SAM
"Dr
Jackson? I have a mission for you," the general says a tad
regretfully.
Typical.
The rest of SG-1 gets downtime, we finally get a chance to touch base
with our elusive archaeologist and he's snatched away from us.
Yet again.
Or
should I say snatched away from Colonel O'Neill? The grin on the
colonel's face is slowly congealing.
"Mission?"
he asks, with that light yet cutting sarcastic inflexion only he can
manage.
Two
possible interpretations here. The colonel could come off as
disrespectful of Daniel's ability to handle tying his own shoelaces, or
as deeply resentful of being deprived of the pleasure of Daniel's
company yet again. Daniel is stiffening a little, hearing the
former. I KNOW it's the latter, and unfortunately, the colonel
thinks it's something else entirely. SG-1 being deprived of it's
fourth yet again, or some other comfortable rationalisation for getting
this pissy this quickly.
"Dr
Steven Rayner has approached the Egyptian authorities for permission to
excavate the tomb of Osiris."
Daniel
goes a little pale. I shoot him a reassuring look and jump in, to
give him a little breathing room. "The NID cleared the tomb of
incriminating technology, Sir. There's nothing for Dr Rayner to see."
"We're
not sure of that," the general answers. "The operation was of
necessity a snatch and grab, given the circumstances. We couldn't
hide from the authorities that a man was viciously attacked in the tomb
or that a woman disappeared. The operation was severely time
delineated. I can pull the strings that will prevent Dr Rayner from
obtaining official permission to excavate, but there is nothing to stop
him digging illicitly. What's your opinion, Dr Jackson?"
Daniel
sighs. "I think that's entirely possible. Steven -"
Ouch!
The colonel's eyes ice over. 'Steven' indeed! Just how well
do you know this 'Steven', Daniel? Do you LIKE this 'Steven',
Daniel? Do I have to KILL this 'Steven' because you like him,
Daniel?
Holy
Hannah.
I
can't let this go on much longer. It took me a long time to realise the
colonel is in love. Truly, madly, deeply in love. It costs me a
small pain to admit it, but as deeply and profoundly as the colonel is
in love, it hurts him even more excruciatingly to deny it.
"
- was convinced my theories were a quixotic, wasteful fantasy for so
long, his discovery of part of the truth -"
"Enough
to know you were right all along!" I interject.
Daniel
pauses and smiles at me. God, he's adorable when he smiles like
that, so much sweet mischief instead of his usual sweet gravity.
He's always so tentative when he smiles, as if he's either not sure of
the reception he'll get or of the feelings that prompted it. I'm
never sure which, or maybe it's both.
I
really have to say something to the colonel. We changed the
boundaries of our relationship forever when we flirted with - well,
what wasn't meant to be. It was simply a sign the colonel was
reaching out, desperately seeking a connection with another human
being. While trying to deny the consuming, focused passion of his
relationship with Daniel.
I
think he passed over from loving Daniel to being in love with Daniel a
long time ago. In his soul he knows it, but he's so terrified of
the strength of his feeling he can't bring himself to admit it, let
alone act on it. He's pushed Daniel so hard and so far in such a
short space of time it snapped me right out of my cosy, infatuated glow
with a vengeance. I'm probably going to be squirming for months
to come over my own motivations in letting my feelings get out of hand,
but if I've hurt Daniel irreparably I will regret it to the day I die.
"
- will prompt him to take direct action. Steven is passionate in
his beliefs - "
I
care about the colonel, deeply, as much as I've cared for any friend in
my life. I care deeply for Teal'c. We're comrades in arms,
bound together by necessity at first, then by experience and now by
choice. I love Daniel, love him dearly. He's as close to me
as my own blood and I hate that I lost sight of that for some pathetic,
insecure sense I was missing out. If the other Sams had the
colonel, why not me? And yes, I know that's simplistic, doesn't
begin to cover the tangle of emotions that got us into this mess.
I
gave the colonel an out. While he was chasing me and I permitted
it, he was running away from himself and from Daniel, as hard as he
could. It took me a while to see it clearly, extrapolating from
the little clues here and there. I started backing off, conscious
that pursuing any kind of relationship would do the team and my career
no good.
Aw,
come on, Sam. It was staggeringly unprofessional and you let
yourself down! You let the colonel down, and more than anyone
else, you've let Daniel down. Suck it up and FIX it!
"
- as forcefully as he believed I was wrong, I think he'll be determined
to prove the opposite."
"For
his own benefit," I snap. Daniel gives me a reproachful
look. "I heard him, Daniel. HE wanted the discovery."
Come
on, Colonel! Get with the program here! I'll go with
Daniel, happily, kick some major 'Steven' butt, but - ah, gotcha!
The colonel is looking at me searchingly.
Completely
ignoring the all-too probable impact on Daniel's sensitive feelings if
he had the least idea of what I'm up to, I take advantage of being in
the colonel's direct line of sight and give him my all. Slight
upwards roll of the eyes, tightening of the lips. See a threat
you like, Sir? Fanatic. Hates Daniel with a passion, one
borne of jealousy. Got a damn Porsche for God's sake, and he
still -
"Did
he not attempt to convince the authorities of your culpability in the
death of the museum curator?"
Way
to go, Teal'c!
"Sirs,
I'm not at all convinced that Dr Rayner would be anything other than
eager to pursue his discovery and publish it to the world. He's
not out to vindicate Daniel, but to further his own career," I up the
ante.
"At
DanielJackson's expense," Teal'c finishes for me. There's a
slight edge to his voice that suggests to those in the know he'd like
the opportunity to put 'Steven' right on a thing or three vis a vis his
attitude to Daniel.
So
we're overprotective. Big deal! He's DANIEL.
"I'd
say this Rayner guy represents a significant risk to the security of
this facility, General," the colonel says emphatically. "We
should check it out."
The
general looks amused. "I agree. That's why I'm sending Dr
Jackson to Egypt to survey the dig site for any evidence of Goa'uld
activity or technology the NID boys may have missed, and to dissuade Dr
Rayner from attempting to publish his 'discovery' to the world."
"Without
evidence, his theory won't be believed by the academic community,"
Daniel says uncomfortably, not making eye contact. "However,
Steven's last book got him on the bestseller list. He could do a
lot of damage with an unsubstantiated theory in a very short space of
time. He has an audience."
"I'm
not comfortable about Daniel going alone, Sir," the colonel
states. Or is that understates?
"Nor
am I," Teal'c agrees.
The
colonel turns to me. Damn damn damn the man. He's going to
ask me. Time to pull out the heavy artillery. I head over
to the computer.
"Carter,
you're familiar with this -"
Punch
up the Mission Report and display the photograph. Of Dr Steven
Rayner. One little click and he's there on the big screen for any
jealous colonel with eyes to see.
"Osiris
business -"
Brown
haired, brown eyed steaming hot, young hunk.
"But
you're kinda busy with those experiments right now," the colonel
smoothly recovers his near misstep.
A
nasty, jealous, gorgeous young hunk all alone with HIS Daniel in that
big, romantic desert? Like that's gonna happen. I'm sorely
tempted to ask which 'experiments' the colonel is specifically
referring to, but that would just be mean.
"So
I think I'd better go with Daniel. Just in case."
"In
case of what, Jack? This is Steven!" Daniel is disbelieving.
Hey.
The colonel's mind might not 'go there' yet but fortunately pure
unadulterated Alpha Male jealousy and protectiveness kicks right in on
schedule, like Old Faithful. One hundred percent reliable
compared to the poor old conscious mind. The colonel's frustrated
libido can see 'this is Steven' just fine, thanks, Daniel, my dear.
"In
case we need to lean on him. From a great height," the colonel
says grimly, quite aware he's offended Daniel yet again but still
utterly determined to have his way, bless him.
