The Bridge
Part 3
Disconnection
"General, this is a mistake..."
"Doctor Jackson..."
"...I need more time to..."
"To what, Daniel?" O'Neill leaned forward, rubbing his knee distractedly as he watched the frustrated young man try to pace within the small confines of General Hammond's office. "To come to the same conclusion as Kendrick?"
If Daniel had known that Jack was with the general discussing the very report that was on his mind, he might have hesitated. He didn't need another confrontation with Jack right now — another argument over Kendrick and his role at the SGC and especially Jack's acceptance of the man as manna from heaven. If Daniel had walked into his office five minutes later, he might not have known anything about Kendrick's conversation with Jack about the mysterious clay figures, and the damage might already have been done. He'd seen the annoyance in Kendrick's eyes at his appearance, and something else in Jack's — something he couldn't quite indentify - as the two men shook hands over Daniel's desk.
"Am I interrupting something?"
"Nope, just getting the Doc's input about these little buggers," Jack had replied at Daniel's question. The colonel had picked up the figurine and peered at its little clay face.
"Oh, really?" he remembered his brilliant response as he'd shifted his gaze to Kendrick. "I thought you were working on the Orbanian inscriptions with Dr. Anders?" Daniel had glanced to his right, to the table where he'd been researching island cultures and noticed that a large reference book and his notes were missing.
"It was just a notion, really," Kendrick added modestly, his well-rehearsed sincerity making the hairs on the back of Daniel's neck stand up. What was he doing?
"Dr. Kendrick here just removed something from your 'to-do' list, Daniel. Pretty sweet." Jack had put the figurine down and rubbed his hands together in mock glee. "Plenty of time for pizza and beer tonight."
He remembered his surprise, and a familiar anger that had begun to flood through his body, twisting in his stomach and rising through his chest. It had been years since he'd felt this way. He should have been prepared for this. Ignoring Jack for the moment, he'd walked forward to glance down at the pile of papers on his desk and the text book Kendrick was clutching. He felt his mouth tense into a line when he noticed the title of the book, and the page of his notes that was sticking out from the middle of the pile. "Dr. Kendrick?"
The man hadn't even gotten a chance to open his mouth when Jack had interrupted. "Not to worry, Daniel, Doc Kendrick here is on the job." He'd slapped Daniel on the shoulder as he began to make his way towards the door, and Daniel saw him wince as he put his weight on his left leg.
"Thank you for your vote of confidence, Colonel." Daniel had assumed that the pain from Jack's knee was what kept him from noticing the artificiality that oozed from Kendrick's words.
"Just make sure I get that report ASAP so we can get it cleared before the next check-in." Jack turned in the doorway. "And don't be late, Daniel."
"What?" An evening at Jack's place had been about the last thing on his mind, then - Kendrick had taken Daniel's research. The look of open triumph on the older man's face confirmed that, as well as the fact that they both knew that there was absolutely nothing Daniel could do about it. He'd crossed his arms and lowered his head to hide his fury. This is something Jack would never understand.
"Ah!" Jack waved a finger in the air. "20:00 hours, Daniel, that's eight o'clock, to you."
"I know, Jack, but..."
The colonel had already been gone, limping down the hallway, apparently under the impression that Daniel's personal life was just as much under his thumb as his professional one. Turning back towards Kendrick he'd tried to set aside his anger and concentrate on the more important issue before him, but the glitter of contempt in Kendrick's eyes had been too much.
"What the hell are you doing?" The words had worked their way out through teeth that ached from clenching.
"Calm down, my boy, I simply told Colonel O'Neill about the link between the Pacific Island cultures on Earth and the people that Major Fletcher is dealing with." Kendrick's wide smile displayed too much joy to be comfortable.
"I wasn't finished with my research," he'd managed to respond.
"My dear boy," he'd stood and, before Daniel could move he'd grasped Daniel's upper arms in his hands and stepped closer. "You must learn to curb your enthusiasm." He squeezed tightly before he looked pointedly towards the security camera mounted over the door. Dropping his arms and settling back into Daniel's desk chair, he'd pulled the keyboard towards him. "It is one of the dangers of academic research to always believe there is something else to learn if one just digs a bit deeper. Sometimes we can get too close to a problem to see it, but, at some point, one must stop digging and believe he has found the answer."
Daniel's thoughts had choked and stalled at Kendrick's unwelcome gesture, intent on keeping his body from automatically hitting the older man, and it was a moment before the words even registered. He'd placed one hand flat on the open book on his desk and tried to capture Kendrick's attention. "You're wrong, Dr. Kendrick. I've gone over the Pacific Island references and there's something that doesn't fit."
"Please, my boy," Kendrick's tone had grown annoyed. "Don't embarrass yourself by trying to argue with me. Why don't you run along and help that nice Dr. Anders with her Olmec inscriptions while I make an attempt to salvage this mission for Major Fletcher and his team."
Daniel scrubbed one hand across his forehead as he remembered his speechlessness at Kendrick's dismissive words, sending him away as if he were a child — one of his students — before he'd stalked out of his office. Regardless of the man's attitude and outright theft of Daniel's own theories, there was something about the villagers' situation that didn't fit with the Pacific Island framework, he knew it, but until he could come up with a better explanation than that, Kendrick was right. Arguing was pointless and it would make him look even more like a stubborn, jealous child in Jack's eyes than he already did.
Strangely enough, it had been his work with Anders that had helped him make the connection. Leaning over a table in the lab she shared with three other members of his... Kendrick's ... research staff, discussing the culture that predated the Mayans and Aztecs in Central America, he'd turned a page and come face to face with a rendering of an erupting volcano. Standing quickly, he'd stared into the distance as his brain kicked in.
"Dr. Jackson?" Anders' voice managed to jerk his gaze to her worried face after he didn't know how long.
"Ah, sorry," he'd smiled, "the other researchers should have warned you that I do that sometimes." His feet had already started moving towards the door when she called out to him again. "Listen, I need to discuss something with General Hammond, do you mind if we..." he'd let his words trail off and flipped one hand through the air to include all of their research and notes.
