JACK
“That’s
around five hundred dollars, Jack,” Daniel is radiating mischief.
Whoa.
For ONE night? “Sweet.” I hope it doesn’t come out sour.
“That
does include the table d’ôte dinner, the champagne and the – er –“
“Huge
comfortable bed?” I whisper. Daniel once again finds his feet
demanding every scrap of concentration he can muster. “Do you
drink champagne?”
“I
hate it more than beer,” Daniel confesses.
I
figure Rayner needs some time to absorb the fact Daniel isn’t going to
roll over and play the timid little research assistant. We can
stand to leave him alone for one night. If Daniel wasn’t having
fun playing with his tomb I’d say we blow the joint and leave Rayner to
stew permanently. I’m consoling myself with the thought if by
some miracle Rayner does find something incriminating while we’re
enjoying the high life tonight, I can always shoot him tomorrow.
All I have to do is tell Hammond that Rayner was mean to Daniel and
tried to steal him from us. Justifiable homicide. No
question.
“Hassim,
will you trade up the champagne for a nice Burgundy?”
Hassim’s
face lights up. He knows a sucker when he sees one. He had
me from the moment Daniel shyly confessed he’d never actually cruised
down the Nile and bravely denied any desire to do so now, all the while
staring wistfully at the elegant lines of Hassim’s cruise ship.
It was a choice between the Sun Princess, a quick dinner then a nervous
drive back to the camp through the pitch dark dunes - which meant
Daniel had to stay stone cold sober - or the Philae and a sunset cruise
down the Nile to Luxor, moor overnight and a sunrise cruise back.
Huge comfortable bed, hot and cold running room service and romantic
dinner for two served on your own private balcony. At four times
the price. What the hell, if the worst comes to the worst I can
always re-mortgage. Daniel wants it and I’m in the mood to
indulge him. I hand over my MasterCard with a flourish. The
instant the transaction clears, Hassim summons a minion to tenderly
escort us through the maze of stairways and hallways to our suite.
It’s
all very tasteful. Lots of gleaming wood and cream coloured
walls, subtle lighting. Thick carpets. Looks what it costs,
basically. I can’t help but think of Rayner all alone in a tent
with his macaroni and cheese.
“What
are you grinning at?” Daniel shoots me a suspicious look from under his
lashes.
“Nothing
at all,” I reply with calm dignity. I’ve got a question about
etiquette too. I know they don’t serve food here until around
eight o’clock, which means we’ve got a couple of hours to kill.
Just how long do I have to wait between getting Daniel into the room
and onto the bed?
Daniel
is rattling away in Arabic to our minion, who grins suddenly. I
recognise the grin. It’s the same one Hassim had when I handed
over my credit card.
“How
much is this going to cost me?” I ask resignedly, “And what am I paying
for?”
“My
treat,” Daniel teases, “Fadil is going to help us out, as we’re both a
little embarrassed in the clothing department.”
Daniel
chuckles as I fail to disguise my disappointment. I was hoping to
embarrass him right out of his clothing after a discreet interval of,
say, ten – five - minutes or so.
Fadil
stops and unlocks a door, waving us past him and into paradise on
Earth. Daniel blinks and then his smile alone is worth every cent
of the five hundred dollars. Fadil looks up at me, grins and says
something to Daniel that makes him chuckle again.
“Shukran,”
Daniel says, still smiling as he tips Fadil lavishly. Fadil
smiles too and bustles away to do Daniel’s bidding.
“Yeah.
Thanks. Shukran,” I agree vaguely, still staring at The Smile.
Daniel
glances at the French doors leading out to the flower-laden balcony for
a moment. “Bath,” he says firmly. “Then offensive gloating.”
“Too
late,” I grin. “NICE digs.” Everything is wine and cream
and mahogany and brass and flowers. “Lead me to the
bathroom. If it doesn’t have a Jacuzzi, I’ll eat this credit
card.”
Daniel
looks startled but I haul him into the bathroom before he can
protest. I’m perfectly well aware he meant a nice, modest, solo
bathing experience. Now he’s aware he was alone in meaning
that. He seems slightly dazed, so I sit him gently on the side of
the bath and thoroughly explore the fixtures and fittings. A big,
roomy corner tub with - “Water jets! I knew it! Cool.”
I
pull off my T-shirt and Daniel goes seven shades of wine himself.
“Too much?” I ask seriously. I don’t want to push the envelope
too far too soon, I just want to be as close as he feels comfortable
for me to be. I wish I was the shrinking violet type, just a
little, because it might ease the pressure on him.
Daniel
decides it’s not too much and starts unbuttoning his shirt with the
sort of stoic courage he normally displays in shoot-outs. It’s
quite endearing, especially as he’s so busy watching me his fingers
keep missing the buttons. I feel compelled to offer my
assistance, which brings me so close Daniel feels compelled to kiss me,
paying particular attention to my lower lip, which he bit last time
around. I utilise his complete absorption in the task at hand to
sneak him out of his shirt and then hug him to me. He gasps into
my mouth as a fair amount of naked skin collides pleasurably and gulps
as he feels my fingers fumbling at his belt. A moment later he’s
clearly decided that isn’t too much either, and returns the compliment.
He
also gets ahead of the game. He seems to have some kind of
fixation on my back, those long, elegant fingers exploring every knot
steadily downwards, just as he did in the tent. I embarrass
myself completely when I feel his fingers sidling under my loosened
jeans and onto my butt. My agenda isn’t exactly hidden from
him. I think the safest thing is to get into the tub PDQ.
It’s roomy, but not roomy enough to be wicked in.
Daniel
starts to laugh as I extract him from the rest of his clothes with
ruthless speed and efficiency. I step back and take a long moment
to admire every perfect inch of him, much to his embarrassment.
Just looking. I’ve got obligations re the touching thing.
“This
is – weird,” he sighs.
“About
to get weirder, Danny,” I toss out casually as I scramble outta my
jeans in record time. Daniel looks too, particularly at the
errant part of my anatomy currently broadcasting just what the sight of
his naked body does for me.
“Oh
Jeez,” Danny makes an heroic effort and drags his eyes back up to my
face, breaking whatever spell he was under. He snatches up all
the clothes and thrusts them at me. “Fadil will launder them if
you put them on the bed.”
When
I get back he’s already in the tub, which means I have to sit in front
of him. The moment I’m settled, Daniel wraps his legs around my
waist. His long, lithe, lissom –
“Jack?”
“Hmm?”
I feel warm water pouring down my back, then Daniel’s fingers gently
massaging my neck and shoulders. “Mmm,” I groan, shamelessly
leaning into his magical touch. “Think I’ve died and gone to
heaven. Where’d you learn to do that?”
“What?”
he teases, stopping.
“Grr.”
He
pours more water and starts working his fingers into the muscles, slow,
sure, and steady. “This?”
“Mmm.”
Every part of me is begging for equal treatment. Daniel
translates the signals perfectly and those talented fingers patiently
roam wherever they’re most needed.
“I’m
not coming off as some kind of prick-tease, am I?” Daniel tentatively.
“For
a smart guy you’re pretty dumb sometimes, Danny,” I say placidly.
“And did I say you could stop with the fingers?”
“We’ll
be sharing that bed – “
“Soon
as we stop sharing this bath,” I interrupt. “Which is purely about
water conservation, you understand.”
“You
use that line often?”
“All
the time. Works like a charm on susceptible archaeologists,” I
point out smugly. “And I have no objections to sleeping together
meaning just that. Sleeping.” It’s been way too long since
I shared my bed, and I’m damned lucky to have gotten him this far this
fast. I’m not pushing my luck – or him.
“And
kissing,” Daniel says stubbornly.
“You’ve
got a one track mind,” I complain and hunch a neglected shoulder.
