The Bridge
Part 2
Undercurrents
Eating alone. Not what he had in mind. What the heck was going on today? First Daniel, then Carter. Jack thought at least Teal'c would meet him for lunch at the appointed time, but here he was, making railroad tracks through his mashed potatoes at a table all alone, Carter's words echoing through his skull. Like he'd ever trade his sharp-shooting blonde astrophysicist for some other egghead, even if he did have a cool motorized wheelchair. He shook his head and dropped his fork with a clang. The brains were ganging up on him. No fair. Where the heck was Teal'c?
"O'Neill."
"Teal'c!" Jack nearly leapt out of his chair in relief, startling a raised eyebrow out of the stoic Jaffa. "Where've you been?"
Sliding his tray of food onto the table next to the colonel's, Teal'c swept his glance around the commissary, causing the staring airmen to concentrate more fully on the meals in front of them. "I apologize for my lateness, O'Neill, but Major Weems asked for my recommendations concerning hand-to-hand combat training for new SGC personnel. I have only just left him." He slid a napkin from his tray onto his lap and began working his way methodically through what looked like three chicken breasts, two heads of lettuce, and half a watermelon. "Are Major Carter and Daniel Jackson not joining us?"
Jack returned to his artistic endeavors with his food. "Yeah, that's a good question," he began ruefully. He felt Teal'c's silent gaze pointed in his direction but didn't bother turning his head. "Apparently, I've done something stupid." The continued silence from the large man seated beside him spoke volumes. Jack shifted in his chair to meet the Jaffa's eyes. "What?"
Teal'c had not been looking at Jack after all — his gaze was focused over Jack's head. Twisting around the other way, Jack saw a group of people, equal parts military and civilian, crowded around the commissary entrance and moving in their direction. One deep voice dominated the chatter, and Jack could just make out Kendrick's grey head above most of the others gathered around him. Apparently something he said was funny, because the airmen and civvies clustering around suddenly erupted with laughter. As the crowd parted momentarily, he noticed that the new SGC consultant had one hand on the shoulder of a very brittle-looking Daniel Jackson. Brittle as in at the breaking point. Uh-oh. If he hadn't been looking right then, Jack would have missed it — Daniel twisted just a fraction, almost casually, as if to speak to someone behind him, causing Kendrick's hand to drop off his shoulder and behind his back. Jack placed his hands on the table in front of him to give himself room to stand, but, before he could complete the move he felt a large hand on his arm.
Teal'c hadn't taken his focus from the crowd, but Jack could see that look in his eyes — the half-lidded stare that usually meant the big guy was considering whether or not an opponent was worthy enough to kill. "O'Neill. Who is the man with Daniel Jackson?" he asked in that rumbling, almost a whisper, voice.
"New blood, T. Another smarty-pants to help Daniel out with negotiations and ancient cultures and whatnot. Dr. Donald Kendrick." Jack looked down at the dark hand gripping his arm. "Ah, big guy, you wanna let me go? I thought I'd invite Daniel and his new buddy to eat with us."
The Jaffa's grip remained constant. "I do not believe that Daniel Jackson considers this man to be his 'new buddy,' O'Neill."
Jack turned his attention back to the group which was now breaking up into twos and threes to join the chow line, sit, or leave the commissary. "Yeah, I'm getting that," Jack muttered. Two sets of dark eyes followed Daniel's progress towards the food, Kendrick never more than a pace or two behind him. Both intent on the interaction between the two men, neither noticed the slim woman standing next to the table until she spoke.
"So that's him?"
"Hey, Carter, I thought you stood us up," Jack quipped lightly, relieved to find that Teal'c had removed his hand before his 2IC showed up. Being caught holding hands with Teal'c might just be the perfect ending to this day's nightmare. After another moment of silence, Jack looked up to see Carter standing there, arms crossed, staring with an expression not unlike Teal'c's. Okay, something is not right here. What did Carter and Teal'c know that he didn't?
Daniel had picked up his tray and begun to walk towards the rest of SG-1 when Kendrick tugged on his elbow and leaned down to speak into the young man's ear. Jack watched as Daniel's eyes narrowed before he nodded once and proceeded to the table, carefully placing his tray down opposite Jack's. Kendrick hadn't come with him.
"Daniel?" Carter moved quickly to her usual place at Daniel's side, pulling out the chair and folding her long legs under the table.
"Sam." Daniel forced himself to peel his clenched fingers from the sides of the tray and take his seat, keeping his head down to avoid looking at Jack's face across the table. He took one bite of the baked chicken and chewed slowly, his stomach churning.
"So...?" Jack began. When Daniel didn't raise his head, he blew out a breath in exasperation. "Come on, Daniel, you're acting like you just lost your best friend. Can you say 'over-reacting?'?"
Taking a deep breath, Daniel raised his head to meet Jack's gaze, his mouth quirking up on one side in disbelief at Jack's wording. Words were his specialty. Freudian slip, Jack?
"I see Dr. Kendrick is settling in," Sam observed tightly, watching as the large man was warmly welcomed at a table of younger officers.
"Yep," Daniel answered shortly, "he's already memorized half of the civilian staff's names. I think he's given out some autographs, too."
Sam snorted softly and rubbed one hand along Daniel's arm before walking off to get her own lunch. Jack watched the exchange warily. Clearly, according to the other side of the table the score was Science geeks, 1; Colonel, 0.
"What did you want to talk about, Jack," Daniel asked finally, radiating fatigue. "I mean, General Hammond has already sent me a memo about our off-world missions being on hold for a week for Dr. Kendrick's...orientation."
"Well, Daniel," Jack sniped, "since you asked so nicely, I thought we'd go over the training schedule for next week." He tapped one finger on the clipboard that was peeking out from under his tray. "I mean, if that's all right with you."
