I'm so angry, I could spit. For me, that's saying a lot. I usually channel my anger into more constructive areas. Losing Sha're made me focus on the task of finding her. My parents' deaths propelled me into learning and books to escape my anger at being helpless in preventing their demise. Keeping busy proves to be a distraction, too, and a way to diffuse that tight knot that threatens to strangle me from the inside.
This time, I don't think there's an escape. There isn't a valve to turn so I can vent it. It's here, in my face, and I want to scream.
It started last year when we first went to P3X797, better known as the Land of Light. The people there are a direct descendant of the pre-Indo-European Minoan culture that once flourished on Crete. While scholars have studied the cultural remains for the last, say, one hundred years or more, there's still a lot we don't know about them.
One reason for the lack of information is that the Minoans left behind an early script called Linear A, one that scholars are still trying to decipher. In my studies as both an archaeologist and a linguist specializing in ancient languages, I'd look at that script, wondering what the answers might be about the people who used it.
I don't have to wonder about that anymore. I've finally cracked the secret, and the answers are right in front of me.
There's also not a goddamned thing I can do with it.
After SG-1's first eventful visit, I'd been wanting to go back to the Land of Light, if only to learn and understand how these people had evolved from the Minoan culture as I understood it. I wanted to see what answers and insights they could give about their ancestors. The questions I was initially curious about had to do with whether the society was matriarchal or egalitarian, if the goddesses they worshipped were Near Eastern or European in origin. What were the religious symbols meant to communicate, specifically the ever present snake and bull. There were my two favorite questions in particular, the significance of two ritualistic activities: bull-leaping and the construction of snake pits directly in the buildings.
Unfortunately, we never really made it back in the months following our mission. New worlds to explore and the ever-present threat from the Goa'uld tend to consume the attention. Thoughts of the Land of Light were shoved aside, except for the one occasion where we contacted them as a possible host for the homeless Tollans.
Then came the latest edict from above. General Hammond put us on stand down, in light of a steady stream of stressful missions. I was prepared to spend the time with my journals. Jack and Sam were devoting their time to taking Cassie around town for new thrills, and Teal'c was going to the Land of Light to visit his family. At the last moment, he called me to ask if I'd like to tag along.
Foolishly, I said yes.
The people in the Land of Light are always happy to see us return. They're eternally grateful that we cured them of their curse, and they've told us that they'd love to do anything they can in exchange. That much they made clear with the Tollan situation. They were ready to welcome the strangers with open arms, just as they did with Teal'c's family when they became refugees from Chulak.
It was the same case this time when I returned with Teal'c. While my friend immediately went to his family's home to see Ry'ac and Drey'ac, I found myself as the guest of Tuplo and his family. I guess I really must have made an impression on them, judging by the red-carpet treatment. Teal'c told me of Tuplo's surprise after the fact when he learned that I was the one who tried to help his daughter, Melosha, when she became a Touched. The fact that I got the stuffing pounded out of me before becoming a Touched myself only seems to have impressed him even more. I'm sure he would have sent flowers if he'd known I was in the infirmary for a good four days afterward.
Realizing that I was a scholar, or a scribe in his words, Tuplo made arrangements for me to spent time with the local learned men and women during my visit. That was just fine with me. Pulling my rubber arm, as Jack would say. I didn't get much sleep during my stay, since I spent long hours reading and listening. I nearly used all the pages in the three notebooks I'd brought to take notes and sketch things out.
I was in heaven. Just as all societies have evolved from their original source, the people in the Land of Light were different from their ancestors. The culture was different, with new ideas and influences undoubtedly from the Goa'uld adding unique flavors that altered what existed in the archaeological record on Earth. Their collective memory of the past, however, was clear, as the scribes told me of past beliefs, practices and language. It was more ethnoarchaeology than anything else, but it was very, very enlightening.
I needed a vacation from my vacation. Luckily there were two days between our scheduled return to Earth and the first mission Hammond would assign us when SG-1 was reactivated. My plan was that I could crash at my apartment upon my return, get moderately caught up on my sleep, and all would be fine. Or so the theory went.