“Fingers!”
“Sorry,”
Daniel apologises meekly, dribbling more warm water and picking up the
pace on the massage again. I kinda zone out, losing myself in the
simple pleasure of touch, barely even registering when the engines
start and the ship begins to move. All that wet, warm, willing
Daniel snuggled up behind me – Oy.
A
vigorous knock on the cabin door and a torrent of friendly Arabic yanks
me right out of my reverie.
“Dinner,”
Daniel explains. “I asked for it early so we could just - relax-
later.”
“I
was just getting nicely relaxed,” I complain as Daniel unwraps his legs
– which I have heroically kept my hands off – and gives me an
encouraging push.
“I
can do a much better job if you lie flat on the bed. After we’ve
eaten.”
“Then
let’s get to it,” I match action to words. “Up and at ‘em.”
“You’re
easy,” Daniel grins as he exits the tub with more grace than I managed
and pounces on the biggest, fluffiest towel we have.
“I’m
a slut,” I agree. “Old news. You’re just working this out
now? And gimme that!” I tug on the towel. He
tugs back.
“Get
your own!” Daniel yelps indignantly.
“Don’t
make me hurt you!” I warn. “There’s more of me than there is of
you.”
Daniel
surrenders the towel suddenly. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
He’s all demure, downcast eyes.
“Don’t
get cocky, I can always trade you in for a more co-operative model.”
“You’re
right, Jack,” Daniel admits remorsefully as he towels himself off
vigorously. “I should show more respect,” he calls over his
shoulder as he dives out the door, "for my elders!"
Laughing
at me.
“Hey!
I’m not that - eld!” I regret to say the sight of Daniel’s
beautiful, bare butt draws me straight out the door after him, still
dripping. I don’t get to admire for long, let alone touch, as
Daniel pulls on the pants Fadil left for him. Us. Pair for
me too.
“Nice,”
I admire. White, soft, look like Indian cotton. Daniel’s
are a little too loose and hang low on his hips. “VERY
nice.” Sexy as hell, in fact. Acres of smooth ivory skin
and bare feet on display. He looks as edible as the vast array of
food he’s investigating out on the balcony. I finish drying off
and dress as he pours the wine and turns to lean on the rail and admire
the Nile slipping by.
I
follow him out and spoon up behind him, holding him and the rail.
Daniel leans his head on my shoulder, resting his hands over mine.
“Very
nice,” he sighs. “I’ve missed you.”
I
forget about holding on to the rail and wrap my arms tight around
him. “I know.” I refuse to insult him with another apology,
holding him close to me as we watch the sun set over the Nile, the sky
streaking with intense bursts of orange and pink. For once, the
travel brochures don’t lie. It’s an epic sunset, though I get far
more pleasure watching Daniel just - drinking it in. It feels
like forever since I last saw that awe and wonder in his eyes. It
feels good to see it now, to know he feels secure enough to lower his
guard.
Daniel
stirs as the sky shades to indigo, and I reluctantly let him go.
“If
you mention Agatha Christie ONCE, I’m throwing you over the side,”
Daniel threatens as he settles into his seat, stretches out his legs to
balance his feet on the rail, and sips a little wine.
“Would
I be that obvious?” I’m offended.
“Wizard
of Oz? Doctor Evil?” Daniel hoots. “I bet it’s breaking
your heart you haven’t got a little moustache to twirl.”
Ah.
The boy knows me too well. I grin and toast him with my
glass. I sip some wine too. Crap. It’s great.
God knows what it’s costing me. Then I turn to the food.
“So what is all this stuff then?”
“The
main course is hamaam, stuffed with seasoned rice and grilled.
It’s a national delicacy.”
Daniel
taps a plate. Pigeons. Okay. I can manage pigeons.
“Be
careful though, sometimes they put the head in the stuffing,” Daniel
murmurs absently.
Or
maybe not. “They stuff the pigeon’s head up it’s own ass?” I ask
incredulously. “Man, that’s harsh.”
Daniel
laughs at my horror. “This is ti’baan.”
“Chicken?”
I ask hopefully.
“Eel,”
Daniel corrects. “It’s very delicate, tastes like salmon.
Try the kufta,” Daniel points to a kebab. “That’s lamb flavoured
with spices and onions. And the tihina dip, made from sesame
seeds, oil, garlic, chilli and lemon. Laban zabadi –
yoghurt. There’s mint to flavour it with. This is the
chicken – firaakh mashwi.”
Daniel
helps himself to the eel and the dip. He’s braver than I
am. I try the lamb and the yoghurt. “It’s good,” I’m
surprised. “The mint. It’s good.”
Daniel
smiles at me. “I love Greek yoghurt and honey.”
Oh
yeah? I wonder how interactive you can get with Greek
yoghurt? I investigate a little further and another smile from
Daniel tempts me to try the eel for him. It’s been fried and does
have a delicate flavour that sits well with the tihina. There’s
rice too, and roasted vegetables. The chicken has been grilled
and it tastes good with yoghurt. In fact, the yoghurt tastes just
fine on it’s own. After some time I glance up and catch Daniel
watching me, utterly fascinated.
“What?”
He
nudges an errant plate towards me. “Missed one,” he encourages.
“Fatir. Pancakes stuffed with apricots.”
Mmm.
Fatir taste nice with minty yoghurt too.
Daniel
shakes his head. “I’m putting you on a diet when we get home.”
“I’m
already on a diet,” I protest, pursuing the last bit of minty yoghurt
with the last bite of fatir, “A food combining diet.” Daniel’s
silence is eloquent of disbelief. “Basically, I see food and I
eat it.” I combine food with me.
“And
whatever it is you eat, you combine it with pie?” Daniel muses.
“Or snacks. I see.” He eyes me speculatively. “I’m
cutting you off, Jack. You’ll eat healthy.”
“I’m
taking dietary advice from a man whose major food group is caffeine?” I
sneer to the Nile and Egypt at large. “You actually eat?
Now THAT is news.”
“I’m
a good cook,” Daniel says calmly. “I like French food and so will
you. You seem to like everything else, preferably smothered in
laban zabadi.” He eyes the detritus on my side of the
table. “Except pigeon heads, apparently.”
I
draw the line at beaks even with minty yoghurt.
“Hey!
When you catch me eating cold pizza for breakfast you can sneer at my
eating habits,” I protest indignantly as I shake the bottle
hopefully. “You drink all the wine?” I demand suspiciously.
“Er
– no. The wine seemed to taste nice with the yoghurt too. I
stopped fighting you a couple of glasses ago.” He looks down, a
sweet little smile playing across his lips. “You’ve got
incredible reflexes.”
“I
kissed your hand - which I barely touched by the way - all better, and
anyway, you brought it on yourself, trying to steal my yoghurt.”
We
had fun. Can’t remember the last time we tried it.
Daniel
starts to laugh again as he uncurls himself from his chair and strolls
back into the bedroom. Naturally, I follow. He’s headed for
the bed. “Can you make pie?” I ask eagerly. Daniel nods
gravely, eyes sparkling. "Lemon meringue. Pecan.
Apple and cinnamon."
“Cool,”
I breathe. How soon can I move him in? Or -- "You do take out?"
Daniel
shakes his head sadly, looks down at that big, comfortable bed and then
at me.
“I
can sleep on the couch,” I offer gallantly. We both regard the
couch in contemplative silence. “Maybe not,” I concede. It
finishes a foot or so before I do.
“I’ve
never shared a bed with a man in my life,” Daniel says in a small voice.
“Stop
fishing, Daniel. I’m NOT telling you,” I say sternly. He’s
been doing this the whole time we’ve been eating. I admit, I’ve
been winding him up just to see the pout and the stormy eyes I’m
getting right now.