Daniel swallowed and closed his eyes momentarily. He knew he was playing with fire; he couldn't afford to antagonize Jack — if they would take away his lead research role, his place on SG-1 was probably next. But after the past few hours with Kendrick, putting up with his damned superior attitude and the constant reminders of his professional standing, his little digs at Daniel's youth, his lack of experience, and his methodology, Daniel was having trouble with those mental doors he'd been working on. "Sorry," he sighed and began picking at his lunch again.
"I have training scheduled with Majors Weems and Feretti this afternoon at 15:30, O'Neill, and again in three days." Teal'c's expression had never changed; he still eyed Kendrick with a mixture of suspicion and hostility while he shoveled his food into his mouth.
"Yeah, I got that, Teal'c, but we're all scheduled for the firing range Monday morning, 09:00," O'Neill insisted as Carter slid into her seat, munching on an apple. He flipped through his papers, still unsettled by the atmosphere at the table. "Carter, your hand-to-hand with Staff Sergeant Chambers?"
She groaned and rubbed absently at her left hip. "He's worse than you are, sir," she complained. "I'm still sore from last week."
"That's why I suggested him, Major," the colonel's eyes twinkled. "He doesn't know the meaning of the word, 'mercy.'"
"Probably doesn't know the meaning of a lot of words, Jack," Daniel muttered, picturing the large, no-necked marine.
That's more like it, Jack thought. The words still had too much edge to them, but at least the archaeologist's self-pity hadn't deadened his sense of humor. Concentrate on the goal here — field team, remember? Jack pushed his tray forward slightly so he could rest his arms on the table in front of him. "I got a report from Lt. Hepburn about your hand-to-hand training, Daniel. Care to guess what it said?"
Daniel refused to be baited. He knew if he opened his mouth now, everything would come out. He contented himself with a shrug.
"He said you put him down eight times last week. In fact," Jack didn't need to refer to the memo from the hand-to-hand specialist for this one, he'd memorized it, "he said that you were 'annoyingly hard to pin,' but that he had to remind you to keep your head in the game 'a lot.' That your attention 'wandered.'" Colonel O'Neill smiled grimly. "You know what that means, don't you, Danny-boy?"
Daniel stifled a groan, keeping his gaze steady.
"You win an all expenses paid trip to the gym...with me... today. And, believe me, if your mind wanders it won't be the only thing." Jack was surprised by the sudden flash of aggression in Daniel's expression. Mad at me, Danny-boy? Okay, now we're getting somewhere.
"And another thing," Jack added quickly. "It's Friday. That means weekend. Pizza and beer at my place tonight, 20:00. Two days off." He pointed one finger at Carter across the table. "Off base, out of the lab, into the fuzzy bunny slippers, Major. Daniel," avoiding the physicist's blue glare he turned back to the young man, but stopped short when he noticed Kendrick had arrived unnoticed beside them. That was twice during one lunch hour someone had managed to sneak up on him. The stiffening of Daniel's posture told him he'd noticed the man, too, even if his gaze remained glued to Jack's.
"I am so sorry to interrupt, Colonel O'Neill," Dr. Kendrick apologized, "but I was wondering if you're finished with young Daniel for the moment." He smiled warmly. "I've just had a bit of an idea about those artifacts the people on M4S-599 keep giving to Major Fletcher. I'd like to run it by your resident expert," he continued, laughing slightly, one hand coming to rest on the back of Daniel's chair.
Leaning back in his own chair, Jack made a 'go ahead' gesture with one hand. "He's all yours, doc," he replied. "But he's got a date with me in the gym at 14:30. And if he's late, he probably won't be coming back until he's gotten cleared by the infirmary."
Suddenly, Teal'c rose from his chair, towering over his seated teammates, to stand eye-to-eye with Donald Kendrick. "I shall make sure that Daniel Jackson keeps his appointment, O'Neill." The words may have been directed to Jack, but it didn't take a linguistics expert to realize that he was sending some kind of message to Kendrick. The Jaffa turned to exchange a glance with Daniel before bowing his head slightly and moving off, his empty tray in his hands.
Daniel and Sam stood together, Daniel granting her a small smile before heading out the door with Kendrick.
Carter looked down at O'Neill.
"What?" he demanded. Was everyone crazy today?
Undermining
Daniel twisted his head back and forth to try to reduce the tension in his neck and shoulders. His gaze fell on the man sitting at his desk. For the past forty-five minutes Kendrick had been scrutinizing the notes Daniel had made on the natives of M4S-599 and fingering one of the small clay figures that Major Fletcher had given him. Leaning against a table as far from Kendrick as his cluttered office allowed, Daniel was torn between his foreboding about the man's presence, and the lure of the mystery surrounding the alien people.
Something about the odd figure tugged at his memory — he'd been methodically checking his reference books relating to island cultures of the Pacific, as the humans on 599 seemed to have had a similar development, but he knew he hadn't found the connection he needed. Yet. Fletcher and his team were distributing more food and water to the people displaced by the volcano's activity near their villages this weekend. They were scheduled to begin moving the villagers to cave systems about twelve miles away from the Stargate on Monday, after their next check-in. That left only the weekend for Daniel to try to dig out the reason for the warning bells that were going off in the back of his mind — warning bells that he'd learned not to ignore over the past few years. Of course, that wasn't the only cause of his uneasiness.
This wasn't right — none of it was right, Daniel threw his pen down on the table and brought his hands up to his face, leaning forward on his elbows. If the powers that be within the government were looking for someone to replace him, it was no surprise they'd picked Kendrick — he was about as high profile as they come. But, why would Kendrick agree to the post? Dr. Donald Kendrick, a man with a pop culture status, not to mention a few best-selling books going for him, had agreed to work on a Top Secret project that might never see the light of day.