"That's fine," she'd replied, hurrying forward to stop him before he rushed out of the lab. "But, before you go, can I ask you something?"
"Uh, sure." Daniel had tried to harness his attention, but couldn't help glancing at his watch. 18:45. He knew that he had to get to the general's office before he'd made a decision based on Kendrick's report and left for the day. Anders had mumbled something about not worrying about it and he'd practically run all the way to Hammond's office. Of course, Jack had been there and the two Air Force officers had been on their way to dial the gate and send Kendrick's information through to Fletcher and his team.
"No, Jack, that's not what I mean." Daniel tried to lower his voice to a conversational level, but his frustration with the two men in front of him — with the whole situation — had grown exponentially since he'd entered the office.
"Then just what do you mean, Dr. Jackson," General Hammond's own tone was cold, sharp — he did not like receiving two conflicting reports from the same department, especially when he had good men in the field who needed them to get it right. "I've got six men on an alien planet whose lives may well depend on this report." He nudged the folder lying open in front of him.
"All the more reason to make sure we get it right, General," Daniel insisted. "Let me talk with Esposito again when the team dials in, and give me 24 hours to look through some more texts on South American civilizations." Hammond turned to meet O'Neill's eyes in silent communication. "Please, General, even after all the research I did on the customs of the Pacific Islanders, I know we're missing something."
"Oh, the research you did," Jack muttered, lurching up out of the chair to give Daniel the full force of his smirk. "You know, when he sent me his report Kendrick warned me that you'd take this personally, but I didn't believe him." He pointed his finger at Daniel's chest and prodded the archaeologist. "I thought you'd be genuinely happy to have somebody else to lighten your workload," Jack snorted.
"Jack." Daniel knew Kendrick was playing him, insinuating doubt in Jack and in General Hammond about his own integrity. But he couldn't let that stop him — if they sent wrong information to Fletcher through the wormhole, men could die. Jack was still looming over him, sure he was right in that tunnel-vision military mind-set. But Daniel refused to back down. "I'm telling you that Kendrick's report may be wrong."
"Of course you are," Jack mocked, head tilted to one side so he could eye his teammate. "Face it, Daniel, you're just steamed that the new kid on the block came up with the answer this time."
"You really believe that." It wasn't a question. The sudden softness of Daniel's voice and the vulnerable look in his eyes stopped Jack's momentum and instantly erased his spiteful expression. No, of course I don't. Jack replayed the entire argument in his head, never taking his eyes from Daniel's. Daniel should be shouting, eyes snapping in anger, stammering in his determination to get Jack to listen to him. So, why wasn't he?
"24 hours, General," Daniel whispered.
Hammond noticed the tense stand-off across his desk, and his gaze shifted worriedly between the two men. If Jack gave him the smallest signal, he'd agree to Dr. Jackson's request. "Colonel O'Neill?"
Brown eyes narrowed, but stayed locked onto his teammate's. "It's not too much to ask, General."
"So you're saying that, with no evidence whatsoever, just a gut feeling, I should take Dr. Jackson's word for this over the word of Dr. Kendrick, a renowned expert in the field?"
"24 hours, General." Jack knew he was dodging the question, and saw that realization in Daniel's face.
Hammond sighed, slapping the file closed. "This time, Dr. Jackson, this time. But sometime soon that's just not going to be good enough, son."
Daniel stood for a moment before nodding once to Jack, one corner of his mouth jerking up uneasily. Muttering something under his breath, he turned and walked out, footsteps echoing through the silence.
"What did he say, Colonel?" Hammond asked after a moment.
Jack turned to his CO and rubbed the back of neck. "He said, 'It should be.'"
Duty
"Unauthorized incoming wormhole!"
He was on his feet and fumbling for his glasses before the blaring alarm had a chance to echo once through the quiet base. Nothing, not even the caustic voice of a cold-eyed O'Neill, could wake Daniel so thoroughly from a dead sleep. He shoved his feet into the boots that he'd dropped next to his bed and hurried towards the door to his on-base quarters, no thoughts for the books and papers he was disrupting from his frantic movements. His boots made an odd clomping sound in the empty concrete hallways, almost as loud in his ears as the heavy beating of his heart. Something was wrong — this wasn't going to be the Tok'ra or Bra'tac checking in - nothing good ever happened at o-dark-thirty. His pace brought him to the 'gate room just as SG-5 was stumbling through the event horizon, dusty, gritty - bloody, Daniel realized as his eyes took in the deep gash on Col. Bates' temple and the makeshift sling supporting Maj. Cosgrove's left arm. Robert Rothman was already being helped onto a stretcher by one of Warner's burly orderlies, his right pant leg slit to the knee and his ankle encased in a field splint. Noticing that his colleague was being well cared for, Daniel moved to lend a shoulder to a swaying young lieutenant who seemed to be covered from ankles to eyebrows in a fine film of dust. Bates stopped at the end of the ramp and waved away a hovering medic, eyes roving over the group as if to make doubly sure that he'd returned with just as many men as he'd led through the wormhole only 20 hours ago.
"Robert?" One of the orderlies had finally gotten the archaeologist safely situated, and Daniel carefully surrendered his hold on the young airman to his ministrations so he could catch up with Rothman's fast moving gurney. He grasped his friend's arm as the man closed his eyes to shut out the dizzying sight of the corridor lights flying past. "Tell me the roof didn't cave in, Robert," Daniel whispered urgently.
Rothman's wry laugh turned into a cough and Daniel steadied him until he managed to catch his breath. Shaking his head from side to side, he reached out and grabbed Daniel's sleeve. "I should have seen it, Daniel, the rock around the entrance should have told me it wasn't stable. Major Cosgrove pushed me out of the way and got hit by one of those big timbers. It probably would have killed me if he hadn't." Another series of coughs tore from his throat and Daniel glanced up at Dr. Warner's concerned expression.
"Don't try to talk, Dr. Rothman," the doctor advised solemnly.