I
feel compelled to add a little fuel to a very promising fire. I
look uncertain. "If you're sure you don't mind, Sir, then I'll be
glad to pass on Daniel's mission. No offence, Daniel," I grin at
him, letting him know I'm teasing, "but I've got a lot of work to do on
those experiments the colonel mentioned and - well - I'd only be
unskilled labour on a dig."
The
general's face softens as I knew it would. He's anxious to soothe
Daniel's ruffled sensibilities and soften the blow of having the
colonel inflicted on him so pointedly. "I hope the colonel
appreciates what he's letting himself in for, Dr Jackson. I hear
some members of SG-11 were three feet in the air BEFORE they asked how
high they were supposed to jump," he says humorously.
Daniel
flushes and treats us to that enchanting, mischievous smile
again. "Once you'd established that the 'guy in charge' on an
excavation was the archaeologist, everything was - um - fine." He looks
down at the tabletop for a moment, then twinkles up through his
lashes. "Just fine."
It's
one of his most captivating mannerisms, and has a devastating impact on
the susceptible. In other words, just about anybody who knows
Daniel. It's particularly efficacious in the case of certain
tough nut hardass Air Force colonels.
We
all await the colonel's reaction with interest, except Daniel, who
doesn't have a mean bone in his body. The colonel wilfully edged
himself out over a chasm and the only sound he hears in the room now is
the sawing of the plank he's perched himself on. Figuratively
speaking.
The
general allows himself the indulgence of a smirk at the colonel’s
expense and looks down for a moment too. "How are you with a
shovel, colonel?"
"Jack
won't be doing any digging," Daniel pipes up, gazing distractedly into
the distance. "There's actually no place for unskilled labour on
an excavation. Though this is a site survey, not a dig as
such. Any chance you can get me ground penetrating radar,
General? The site has been fairly well documented, but I'd like
to be certain there are no additional chambers in the lower levels of
the temple substructure."
"You
want me to hold your flashlight?" the colonel drawls witheringly,
unable to hide his annoyance.
Right
after this. I swear. I'm tailing him to his office and I'm
going to give him a heads up that should take his head clean off!
Daniel
gives him a cursory look. "Ahh - we use mirrors to illuminate
chambers. Less damaging than artificial light. I'm sure you
can makes yourself useful round the camp," he adds innocently, and
somewhat uncertainly.
The
colonel is alarmingly rigid. Colonel Jack O'Neill, team leader of
SG-1, saviour of the Earth, chosen ambassador of the Asgard and all
round hero type has just been told he can do the dishes. Or
something. Even Dad said the colonel was lots of fun to have
around. Unless he can shoot 'Steven', which is beginning to look
more of a certainty than a remote possibility, from Daniel’s point of
view there's not much else the colonel can contribute. Except -
maybe – laundry?
I
wonder if Janet has anything for dishpan hands?
JACK
"What
is it, Carter?"
She's
pacing restlessly in front of my desk, looking nervous. She stops
suddenly, facing me, standing to attention. Focused.
Determined.
"Sir,
permission to speak freely on a personal matter?"
Aww,
crap. My instinct for danger rarely fails me. I have to
suppress a groan and wearily wave for her to continue.
"You
may not like what I have to say, but I honestly believe it needs to be
said," Carter tells me earnestly.
Crap
indeed. I SO don't want to get into this. Christ, I don't
even want to admit it happened. I just want to put it behind me
and move on. I'm well aware that's completely frigging spineless
of me so I guess it means I'm going to have to let her have her say
just to prove I'm NOT completely frigging spineless.
"Spit
it out."
Not
the most tactful way to invite closure but shooting her dead with
barely a moment's hesitation is pretty conclusive evidence I've put
those 'joyous' feelings behind me. Gotta rankle to find out that
way.
"I've
been aware of your feelings for some time. I wasn't sure or I would
have spoken up sooner. It wasn't any one thing."
"What?"
What the hell is she talking about? We kinda hashed our 'thing'
out in full view of most of our nearest and dearest. Except
--
"Your
feelings for Daniel, Sir," Carter says firmly.
"Carter
- not that it's any of your business, you understand - but Daniel and I
are getting along just fine. We don't have a problem. He's
fine. I'm fine. It's fine."
"Begging
your pardon, Sir, it's not fine. You're not fine," Carter is
quiet but determined.
"The
team - "
"This
isn't about the team. It's about YOU. You and Daniel."
"Don't
fret just because his tolerance for beer and hockey has reached its
natural limit," I say dryly. "He's retreated to the sanity of a good
book on cultural iconography and the joys of the History Channel."
"He's
retreated, yes," Carter agrees sadly.
I
can't miss her disappointment. "Carter, for God's sake, whatever
is bothering you, get it off your chest. Once only offer."
If
she's pushing at all on this 'personal' matter it's important to
her. She's my 2IC so she's entitled to a little latitude.
It's ridiculous she thinks a little distance between Daniel and me is
putting any kind of strain on the team. We have our disagreements
and move on. Period.
"You're
in love with Daniel," Carter says gently.
I
literally jerk back in my chair from the impact of those words, jaw
dropping in shock as my face burns. I try, damn me, I do try, but
I can't get a single word out in response. Just sit there
pilloried, mouth helplessly opening and closing, flushed and icy cold.
"You're
hurting him because you can't face the truth, and I - I helped you do
it. I didn't know then, but I know now. I helped you to
push him back to a safe, contained distance. Such a distance he's
grateful for any attention you give him, and he doesn't question it too
closely. If you'd gone on as you were, he would have seen.
You would have said or done something that crossed the line. I
wish I could help you with this, Sir, I truly do, but I've crossed the
line saying as much as I have. If I didn't care - about you both
- I wouldn't have taken such a risk. I'm putting my faith in you,
that you'll make it right between you somehow. I don't ask
anything for myself. I contributed to this and I have to help to
put it right." Carter is desperately pale but resolute.
"The
truth." A woman I told I would rather die than lose her, who I
care about far more than I'm supposed to, is standing here telling me
I'm in love with Daniel Jackson.
Carter’s
head bows for a moment before she looks me right in the eye. "I know
how you feel about Daniel, Sir. I don't have any idea how Daniel
feels about you."
Carter's
eyes are bright with sympathy and understanding. She asks for
permission to go and I give it. It's only after she's gone I
realise I haven't denied it. Haven't denied being in love with
Daniel.
I
guess I haven't got it in me to tell a lie like that twice.
I
knew the truth when I was trapped on Edora. Not at first. I
missed him, but I missed them all. The pain softened with every
day I stayed there, but not the pain for him. He cut me like a
knife, cut deeper with every day I was apart from him.
Twisted. I burned for him. I fucked Laira but it was his
face I dreamed of, his body beneath mine. Willing and wanting
me. Night after night I dreamed and burned, until it was too
much. Wanting and not having was driving me mad. I couldn't go on
feeling that passion. I shut it down and shut him out.
Tried to live the life I was buried in.
When
they came through for me, I would have torn that gate out with my bare
hands if I'd had to. I thought of nothing and no one but him, and
as soon as I laid eyes on him I knew it was impossible. Mourning
Sha'uri, impossibly fragile. Lost. I couldn't burden him
with my all-consuming, raging need for him.
I
was afraid. I'm still afraid. I feel more for Daniel than I've
felt for anyone in my life, with the sole exception of my son. I
could walk away from Sara but I have never left Charlie. I
couldn't leave Daniel. Yet I also couldn’t make the leap of
faith, could not make myself vulnerable to Daniel, open myself to the
potential for love - and loss. All I could do - all I have done -
is try to get him to leave me.
The
battle has raged for months. He won't give up on me, no matter
how hard I push or how dirty I fight. Determined to hold me to
doing the right thing, he’s fought on and on, ignoring the distance
between us until it overwhelmed him. I finally got my wish.
He surrendered. Accepted this is the way things will be.