It didn't make any sense. Daniel knew this man, knew his academic record and just how he earned it, and knew he'd never be content working quietly in the background. Yet, he seemed genuinely eager, sucking up every word that Daniel said, every report, every theory he'd offered about alien cultures or languages. But the man's condescending attitude, always referring to Daniel as 'dear boy' or 'young man,' his little slips of the tongue and continued amusement at Daniel's past in the academic community — plus, Daniel swore, if the guy touched him again he was going to use those hand-to-hand skills Jack had criticized to do something that would definitely get him kicked out of the SGC for good. The seething anger that had taken root in his gut this morning in the briefing room when his expectations had been completely blown apart grew hotter with every passing moment. He couldn't concentrate - it felt like he couldn't get his balance. Even here, in his office — his sanctuary from all things military — everything was...off.
Two swift knocks on the half-open door announced the arrival of Dr. Jennifer Anders, the newest addition to the SGC Research Staff. Daniel looked up, and watched her enter his office, head down, eyes glued to the photographs in her hands as she hurried towards his desk, making her way around the scattered obstacles in her path as if she were on autopilot. He shifted his hand to brace himself against the table he'd been slouching against, and straightened to an upright position, ready to get his mind off of his troubled thoughts and onto whatever mystery she'd brought him. Good. Concentrate on work. A mystery was just what he needed to shake the cobwebs out of his mind.
"Dr. Jackson, I was wondering if you'd mind taking look at these carvings. I'm sorry to interru..." Anders stopped dead, noticing for the first time that the man seated at the familiar desk was not the person she expected. "Oh. Sorry," she muttered, glancing around the room until her eyes lit on Daniel's figure at the other end. A frown worried her forehead as she looked down, her sharp mind analyzing the shortest distance to her target through the piles of artifacts. Sufficiently confident that she'd plotted the correct course, the dark-haired woman started to move forward, but was halted by a firm hand on her elbow.
"I don't believe we've met, my dear," Kendrick smiled as the perplexed scientist's gaze moved from her own arm to Kendrick's hand, up his arm and onto his face. "Dr. Donald Kendrick. I've come to lend a hand around here."
"Uh, uh," Anders quickly looked between the two men, noticing a strange expression on Jackson's face. "Dr. Jennifer Anders," she finally introduced herself when Daniel remained silent and still. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I just wanted Dr. Jackson to..."
Kendrick let go of her arm and gently took the photographs from her hand. "Why don't you let me take a look at them, Jennifer," he suggested, spreading them out on Daniel's desk and beaming at the young woman in a fatherly way, "I've often found that a fresh set of eyes can pick up small tidbits that...hastier ones might have missed. Now, can you tell me a little about where these came from?"
Daniel's heart was beating hard in his chest. He should say something. Insist that Kendrick butt out. Tell Dr. Anders to bring the photographs to him. This was his office, his staff, his work, dammit. But this was what Hammond wanted — what Jack wanted — what they hired Kendrick to do. And acting like a whiny child demanding his favorite toy was not going to communicate his competence to anyone. That didn't leave many options. Daniel could feel Anders' confusion, and watched her frown deepen as she continued to glance between the two men. He couldn't make this into some kind of public tug of war or he'd lose any credibility he had managed to hang onto. He knew the smile he offered her was a thin one, so he turned away, back to the text on the ancient tribes of Papua New Guinea. But his eyes swept across the pages without taking in a single word as he listened.
"Well...I've been working on the translation of the mosaic from Orban that Dr. Jackson found, and a few of the passages..."
"Refresh my memory, dear," he heard Kendrick interrupt gently, "Orban was the world where..."
"...where Dr. Jackson found the connection to Teotihuacan, and the influence of the Olmec culture..."
"Of course, yes," the warm chuckle set Daniel's teeth to clench painfully, "you'll have to forgive me my dear, but it does take a man of my years a few minutes to switch gears." He heard the scrape of the photographs against each other, but kept his head down. "I see, and what is your question?"
He could hear the hesitation in Anders' voice. "This, ah, symbol here is repeated," the papers were shuffled again, "here, and, ah, here. But each time it is in a slightly different form."
Silence. Daniel's hands itched to go over and take the papers from under Kendrick's nose.
"Daniel?"
Kendrick's voice startled him. He turned slowly to blink at the two figures.
"Now, don't you think you've been sulking long enough?" The glitter in the Kendrick's eye was cold and sharp, his words chosen carefully to undercut any loyalty Anders might have had to her colleague. And, checking the young man's reaction, Kendrick knew that Daniel knew exactly what he was doing — and it made the situation just that much more stimulating. "Why don't you come over and we'll put our heads together on this little problem that Jennifer has brought us."
Kendrick's smile held a semblance of warmth, but Daniel knew the man had gained the upper hand again. Effortlessly. If Daniel remained where he was, he was being a stubborn child — if he surrendered and joined the two scientists, he was putting himself under Kendrick's authority in his colleague's eyes. He noticed that Kendrick had turned Anders to stand alongside him, facing Daniel, his body language turning any possible collaboration into a confrontation: us against him. His muscles taut, Daniel began to take one step forward when he was abruptly halted.
"I am sorry, Dr. Anders," the rumbling voice from the office doorway was the first hint of Teal'c's presence, "but SG-1 requires Dr. Jackson's presence in the gym." The large man stood, hands behind his back, to all appearances only the bearer of a message for his teammate, but Daniel felt the sudden charge in the atmosphere. Teal'c addressed his words to Jennifer Anders, but his dark eyes were focused on Kendrick's face and Daniel wondered just how long his friend had been standing there. Without a glance behind him, Daniel moved towards the door, catching Teal'c's eye momentarily in silent thanks as he slipped past him and into the hallway. Teal'c merely stood, his presence speaking for him as he dismissed Kendrick with the slight raise of one eyebrow, before bowing his head to Dr. Anders and following his teammate.
