Files
FILES
Season 1 - Post Tollan
GEN & Angst
Daniel Centric, but everyone gets a star turn
Daniel had a book in his hand when he opened his front door. Thai from Siam House-his dinner, he expected. He'd grabbed his wallet from the counter when he'd heard the sharp knocks and tucked the book he'd been reading under one arm. He fumbled with it and the door and looked up after he had the door open. He saw the polished shoes first, the dark blue trousers with the sharp crease down the front, the Air Force jacket with brass buttons and chest of ribbons. Then he got to Colonel Maybourne's weathered face.
The man had always struck him as having a strong resemblance to a ferret: small eyes and instinctual cunning. But the comparison really was unfair to ferrets, which were benign creatures. Maybourne wasn't, and Daniel saw no need to hide his feelings about that.
Eyes narrowing, jaw tight, he glanced behind Maybourne, just in case, but didn't see anyone else. No Thai even.
His hand closed over his wallet and he stared at Maybourne, but he was curious, so he asked, “What do you want?”
“Nice to see you again, too, Dr. Jackson. Can I come in?”
“No.”
The skin around Maybourne's eyes tightened and an unpleasant smile lifted. Daniel decided that was the trouble with colonels-they got too many salutes and 'yes sirs.' They needed someone around who could remind them they weren't always right about everything.
Maybourne didn't seem to want reminders of anything, however. He kept that twist of a thin-lipped smile and said, voice too pleasant to be sincere, “Suit yourself. We can do this here.”
Daniel didn't answer. He had nothing to say to a man who'd tried to have others-and himself-shot.
Lifting a hand, Maybourne held out a black folder. “You're an educated man, Dr. Jackson. But dangerously naive. As you proved when you decided to...help our guests leave. Going by your record, it's not the first time you've stepped over the line, but it'd better be the last. Which is why I brought you some...light reading.”
Daniel glanced at the file, then lifted his stare to Maybourne's squinty-eyed face. And he waited for Maybourne to get the idea he wasn't welcome.
Maybourne let his smile widen, let his voice rasp harsh with patronizing contempt. “Oh, that's right. You didn't help anyone. Didn't send anyone anywhere. You just happened to be around when what might be our best chance for survival walked out. You seem to have a talent for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, don't you?”
Daniel kept any reaction tamped down. If Maybourne wanted to keep talking just to hear himself speak-fine.
Shifting on his feet, Maybourne pushed the black folder forward. Daniel didn't take it, so it fell to the floor, the edges of a few papers sliding loose. With a glance at it, Daniel let it lay. Then he looked at Maybourne again. And he kept waiting.
Maybourne's smile twisted. “Just don't get any bright ideas about leaking classified information again, like you did with Doctor Langford.”
Head lifting, Daniel couldn't keep the words back, had his temper lifting in a sudden, hot spike. “Leak-she brought me into the program!”
“Yes-well, we all make mistakes. Mine was not authorizing deadly force sooner. But you, Doctor Jackson, it's about time you learned you're not the only one who can manipulate events behind the scenes.”
Turning, Maybourne strode down the hall. Daniel watched. He wanted to make sure Maybourne got into the elevator-he wanted the man gone.
Maybourne didn't seem to be in any rush. He took his time, and after he pushed the call button, he glanced back, the lighting harsh on his face, eyes shadowed by his military cap. “By the way, that's not something you want to leave lying around. But you've got the clearance to read it now-although you wouldn't have had during the time when those events took place. And I didn't break any rules by bringing this to you. Just bent a few. But you know how that goes.”
The elevator pinged and the doors slid open. Maybourne gave a mocking salute and stepped out of sight. Daniel stayed where he was, waited until he heard the hum of a motor working, taking Maybourne away. Stepping back into his apartment, he shut the door and locked it. He bent and picked up the file.
He tossed the black folder on the front table-the surface he used for any research at home, where he could easily spread out reference books and papers. He went to the kitchen, put his wallet down, tucked a bookmark into his book and made himself mint tea. He came back with a steaming mug to stare at that folder, a knot tightening between his shoulders.
Maybourne wouldn't be doing him any favors. So whatever was in there couldn't be good. It might, in fact, be lies. Manufactured evidence-but about what?
Was this some file that Maybourne hoped would convince him he'd been wrong to aid the Tollan? That they should not have been given their freedom? Maybe something that detailed the luxury of the VIP prison that would have been their home?
Maybourne was an idiot to think he could have held people who had the technology to walk through walls. And if Maybourne had managed to take away the Tollan's gadgets, holding them hostage would not have convinced them to share anything. No-Maybourne had been in the wrong.
And he'd been made to look the fool he was.
So he'd vowed he'd see Daniel removed from the Stargate program. But that hadn't happened. Yet.
Was this a copy of the report that would get him booted? Papers that proved the Pentagon was considering Maybourne's recommendations that Doctor Daniel Jackson couldn't be trusted to look after Earth's best interests?
Hand tightening on the warmth of the ceramic mug, Daniel poked at the folder with his other hand. He still couldn't make up his mind what to do. Maybourne had hinted the file covered past events, not present ones. He'd also talked about Catherine Langford, and that reference teased, wouldn't let go. What if this was something that could get her into trouble?
Frowning, Daniel angled his head and studied the folder.
Catherine didn't need problems. She'd retired now for good with Ernest. She deserved some happiness. Some peace. And just what the hell was this anyway?
The corner of a couple of pages had slipped out; one showed the edge of what looked like an older photo of himself. He knew the one. A grainy photograph, it had been taken for his ID at the Orient Institute. He'd had so few photos of himself taken that he could identify each. Maybe he should burn this one and the entire file.
He had the luxury of a fireplace and more space than he'd known in years. He had to move again after Nem, after they'd thought he was dead-again. And he'd liked his other place, wanted something similar, an apartment with room enough for Sha're when they got her back. He decorated with her in mind, too, because he needed to keep thinking it was a matter of when they saved her, not if. And since, with what they paid him, he could afford to indulge his love of the past, he bought eclectic bits of different cultures for what would catch her curiosity.
Ah, damn, he should just burn this file and forget it.
Except he didn't subscribe to the adage that what you didn't know couldn't hurt you. In his experience, what you didn't know ended being fatal for someone.
Sipping his tea-the mint a sharp comfort, the tea strong and sweet, made in the Moroccan style with lots of sugar-he poked at the file again. Then he picked it up and took it to the couch.
Sitting down, he opened it.
It was about him.
Typical background information on him lay in neat type on the page; where and when he'd been born, even though they'd gotten it wrong. As far as he knew, he'd arrived into this life on the highway somewhere between Portland, Oregon and Olympia, Washington-the family story was he'd come early and unexpected during a summer term of teaching in the States. From what he could remember of them, his parents might have just forgotten when he was actually due. And it was more than possible that the birth certificate had been filled in wrong.
He'd been seven when his mother had started handing him the forms to fill out-for dig permits, to transport artifacts out of Egypt, hell even for passport renewals. He could remember being pleased to be given the responsibility. He'd only learned to regret it later. If left to his parent's lack of interest in details that weren't a thousand years old, that damn temple might never have gotten to New York.
They had the details here, as well, about his parents' deaths within that half-reconstructed temple. The pages also mentioned foster care and his education. But they had him down as an anthropologist/archeologist, when he'd been a double archeology/philology candidate in the anthro department. Of course, he'd been close to getting his third doctorate, and he could probably stand that discipline on its head with what he'd learned over the past year or so. Maybe he would someday.
The papers he'd published, back in the day when he'd had academic standing, stood out in a column next to a list of his teaching jobs. His research position under Doctor Jordan was noted, along with the excavations he'd been on. He was a little surprised to see every trip abroad mentioned-god, they must have tracked him with his passport.
He scanned the information, but didn't see why Maybourne would give him this. Maybourne wanted him to know the Air Force knew about his life? How was that a surprise? Then he turned the page and found the minutes to a meeting.
General West's name was mentioned. So was Maybourne's. Others must have been there because two lines said this came from West's staff meeting, and he could remember how West had always seemed to have a lot of people around.