Timbers? Daniel leaned down, one hand on Rothman's shoulder, guilt and worry furrowing his brow. "I'm sorry, Robert, it was my fault. I thought the video showed some damage to the columns, I should have warned you..."
Rothman's dirt-caked frown mirrored Daniel's own. "Columns? What are you talking about, Daniel? We set up camp in an abandoned mine near the temple. The roof collapsed in the middle of the night. They spent the next three hours digging me, Cosgrove and Lt. Loder out," Rothman gasped.
The relief that seeped through Daniel's body was spoiled by concern for Rothman and the men of SG-5. Forced to wait in the hall while the injured were evaluated and treated, Daniel paced anxiously, glancing at his watch every few minutes trying to determine whether he had enough time to run back to his quarters to grab the text on pre-Aztec civilizations to study while he waited for permission to see his colleague, or if it would be a waste of time. The nurse could come out any second, and as those seconds ticked by he was reminded that his 24-hour deadline was fast approaching. He'd give it another five minutes, he decided, shoving his hands into his pockets. His fingers slid along the smooth edge of the envelope the 'Gate Technician had handed him only twenty minutes ago — the one that bore Rothman's name on the outside written in his own careful scrawl. Daniel was suddenly confident that the decision to wait until Robert could have visitors was the right one — he'd known this afternoon when he'd written the note and handed it to the spectacled sergeant to be sent through the wormhole at SG-5's first check-in that Robert Rothman deserved to hear the truth about the SGC's new 'acquisition' sooner rather than later. Just as he managed to gather his evaporating patience and lean back against the cold stone of the underground corridor, a petite blonde nurse approached with a smile.
"Dr. Jackson, you can see Dr. Rothman now if you'd like."
Clean, dressed in infirmary scrubs, and sporting a brace on his ankle, Rothman looked infinitely better than he had when he'd stumbled down the ramp. Daniel stopped at the foot of the bed, eyeing the IV line that trailed from one arm, not quite sure if his colleague was totally alert or already drugged out on pain meds.
"Robert?"
Brown eyes blinked open and Rothman folded one arm under his head to peer down the length of his bed. "Hey."
"You doing okay?"
"Yeah, it's just a bad sprain, nothing broken." He gestured down the line of beds towards the source of Cosgrove's clearly audible moans. "Better than a separated shoulder, that's for sure."
Daniel grunted in agreement, folding his arms over his chest. "Sounds like you ran into some bad luck."
"You're telling me," Rothman snorted. "Good thing the big burly Marines were there to come to the rescue. Hey, remind me to not bad-mouth them for at least a week, okay?" he smiled. Suddenly taking in the subdued lighting and minimal staff in the infirmary, a thought struck him and he narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing on base, anyhow? It's like four in the morning, isn't it?"
Shrugging, Daniel merely smiled tightly.
His frown deepening, Rothman tried to push himself to a more upright position. He glanced from side to side and whispered as if he were a conspirator in a grade-B movie. "Is something going on? Somebody dead? Missing?" Rothman's voice strained towards the higher registers as he let his gaze travel up and down Daniel's frame momentarily. "You're here, so my first bet on a victim is already out."
"Very funny, Robert," Daniel huffed, hesitating again, not quite sure how to — or if to — broach the subject with his friend in this very public setting. "Just getting some work done, you know me." Maybe Robert had enough on his mind; maybe he should let him rest. God knew he wouldn't get much once Daniel told him about Kendrick's arrival. He hesitated, wondering just how to best protect his friend from the latest idiotic military decision and frustrated that, whatever road he chose, his friend would be hurt. If SG-5 hadn't picked a decaying mine shaft for their camp that night, Rothman would still be off-world and oblivious, but here in the infirmary he was likely to hear about the scientist's appointment in a casually dropped phrase any minute. Grasping the letter he'd written earlier in the day, he moved to the side of the bed and held it out to the injured man.
"What's this?"
Now it was Daniel's turn to glance around. "Listen, Robert. I know you'd like to stay here as the pampered guest of the SGC doctors and their big scary needles," he didn't stop to acknowledge Rothman's sarcastic exclamation, "but, do me a favor. Read this when you have a chance. And, if you decide you'd rather recuperate at home, or take a few weeks leave, I'll be glad to drive you. Just have an airman call me."
"Daniel?" He eyed the envelope with suspicion. "You are dying!"
That prompted a genuine laugh. Daniel shook his head, a smile still lingering on his face. "No, Robert, I'm not dying. Just read it, okay?"
Three hours later Daniel was back in the infirmary, receiving a copy of Rothman's care instructions and a firm lecture on his own need for rest from Janet Frasier who had been barraged by Robert's repeated requests for discharge as soon as she reported for duty. Daniel shoved the anti-inflammatories and pain meds into his already heavy pack full of reference materials, careful to nod sincerely every time the doctor paused in her recitation while watching Rothman attempt to navigate on his new crutches. He knew that look — the one of mixed disgust and fury that distorted the archaeologist's features. It had been the only expression he'd seen on Rothman's face for almost the entire first year of their acquaintance back in Chicago. Robert Rothman, Ph.D. in Anthropology and Master's in Archaeology blinked rapidly, desperate to flee the suddenly claustrophobic underground base before he came face to face with a nightmare from his academic past.
Shuffling slowly past the sentry station at the surface, Daniel reached over to steady his friend while he cursed every god from every pantheon of every mythology he'd ever heard of under his breath. Of course. It's almost 07:30. I am an idiot. Most on-base personnel reported at 08:00, so it made perfect sense that the two figures both he and Rothman wanted to avoid at all costs would be coming towards them through the parking lot. He could see the whitening of Rothman's knuckles as he clutched the crutches' handles lurching painfully as he tried to move faster.
"Just keep moving," Daniel whispered, pointing to his own car to their right as he angled to the left, placing himself between the wounded archaeologist and the approaching figures.
"Daniel." Jack was still wearing reflective sunglasses which effectively hid his eyes, but not his mood. "Missed you last night."