Right. Like I could sleep knowing that I'd made the archaeological and linguistic discovery of the decade. A discovery dulled by the fact that I couldn't -- and can't -- share it with my colleagues. Besides the minuscule, nearly non-existent, few who are in the SGC, that is.
It was going to kill me.
It was bad enough in the beginning, at finally having the proof for my theories that had me booted from practical academia. The Goa'uld and the whole kit and caboodle proved that it wasn't tabloid trash. After the first glance, that was. I could live with the vague satisfaction that one day, my professional name would be vindicated, even if it happened to be posthumously. At the time, my primary concerns were focused on finding Sha're and continuing our interrupted happily ever after.
The deciphering of Linear A was eating me alive, and it was growing worse. It wasn't -- and isn't -- about me, though the accolades related to this would be very, very sweet, as Jack would say. It was the fact that I couldn't share the knowledge with the rest of my profession, and everyone would continue to remain in the dark until either this project became declassified or someone finally stumbled onto the key.
Jack wanted to know what was going on. He was already back on base when I returned early without Teal'c. I wanted my Jaffa friend to enjoy his rare visit home without putting up with the angst of a frustrated academic. I hoped at the time that he wasn't back there, wondering if I was all right. Until his return, however, I didn't have to worry about what he might have done, because in the meantime, I had the task of avoiding Jack.
As much as we may bicker, the Colonel and I are still friends. I'd like to think we're good friends. He may insult me and annoy the hell out of me from time to time, but he's usually the person I go to when I'm having problems. I've gone to Sam, too, but of late, it was more often than not Jack.
This time, I didn't want to speak to anyone. I didn't want to hear how Sam could relate to my predicament, or Jack's usual prattle about the necessity of a top-secret seal over everything we do in the Stargate program. They've operated under these conditions for years. I haven't, and I didn't give a damn, either.
So I made the problem worse for myself. I stayed long and lonely hours in my office, torturing myself with what I had but couldn't share. Pouring over Linear A samples that had were collected over the years and published in my books and journals. I tried to learn more about the cryptic language, adding more knowledge to the archaic knowledge gleaned from my holiday. The more I learned and slowly translated, the angrier I became.
They knew something was wrong. Both Jack and Sam made more than one appearance in my doorway during the first few days back, along with Teal'c when he finally arrived home. My mood was volatile, making me answer with short, clipped words and gave them none-too-subtle hints that I just wanted to be left alone. Misery, in this case, definitely did not love company.
After several tries, they left, but always made it clear that they'd be back. They always returned, just like clockwork to come pester me. My friends aren't anything if they aren't loyal, but their company only made me feel worse.
In my self-imposed near-exile, I was almost ready to go nuts. The knowledge that eluded countless colleagues over the years was at my fingertips, and there was no plausible way to do anything with it. Ernest once told me that knowledge wasn't worth anything if you couldn't share it. If that was true, then the secrets from Linear A were worth less than an antiquary after it was proven to be a fake.
I was going to go crazy. I had to get out of the office.
After wandering the corridors for a while, I found myself outside the base's gym. It's an area I would generally regard with dread if it were under different circumstances. Normal circumstances, I mean. Glancing inside, I could see something that might help get rid of the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Boxing isn't my sport. Actually, I don't really have a sport to speak of, other than occasionally being roped into one of Jack's impromptu hockey games, or doing some kind of workout to keep in shape. But that night, the idea of beating the stuffing out of a helpless punching bag seemed a lot less violent than actually hitting someone. There was no guarantee that in my current state of mind, I might not do that.
There were a few faces that I recognized as I came in with my sweats and the boxing gloves that I can never seem to fasten up properly. The people looked a little surprised to see me sans SG-1, which was enough to prompt them to think that they were seeing things. A second glance and an uncharacteristic glare from me convinced them that perhaps their sight wasn't faulty, and their business was better suited to face their own activities.
Jack's tried to teach me boxing in the past, but he never really seemed to succeed. He decided that the punching bag was a far safer option for me, seeing that I haven't been the most coordinated of people at the best of times. He promised that I'd get to do real boxing one day when I improved on the basics, but not much has changed in the year since.