To be honest, he had the vaguest memories of West-a stocky man maybe. Pasty faced. He couldn't recall. It had been Jack who'd stood out as the military man who'd stepped in to start giving orders, all clipped words and hard faced, the guy in charge of secrets buried under a mountain. That was about all the thought he'd given to Jack, too, until he was on another planet and staying alive depended on Jack having something a little more human under his uniform. God, was this file from when West had brought Jack into the program?
Curiosity sharpening, Daniel started reading.
Half way through, a fist tightened around his chest and squeezed until it left him short of breath. He tried not to jump to conclusions, but he thumbed ahead to the next pages and cold washed over his skin, seeped into him as if he'd been dipped into ice. He sat there, unable to move other than the tremor in his fingers. This couldn't be true. This was-Maybourne had to have faked this.
But, dear god, it fit.
Standing, he let the papers fall. He strode to the fireplace, leaned his hands on the mantel and put his head down to suck in deep gulps of air. He fought his anger. And the shame. That unbearable sense of being made ridiculous and inadequate fell on him like a shadow that had been hovering at his shoulder, waiting for him to notice that it had never left.
Please, god, this couldn't be true.
But he knew how the military thought lives were expendable; why should they even think twice about the impact of sabotaging credible research they'd classified a threat? Never mind any consideration of how that knowledge might advance understanding. He started to shake again.
Pushing off the mantel, he strode across the room, hugging his arms to try and get warm. And he tried to think.
This must be Maybourne's idea of a joke. Or Maybourne wanted a reaction. To make trouble. Or wanted his resignation. That had to be the case. It had to be. What Maybourne wouldn't count on is for this to be proven a lie. Daniel glanced at the folder again.
If he proved this a forgery, he could take it to Hammond. He could let the general deal with Maybourne through the military chain-of-command.
But how did he prove anything?
Glancing at the folder on his floor, he thought about how the military seemed to love paperwork. Hell, they had paper to track the papers that tracked papers, and copies of all of that.
Turning, Daniel strode back, gathered up the folder. He jabbed and mashed the papers together with little thought to their value because they had none. Sure enough, there was a file number on the meeting notes and another on the other pages attached. So all he'd have to do is take this into the SGC, talk to Jack and....
His mind stuttered, stopped and spun off again.
Jack had been West's man. He would have been in on West's staff meetings. He might even have sat there as West listened to Maybourne spout off about this plan.
Daniel's legs buckled. He sat down and only the accident of a chair next to him saved him from ending on the floor.
But, no, Jack couldn't have known.
Could he?
Oh, hell, back then, Jack had accepted secret orders to set off a nuclear device. He'd made it clear, too, how little regard he had for scientists. But did Jack have in him this level of callous contempt? Had Jack been hiding this?
Bile rose in his throat and burned hot. He put a hand on his stomach and pulled in a deep, shaking breath. Uncertain, he put down the file. He wished now that he'd burned the damn thing without looking at it, but that was stupid. Ignoring the facts didn't change them.
Standing, he started pacing again.
What if Jack had known? What if he had agreed with everything. It wasn't a personal betrayal-they hadn't even met when this...
But that wasn't the worst part. That wasn't what lodged in his chest and threatened to choke him.
Bad enough this had been made into a personal attack. What cut deeper was that a few someones had thought to come after his work like butchers. He actually could have lived with being a laughingstock a lot better if he'd known even some of his research had been able to stand on its own. But they'd had to make it all seem nonsense. Had to throw enough doubt on his theories that everything he'd ever done had become suspect.
What had Maybourne said-others could manipulate events.
Hell, was he being manipulated now?
Rubbing the back of his neck, trying to loosen tensed muscles, he knew he couldn't leave this. He'd opened the file. Now he had to get to the truth. Was this all Maybourne's creation? Or was Maybourne right-did he need to have his eyes opened about how he really fit into the Stargate program?
Grabbing a jacket and his keys, he glanced around, remembered the file at the last minute. He took it with him, locked up behind him. Then he drove to the SGC.
#
Sam saw the light in Daniel's office and almost smiled.
She wasn't supposed to be working late, either. The colonel had told them all to go home hours ago. But she'd wanted to run another spectrum analysis on the metal in Narim's device. She'd wanted additional readings off that power source she couldn't quite pinpoint.
She could have justified the research as a legitimate project for regular hours; this was their only piece of Tollan technology. But it was just personal curiosity. A way to put events into perspective. A way to hang onto a connection not quite made. She'd opted for extra hours instead of guilt. But she had that anyway since she'd left any mention of the device-and way too many other facts-out of her report.
Which was, of course, just another reason why she was here so late.
The structure of the base had become too much a comfort over the past few days. It was order and regulation, and shift changes handled on a predictable schedule. She had familiar faces if she wanted them and food she didn't have to cook. She knew what was expected of her, what was demanded and where she fit. She was kidding herself about this being all she wanted of life, but right now it was enough. And she was glad she had Daniel doing just about the same thing; it made her feel less like an irrational fraction in her own world.
Leaning in the doorway, she glanced inside and saw Daniel bent over his computer, the usual stack of papers spilled over his desk. “Hey, Daniel.”
He jerked upright so fast he almost fell out of his chair. And when did he ever look guilty about working too much? Puzzled, her attention caught, she stepped inside for a closer inspection.
He sat with his shoulders hunched and his glasses off, but he slid them on fast now. Not before she caught red rimming his eyes, the strain of too much time in front of a monitor-and too little sleep-showing in blurred blue irises. He also didn't meet her stare.
“Sam, sorry. Hey.”
Sorry? Why would he apologize? And why in all that was holy was he shutting down his computer and into complete avoidance? Head down, his non-reg, too-long hair hid his eyes. His movements seemed jerky with bottled emotion.
She stepped closer and he closed a black folder, but he moved too fast, knocked the file off his desk. He dove for the pages the same time she did, and they grabbed opposite ends at the same time.
Glancing up, half kneeling on the floor, he met her stare; she almost pulled back at the banked anger in his eyes. Shock ran through her arm as if she'd stuck a fork into an electric outlet. Daniel jerked the file from her grasp and stood.
She stood as well, and since she was between him and the door, it wasn't hard to plant her boots wide and make herself an obstacle. “Daniel, what's going on?”
He shook his head, didn't-wouldn't-answer.
Pressing her lips tighter, she folded her arms. What could have happened in the six hours since she'd last seen him?
This past week, they'd all been riding that wave of good feeling, even if it had been shaded by bending the regs more than too much. They'd gotten away with doing right, with getting the Tollan to the Nox and safety; and she shied away from thinking about the things she'd done to the base computers in order to get that done. That hadn't made it into any report, classified or otherwise.
And now the words she'd glimpsed registered. “Daniel, what are you doing with classified files?”
He looked up, eyes and voice about as hard as the surface tension of water. “You don't think I have the right clearance?”
For a moment, she flashed to the Daniel she'd first met-confident, giving the Abydonians orders, turning around to slap down her opinions with easy assurance. So unlike the shattered man they'd brought back to Earth after Sha're had been taken.
She had watched Daniel piece himself back together, patch everything up with coffee and distractions, push his way onto SG-1 and then make himself the guy who could come up with answers. Or at least with ideas. She'd watched him stutter through his first few debriefings, rapidly becoming the man who always spoke out too much.
He'd spoken fast, always seemed braced for dismissal. But he'd gone on to argue for non-military objectives-a reason for why his skills mattered-but it was clear he also believed in his ideals. He'd also seemed stunned when he'd heard the President had agreed with his argument for cultural, as well as military, exploration. But she'd always been amazed how Daniel seemed ready to take on any argument-with anyone.
Now he looked ready to start some new fight. With her.
Frowning, lines creasing his forehead, he hesitated. She could see his excuses forming, so she cut them off, put her sympathy and her need to know into words she tried to keep soft. “What is it, Daniel?”
Angling away, he lifted a hand, let it fall limp. “Go away, Sam. It's nothing. You don't-” He broke off and shook his head again. He turned and stared at her. His face went from pale to stark white, and his voice echoed dull in his lab. “But you know already. You were with the program before I was. When West ran it.”
Pulling in a breath, she held back mounting frustration. “Daniel, what are you talking about?”
