WORLD ENOUGH, AND TIME: AN ALTERNATE REALITY NOVEL BY BIBLIO
CHAPTER 3: MAKING CONNECTIONS

CHAPTER  3: MAKING CONNECTIONS

Daniel sat down on his bed and stared around at his room in mild disbelief. The past few days were a blur to him.

Late Tuesday morning, Jack had picked out this house in fifteen minutes flat in the fourth realtor's office he'd dragged Daniel into. Daniel knew even less about real estate than he knew about the United States Air Force, but he was starting to get to know Jack O'Neill. The speed of it all didn't surprise him.

They both liked the house, the only one they agreed on. It had character, with the rustic exterior and huge windows allowing light to flood in from all sides in the living room. The plain cream interior walls looked warm and clean against all the dark wood. The oak parquet floor was polished smooth and pleasantly natural underfoot. The heavy louvered doors and closets would take some getting used to, though. The previous owner had left earth-toned Venetian blinds up at the windows which kept the rooms light and airy without sacrificing privacy.

Jack had turned on charm Daniel didn't know he possessed and reduced Rachel the realtor to five-two of quivering hormonal lust. It got him the keys, the initial paperwork signed, and a deal on immediate occupancy via an interim rental agreement while Rachel and Jack's attorney worked on escrow.

In response to Daniel's faint protest at his ruthless efficiency, Jack insisted they were taking the house because when they got out here, it reminded him of his grandmother's cabin in Minnesota. But Daniel thought, well, maybe he'd been a little too excited about the inherent possibilities in a garden, his first. Jack had noticed. Jack seemed to notice everything. Daniel had never known anyone so alert, so aware of his environment.

On Tuesday afternoon, after an appalling late lunch of two Big Macs, a Fillet-o-Fish and super-sized fries - Daniel had made do with two cinnamon doughnuts, which seemed the healthiest option - Jack had blitzed Sears in the Chapel Hill Mall demanding immediate delivery on everything, seething at the staff while Daniel carefully selected all the things he wanted and Jack insisted he have. Money was not an issue Jack had allowed Daniel to dwell on. Afterwards, Jack had dropped Daniel back at the house to paint his bedroom the intellectually stimulating blue-grey he'd chosen in the department store, the only splash of colour in the whole house.

After completing the next round of paperwork at his bank and setting the house purchase in motion with Rachel the realtor, Jack had collected Daniel for the drive back to Winter Park and an evening of frenzied packing. Daniel had admired the sleek oak writing desk in the living room and Jack had given it to him because it had belonged to his grandmother and Sara wanted him to take everything of his out of what used to be their home. The dining room suite, the china, silver and crystal. Jack had taken those and nothing else apart from his personal belongings. Clothes, CDs, CD player, several hockey sticks, five years-worth of National Geographic magazines and an ice cream maker. They'd brought the smaller boxes with them from Winter Park this morning. The necessities.

Jack had arranged for an obliging neighbour from Winter Park to be there when the movers came on Thursday for the furniture, about the time Daniel was due to sell his soul to the Air Force. Avid curiosity guaranteed the neighbour was perfectly happy to escort the movers and oversee the unpacking. Snooping around the empty house too, of course. Looking at Jack's wintry face while he had made these arrangements, Daniel had decided maybe the 'good suburban life' was purely apocryphal.

He hadn't protested any of these changes. There was nothing to make Jack involve him in the decision-making process, but he'd still brought Daniel along. More confused than ever, it had to be said. Jack's haste to cut off every tie to his home, his life, the ruthlessness of it had stunned Daniel into acquiescence. He could see that Jack couldn't bear to be in the house but couldn't begin to understand why he wouldn't fight to keep hold of some part of it. Why he wouldn't, or couldn't, reach out in any way to Sara. He was just cutting her off, harder and faster than Daniel had imagined was possible.

There was too much to deal with. Too much. Daniel couldn't shake the disorienting sense of going under for the last time and he was losing the fight against anchoring his little remaining certainty in Jack.

With a final pained look at his bedroom walls, Daniel trailed disconsolately along to their pristine, echoing new living room to report back on the reality check Jack had advised him to take. He found Jack leaning against the low wall which separated the dining area and living room, blasting Sears on his cell phone for lying their collective asses off over the availability of his couch, on which he wasn't sitting at this very moment. After a brief pause, he thanked them fairly politely for getting the wide screen TV to him so quickly, commenting that his viewing experience would be considerably enhanced if he had something to sit on. Daniel heard some agitated squawking from the phone, then Jack shared his definition of 'immediate'. Sears hung up at this point.

Jack snapped his phone shut and looked Daniel over, grinning unpleasantly. "Did you wash your hair?" he asked peremptorily.

Daniel nodded glumly.

"How many times is that? Five?"

"Six."

Jack's grin widened. "It's still blue."

Jack had set up camp a thousand times; setting up a house was no different. He had his gear unpacked in an hour, glad the bedroom furniture at least had arrived. There was a dark king-sized bed in the Shaker style for him and an ordinary double for Daniel, who wanted the space for the writing desk and the bookcase he'd picked out so carefully to go with his severely plain oak bed. Two bureaus, lamps, Jack's bedding - a deep earthy red similar to the blinds and drapes in his room - and Daniel's - tasteful shades of blue and grey - along with Jack's armchair and a stand for his CD player.

The kitchen stuff took another hour. They were stuck eating take-out until Saturday, when Sears were deigning to deliver the stove and the pans Daniel had picked out, along with the vast fridge which was Jack's choice. The tea kettle, microwave and toaster they already had. Daniel's precious coffee percolator and knives too, along with a terrifying array of gleaming stainless steel gadgets which had earned the linguist a respect in 'Kitchenware' Jack had never managed to command in the field.

Jack thought Daniel had thoroughly enjoyed breezing round the mall picking out whatever he wanted without worrying about what it cost. He was looking forward to seeing Daniel's reaction when he got his first paycheck and finally realised how much his services were worth to the Air Force. Apparently, about four times what they were worth to that fancy pants Oriental Institute of his in Chicago and the so-called friends who hadn't been anywhere around when Daniel's career got shot down in flames. Daniel and money were apparently complete strangers so far; it was going to be very entertaining watching him acclimatise in every bookstore in Colorado Springs.

Meantime, looking pathetic and lost seemed to get Jack pretty much whatever he wanted. Daniel tended to melt in response - he was tender-hearted and kind of susceptible - and had happily advised Jack on this or that purchase right the way around the mall without remembering Jack was supposed to be keeping a record of what he was spending so he could pay him back.

Oddly, this conspicuous consumption hadn't distracted Daniel from lecturing on the socio-economic and cultural evils of Mall America, forcefully reminding Jack that 'linguist' was only part of the package deal. Daniel came with 'archaeologist' and 'anthropologist' labels attached, which seemed to make him interested in everything. Ears still ringing from Daniel's voluble enthusiasms, Jack decided he'd deal with the whole payment issue only when he absolutely had to.

He heard his jeep pulling up the driveway, winced at the door slam that probably rocked it on its axles, poured coffee into the cafetière Daniel apparently couldn't live without and braced himself for the assault on his front door. Daniel's energy level was frightening.

"I found five bookstores!" Daniel called excitedly moments after a slam which probably registered on the Richter scale. There was a brief pause. "I traded the forty dollar haircut for a twenty dollar haircut and bought…" he trailed off, sounding absurdly guilty.