I
close the gap between us and put my hands on his shoulders, walk him
back to the edge of the bed and urge him gently down, then spoon
comfortably up behind him. The bed has fixtures and fittings
too. I can turn out the lights, close the curtains and play music
from here. If it came with an inbuilt TV remote, I’d marry this
bed and take it home. As it is, the damn thing is so comfortable I feel
like I’m two-timing Daniel. Three-timing, if you include minty
condiments. I said I was a slut.
After
a moment, Daniel turns suddenly in my arms to face me. His eyes
are huge, glittering in the moonlight flooding the room. "About
that kissing?" A coaxing hand cups my cheek.
I
think I know what he's 'thought' about me. I think he's dreamed
of me doing and being all the things I once was, when I was his
friend. Being there for him, wanting him around. Loving him
and showing it, without the words ever needing to be spoken between
us. Being kind to him. Patient. Tolerant.
Gentle. And I think for a while, reality is going to have to run
out just where his imagination runs out. Until he wants to go
further.
"Necking,"
I growl. "Sweet." Sweet as I can make it, kissing him
deeply, tenderly. Slowly. No frenzied gasping for breath,
just easing back, roaming to nip along his jaw or make love to the
hollow at the base of his throat with my tongue, or up to nibble at his
ear. God, but he kisses wonderfully well, clinging to me, hands
carefully exploring as he gives me his all. Doesn't know how to
play it cool, how to hold back. Stroking his tongue against mine,
moaning his pleasure into my mouth.
Arching
into me, craving skin on skin, gasping as he feels the heat of my hands
through the thin cotton, caressing his thighs, his butt. Slipping
up to map every contour of back, chest and abdomen. "Jack," is
all he says. Love you, Jack. Missed you. I can wait
for him to tell me want you, Jack. Need you. It won't need
words. The hands touching me with confidence - with eagerness
even - that's a gift I can enjoy to the full. He's safe, secure -
trusting. Reaching out, knowing I’ll meet him halfway.
I
want to push it. I want to ease him beneath me and teach him a
lesson he won’t get from Carter, a lesson about friction. It's
been so long for him - for us both - and the scent of him, the sheen of
sweat on his skin - he's so close. If I brought him just that
much further --
"Easy.
Easy now," I soothe, with hands and voice. Holding now.
Still tangled up and close, but calming. Heated skin cooling,
breathing evening out. Daniel's head settling on my shoulder.
"S
- sorry," Daniel apologises.
I
indulge myself, playing with his hair. "Me too. It's
definitely not as much fun necking if you're not in danger of having
your folks bursting in on you when you least expect it," I mourn.
"Other than that, WHOO!" I tease out some of the soft strands
between my fingers. "When was the last time YOU went 'Whoo'?" I
ask curiously.
"When
you put your hand on my - "
"Daniel,
that was an accident, I swear, and frankly, it's best if you leave it
alone. There isn’t a shower in Egypt cold enough to help me out
with THAT mental picture," I order crisply.
"You
didn't hear me?" Daniel murmurs, not entirely grasping the no touching
rule. One slender finger is gently tracing the muscles on my
abdomen in a manner that makes it very hard to think at all, let alone
think straight.
I
grin down into wide, ingenuous eyes. "I got kinda busy."
"You
did? Busy? Just remind me again?" Daniel nibbles my
shoulder. "I was busy too."
I
vigorously quell a shit load of treacherous hormones. "You want
me to drop YOU over the side?"
Daniel
stops nibbling long enough to shake his head emphatically. Just
long enough, then he dives back in.
"I
will if you don't stop that!" I say desperately.
"Stop
what?" he asks innocently, lapping a trail up towards my lips.
Oh
God. Now he’s all secure and warm and glowing, he’s decided to
play with a forest fire. What’s he – no - Oh GOD!
DANIEL
“Better?”
I ask anxiously. Jack’s only response is a piteous groan. I
smooth on a little more of the fragrant oil the ever helpful Fadil
located for me and work it deeply into Jack’s tense shoulders. I
open my mouth.
“Don’t
you DARE apologise. Not again. A man can only take so
much,” Jack growls.
I
close my mouth.
A
cautious hand reaches around and pats my thigh reassuringly for a brief
moment. Jack sighs. I sigh.
“Not
your fault, Daniel. You can’t help being - y'know - you.” Jack
groans as I work a particularly thorny spot at the nape of his
neck. “If we didn’t make mistakes, we wouldn’t learn
anything. We’ll know better next time.”
“You
should have let me sleep on the couch.”
“Survival.
What have you got, what do you need,” Jack mutters into the pillow.
Jack
got - um - carried away. We needed - he insisted we
needed – distance, and what we had was one bed and one couch. One
of us allegedly does a massage that could get one of us arrested and
one of us was going to need the massage come morning. Hence
Jack’s current state. Prostrate does not begin to cover it.
“We’ll
be more careful in future. More precautions. More clothes.
More – vertical.”
I
feel more guilt with every excusing syllable he utters. I admit
this was my fault. I was playing and – um - had somewhat
underestimated just how ‘bad’ Jack’s bad days are. I just don’t
see what it is about me that attracts him so powerfully. Jack
says that doesn’t matter, he sees it just fine, thank you. And
for the moment, preferably from a safe distance. He refused to be
drawn on who exactly it was safe for.
“No
more being – ‘naughty’,” Jack orders, sternly. “Not until –
y’know,” he adds gruffly.
After
the way he made me feel last night, that may very well be sooner than
either of us thought. The more Jack reassures me we don’t have
to, the more I want to. He’s not even using reverse psychology on
me. He means it. He’s desperately trying to be
supportive. I think I’m going to have to be fairly emphatic about
it when I am ready. I didn’t realise I was going to have to deal
with Jack selflessly atoning for what he considers to be past
wrongs. He’s refusing to make out until he makes up, so to speak.
If
it wasn’t for this being his second back rub of the day and his feeding
us both my Greek yoghurt and honey whilst I was sprawled – at his
insistence - all over his lap earlier, apparently to aid in the
recuperation process, I’d be worried.
Jack
is smirking at Steven in a manner carefully calculated to enrage a
saint. I could kill him. Jack, that is. It’s Steven
that Jack wants to kill, more or less on general principles. It’s
not helping that Steven has asked to speak to me alone no less than
three times now. Jack has put him down harder each and every
time, before I could get a word in.
Nor
does it help that from time to time Steven is apparently ‘looking’ at
me in a manner Jack refuses to quantify, but which is nonetheless
annoying him intensely.
I
had to drag Jack outside and kiss him to extract even that much
information from him. He flatly refused to behave himself, though
he made a spirited case for being allowed to misbehave himself in the
tent – with an unspecified person - if that would help. I
commented that, regrettably, Steven didn’t think of him that way, and
now Jack is mad at me too. Jack commented in return that he was
looking forward to me making it up to him, later. In the
tent. He rather enjoyed having me sprawled all over his lap this
morning, and wants to try it again. I don’t think I’ve had cause to sit
on someone’s lap since I was about five, and twice in one day is a bit
much for me at the age of thirty five. I refused point blank.
Needless
to say, Steven and I are completing the sweep of the final chamber in
stony silence and Jack is giving us both attitude. Playful
attitude in my case, ‘eat shit and die, ASAP’ attitude in Steven’s
case. The difference is unmistakable.
Steven
and I check over the final radargram analysis. “There’s nothing
here.” Yes, I am a little disappointed.
“No,”
he sighs heavily. “I was hoping to avoid it, but it looks as if I
will have to open the secret chamber beneath the altar.”
“Sarah
took the key,” I remind him. Actually, the NID have the amulet,
along with all of Osiris’ toys. Steven studiously avoids my
eyes. “You can’t be serious! You CAN’T damage the altar.”