After promising the young woman that he'd coordinate with Dr. Jackson on the Olmec-derived language she had been studying, Kendrick courteously ushered her out of the lab and closed the door. He knew next to nothing about the cultures that built the ancient city of Teotihuacan, and his inability to translate even the most basic words and phrases would have been evident almost immediately. This kind of work was beneath a man of his stature, anyway, kneeling in dusty tunnels beneath stuffy tombs, sifting through miles of inscriptions for a clue to an alien language — those activities might thrill the pedantic mind of Daniel Jackson, but Kendrick was more interested in the bigger picture.
Kendrick moved restlessly around Jackson's lab, checking tagged artifacts, shuffling through files. It was high profile work such as the negotiation with the alien culture, the Hunvrai, which offered a better chance for developing his name within this command structure, and to get to those missions he had some work to do. He'd already made great strides into undermining young Jackson's standing with the military, but he knew what kinds of loyalty were built within the academic framework of a research department, especially here, where the men and women looked to Jackson as some sort of young god who had single-handedly opened the Stargate and continued to throw himself into the front lines against a terrible enemy. That kind of hero worship would be difficult to discourage, but Kendrick had faith in himself. Find the weak point. Open rifts between Jackson and his colleagues and then fill them himself. He needed to learn as much as he could about the current missions, the immediate requirements, and then find the proper way to snatch them from the boy's hands.
Kendrick's movements finally brought him to the table where Jackson had been standing and he glanced down at the book that lay open there. Primitive Island cultures. Volcano rituals. He noticed a few papers under the book and pulled them out, while carefully noting the page Jackson had been scanning before he left. The pages contained a few drawings of the figures from M4S-599, with notes scrawled into the margins in Jackson's precise hand. "Ritual death?" "Appeasing the gods." "Connection to the aborigines' substitutionary sacrifice to the volcano Tinakula?" Kendrick smiled. It seemed the boy had figured out the meaning of those clay figures after all. How very helpful.
Projection
He stood at the edge of the mat shaking out each arm and leg in preparation, watching Jack standing perfectly calm on the other side, casually joking with Colonel Reynolds of SG-3. His bare feet were cold against the floor, but he knew that was the least of his worries. Casual, relaxed Jack was about to wipe the floor with him all in the name of preparing him for the field. No pads, no helmets — no, Jack only used those when he sparred with Teal'c - the only rule in this fight was no contact with the head. It was just too easy to crack a jaw, or a cheekbone, hit just a little too hard or at the wrong angle. Wouldn't want to damage anything permanently, just train the body to respond automatically when presented with a threat. Right. That was why the gym always happened to be so full on the days that the ex-Special Ops Colonel fought with his team geek.
What was it about the usually cordial airmen and soldiers that seemed to cry out for his humiliation at the hands of their fearless leader? He glanced at the gatherings of twos and threes around the edges of his field of vision. Blinking, he felt the uncomfortable contact lenses swimming in his eyes. He wore them when he had to, but the allergies that had plagued him since childhood made them unworkable for everyday use. Daniel took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Focus. Nothing mattered right now except for him and Jack, the shift of muscle and the anticipation of movement. He had to stop thinking, just for a moment, and remember the balance he had determined to strive for yesterday. Bar those mental doors, for once — emotion was not his friend on the mat.
Major Samantha Carter had just finished her own workout and stepped next to Teal'c, still breathing heavily and wiping the sweat from her forehead with the towel she draped around her neck. She knew that Teal'c felt the same sense of strangeness, the same disconnect with the team as she did, leading each of them, independently, to arrange to be present for Jack's hand-to-hand with Daniel this afternoon. Usually she would be confident that Jack's approach to Daniel's workout would be firm but friendly — he knew exactly what the diplomatic scholar needed to sharpen his skills and toughen his body. But not today. Today she was worried. Her own thoughts about her CO today were laced with anger at his apparent inability to see how he'd betrayed Daniel's trust; she could only imagine what Daniel himself was feeling. She squeezed the ends of the towel between her hands, hoping that Daniel could do a better job controlling his emotions today than she had. His wide blue eyes did not look her way, but she could see that the colonel was surprised by the number of people hanging around the gym, and had a moment of relief when his own concerned gaze shifted to the youngest member of SG-1.
Jack made one more comment to Reynolds over his shoulder and moved out on the mat, nodding to Daniel to do the same. The sudden drop in conversational level in the room registered, and he wondered again if he'd made a mistake talking about Daniel's training so openly in the commissary today. Daniel didn't need an audience for this. He knew Teal'c and Carter had stationed themselves behind him, within Daniel's line of sight, as some kind of show of solidarity. But there had been an absence of the usual teasing banter he'd come to expect — no taunts about his age, or his knees, or pleas to be put in Daniel's will before it was too late. Crap. Jack strode towards his teammate to see if he could diffuse the tense mood, but Daniel shuffled sideways, quickly, as if expecting an attack. What the heck?
Jack felt himself dropping into a defensive posture, and moving to circle to his right even as Daniel shifted to his. "Okay," he began, watching Daniel's body position and footwork, "remember your primary goal in any hand-to-hand situation with an enemy."
"Survive long enough for my team to arrive with guns and shoot him," Daniel muttered, the sarcastic response coming to his lips automatically as he kept his attention on Jack's chest. Movement of the chest — not the hands, or the legs — broadcast an opponent's intentions. He kept his left leg back, presenting his side to Jack, keeping most of his weight on his back foot as he moved.
"Right," Jack saw that Daniel was moving well, balanced, his hands out slightly. "And the best way to win a fight?" He feinted to Daniel's left as he finished the question, but the younger man didn't fall for it and easily brushed Jack's right cross away with an outward block.