"Lemme guess. A book?" Jack asked sarcastically as he strolled out of the kitchen. He caught a glimpse of demotic-something-or-other as a very large book whizzed past his nose then forgot to breathe as Daniel emerged from behind it, bright-eyed and – shit! Shit! Jack turned on his heel to stalk back into the kitchen, strangling on fury at Daniel for picking up the goddamned paintbrush in the first place. He kept his rigid back turned as Daniel wandered in behind him, drawn by the rich coffee smell.

The hair was worse. Much worse. The soft, slightly over-long crop spilled tendrils over Daniel's brow, rumpled like he'd just tumbled out of someone's bed. He looked terribly young, the boy Jack tended to think him, even prettier than before, if that were possible, his fine bone structure accented by his pale skin, his eyes seeming huge, long-lashed and intensely blue behind his glasses.

"Jack?" Daniel asked gently, cautiously edging closer to stand just behind him.

Jack cringed from the respectful hand which came to rest tentatively on his shoulder. He recovered at once, turning around before Daniel had pulled away from him entirely. He flashed a quick, uncomfortable smile, let a flushed, equally uncomfortable Daniel make of it what he could. He felt like a complete prick at the ready flare of understanding warmth in Daniel's eyes, at his evident desire to comfort him.

This was the connection he'd been craving, wasn't it? Only now it was all tangled up in sex and all this awareness and Jack shouldn't trust anything he thought he knew about Daniel and him. Certainty was a fleeting thing for him; there were too many questions.

He forced down a desire to tell Daniel to not touch him only because he'd already realised Daniel didn't touch people, period, and the rejection would really hurt him.

This – this attraction was his problem, not Daniel's. He had to deal with it. He'd moved Daniel in with him, for God's sake. What was Daniel supposed to think if Jack made a pass at him? That he wanted him here just to get him into bed? The bed Jack was paying for, incidentally. That he got to fuck him at night and carpool for work in the morning? That it wasn't friendship that had him dragging him back to the life he'd wanted to leave, just sex?

It was too ugly for Daniel to know.

Jack felt nauseated. The truth was, right now he didn't know why he couldn't get a lid on this, keep Daniel safely locked in the boxes he put him in, not when he could do that with anyone else. He would swear it wasn't conscious attraction making him act on his instinct to keep Daniel with him, to make him a friend, that at least some of this was for Daniel's sake, not just his own selfish need.

Daniel was meant to be here with him, he felt that.

His friend.

Just that, and no more.

"Feeling crowded," he confessed awkwardly, hoping Daniel took it the right way.

He was relieved when Daniel's frown cleared to the wordless empathy that had hooked him so completely in the first place.

"I need a cigarette," he sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face.

Trained all his adult life by the military to objectify and dehumanise, Jack had nothing but respect for a man who accepted the cost of empathy and refused to let it change how he lived his life. Hell, he had to admire anyone who conformed only to what they believed to be right without closing themselves off to the impact that had on other people. If Daniel cared about other people's expectations, the odds were Jack and his men would have been buried in the sands of the alien planet along with Daniel's hopes. Jack had enough experience of life, not just of combat, to know how much strength it took for a man to stand apart.

"I got us Chinese take-out," Daniel tempted, relaxing as Jack's explosive tension eased.

"Beer?" Jack demanded.

"Oh."

"Daniel!" Jack rolled his eyes. "No one eats Chinese take-out with coffee," he complained, brushing past him to go in search of sustenance.

"I do," Daniel corrected him, turning to pour two huge mugfuls. The mugs were simple earthenware, with a rich terracotta glaze. His choice, but Jack liked them too. He followed Jack out of the kitchen with their steaming java and they wound up sitting companionably on the low flight of stairs that led down into the living room. Jack proved to be adept with the chopsticks and Daniel was amused to see he really enjoyed his food. This was one thing he was sure would work out between them. Daniel loved to cook, his one extravagance.

"You want a room in the basement?" Jack offered while he hesitated between Szechwan chicken and sizzling beef with tomato. "I figured I could put up some shelves." He glanced up and neatly removed the carton of prawns and fried rice from Daniel's grasp. "For your books."

"Please. That's very kind." Daniel changed his opinion on Jack's kindness when he reached for the chicken and Jack nudged the carton away from him with his foot.

"I like chicken," Jack offered by way of explanation.

"So do I!"

"Get over it. Eat the pork." Jack gestured vaguely with his chopsticks.

Daniel's own gesture was rather more pointed, surprising a laugh out of Jack. Seeing him relaxed for the first time, Daniel realised how different the 'colonel' was from the man. Jack was animated, bitingly funny and oddly soft when he looked at Daniel. His light mood came off as forced from time to time, but he made an effort Daniel appreciated to seem as if he really wanted him here, to treat him as if he weren't just some stray encumbrance.

Some of Daniel's own sick tension receded. He gave Jack shit about hockey, listened to the many and varied horrors of supporting the inimitable Blue Dawgs, tumbled into his new bed and slept soundly until a rough shake of his shoulder woke him.

Daniel realised how much things had changed when Jack led him into an unpleasantly utilitarian locker room to find he had a locker of his very own next to Jack's. Kawalsky and Ferretti were in fatigues, lounging in ambush on the bench in the middle of the cramped room, giving each other ritualistic shit.

Ferretti looked up when Daniel followed Jack into the room. "Jeez, Dr. J! The colonel scalped you!" he pantomime-gasped, grinning like a fiend.

"The colonel informed Dr. Jackson about Air Force regs," Jack coolly corrected him.

"Yeah?" Kawalsky straightened up, looking pleased.

There were times for the truth and Daniel decided this wasn't one of them. One, Jack had just given him an easy out from looking ridiculous and two, it mattered to Kawalsky and Ferretti he would respect the customs that were important to them. Honestly? Daniel would do no less for any culture he studied. He shrugged deprecatingly. Kawalsky's grin broadened as he stepped back and opened Daniel's locker for him with a flourish.

"Welcome to the Air Force, Dr. J," Kawalsky said lightly.

Approaching cautiously, Daniel looked at a neat row of deep blue and khaki fatigues, black T-shirts, short and long sleeved, boots, socks and other arcane military accoutrements. Then, slightly appalled, he looked at the three men benignly watching him.

"It's a military project now, Daniel," Jack calmly reminded him.

"Are the other scientists wearing these?" Daniel demanded. He read the answer in the men's faces. There were no other scientists.

"Your ass belongs to us now," Ferretti teased. He tweaked Daniel's shirt collar. The zipper on his dark blue hooded sweatshirt was pulled a tad too high, making the collar stick up awkwardly. Ferretti shuddered theatrically at the shirt. "Plaid?" He and Kawalsky laughed unkindly then barrelled out the door together in tearing good spirits.

"That means they like you," Jack informed Daniel matter-of-factly. "And they'll keep right on thinking up new and creative ways to show how much they like you. You're part of the team now."

"That's a good thing?" Daniel asked involuntarily. His field was linguistics. Language and culture. The written word. He had considerable expertise in excavating of course, but participant observation had never played a significant part in his research into long-dead languages. Considering his current plight, he had to admit his curiosity was piqued. It would be quite interesting to study an almost exclusively male power structure, to witness the alpha male strive for dominance within a rigidly defined hierarchical chain of command.

Daniel glanced up, biting his lip thoughtfully, not realising how close he was standing to the alpha male in question until Jack emerged from the T-shirt he was pulling off and went still, frowning at him. Daniel politely stepped back out of Jack's personal space at once. He wasn't exactly used to locker room etiquette, something Jack seemed aware of, the frown thawing into a teasing grin.

