection of his team, any responsible team leader would…”Get
your foot off my foot, Daniel!”
Daniel
snorts and by the light of a wavery flashlight, begins to randomly
activate a series of runes I can JUST make out lightly embossed in the
wall. They push in a fraction and stay in as Daniel presses them,
lighting to the same soft glow Carter and Teal’c are triggering.
Probably completes a circuit running through these veins of gold.
Or gold coloured stuff. Something conductive anyway; the shit is
powered. Not bad. Not bad at all. The gate activation
drops the lights, it’s pitch dark when you get here and if you didn’t
know the little suckers were there to start with, and you didn't have a
couple of Goa’uld or Jaffa with you, nothing would work anyway, so
you’d one-eighty and book.
Daniel
pushes in a seventh symbol and then there was light. All the
glyphs here and where Carter and Teal’c are waiting glow white hot, and
the door, which is right where Daniel said it was, moves noiselessly
upwards.
That’s
my boy.
I
edge through the doorway, check it out. We’re at a dead end, the
corridor turning to the right about ten metres ahead of us. The
walls are all the same as the gateroom, though out here the gold veins
are more obvious as power conduits because they’re running down and
across the walls in patterns I can tell from here aren’t random.
Daniel carefully checks the runes on this side of the door. No
point going in if we can’t get back out.
Carter
slips past me and takes point, I drop in behind her, Daniel behind me
and Teal’c brings up the rear.
“Good
job,” I praise Daniel. “You sure you can re-open it from this
side?”
“Positive,”
Daniel assures me cheerfully.
“He’s
full of shit,” I tell the other two solemnly. Carter and Teal’c
glare at me.
“Old
joke,” Daniel grins.
Carter
sniffs but I think she’ll let me live. Teal’c seems to still be
weighing the odds.
“Let’s
move out. Take it slow and easy.”
My
kids are getting excited. If they’re good, I’ll let them bring
home the new toys the | 
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