The most important person in my life is Carter. He has to just
suck it up and get on with his life. His solitary life of the
mind. I've been telling myself that Daniel not being happy is not the
same as Daniel being unhappy, because it's easier on me than owning
I've isolated him and turned him back in on himself and his own
resources. Easier not to see him outside of work, see how alone
he is.
I
don't want to face the fact he's lonely. I seduced him into
believing I'd always be there for him. Proved I loved him over
and over until little by little he let down his guard and trusted, let
me in. Gave me everything I needed to hurt him the most.
His own inner resources just aren't enough for him anymore. He's
learned to not stand apart. He learned to let me close and when I
got too close and shut him down, he'd already surrendered the defence
mechanism that would once have protected him.
Easier
on me for Carter to think I didn't have a frigging clue than it is for
her to learn I not only KNEW, but used everything I could think of to
deny it, keep him at a safe distance, controlled. Easier on me,
easier on her.
Not
easy on him, but then nothing ever is.
In
what I have to think of as his natural habitat, Daniel is quite a sight
to see. His own unique brand of shy, sincere charm coupled with
terrifying fluency in Arabic got us through customs faster than Uncle
Sam could manage with gunships. I'm pretty sure the customs
supremo was offering to bear Daniel's children from the way he was
circling Daniel warily - because of me - and drooling.
Not
that I blame him. I'm no stranger to intense erotic fantasies
about Daniel myself, and seeing him in his archaeology get up is giving
me a permanent hard-on. Kind of a gentle, persistent ache of
desire. Liveable. And I sincerely hope not
noticeable. If he looked like this around Carter and Fraiser
without getting ravished, they're better men than me. Battered
brown leather boots that look years old. Cream coloured chinos
that emphasise slender hips and flat stomach. Making the roof of
my mouth as dry as this desert. Cream shirt, baring the hollow at
the base of his throat. Archaeology by Gap. Everything fits
him perfectly. Like a second skin. Got me thinking way too
much about all the actual skin those duds are concealing, hence the not
unpleasant ache currently letting me know I'm alive, shit scared and so
crazy in love with this man he'd be running screaming over the dunes as
fast and as far as he could if he had the faintest clue.
He
did me in on the flight over. Disarmed me completely. Had
one too many nights burning the midnight translation oil and fell
asleep with his head just naturally settling on my shoulder. I
sat there trying to make him as comfortable as a bony shoulder would
allow, glaring down the air crew. Complete pushover? That's
complete pushover, SIR.
I
hate that Daniel doesn't bear grudges. Carter called it better
than she knew. Once he was over the first shock of finding out
what this Rayner guy was up to, that the whole sorry business wasn't
dead and buried behind him, he got to thinking about the good
points. Namely a little quality time with his best friend, doing
something interesting, useful and non-violent - present company
excepted - at which he can shine. Said best friend is bending
over backwards to be sensitive and sympathetic, egged on by a stern
talking to by his sympathetic 2IC. Sympathetic to Daniel, mostly.
Carter
was nearly in tears when I sidled into her lab and owned up some of the
truth at least. She was scared shitless she'd blown it for me,
for Daniel. For us. She's got backbone, unlike a dumb-ass
colonel we could both name. Bless her, she's got some sweet idea
that the romance of archaeology, the fragrant desert night, the stars,
the campfire and a little kindness on my part will have Daniel hurling
himself into my arms.
Don't
tell me how weird it is to be even remotely hinting to an attractive
woman that the thought of a full, varied and vigorous sex life with a
beautiful man has ever so much as crossed your mind. I'm not in
the habit of talking about my intimately personal life with anyone, and
certainly wasn't prepared for Carter to forget she was talking to Cro
Magnon Colonel and lay some practical advice on me. Not the
actual sex, Jeez, I can handle that, but about - well - wooing
Daniel.
I
staggered out blushing like a schoolgirl, more embarrassed than I've
been in my entire life, and scared almost beyond the capacity for
rational thought. Apparently, Daniel is pretty near the
embodiment of the feminine ideal. He can communicate. He
can empathise. He's sensitive. He's - nice. This is
rare and precious in any male, and must be nurtured and protected
selflessly, not used to get him naked and horizontal.
I
have the unshakeable conviction I'm falling way short of the
mark. Carter might be saying woo but I'm thinking ambush.
Carter wants me to communicate. By recent standards, if Daniel
can get through an entire sentence without me biting his head off,
we're communicating. I'm way better at inarticulate silence but I
swore I'd give it my best shot.
The
attitude adjustment I'm doing better with. I had endless reserves
of patience and tolerance for Charlie, and I used to have them for
Daniel. I'm tapping into them now, and so far a lot of kindness
has gotten me a numb shoulder courtesy of the big sleep on the flight
over.
It's
also gotten me a white knuckle jeep ride through the dunes courtesy of
one fairly staggered archaeologist. I actually suggested Daniel
drive, being familiar with the terrain and all that. Since he was
braced for a losing fight along those exact lines, and he was already
completely embarrassed about snuggling up on my shoulder in front of a
lot of judgemental airmen, not unnaturally he hasn't had a single word
to say to me for quite some time. He's still waiting for the shoe
to drop, I think. However, he is smiling warmly at me whenever we
aren't actively doing a controlled slither down a dune.
Warm,
puzzled silence is way better than hostile silence, and I've
established intimate proximity with me doesn't make him physically
sick, at least not when he's unconscious. All in all, I'm making steady
progress.
Daniel
is handling the jeep like a pro. He's completely wasted on a
road. I'd love to get him out rally driving some time, if he can
drive this well on shifting sand. It takes hellish concentration
and physical strength and it would seem he’s got both to burn.
"Jack!"
Daniel yells above the din. "What is it!"
Crap.
I'm staring. Staring at him.
"Just
thinking!" I howl. Mostly thinking I'd like to throw you down
beneath me and lick you all over.
"Don't
hurt yourself!" Daniel cheekily sticks out his tongue at me for
emphasis.
Can
you sprain your tongue? That's something I'd like to destruct
test on Daniel's naked, willing body.
"Don't
watch me, watch the damn dune!" I yelp back as we start another of
those slithering descents.
DANIEL
Oh
dear. Oh dear, oh dear.
This
is SO not good. Jack is having one of his ‘bad’ days. One
of his totally focused, physically aware of my every move days.
He’s so excited by my proximity, I swear, his tongue is either hanging
out or just spending a lot of time licking his lips. I refuse to
get excited. There’s no point. He’ll never do anything
about it.
I’ve
just about given up on being in love with him. There’s no point
to that either. Chalk that one up to my list of negative life
experiences which, as they say, if they don’t kill you, only make you
stronger. Character building experiences. Thank you but
no. No more. My character has had all the building it can
take. I will unhappily settle for being good old Daniel and for
the friendly colleague’s box he’s tucked me neatly into.
It’s
utterly ridiculous.
I’m
in love with Jack. I’ve fantasised desperately about making love
with Jack. I don’t get particularly far, true, my imagination
usually gives out on me just as it gets really exciting, but I have
fantasised. I’ve fantasised so much I’m even more nervous and
confused about physical intimacy than I was when I first realised I was
in love with Jack.
Unlike
Jack, who gives the impression on his ‘bad’ days he just wants to throw
me down and fuck me through the floor, yet he’s never given the least
hint of having any feelings for me whatsoever.
I
thought – or perhaps, I hoped – I sensed something had changed between
us when he returned from Edora. Wishful thinking, I
suppose. We went on being friends for a while, but Jack hasn’t
been the same since the mission to destroy the Replicators on Thor’s
ship. It took me a while longer to work out why, though.
I
was desperately trying to work through all that confusion, work out
what I was feeling, trying to rationalise feeling physical desire for
my best friend when my appendix burst. I was sidelined. If
I’d been told Jack asking to see my scar and wanting me to go fishing
was pretty much the last gasp of a friendship that means as much to me
as the brief time I had with my parents, or the time I had with
Sha’uri, I would have been utterly incredulous.