"You only gave me 24 hours, Jack; I didn't have time for 'team bonding' night." Daniel tried to keep his tone light while surreptitiously glancing at Rothman's progress towards the waiting vehicle.
"Oh, of course, your famous research to prove me wrong," Kendrick's smile seemed especially venomous in the early morning light. "My dear fellow, surely there are other, more vital tasks better suited to your talents?"
Daniel ignored him, keeping his own gaze locked on where he assumed Jack's was behind the shades. "You heard about the accident?"
"You driving Rothman home?" was Jack's only reply.
"Yes, but I'll be back in plenty of time." After a tense moment both men began to move off in opposite directions — Jack to deal with his responsibilities as 2IC of the SGC: the shuffling of teams and assignments that always resulted from injuries, and Daniel to deal with his. Neither noticed the sudden recognition in Kendrick's eyes at the mention of Rothman's name. Standing alone in the Cheyenne Mountain parking lot, Dr. Donald Kendrick felt the familiar stirrings of victory.
Risk
The drive towards Rothman's townhouse on the outskirts of the Springs was largely silent except for a few of his muttered corrections to Daniel's route. After settling the injured man on the couch in his living room, which was thankfully on the ground floor of the three-story structure, making an ice pack to help with the swelling, and arranging his meds and a glass of water on a nearby table, Daniel was looking around for something else to do when Rothman's casual question took him by surprise
"How long have we known each other, Daniel?"
"Ah, five, six years?" Daniel's smile was tight — here it comes.
"Closer to seven, I think," Robert nodded, leaning his head back on the soft cushions of his couch. "I remember the day we met. Dr. Jordan introduced us."
Before he'd managed to alienate the entire archaeological and anthropological community, academia had been Dr. Daniel Jackson's life — a very comfortable, challenging, familiar life. "You weren't too happy about being the Research Assistant to a younger man."
Rothman shook his head, regretting it almost immediately as the nagging headache intensified. "I was angry, yes, but not about that." His gaze flicked momentarily towards Daniel. "You were just an easy target. Already working on your second doctorate, loved by the students and the professors, brilliant, and generally raising the standard for everyone in the department to somewhere way, way over our heads." He closed his eyes. "Dr. Jordan..."
"He brought you and a number of other students with him when he left Camstead," Daniel prodded when Robert fell silent.
He nodded without opening his eyes. "He's a good man. He actually did something - more than any of us ever expected."
"I know," Daniel dropped his head. Once upon a time David Jordan had been like a surrogate father to Daniel, and the pain of their heated argument over what Jordan referred to as Daniel's 'disloyalty to science,' still hurt. Especially now, when Daniel had indisputable proof that all of his seemingly crazy theories were not nearly crazy enough — and yet, for Jordan's own good he had to stay away. Seven years ago he knew that Jordan had made a difficult ethical decision when he left his promising career at Camstead University, but the man never spoke to him about specifics.
"He never told you, did he?" Rothman asked quietly.
"Robert." Daniel had to know — if he were going to make the right decisions within the next 24 hours, he had to know.
Adjusting the ice pack on his swollen ankle, Rothman seemed to make up his mind. "Do you remember Kendrick's third book — the one about the possibilities of cross-cultural links between some of the indigenous peoples of North and South America?" He didn't bother to wait for Daniel's nod. "It really cemented his place within pop culture as the Archaeology Guru, you know?
"Yes."
Rothman craned his neck around so that he could look him in the eye, and Daniel saw that his friend's face was set, anger clear in every line. "That was my research, Daniel."
"What?" He didn't mean to sound as if the idea was so incredulous, but he remembered specifically that Robert tended to avoid any projects that dealt exclusively with ancient American cultures.
"Dr. Kendrick was my undergrad advisor. I'd been working on a theory for a couple of years, ever since I came back from a dig in Peru. He encouraged me," Rothman took his glasses off and threw them onto the coffee table, frustrated by his inability to get up and move. "Yeah, he encouraged me, all right, wanted to hear all about it, see my notes, my research, hear about my theories. I was completely taken in."
"Wait a minute," Daniel held up one hand and moved forward to perch on the edge of an armchair at ninety degrees to the couch where Rothman lay. "Kendrick stole your research and claimed it was his own? Isn't that, I mean, why didn't you expose him? Clearly Dr. Jordan believed you or he wouldn't have..."
Rothman interrupted with a self-deprecating grin. "I wasn't the first, Daniel, and I'm positive I wasn't the last. And since I'd handed over all of my notes to my so-called brilliant and caring advisor, I didn't really have much proof, anyway." He all but spit out the words. "But stealing my research wasn't the worst part of it."
"It wasn't?"
A ragged laugh escaped from Rothman's throat. "Oh, no. Not by a long shot." He reached out towards the glass of water that Daniel had parked on the nearby table, taking a long drink before he continued. "Let me spell it out for you. I'd been meeting him in his office at night, after hours, for weeks, working on this. Sometimes he'd ask me to meet him at his apartment. We even went to a few conferences together — just the two of us. And I'd stopped calling my girlfriend from home."
Daniel blinked. "Oh."
Rothman had been watching his reaction carefully over the rim of the glass. "See, see!" His voice climbed angrily. "Even you're thinking it, and you've known me for years!" He threw the glass across the room to smash against the brick fireplace. "There was nothing going on between me and Kendrick, Daniel, not like you're thinking. Don't you remember how focused you could get when you were preparing a paper? How everything else in your life fell away until the only thing you could concentrate on was the work?"
Confused, Daniel could only nod. That described most of his academic life — most of his life, actually. "So, when you confronted Kendrick about your research..."
"...he threatened to spread around that we'd been lovers, and that anything I said could be written off as the jealous raving of a jilted boyfriend." The last word came out from between clenched teeth.
"So you had the choice between losing your research and losing your reputation." It made sense. Dr. Jordan must have known what Kendrick had been up to, but without proof he wouldn't be able to do anything except drag his students' names through the mud. He knew firsthand how quickly the academic community could close ranks either for you or against you, and the tenure system dictated that the established professor was always right.