"Hit hard and fast and run away." Daniel wondered if Jack had ever run away in his life, or if these rules were only for pacifistic archaeologists.
Closing suddenly before Daniel finished his sentence, Jack stepped his right foot to the outside of Daniel's right, grabbed his upper arms and pulled. Before Jack could trip him over his right shin, Daniel stepped in even tighter under Jack's hold, his right arm going around Jack's waist and, pivoting, swept Jack over his own right hip and onto the mat, dancing backwards before Jack could lash out with his feet. Jack bounced up quickly, a smile across his face.
"Nice move, Danny, but we're not dancing here, go in for the kill." The kid was paying attention in hand-to-hand. Good. But let's see if we can get some of that pent up aggression out, Jack thought. His lazy, circular punch to Daniel's right side was blocked, but the second kick caught Daniel on his hip as he turned away from it.
Sam winced as Jack's heel made contact with Daniel's hip. That must have hurt. She felt Teal'c shift slightly next to her as if in sympathy as they watched Daniel limp backwards a few steps. At least Jack gave him a few seconds before attacking again.
Much quicker this time, Jack hooked his right ankle behind Daniel's right knee, forcing his opponent's shoulders backwards with both hands, but Daniel rolled with the movement, falling onto his back, bringing his right knee up into Jack's chest to flip him over his head to land heavily on the mat behind him. Maybe he wasn't hurt that badly after all, Jack thought, as he scrambled back onto his feet.
"Nice one, Jackson, throw him on his ass," Colonel Reynolds' encouragement barely registered as Daniel moved, his eyes never leaving Jack. Pressing his attack, he tried to sweep Jack's feet before he had his balance, but Jack shot out his right hand and caught Daniel's wrist, turning behind the younger man and pushing back against his elbow. Daniel grunted and staggered forward, forcing Jack to either release him or come with him to keep his hold. When he felt Jack right behind him, Daniel stopped abruptly and stamped his heel down on the top of Jack's foot.
A sudden cry of delight rang through the gym as the two men stumbled away from one another. Daniel frowned, not quite sure which hurt worse, his hip or the bottom of his foot. He watched Jack limp to the edge of the mat, swearing, as he wiped one hand across his forehead. "Works better with boots on, Danny," Jack laughed suddenly.
Breathing heavily, Daniel rested his hands on his thighs, making sure to keep Jack in sight. He struggled to ignore the nickname he'd come to hate and keep his focus.
The kid had come a long way, Jack thought. He'd been a skinny bookworm when they first met, and didn't know one end of a gun from the other. But he still managed to save your life and lead the people of Abydos to rebel against their god, he reminded himself. Since then Jack had made sure that Daniel had the training and skills necessary to survive out in the field. He'd never have that 'warrior mentality' that defined the career soldier — he'd never be able to take a life unflinchingly — but, that was okay, that's what he and Teal'c were for. But he'd be damned if he let Daniel get himself killed on some godforsaken planet in the armpit of the galaxy because Jack O'Neill hadn't forced him to learn to take care of himself.
He watched Daniel watch him, flexing his leg muscles in anticipation, and when the younger man closed his eyes for a moment, Jack launched himself across the mat, catching the civilian around the right knee with his right arm, and propelling his shoulder into Daniel's midsection to take him down backwards. Suddenly, all of Daniel's weight was falling on Jack's shoulders and back and he felt himself slammed face first into the mat with 180 pounds of archaeologist on his back. Okay, he hadn't seen that one coming.
A moment later the weight was gone and Jack realized he was grinning from ear to ear. Who taught you that move, Danny-boy? he thought to himself as he crawled to his hands and knees and then sat back on his haunches. He'd been about to congratulate his teammate when he looked up and saw Daniel standing there, six feet away, with his back to O'Neill. He could feel the blood rush to his head as he silently got to his feet.
Teal'c placed one hand on Major Carter's arm when he sensed that she would move. Daniel Jackson had performed well thus far, sending O'Neill to the mat many times and receiving but little damage himself. But the Jaffa now saw that the young man was struggling with his control, and stood with his back to the enemy. Teal'c's dark eyes shifted to O'Neill's face. As he expected, no true mentor could ignore such a blatant disregard for tactics as this, and his young teammate would soon feel O'Neill's wrath. He quieted Major Carter with one hand — her instinct was to warn Daniel Jackson in some way, but he could not allow that to happen. It would be an injustice to the fledgling warrior to ignore this lesson, and while he would protect this brother with his life against the attack of a Goa'uld, he would not shield him from the righteous anger of O'Neill.
Daniel sensed his danger, but not before Jack had moved, quickly and quietly, dodging under Daniel's right arm and jamming his left knee up between Daniel's legs. He grabbed the front of Daniel's t-shirt with his right hand as he lifted with his knee, and then turned and slammed him down on his back onto the mat with all his strength. Jack, hands resting on his knees, watched the breath flood from Daniel's body in one surge as the blue eyes glazed, staring up into the ceiling lights. A general moan sounded throughout the gym, and he noticed airmen and soldiers begin to straggle out, shaking their heads. Yeah, the show's over.
"Dammit, Daniel," he yelled into his friend's pale face, "you never, never turn your back on your enemy!"
The blue eyes blinked twice, and Daniel focused on Jack's face with difficulty. Something flashed behind those eyes, but Jack grabbed the young man by the shoulder and pulled him to a sitting position so he could drag a ragged breath into his lungs. Still gasping, Daniel bent his knees and watched as Jack moved to stand at his feet.
"You can never..." the continuation of Jack's lecture was cut off suddenly when Daniel's right leg struck out, his heel hitting Jack just below the left knee with a satisfying crunch and sending the colonel to the mat in a crumpled heap.