Jack
perks right up, obviously waiting for the chance to add his mite to the
incipient storm.
“Think
about YOUR reputation, not mine,” I advise earnestly. “The RPA
will have you struck off the register for gross misconduct, bringing
the profession into disrepute and damaging the body of evidence.
You not only won’t get tenure, Steven, the Institute would have grounds
for dismissal. Think about what you’re doing.
Steven!” I call after him as he turns his back on me and marches
up the steps towards the main chamber.
Jack
shrugs at yet more evidence of the bizarre customs of archaeologists in
their native environs and mutters something along the lines of good
riddance. I push past him impatiently and follow Steven out of
the temple and over to his jeep.
“You
can’t do this. I won’t permit you to damage the altar.”
“It’s
the only way, Daniel,” Steven busies himself unwrapping his
tools. “Unless – “
“Unless?”
Steven
turns to me suddenly, steps right up close to me. “Unless you
come back with me. Back where you belong. HELP me,
Daniel. I can’t – “ he abruptly bites off the words.
“You
can’t do this on your own, can you?” I finally realise the truth.
“Your work, your research – Jack was right. Populist.
Professor Jordan was your validation, your credibility.
That’s why you stayed as his research assistant all this time.
You were afraid to have your work judged on its own merits,” I say
sadly. “Steven,” I lay a cautious hand on his arm, “I’m sorry, I
–“
“SORRY?”
Steven rages, breaking my grip and shoving me up against the jeep hard
enough to knock the wind out of me. “You’re sorry, you
sonovabitch? You had it ALL,” I push forward and he grabs my
wrists, slamming me back, harder than before. “Five years!
Five years without a WORD, then you come back and ruin my - Why the
fuck couldn’t you just stay away, Daniel? Why? You had
everything, and you THREW it all away. For what? HIM?” he
sneers.
I
see ‘HIM’ rapidly bearing down on us, and decide better I hurt Steven a
little than Jack hurt him a lot. Jack has decided – quite
emphatically - it’s okay for him to touch me and definitely NOT okay
for anyone else. I press myself flat to the jeep and use the
small space created to efficiently knee Steven in the balls, dropping
him where he stands, howling and clutching himself as he rolls in agony.
Jack
slows to a visibly thwarted saunter and checks out the floor show. “You
NEVER let me have any fun,” he complains bitterly, “Remind me never to
tick YOU off,” he says pleasantly, eyeing me with interest.. Then
he grins wolfishly. “Interesting move.”
I
feel some explanation is called for. “Primary target,” I offer
primly, stepping neatly over Steven to Jack’s side as we back off to a
discreet distance.
“Uh
huh.”
Not
enough. Not nearly enough for Jack.
“I
had a little extra-curricular training.”
Jack
quirks an eyebrow.
“After
Hadante,” I whisper.
“Ah.”
Jack’s face is a picture, probably as a result of recalling the same
combination of factors he spinelessly failed to explain to me at the
time. “Carter?” he asks casually, failing to meet my eye.
Courtesy
of our Chief Medical Officer, as a matter of fact. I wouldn’t
like to run into either Janet or Sam in a dark alley. They could
both take me. Janet may be smaller, but she’s sneakier. And
bossier. I remember spending a lot of time on my ass, and I remember a
lot of sighing from Sam and Janet. They bolt felt strongly the
best tactic for ‘someone like me’ was a swift kick in the balls.
Apparently, being a gentleman is a good thing, but not in a
fight. I did eventually put Sam on her ass, but that was
excusable. She had just called me 'sweet'. She and Janet
insisted later that was strictly motivational.
Jack
closes the gap and assists Steven to his feet via a death grip at the
scruff of his neck. “Can you think of one good reason why I
shouldn’t kick your ass all over this camp?” he drawls menacingly, “You
lowlife piece of – “
“Jack!”
Jack
pulls Steven closer and stares deep into his eyes. “You DON’T get
to have him,” he says softly. Then he lets go abruptly, and just
for that final, added insult, wipes his hands distastefully on his
jeans.
I
give up.
“For
cryin’ out loud,” I sigh.
“Daniel,
can you open up the altar without damaging it too much?” Jack asks
suddenly. He takes one look at my face. “Don’t start with
me, Daniel. If it shuts him up and moves him on – “
“There
is no question of damaging the site,” I say coldly. “The prime
directive of field excavation is the preservation of archaeological
remains in situ. I will not stand idly by and permit the
destruction of the altar. I’ll call the authorities and
have you removed from the site if you refuse to see reason,
Steven. Archaeological evidence is a fragile, finite resource, as
you well know. It cannot be renewed. If it’s damaged, it’s lost
forever. We cannot own the past, nor can we deliberately or
unthinkingly destroy the cultural legacy left by past
generations. We hold these things in trust for society, and we’re
accountable for our stewardship. I can’t believe you of all
people would even consider such a course of action.”
“Oh,
he doesn’t,” Jack drawls laconically. “He’s trying to force your
hand. Isn’t that right, ‘Steven’? Rayner doesn't want his
career in a Porsche, he wants it in a," Jack hesitates fractionally,
then goes smoothly on, "Symposium," he says superbly. "He doesn't
want to be pandered to by the hoi polloi, he wants to be worshipped by
an admiring audience of his peers as he whitters on about - relative
dating and - stuff," he finishes triumphantly.
I
wonder if Jack has any idea what it does to me when he talks about
archaeology? Part of it has to be proof that he was actually
paying attention, but the rest -- Oh momma. I wonder if I can get
him to tell me all about stratigraphy tonight? Or - maybe -
lithic debitage. I'll even sit on his lap if it helps the
teaching process.
Can
you say diachronic, Jack? Will you whisper it in my ear like you know
what it means? Oh boy oh - oh.
There
are faint signs of recovery from Steven, in the sense that he has
revived enough to shoot hateful looks at Jack.
"Jack."
Jack
feigns deafness, tightening his grip as he returns the looks with
interest. I see a faint suggestion of a fist forming.
"I
think Steven can manage just fine on his own now," I insist.
Nope. Jack is SO not a good boy. Gonna have to play
dirty. I lean in close and blow gently in his ear. Jack
shies away, snarling, incidentally slackening his grip on Steven, who
wrenches free.
"Hey!
No fair!" Jack cries indignantly.
"Within
the established ground rules," I say firmly. Fully dressed, fully
vertical and witness present. All reasonable precautions present
and correct. However, I'm going to have to remember NOT to do
that when he's carrying a gun. I don't want to be answerable for
the consequences. He seems to find me blowing gently on any part
of him intensely erotic, but lavishing attention on his ears in
particular gets a six gun salute.
Ignoring
Jack's outraged sputtering - like he's never exploited a known tactical
advantage before, say, for example, random selection here, my being
TICKLISH - I focus on Steven. I feel so sorry for him. I
never realised he was crushed under the weight of his own unrealistic
expectations. He's a solid, dependable scholar. Talented,
even, though he’s no Robert Rothman. As much as I want to help Steven,
I can't open up to him. I can't bring him in to the SGC programme, not
with this insecurity complex colouring his perceptions and informing
his actions. He wouldn’t be able to rest without recognition,
validation. He would not be able to know and not share.
He's
going to have to stand on his own, find his own flames to get shot down
in. I can't help him with that. It isn’t enough for Steven
to be good; he wants to be inspired. He wants to be the
best. He will never settle for what he has because he falls short
of his own mark. As long as the most important thing to Steven is
what the work means for him and not to him, he's going to judge himself
a failure. Robert and I - he - we wanted to do our best, not be
the best.