I
didn’t do anything. I swear. I didn’t say or do one single
thing to make him uncomfortable. As soon as he realised he wanted
to have sex with me, Jack stopped touching me. He shut me down
and then he shut me out. He turned to Sam. Do either of
them honestly think I wouldn’t work out what had happened? That
word wouldn’t get out no matter how careful they thought they’d
been? I still feel physically sick when I recall the smirk on
Jack’s face as he looked at Sam on the day the time loop finally ended
for him.
We
limped along for a while. I mean, Jack pulled out all the stops
to rescue me from the Unas, but that could just as easily have been
down to professionalism. I gave him the benefit of the doubt
until P3R-118. Saw the evidence with my own eyes. A little
blurry, but I got the picture. I dreamed of him and he was
snuggled up with her, right in front of me. I’m glad I didn’t
embarrass myself more than I did, blurting out all that nonsense about
the dreams. We were supposed to be best friends, but he knocked
me on my ass and followed her around like a lost puppy.
That
was that. I’m straight. Jack’s ‘bad’ days aside, he’s
straight. I can’t compete with Sam, and I refuse to humiliate
myself by trying. I’ve got no experience whatsoever of trying to
attract a man. I do the friendly colleague thing in public and
stay the hell away from him if I can. Lately, even being on the
team seems too close. I’m not without options. I could have
SG-5 or SG-11. Forget about Jack, first contact and SG-1. I
could still see Teal’c on base if I wanted to. He’s the only one
I want to see, some days. MY bad days.
Jack
is sitting in the passenger seat, hanging on for grim life, undressing
me with his eyes, fantasising. When he smiles at me, I smile
back. Why do I do that? Why?
Some
nights I have to fight myself not to pick up the phone and tell him to
get his ass over to my apartment and put us both out of his
misery. If he could get this terrible desire out of his system,
he might leave me alone. That’s the best I can hope for.
I’ve stopped dreaming of us being together. Stopped fantasising
about making love. I just want to be left alone. There
isn’t much friendship left to salvage. We can’t be friends while
he’s going crazy wanting me, and if I give him what he wants he’ll lose
all respect for me and the friendship is over regardless.
He’s
been so kind today. He’s disarmed me. Again. I’m so
susceptible. I’ve stopped wanting. I haven’t stopped
feeling. Or hoping. I try to be a mensch. If he reaches
out, I’m here for him. Still his friend, even if all he wants me
to be is ‘friendly’. If he wanted to make that leap of faith,
want more than sex from me, he could. I’ve done nothing
whatsoever to make him believe I think any less of him than I ever have.
He
hasn’t made that leap of faith, and I don’t think he will. He can
rationalise his feelings, shove them and me in a box on the sidelines,
because he doesn’t feel enough. I’m not enough.
I
KNOW this. So why am I sitting here smiling at him?
Desperate to give him that one last chance, the one I swear will BE the
last every single time, until he throws me another friendship bone and
I give him another last chance.
Hell.
I know why. I’m the original Comeback Kid. Death can’t keep
me down and I’m damned if Jack O’Neill will.
I’ve
grasped that sometimes winning battles is down to the terrain you fight
over. Impossible to get Jack to ‘fess up like a man that maybe,
just maybe he cares for me, not when Sam and Teal’c are right
there, breathing down our necks. Equally impossible for me to
just go over to his place and throw myself at him. I don’t want
him to catch me, and I think he would. I don’t want to be an itch
that finally gets scratched.
We’re
going to be out here all alone. The customs officials are going
to get creative and detain Steven when he does arrive in Egypt, and our
people will let us know in the event. Jack can’t leave me and he can’t
hide behind anyone else. One honest reaction from Jack, that’s
all I need. Is he thinking sex or – or love?
All
I can think to do is turn up the heat and see what happens when I bring
him to the boil.
Jack
automatically moved past me and down the stairs of the tomb.
Always has to be first. Always has to be cautious. I can do that,
but I can’t be that. What is instinctual for Jack takes conscious
thought and effort on my part. The tomb is empty. That may
be an assumption on my part, but it’s likely to be correct. Jack
doesn’t assume. Assumptions get his ‘kids’ hurt, captured,
killed. Jack checks and double checks, makes certain.
I
watch his six. Oh boy do I. It’s damnably unfair that
Colonel Jack O’Neill, USAF, is so – HOT. His idea of appropriate
desert apparel turned out to be jeans laundered to butter softness and
a soft blue grey. The T-shirt is pale grey too. Cool, light
and comfortable. Clinging to every long, lean, strong inch of
him, including his – six. All he’s doing is walking carefully
down a flight of stairs and he’s got me dazed with desire.
I
follow meekly along behind him like a puppy on a leash.
Coveting. His spine. I think of my fingers digging into his
shoulders as he moves above me, then slowly stroking down the length of
his spine, making him lose control.
I
think he’s a gentle lover. I dream of him that way. I saw
how he was with Sara that time, how comforting and tender he was with
her. Unselfish. Taking his time, using that strong back to
– to –
Jack
stops in the middle of the main chamber and looks around intently
before striding over to the altar.
“This
is where you were ribboned.”
“Um
– how do you know that?”
“I
read the report,” Jack says casually, still looking around.
He
can visualise the whole thing from the report? He’s got the exact
spot I was dangling from Osiris’ grip. “What about Sam?
Janet?”
“Over
there somewhere,” Jack waves a vague hand at the wall to the left of
the – I suppose you could call it Osiris’ armoury – altar and heads
purposefully off into the stairwell down to the next level to check
that out too. He’s got his flashlight on but I’ll get him to help
me set up the field lights when he’s confident no threat is lurking
down there. I wouldn’t consider it if we weren’t dealing with
smooth, bare stone. No inscriptions or glyphs to damage.
He
– he didn’t seem to have quite such a precise fix on Sam’s location as
he did on mine, for some reason. Probably not the reason I’d like
to hope it was, namely that he was more interested in the specifics of
my - um – contribution to Osiris’ entertainment. I say
Osiris because the Sarah I once knew was never really with me.
Just Osiris, ransacking Sarah’s memories and using them against me.
Sarah’s
loss is muted ache in this place, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t
coping with it. I feel deep pity for Sarah’s plight, knowing
she’s a hostage inside her own mind, knowing the atrocities she will
unwillingly witness. I will do everything in my power to help
free her from Osiris if we ever have the opportunity. If. I
guess I’m a little more pragmatic, or maybe a lot more realistic than I
used to be. I’m – aware – of Sarah, but I’m far more conscious of
an infuriatingly obtuse and stubborn Air Force colonel and of the job I
have to do here to wallow in memories.
I
have access to all the equipment I require, courtesy of George. I
just have to say the word and anything I need will be choppered out to
us ASAP. Jack was all for choppering us out here too, but I
vetoed that. We really need to be instantly mobile. A
sandstorm could ground any chopper and if we did have any reason to
need to get out of here in a hurry, the wait could kill us.
Literally.
I
while away the time awaiting Jack’s return first by hauling down the
table and some of the equipment, then by half- heartedly looking over
the site surveys, trying to stop myself panicking completely every time
I try to come up with ways and means of bringing Jack to the boil
without making a complete idiot of myself. Just because I can’t
see any way to accomplish one without the other, doesn't mean there
isn’t one.
This
temple was thoroughly surveyed, by the original Stewart
Expedition. I’m not expecting to find anything that survey
missed, but I know how meticulous Steven will be in his investigation
and I must be sure. I think Jack will get a kick out the ground
penetrating radar equipment. It’s not exactly an MP5, but it
should help to drag his mind away from his usual knee jerk pith helmet
view of archaeology. We have toys of our own. If he asks
nicely, I’ll let him play.