"Yeah." Robert put both hands behind his head and stretched his neck to one side and then the other, trying to relieve the tension that had been building since he'd read Daniel's note. "I guess I made the opposite decision from the one you did a few years later." He smiled sadly at his friend. "At least I had Dr. Jordan on my side."
Daniel didn't trust his voice to respond. He rose and began cleaning up the glass from the carpet.
Rothman eyed him warily. "It was the best I could do within the antiquated old-boy system of the academic world."
"I'm not questioning that, Robert," Daniel said, still bent over his self-imposed task. "But we don't really work within the academic world any more, do we? We have...other options."
It was Rothman's turn to frown. "What are you talking about? Sounds like it's just like old times to me. Kendrick stole your notes, and now he's trying to turn himself into some kind of savior at your expense. And even with my help, convincing the general that those figurines are Meso-American instead of Pacific Island isn't going to be easy."
Daniel looked up, his own train of thought derailed momentarily by the tone of defiance in Rothman's voice. "Robert, you need to rest."
He laid his head back against the cushions again. "C'mon, you know we've got to get Fletcher and his guys back safely. And besides, I'll have plenty of time to rest after I resign from the SGC if they decide to keep Kendrick on the payroll."
Standing, pieces of broken glass in his hand, Daniel waited until his colleague opened his eyes and looked at him. "That's not going to happen."
Rothman's eyes narrowed as he took in the adamant expression and strangely fierce light in Daniel's blue eyes. "Geez, Daniel, you've been hanging around with those military types too much." He rubbed his stomach. "Now why don't you call for some take-out and haul those text books I know you're carrying around in that pack over here and we'll get to work."
Everything
Daniel drove back to the mountain through the pouring rain in an early Colorado afternoon that looked more like evening. In contrast to the growing storm and the growls of thunder, his thoughts became clearer and sharper the closer he got to the SGC, and what he knew could be the end of something very dear to him. The words that Teal'c had said to him yesterday afternoon repeated themselves on an endless loop in his brain, distracting him from the pure academic work that he and Robert had been submerged in for most of the morning, work that would usually have stilled all other voices and shut out every disturbance.
"Not all danger arrives at the hands of the Goa'uld."
He knew that the two of them had found every scrap of evidence there was to try to substantiate Daniel's gut feeling that the inhabitants of the volcanic planet were descended from some type of Olmec or Toltec culture. He knew that their reasoning was sound, and their conclusions logical. Beyond the facts, beyond the logic, he knew that he was right, that if Fletcher and his team treated the figures they'd been given as objects of sacrifice rather than objects of worship they'd be in real physical danger. But he also knew that it might not be enough to tilt the balance of the general's trust from the famous Dr. Donald Kendrick, the man who was trusted by military and civilian alike, to him, the SGC's own absent-minded professor.
"It is far worse to hesitate when faced with a true enemy."
As he stood there in Rothman's living room, holding the shards of glass in his hand he had realized that he was finally thinking clearly. The true enemy here wasn't General Hammond, or Jack, or even the military machine's cold practicality and narrow vision. Setting himself up as the foil, the devil's advocate, to all things military, arguing loudly until he was red-faced and dancing in frustration, acting as if every decision made in the military command structure was automatically suspect — it was the wrong tactic. Tactics. He allowed himself a small smile. Pretty soon I'll be asking myself WWJD — What Would Jack Do?
In the world of diplomacy and pure research, Daniel's methods would always win — careful analysis, tangential thinking, leaps of faith, and the ability to put oneself completely into another's shoes were necessary to understand and interact with other cultures. But, at some point, and especially under the threat of harm, words could only do so much. At some point, one must act.
"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'd prepared his report. With Rothman's unexpected wealth of knowledge about the pre-Aztec civilizations of South America, they'd made the case for caution, for a step-by-step approach for Major Fletcher and his linguist, Paul Esposito, to employ. In his comfortable, familiar academic world Daniel had acted — done everything he could to protect the people for whom he was responsible, both off-world and in the science labs of the SGC. But now it was time to utilize his other training, his years of experience as a member of SG-1. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his cell phone.
"Sam? Hi, it's Daniel...listen, I know it's Saturday, and it's a lousy day outside, but...no, I'm fine, but I could really use your help with something. Ah, I'm on my way there right now. You're sure? Thanks, Sam, I really appreciate it... okay, I'll meet you in your lab in half an hour."
He glanced at his face in the rear view mirror as he flipped the phone closed, second thoughts flashing across his mind. This was all too surreal, like something out of a fantasy. He couldn't actually pull this off, could he? This is crazy; I'm going to look like an utter fool if this doesn't work. Then he remembered the look of defeat and anger on Robert Rothman's face and the meaning of Teal'c's final words suddenly became clear.
"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, and to be willing to risk everything — everything, Daniel Jackson — in order to do it."
Risk everything.
"Daniel, this is crazy!"
"Sam..."
"Don't you think you should just talk to General Hammond or the colonel about this? I mean," Samantha Carter ran one hand through her hair in exasperation, "if you're sure about him..."
"Oh, I'm sure." Daniel stood, arms crossed, patiently waiting for his teammate to come to the right conclusion. If anyone would understand how necessary it was for him to do this, it would be the woman who had successfully streamlined her military duties and her love of pure research.
"I believe we should assist Daniel Jackson in this effort, Major Carter."
Okay, maybe the big Jaffa with whom he had the least in common would be the one who understood, Daniel corrected himself uneasily. After a moment of silent acknowledgement, the two men turned expectantly to their colleague.
"Daniel," her blue eyes were full of concern, "I realize that this Kendrick is a bastard, but if you'd just..."
"I'm done talking, Sam." He put one hand on her arm briefly to communicate that his anger was not directed at her. "Sometimes I talk too much. If talking to Jack or the general were going to resolve this, it would already be resolved. And, besides, the real story isn't mine to tell." He frowned, knowing that Robert had made too many sacrifices already in an attempt to keep his name out of any association with Kendrick. If he wanted to come forward later, after all this was over, that would be up to him, but there'd be no pressure from Daniel.