"Ow! What the hell, Daniel," Jack writhed as Teal'c and Sam leaped onto the mat, crouching next to their fallen teammates.
Daniel hauled himself to his feet, still a bit grey and gulping lungfuls of air, one hand held across his chest. "'You can never' assume your enemy is down," he gasped out. "Thanks for the lesson." Three pairs of eyes watched him walk off towards the locker room.
Redefining
So much for keeping my emotions off the mat, Daniel banged the door of his locker open, chucked his towel, and dressed quickly. The blue BDUs felt particularly foreign to his body today, but it wasn't until he finished tying his boots that he remembered he had nowhere to go except back to an office that wasn't his, and a job that was uncertain at best and...at worst? Over. Gone. Like his wife. Like his family. Antagonizing Jack felt good for a moment, felt like payback for some of the pain and anxiety that had taken up residence in his soul - for a moment. Then reality slammed Daniel down to the metaphorical mat and left him far more breathless than Jack ever could. Brilliant. Alienate the one man who controlled your destiny. He let his hands dangle, elbows resting on his knees, his head bent to his chest as he sat, unmoving, on the bench.
He heard the swish of the door behind him, and felt the cool air from the corridor swirl through the perpetual humidity of the men's locker room. His jaw clenched against the apology he knew he should speak, his body rebelling against his mind's bright idea to try to make nice with the leader of SG-1. Cursing silently in every language he could remember, Daniel reminded himself — again — of the plan. Focus. He could do this. He could change. Put on the mental and emotional brakes, detach himself from regrets, wounds, passions. Detach — that's the word Sam used when they'd found Cassandra. "Sometimes I forget you're not military." Apparently she was the only one.
"Daniel Jackson."
A reprieve. Daniel wondered if he could still slip out of the room before a cold-eyed, furious Air Force colonel limped in. He stood and turned to find Teal'c standing close behind him.
"Is he okay?" The words were out of his mouth before he knew it, and Daniel realized that no matter what Jack did or said, or how many times he brushed Daniel off as a light-weight or a geek, he'd probably never stop worrying about the closed-minded ass.
"O'Neill will be fine," Teal'c watched his Taur'i brother carefully. "Major Carter has accompanied him to the infirmary."
Daniel groaned and turned away, picking up the glasses he'd placed on the shelf of his locker and taking his time to adjust them properly on his face. If Jack had agreed to go to the infirmary, it must be bad. What in God's name had made Daniel target the one part of Jack's anatomy that was most vulnerable?
"You did nothing wrong, Daniel Jackson."
The gentleness of Teal'c's voice brought a lump to his throat. With difficulty, Daniel swallowed it as firmly as he closed his locker, putting his shoulder against those mental doors that were suddenly made of wet cardboard. He turned around, the string that tied on his mask of normalcy fraying badly. "Didn't I?"
Teal'c took a step nearer, dark eyes intent. "You did not. You found yourself in a defenseless position against your foe, and you struck out boldly and with great power. You used your enemy's weakness against him, and made certain that he could not rise again to threaten you. Are these not all things that O'Neill has been trying to teach you?"
Daniel frowned and let his gaze slip down to the floor between him and his well-intentioned teammate. Of course, Teal'c would see it that way. He could detach with the best of them — he had to after all of the things that he'd seen and done in his decades of service to Apophis. Jack O'Neill's Special Ops history was ultimately no match for the Jaffa's own personal warrior mentality. Daniel knew he could never remove himself from his actions so much that he could see things from Teal'c's perspective, but he had to try. He had to at least listen. Teal'c chose to speak so rarely, so rarely felt he had anything essential to add to the discussion, that when he made the effort to reach out, to close the gap between human and alien, the world should listen.
"There are those in this life that seek only to hurt and to destroy, Daniel Jackson, that would kill you if given the chance. You know this; you have witnessed it on many occasions on the missions of SG-1." Teal'c studied his teammate carefully, noting the tension that vibrated through the young man, the intent expression on his face. "There is no shame in victory, as there must be no hesitation, no faltering in the face of threat. You must allow yourself to strike effectively, not just for your own sake, but for the sake of your friends, and for the SGC."
He heard the words. He even knew they were right, at least from Teal'c's perspective. But he also knew that he hadn't kicked out at Jack from the motivation that Teal'c assumed he had. It hadn't been a tactical exercise to him, but an act of anger — spite. He'd seen the opportunity to hurt Jack and he'd taken it.
"I don't feel like a warrior, Teal'c," Daniel admitted, finally, his gaze lifting to Teal'c's. "Yes, I know the threat is real, but it's out there," he raised one arm, pointing in the general direction of the Stargate, "on other worlds, in Goa'uld strongholds, not here. The training..." he closed his eyes tightly, trying to put his thoughts into words the Jaffa would understand, "...it isn't real. And I can't make myself believe it is."
Teal'c understood the guilt that lay beneath the scholar's words. "Every apprentice, at some point, comes to resent his teacher. And all teachers understand this fact. Master Bra'tac himself felt the strikes of a young Jaffa who fought in anger — do not concern yourself with this. It is far worse to hesitate when faced with a true enemy." He held his silence a moment so that the scholar would hear his words over the voices that he knew swelled within his own mind. "And that is why O'Neill insists upon the continued training of SG-1, so that our bodies and minds will respond to all threats without hesitation. Not all danger arrives at the hands of the Goa'uld."
He still had not reached his friend, and Teal'c knew that he must. "You have been sorely tried, Daniel Jackson," he murmured, "and the injuries to your spirit have yet to be healed." He watched as his words began to touch the wounds within. "I myself have been the instrument of your pain on more than one occasion."
"Teal'c..."