I'm
going to have to shut Steven down and only one course of action
presents itself. Steven is never going to accept what I tell
him. Judging me by his own standard, he'll always be looking for
the hidden agenda; he'll always be convinced I'm holding something
vital back because it's what he'd do. What he has done. He
needs to see for himself, prove to his own satisfaction there is
nothing here. If he’s capable of satisfaction.
If
Jack will only trust me.
I
break into the sullen silence. "Steven, if it means this much to
you -- "
"You'll
come back?" he asks eagerly.
Jack
snorts. For a moment I'm tempted to say yes just to see what
reaction I'd get. Jack may have ordered me not to be naughty, but
I don’t recall agreeing to obey him. I often do what I'm
asked. I rarely do what I'm told. And I have every
intention of being positively wicked as I teach Jack to differentiate
between the two.
"No,
Steven," I reply gently. "But you can stay. Someone in the
Department of Antiquities owes a favour to George - to a friend of
ours. I can get you dispensation to dig here, and a research
assistant. Jack is tapped in to a small crowd always on the
lookout for new - research - opportunities. Won't cost you a
dime."
Jack
gives me that patented, long suffering 'DAN-iel what the hell are you
up to NOW?' look of his. "Sure thing," he comments
unenthusiastically. I'm sure I can talk him around; a little lip
to ear interface and he will soon be brought to fully appreciate the
force of my arguments, vis a vis Steven and the NID being made for one
another.
"In
fact," he says, brightening up visibly, "we could have someone here by
close of business to - "
"Tomorrow,"
I cut him off ruthlessly. It would be too unkind to leave Steven
hanging like this, just because Jack wants a hot bath, clean sheets and
me. He can rough it for one night in the sleeping bag. It breaks
all of the ground rules Jack has established for us, but what the
hey. Jack firmly believes if you're going to break the rules, you
should break 'em good and hard.
I've
finally managed to shake Jack off, and believe me, it wasn't easy to
despatch him off to smooth things over with George and make a
determination on the most 'suitable' NID candidate to keep an eye on
Steven here at the dig. Being in love seems to have upped his
boredom threshold considerably. I had to resort to a protracted
discussion of postholes which gradually drove Jack out of his mind and
eventually right out of the temple. It also soothed Steven’s
lacerated sensibilities somewhat.
I'm
slightly disappointed Steven went for my offer. He's right in
this instance to believe I'm hiding something from him, but in all the
time I've known him, I don't think I've ever given him cause to
mistrust me so - instinctually. Guilty until proven
innocent? All this time, I believed I’d disappointed a
friend. I’ve disappointed Steven for sure, but I’m no longer
certain Steven meets any definition of friendship I have.
“Do
you really wish I’d never come back?” I ask quietly.
“Yes,”
he says flatly. “We were fine as we were. Professor Jordan
looked for you, you know? Sarah too. Nothing. Not a
single paper, not a single research application. Like you dropped
off the face of the Earth. He was finally putting you in the
proper perspective, finally accepting that you’d thrown your career
away and you weren’t coming back. Then this. God.
First you, then Sarah. He deserved better.”
“Yes,”
I agree quietly. “He did.”
“At
least he never had to know why you refused to keep in touch. You
could hardly advertise your clandestine relationship with the jarhead
to the world,” Steven says bitterly.
“Jack
is the best friend I’ve ever had, and the best man I’ve ever
known. We barely have a thing in common, but still, he’s my
friend. He’s WORKED at being my friend. He’s always been
there for me, always looked out for me. He’s seen me at my worst
and at my lowest, and after five years, he’s still here, a rock at my
back. A thorn in my side, too, some days,” I add ruefully.
“He isn’t perfect, but neither am I. He knows me through and
through and yet he loves me anyway. I’d ask you to show him the
respect he deserves, but I don’t see the point. You’ll never get
what I see in Jack – you’ll never GET Jack – because you’re not like
him,” I say sorrowfully.
“Thanks.
I think,” Jack says wryly.
Both
Steven and I jump. Jack is WAY too good at sneaking up on people.
“This
is a private conversation,” Steven snarls.
“Don’t
mind me. Go right ahead. I just came to tell Daniel that
dear old George can’t manage without him another day.” Jack turns
to me, eyes soft with regret. “Got an errand he needs you to
run. Soon as,” Jack says seriously. “He’s sending someone
by to pick us up, so I’m gonna go stow our gear while you say your fond
farewells.”
“Who
exactly is this George?” Steven demands.
“Sugar
daddy,” Jack says whimsically as he strolls away. “Bank rolls our
expeditions, on behalf of my – er – uncle,” he pauses and turns
back. “Oh yeah. Don’t touch the altar, Rayner. Your
research assistant is on his way and so are the Egyptian
authorities. They find one scratch wasn’t there before, you can
kiss your ass goodbye, ‘cause you’ll be ending up in a place where
they’ll be standing in line to ki - ”
“Thanks,
Jack,” I speak loudly over the top of him, scowling ferociously.
To no effect whatsoever, as usual.
“For
ya,” he smirks malevolently at Steven and swaggers off towards the tent.
“You’re
leaving?” Steven sounds lost.
Perhaps
he is. He’s lost the Professor and Sarah, in the worst possible
circumstances, and this will be the third time I’ve walked away from
him without a word of explanation. I’ve been so overwhelmed by
finding Jack again, so focused on what we’re feeling for one another, I
haven’t spared any time to consider Steven’s feelings for me.
“Did
you – I mean, are you – um – “ I falter. “I never meant to hurt
you! I just – I didn’t know.”
“There’s
nothing TO know,” Steven spits. “You forfeited your right to
explanations when you walked out on me the first time. You didn’t
listen, you wouldn’t let me -- We got by just fine without you.
We didn’t need you – I don’t need you. You’re a joke,
Daniel. A bad joke. A bad joke and a worse friend.
Maybe I did come to believe your theories, maybe I was prepared to take
you back, but hey! I should know better by now. It has to
be YOUR way. You’d rather go down in flames on your own and know
you’re RIGHT than compromise. You won’t let anybody in, won’t let
anybody close. Except – “ Steven’s eyes go to the tent for a
moment. “Well, you know what, Daniel? I can do this on MY
own. Do me a favour, huh?”
“Anything
I can.”
“Then
do what you’re good at, Daniel. Just walk on by.” With that
he turns on his heel and stalks back into the temple.
I
stare after him helplessly. There isn’t a single thing I can say
or do for him. He wasn’t just attracted to me, he was in love
with me. I didn’t even see it. I didn’t ever see him, not
truly, and the only thing I feel for him right now is pity.
JACK
“Just
walk on by.”
From
my vantage point inside the tent flap, I see Daniel stare at Rayner’s
turned back and I see the words bite home. Daniel is way too
sensitive, but it’s so much a part of who he is, so necessary to the
empathy that has allowed him to connect with race after race I can’t
regret it. I love him for it and I can understand it, even if I’m
not the same. I get to protect him from the consequences, and who
I am.
All
over.
I
wait until Daniel has snuck off to fret himself to pieces behind the
dune. What Jack doesn’t see, his heart doesn’t grieve over?
Then I follow Rayner back down into the tomb.
Just
walk on by?
Fucking
bastard Rayner.
Oh,
it’s way past time he had a little wake up call. That was
calculated – deliberate – studied. Rayner all over. Daniel
has given him trouble from the moment he got here, been so much
stronger than Rayner was banking on.
Thank
Christ Carter made all that noise about someone coming over here with
Daniel. She’s definitely with us in spirit, checking out all the
reports on the Osiris business. Checking out Rayner.
Checking out police reports. Two murders Carter doesn’t think we
can tie to Osiris. No clear motive and no opportunity. Got
a perfect candidate, though. Right here, large as life.
We’ll
see about that.