This time, the punching bag was the personification of all my frustrations. I didn't care about form or style. I just hit the thing over and over and over again. At one point, I either hit it too hard, or I was standing too close, because it moved back and slammed into me. That just made things worse, and I laid my fists into it, feeling my knuckles grow numb from the constant repetitive hits. My arms were slowly but surely growing sore.
It kind of helped.
I'm still not sure just when, but Jack suddenly appeared next to the bag. He arrived just as I was totally devoted to the annihilation of the bag. I had focused on letting my emotions drive my fists rather than my mind. Half of my swings missed the intended target. I snapped out of would-be meditation, when I felt my left fist connect with something that was most definitely not the bag.
"Shit!" I heard Jack yell, though I'm sure it was more surprise and shock than actual pain. "Daniel, watch where you put those things! Dammit!"
My face, already flushed from exertion, deepened to a hot tint with embarrassment. They must have been just flaming as I dropped my fists, nearly forgetting my anger.
"I'm sorry!" I blurted, debating momentarily whether I should stay still or go to his assistance. I decided on the latter, reaching out to steady his shoulder with an awkwardly gloved hand. "Are you okay, Jack? I didn't see you."
"You think?" he grimaced, then winced. The skin around his lower cheek and jaw was pink, so I hoped it wasn't too bad. After all, it wasn't like someone like Teal'c had whacked him one. "I should have announced my presence."
I made a face, knowing that it might not have made a difference. If I was too focused to see, then what were the chances I would have heard him? Slim to none. I finally admitted the possibility with a reluctant "maybe."
He didn't seem to notice my reaction. He was poking his face for a few more moments, then gave me a crooked grin. "Oh, don't worry. It's fine, just a little sore. At least your aim is improving a bit, Daniel. Now, if only you could get your ducking to work that well."
"I'll work on it," I said, eyeing the bag again. Truth be told, I still wasn't sure about the worth of ducking, but I was certainly concentrating on the "getting the hell out of trouble" aspect that seemed to often elude me while on other worlds. Depends on the time and place, I guess.
Oh, boy. Did the discomfort ever descend over us. Me, at least. The niceties and Jack's well being out of the way, he was giving me a look that was making me very nervous. He'd finally been able to track me down and have a conversation longer than they'd been of late. Namely, a greeting then an excuse from me as I got the hell out of the area. Jack now had his opening, and he was going to get an answer from me, or one of us would die in the attempt. He had that look about him.
I was ready for the floor to open beneath me. I wanted to disappear. The last thing I wanted was to talk with anyone. I wasn't ready, but that wouldn't matter to Jack.
"So, you've been scarce lately..." The open-ended comment was supposed to be an invitation for me to pick up the blatant cue, but I just shrugged. I've been scarce before, but I could tell that he knew there was more to it. "I was hoping we could get together for a game or something when you came back from '797. Before we go back on duty, that is. There's still another day left."
"I've been busy," I said. A half-truth it might have been, but I was desperately trying all my small talk attempts. The best ways to kill a conversation were running through my mind. I just wanted to get it over with, hopefully in a polite manner. I glanced from the bag to Jack, trying to decide if he was far enough away so I could miss him with my gloves. "Sorry."
"It happens." It was his turn to shrug. "We'll always have the weekend or something. There are ways to get you away from your dusty books and junk."
"Or something," I echoed. Adjusting my glasses with a gloved fist, I got ready to start slugging the bag again. I also did my best to try focusing all of my attention away from my guest, a blatant hint of my own that I didn't want company.
He deliberately ignored it.
"How was the lovely Land of Light?" His inquiry was a brilliant start at a new topic. He stepped back, making sure he was nicely out of the way. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him nodding in approval as I started laying my fists back into the bag.
"Oh, it was...lovely." I punctuated each part of the phrase with a sort of steady tattoo rhythm of my gloves against the bag. I couldn't concentrate as well as before. Jack was onto me, and I had to watch the conversation. It was probably his ploy from the beginning. "I did tell you that Tuplo and company send their regards, right?"
He nodded. "Yup, several times. Glad they're doing well. Oh, by the way, don't hit it so hard. That's why it's swinging back to get you."