“You knew Catherine-you'd been working with her. Did she talk about going to see me? Did she tell you?”
She nodded, but still couldn't see where this was going. Catherine had mentioned Daniel's name, but Sam had been reassigned to DC by then. They'd had the gate dialing program; they just couldn't make the Stargate work. So Sam’s part was done. It wasn't until Daniel came along and came up with the full coordinates for Abydos that everything changed.
Restless, Daniel's stare moved to the side, and then down, and Sam knew he was jumping ahead of her. Fear shivered over her like a cold breath that she wouldn't be able to keep up and that he needed someone with him. Something was wrong. She could feel it. Something had gone bad, but wasn't yet, she worried, as awful as Daniel would make it.
Whatever had set him off, it had to be those papers.
“Daniel, where did you get this file?” She forced an even tone. They needed rational thought, not emotions that could lead to a real mess.
“Doesn't matter.” He shook his head again, and she watched the thoughts still darting fast in his eyes, flickering in quick shifts of emotions.
Trying to get ahead of him, she held out a hand. “Let me see.”
His fingers tightened and she knew he was going to hold out on her for some reason. But, these days, she also knew how to get to him, how to play on his sense of fairness. “I've a right to see something you think I already know.”
Processing that, he gave a slow nod and held out the folder. He didn't give it to her, but made her take it from him. Somehow, that mattered to him, but she didn't understand why. What-he didn't want the responsibility of giving this to her? It had to be about her insisting on seeing it?
He didn't say anything, didn't offer explanations, but when his hands were free, he folded his arms over his chest again. He had his chin down and the light from his desk lamp flashed across his glasses, leaving the lenses opaque. Then he turned away, as if he couldn't bear to watch her read whatever this was.
She skimmed the pages, and caught her breath as if she'd cut herself on the pages.
Holy-no, this couldn't be right. Now she knew what he'd been doing-he must have thought the same thing, had been searching for verification. No way did she want to believe this could be real.
Looking up, she met his stare, confronted everything that hovered on the edges of his face and in those shadowed eyes. She knew what he'd discovered in his hunt-what he must be thinking now. What he must know.
“Daniel, I wasn't at this meeting. I wasn't on West's staff. I'd been transferred back to the Pentagon. But... Daniel, you can't let this bother you. It's something that happened. After all this time you-”
“Can't?” He stuttered over the word, stared at her, confusion pulling his eyebrows tight. “Sam-they put people in the audience. Those questions raised weren't an honest opinion or about getting to the truth-they were trying to suppress information. When does that ever become something you don't bother about?”
His stare held steady and sharpened.
Oh, Daniel--please let this go.
“Daniel, you know we have to keep the Stargate a secret. This isn't anything new. It's nothing personal. This was about keeping the program under wraps.”
His voice flattened. “So you did know.”
“No, I...Daniel, when Catherine mentioned you-even she had worries about your presentation. And, well, I didn't have to know every detail to make a few educated guesses.”
“In other words, this is what you would have done.”
Looking away, she pressed her lips tight. He had no right to do this. To sound so damn self-righteous and put words in her mouth. He was as much a part of this secret as she was. He knew that if you had orders to lie for a good reason, then you told the lie. If you had to stop someone from inciting interests in an area that needed to be left shrouded, you did that, too. Cover-ups were an ugly necessity of life.
Glancing at him, she took in the stubborn jaw, the condemnation in his eyes, and her own temper fired. “This program is too important not to be protected. You don't need me to remind you of that.”
Daniel nodded, a small gesture; then he shut her out, blanked his expression, left nothing showing, not even in his eyes.
Leaving the file with her, he pushed past, shouldered her aside with so little care her anger flared. She let him, because if she didn't this was going to get nasty. But she couldn't stop herself from turning to let her stare track him.
At the door, he stopped and glanced back. But his gaze didn't search for hers. Eyes down, seeing something or somewhere else, he kept the words short and sharp. “You sound like Maybourne now. Is that the price we have to pay for keeping the Stargate?”
Hands fisting, she had to look away or she was going to say something she'd regret-or throw something at him. How dare he compare her to Maybourne, a man with so few scruples you could count them up on one hand with one finger.
When she looked up, ready to argue this through, he'd gone.
Oh, Daniel.
She wanted to rage at him. She wanted to weep for him. She wanted to slap some sense into him. She wanted to hug him tight and hold on until he forgot about this.
Instead, she opened that damn folder and made herself read every detail. It turned her stomach acidic, left her mouth sour. They hadn't needed to be so vicious-there were other ways they could have dealt with this. But the approach had made it certain Daniel's ideas didn't survive as anything except as stories that would get you some laughs.
How could Daniel's trust in anything military survive this?
Heading to his desk, she picked up his phone to make a call. Then she took the folder and left the SGC.
#
Jack glanced at his second, sitting on the edge of his couch, body held rigid. She hadn't changed into civilian clothes before she'd left the base, which said everything right there; off duty, Carter dressed to remind anyone with eyes she was a damned attractive female. So he was going to go for this being a duty call. Even if it was after eleven at night.
She'd turned down an offer of beer, but he'd put a cold one in her hands and sat her on his couch. The fact she'd let him do both said even more about too many thoughts going on behind eyes left big and blue with an ocean of hurt churning.
And he'd always thought Daniel was the one who gave too much away. But something had gone past Carter's ability to button it down.
Sitting across from him, she had her stare on the black folder she had slapped down on his coffee table. He let her take her time and get to it in her own way.
Rolling the beer bottle between her palms, she looked up at him, eyes huge and serious. “It's about Daniel.”
Jack wanted to roll his eyes. Oh, hell, what had the guy dug up now? But, lately, Daniel had done good. That geek-clueless act had worked a charm to slip the Tollan out from Maybourne's punched-face nose.
Taking a hand off the beer, she lifted the folder and held it out. “You'd better read this.”
Great, as if he didn't get enough of files and reports on the base. And what was she doing bringing classified documents out of the SGC? Leaning forward, he took the folder, opened it. And he wanted to put it down again.
Crap, just what he didn't need-a trip down memory lane. Back to West's time, when Jack had wanted his brains blown out just to stop that continual loop of a gunshot in his bedroom and how little your child's coffin weighed when you carried it to a grave.
Looking up, he started to tell Carter she could explain it to him instead, in single syllables and short sentences. But her stare drilled into him, threatened to cut a few holes. So he thumbed through the pages. Then he got to the ones with Maybourne's name on them.
“Oh, crap.” His heartbeat skipped once and he looked up. “Tell me Daniel hasn't seen this.”
She didn't say anything, and he let out a groan. He'd known the answer. Of course Daniel would see this. What bonehead had let this get anywhere near Daniel?
“Sir, were you in that room?”
Eyes narrowing, he looked at Carter. “What do you think?”
Her stare fell to her beer, and he was almost sorry he'd been so sharp. Then she looked up, a hard smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. “I think you wouldn't have let Maybourne just about run that meeting.”
He shook his head, knew she had no idea. “Carter, I wasn't exactly Chatty-Cathy around then.”
His words wiped her expression to blank. Then she wiped the condensation from her beer on her leg. “I tried to talk to Daniel.”
“Let me guess. The need to keep a secret's not up there with need to not crap on people like this?”
She winced. “More like the truth matters. Honestly, I think it's the fact that his work was attacked that-”
She broke off, but he could guess the rest. That set Daniel off like a rocket? That had Daniel on a holy crusade? That was eating into Daniel, poisoning every tie he had to the military.
Letting out a long breath, he tossed the folder onto the coffee table and scrubbed his face with both hands. Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees. “Who the hell gave this to Daniel?”
“I don't know, sir. Daniel wouldn't say.”
“One guess. First name's Harry. This has Maybourne's stink all over it.”
“Sir?”
“Come on, Carter. You didn't think he wouldn't try harder for some payback? He couldn't touch you or me-we were both in the control room, playing good soldier. Teal'c-well, I wouldn't put it past Maybourne to have long-term plans there. But Daniel...yeah, I'd say he's been painted as the prime target.”
Staring at the carpet, she rolled her beer bottle between flattened fingers again and nodded. “Except Maybourne can't get the Pentagon to do anything through official channels.”