"You really think this plan is the best way to go about this? He's bound to give himself away eventually, without us resorting to..." she gestured at the equipment spread across her lab table.
"By then it might be too late, especially for Major Fletcher." Daniel's voice dipped to a whisper, his gaze growing colder and more determined. "And what about the other scientists here at the SGC? Am I supposed to just let them fend for themselves?" He jabbed one finger at the table. "They are my responsibility, Sam. And this — this is my job."
The major searched her friends' faces, one pale but with more stubbornness than anyone else she'd ever met, and one dark and serene, but with a well of passion hidden beneath. She sighed. "Okay, but only if Teal'c is there to back you up. If you corner this guy..." she let her words trail off.
"You have my promise." Teal'c inclined his head in agreement.
"It'll take me an hour or so to get everything together." Once the decision was made, Carter began working, her fingers deftly adjusting the tiny device.
Relief surged through him — without Sam's help he'd never have been able to pull this off. Daniel nodded his thanks. "I have a few things to take care of, so I'll meet you both back here then." He opened the door to the corridor and stopped, turning. "Um, thanks. I really owe you both."
"Is this not what teammates are for, Daniel Jackson?" Teal'c asked, one eyebrow climbing thoughtfully.
"Besides," Sam remarked, grinning, "if anything goes wrong, you'll be explaining everything to the colonel."
"Indeed."
Strength
Donald Kendrick was careful to keep a friendly smile on his face as he tramped down the corridor towards Jackson's office. That Anders woman had pulled him away from his work on the Hunvrai treaty language just as he'd begun to get a grasp on the alien culture's complicated syntax. After a tedious half hour of her compulsive need to double check seemingly every letter of the unimportant pseudo-Latin translation, he'd finally managed to extricate himself. She'd be the first to go. The smile on his face spread slowly. After Jackson, of course.
He sat down heavily in the desk chair and allowed his attention to wander to the small clay figures grouped at one end. He trailed a finger along the curves of the artifact, a sense of power and triumph filling him. It was almost a shame that the young scholar had to go — he was brilliant, and Kendrick could make good use of such men, but his actions yesterday had assured him that Jackson would not go down easily. If he remained here, the boy would undoubtedly make himself a thorn in his side, always looking for an opportunity to win back the trust of the military command. Too bad, he chuckled to himself, that the boy had nowhere else to go.
The confrontation in the parking lot this morning had given him the idea. Academia was truly a small world, but seeing one of his favorite undergrads — well, at least one of his most useful — in the company of his newest challenge had been completely unexpected. Jordan had spirited young Rothman away when he'd gone to Chicago, it wasn't too surprising that he and Daniel Jackson had met there, and even less that Jackson had chosen him to take part in the deeply classified research on the Stargate program. They seemed to be friends. Good. What had worked so well at Camstead was bound to succeed brilliantly within the straight-laced ranks of the American military establishment. A suggestion here, a pointed remark there and young Jackson would find himself at best shunned by his former comrades — probably worse, much worse.
Two quick raps on the metal door broke into Kendrick's cheerful thoughts, and he looked up. Right on time. With only an hour or so left on his 24-hour deadline, Jackson was bound to show up soon, and there he stood, face grim above the standard black t-shirt and baggy BDUs that had convinced him that he could blend in with the soldiers on this base. Not for long.
"Dr. Kendrick, I'd like you to read the report I'm about to turn in to General Hammond concerning the culture of M4S-599." Daniel began speaking from the doorway of his former office, file held tightly in one hand. "Since we both know that your own 'theories' of this civilization are based on some of my own research, I'd think you'd be open to another interpretation."
Leaning back calmly in his chair, Kendrick glanced up at the security camera mounted over the door. "I have no idea what you're talking about, my boy."
"Oh, for..." Daniel quickly took a step inside the room, flung the door shut, locked it, and reached up to yank the cable from the overhead camera. "Look. Major Fletcher and his team are trying to save lives out there, doctor, and whatever power play you have going on here is completely unimportant in the face of that." He walked towards the desk, adrenaline pumping through him. "You took my research and ran with it. Fine. I'm not here to argue about it."
Quickly recovering from his shock at Jackson's unexpected actions, Kendrick stood, all semblance of pleasantry dropping from him. "Just why are you here, boy?"
"I'm here to try to make you understand that I don't care who gets credit for saving this mission — the lives of the people on that planet, especially the lives of Fletcher and his team, are what we should be concentrating on."
Kendrick's laugh was coldly menacing. "I disagree."
"You —" Daniel was at a loss for words. "You disagree."
"Yes. What's really important, Dr. Jackson, is that you realize that your little playground here is under new management."
Daniel turned away from the other man for an instant, and then turned back, disbelief registering in his features. "My what? What are you talking about?"
Stepping out from behind his desk, Kendrick walked towards the younger man, eyes raking up and down his slight figure. "I'm talking about your delusion that the military could ever think of someone like you as more than a sort of mascot, a pet of sorts, who is only kept around because of some sense of misplaced loyalty for happening to stumble on the right sequence to open the Stargate in the first place."
"I — someone like — what does that have to do with Major Fletcher?" Daniel's voice grew louder and his gestures wider in his exasperation. His struggle to understand the situation was written all over his face, but Daniel forced himself to stillness, crossed his arms and braced his legs widely apart, as if defending his territory.
Kendrick sneered at the young man's immobile stance. "I don't give a shit about some backwater planet with no tactical importance, and neither does the Air Force." He moved closer, knowing very well how to use his proximity and height to intimidate. "When I'm finished with this Hunvrai treaty, and always assuming it turns out that your second theory about that planet is correct, nobody is even going to remember a few insignificant airmen. And if they do, I can just admit that it was your idea in the first place." He put one large hand on Daniel's shoulder. "You can't win, boy."
"Dr. Jackson." Daniel's muscles felt like iron as he held himself motionless.