I’ve
put out a camp chair for Jack to sit in and annoy me from. It’s
the only way to be sure where he is at all times and what he’s
doing. I don’t want him damaging my temple.
The
Expedition records actually do make fascinating reading. It’s
rare indeed in Egyptology to find an undisturbed site. The locals
have usually cleaned out a site decades or even centuries before any
archaeologist gets anywhere near it. We’re rarely talking buried
treasure. Finding it here suggests to me some sort of security
was in place to protect the site. Superstition does not supersede
greed. Something kept the locals away. The Stewart
Expedition staff knew nothing about the Goa’uld, and I have to wonder
what they made of the fact the site hadn’t been disturbed in millennia.
One
of the most frustrating things for me when I was trying to prove my
original theory about the age of the pyramids was the lack of physical
evidence. Early archaeology was crude. Sites were destroyed
in order that they might be plundered. There was little concern
for analysis or interpretation, just the fierce joy of discovery.
There was no time for the methodical unpeeling of layer upon layer of
the past until archaeology ceased to be a source of romance and became
a science. A site such as this would have been a gift to
me. The stratification would have proved conclusively how long
the structure had been in existence, with signs of cultural
transformation five thousand years earlier than my peers were prepared
to accept.
“Whatcha
doin?” Jack’s cheerful voice rings out behind me, making me jump.
He eyes the chair in a speculative ‘where’s the dry martini, then?’
sort of way and settles himself down.
I
wait patiently for my cue, but the shoe refuses to drop. I’m
slightly disconcerted, give him a wary look that earns me a blinding
smile. I’m smiling back before I know it, feeling a little more
confident. Jack is in his best mood and on his best
behaviour. Maybe we’ll get through the next few days without him
resorting to withering sarcasm or the vilification of my vocation
because it isn’t exciting enough for him.
“Um
– just reading the reports of the Stewart Expedition. They’re
fascinat – “ I bite off the words. He’s not interested, always
shuts me –
“Why?”
“Why
what?”
“Why
are they fascinating?”
“Oh!”
Jack wants to know. He actually – wants – to know. I think
I need to sit down. This is by way of being a calendar event,
Jack asking me to elaborate. I don’t sit down. Instead I
turn back to my table, plant my elbows, and present him with an eyeful
of the Jackson derriere. Too much to hope it will instantly
inspire him to take a handful of said derriere, but I’ll give it my
best shot.
There’s
an awful lot of silence behind me, faintly punctuated by some rapid,
shallow breathing. Heartened by signs I’ve already engaged Jack’s
interest, I decide to make him simmer a little. I’ve got papers
spread out all over the table. I could stand up and reach them,
but it’s much more fun to just lean. Or maybe sway.
Basically, I’m keeping my rear in constant, gentle motion as I give
Jack an interesting little lecture about the history of archaeology and
the importance of scientific methods in field excavation. He
takes it like a lamb. I stop the swaying every time I reach a
natural break in the monologue, at which point it becomes a dialogue,
Jack earnestly requesting me to continue. I graciously consent
and get right back to the swaying. When I think Jack just can’t
take any more on the enthralling subject of relative and absolute
dating, I decide to take pity on him AND go out on a high note.
There’s one elusive file right across the other side of the
table. I lean over and sort of sprawl myself wantonly across the
tabletop. I hear a heart rending groan from behind me.
“I’m
– I – tent!” a strangled voice barely recognisable as Jack’s grinds
out. By the time I’ve straightened up and turned to face him,
he’s bolting up the stairs three at a time.
With
something of a shock, I realise Jack O’Neill is afraid of me.
This is FUN. I’m not absolutely positive, but the rapidity of
Jack’s retreat suggests he’s in dire need of some privacy. And a
cooling off period. Ah, well. Into every life a little pain
must fall.
What
he’s going to get is a lot of intimate proximity and a talk about
penetration.
JACK
I
can’t take much more. After Daniel’s tasteful, scholarly, fully
clothed, rear view only version of the Dance of the Seven Veils, I
hauled ass out of that tomb like a bat out of hell, desperate to take
care of some extremely pressing business behind the nearest dune.
Now
he’s in my arms and that urgent business is pressing right into his
exquisitely firm, pert and perfect buttocks. He’s blithely
lecturing me on this radar gizmo. There’s not a hope in hell I’ll
be able to use this thing. I haven’t heard one word in ten.
All this roaring in my ears. My blood supply is so dangerously
low I’m feeling faint.
“For
MAXIMUM penetration, placing the - antennas - at discrete
positions -- ”
I’m
breathing hard. Sweating. His silky hair is brushing
against my cheek, his throat is so close the slightest turn of my head
and I could lick it.
“
-- and doing multiple - scans - in that position.”
Jesus.
He’s totally oblivious, every little wriggle of his butt sending shocks
of pleasure through my groin.
“
-- this is a slow method -- the velocity at which the - antennas
- can be moved is determined -- ”
He’s
talking a lot of incomprehensible gibberish about wavelengths and
radargrams. The only fucking word I hear is penetration.
Warm
skin. The scent of him. Hands gentle over mine, steadying
the equipment.
“Care
must always be taken to ensure that station-spacing is close enough to
give - sufficient -- ”
Soft,
dreamy voice lulling me. Sex. I’m having sex. Aural
sex.
“--
spatial - resolution.”
Sensory
overload is killing me. I’ve going down to the wire and when I
hit it, I’ll be coming.
“What
is the maximum penetration required?”
Want
to be buried to the root --
“What
is the minimum object size that needs to be resolved?”
In
your virgin derriere --
“What
is the minimum spatial resolution required?”
Want
it. Don’t need it. Just standing here holding you is doing
it for me, Danny. Oh GOD is it.
I
pull away. “Call o’ nature.” Then I stalk stiffly over the
crest of the nearest dune, slither down it on my ass, wait a beat for
signs of pursuit, unzip my fly, and desperately jerk off, coming hard
within moments, screaming his name behind my stifling hand.
He’s
KILLING me.
When
I do finally hobble back to the top of the dune, Daniel is nowhere in
sight. Given me up as a bad job. Joke.
Whatever. He must be wondering what the hell is going on.
I’m a frigging pilot, for God’s sake. I should be able to operate
that stupid radar gizmo blindfold. What the hell am I supposed to
say? ‘Sorry, Daniel. Could you run through that again for
me, from the top? I was just a little distracted by the orgasm I
was having, first time round’.
Yeah.
That’ll work.
I
should be helping him set up the field lights so he can work in there,
but I can’t. It’s not safe to be that close to him, not
yet. I’ll be better in a while, when my heated skin has cooled
and the smell of sex has blown off me. He deserves better than me
slobbering all over him and jerking off behind the dunes with his face
in my mind and his name on my lips. Fucking voyeur.
I
wearily set to the only useful thing I can do, which is to set up the
camp in the spot Daniel said would be safest. He thinks the dunes
are stable, but it’s as well to be sure. If any kind of storm
blows up, we take refuge in the tomb. Safer for him than the
goddamn tent.
For
pity’s sake, Daniel, must you sit so close?
With
a whole three hundred and sixty degrees to choose from, Daniel has
decided the only place he’s comfortable at this campfire is right next
to me. I can feel the warmth of his thigh against mine every time
he shifts position. The softness of skin as our arms brush.
He’s taken off his glasses as the sun sets and having those huge,
beguiling eyes gazing into mine is not helping. Not one bit.
“It’s
astonishing how much the Goa’uld occupation has imprinted on the human
psyche. Listen to this. ‘Unas hath weighted his words with the
hidden god who hath no name, on the day of hacking in pieces the
firstborn. Unas is the lord of offerings, the untier of the knot, and
he himself maketh abundant the offerings of meat and drink. Unas
devoureth men and liveth upon the gods, he is the lord of envoys, whom
he sendeth forth on his missions. He who cutteth off hairy scalp, who
dwelleth in the fields, tieth the gods with ropes’.”