“So the weasel does an end round.”
“Sir-do you think Daniel will resign over this?”
Jack shook his head, then asked, “Where is he now?”
Lips pressed tight, Carter didn't answer. He knew then there was more to this. “Spill, Carter. Either that or you drink enough beer until you will.”
She flashed a quick, miserable smile, put her beer down and straightened. “Daniel thinks I knew about this. Or at least that I approve of what was done.”
Face scrunching, Jack tried to make sense of that as he drew out the question, “Why?”
“Because I told him I'd guessed a few things from what Catherine had said. And that the program has to be kept secret.”
Leaning back in his chair, Jack put his hands over his face. Oy, Oy-how could Carter be so smart and so stupid? What was it about these bright brains that had them run off at the mouth just when they should shut it?
“I know, sir. I shouldn't have-he just made me...sir, if he'd just stayed looking hurt, I wouldn't have said anything. But-”
She broke off and he couldn't blame her. He knew how it went. The bad that hit Daniel showed up on his face in neon-until the man shut it down. And god help you then because he'd lash out, dig into you with barbs that went so ground zero accurate you wanted to choke the man with his diplomas just to shut him up.
“Relax, Carter. Could be better to have him pissed at us instead of feeling that knife in his back.”
She swallowed hard. He saw her throat work with it. Picking up her beer, she drank half in one go. He watched her throat work for that, too. She dragged a knuckle across her mouth after and looked at him. “Sir, what are we going to do?”
Good question. With a shrug, he got to his feet. Almost midnight. They should go to bed, sleep on it, deal with it after breakfast. And after a whole lot of thinking. But that would leave Daniel in his own squirrel-cage for way too long.
Long enough for Daniel to think too much about how the people around him, the guys on his team, belonged to the same group as the ones who'd done a strafing run on his career.
He gestured to Carter's beer. “Finish that. Then let's hope to hell Daniel's gone to ground where I think he will.”
#
Once he started walking, Daniel didn't stop. Anger pounded hard, pushed his blood fast, kept him moving, carried him to the elevator, past the check points and scrawled sign-outs. He had to get away from the military right now and every reminder of how well he'd been played.
But when night air slapped his face, he hesitated. He wanted desert and sun. He wanted Abydos, but they'd buried their Stargate as he'd asked-too late to protect Sha're and Skaara and the others who'd died. Tonight it seemed all too probable he'd never again see his home or the family who had finally adopted him. So he put his head down and kept walking past the front gate where he had to show his ID instead of throwing it at them.
He put in his back pocket afterwards and turned and started up the mountain to lose himself in dark woods.
He couldn't face his apartment, a place the Air Force had helped him choose, had paid for and furnished with regular paychecks. They'd publicly humiliated him and then offered indentured servitude. And he'd taken it without a thought.
God, how could he have been so naive?
Maybourne had been right about that. But he really was only dangerous to himself. Now he was trapped and he couldn't think of anyone he knew without wondering who else was in on the secret?
But, no, that was melodramatic.
Teal'c was still a friend-odd that should be so when they'd started as enemies. However, they'd always been honest about that. And Teal'c knew what it was like to be forced into reliance on someone you hated. God, Teal'c had to deal daily with the hypocrisy of preserving Goa'uld enslavement by carrying one of them inside him. He had no choice-for him, it was that or die.
Daniel had choices.
He could leave. He could tell the world the truth and become an even greater object of ridicule. Or be put into prison for revealing state secrets. Or just be locked up as insane. Maybourne would love that. And that would strand Sha're and Skaara, leave them as Goa'uld hosts with no one who thought daily of their rescue.
Or he could go on strike. Refuse his cooperation-give them back as much courtesy as he'd been shown. After all, while Hammond might not be personally accountable for what had happened, he had taken on this command-he had stepped into the responsibility. Oh, hell, he must have seen this file.
And Jack...
Daniel's mind blanked again. He stumbled on the path, on bare dirt between tall pines left stark and black by moonlight. Head down, he kept walking, heading into deeper shadows.
What if Jack had been there? How the hell could he ever go on a mission again with Jack, knowing he'd been one of those bastards? What if Jack had approved the idea that Doctor Jackson's work didn't matter, that it was no loss if it was made over into a joke? God, didn't Jack do that sometimes anyway?
Which left Daniel unable to drag Teal'c into this.
Teal'c didn't need his own somewhat tenuous relationship with the military damaged, and Daniel wasn't fool enough not to realize that Teal'c would offer unqualified support on Daniel’s behalf. Maybourne might be counting on that. Teal'c had been in the gate room, too, when the Tollan had left through the Stargate with the Nox. It made sense that Maybourne would plan on Daniel's pulling Teal'c in on his side, so they could go down together.
And so much for being clever about showing Maybourne up-god, he had to find some way to cope with this or Maybourne would get everything he wanted.
Daniel just wanted to tear off his skin.
He understood how self-mutilation rituals served as a means to channel grief so unbearable any other pain became a relief. God, did he know about that. And here he was again, everything he'd rebuilt over the past few months shredded and shown for what it was-nothing more than paper-thin patches.
Did his work mean so little that they didn't think twice about dismantling research that had taken him years to tease out of stone records and crumbling papyri? Why the hell had they even wanted him here anyway? Oh, but they hadn't, had they. That had been Catherine's idea, and the military happened to end up stuck with him when they dragged his ass back from Abydos so he could explain why more Goa'ulds had shown up.
Glancing up, he stopped to stare at the sky, at distant stars and the vast emptiness between. Was this where he'd sat with Omac when they'd sent the Tollan request for help to the Nox? Oh, who was he kidding. He didn't know where he was-except on top of a mountain. Sinking down, he put his back against a tree, tucked his knees close to his body to ward off the night's chill, and searched his thoughts for new patterns by shifting his perspective.
He had been used-but he had also used the Air Force in return. His position allowed him to further his own agenda-to save his wife and brother. Still, he had reservations about that approach. Was this only about manipulation on both sides? Had he been stupid to think that working with these people meant anything more?
And he still couldn't assimilate what they'd done.
They'd sent people to ask mocking questions, to turn respectable research into fodder fit for a weekly tabloid, to force lunatic suggestions that had become forever associated with him. Resentment flaring, his hands fisted on the fabric of his coat sleeves until his knuckles ached. God, he'd thought himself past this. He'd believed a year on Abydos-long days of real happiness and a new life-had wiped this away. But it seemed you never really healed from having had something valued ripped out of your hands.
Stomach cramping, he remembered then that he hadn't eaten-oh, hell, he'd forgotten about his Thai. He'd need to show up at Siam House with payment and apologies. More mess to deal with, and he just couldn't cope with any more tonight.
Not with Sam having known, or guessed, or admitting tacit approval. Not with the idea that Jack wouldn't disagree with military necessity either. Not with the knowledge that he'd misread everything he had thought about the Stargate program before tonight. And he couldn't find a way past the outrage that there'd been no damn need for it.
He hadn't had anything in his presentation about Catherine's father and his find of a circular, metal object at Giza. His focus was on the Giza pyramids and adjusting the dates for Egyptian civilization. It didn't have a thing to do with any secrets.
But the Air Force had been oversensitive about anything to do with Giza, and had dealt with it as they saw fit. If it came down to it, he actually understood the Nox and the Tollan better. They'd at least seemed principled people.
But maybe he was being naive there again.
He was certainly going in circles, finding no answers. Caught and struggling, he only knew he had to cope.
He had to find some way to live with the fact that they didn't give a damn about him or his work. They never had. They used his skills as they saw fit and when they had a need. And he'd blinded himself to the truth, had let himself believe he was somehow making a place here with these people.
He wasn't. He didn't belong-he belonged to them. He was owned. They'd trashed his work, and then had bought him. If he wanted to be honest, he was about as free as Teal'c when it came to any idea of just walking away.
Laying his forehead on his folded arms, he gave into the misery, let it wash deep. He'd been too stunned after that lecture to mourn his career, and too distracted by translating a coverstone, and then too busy just staying alive. Then he'd had Sha're and no need to care about his own past. Now he had the time to sort through the ashes of his life-and he really wished he'd just burned that damn report and stayed ignorant.