I
sneak up behind him, in plenty of time to see him checking out the
‘lock’ the amulet opened on the altar. It won’t do him any
good. There’s no physical evidence whatsoever, no sign at all
that altar was ever lit up like Macy’s Window. The NID boys are
thorough. With teachers like Maybourne, they couldn’t be anything
else. Thorough or dead. No middle ground.
Different
deal for Rayner. Thorough could get him - dead.
“So,”
I snarl, right by his ear, making him jump and spin towards me.
Unconscionable bastard. My pleasure, Danny. I copy Danny’s
move from earlier, but my knee winds up where it should after I put
Rayner on his back hard enough to knock the wind out of him.
Right on Rayner’s throat. He says anything I don’t want to hear,
he’ll not be around long enough to regret it.
“Just
how much do you remember of the attack?” I ask softly, leaning my
weight forward. Rayner gasps and I let him choke just long enough
to panic. He gets the message. He’s not in charge
here. No manipulation. Straight answers or he has only
himself to blame for the consequences. “Why the all-consuming
interest in the altar? Plain enough for even this middle-aged
dullard to see you were risking fucking up your career. Like
you’re gonna risk that Porsche unless you’re dead – “ I emphasise with
a little knee to the throat – “ certain the risk will pay off.”
“What’s
it to you?” Rayner spits, hating me.
“You’re
trying to use Daniel to work whatever angle it is you think you
see. You think I’ll stand idly by and permit ANYONE to bring him
harm? You don’t get to mess with his mind. Leave this
alone, leave HIM alone. You got your dig, you got your
funding. That’s ALL you’re gonna get.”
“And
just why are you ‘giving’ me all this ‘help’, ‘Jack’?” he bites off the
words contemptuously.
My
knee just kinda strikes out on its own for a moment. “Show me
some fucking respect,” I warn softly. “I’m giving you enough rope
to hang yourself, Rayner.”
He
wisely chokes down the harsh words before I do it for him.
“There’s
nothing here. Only two ways I can be sure you don’t bring trouble
to Daniel’s door. This way you only make more of an asshole of
yourself than you already have if you’re dumb enough to push this
investigation.” I hold his eyes. “You won’t like the other
way. You don’t refer to Daniel’s research and you keep his name
out of any crap you try to pass off as original. Are we clear?”
Rayner
still thinks he has a choice.
I
lean in. “Are we CLEAR?”
“Y-
yes – Nazi BASTARD – for Chrissakes, YES,” he sputters, wheezing.
He’s
– obvious.
Time
to bring this home. “I’m bored with all this talk of dead
guys. So let’s talk – dead guys. Sarah Gardner is a solid
lock for the Professor, but that still leaves the nice curator who was
so helpful to Daniel, and the technician who blew everything you ever
thought you knew about Egyptology outta the water, and probably would
have taken your career with it.”
Rayner
goes very still.
“Like
that was ever gonna happen,” I snort. “Over someone’s dead body.”
“Just
what the fuck are you accusing me of?” Steven rages.
He
does that so well.
“Murder.”
“Wh
– what? That’s – that’s – it’s – I – “
“Can’t
string a coherent sentence?” I suggest pleasantly. “Thank
you. I now fully realise just how lucky Daniel is to be far, far
away from bottom-feeders like you. Dear old George knows a few
people. Don’t think for a second we’ve forgotten how you tried to
have the murder of the curator pinned on him. We haven’t.
We won’t. Of course, that was before you considered you might
need to exploit him again some day. He was an inconvenience, so
you tried to put him out of your way.” I wait a beat.
“Kinda like the curator and the technician. Bet it really frosted
your cookies, finding out what a dumb shit you really are.
Destroying the test evidence so you could steal Daniel’s work, and then
letting Sarah beat you to the punch so you’d need it again? I mean,
come on? Who knew?” I say lightly. “Bet the police would
like to know.”
“There’s
no proof,” he says confidently.
“There
needs to be?” I ask mildly. “That’s news to me. Just
because you were all alone with curator before she was murdered – “
“That
was a freak accident!”
I
just smile. Slowly. “Like the police have never made a
mistake before? I’m sure they’ll be open to suggestion,
especially if someone was to draw the murder of the technician to their
attention. With you and Sarah running around icing the Faculty,
between ya, I’m not surprised the police have gotten a little
confused. Haven’t investigated as thoroughly as they might
have. They might just rethink their position if someone was to
give them admissible evidence you were the one who stood most to gain
from the technician’s death. Network back-ups are a beautiful
thing. Tombstone.” Remind me to give Hammond a big kiss and
shake Carter by the hand when we get back. They came
through. “Gotta love those network back-ups.”
“Your
choice, Rayner. Check out the tomb. Feel free. And
when you don’t find anything, move on. Keep your mouth shut and
don’t bother Daniel. EVER again. I got someone dropping by
to help you see the - force - of the argument. You’d better
be fucking convincing. I want you to be crystal clear on
this. No possible margin for error. You try to take Daniel
down – “ I lean on his throat until he’s clawing at my thigh, eyes
bulging. “I take you out, you loveless bastard.”
DANIEL
“ARE
you okay?” Jack hisses, jabbing me painfully in the ribs, as the
elevator hits twenty. “You haven’t said word one for almost - ”
he makes a big production number of checking his watch, “ - two hours
now. Not that I’m complaining, you understand. Longest
break you’ve ever given me, as I recall. Just that silence and
Daniel – Daniel and silence - it’s unnerving me. I’m not used to
it. You never shut up.”
“Thanks,”
I say dryly.
Jack
is being circumspect - yet insulting - because we have an
audience. An inoffensive SF, who made the fatal mistake of
getting into the elevator on twelve and looking quite pleased to see
me. He got ‘Colonel O’Neill’ in the face, Jack glowering at him
every inch of the way down through eight floors. The poor guy –
Sergeant Taylor - is totally bewildered, and well he should be.
I’ve been trying to ameliorate Jack’s hostility by smiling at Taylor
every time we make eye contact. I think Jack and I are coming off
like ‘good cop bad cop’. I should tell Jack that Taylor only
smiled at me because I gave him some information for his son’s history
project before we left for Egypt, but in light of Jack’s outrageous
jealousy, I’m not in the mood. He can suffer. I glance
across. He is suffering. Premature separation anxiety, I
think.
I’m
expecting an interesting briefing. Only two things will make Jack
happy right now. Either I get to stay or he gets to go, and as
George was pretty specific this briefing is for 'Dr Jackson' not SG-1,
Jack is going to be disappointed on both counts.
On
twenty-one, the elevator doors open on Sam, who seems surprised by the
abrupt exit of Sergeant Taylor. I'm pretty sure he actually
punched twenty-six, but I'm guessing he was finding the elevator a
little too full of Jack.
"Hey,
Sam," I smile.
Sam
beams at me. "Daniel!" Then she smiles at Jack. "Sir.
How was - everything - okay?" she asks.
"Sandy,"
Jack says, staring somewhere over her shoulder.
"Was
the situation resolved, Sir?" Sam presses.
"Let's
just say it's fine in the here and now, but a little cloudy in the
future," Jack says cautiously.
Sam
looks disappointed.
"That
was my fault," I confess. "It was my decision, but Jack backed me
up."
"It
was," Jack agrees, still looking at Sam. "And I did."
"Good,"
Sam says warmly.
"Steven
was so determined to find corroboratory evidence, and so convinced I
was concealing something from him - which of course I am, but he didn't
know that - I thought it was best he be allowed to find out for himself
first hand there is no evidence to substantiate the age of the site
concealed at the temple."
"Relative
dating," Jack supplies without hesitation. "All the artefacts
were removed."