“Unas?”
Big stinky monster Unas?
“Unbelievable,
isn’t it? That’s one of the inscriptions in the Pyramid Texts
inscribed on the inner walls of the pyramids at Saqqara. Old
Kingdom, two and half thousand years BC according to –“
“Everyone
but you,” I smile at him. He smiles back. Too close.
WAY too close. So – so beautiful. He could sit here by my
side smiling at me this way and read me the Yellow Pages and I wouldn’t
murmur a word of protest.
“I
estimated five thousand years old, but even so, that myth, that
tradition was passed down through the oral traditions of the people,
and in the earliest writing systems. Our ancestors tried to warn
us of the danger we were in, but we couldn’t hear them. Got
another one for you. ‘The roaring tempest drives him, it roars
like Seth. The guardians of Heaven's parts open the doors of Heaven for
him. Dawning as a falcon, he reaches the celestial realm of Ra on the
Imperishable Star and is placed on the throne of Osiris. His lifetime
is eternity, its limit everlastingness.’ From the pyramid of King
Pepi, who died in 2255BC. Everything we needed to know was
right here. Even the fact the Egyptians always depicted their Sun
Gods with blue eyes to denote the race they came from. The race
of the Gods, the obsession with ascension into the heavens to rejoin
Ra.”
“Glowing
eyes? Goa’uld.”
“That’s
why this work is so important, Jack,” Daniel insists, laying a
compelling hand over mine. Which is on my knee. Which is
too – don’t go there, O’Neill. Once was already once too
often. “I know you resent the time I spend away from SG-1, I know
it inconveniences you, but there’s so much work to be done, and so few
of us to do it we can barely scratch the surface. You have to
understand that?” he pleads, voice softening even more.
“Whatever
you want, Danny,” I say more softly still, leaning in close, close
enough to – to – Daniel’s lips parting --
“Jack?”
a whisper.
Close
enough to kiss.
“Sleep!”
I yelp, making Daniel rear back from me in shock. “Have to sleep
now. G’night.”
“Good
night, Jack,” Daniel says quietly as I leap to my feet and stride
off. When I look back, his head is bowed.
I’m
a bastard. What am I? It’s not Daniel’s fault I want to
throw him down and kiss him senseless before I do a lot of other –
things – HOT things. NO. Stop. Enough already.
He’s going to be lying next to me, sleeping, as soon as he gets over
the latest kick in the ass I’ve just given him.
Where
is he? Where the HELL is Daniel? It’s three am for God’s
sake. I scramble out of my sleeping bag. His is still in
its roll. He hasn’t slept in it. I duck out of the tent,
flashlight sweeping the camp. Not by the fire or anywhere near
by. I pick my way carefully down the dune and check out the
jeep. Nothing. Which just leaves door number three.
The tomb.
I
cannot believe he’s burning the midnight oil here, too. Take my
eyes off him for two minutes and he pulls a dumb-ass stunt like
this. There’s fuck all here to worry about, even I can see
that. He wants to play with his toys and bend my ear about
archaeology for a couple days, that’s fine by me. I’ll beat seven
kinds of shit out of this Rayner guy if he turns up, then we book,
straight back to clean sheets, comfortable beds and Showtime.
I
take my time down the stairs, no point breaking my neck. It might
solve this huge problem I currently got, being caught between the devil
and my 2IC, but frankly it’s a little extreme even for me as a short
term solution.
As
soon as the main chamber opens up in front of me I see the faint glow
of the lantern, tucked away behind the farthest pillar from the
entrance. Somehow, I don’t think he’s working.
My
heart sickeningly skips a beat. He knows. My God. He
knows I was going to kiss him. Daniel KNOWS. What do I do
now? What the hell do I do? Feelings. I was supposed
to deal with the feelings first. Not the sex. The
feelings. Simple instructions. Clear.
Show
some backbone.
Forty
four year old career Air Force dumb-ass hard-ass wise-ass gotta stand
there and convince a man like Daniel – Daniel Jackson! - not to laugh
in my face when I tell him I’ve been a complete bastard to him because
I’m so fucking spineless I blamed him for making me fall in love with
him. And, yeah, if he’s struggling to pick out the upbeat
subliminal message there, it’s I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU. Not to worry
though, I won’t let your compassion hit me in the ass on my way out
your door.
Get
in line for that one.
He’s
not laughing.
I
hear a soft noise I haven’t heard since Charlie – since – Crying.
He hit twelve and suddenly it wasn’t manly to cry. All he’d allow
himself were these tiny muffled hints of suppressed misery, fist
stuffed in his mouth, trying to physically choke back the sobs. Same
muted sounds here. I made Daniel CRY. Fuck’s sake.
Way to go, O’Neill. HAPPY now?
I
switch off the flashlight as the beam wavers. Hands shaking a
little, here. Try to work out what to do. Never crossed my
mind it might just be a tad difficult for Daniel coming back here to
shake hands with a shit load of bad memories. I don’t know much
about this Sarah of his, and grilling Carter for intel got me
zip. Daniel might have talked to her, but neither of them talked
to me.
It’s
not just that. He’s been through the mill recently, what with the
Harsesis turning up outta the blue like that, the whole addiction
thing. I’d been comforting myself the intensity of my own
reaction in the Infirmary was entirely down to the addiction until
Carter marched in and took my self-absorption out at the knees. I
feel as much for Daniel as I ever did, more maybe. He’s been so
miserable it took him out onto his balcony, ready to jump.
Feelings blown way out of proportion by the withdrawal, but still,
THERE.
Me
blowing hot and cold here is not helping. If he’d wanted to talk
to me about Sarah, about anything, he would have come into the
tent. He didn’t, and now I think I should respect his
privacy. I can’t talk about my feelings with him, always trail
off into silence, incoherent apologies and intense looks at the ceiling
or something. Normally I’d hug him, but at the moment the natural
place for him to be hugged is flat on his back beneath me, preferably
naked and begging me to – BAD idea. Bad.
Only
thing I can think to do is book, and not let on I was ever here.
He’s not reacted to my presence at all, so I figure it’s safe to walk
quietly away. I’ll just have to be sure to lay on the welcome
wagon tomorrow – later – and see if I can’t coax him to come to me.
I
got no sleep whatsoever after I left Daniel alone in the tomb. He
finally crept into the tent at around four am, knelt beside me for a
few minutes, then crawled into his sleeping bag and went out like a
light. I’d like to think he was looking at me, but I guess he was
just unrolling his sleeping bag as quietly as possible. He’s been
well trained to be considerate of others. I don’t like to think
about why or how too much, though I can’t help thinking as a foster kid
he had to learn how to hit the ground running if he was to have any
hope of sticking around. Daniel is infinitely resourceful,
adaptable and independent.
There
isn’t a hint from him this morning that he was up half the night
fretting, but I guess he’s used to functioning in a near permanent
state of sleep deprivation. He’s been hard at it with the radar
gizmo most of the morning, I’ve been hard at it sitting on my ass,
teasing the shit out of him and generally watching him like a
hawk. And asking some very specific questions Daniel was more
than happy to answer.
We’re
expecting company. Daniel caught me red handed after breakfast,
on the horn with Hammond. Rayner arrived in Egypt in the early
hours of the morning and was promptly detained by the
authorities. I was in full flow, suggesting the general suggest
they keep right on detaining the schmo when Daniel walked right up
close, laid his hand on my arm, and batted his eyes at me. What
with the soft voice and all, I was so captivated I completely lost the
thread of my rant and just nodded when he suggested it was better to
air problems, meet them head on and didn’t I agree, Jack. Yep,
sure, you betcha. He also had to point out the general couldn’t
hear me nodding, which involved whispering into my ear so I wasn’t
embarrassed in front of my commanding officer. I was somewhat –
embarrassed – in front of my archaeologist, but I’m starting to get
used to THAT.