"Don't tell me?" Jack groaned. "You were the star of the math club."

Daniel unzipped his sweatshirt, shaking his head. He was ruefully aware that approaching the quality time he'd be spending with Kawalsky and Ferretti as a scientific study was probably the only way he'd survive their friendship initiation.

"Chess club?" Jack persisted with slightly annoying certainty.

It was Daniel's turn to frown. Was it obvious? He looked down questioningly at his shirt of pale blue and grey checks. Jack was wincing as Daniel unbuttoned. What was wrong with plaid? It was practical. Serviceable. Cheap.

When Jack went on undressing, Daniel realised this was as much privacy as he was going to get and Jack didn't think anything of stripping down with a room full of men watching him, let alone a solitary linguist. Looking around at the bleak space, Daniel had a horrible feeling communal showers were once more looming in his future. He wasn't wholly over his experiences of them from high school. Jack O'Neill was not the first to christen Daniel dweeb, geek or any one of a hundred other epithets.

Daniel turned around to face his locker, reassuring himself it was simple modesty, not some kind of problematic body consciousness. Admittedly, he was shy when he was young. A little. Not now. Of course not. He was completely over that. He was a disgraced academic with two doctorates which meant he had bigger things to worry about than covering up his skinny ass.

Jack's hand on his arm made him jump. He swung round, scowling into Jack's unrepentant face, slightly distracted by the fact Jack was probably in the Guinness Book of Records for speed dressing.

"Imagine you're in a pool full of great white sharks circling you, closer and closer. You open a vein. There's blood in the water," Jack murmured hypnotically, drawing a slow, menacing finger across his throat. "You'd get off easy compared to what Ferretti could do to you if he thinks you're shy."

"I'm not," Daniel denied this coldly.

Jack smiled, his eyes lighting, reaching out to ruffle Daniel's hair affectionately, the impulsive petting catching them both off-guard. Jack stiffened up again, his face wintry. "You're late. Punctuality is important. Show some hustle." He was already moving away from Daniel. "I'll wait outside."

Daniel honestly couldn't tell if Jack's moodiness was symptomatic of struggling to cope with his loss, or if this was his fault for continually crossing some line of defence Jack wasn't used to having breached. He undressed rapidly, deciding to tackle the issue head on, ask Jack outright what he expected from him. He didn't want to have to call Jack 'Sir' but if it was expected of him, then he should, however strange that word felt in his mouth. He also needed to familiarise himself with the culture and rituals of the tribe. The, um, the team, he corrected himself conscientiously. Looking again into his locker, he selected a set of fatigues at random.

Jack leaned against the wall outside the locker room, giving the whole mountain attitude. He was pissed off at life, the universe and everything. As fast as he drew lines for himself, he crossed them, like he was double-dog daring himself. He didn't even remember reaching out. One moment he was looking, the next his hand was in Daniel's hair. It scared him shitless Daniel didn't make anything of it, accepting it as if it were just Jack to him.

Maybe so, but it sure as hell wasn't Colonel O'Neill.

A crass joke about making a pass or dropping the soap would have been less unnerving to Jack. Locker room talk. Same old, same old. Even here, half an hour from the city, guys looked for and found fuck-buddies. Jack read the signals as well as anyone. Easy, no-strings sex, exercise and stress relief all in one and even better, no expectations. It went on all the time. No one 'saw' it unless they had to, unless the guys felt it and the unit was affected.

If he had been wondering about Daniel's sexuality, he was damned certain now. Daniel was blithely oblivious to any kind of sexual connotation in Jack's behaviour. For his part, Jack was relieved. He couldn't seem to keep his hands off Daniel, but if he kept a lid on it around the men, there was every chance Daniel would go right on being as clueless as he was. It took the pressure off both of them.

Jack had always been the touchy-feely type, with Sara, with Charlie. It was a side of himself he'd never shown on base or around the men. He'd never met anyone in the whole of his career he couldn't keep his distance from. With Daniel, he literally couldn't help himself. He'd found someone who needed to be touched as much as he needed to touch. Daniel needed him, needed a friend, needed affection full-stop. He was starved for it.

Friends.

That was it, that was right. He had to keep focusing on the friend thing, not the touching. This had to be for Daniel. Jack had to bring him some good, had to somehow balance up hauling him back through the Stargate when he would've stayed.

Daniel sidled out of the locker room to walk by his side down the hallway, so close to him their arms brushed constantly, warmth tingling.

"Jack? Am I supposed to call you 'Colonel'?" Daniel asked in a hopeful 'don't make me' voice.

It was an easy out, giving Jack the perfect cue to insist on the distance he needed. Of course he didn't take it.

"Do you see 'colonel' anywhere on this uniform?" he retorted.

Daniel brightened visibly, despite the strange hugging thing he was doing to himself again, something Jack needed to keep a close eye on. The boy was anything but comfortable in his uniform. Jack wasn't comfortable with Daniel in his uniform either. Naturally, Daniel had picked out the blue fatigues, which made his eyes glow intensely. Daniel's horrible street clothes all looked two sizes too big. The Air Force gave its personnel uniforms that fit.

Jack caught a glimpse of Daniel's tight, sweet ass as he stepped onto the elevator and hastily averted his eyes. Maybe this was classic avoidance. Nothing to do with Daniel, who kept standing too goddamn close to him, everything to do with Jack. He couldn't deal with losing Charlie and Sara so he was inventing this crisis to take his mind off it.

This excruciating sexuality crisis.

Yeah. Right. That'd work!

Daniel needed to stand further away from him.

Jack's palms were clammy. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets, fists clenched.

George Hammond stood quietly in his new office, staring out at the briefing room. He'd ordered the dividing wall taken down to enlarge the room just twenty-four hours ago, disapproving the bunker-like feel of the old layout. He found claustrophobia heightened tension unnecessarily, never an aid to clear thinking among his officers, or the civilian consultant George was now responsible for.

He was looking forward to meeting to Dr. Jackson. The young man was without doubt a visionary genius, an idealist, and equally problematic, something of a nonconformist. Fortunately, George wasn't in the habit of judging a man until he knew him. A file could only describe the man's record. Colonel O'Neill's candid report on Dr. Jackson - explicitly ordered for George's eyes only, not West's - was an eye opener in more ways than O'Neill would be comfortable with.

George had acted on O'Neill's recommendation that they make Jackson part of his unit ASAP, trusting his motive was primarily concern for Jackson's welfare. Watching the two men walk into the briefing room, a bashful Jackson almost hiding behind O'Neill's shoulder, he amusedly amended his preliminary assessment. Anyone wanting a piece of Jackson would have to take O'Neill first. George wouldn't fault protectiveness in a C.O., particularly for a civilian.

He timed his arrival perfectly, stepping up to the head of the new briefing table, his men surging up to their feet as Jackson started to sit down. There were quick grins from Major Kawalsky and Captain Ferretti, which Jackson took in good part, simply straightening up again. The young man didn't mind embarrassment, a rare enough trait. O'Neill did. He frowned at Hammond, recognising and disapproving his tactic. He wasn't afraid to show his displeasure either.

"Gentlemen," George greeted his men smoothly, taking his seat.

"Sorry. Where are Catherine and Barbara?" Jackson demanded before George could speak or his officers were settled.

He was amused to see O'Neill frown at Jackson this time.