"Hear me." He did not need the words of his friend's forgiveness once again. "Even now you stand, here, at the heart of the battle, and you strike back against your enemy and refuse to be beaten. You have the heart of a warrior, Daniel Jackson. Even as Master Bra'tac once dismissed you as hassak, and many System Lords underestimated your courage and determination, so have the eyes of our comrades been blinded to your true strengths."
"I'm not a..."
He placed one hand on the young man's shoulder. "While the battle wages, you must not falter — believe that you belong here, in this place, at this time." He had seen many young warriors fall to doubt before their first encounter with a physical enemy. And even though Teal'c admired O'Neill's courage and proficiency, in this instance he knew that the Taur'i leader did not see the true danger that threatened. Teal'c's respect for the military discipline of the soldiers with whom he trained and fought was great, but, as one who had lived twice their lifetimes in the brutal Goa'uld society, he also understood that menace had many faces. And the enemy which now threatened Daniel Jackson could prove to accomplish what the Goa'uld, as powerful and ruthless as they were, could not — the destruction of SG-1.
A rueful smile played around Daniel's lips. "So, I guess you're saying that there are different kinds of strength, and while I may be no good in a fist fight, I can always beat the enemy over the head with my words or something."
Teal'c placed his hands behind his back, and met his friend's expression with a slight smile of his own. "I am not."
"Uh, you're not?" Daniel was startled, and missed a few items on his inner voice's listing of all the ways he would not reach warrior standing any time soon.
"Your strength is not in question."
Daniel snorted. "Maybe not with you..."
Teal'c nodded — the question resided where it would do the most damage - within the young man's own heart. "You do not have the fighting skills of O'Neill."
"I know..."
"Nor the force of a Jaffa warrior."
"I know..."
"Nor the physical discipline of the well-trained soldiers who fight beside you."
"I know, Teal'c, but thanks so much for reminding me," Daniel ground his teeth together in frustration.
"But not all of one's enemies require O'Neill's fighting skills, nor a Jaffa's power — these are not true strength."
The intensity in the large man's expression trapped Daniel's awareness, and he found himself leaning forward, rapt, as if the next phrase that came out of Teal'c's mouth might be the one that put his fears to rest — or at least sent them off for a short nap.
"True strength is to see - in the moment of battle, in the timeless place between thought and action - to see the right thing to do," Teal'c's dark gaze held constant as he paused, willing his young friend to understand, "and to be willing to risk everything — everything, Daniel Jackson — in order to do it." He bowed, dipping his head and shoulders deliberately towards the other man as to one who deserved his respect, before he turned gracefully on his heel and left the room.
Daniel breathed again. Risk everything?
Misdirection
Janet Frasier's words of warning still ringing in his ears, Jack limped down the corridor of Level 18 in the SGC complex with a clarity of focus that was usually reserved for off-world missions into Goa'uld occupied territory. Made sense. Based on Daniel's reactions during Jack's brilliantly inspired training session and the cold shoulders that had been shrugged in his direction all day from his team, not to mention some of Daniel's research staff, maybe he should consider the archaeologist's office as behind enemy lines. He nodded at two geeks — uh, scientists — who had come around the corner at the end of the hall, heads together discussing some fascinating doodad or line of alien script that had been found on PF-whatever, but they merely glanced up at the colonel's face grimly and kept on walking. He had the sudden urge to turn and throw a one-liner over his shoulder but thought better of it — maybe he'd irritated enough people for one day.
Who knew little Daniel Jackson could be so ruthless? Jack had seen Daniel cut the most overbearing System Lord or fat-headed bureaucrat down to size with a well-turned phrase and rampant blue-eyed sincerity, but a low blow right where it hurts — that was a surprise. It was probably a surprise to Daniel, too, Jack mused, and, if he knew his archaeologist, no matter how mad he was at Jack at the moment, his guilt trip would be well on the road by this point. His own anger had been fleeting, quickly replaced by a stirring of pride in the changes in Daniel that prompted that foot strike in the first place. It wasn't too long ago that Daniel would have shied away from ever hitting Jack in training, of making any kind of aggressive move, instead he'd relied on quickness and agility to deflect his opponents' attacks hoping to wear them out before he was caught — and eventually failing.
He'd rather that Daniel's new willingness to fight had come from some kind of sense of his own worth, or a genuine desire to learn how to protect himself, but Jack knew better. What he'd seen in Daniel's eyes during that training session hadn't been a fighter's commitment to sharpen his skills, or a student's yearning to impress his teacher. It had looked more like desperation — a blankness that Jack translated as a deep-seated knowledge that he had no more to lose. Jack knew that look. He'd seen it often enough in his own reflection before his encounter with Daniel Jackson under the blue skies of Abydos. And after the past few months, he shouldn't be surprised to find it looking back at him out of his friend's eyes. Daniel needed something to live for, and Jack had better find it soon, or one of these days Daniel was going to kick out at someone who didn't curl up on the mat in pain — someone who kicked him back, hard. Rocks and research could not possibly be enough to fill that gaping void, no more than the Air Force could plug up the holes in Jack's own soul after Charlie died. Jack knew that Daniel would only get a chance to find what he was looking for by traveling through the Stargate as a member of SG-1, and if hiring the archaeological equivalent of Stephen Hawking and enduring the snubs and snarls of his 2IC were what it took to keep him there, then Jack could handle it. And the sooner Daniel realized it, the better.
Pushing open the door to Daniel's office, Jack snapped his mouth closed over his usual greeting and stood for a moment, trying to put a name to the feeling that had struck him the moment he saw the large figure bent over Daniel's desk, his fingers shuffling through Daniel's research. Something was wrong with this picture.
"Dr. Kendrick?"
"Colonel O'Neill, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
The words were friendly enough, but Jack thought he heard an undercurrent there...a wariness. Jack leaned casually against the door frame and folded his hands loosely over his chest, dark gaze taking in the usual chaos of Daniel's office, trying to pinpoint whatever had woken up his well-trained paranoia.