#
Go to Part 2
Season 1 - Post Tollan
GEN & Angst
Daniel Centric, but everyone gets a star turn
Daniel had a book in his hand when he opened his front door. Thai from Siam House-his dinner, he expected. He'd grabbed his wallet from the counter when he'd heard the sharp knocks and tucked the book he'd been reading under one arm. He fumbled with it and the door and looked up after he had the door open. He saw the polished shoes first, the dark blue trousers with the sharp crease down the front, the Air Force jacket with brass buttons and chest of ribbons. Then he got to Colonel Maybourne's weathered face.
The man had always struck him as having a strong resemblance to a ferret: small eyes and instinctual cunning. But the comparison really was unfair to ferrets, which were benign creatures. Maybourne wasn't, and Daniel saw no need to hide his feelings about that.
Eyes narrowing, jaw tight, he glanced behind Maybourne, just in case, but didn't see anyone else. No Thai even.
His hand closed over his wallet and he stared at Maybourne, but he was curious, so he asked, “What do you want?”
“Nice to see you again, too, Dr. Jackson. Can I come in?”
“No.”
The skin around Maybourne's eyes tightened and an unpleasant smile lifted. Daniel decided that was the trouble with colonels-they got too many salutes and 'yes sirs.' They needed someone around who could remind them they weren't always right about everything.
Maybourne didn't seem to want reminders of anything, however. He kept that twist of a thin-lipped smile and said, voice too pleasant to be sincere, “Suit yourself. We can do this here.”
Daniel didn't answer. He had nothing to say to a man who'd tried to have others-and himself-shot.
Lifting a hand, Maybourne held out a black folder. “You're an educated man, Dr. Jackson. But dangerously naive. As you proved when you decided to...help our guests leave. Going by your record, it's not the first time you've stepped over the line, but it'd better be the last. Which is why I brought you some...light reading.”
Daniel glanced at the file, then lifted his stare to Maybourne's squinty-eyed face. And he waited for Maybourne to get the idea he wasn't welcome.
Maybourne let his smile widen, let his voice rasp harsh with patronizing contempt. “Oh, that's right. You didn't help anyone. Didn't send anyone anywhere. You just happened to be around when what might be our best chance for survival walked out. You seem to have a talent for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, don't you?”
Daniel kept any reaction tamped down. If Maybourne wanted to keep talking just to hear himself speak-fine.
Shifting on his feet, Maybourne pushed the black folder forward. Daniel didn't take it, so it fell to the floor, the edges of a few papers sliding loose. With a glance at it, Daniel let it lay. Then he looked at Maybourne again. And he kept waiting.
Maybourne's smile twisted. “Just don't get any bright ideas about leaking classified information again, like you did with Doctor Langford.”
Head lifting, Daniel couldn't keep the words back, had his temper lifting in a sudden, hot spike. “Leak-she brought me into the program!”
“Yes-well, we all make mistakes. Mine was not authorizing deadly force sooner. But you, Doctor Jackson, it's about time you learned you're not the only one who can manipulate events behind the scenes.”
Turning, Maybourne strode down the hall. Daniel watched. He wanted to make sure Maybourne got into the elevator-he wanted the man gone.
Maybourne didn't seem to be in any rush. He took his time, and after he pushed the call button, he glanced back, the lighting harsh on his face, eyes shadowed by his military cap. “By the way, that's not something you want to leave lying around. But you've got the clearance to read it now-although you wouldn't have had during the time when those events took place. And I didn't break any rules by bringing this to you. Just bent a few. But you know how that goes.”
The elevator pinged and the doors slid open. Maybourne gave a mocking salute and stepped out of sight. Daniel stayed where he was, waited until he heard the hum of a motor working, taking Maybourne away. Stepping back into his apartment, he shut the door and locked it. He bent and picked up the file.
He tossed the black folder on the front table-the surface he used for any research at home, where he could easily spread out reference books and papers. He went to the kitchen, put his wallet down, tucked a bookmark into his book and made himself mint tea. He came back with a steaming mug to stare at that folder, a knot tightening between his shoulders.
Maybourne wouldn't be doing him any favors. So whatever was in there couldn't be good. It might, in fact, be lies. Manufactured evidence-but about what?
Was this some file that Maybourne hoped would convince him he'd been wrong to aid the Tollan? That they should not have been given their freedom? Maybe something that detailed the luxury of the VIP prison that would have been their home?
Maybourne was an idiot to think he could have held people who had the technology to walk through walls. And if Maybourne had managed to take away the Tollan's gadgets, holding them hostage would not have convinced them to share anything. No-Maybourne had been in the wrong.
And he'd been made to look the fool he was.
So he'd vowed he'd see Daniel removed from the Stargate program. But that hadn't happened. Yet.
Was this a copy of the report that would get him booted? Papers that proved the Pentagon was considering Maybourne's recommendations that Doctor Daniel Jackson couldn't be trusted to look after Earth's best interests?
Hand tightening on the warmth of the ceramic mug, Daniel poked at the folder with his other hand. He still couldn't make up his mind what to do. Maybourne had hinted the file covered past events, not present ones. He'd also talked about Catherine Langford, and that reference teased, wouldn't let go. What if this was something that could get her into trouble?
Frowning, Daniel angled his head and studied the folder.
Catherine didn't need problems. She'd retired now for good with Ernest. She deserved some happiness. Some peace. And just what the hell was this anyway?
The corner of a couple of pages had slipped out; one showed the edge of what looked like an older photo of himself. He knew the one. A grainy photograph, it had been taken for his ID at the Orient Institute. He'd had so few photos of himself taken that he could identify each. Maybe he should burn this one and the entire file.
He had the luxury of a fireplace and more space than he'd known in years. He had to move again after Nem, after they'd thought he was dead-again. And he'd liked his other place, wanted something similar, an apartment with room enough for Sha're when they got her back. He decorated with her in mind, too, because he needed to keep thinking it was a matter of when they saved her, not if. And since, with what they paid him, he could afford to indulge his love of the past, he bought eclectic bits of different cultures for what would catch her curiosity.
Ah, damn, he should just burn this file and forget it.
Except he didn't subscribe to the adage that what you didn't know couldn't hurt you. In his experience, what you didn't know ended being fatal for someone.
Sipping his tea-the mint a sharp comfort, the tea strong and sweet, made in the Moroccan style with lots of sugar-he poked at the file again. Then he picked it up and took it to the couch.
Sitting down, he opened it.
It was about him.
Typical background information on him lay in neat type on the page; where and when he'd been born, even though they'd gotten it wrong. As far as he knew, he'd arrived into this life on the highway somewhere between Portland, Oregon and Olympia, Washington-the family story was he'd come early and unexpected during a summer term of teaching in the States. From what he could remember of them, his parents might have just forgotten when he was actually due. And it was more than possible that the birth certificate had been filled in wrong.
He'd been seven when his mother had started handing him the forms to fill out-for dig permits, to transport artifacts out of Egypt, hell even for passport renewals. He could remember being pleased to be given the responsibility. He'd only learned to regret it later. If left to his parent's lack of interest in details that weren't a thousand years old, that damn temple might never have gotten to New York.
They had the details here, as well, about his parents' deaths within that half-reconstructed temple. The pages also mentioned foster care and his education. But they had him down as an anthropologist/archeologist, when he'd been a double archeology/philology candidate in the anthro department. Of course, he'd been close to getting his third doctorate, and he could probably stand that discipline on its head with what he'd learned over the past year or so. Maybe he would someday.
The papers he'd published, back in the day when he'd had academic standing, stood out in a column next to a list of his teaching jobs. His research position under Doctor Jordan was noted, along with the excavations he'd been on. He was a little surprised to see every trip abroad mentioned-god, they must have tracked him with his passport.
He scanned the information, but didn't see why Maybourne would give him this. Maybourne wanted him to know the Air Force knew about his life? How was that a surprise? Then he turned the page and found the minutes to a meeting.
General West's name was mentioned. So was Maybourne's. Others must have been there because two lines said this came from West's staff meeting, and he could remember how West had always seemed to have a lot of people around.