"Daniel!" O'Neill hissed warningly, low-voiced.

"Jack?" Jackson asked, looking confused. Then his face cleared. "Catherine Langford and Dr. Shore," he offered by way of explanation.

"You're not supposed to speak until after the general," Kawalsky informed him kindly, fighting a grin.

Jackson considered this, biting his lip thoughtfully. "Is there a guide to Air Force customs and rituals?" he appealed to George directly.

"I'll have a copy of the regulations delivered to your office and task Colonel O'Neill to provide appropriate orientation," George promised, ruthlessly suppressing a grin of his own as Jackson glanced at O'Neill, his chin coming up defiantly. Their civilian consultant sniffed disparagingly, possibly for effect.

The young man's innocent wide-eyed charm appeared to have a disastrous effect on military discipline. Especially on O'Neill's. Kawalsky had served with the colonel for ten years, Ferretti for two. It was obvious to George from the swift sidelong glances the two were sharing that O'Neill wasn't reacting to Jackson in ways they expected him to. In point of fact, the colonel looked like he was trying not to laugh, his tightly compressed lips twitching.

George had yet to decide if this was a good thing. O'Neill was bad news. A superb field leader with a ruthless streak, a serious attitude problem and a worse reputation. His men were proud of their hard-ass C.O. but didn't always like him, everyone who had an opinion called him a stone killer. Knowing the missions O'Neill was recruited for and the reasoning behind it, the colonel was the last man George would have assigned to command a gentle, idealistic scholar the future viability of this extraordinary command depended on. Except for one thing. He could see with his own eyes Jackson trusted O'Neill, turned to him instinctively, and more than that, he plainly liked the man. It didn't fit what George knew of either of them and he was intrigued enough to be prepared to play this hand out as it had been dealt him.

He answered Dr. Jackson's original question, acknowledging the fairness of it. "I rescinded General West's order to recall the civilian scientists." Jackson stiffened, straightening up to fire off some retort, O'Neill's warning look having no impact at all. "They couldn't accomplish in two years what you did in two weeks." It was exactly what West had said to Jackson. The doctor's answer, when it came, was far milder than George suspected was originally intended.

"To be fair, Barbara - Dr. Shore - was an astrophysicist, not a linguist, and she delivered everything that was asked of her," Jackson defended her quietly.

The show of loyalty was something George could appreciate.

"As it stands, the situation with the civilian scientists is contained, Daniel, " O'Neill spoke up, offering an unsolicited explanation. "As far as they're concerned, the Stargate only went one place, we activated it, travelled through it and eliminated a potential threat to Earth. For them, it's over. If there's a chance the Stargate can be used to travel to other worlds?"

"Other worlds with Stargates," Jackson interjected absently. Everyone looked at him. "It takes two to activate the-"

"Wormhole," a woman's voice sang out crisply from behind him. "Captain Samantha Carter reporting, Sir."

George stood to return her salute, watching with interest as his men reacted to the arrival of the tall, pretty, blue-eyed blonde. There was nothing in her demeanour to indicate to the others that she was the daughter of George's old and trusted friend, and in turn he gave her only the acknowledgement due any officer.

"Dr. Jackson?" Carter asked eagerly.

Jackson stood up to return the proffered handshake. "Captain Carter," he greeted her politely.

"Dr. Carter," she corrected him, smiling.

"Captain Carter is an astrophysicist." George noted that Kawalsky and Ferretti were puffing up visibly, presumably to yank Carter's chain, Jackson was curious and as for O'Neill, the colonel was palpably unenthusiastic about the way Jackson and Carter were already jabbering excitedly about event horizons.

"If you're such a hot-shot, Carter, how come you're just showing up now?" O'Neill asked suddenly, his pleasant tone at odds with the arms deliberately folded across his chest. "Daniel was wondering."

"Yes," Jackson agreed brightly as he sat down.

"If I may be candid?" Carter shot George a quick look and he nodded permission for her to speak.

"Politics," she said ruefully. "Dr. Shore's work is brilliant. She supervised my doctoral thesis at Stanford."

"Wormhole physics?" Jackson interjected, seeming genuinely interested.

"That's correct. I'm a theoretical astrophysicist," Carter told Jackson as she took her seat, next to his. "Unfortunately, thanks to four years at the Air Force Academy, I'm also an engineer, which Barbara isn't. Her background is pure physics. The Air Force had two major projects with vast potential for scientific discovery and military application."

Jackson's enthusiasm dimmed. George noted his reaction calmly, pleased he had the sense - or maybe the courtesy - not to be openly dismissive of the Air Force agenda Carter so clearly believed in. As did they all.

"The first was the Stargate," Carter smiled warmly at Jackson, giving credit for success where it was due, "The second was a project engineering nanicites. Nanotechnology," she explained.

"You got the engineering project and Shore got Project Blue Book, yadda, yadda," O'Neill impatiently finished for her. "General?" He fired this at George as an accusation, an impatient gesture accompanying the sharp tone.

"With respect, Sir, I did design the dialling protocols for the program that allows the mainframe to interface with the Stargate," Carter snapped. "And Dr. Shore has kept me fully apprised of all developments here."

"Carter means she's read the reports," Kawalsky translated for Jackson, eyes twinkling.

"How'd your little robots do?" Ferretti asked interestedly.

"We were able to gather a great deal of pertinent data," Carter responded stiffly.

"She means they didn't," O'Neill said dryly. "I don't know about you guys, but that just fills me with confidence," he drawled, tossing down the pen he'd been futzing with, for added emphasis.

"Jack," Jackson snapped, frowning at O'Neill. Their gazes clashed, O'Neill's face cold and closed off. Jackson said nothing else, simply gazed steadily at him, tight-lipped and disappointed.

George would swear O'Neill was as surprised by the grudging apology he muttered in Carter's direction as his men were. There was obviously more to Jackson than met the eye. Far more, if he could exert this kind of influence over O'Neill where even the Air Force Chief of Staff had failed.

"For the record, Captain Carter," Kawalsky spoke into the awkward pause. "The Colonel has a problem with scientists."

"A big problem," Ferretti backed him up, nodding sagely.

Jackson looked up, clearly surprised. "He does?" he asked innocently.

Even George had difficulty suppressing a snort of laughter.

"I just don't see how that's possible," Carter interrupted.

Jack sighed and got up to pour himself another cup of coffee. Daniel checked his cup and looked up at him expectantly. Jack wandered back with the pot and poured him another cup, his fifth in two hours. If Hammond didn't call for a break soon, he would. Daniel would be wired with all this caffeine on an empty stomach. He glanced up in time to see Ferretti and Kawalsky ostentatiously checking their cups. What did they think this was? Hostess service? Jack glared at them until they subsided, avoiding his eyes.

"Do we have any more of those chocolatey things?" Daniel asked hopefully.

Jack was half-way back with the plate before he realised it. To cover, he put the plate down at his place at the briefing table and made up for any previous hints of Daniel-induced weakness on his part by eating the last chocolatey thing slowly, and with obvious relish, smiling blandly at Daniel's unspoken indignation.

He'd earned the chocolatey thing. Two hours with the chatty linguist and Captain Negativity Carter arguing in circles had sapped even Hammond's will to live and his men were looking downright punchy. The kids, needless to say, were having a blast.

"Look." Daniel turned appealingly to Jack. "We have the seven co-ordinates that took us from Earth to Ra's planet, including the point of origin. The dialling program renders those co-ordinates as binary code."