Talk about missing the point of the entire exercise. I grimaced, but did what I was told. I heard a word of approval, but didn't bother saying anything else. Jack just watched me for a few more minutes, then spoke again.
"Teal'c tells me that you spent a lot of time doing research over there. Culture stuff, was it?" He was so valiantly trying to make conversation, an effort that was usually used in reverse on him. Even I could tell that this was forced. Very forced. He's never taken an interest in my fields, except for the odd tidbit of relevant insight to a situation. It's likely that I'm off on those observations, but those are my observations. I didn't mind, though. I'm the same way with sports and a lot of the military stuff that Jack seems to thrive on.
"Dead culture stuff," I told him, not looking at him. "Same old."
"Uh huh." He was obviously didn't believe the nonchalant statement. "Hey, did you find out about my favorite bit? Those snake pit thingies?" He'd tripped over one when we'd been about to leave the first time. As sore and disoriented as I'd been, I still laughed when Jack had realized just what was slithering around in there. "If I put one in my place, I'd think it would make a great conversation piece, don't you?"
Right. Sure, Jack. If you want a live symbol of the Land of Light's "good gods," who were basically absentee deities played by the Goa'uld, then who am I to stand in the way?
I just looked at him, and commented with the very neutral, "I gained some interesting insight into their ancestor's culture."
Insight, my ass. I could go into elaborate detail about any given aspect, with accurate interpretations on the either practical or religious function it had held in daily Minoan life. For example, aside from representing the chief Goa'uld responsible for bringing them to P3X797, one of the few female ones that would mirror the deity as she'd been on Earth, but the snake pit was also an atropaic presence in the household to ward away evil. So the theory went, anyway.
"Insight is good, I guess," Jack said. It wasn't hard to guess that he was hoping for more, but I wasn't about to give in easily. Actually, I wasn't planning on giving in at all. I went back to the punching bag in the meantime, heeding his earlier advice if only so he didn't have anything to really comment on. Yeah, right. "Daniel, I know something's up. Teal'c told me that something happened over there. He says that you were studying that culture stuff of yours, then the next time he saw you, you were so upset that you hightailed it out of there."
"I wasn't upset," I shot back. It was mildly the truth. Upset was too mild a term. I was upset when Jack wouldn't let us stay the first time so I could look around more. Upset was like a brief windstorm compared to a hurricane.
"No?" He gave me an expression that would make Teal'c proud. The lift of an eyebrow, the tilting of the head. It was clear he didn't believe me. I had to wonder just how transparent I could be at times. "Okay. Then you were excited? Ecstatic? Dazzled? Amazed beyond belief?"
"A bit," I admitted. I punched some more, trying not to let more emotion show than normal. Jack was like a bloodhound on the trail, and he was definitely onto my scent. Playing dumb as if everything was hunky dory would hopefully be like taking a jaunt through a river. Theoretically speaking. If it worked, he would lose the trail. "It was fascinating to see how they've evolved."
I shouldn't have bothered wasting the energy.
"So it's so fascinating that you dropped everything and left like a bat out of hell. Then you've avoided us to hole yourself in your office for three days. That doesn't sound like your usual fascinating, Daniel."
I knew exactly which expression was on his face. The one with the furrowed brow and concerned gaze. Been there, seen that. I closed my eyes, missing a beat with the bag. "I had to get my notes in order so I wouldn't forget anything. There was a lot of information, you know."
Jack snorted. "I've seen you get entire presentations completed faster than it's taken you to get your so-called notes organized. Hell, you should have about ten reports finished in the time it's taken you to do whatever the hell it is you're doing!"
That got my goat. And cow, sheep and mastadge. I had gotten that many reports done, maybe more. I never stopped to count. That hadn't been on my mind at any point while I'd been sulking. I gave the bag a punch so hard that it made my arm numb up to the shoulder. The bag wavered violently back and forth as I stomped past it to glare up into Jack's face.
In my right mind, I'd never do that to Jack. I'm a little stockier than he is, but that means nothing in the grand scheme of things. The man can whip my butt very easily and makes no secret of it. In some of our other arguments, he's used his two or three-inch height advantage to glare down at me, which makes me feel otherwise intimidated.