Daniel
is convinced a rational archaeologist to archaeologist talk will do the
trick. Persuade Rayner to back off and forget about what
happened. Forget what little he remembers, which isn’t
much. He’s got some memory loss as a result of the head injury he
sustained in the attack. Apparently, he remembers turning the key
that unlocked the altar deal, so he remembers a glimpse of the Goa’uld
technology and not much else. Daniel’s hoping gentle persuasion
will work but I’m betting I have to lean on this guy. I got a
strategy, thanks to the information Daniel gave me. And snacks.
“Daniel?
Romantic picnic for two? Sit on my lap, let me nibble on
you? Pretty please?”
Chances
of him saying yes are slim to none, about the same odds as his chances
of hearing me through headphones and ground penetrating radar -
er – penetrating. Damn thing sounds like R2-D2.
“DANIEL! EAT!” Daniel hunches an impatient shoulder.
“NOW!” I assist him in making the informed choice by firmly but
kindly removing the headphones from his head and the radar from his
grasp. There is a brief, heated argument between my conscience and my
libido, libido winning by a mile, so I keep hold of his hand and haul
him rapidly up the stairs and into the sunlit main chamber hoping it
comes off as stern and parental. He doesn’t object at all, though
he does look surprised when he takes in the setting. Yeah.
I’m a pushover. Got the food all laid out where he can sit with
the sunlight streaming down on his back and I can watch and
gloat. There’s no rule says you can’t be a ROMANTIC voyeuristic
asshole.
“I
cooked,” I tell him proudly, reluctantly letting go of his hand and
graciously permitting him to get more than two steps from my side.
“I
can see,” Daniel admires. “You opened the cans and everything.”
So
it’s not exactly cordon bleue, but I did my best, and we do have
snacks. And coffee. Meticulously prepared to Daniel’s
exacting specifications. He never says the coffee is wonderful,
but he has much to say if it isn’t. Carter and I make superb
coffee, we’re both well aware we’re dealing with a sensitive and
educated palette. This is premium Colombian roast; organic,
ethical, expensive. Boy is it expensive. Carter contributed
too, dug deep in her desk and came up with some quality Daniel
snacks. Belgian chocolate. As in, chocolate FROM Belgium.
Daniel
loves chocolate. I love that Daniel loves chocolate. He
nibbles gently. Savours. Closes dreamy eyes. Makes
spine tingling soft murmurs of appreciation. Mmm. With
Belgian chocolate from Belgium, I’m expecting the works. Which is
why he’ll get his chocolate little and often. Can’t use up all
those ecstatic little moans in one sitting.
I’ve
got information to finesse out of Daniel. Kinda got an idea of
the way I can play Rayner when Daniel’s appeals to his better nature
fall flat. Looking forward to it. The SOB was at Daniel’s
swansong lecture, the one that ended his career and brought him to
me. He’s kinda the Salieri to Daniel’s Mozart, a no doubt
talented archaeologist who’s had to malinger on the periphery while
Daniel’s genius held centre stage. He might be the one in the
Porsche but I’m betting he knows in his bones which of them is the
better scholar. Rayner is so eaten up with jealousy and
resentment he was still giving Daniel hell even though for all he knew,
Daniel’s career was in the toilet. He tried to pin the blame for
the curator’s death on Daniel, did his best to destroy the evidence
that would have vindicated Daniel and came here expressly to steal the
credit for Daniel’s work, by making the discovery.
Oh
yes, I’m looking forward to meeting this guy. Carter’s only
regret about not being here was she was deprived of the opportunity to
kick some major Rayner butt, and Teal’c would like to zat him where he
stands. I got no fault to find with that. Since Hammond
refused to let me cross international borders with a zat gun, I’ll have
to settle for messing with the guy’s mind. Royally.
“Daniel?
Been thinking -- ”
“Again?”
Daniel looks up from the macaroni and cheese he’s stoically chewing his
way through, “I’m not sure I can take the excitement. That’s
twice in two days.”
“I’m
shootin’ for the record,” I say dryly, desperately ignoring the
treacherous pang shooting through my groin as Daniel’s eyes sparkle at
me. I don’t succeed very well, and I also forget what I was going
to say. I certainly forget to say it or anything else as Daniel
abandons his entrée and throws himself wholeheartedly into his
dessert.
He’s
– licking. Melted chocolate. Fingers. Tongue. Help.
DANIEL
He
was going to kiss me. He came so close to just taking my mouth,
and then he – saw – me. Froze and bolted. Almost knocked me
on my ass on the way past. I took the hint. Let him be.
I
passed a miserable night. I was so aroused, I was afraid to be
anywhere near him. Erotic dreams in adjacent sleeping bags? When
I get excited, I – I moan. I ARCH. I’m prepared to do a lot
of things for Jack O’Neill, but solo arching for his edification and
entertainment is NOT one of them. He doesn’t get to see me arch
unless he’s the one causing it. And I’m talking hands on, not
vicariously.
Exhaustion
beat me. As soon as I stopped working, I started thinking.
Feeling. Bravado is easy in daylight. Cracking my tough nut
colonel is wicked and rewarding. At three in the morning, it’s
terrifying. If he doesn’t feel for me what I feel for him, or if
he does and he won’t admit it, then all I will accomplish with this is
ending our friendship. It’s all - or nothing.
I
reached my lowest ebb in the early hours of the morning, frozen with
indecision. Unsure which would hurt me more. Wanting or –
or having. Was it damned if I do and damned if I don’t? In
the end, all I could think, over and over, was if Jack is worth having,
he’s worth fighting for. I may be scared to death, I may be going
down, but at least I’m going to go down fighting.
Jack
wants a piece of my ass? He’s gonna have to earn it.
Starting now. Chocolate melts at body temperature. It’s
pure sensuous indulgence. Something you can’t adequately explain
to those who don’t love chocolate. You can however graphically
demonstrate if you set your mind to it. I’m setting mine good and
hard. Rather like an increasingly prominent part of Jack’s
anatomy, as I dreamily suckle melting chocolate from the tips of my
fingers. With closed eyes and the occasional murmur of
appreciation. I’m trying for subtle and seductive.
Jack’s
breathing sounds a little ragged, so perhaps I should crank it up a
bit? A little light licking. Eyes open. Watch him
stare at my tongue as I lick slowly up my index finger for that last
elusive taste of chocolate. I smile at him. Jack puts his
tongue back in his mouth and smiles right back. There’s a tiny
shift in position, a readying, as if he’s about to lean forward.
I’m right here, Jack. All you have to do is reach out and --
Jack’s eyes shift past me and narrow, icing over.
“Now
I know what you’ve been doing for the last five years, Daniel,”
Steven’s angry voice snaps from behind me. “Or should I say who?”
he drawls contemptuously.
We
rise to our feet as Steven lopes down the steps towards us.
Wonder of wonders, I’m not blushing for once. Jack is the one who
is flushed, but I don’t think it’s from embarrassment. He looks
me over searchingly and his lips tighten.
“I
guess he’s the reason you haven’t applied for a single research grant I
could discover,” Steven continues in that cuttingly contemptuous tone.
He’s
too close to Jack to be using a tone like that, implying what he’s
implying. The same PLANET is probably too close for Steven to be
to Jack right now, given Steven has just called me a whore in all but
name. Charming.
“Dr
Steven Rayner,” he informs Jack brusquely, sticking out his hand.
“Oriental Institute, Chicago.”
It
never hurts to propitiate potential backers, eh, Steven?
Jack
slips his own hands into his pockets and thoughtfully regards Steven’s
outstretched hand for a moment. Then he smiles. If I was
Steven, I’d be taking several steps back from that smile.
Rapid steps. Jack is about to happen to him.
“Jack,”
he says sardonically, “Idle dilettante.”
I'm
guessing that the attraction arcing between Jack and I must have been
in the kilowatt range for Steven to not only pick up on it immediately,
but to challenge me on it. It looks as if Sam was correct.