"Hmm?" Kendrick narrowed his eyes, his heart thumping wildly in exhilaration. This boy did not even realize that he was beaten.
"My name. You seem to have a problem remembering it." It was one of the hardest things he'd ever done to just stand there, looking calmly into the eyes of his enemy.
"When I get finished with you, boy," Kendrick cupped his right hand against Daniel's cheek and leaned closer, "you'll have no name to speak of — here or anywhere."
The young man's mouth quirked up and Kendrick blinked, his confidence rattled. Daniel brought both suddenly empty hands up, his right grabbed Kendrick's wrist, pulling, while his left slapped strongly against Kendrick's right shoulder, spinning the man around, and then pushing him away. Kendrick tripped forward, stumbling painfully against the desk and knocking a stack of papers onto the floor, his right wrist now held firmly behind his back.
Daniel let go abruptly and stepped backward. "You're wrong, Dr. Kendrick. You won't be able to explain away the deaths of Major Fletcher and his team. This is Stargate Command — we don't leave people behind." He leaned down and felt for the report he'd dropped with his left hand. Standing slowly, he watched Kendrick turn, rage transforming his usually affable features into an ugly mask. No — this wasn't a mask, this was his first glimpse of Kendrick's true face. "I'm going to see General Hammond to make sure those men return alive." He turned his back on the angry man and strode towards the door.
The quickness of Kendrick's attack took him by surprise, and he felt himself hurled forward against the metal door, his hands trapped in front of him. Slapping the metal to absorb the impact, Daniel was able to twist his head to the side, avoiding a concussion, but feeling the sharp sting against his cheekbone. He heard the snap in his left wrist, smashing against the door at an awkward angle as he still held the file he'd been carrying in that hand. The shock of pain and the pressure of the large man's forearm against his shoulders gave him focus. He was lucky. Kendrick didn't seem to know what to do with him now that he had him.
"You're a fool, a prancing pretty boy who is only tolerated because of his fast talk and our government's guilty conscience." Kendrick leaned his body tightly against Daniel's back, his face pressed close so that his spit flicked the back of his neck. "They brought me in here to replace you because they finally realized that you weren't up to the challenge, my dear boy." He pulled his head back slightly to stare down at the back of the bowed head in front of him and a thrill ran the length of his body. "I will win. And there's absolutely nothing you can do about it."
Daniel hunched his shoulders, his head now hanging to his chest as he felt the man ease backwards, his hands now grasping the back of his shirt. Forcing his shoulders down and his head back in one quick movement he felt the satisfying crunch as the back of his head met the small bones of Kendrick's nose. The hands scrabbling against his back were gone, and Daniel turned, cradling his left arm against his body, to see the blood streaming down Kendrick's face beneath his cupped hands, a high keening sound coming from his mouth. Kendrick's eyes were blinded by tears of pain so he missed Daniel's approach, only felt one strong hand grab the front of his shirt as his feet were kicked out from under him. His back hit the concrete floor with a flat slap and he choked for breath before he felt a knee pushed roughly into his chest.
Blinking his eyes clear, Kendrick managed to suck in a lungful of air before the knee pressed harder, and Daniel Jackson's blue eyes came into focus above him. "Perhaps you've mistaken me for one of your easily manipulated undergrads, Dr. Kendrick." The knee pressed harder. "I'm not. I'm Daniel Jackson, a member of SG-1, the frontline team that has been keeping your ass safe from the Goa'uld for the past four years." Daniel brought his face to within inches of Kendrick's. "You don't scare me."
The pressure lifted and Kendrick gasped for breath, pain and confusion sending his thoughts into chaos. He noticed Jackson's footsteps move back towards the desk, and then stride past him quickly to yank the door open. The conversation between Jackson and another, deeper voice barely registered.
"Are you all right, Daniel Jackson?"
"Yeah, Teal'c, thanks. But I think Dr. Kendrick might need a trip to the infirmary. He, ah, slipped and hit his head on the desk."
The other voice hesitated a moment before responding. "I will take care of him."
"...so Dr. Frasier thinks Cosgrove will be out for a couple of months or so after the surgery, but Bates and Loder are good to go in two weeks..." Jack paused in his recitation of the injuries sustained to SG-5 when a loud knock fell on General Hammond's office door.
"Come!" Hammond called out, his eyes still fixed on the incident report atop his desk.
A hand fumbled against the knob, and Jack reached out impatiently to tug the door open. Daniel stumbled inside, arms full, teeth clenched against the throbbing that shot up from his wrist.
"Dr. Jackson?" Hammond frowned, taking in the disheveled state of the archaeologist. "We're not scheduled to meet for..."
"Sorry, General," Daniel interrupted, stepping past Jack to the desk and painfully opening his left hand so that his report fell to the dark surface. He set the small video camera he'd taken from his office book shelf on top of the folder, and then, with his right hand, reached up under his black t-shirt and tugged, removing a small digital recorder and microphone, strips of tape still hanging from the wires. He placed it next to the other items on the perplexed general's desk.
"What the hell is this?" Jack's well-trained eye spotted the graze on his teammate's cheek, and the awkward angle of his left arm before flicking to the recording devices.
"My report," Daniel replied, smiling slightly. "And General?" he sighed, "I really, really hope it's enough this time."
He turned and, meeting Jack's eye, fleetingly, Daniel walked out of the office.
Bridges
Janet Frasier had just put the finishing touches on Daniel's cast when Col. Jack O'Neill entered the infirmary, his eyes blazing. Taking in the protective stances of Carter and Teal'c around Daniel where he sat on the edge of the bed, and the watchful gaze of the SGC's formidable if dainty CMO, he quickly settled his features into some attempt at calm and shoved his hands deep into his pockets so he wouldn't reach out and strangle his archaeologist. His lips thinned as he heard the throaty whining that issued from behind closed curtains at the other end of the infirmary, and Jack nodded towards the two SFs who had entered the medical area on his heels, silently directing them to their positions.