Jack hoped this was rhetorical. He thought it was kind of funny Daniel assumed everyone else in the room was a) up to speed on this stuff and b) fascinated. Being fair, he had to admit he and his guys were fascinated by Daniel, if nothing else. None of them had ever met anyone like him. He had a feeling Daniel wasn't just in the team, he'd been adopted by the team. Even Ferretti was looking all misty-eyed and paternal. Or maybe he was just dazed and glazed.

"That's correct, Doctor," Carter agreed.

"It's a translation!" Daniel announced triumphantly.

He clearly knew what he meant, but even Carter wasn't asking.

"Take Earth as the point of origin, then select six other symbols and dial them."

"Cold dialling?" Carter asked, sitting up straighter, thinking furiously. "It's worth a shot," she admitted fairly. "Without the symbol for the point of origin, the Stargate was unable to gain the necessary lock on the other gate on Ra's planet that allowed what we believe to be a stable wormhole to be generated. Thanks to Dr. Jackson identifying the necessary symbol for Earth, I should be able to design a program that will match the binary values of each unique 'address' of seven symbols on the Stargate to the Hipparcos Catalogue. The catalogue contains data on one hundred and twenty thousand stars, measured to one milliarcsecond accuracy."

"We could start with five of the symbols that took us to Ra's planet," Daniel suggested, "Dialling with each of the other symbols in turn, methodically altering the order of alignment until we can establish a connection with another Stargate."

"That would cut out a lot of leg-work and enable us to assign binary values to all the symbols on the Stargate quickly," Carter approved, smiling again at Daniel. "We have the physical location for Ra's planet, which narrows the choice of possible constellations, giving me another angle of approach."

"A million years into the sky," Daniel quoted dreamily, too far away from them for a moment to notice Carter's quick, understanding smile.

Jack cut Carter a little slack. She was at least open to trying other people's ideas. He couldn't say the same for many of the Pentagon pen pushers he'd put down in his career. "What kind of time scale are we looking at here, Carter?" he asked briskly.

"The computer could code two or three addresses a month," Carter answered brightly.

"I'll bring a magazine," Ferretti grumbled under his breath.

"The odds of finding a planet close to the one already discovered - which is what Dr. Jackson is suggesting – are..."

"Don’t tell us what the odds are, Carter," Jack interrupted. "We don't want to know."

"We do," Daniel contradicted.

"It took us two years to the get the first address, Sir," Carter snapped. "Two or three destinations in a month is a significant improvement in both efficiency and effectiveness."

"Actually, it took two years for you guys to get precisely nothing," Jack countered. "It took Daniel fourteen days to get the first address."

Carter's hands clenched on the table.

"And what's with the 'us'?" Kawalsky queried. "You weren't actually part of the team, were you?"

"If Dr. J does it instead of your computer does that mean it'll work quicker?" Ferretti asked with saccharine sweetness, happily backing up his team. They united in ignoring Daniel's wordless discomfort at their sudden attack on Carter.

"It took us fifteen years to MacGyver the supercomputer that powers the dialling program," Carter frostily reprimanded him, the only one of her rank and the only one she could take out her frustration on. "None of this has been easy, Ferretti. The technology is so far in advance of our own, the materials the Stargate is constructed from unlike any found on Earth."

"That's the only reason we're wasting time on it," Jack said smoothly.

"Research is never wasted," Daniel argued, finally finding his voice.

"Agreed! Even if an experiment is a failure," Carter began hotly, grateful for his support.

"You can gather a great deal of pertinent data?" Jack suggested gently, earning pissed looks from both Daniel and Carter.

"Fifteen years?" Daniel asked, startled, his train of thought obviously derailed. "Fifteen?" he asked Jack, who nodded solemnly. Kawalsky and Ferretti waved perkily to Carter while Daniel wasn't looking and she shot them the kind of look Sara shot Jack when he ate her Ben & Jerry's on the sly.

"The Stargate project has been active for fifteen years?" Daniel didn't seem able to take this in.

"Seventeen at least," Carter affirmed.

She climbed another notch in Jack's admittedly low estimation of her by not getting pissy with Daniel.

"Could I take a look at the project records?" Daniel asked, turning from Carter to General Hammond. "All of the records?" he emphasised.

"This is the Air Force, Daniel, not the X-Files," Jack told him witheringly.

"The Pentagon has lost entire countries," Kawalsky commented dryly.

"It's possible someone might have presented a research paper or feasibility study that supports my theory about a network of Stargates." Daniel pointedly ignored Jack's sarcasm.

"I can call the Pentagon, Sir," Carter offered immediately. "I have some contacts there who could expedite the transfer of the documentation."

Jack wasn't sure if she wanted to help prove Daniel right or prove him wrong. After her holier than thou pronouncements that it simply wasn't possible, the Stargate only went one place, how much ego – and reputation - did she have riding on the outcome? She bore watching either way. Jack wasn't about to let Daniel fall victim to internecine Pentagon politics or an ambitious career-building lifer.

"Agreed," Hammond crisply acknowledged Carter's offer to hit up her contacts. "Dr. Jackson? You'll have all the assistance you need."

Kawalsky and Ferretti looked at one another, then at Jack, who smirked unpleasantly at them, then by process of elimination realised they were it for 'assistance'. Unsurprisingly, their twin versions of the Pathetic Look didn't work on Daniel. Jack knew he had two clear advantages they didn't. He hadn't knocked Daniel on his ass or thrown his books down a dune. Payback was imminent and the best thing was, only Daniel didn't know this. He didn’t actively dislike the guys, he loved his research and he thought sharing was fun. Jack would issue specific orders to ensure his two benighted subordinates never, ever disabused Daniel of this charming naïveté.

"Captain Carter? I want you to begin work immediately on this cold dialling program," Hammond instructed. "I'll assign Sgt. Harriman to assist. Outside of the civilian team, he has most experience with the dialling computer. Sgt. Siler is the technical sergeant who engineered the electrical interface that powers the gate. I'll have them both report to your lab ASAP."

"Yes, Sir," Carter acknowledged smartly.

"Colonel O'Neill? You'll co-ordinate," Hammond ordered.

Jack planned to. Starting with those godawful Wal-Mart checked shirts Daniel insisted on wearing.

"Gentlemen, Captain Carter, Doctor Jackson, you're dismissed."

Carter rose smoothly to her feet, looking challengingly across the table at Kawalsky and Ferretti.

"Leave 'em alone, Carter," Jack ordered lightly. "They've a fate worse than you to face as soon as he's dismissed."

After a brief mental review of the assembled personnel, Daniel scowled at him.

It perturbed Jack greatly he found this cute.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Daniel demanded.

Jack was damned if he knew.

Hammond nodded meaningfully at Jack. Obediently, he caught hold of Daniel's arm before he could follow Carter and the men out of the briefing room.

"Dr. Jackson, as you're a civilian member of my team I feel it's my duty to remind you everything that goes on here is Top Secret," Hammond informed Daniel gravely. "You're not to discuss the project with anyone, not even Catherine Langford or Dr. Shore," he added.

"For the record, I think it's ridiculous to keep information from the people who made the project possible, especially Catherine, who was there when her father uncovered the Stargate on Giza Plateau in 1928, and who's our greatest expert on it, but of course I'll respect your rules," Daniel assented unhappily.