Steven remains as self-absorbed and ambitious as ever he was.
Only now, without Professor Jordan's watchful eye on him, Steven isn't
afraid to show it, lashing out with the most cutting insult he can
offer.
Unfortunately
for Steven, I recognise the tactic. I've seen Jack do the same
thing. If your position is weak, go on the offensive. Both
Jack and Steven have complete mastery over the difficult art of going
on the offensive and being offensive at one and the same time.
Of
course, since my role is usually little archaeologist lost, I'm
guessing I'm supposed to just wither up and die of humiliation at this
point, kissing the last tatters of my professional reputation good
bye. I can just see Steven circulating at the next Archaeological
Institute of America AGM, spreading the good news. 'Heard the
latest on Daniel Jackson? Not only out but going down!' I'm
pretty sure selling a piece of your ass in return for research funding
is a clear breach of Article 1.2 of the RPA code of conduct.
Prostituting myself clearly constitutes unethical behaviour and would
indeed be the final straw required to get me summarily removed from the
Register of Professional Archaeologists first chance Steven gets.
Unfortunately
for Steven - and Jack - I am no longer the little archaeologist lost
and therefore I will not be sobbing my heart out in a quiet corner over
my ruined reputation any time soon. As Jack and I were caught in
flagrante, so to speak, I think the logical course of action is to
brazen it out. 'Spin' it. Steven already thinks we're
having sex. I just need him to believe we're having sex because
we're LOVERS. I'm certain there's nothing in the RPA code of
conduct about sexual orientation, though the profession as a whole has
a lot to say about prejudice. All that overlap with anthropology
tends to result in zero tolerance of discriminatory practices.
Jack
has zero tolerance for scientists in general and my erstwhile
colleagues in particular, an immutable fact which I sense he is about
to forcefully make crystal clear to Steven.
I
don't know if Jack would approve of my strategy, but I do know he backs
up his team, so he'll play along if I present an appropriate course of
action. I believe the correct military term for my strategy is
full frontal assault. I've got both an archaeologist and a
colonel in my sights. I can protect my professional reputation
and force Jack to close some of the distance between us at the same
time. There is one simple solution to both difficulties.
“And
we’re together,” I say calmly to Steven as I move to Jack's side and
place my hand on his arm. I feel a little guilty that I don’t
feel at all guilty about taking such outrageous advantage of him.
I sense Jack would actually approve of my pragmatism and all round
sneakiness, if I was to let him in on it. I’ve learned from
the best, after all.
I
feel - compelled - to push it just that bit further. I
realise in light of my announcement, a tentative hand on my supposed
lover’s arm isn’t a TOTALLY convincing display of uncontrollable animal
passion. “Jack is shy.”
Jack
gives me a long steady look, leaves whatever he was about to say unsaid
and adjusts his tactics in light of the new ‘intel’. Bless him,
he does try, but he utterly fails to look shy. He promptly
abandons the unequal struggle, graciously saving my lying little
guilt-free ass by spooning up against it and hugging me tight against
his chest. Strangely, one of Jack’s hands insists it is perfectly
comfortable curved over my hip. I try not to flinch and to look
as if this happens all the time, as Jack rests his chin on my shoulder
and eyeballs a visibly bristling Steven. I also rest my hand over
the top of Jack’s because I don’t want him taking advantage of ME and –
er – roaming for the sake of corroborating my story. So I’m a
hypocrite. So sue me.
“I’m
working hard to overcome that pesky touch taboo,” Jack placidly offers
by way of explanation. “My therapist feels I’m making steady progress
in feeling up – “
“What
can we do for you, Steven?” I interject hurriedly.
“I
think you know what, Daniel – “
“Dr
Jackson,” Jack interrupts. “If you insist on ‘Dr Rayner’, you can
extend Daniel the same courtesy,” Jack smirks. “Let’s try to
avoid these infantile power games, shall we?” he adds sardonically.
Steven
flushes angrily and resumes his attack. “I’m quite impressed
you’ve managed to last this long, Daniel, even if it is beyond the
fringe of the profession. You must have been fairly –
creative – in your ‘fundraising’ efforts.”
There’s
nothing for Steven to see, Jack is too good for that, but I can feel
the tension simmering behind me. Vibrating rather pleasurably –
and quite distractingly – against my butt.
“Absolutely,”
Jack agrees equably. “From the moment I laid eyes on him, Danny just
blew me away. I knew a completely original thinker when I saw
one. I don’t waste my time on wannabes and never were’s when I can have
the BEST. As for being out here beyond the so-called
fringe? Daniel’s separation from a bunch of also-rans with petty
personal agendas, closed minds and professional scores to settle
doesn’t keep him up at night. “ Jack smirks maddeningly at Steven,
licking his lips, making it clear I’ve got something else entirely
keeping me awake at night.
I
wish. I really do. Working on it right now.
“I
know EXACTLY what Daniel can do for you, STEVEN,” Jack is scathing. “He
can slink back to ‘suffer’ silently in obscurity while you take credit
for his theories. That is why you’re here, isn’t it? To
steal Daniel’s work? That’s what brought you here the first time.”
Steven
loses it completely in the face of that pithy, pointed
condemnation. His dark eyes are liquid with rage, but he’s –
lightweight – compared to Jack. All sound and fury, no substance.
I tread heavily on Jack’s foot, making him wince. He’s going too
far. “Steven apologised for that, Jack,” I quell him. “He
made a mistake.”
“Sure
did. Shoulda moved quicker,” Jack refuses to be suppressed.
“I
don’t need to ‘steal’ DANIEL’S work,” Steven snarls. “I’m the one
with the frigging Porsche and the bestseller –“
“Populist
crap,” Jack condemns Steven with all the superb conviction of a man who
has occasionally been compelled to suffer through History Channel
Egyptology specials. “And yet - you still want to be Daniel when
you grow up. I’m strictly a layman, but YOU’RE not, Rayner.
If even I can see the difference between what Daniel does and what you
do, how much more clearly do YOU see it? Try thinking for
yourself. Try having your own career instead of Daniel’s.
You’ll live longer.”
Steven
is so enraged he can’t get a word out, turning on his heel and storming
out of the temple.
“That
went well,” Jack murmurs smugly, making no move whatsoever to let me
go. In fact he spoons a little closer and starts taking an
interest in my ear.
I’m
sorely tempted but I can’t have him going Alpha Male on me. I’m
not so much treading on Jack’s foot this time as stamping on it, at the
same time as I apply an elbow vigorously to his ribcage.
“Uurgh!”
Jack groans, hopping back madly.
I
turn on him. “Knock it off!” I hiss, seething.
“I
was JOKING,” Jack makes with the big reproachful puppy eyes.
Be
still my beating heart. “You’re SERIOUS and we both know
it! I’m NOT letting you shoot him!”
“I
want to,” Jack says sullenly, still nursing his wounded foot.
“Well,
you’re not!”
“But
I want to,” he insists stubbornly.
“No.”
“He’s
an asshole!”
“We’re
supposed to be calming him down, lulling his suspicions,” I say sternly.
“You
can’t get calmer than dead,” Jack tempts. “I’ll take care of -- ”
he makes a little gun of his hand and mimes shooting it – “You’ll have
to do the spadework. Broke my damn foot, here!”
I
wasn’t going to say anything -- I turn my back on him and stalk off up
the steps. When I reach the turn I glance over my shoulder and
watch Jack’s antics for a moment. I’m pleased I wasn’t the only
one distracted by the close proximity. It’s a good sign.
Isn’t it?
“Jack?”
I smile sweetly at his suddenly hopeful face. “I stepped on the
OTHER foot.”
On to Part Two
Feedback makes the difference between writing
and posting; please contact me at biblio@jd-divas.com
|
Download a printer-friendly PDF version of the story