"Well, well, the gang's all here I see," Jack quipped, noticing with pleasure Major Samantha Carter's slight stiffening as he approached the group. Teal'c, unruffled as always, merely put both hands behind his back and shifted to allow Jack access to the area directly in front of Daniel. Hitching up one leg, Jack half-sat on the bed opposite his friend's. "Daniel."
"Jack." He lifted hooded blue eyes to meet Jack's fierce stare.
"Nice little movie you recommended. The general especially liked it."
"Really?"
"Yeah, good dialogue, although the villain came across as a bit arch, don't you think?"
"Oh, I don't know," Daniel shifted uneasily, wincing as Janet adjusted a sling around his neck, "seemed pretty lifelike to me."
"Uh-huh." Jack let the silence stretch out.
"It was a clean break, colonel, no tendon or muscle damage," Janet Frasier's voice dropped into the awkward moment. "He'll need to be on light duty for a week or so, and then only routine off-world assignments for about four weeks until the cast comes off." Holding up one finger and waggling it in front of Daniel's face she added, "No running, jumping, or getting shot at for at least a month." She slipped off her gloves and took Daniel's face between her hands, one thumb pressing against his bruised cheek.
"Ow."
"It's not broken, just bruised," she assured him. "Well," she sighed, smiling in amusement at the stiff postures of the team members around her, "I guess I'll leave you all to it." One hand patted Daniel's knee before she swept down the aisle towards the dramatic groaning behind the curtains.
"Look, before you..."
"What the hell were you..."
"Sir, I'd just like to..."
Three voices stopped abruptly, and three pairs of eyes turned towards the only silent member of SG-1. Teal'c tilted his head and gazed impassively at the middle distance.
"Okay, what do you say we let the guy with 'colonel' on his uniform speak first," Jack snapped. Sam closed her mouth, but her body language let her commanding officer know that she still had a lot to say. Daniel let his chin drop down against his chest.
"Carter — good job on the recordings. Sound and picture, very nice, gave us everything we need to keep Kendrick quiet and far, far away from any government assignment for the rest of his miserable life." He shifted his gaze away from her startled face. "T? I assume you were in proximity in case our James Bond here needed backup?"
Eyebrows raised at O'Neill's analogy, Teal'c nodded. "Indeed."
"You're both dismissed. It's Saturday," he drawled the word out slowly. "See you Monday morning." He hopped from his perch on the bed. "Daniel, when Frasier releases you I'll drive you home."
"Ah..." Daniel's worried gaze flicked nervously between Sam and Teal'c.
"Sir, I could..."
"Oh, relax, Major," Jack turned, hands out to his sides. "You were right, I was wrong, I'm not going to hurt him...much."
Sam smiled. "Good enough." She put one hand on Daniel's arm and leaned towards him. "I told you it was crazy," she stage whispered before leading Teal'c out of the infirmary.
"Oh, yeah," Jack's eyes twinkled darkly.
A few minutes later Jack led Daniel down the hallway towards the base elevator. "Wait, Jack," Daniel lurched to a halt. "What about Fletcher?"
Jack reached back and patted his friend on his good arm. "Hammond is contacting Esposito to give him your recommendation. They're going to go slow, and Hammond will direct any questions to you or Rothman. Okay?"
Daniel nodded, relief washing through him and leaving him tired, very tired. Jack stepped back and grasped his friend across the shoulders.
"I'm okay," Daniel moved away from the touch and Jack dropped his arm.
Once in the elevator watching the lights blink steadily toward the surface, Jack turned. "Daniel. I meant what I said to Carter. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you."
"Me too, Jack."
O'Neill slid his eyes towards his friend's, but they were closed. "Hammond's called a meeting for Monday afternoon to discuss staffing."
"Am I invited?"
Jack flinched. "Ah, yeah, he's — we're — going to issue a formal apology."
"Good, that's good," Daniel murmured.
"Hey," Jack shifted to face the other man, leaning his left shoulder against the side of the car in a mirror-image of Daniel's pose and grasped his left arm above the elbow carefully to get his teammate's attention. "You know that was a stupid, reckless stunt, don't you?"
"Was it?" Daniel's eyes flew open. He knew they had to have this out, but wasn't willing for Jack to take the lead. "I was careful, I used your training, and I made sure I had back-up. I didn't do anything I didn't have to do."
Jack nodded reluctantly, allowing Daniel to continue.
"You admitted yourself that you weren't listening, so I knew I couldn't go to you for help. I acted to protect those for whom I'm responsible." Hesitating a moment, Daniel was relieved to notice that he did not have to struggle for control. "I learned that from you, Jack. I am learning. I hope you realize that I'm not the sneezy geek you need to rescue from himself any more. At least, I hope I'm not."
"I think that guy left with the girly hair," Jack smirked.
Daniel smiled briefly in response. "I've been through a lot this year, Jack. Now, I'm not promising to turn into a good little soldier..."
"...airman..." Jack corrected.
"...airman," Daniel acknowledged. "I'm still going to argue passionately for what I believe is right..."
"...wouldn't have it any other way..."
"...and I'll probably fight you on some of your more brainless decisions."
"Oh, 'more brainless' now," Jack mimicked.
Daniel ignored him. "But I promise never to put research before the team again. In any way." He searched Jack's dark eyes for the trust that he desperately needed.
The elevator door slid open at the surface, but neither man moved. Finally, Jack nodded and steadied his friend as they made their way down the tunnel towards the clear evening air. He believed him. The two stood under the first evening stars for a moment, each one listening to an inner voice.
Daniel remembered the sincerity in Teal'c's eyes at one of his darkest moments: "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 and to be willing to risk everything — everything, Daniel Jackson — in order to do it."
Jack felt deep pride and remembered fighting down an exultant yell when he heard his friend's recorded words: "Perhaps you've mistaken me for one of your easily manipulated undergrads, Dr. Kendrick. I'm not. I'm Daniel Jackson, a member of SG-1, the frontline team that has been keeping your ass safe from the Goa'uld for the past four years. You don't scare me." He hoped he finally believed it.
The End