This time, it's Jack who looked rather nervous as I loomed up at him. I knew my eyes were probably either an extremely arctic shade of blue, or a much darker shade that gave warning too late of an incoming storm. He held my gaze for several moments, obviously not expecting this little development. His eyes darted down at my gloved hands, then back to my face.
"What are you trying to say?" I demanded, my voice at its lowest.
He held up his hands as though to ward me off. True to form, he tried to diffuse the tension with an uneasy smile that showed despite the charm he put in it. "Just sayin' I'm worried about how you've been acting lately, Danny. As your friend, I want to know if there's anything I can do."
"I'm fine." I was trying not to grit my teeth, especially at the nickname. "Now leave me alone!"
"Ah, but that's where I have a tiny little problem with what you're saying." Jack's hands were still being held up, as though to continue keeping me at bay. "If you're okay, then why are you down here, beating the crap out of this poor, defenseless bag?"
"Exercise?" I drawled out.
"Right. You know, I just saw Teal'c in the locker room. He's wearing pink tights and tutu. Maybe you two should get together and do an act or somethin'." He met my drawl evenly, but it petered out at the end when the horrid attempt at humor failed to crack anything on my face. Jack sighed after an uneasy pause. "Point is, Daniel, you're usually only down here unless I've dragged you by the ear."
"So?" I was challenging him, I know. I narrowed my eyes as I continued to glare. "Maybe I wanted to come down. Is there suddenly a rule that I can't do things if I'd like to? I have to check with you first? Oh, I'm sorry. The great and powerful Colonel O'Neill disproves?"
He finally got exasperated. With an exaggerated sigh, he started to spell everything out to me, as though he hoped I'd suddenly snap to reason. "Fact: you come home early from a dream vacation in a snit. Fact: you've barely talked to us because you've got yourself barred behind a stack of books and junk so that you won't even talk to us. Fact: you're running away from us. Fact: you're down here doing violent things to a punching bag that definitely is not a part of your character. Therefore, dear Jackson, something's afoot."
"Jack, just leave me alone."
Brilliant comeback. Sometimes I hate the way I'm unable to come up with original answers to anything, almost as much as I hate being transparent in bearing. There's something about me that screams out what it might be I'm feeling, even if I don't breathe a word. It's the quality that gave me away to Jack, who just absolutely refused to leave me alone.
"No." He spoke the word that just pushed me further. I stared at him, gaze smoldering, then turned back to the bag, giving it a right hook that could have easily landed on Jack's chin. It would have been easy to do, a very deliberate strike.
"Fine. Suit yourself." I clipped the words as I smacked the bag a final time, then turned on my heel to head away from Jack. If he wouldn't leave, then I would. If he followed, then I'd just keep on going. It seemed like a good plan at the moment, until Jack reached out and held my wrist tightly.
I tried to jerk out of his grasp, but his fingers were wrapped too tightly for me to break loose. I knew from previous experience that once he latches on, he's not going anywhere. I glared at his hand as though the gaze alone would burn the grip away, then deliberately looked up into his eyes.
"Let. Me. Go."
He didn't. "Sorry, Daniel, but I have a bit of a problem when one of my team members obviously is having some kind of difficulty and doesn't come to me. Especially when this team member just so happens to be my friend. Now, you have two options. One, we walk together to the locker room and discuss the matter, or two, I drag you there. I think we've made enough of a scene, don't you?"
Suddenly self-conscious, I looked around us at the others in the gym. Most weren't looking our way, but there were a few that were giving us the occasional glance. A very lame attempt to look busy while eavesdropping on our argument. Picking up the shreds of my dignity, I nodded at Jack, feeling him immediately let go as he gestured to the exit.
There was thankfully no one in the locker room as I sagged onto the bench in front of my gear. Jack stood with his arms crossed, looking down at me as he waited for me to take the initiative. Several moments passed before I had the nerve to pull attention away from the fascinating analysis of the worn bench to put a sentence together.
"I appreciate what you're doing, Jack, but..." I shrugged, my voice really no louder than a soft murmur. I didn't really have the energy to fight anymore. "There's nothing you can do."