To be honest, he had the vaguest memories of West-a stocky man maybe. Pasty faced. He couldn't recall. It had been Jack who'd stood out as the military man who'd stepped in to start giving orders, all clipped words and hard faced, the guy in charge of secrets buried under a mountain. That was about all the thought he'd given to Jack, too, until he was on another planet and staying alive depended on Jack having something a little more human under his uniform. God, was this file from when West had brought Jack into the program?
Curiosity sharpening, Daniel started reading.
Half way through, a fist tightened around his chest and squeezed until it left him short of breath. He tried not to jump to conclusions, but he thumbed ahead to the next pages and cold washed over his skin, seeped into him as if he'd been dipped into ice. He sat there, unable to move other than the tremor in his fingers. This couldn't be true. This was-Maybourne had to have faked this.
But, dear god, it fit.
Standing, he let the papers fall. He strode to the fireplace, leaned his hands on the mantel and put his head down to suck in deep gulps of air. He fought his anger. And the shame. That unbearable sense of being made ridiculous and inadequate fell on him like a shadow that had been hovering at his shoulder, waiting for him to notice that it had never left.
Please, god, this couldn't be true.
But he knew how the military thought lives were expendable; why should they even think twice about the impact of sabotaging credible research they'd classified a threat? Never mind any consideration of how that knowledge might advance understanding. He started to shake again.
Pushing off the mantel, he strode across the room, hugging his arms to try and get warm. And he tried to think.
This must be Maybourne's idea of a joke. Or Maybourne wanted a reaction. To make trouble. Or wanted his resignation. That had to be the case. It had to be. What Maybourne wouldn't count on is for this to be proven a lie. Daniel glanced at the folder again.
If he proved this a forgery, he could take it to Hammond. He could let the general deal with Maybourne through the military chain-of-command.
But how did he prove anything?
Glancing at the folder on his floor, he thought about how the military seemed to love paperwork. Hell, they had paper to track the papers that tracked papers, and copies of all of that.
Turning, Daniel strode back, gathered up the folder. He jabbed and mashed the papers together with little thought to their value because they had none. Sure enough, there was a file number on the meeting notes and another on the other pages attached. So all he'd have to do is take this into the SGC, talk to Jack and....
His mind stuttered, stopped and spun off again.
Jack had been West's man. He would have been in on West's staff meetings. He might even have sat there as West listened to Maybourne spout off about this plan.
Daniel's legs buckled. He sat down and only the accident of a chair next to him saved him from ending on the floor.
But, no, Jack couldn't have known.
Could he?
Oh, hell, back then, Jack had accepted secret orders to set off a nuclear device. He'd made it clear, too, how little regard he had for scientists. But did Jack have in him this level of callous contempt? Had Jack been hiding this?
Bile rose in his throat and burned hot. He put a hand on his stomach and pulled in a deep, shaking breath. Uncertain, he put down the file. He wished now that he'd burned the damn thing without looking at it, but that was stupid. Ignoring the facts didn't change them.
Standing, he started pacing again.
What if Jack had known? What if he had agreed with everything. It wasn't a personal betrayal-they hadn't even met when this...
But that wasn't the worst part. That wasn't what lodged in his chest and threatened to choke him.
Bad enough this had been made into a personal attack. What cut deeper was that a few someones had thought to come after his work like butchers. He actually could have lived with being a laughingstock a lot better if he'd known even some of his research had been able to stand on its own. But they'd had to make it all seem nonsense. Had to throw enough doubt on his theories that everything he'd ever done had become suspect.
What had Maybourne said-others could manipulate events.
Hell, was he being manipulated now?
Rubbing the back of his neck, trying to loosen tensed muscles, he knew he couldn't leave this. He'd opened the file. Now he had to get to the truth. Was this all Maybourne's creation? Or was Maybourne right-did he need to have his eyes opened about how he really fit into the Stargate program?
Grabbing a jacket and his keys, he glanced around, remembered the file at the last minute. He took it with him, locked up behind him. Then he drove to the SGC.
#
Sam saw the light in Daniel's office and almost smiled.
She wasn't supposed to be working late, either. The colonel had told them all to go home hours ago. But she'd wanted to run another spectrum analysis on the metal in Narim's device. She'd wanted additional readings off that power source she couldn't quite pinpoint.
She could have justified the research as a legitimate project for regular hours; this was their only piece of Tollan technology. But it was just personal curiosity. A way to put events into perspective. A way to hang onto a connection not quite made. She'd opted for extra hours instead of guilt. But she had that anyway since she'd left any mention of the device-and way too many other facts-out of her report.
Which was, of course, just another reason why she was here so late.
The structure of the base had become too much a comfort over the past few days. It was order and regulation, and shift changes handled on a predictable schedule. She had familiar faces if she wanted them and food she didn't have to cook. She knew what was expected of her, what was demanded and where she fit. She was kidding herself about this being all she wanted of life, but right now it was enough. And she was glad she had Daniel doing just about the same thing; it made her feel less like an irrational fraction in her own world.
Leaning in the doorway, she glanced inside and saw Daniel bent over his computer, the usual stack of papers spilled over his desk. “Hey, Daniel.”
He jerked upright so fast he almost fell out of his chair. And when did he ever look guilty about working too much? Puzzled, her attention caught, she stepped inside for a closer inspection.
He sat with his shoulders hunched and his glasses off, but he slid them on fast now. Not before she caught red rimming his eyes, the strain of too much time in front of a monitor-and too little sleep-showing in blurred blue irises. He also didn't meet her stare.
“Sam, sorry. Hey.”
Sorry? Why would he apologize? And why in all that was holy was he shutting down his computer and into complete avoidance? Head down, his non-reg, too-long hair hid his eyes. His movements seemed jerky with bottled emotion.
She stepped closer and he closed a black folder, but he moved too fast, knocked the file off his desk. He dove for the pages the same time she did, and they grabbed opposite ends at the same time.
Glancing up, half kneeling on the floor, he met her stare; she almost pulled back at the banked anger in his eyes. Shock ran through her arm as if she'd stuck a fork into an electric outlet. Daniel jerked the file from her grasp and stood.
She stood as well, and since she was between him and the door, it wasn't hard to plant her boots wide and make herself an obstacle. “Daniel, what's going on?”
He shook his head, didn't-wouldn't-answer.
Pressing her lips tighter, she folded her arms. What could have happened in the six hours since she'd last seen him?
This past week, they'd all been riding that wave of good feeling, even if it had been shaded by bending the regs more than too much. They'd gotten away with doing right, with getting the Tollan to the Nox and safety; and she shied away from thinking about the things she'd done to the base computers in order to get that done. That hadn't made it into any report, classified or otherwise.
And now the words she'd glimpsed registered. “Daniel, what are you doing with classified files?”
He looked up, eyes and voice about as hard as the surface tension of water. “You don't think I have the right clearance?”
For a moment, she flashed to the Daniel she'd first met-confident, giving the Abydonians orders, turning around to slap down her opinions with easy assurance. So unlike the shattered man they'd brought back to Earth after Sha're had been taken.
She had watched Daniel piece himself back together, patch everything up with coffee and distractions, push his way onto SG-1 and then make himself the guy who could come up with answers. Or at least with ideas. She'd watched him stutter through his first few debriefings, rapidly becoming the man who always spoke out too much.
He'd spoken fast, always seemed braced for dismissal. But he'd gone on to argue for non-military objectives-a reason for why his skills mattered-but it was clear he also believed in his ideals. He'd also seemed stunned when he'd heard the President had agreed with his argument for cultural, as well as military, exploration. But she'd always been amazed how Daniel seemed ready to take on any argument-with anyone.
Now he looked ready to start some new fight. With her.
Frowning, lines creasing his forehead, he hesitated. She could see his excuses forming, so she cut them off, put her sympathy and her need to know into words she tried to keep soft. “What is it, Daniel?”
Angling away, he lifted a hand, let it fall limp. “Go away, Sam. It's nothing. You don't-” He broke off and shook his head again. He turned and stared at her. His face went from pale to stark white, and his voice echoed dull in his lab. “But you know already. You were with the program before I was. When West ran it.”
Pulling in a breath, she held back mounting frustration. “Daniel, what are you talking about?”