Jack mentally inserted the 'petty' that went in front of 'rules' and the 'pissy' that went in front of 'linguist'. "Lots of orientation," he laconically promised the general, jerking his thumb at Daniel.

"I don't come to heel on command, Jack," Daniel retorted.

"Lots," Jack said again.

"Do you believe the Stargate can be used to travel to other worlds, Dr. Jackson?" General Hammond asked Daniel seriously.

Jack liked Daniel didn't rush to answer. He probably had no idea of this, but the Air Force prided itself on the professionalism and strategic thinking of its personnel. Daniel's methods were more lateral than literal, he was intuitive, Jack had seen as much when Daniel was in action on the alien world, but he was just about the clearest thinker Jack had ever known. It impressed strategists like Hammond, more than he suspected Daniel knew.

"We are definitely dealing with two entirely different writing systems," Daniel answered slowly. "One did not evolve from the other. It's clear to me now that what we judge to be Egyptian culture and language was in fact a derivation of the culture and language of Ra's species."

Jack turned to watch Daniel as he grew more animated, his hands eloquent.

"The time scale of ten thousand years is staggering. The Egyptian people were nomads in the North African desert during that period in their history. An easy conquest for Ra with all his technology."

"And superior firepower," Jack interjected grimly. "Powerful energy weapons, fighter planes."

"The - for want of a better word - ribbon device he wore," Daniel went on.

"Ribbon?" Jack queried.

Daniel lifted a hand and circled one finger around it from below his wrist to the tips of his fingers. "It wound around his hand like a ribbon."

Jack shrugged and let it go.

"All of his powers would have seemed godlike to Upper Palaeolithic - Stone Age - man. Ra was the first Egyptian God. Also known as Re and Phra…"

"Daaaniel!" Jack interrupted hastily, recognising enthusiasm when he saw it. Better to keep their new C.O. in blissful ignorance a little while longer. "Stick with Ra," he advised Daniel kindly in response to his hurt look. "For our sake," he added blandly.

"Worship of Ra became the predominant religion in Egypt circa 2494-2345 BC." Daniel looked up excitedly, certain he'd come up with something to engage the military mind. "Which gives us our timeline for the rebellion that overthrew him. He was able to rule tyrannically until human society advanced sufficiently to challenge him. In fact, I think the success of the slave rebellion depended on communication!" he deduced, fascinated. "Ra controlled access to reading and writing."

Daniel paced a little, carefully thinking through this intriguing hypothesis, the two Air Force officers patiently waiting for him to pick up the thread again. This wasn't easy – everything he knew about ancient cultures and languages had been overturned with the physical existence of Ra and it was only now he was truly beginning to feel the impact of mythology redefined as history.

"I was able to prove that a writing system developed thousands of years earlier than had ever been thought possible because all the hieroglyphs found date from circa 2900 BC - the Bronze Age," he went on decidedly as he again took his seat. "It took man the whole of the Neolithic period - thousands of years under Ra's domination - to domesticate crops and animals, to develop permanent settlements and metal tools, whereas it took a mere four hundred years from the first appearance of illegal writings to the overthrow of Ra."

"Illicit communication facilitated Intelligence-gathering and ultimately, a co-ordinated attack," Jack hazarded when Daniel paused for breath. "It almost makes sense. Ra learned his lesson, though. He forbade the people on his world reading and writing to keep them enslaved."

"The truth was remembered, even so." Daniel leaned forward, balancing his chin on his hands, thinking furiously. "The account of Ra's rule on Earth paints him as the last of a dying race but we have no evidence of that. We can't discount the portrayal of his alien form by those ancient slaves as the archetypal little grey man. The people of his world had no exposure to the imagery or myths of our popular culture and that one alien form, the Roswell grey, has endured." He looked seriously at General Hammond. "That alone should invite re-examination of the accounts of alien abductees."

"You're saying there might be more of them out there?" Hammond snapped, startled.

"It's possible," Daniel said slowly, reluctant to commit himself that far. "I find it hard to explain the physical resemblance between the depiction of Ra and that of the cross-cultural, pervasive alien archetype," he confided. "It can't be mere coincidence."

"You mean there's no smoke without fire?" Jack suggested. "Like with dragons and dinosaurs?"

"Something like that," Daniel admitted. "Look. Ra assumed the role of a god but he was only the first of many in the Egyptian pantheon alone. For example, circa 2181-2040 BC was the First Intermediate Period of Egypt, which saw increases in the power of provincial governors through the Sixth Dynasty, which in turn led to a breakdown of central authority and chaos throughout the country."

"That's common after a coup," Jack agreed. "Politics abhors a vacuum."

"This is the period of the upsurge of the cult of Osiris, Jack." Daniel sat back, fingers plucking nervously at his pen, worrying he was about to push his credibility too far and lose them. It was, he thought bitterly, the story of his life. Even Nick, institutionalised at his own request at the facility in Oregon, thought Daniel's theories were nuts. "It's possible the key mythological figures in the Egyptian pantheon were in fact members of Ra's species."

"There could be more of these things out there?" Hammond demanded, his eyes widening.

"There's no way to prove it. We have no way back to that world," Daniel said quietly, relief at this unexpected acceptance from the general jostling a very real regret over all he'd been made to give up when Jack brought him back.

"I blew the Stargate, Sir, as ordered. The threat posed by Ra has been eliminated," Jack backed him up, steadily meeting Hammond's quietly assessing gaze.

"We have a lot here to think about, gentlemen," Hammond said thoughtfully. "Dr. Jackson, in light of this new information, I'd like you to complete a detailed analysis of everything you saw and experienced on Ra's planet, the possible links to Earth culture, the development of early man and the accounts of alien abductions. We can access any data you need from anywhere in the world."

"I need books," Daniel requested at once, staggered at being taken seriously.

"Shocker," Jack taunted, ruefully suppressing his grin at another irresistibly cute scowl.

"Get a list to Colonel O'Neill and you'll have them in twenty-four hours."

"It'll be a long list," Daniel warned the general, giddily pushing his luck.

"I have a seven billion dollar budget," Hammond dryly retorted.

"That might not be enough," Jack warned gravely.

"Colonel, I want a full mission report from you on my desk by 0700 tomorrow. Then I want you to prepare a threat assessment of Ra's weapons capability, firepower and technology," Hammond ordered. "Run it past Captain Carter, get her input on how this technology might work."

"Speculate on possible defences?" Jack clarified.

"You know the drill."

"Busy, busy," Jack commented. Things couldn't have worked out better. Daniel had plenty of work, the kind he'd enjoy, to keep him occupied for weeks, by which time Carter's thingumy should be up and running and the two of them could start playing with the Stargate.

He guessed he'd have to let Carter play too.

"Doctor? The airman will show you to your office," Hammond kindly dismissed Daniel, smiling at him for the first time.

"I'm going to need to talk to Catherine Langford," Daniel stated flatly. "We never discussed the original excavation in detail. She's the only one who can answer the questions I have, General. She's the only one who saw the Stargate in situ and it's been part of her life since she was a child. No one has the knowledge or instincts she does when it comes to the Stargate."

"Yet you were the one who opened that gate," Hammond countered, still smiling. "Permission granted," he acceded graciously. "Colonel O'Neill will accompany you."

Daniel had sense enough to quit while he was ahead.

"Colonel? A word?"

Jack rose when Hammond did, then followed him into his office.

"An impressive young man," the general announced calmly.

He gestured for Jack to sit without making him sweat for the privilege, something that had been beyond West. Jack had got into the habit of leaning against the wall to forestall the small ritual humiliation.