Rather
like a Pavlovian response. I feel obscurely guilty. I'm
taking advantage of Jack's hormone-induced willingness to indulge
me. He is so damn sexy when he talks about archaeology, I - I
couldn’t resist. All the way back to the SGC, I - um -
utterly failed to resist.
Sam
takes it without a blink, her smile, if anything, widening.
"You
have NO idea, Carter. None," Jack sighs.
Sam
looks down, lips quivering. "I imagine not, Sir."
As
the doors open on twenty-eight, Jack ushers us out. "I still
can't believe Rayner survived. If ever there was a man
crying out for 'with extreme prejudice' - "
"Tell
me about it!" Sam agrees emphatically, eyes snapping.
"He
was my friend!" I protest.
"Some
'friend', Daniel," Sam argues.
"I'm
getting soft," Jack complains. "It's the only explanation. YOUR
bad influence, Daniel."
"Are
you coming in for the debriefing, Sam?" I ask, surprised, as Sam idles
along beside us. She’s like me, there’s so much neglected work on
base every second is precious. "Aren't you busy with your
experiments?"
Both
Sam and Jack flush.
"Yeah.
Pretty routine stuff, Carter. No need to hang around. I'll
catch up with you later, fill you in on anything I think you need to
know," Jack says casually.
"Looking
forward to it, Sir," Sam grins, before turning on her heel and heading
back the way she came.
I
need to talk with Jack first, but then I really think I need to talk
with Sam. I know she has been keeping a discreet distance from
Jack for a while now, but it wasn’t so long ago she was the one Jack
was turning to every chance he got. I’ve never talked to Sam
about her feelings for Jack, and I realise I have no real idea of how
deep those feelings went or how much she’ll be hurt that Jack and I are
together. Even if we don’t tell her, Sam is smart enough,
perceptive enough and close enough to both of us to work it out for
herself.
Just
as I did.
The
last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt Sam. If she’s feeling
anything even approximating what I’ve been feeling all these months,
she’ll need to know that whatever else may have changed, we are still
friends. This isn’t about Sam; it’s about Jack and me.
“Daniel?
You with me here?” Jack asks softly, as he pushes open the briefing
room door.
I
smile. “Yes, Jack. I’m with you.”
"So
you're certain there's no risk to the security of this command, Dr
Jackson?" the general asks.
"Certain."
"Colonel?"
"I
agree. Rayner doesn't remember squat about the ribbon device or
the toys NID took away and he swallowed the tale about Sarah Gardner
hook, line and sinker - probably sorry he didn't think of it first, if
you ask me."
"We
didn't," I snap.
Jack
smirks. "Daniel swept that place thoroughly, Sir. No
concealed chambers, no buried treasure. Nothing to see, nothing
to find. Rayner will have plenty of time to come to the same
conclusion. The NID boy has orders to work him pretty hard."
George
nods approvingly. "A wise decision, Dr Jackson. Based on
what you've told me of Dr Rayner's motivations for seeking you out - "
The
Reader's Digest version.
"
- and the extraordinary cover Colonel O'Neill felt compelled to adopt -
"
Edited
slightly by Jack for adult content - i.e., OUR motivations - therefore
both completely accurate and totally misleading at one and the same
time. Jack nobly took the blame for the ‘idle dilettante’ cover
before I could get a word in. Jack’s summation of his travails at
my hands was graphic enough to tug any Air Force heartstring,
particularly the postholes discussion. I’m lost in
admiration. George has just enough of the picture to be amused
and not nearly enough to ‘worry’ over, and any potential damage from
Steven has been neatly neutralised, no matter what he may choose to say
to his ‘research assistant’. I never realised Jack could ‘spin’
quite so effectively, weaving ‘interpreted’ truth and outright fiction
seamlessly.
"
- I'd have to agree this was the best course of action. Dr Rayner
is contained and presents no risk to security at this moment. The
NID operative will review. Well done, gentlemen." George
smiles warmly at us both.
"About
this snipe hunt you have lined up for Daniel, Sir?" Jack challenges
after basking in the warm glow of accomplishment for a nanosecond.
“Major
Kovacek will be taking time out from mission prep to join us for Dr
Jackson’s briefing.”
“Kovacek?
I thought this was SG-11’s gig? What’s with the new guy?
Simpson?” Jack’s eyes harden. “What exactly are you proposing to
send Daniel into, Sir?” He shoots Stan an assessing look as he
walks in.
“Major
Kovacek. Take a seat,” the general nods to Stan, who sits by me.
“General.
Colonel O’Neill,” Stan nods to Jack. “Daniel.” He smiles at
me. I smile back. Jack scowls at both of us, while the
general looks ‘patiently’ at Jack.
Jack’s
sudden, inexplicable jealousy is quite unnerving. I’m fairly
certain once the physical side of our relationship is resolved, he’ll
calm down again. Fairly certain. Though that doesn’t
actually help anybody caught in the cross-fire in the meantime.
What am I supposed to say? Don’t worry: you won’t get yours if
Jack gets his?
“Something
amusing, Daniel?” Jack snaps.
“As
you know, SG-11 were carrying out a routine geological survey of
P4X-717,” the general begins. “The team discovered traces of a
rare mineral in the soil samples. This is a mineral we’ve
encountered only on B2Y-984.”
“Oh!”
I remember. “The Dal. They had naquadah in plentiful
supply, but we had nothing of sufficient value to trade for it.” Jack
looks blank, prompting me with an eloquent shrug to go on. “The
crystals formed the basis of their technology. Sam wasn’t allowed
to bring back any significant samples of the mineral for testing
because it was in such short supply. All she could do with the
trace she had was map its constituent elements.” I turn to the
general. “You’re thinking of trading the mineral found on P4X-717
with the Dal in exchange for the naquadah.”
“Major
Carter did report the naquadah to be of weapons grade,” Stan interjects.
“So
if everything is hunky-dory, why’d they need an archaeologist?”
“Major
Simpson penetrated twenty kliks from the gate and reported finding
signs of habitation,” the general is calmly overlooking Jack’s less
than receptive attitude. “A small town, and close by, a
temple. Everything is in excellent repair, so we made the
assumption the people are nomadic.”
“It’s
not usual for people to abandon permanent dwellings for any period of
time. I’d suggest a religious ceremony of some kind, but if it’s
not centred on the temple?” George shakes his head. “The
people came back, right?” I realise.
“The
UAV found what looked to be mine workings to the east of the
town. Soil samples taken from the vicinity were especially rich
in the mineral. The Major felt an incursion into the mine was
worth the risk. SG-11 triggered some unknown security device and
the people returned. Through the Stargate.”
“They
were off-world? Everyone? Did the UAV find any other signs
of habitation? Farms or outlying villages? Other towns?” I
ask.
“Nothing
but the primary dwelling site, the temple and the mine within UAV range
of the gate,” Stan comments.
“What
about schools?”
“Nothing
to suggest it. The only communal building in the town is the
temple, Daniel.”
“Then
it’s a mining colony. Transient population, permanent operation,”
I judge.
“Makes
sense,” Jack grudgingly concurs. “Were the natives restless?”
“Not
after Major Simpson was able to show that SG-11 hadn’t removed more
than a few sample crystals from the mine. There was no question
of wholesale theft, and the mine supervisor – for want of a better word
- seems willing to let that pass,” the general picks up the
thread. “Major Simpson attempted to negotiate for access to the
mineral, but the negotiations have fallen on stony ground.”
“No
pun intended,” Stan says ruefully. “They are perfectly polite,
perfectly hospitable. And very, very distant. I went in to
take over the trade negotiations and for once, I just can’t get a
hook. I’m baffled by these people. They seem –
expectant. Like they’re amiably tolerating our presence until we
‘get it’. I have no idea what ‘it’ is. All I know is we’re
back in the same position we were in with the Dal. We have
nothing they seem to want.”