"Settling in?" Jack knew that Hammond had assigned the new scientist his own space down the hall from Daniel, so why was the guy sitting at Daniel's desk as if he owned the place?
Donald Kendrick looked down at the copies of Jackson's notes he'd been studying, knowing that the Air Force colonel had no idea what he was doing, but stifling an urge to explain himself nonetheless. "Yes, young Daniel has been quite helpful and generous with his office and his research." He smiled warmly. "You know us academic types, Colonel; we tend to work better in a group setting where we can discuss our thoughts openly. Sitting alone in my new office wouldn't do me much good, now would it?"
Interesting that the guy seemed to know exactly what Jack was thinking. He shrugged. "Yeah, he and Carter are always prattling on to each other about this or that new theory."
Kendrick straightened the pile of papers in front of him, making sure that Jackson's notes on the clay figurines were hidden among the others before he looked up again at the military man. "If you're looking for Daniel, he mentioned that he had to drop off something in the 'gate room, but I'm sure he'll be back shortly."
Jack screwed his face up in confusion and checked his watch. "Nobody's due back — any idea what he was 'dropping off'?"
"No idea whatsoever," Kendrick admitted, with a slight laugh. "I've noticed that the boy is a bit scattered, doesn't communicate too clearly at times."
Unfolding his arms and moving inside the office, Jack slowly wound his way towards Daniel's desk, absently picking up an artifact or nudging a box on his way. He'd used the same phrase to describe Daniel more than once, so why did hearing it from this guy make it sound so... malicious? "That's because Dr. Jackson tends to think that all of us regular people can think as quickly as he can," he replied, careful to keep his voice even as the urge to defend his teammate swept over him. What the heck was going on here? Jack noticed a slight tensing around Kendrick's eyes at his inclusion of the two of them in his term 'regular people.' Oh, great, another thin-skinned genius. Do they make any other kind? Putting on his best 'stupid colonel' look he smiled. "You know, he thinks our brains can follow the same twisted paths that his own zips merrily down at hyper speed."
Kendrick realized that the man's sudden appearance was an opportunity he could not pass up. The leader of SG-1 clearly had some sort of relationship with the young archaeologist: the mission reports, while largely dry and heavy on tactical agenda, described a deep level of commitment from all four of the members of the team towards each other, and the two had demonstrated too much animosity during the handful of meetings he'd been witness to today to be easily explained. In his experience, that much negative emotion could only be traced to some kind of personal issue. From what he'd learned through his interactions with other base personnel, and from previous dealings with the military, the divide between the two men often centered around what General Hammond had described as "Dr. Jackson's unfortunate tendency to get in the way of military objectives." Translated, that meant he had the usual academic inclination to put off action until the situation could be analyzed from every possible perspective. Laudable in research, but a mistake when dealing with the government. Watching O'Neill's sharp-eyed gaze, Kendrick began widening that divide.
"Colonel O'Neill, I hesitate to bring this up, but," he glanced down at the small clay figurine which stood at his left hand. "I realize that one of the priorities of the research department right now is to determine the significance of these figures to the people of M4S-599, and so help Major Fletcher succeed in his rescue mission."
Jack's eyes narrowed. "Yeah?" Daniel had been fiddling around with those dolls for a week now. "And?"
"Well, I mean, I'm sure his concentration on Egyptology has limited his interest in the development of cultures in other locations, but, well..."
"Spit it out, Doc," O'Neill demanded.
Taking a deep breath, Kendrick continued. "Well it's obvious."
"Obvious? As in..."
"The figures are clay surrogates, made to appease the gods of the volcano." He suddenly pulled the thick book that Daniel had been perusing from his lap and placed it on the desk. Motioning for Jack to join him he drew one finger down the margin until he reached the passage he'd noted earlier. "Among the natives of the Pacific Islands, a sacrifice was often made to the spirits which lived within the volcanoes."
Jack couldn't help taking a step forward to lean over the desk. "Human sacrifices?"
Kendrick shook his head. "No, the people made clay effigies of themselves to throw into the volcano in order to pacify them and ensure the safety of their villages."
"And you think the people of M4S-599 want Major Fletcher to..." he made a flipping gesture with his right hand.
"Yes," Kendrick smiled. "If they don't appease the gods, who knows what the villagers might do." Letting that suggestion hang in the air and conjure up mental images in the military man, Kendrick paused a moment before he went on. "I'm sure that young Daniel would have come up with the answer in time, but perhaps my wider range of expertise can be of some assistance in this matter? I mean, why wait for the next deployment in order to take care of this problem? No time like the present, is there Colonel O'Neill."
"No," Jack nodded warily, "no time like the present." His eyes locked onto the mild gaze of the older man. Just that easy, huh? Something that Daniel had been struggling with for over a week and Kendrick comes in and solves it in a few hours? You really need a rest from the rock game, don't you Danny? "Write up your report, Dr. Kendrick and I'll make sure it goes through General Hammond before the weekend."
Shuffling as if in apprehension, Kendrick hid his delight at the colonel's directive. "I'm not speaking out of turn here, am I Colonel?"
"What? No," Jack shook his head, preoccupied with his thoughts. "Taking some of the pressure off Daniel was the reason the Pentagon brought you here."
"Yes, and I'd like to repay their confidence in me by making a contribution as quickly as possible."
"Thanks, Doc, I guess we owe you one," Jack reached out to shake the scientist's hand.
"Am I interrupting something?"
Both men turned to find Daniel standing in the doorway, arms crossed in a posture reminiscent of Jack's of a few moments ago. The smile was completely disconnected from the cold glare of his eyes as he looked back and forth between the two men. Jack automatically dropped his hand and turned toward his friend as if he were trying to hide something. Just why the heck did he feel so guilty?