“You knew Catherine-you'd been working with her. Did she talk about going to see me? Did she tell you?”
She nodded, but still couldn't see where this was going. Catherine had mentioned Daniel's name, but Sam had been reassigned to DC by then. They'd had the gate dialing program; they just couldn't make the Stargate work. So Sam’s part was done. It wasn't until Daniel came along and came up with the full coordinates for Abydos that everything changed.
Restless, Daniel's stare moved to the side, and then down, and Sam knew he was jumping ahead of her. Fear shivered over her like a cold breath that she wouldn't be able to keep up and that he needed someone with him. Something was wrong. She could feel it. Something had gone bad, but wasn't yet, she worried, as awful as Daniel would make it.
Whatever had set him off, it had to be those papers.
“Daniel, where did you get this file?” She forced an even tone. They needed rational thought, not emotions that could lead to a real mess.
“Doesn't matter.” He shook his head again, and she watched the thoughts still darting fast in his eyes, flickering in quick shifts of emotions.
Trying to get ahead of him, she held out a hand. “Let me see.”
His fingers tightened and she knew he was going to hold out on her for some reason. But, these days, she also knew how to get to him, how to play on his sense of fairness. “I've a right to see something you think I already know.”
Processing that, he gave a slow nod and held out the folder. He didn't give it to her, but made her take it from him. Somehow, that mattered to him, but she didn't understand why. What-he didn't want the responsibility of giving this to her? It had to be about her insisting on seeing it?
He didn't say anything, didn't offer explanations, but when his hands were free, he folded his arms over his chest again. He had his chin down and the light from his desk lamp flashed across his glasses, leaving the lenses opaque. Then he turned away, as if he couldn't bear to watch her read whatever this was.
She skimmed the pages, and caught her breath as if she'd cut herself on the pages.
Holy-no, this couldn't be right. Now she knew what he'd been doing-he must have thought the same thing, had been searching for verification. No way did she want to believe this could be real.
Looking up, she met his stare, confronted everything that hovered on the edges of his face and in those shadowed eyes. She knew what he'd discovered in his hunt-what he must be thinking now. What he must know.
“Daniel, I wasn't at this meeting. I wasn't on West's staff. I'd been transferred back to the Pentagon. But... Daniel, you can't let this bother you. It's something that happened. After all this time you-”
“Can't?” He stuttered over the word, stared at her, confusion pulling his eyebrows tight. “Sam-they put people in the audience. Those questions raised weren't an honest opinion or about getting to the truth-they were trying to suppress information. When does that ever become something you don't bother about?”
His stare held steady and sharpened.
Oh, Daniel--please let this go.
“Daniel, you know we have to keep the Stargate a secret. This isn't anything new. It's nothing personal. This was about keeping the program under wraps.”
His voice flattened. “So you did know.”
“No, I...Daniel, when Catherine mentioned you-even she had worries about your presentation. And, well, I didn't have to know every detail to make a few educated guesses.”
“In other words, this is what you would have done.”
Looking away, she pressed her lips tight. He had no right to do this. To sound so damn self-righteous and put words in her mouth. He was as much a part of this secret as she was. He knew that if you had orders to lie for a good reason, then you told the lie. If you had to stop someone from inciting interests in an area that needed to be left shrouded, you did that, too. Cover-ups were an ugly necessity of life.
Glancing at him, she took in the stubborn jaw, the condemnation in his eyes, and her own temper fired. “This program is too important not to be protected. You don't need me to remind you of that.”
Daniel nodded, a small gesture; then he shut her out, blanked his expression, left nothing showing, not even in his eyes.
Leaving the file with her, he pushed past, shouldered her aside with so little care her anger flared. She let him, because if she didn't this was going to get nasty. But she couldn't stop herself from turning to let her stare track him.
At the door, he stopped and glanced back. But his gaze didn't search for hers. Eyes down, seeing something or somewhere else, he kept the words short and sharp. “You sound like Maybourne now. Is that the price we have to pay for keeping the Stargate?”
Hands fisting, she had to look away or she was going to say something she'd regret-or throw something at him. How dare he compare her to Maybourne, a man with so few scruples you could count them up on one hand with one finger.
When she looked up, ready to argue this through, he'd gone.
Oh, Daniel.
She wanted to rage at him. She wanted to weep for him. She wanted to slap some sense into him. She wanted to hug him tight and hold on until he forgot about this.
Instead, she opened that damn folder and made herself read every detail. It turned her stomach acidic, left her mouth sour. They hadn't needed to be so vicious-there were other ways they could have dealt with this. But the approach had made it certain Daniel's ideas didn't survive as anything except as stories that would get you some laughs.
How could Daniel's trust in anything military survive this?
Heading to his desk, she picked up his phone to make a call. Then she took the folder and left the SGC.
#
Jack glanced at his second, sitting on the edge of his couch, body held rigid. She hadn't changed into civilian clothes before she'd left the base, which said everything right there; off duty, Carter dressed to remind anyone with eyes she was a damned attractive female. So he was going to go for this being a duty call. Even if it was after eleven at night.
She'd turned down an offer of beer, but he'd put a cold one in her hands and sat her on his couch. The fact she'd let him do both said even more about too many thoughts going on behind eyes left big and blue with an ocean of hurt churning.
And he'd always thought Daniel was the one who gave too much away. But something had gone past Carter's ability to button it down.
Sitting across from him, she had her stare on the black folder she had slapped down on his coffee table. He let her take her time and get to it in her own way.
Rolling the beer bottle between her palms, she looked up at him, eyes huge and serious. “It's about Daniel.”
Jack wanted to roll his eyes. Oh, hell, what had the guy dug up now? But, lately, Daniel had done good. That geek-clueless act had worked a charm to slip the Tollan out from Maybourne's punched-face nose.
Taking a hand off the beer, she lifted the folder and held it out. “You'd better read this.”
Great, as if he didn't get enough of files and reports on the base. And what was she doing bringing classified documents out of the SGC? Leaning forward, he took the folder, opened it. And he wanted to put it down again.
Crap, just what he didn't need-a trip down memory lane. Back to West's time, when Jack had wanted his brains blown out just to stop that continual loop of a gunshot in his bedroom and how little your child's coffin weighed when you carried it to a grave.
Looking up, he started to tell Carter she could explain it to him instead, in single syllables and short sentences. But her stare drilled into him, threatened to cut a few holes. So he thumbed through the pages. Then he got to the ones with Maybourne's name on them.
“Oh, crap.” His heartbeat skipped once and he looked up. “Tell me Daniel hasn't seen this.”
She didn't say anything, and he let out a groan. He'd known the answer. Of course Daniel would see this. What bonehead had let this get anywhere near Daniel?
“Sir, were you in that room?”
Eyes narrowing, he looked at Carter. “What do you think?”
Her stare fell to her beer, and he was almost sorry he'd been so sharp. Then she looked up, a hard smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. “I think you wouldn't have let Maybourne just about run that meeting.”
He shook his head, knew she had no idea. “Carter, I wasn't exactly Chatty-Cathy around then.”
His words wiped her expression to blank. Then she wiped the condensation from her beer on her leg. “I tried to talk to Daniel.”
“Let me guess. The need to keep a secret's not up there with need to not crap on people like this?”
She winced. “More like the truth matters. Honestly, I think it's the fact that his work was attacked that-”
She broke off, but he could guess the rest. That set Daniel off like a rocket? That had Daniel on a holy crusade? That was eating into Daniel, poisoning every tie he had to the military.
Letting out a long breath, he tossed the folder onto the coffee table and scrubbed his face with both hands. Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees. “Who the hell gave this to Daniel?”
“I don't know, sir. Daniel wouldn't say.”
“One guess. First name's Harry. This has Maybourne's stink all over it.”
“Sir?”
“Come on, Carter. You didn't think he wouldn't try harder for some payback? He couldn't touch you or me-we were both in the control room, playing good soldier. Teal'c-well, I wouldn't put it past Maybourne to have long-term plans there. But Daniel...yeah, I'd say he's been painted as the prime target.”
Staring at the carpet, she rolled her beer bottle between flattened fingers again and nodded. “Except Maybourne can't get the Pentagon to do anything through official channels.”