"Your report on him makes for interesting reading."

"Sir."

"Cut the crap, Jack," Hammond ordered pleasantly.

Jack didn't take offence at the use of his name or the knowing gleam in the general's eyes. Their new C.O. had handled himself well in the briefing, handled Daniel well, which was all that really mattered. Carter might have been inflicted on them, but she was Air Force through and through. She was easy. She would obey orders Daniel debated.

"Dr. Jackson trusts me, he trusts my men," Jack answered just as pleasantly. "He didn't before we walked through that gate together and believe me, Sir, it was mutual. Trust was earned on both sides."

"As well as respect."

"You're worried about the fallout if we can make the Stargate work again?" Jack suggested confidently. "My men have no problems with the way Daniel handles himself in combat."

"He's inexperienced, " Hammond contradicted sharply.

"He's smart," Jack snapped. "He can analyse a situation and think his way intuitively to a solution I've been trained my whole career to process and act on. We've seen what he can do. What he's prepared to do for us. And, General, he survived Ra where most of my highly trained, very experienced men didn't."

He was struck by harsh memories in rapid succession. Daniel screaming 'no!', between him and the energy weapon. The blast slamming into his chest, crumpling him down to the ground. Daniel willingly giving his life for a man who'd tried to take his own, a man who'd planned to take them all with him, innocent or not. Jack was hand-picked for the purpose. What did it say about him, being capable of that? Dependable. He'd formed somewhat of a bond with the kid, with Skaara, but it hadn't slowed him down when he believed his best option was to set off the bomb.

"The men listen to Daniel, he has authority," Jack went on, shaking off his troubling thoughts.

"Will he follow orders?" Hammond asked directly.

"He'll question," Jack fielded it neatly. "Sometimes that's necessary."

"And sometimes it can get your men killed."

It had saved their lives. "I'm willing to take that risk," Jack said firmly. "My men are willing to take that risk."

"Is Dr. Jackson?" Hammond asked keenly.

"General, if we get the Stargate fired up again, I think it'll take more than you and me to stop him going through it," Jack said ruefully, failing to fight his smile.

"He needs training, Jack," Hammond said seriously.

"He'll have it, Sir, I'll see to it personally," Jack agreed promptly.

"You'd better," Hammond ordered him grimly, driving home the severity of his concerns. "Dr. Jackson is the only one who can make that gate work. I'd rest a whole lot easier if I could keep him on this side of it."

"I'll keep him safe," Jack promised, not idly.

Hammond stared at Jack for a long time, long enough to make him uncomfortable. "You two seem close," he observed at last in a colourless tone, as if he weren't fishing.

It was a simple enough observation, but it got Jack on the defensive like nothing else had. "For the record, Sir, I invited Daniel to stay with me," he stiffly informed his C.O.

"So I understand." Again, the general looked at him measuringly for some time. "Your interpretation of General West's orders to keep close watch on the boy was somewhat liberal."

"I think watching Daniel will be a 24/7 commitment." Jack managed an easier tone this time. "I'm aware of his importance to the project, General, if this plays out. I have no qualms about protecting him and ensuring his welfare, whether he wants me to or not. It's my responsibility."

"Moving him into your house isn't," Hammond retorted dryly. "As a civilian consultant, Dr. Jackson is notionally your equivalent in rank, Colonel, but may I remind you that you're still his team leader?" A certain distance, a measure of pragmatic objectivity were required.

"Understood." Wasn't it exactly what Jack had been telling himself since the moment on Ra's planet he knew he couldn't walk away? He just wasn't listening. "And may I remind you that Dr. Jackson has, even in the short time he's been involved in Project Blue Book, proven himself to be oblivious to taking even the most basic care, depriving himself of sleep and food regularly while working to the point of collapse?" He was satisfied to see this rejoinder bite home, understanding Hammond wasn't going to fight him any more.

"I'm taking your report under advisement, Colonel, and for now I'm inclined to allow Dr. Jackson to continue in residence with you. Keep him happy, healthy and focused."

Jack read dismissal in Hammond's face and rose fluidly to his feet. He was opening the door when the question came, as he knew it would.

"You'll see to Dr. Jackson's field training personally?" Hammond enquired gently.

Jack glanced back. "General, would you seriously expect me to turn him over to Ferretti?" he asked incredulously.

More than a lurking twinkle, Hammond's humour was unmistakeable this time.

Jack relaxed.

"Colonel? May I also remind you that the Air Force didn't grant you the status of an authorised budgetary signatory to allow you to expedite a mortgage for your house?"

Damn. Hammond was good.

Jack was better. The Air Force still didn't know he shopped at Sears.

Sam Carter stood quietly behind the quiet young linguist the whole base was buzzing about, his head bent studiously over a substantial notebook in which he was writing enviably fluently. The office Dr. Jackson had been assigned was the largest available on the base, easily the size of her fully-equipped physics lab, the concrete walls lined with empty bookshelves and muted overhead lighting. It was a none too subtle indicator of his importance to the project no one military would miss or mess with. A long-time expert at reading these signs of official grace and favour, Sam grinned, shaking her head wryly.

Dr. Jackson was proving his civilian status to her simply by placing his desk in such a position he was sitting with his back to the open door he was tucked behind. It wasn't something you'd ever see among military personnel. They needed to see what was coming at them.

Looking at their civilian star, Sam wondered if he had any idea he'd literally turned his back on the whole base.

Her immediate impression was he was absolutely adorable, far too gentle and innocently idealistic for anyone's peace of mind; her considered opinion that for once the genius label wasn't hyperbole.

Maybe it was arrogant of her, but she wasn't used to being challenged.

Sam skirted the workbench taking much of the floor space in the centre of the office and walked up to the desk. "Dr. Jackson?" she greeted him brightly.

Daniel jumped at the unexpected voice, glancing up in surprise to find Captain Carter smiling down at him, appearing much more relaxed in blue fatigues like his instead of the tight, constricting uniform she'd worn on her arrival.

"I wanted to hear more about this dialling device you found on Ra's world," she announced briskly.

"I'd offer you a seat, but I don't have one," Daniel said vaguely. "I'm a little busy."

"This is important," Sam interjected firmly, noting how Jackson's big blue eyes went straight back to his notebook. Intense, lovely eyes in a disconcertingly beautiful masculine face. "You described concentric circles of symbols, with an activation device in the centre. The placement and ordering of those symbols could be significant."

"I have a sketch," Daniel offered, giving Sam the credit of taking her seriously. He opened a desk drawer and produced a small, battered hard-backed notebook. He opened it, flipped pages, looked at something for several seconds, turned his notebook this way and that, then bit his lip.

Sam noted mildly that Jackson had a perfect pouting lower lip most women – including her - would kill for, in more ways than one, something he seemed oblivious to.

"Um," he said hesitantly, avoiding her eyes. "I can sketch it for you."

Sam's unladylike snort of laughter brought an answering gleam to Jackson's eyes but he didn't smile. Sam decided she was right. He was shy. "Call me Sam," she invited him encouragingly.

"Daniel," he offered at once, relaxing a little.

"Have you eaten?" His blank look suggested not. "We can talk in the Commissary," Sam suggested firmly, wise in the ways of the scientific male.

"I think I'm supposed to eat with Jack," Daniel observed sunnily as he bounced up and followed her out the door regardless.