“Seem?
We must have something, or they would have sent the team back through
the Stargate, correct?” I ask.
Stan
smiles. “That’s my assessment too, Daniel, but I can’t work out
what it is they’re after. It’s incredibly frustrating. We
can’t get access to their computer systems, and there are no paper
records. We can’t find enough out about these people to find that
hook we need, and they just aren’t talking.”
“The
people haven’t objected to our visiting the temple, Dr Jackson, which
is where you come in,” George smiles at me too.
“The
temple seems to be the heart of the community, Daniel. We were
allowed to roam around the outer chamber quite freely. I saw a
lot of what looked like writing on the walls and pillars.”
“We’d
like you to take a look at the temple, Dr Jackson, see if you can’t
translate the writings, find some common ground with the people,”
George asks.
“A
name would be good,” Jack snipes.
“True,”
Stan says wryly. “We haven’t gotten even that from them, let
alone where their homeworld is.”
“What
level of technology are we talking here, Major?” Jack asks abruptly.
“The
mining operation is clean and sophisticated. No paper records of
any kind. No obvious manufacturing other than the mine, vast
storehouses of perfectly preserved food supplies. An alarm system
that triggers an off-world response. I’d say pretty
sophisticated. We haven’t seen any weaponry of any kind, handheld
or otherwise.”
“So
either they don’t think we’re a threat or we aren’t a threat,” Jack
says dryly. “Sir? You want Daniel to read the runes and
make nice with the natives?”
“In
a nutshell, yes,” George gives Jack a cool look which bounces right off
him. “Dr Jackson?”
I
look at Jack. Oh -
“There
were a lot of interesting artefacts. Decorative looking things,”
Stan says innocently. “Huge jars and plates –“
“Probably
ceremonial.” Jack sighs as I waver. I love him but -
“Precious
metals inlaid in the pillars. Mosaic floors. Stunning
colours.”
Mosaics?
O-oh –
“Depicting
stories. Possibly myths and legends. Reminded me of the Byzantine
mosaics in Ravenna.”
Mmm.
This I HAVE to – oh. Er -
“Get
thee behind me, Kovacek,” Jack says bitterly. “Sir, permission to
– “
“Assist
me with the current round of senior officer’s Performance
Evaluations? Permission granted, Colonel. I believe Major
Carter’s appraisal is overdue by almost seven weeks.”
Jack
shudders convulsively. George doesn’t ‘see’ that either. He
tells me I have a go for fifteen hundred hours – which, realistically,
gives me an hour to make it up to Jack for my treachery, and something
in the region of ten minutes to pack – thanks us, then kindly but
firmly dismisses us. He knows perfectly well the magnitude of the
insult he’s just added to what he considers a very minor injury.
He
has no idea the honeymoon is now officially over for Jack and me.
Not that we actually had all that much - honey - in our
particular moon.
No.
Stan
– chuckled.
Flinty
eyes quell Stan to rigid correctness. He so at attention he’s
almost twanging. “When was the last time you had YOUR Performance
Evaluation, Major?” Jack asks gently.
Stan
swallows.
“It
MUST be overdue by now,” Jack muses.
He
knows it’s overdue, because he was late doing them last year too.
And the year before. Like the general wasn’t supposed to see a
pattern emerging?
“SG-9
is due to ship out at eighteen hundred hours, Sir,” Stan
ripostes. “SG-4 have fallen foul of some tribal – “
Seeing
battle is fairly enjoined, I slip away. Jack may outrank Stan, he
may be sneaky as hell, but Stan isn’t our best negotiator for
nothing. I may get more packing done than I expected.
“DAN-iel.”
“Just
– um – “ I jerk my thumb at the door and sidle a few steps closer to
packing.
“Daniel?
Better take these, “ Stan turns, smiling, and slips me an envelope.
“We’ve got some stills of the temple and the writing. It may help
you narrow down which reference books to take with you.”
Stan,
I could kiss you!
Oh.
Um,
Stan, I’m leaving now – very much for your own safety, I fear. Uh
- sorry about that.
“I’ll
FIND you before you go, Daniel.”
Better
be quick then, Jack. Going NOW.
I
reach out trembling fingers and caress perfection. “Beautiful,” I
breathe. Vibrant. Strong. Such depth and clarity of –
“Jeez.
I cannot believe you are cheatin’ on me with a FLOOR,” Jack
groans. “This is like archaeological porn, right?” He leans in
and snatches the photo from my covetous grasp. He looks at it for
quite some time as I hover anxiously. “Not QUITE what I have in
mind when I fantasise about getting laid.”
I
read his intent and back off rapidly, colliding with my workbench.
“Jack! Not on – not – n – mmmph – OW – mmm.” GOD, he’s
STRONG. And I find I’m minding the tap digging viciously into my
– “Mmm,” hip less and less with every – “Mmm,” – passing – “Jack!” –
second. Wow. Where did he learn to kiss like THIS?
Nibbling. Suction. Tongues. LOTS of tongues.
Stroking. Teeth. Licking. “Love – love you!”
“Love
you too, you two-timing little gold-digger,” Jack breathes sweetly into
my parted lips, caressing his cheek tenderly against mine. “You
may be sprawled all over that floor, but you’ll be thinking of
me.” I feel his smile against mine. “Do I gotta tell you to
be careful?”
“Uh
uh.”
“To
wrap up warm, eat and sleep? To NOT work yourself to death?”
“Uh
uh.”
“To
listen to and do everything Major Simpson tells you to?”
“Uh
uh.”
“Mm
hm!”
“Mmm.”
“I
can’t lecture and lip lock at the same – Daniel! HOT. You –
I - ”
Hot?
“NOT
my temp – for cryin’ out loud,” he snatches my hand from his brow and
kisses me breathless – boneless – senseless - fearless.
Jack
rests his head on my shoulder, warm hands gliding all over my
spine. “Do I gotta tell you to be careful? Promise
me? Promise me you’ll try.”
“Promise,”
I sigh into his hair.
“I
– worry.”
“I
know.” I have to go soon, and we both know it. “Jack?
I’m worried too.”
His
head snaps up. “About the mission? Just say the word,
Danny, and –“
“About
Sam,” I interrupt. “I – I want to tell her.” Jack grimaces,
not meeting my eyes. “She’s – close - to you too, Jack. It
isn’t fair on her to leave her to work it out on her own, or hear it
third hand,” I reprove him gently.
He
looks up at me, searchingly. “Not fair.” A rough hand cups
my jaw, shakes me a little. “Not fair at all. Don’t fret
about Carter. I’ll talk to her, straighten things out. And
I’ll talk to YOU when you come back. Now. Bullet point
summary?”
“Careful,
warm, eat, sleep, listen, do, careful,” I tick them off on my fingers.
“No
stinky monsters either,” Jack orders. “Stay off those a la carte
menus.” He sighs. “I know it’s near impossible, but TRY not
to look completely edible.”
“No
overwork, no monsters – though that is simplistic in the EXTREME.
In fact – “
Jack
steps back rapidly and reaches urgently for the nearest bag. He
grunts as he lifts it. “You taking rocks WITH you?”
“Books,”
I say defensively.
Jack
eyes the three additional bags, all bulging. Then he eyes the
photographs cascading across my workbench. He hefts a second bag and
gloats. “It’s all squiggles and pointy bits. Right?”
Actually,
yes. Just for the moment. As soon as I have a frame of
reference , I will of course –
“Could
be a laundry list for all you know,” he’s laughing. I hop down
from my bench and grab the other two bags without the amateur dramatics
HE felt were necessary. “Or maybe a dirty story. That’d be
peachy. Ya think they got Cliff Notes?
Back to Part Two / On to
Part Four
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