“So the weasel does an end round.”
“Sir-do you think Daniel will resign over this?”
Jack shook his head, then asked, “Where is he now?”
Lips pressed tight, Carter didn't answer. He knew then there was more to this. “Spill, Carter. Either that or you drink enough beer until you will.”
She flashed a quick, miserable smile, put her beer down and straightened. “Daniel thinks I knew about this. Or at least that I approve of what was done.”
Face scrunching, Jack tried to make sense of that as he drew out the question, “Why?”
“Because I told him I'd guessed a few things from what Catherine had said. And that the program has to be kept secret.”
Leaning back in his chair, Jack put his hands over his face. Oy, Oy-how could Carter be so smart and so stupid? What was it about these bright brains that had them run off at the mouth just when they should shut it?
“I know, sir. I shouldn't have-he just made me...sir, if he'd just stayed looking hurt, I wouldn't have said anything. But-”
She broke off and he couldn't blame her. He knew how it went. The bad that hit Daniel showed up on his face in neon-until the man shut it down. And god help you then because he'd lash out, dig into you with barbs that went so ground zero accurate you wanted to choke the man with his diplomas just to shut him up.
“Relax, Carter. Could be better to have him pissed at us instead of feeling that knife in his back.”
She swallowed hard. He saw her throat work with it. Picking up her beer, she drank half in one go. He watched her throat work for that, too. She dragged a knuckle across her mouth after and looked at him. “Sir, what are we going to do?”
Good question. With a shrug, he got to his feet. Almost midnight. They should go to bed, sleep on it, deal with it after breakfast. And after a whole lot of thinking. But that would leave Daniel in his own squirrel-cage for way too long.
Long enough for Daniel to think too much about how the people around him, the guys on his team, belonged to the same group as the ones who'd done a strafing run on his career.
He gestured to Carter's beer. “Finish that. Then let's hope to hell Daniel's gone to ground where I think he will.”
#
Once he started walking, Daniel didn't stop. Anger pounded hard, pushed his blood fast, kept him moving, carried him to the elevator, past the check points and scrawled sign-outs. He had to get away from the military right now and every reminder of how well he'd been played.
But when night air slapped his face, he hesitated. He wanted desert and sun. He wanted Abydos, but they'd buried their Stargate as he'd asked-too late to protect Sha're and Skaara and the others who'd died. Tonight it seemed all too probable he'd never again see his home or the family who had finally adopted him. So he put his head down and kept walking past the front gate where he had to show his ID instead of throwing it at them.
He put in his back pocket afterwards and turned and started up the mountain to lose himself in dark woods.
He couldn't face his apartment, a place the Air Force had helped him choose, had paid for and furnished with regular paychecks. They'd publicly humiliated him and then offered indentured servitude. And he'd taken it without a thought.
God, how could he have been so naive?
Maybourne had been right about that. But he really was only dangerous to himself. Now he was trapped and he couldn't think of anyone he knew without wondering who else was in on the secret?
But, no, that was melodramatic.
Teal'c was still a friend-odd that should be so when they'd started as enemies. However, they'd always been honest about that. And Teal'c knew what it was like to be forced into reliance on someone you hated. God, Teal'c had to deal daily with the hypocrisy of preserving Goa'uld enslavement by carrying one of them inside him. He had no choice-for him, it was that or die.
Daniel had choices.
He could leave. He could tell the world the truth and become an even greater object of ridicule. Or be put into prison for revealing state secrets. Or just be locked up as insane. Maybourne would love that. And that would strand Sha're and Skaara, leave them as Goa'uld hosts with no one who thought daily of their rescue.
Or he could go on strike. Refuse his cooperation-give them back as much courtesy as he'd been shown. After all, while Hammond might not be personally accountable for what had happened, he had taken on this command-he had stepped into the responsibility. Oh, hell, he must have seen this file.
And Jack...
Daniel's mind blanked again. He stumbled on the path, on bare dirt between tall pines left stark and black by moonlight. Head down, he kept walking, heading into deeper shadows.
What if Jack had been there? How the hell could he ever go on a mission again with Jack, knowing he'd been one of those bastards? What if Jack had approved the idea that Doctor Jackson's work didn't matter, that it was no loss if it was made over into a joke? God, didn't Jack do that sometimes anyway?
Which left Daniel unable to drag Teal'c into this.
Teal'c didn't need his own somewhat tenuous relationship with the military damaged, and Daniel wasn't fool enough not to realize that Teal'c would offer unqualified support on Daniel’s behalf. Maybourne might be counting on that. Teal'c had been in the gate room, too, when the Tollan had left through the Stargate with the Nox. It made sense that Maybourne would plan on Daniel's pulling Teal'c in on his side, so they could go down together.
And so much for being clever about showing Maybourne up-god, he had to find some way to cope with this or Maybourne would get everything he wanted.
Daniel just wanted to tear off his skin.
He understood how self-mutilation rituals served as a means to channel grief so unbearable any other pain became a relief. God, did he know about that. And here he was again, everything he'd rebuilt over the past few months shredded and shown for what it was-nothing more than paper-thin patches.
Did his work mean so little that they didn't think twice about dismantling research that had taken him years to tease out of stone records and crumbling papyri? Why the hell had they even wanted him here anyway? Oh, but they hadn't, had they. That had been Catherine's idea, and the military happened to end up stuck with him when they dragged his ass back from Abydos so he could explain why more Goa'ulds had shown up.
Glancing up, he stopped to stare at the sky, at distant stars and the vast emptiness between. Was this where he'd sat with Omac when they'd sent the Tollan request for help to the Nox? Oh, who was he kidding. He didn't know where he was-except on top of a mountain. Sinking down, he put his back against a tree, tucked his knees close to his body to ward off the night's chill, and searched his thoughts for new patterns by shifting his perspective.
He had been used-but he had also used the Air Force in return. His position allowed him to further his own agenda-to save his wife and brother. Still, he had reservations about that approach. Was this only about manipulation on both sides? Had he been stupid to think that working with these people meant anything more?
And he still couldn't assimilate what they'd done.
They'd sent people to ask mocking questions, to turn respectable research into fodder fit for a weekly tabloid, to force lunatic suggestions that had become forever associated with him. Resentment flaring, his hands fisted on the fabric of his coat sleeves until his knuckles ached. God, he'd thought himself past this. He'd believed a year on Abydos-long days of real happiness and a new life-had wiped this away. But it seemed you never really healed from having had something valued ripped out of your hands.
Stomach cramping, he remembered then that he hadn't eaten-oh, hell, he'd forgotten about his Thai. He'd need to show up at Siam House with payment and apologies. More mess to deal with, and he just couldn't cope with any more tonight.
Not with Sam having known, or guessed, or admitting tacit approval. Not with the idea that Jack wouldn't disagree with military necessity either. Not with the knowledge that he'd misread everything he had thought about the Stargate program before tonight. And he couldn't find a way past the outrage that there'd been no damn need for it.
He hadn't had anything in his presentation about Catherine's father and his find of a circular, metal object at Giza. His focus was on the Giza pyramids and adjusting the dates for Egyptian civilization. It didn't have a thing to do with any secrets.
But the Air Force had been oversensitive about anything to do with Giza, and had dealt with it as they saw fit. If it came down to it, he actually understood the Nox and the Tollan better. They'd at least seemed principled people.
But maybe he was being naive there again.
He was certainly going in circles, finding no answers. Caught and struggling, he only knew he had to cope.
He had to find some way to live with the fact that they didn't give a damn about him or his work. They never had. They used his skills as they saw fit and when they had a need. And he'd blinded himself to the truth, had let himself believe he was somehow making a place here with these people.
He wasn't. He didn't belong-he belonged to them. He was owned. They'd trashed his work, and then had bought him. If he wanted to be honest, he was about as free as Teal'c when it came to any idea of just walking away.
Laying his forehead on his folded arms, he gave into the misery, let it wash deep. He'd been too stunned after that lecture to mourn his career, and too distracted by translating a coverstone, and then too busy just staying alive. Then he'd had Sha're and no need to care about his own past. Now he had the time to sort through the ashes of his life-and he really wished he'd just burned that damn report and stayed ignorant.
#
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