"The colonel?" Sam asked, curious. It was breaking her heart to have to work closely with two gorgeous, unattainable guys, neither of whom struck her as being a manipulative bastard, which was more than she could say for her fiancée. The colonel was undoubtedly a bastard, but he cut her some slack when he realised she could Play Nice with his linguist. Sam was very familiar with the games men played and she was cutting the colonel slack right back for caring enough to slice through the bull for Daniel, plainly out of his depth and looking to his good friend Jack to help him make sense of all this. "Why?" she asked gently, wondering how many meals Daniel forgot to eat before Colonel O'Neill put his foot down.

"He doesn't want me talking to Air Force personnel about the compensatory nature of their firepower," Daniel responded with dulcet innocence.

Sam decided she and Daniel were going to get along fine. She beamed at him. "I knew I'd like you! How much do you know about the glass ceiling?" she asked confidentially as she led the way to the elevator.

"You're a woman in an almost exclusively male power structure, institutionally both misogynistic and homophobic. You have the protection of rank but your gender could be construed as factoring into your promotion," Daniel commented disapprovingly. "Your aptitudes and ability would certainly be judged more rigorously than those of a male officer."

"I graduated from the Air Force Academy with the highest academic scores ever recorded," Sam acknowledged chattily.

"I graduated high school at fifteen," Daniel responded gloomily.

"I'm a 'dumb' blonde with a Ph.D."

"I'm not thirty yet, and I have three."

"Dumb blondes?" Sam asked cheekily, quirking a grin at him.

They walked onto the elevator amicably side by side, in complete understanding.

"Field training?" Daniel asked blankly, staring across the sleek polished surface of the graceful oak dining table at Jack, momentarily diverted from his last slice of pepperoni pizza. "I've had years of field training, Jack. I don't care what the Air Force taught you. When you've spent three months on a dig in the Yucatan, get back to me about special skills."

"I walked out of Iraq on a broken leg."

"Did you have to deliver a baby?" Daniel asked tartly.

"Exploding cows aren't going to top that, are they?" Jack asked after some time.

"Exploding?" Daniel echoed feebly.

"Cows," Jack affirmed glumly.

Daniel was so horrified at the surreal images tumbling through his mind, he stupidly allowed Jack to steal the last slice of his pizza. "Does the general know about this field training?" he demanded, scowling. "It's a ridiculous waste of time."

"The general ordered this ridiculous waste of time, and nothing that makes you more effective in the field and improves your chances of survival - or mine - is wasted," Jack retorted cuttingly.

"Does that work on your men?" Daniel asked interestedly.

"What?"

"That 'scary-scary, don't I look mean?' stuff," Daniel elaborated, making a lightning strike on Jack's Meat Feast.

"I'm guessing it doesn't work on you," Jack snorted as Daniel took a triumphant bite of his liberated pizza.

"Kawalsky and the others, they just don't know you," Daniel reassured him earnestly.

Jack smiled at him, his expressive eyes warming. "They're not supposed to," he chided gently.

"Does that mean I'm not supposed to?" Daniel frowned over this. "It makes sense, I suppose," he admitted grudgingly. "If you get too close to someone it makes it much more difficult to give them an order that could get them killed. So you keep a safe distance. It dehumanises you."

It was part accusation, part unwilling empathy. He abhorred violence, but he'd killed for what he judged to be right. He wasn't a pacifist but he'd never struck out in anger. He picked his fights and wondered how his deliberation made him different from Jack, who'd surrendered his right to make a choice when he took his oath of service.

"Only at the time," Jack said softly, toying with his beer and starting to think of the pack of cigarettes he had stashed in his room. "Try me at three-am sometime. In the thick of it, you can achieve distance, you can lie to yourself about necessity. In the end you make a value judgement, that your life and the lives of your men are worth more." He took a long draft of beer, swallowing smoothly. "At three-am, you remember faces and wonder about the truth of that."

With impulsive sympathy, Daniel reached across the table to rest his hand on Jack's. Jack looked at him for a moment, his face closed and unreadable, then he quietly shifted his hand from beneath Daniel's.

"I will," Daniel promised.

"What?"

"Try you at three-am sometime."

Jack's face twisted and Daniel wisely left it alone. He sipped his ginger beer and watched Jack nurse his Guinness, worlds away from him. He followed when Jack headed down into the living room to gloat over the new couch, unexpectedly delivered just as they'd arrived home.

Carefully balancing his beer, Jack sank down on the couch with a pleased sigh. Daniel hesitated a moment, then told himself hearteningly he lived here, he wasn't a guest. Jack had faced far worse than his bare feet even if they had been in his ratty old sneakers. He gratefully toed them off, slid onto the seat next to Jack, comfortably curling up on the cushions.

Jack glanced across at him, wincing. "Did I mention my little ACL problem?" he complained.

"You've got cartilage envy?" Daniel blinked. He murmured wordless approval, sinking lower into the deep padding of the new couch. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this comfortable with another person. If he ever had.

Jack didn't feel the need to fill the mellow silence. He finished his beer, set the glass down and slumped, resting his head against the back of the couch.

They sat quietly, companionably, not talking, not even thinking much. In this soft mood Jack only seemed to have around Daniel, it was easy.

The muted lamplight cast Jack's face into warm shadow. After a while, Daniel found himself looking a little, in mild recognition, he supposed, that Jack was attractive. He was a handsome man, his features strong and filled with character, dominated by his intense brown eyes and the straight, firm lips.

Jack was comfortable, he - he fit.

He touched Daniel more than anyone ever had, except for his parents.

For the first time since he'd lost them, Daniel didn't freeze when he felt hands on him. He didn't have that instant of instinctive withdrawal even Sarah's touch had evoked. The intimacy he'd shared with her, limited as it was, was his only frame of reference for how Jack's touch affected him. He was too tired, too open to this almost unknown closeness when so much else had changed for him, to question too deeply how it made him feel. It was friendship. Not of the kind he was used to, not bound up in shared obsession, maybe it was the opposite of what he'd known but still...friendship.

Jack felt Daniel's warmth against his side, the minute shifts and subtle relaxations of his body as he tired. Daniel was looking dreamily at him, a faint smile curving his lips, his guard coming down as Jack patiently waited him out. When Daniel's eyes closed drowsily, Jack's shoulder was there for him to slide onto. He murmured something Jack didn't catch, sighed, then settled. Daniel's hair shone, the citrus tang filling Jack's nose as he breathed him in. It was fatally easy to lean in so his cheek rested against the softness. He didn't make a conscious choice; his arm was simply there, around Daniel's shoulders, hugging him in. Daniel was sleepy and pliant. It was so easy to look his fill.

Jesus.

Jack didn't try to lie to himself about what this all meant. He was just too beat to fight.

His son was dead and he wasn't - couldn't - be with him.

He couldn't be anything for Sara, not alive for her and not dead so she could move on from him, so she left him because it hurt her less to be alone with her grief than to carry his.

He'd lost everything he believed was important, everything that made him who he was.

Jack reached involuntarily across Daniel's chest. Daniel turned into him, his arm falling across Jack's waist, unselfconscious as a child.

Jack's gut clenched. Maybe that was what this was? He was looking for the child in Daniel, instead finding the man? Finding something that felt like attraction. Was it easier to deal with his feelings in those terms than to admit he felt affection for Daniel?

It sounded good.

It didn't explain why he was sniffing Daniel's hair, but it did sound good.

Almost plausible.

Almost.

Chapters:  | WEAT novel home | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 |

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