"Let me be the judge," he insisted. "It's bothering you, whatever it is."
"You think?" When Jack says that, it's full of sarcasm. My version was an empty parody. "I'm just tired, Jack. Tired of working to discover things that can't be shared with the rest of the world because there's more red tape than I want to even think about."
I glanced up when I finished. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't the slow nod that Jack gave. He settled onto the bench, his eyes fixed on my face, waiting for me to continue.
So I did.
"You know, when we started out as SG-1, all I wanted to do was find Sha're. That was my purpose, and it still is. But..." I gave a short laugh. "I got hooked on the rest of it. The exploration, the new cultures..."
"And the old ones."
I gave a painful smile at his insight. "Especially the old ones. It might not be information that can help us with the Goa'uld, but it's important information about our past. The Minoans were an empire that apparently weren't focused on conquering, but on trade. They were everywhere in the Aegean, all the way to Egypt. The same can be said with all the other cultures we've met who are descended from Earth."
"So you've said." Jack shifted slightly on the bench, as though the frustration he felt at trying to find adequate words had to be expressed by fidgeting. I tried not to smile as he fumbled to begin a sentence. "And, uh, by the way you've been beating up on yourself lately, I take it we don't have to rehash the red tape bit."
"Been there, done that, working on the screenplay."
"Uh, huh. Look, Daniel, you're right. There's no easy way to go about this. I wish there was a way to get around this, but there isn't." He gave a wan smile, shaking his head. "Do you think Teal'c likes having to wear a hat every time he goes out in public? At least you don't have that golden tattoo thingy on your forehead."
Trust Jack to be irreverent when the time doesn't call for it. I gave him a blank look as he chuckled slightly. Sometimes I think he just likes to tease me to get my mind off the more serious topics of life. As aggravating as it can be, it serves its purpose.
"Yeah," my friend continued. "Secrets suck. You know what I'm supposed to be 'officially' doing here? Deep space telemetry! Like I know anything about that. Sure, I can get by in a conversation about astronomy for a good length of time, but..." He shrugged. "Hammond mentioned something about us being recognized formally by the prez for our work, and we'll be getting a package deal to Washington for a couple of days. Chances are someone from NASA might be there, and I'm getting nightmares that I'll be asked for my opinion on the latest methods to track whatchamacallits and doohickeys."
"The horror!" I teased with a bit of a smile. It slipped out, despite my best efforts to keep the sullen appearance up. "Jack, you're getting too technical in your old age."
"Keepin' you on your toes, Jackson," came the reply with a grin. We shared a laugh, then he sobered as he started to talk again, using that serious tone of voice again. "I wish there was something else we could do. It probably isn't going to do much by saying that you'll get to publish your finds when the SGC gets unclassified, so I won't repeat it. Just... hang in there. Enjoy the ride. Stop and smell the flowers."
"I'd really rather not," I said, my nose itchy just from the thought.
"Okay, stop and dig the ancient stuff. Clichés are us, if it doesn't apply, we'll make it apply." Giving a grin, Jack got up and grabbed a towel to chuck in my direction. "Come on, get changed. There's a game on, and a couple of boxes of pizza with our name on it."
My stomach gurgled at the thought, reminding me that as good as coffee might be, it really wasn't a complete food group. "Sounds great."
"Good. Now get going, Doctor Jackson, or else I'm going to make sure that I do make one of those snake pit thingies for my living room. A very handy thing to dangle in front of you for inspiration." He looked thoughtful. "And maybe I'll get rid of my cockroach problem, too."
I left him to ponder the possibilities of the added feature as I went to shower. The last thing I heard was how it would be the beginning of a great fad. Leave it to Jack...
I'm still really upset about the Minoan thing, and the secrecy behind the program. While there isn't anything in the foreseeable future that can give me answers to this problem, I've had the grace to figure something out in the meantime. While I might be helpless in my position in being unable to share, and while it's still in my face, there is a valve I can definitely turn to vent some of the frustration.
Beer, hockey and a friendly ear definitely win over bruised knuckles and an ugly punching bag, anytime.
*fin*
© February 16, 2000 The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp. The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa’uld and all other characters who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names, titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author.
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