For the SGC's first brush with disaster on a potentially planet-wide scale as far as epidemics are concerned, the Touched virus was particularly memorable. More so than that, it was embarrassing. Once our recovery from the physical symptoms was complete, we were faced with a shockingly foggy remembrance of our actions while under the influence of that bug. Some memories were clearer than others, but the selection of what was remembered was highly non-uniform. Some of what I remembered was of little consequence, but there were some things that I really, really wish I could take back.
Like giving my all in seducing my commanding officer and trying to pin him
down to a bench in the changing room. And he had to remind me of that. It's not as though I needed reminding, but the fact that Colonel O'Neill himself remembered me and what he called my "little tank top number" really doesn't do much for my confidence. I don't exactly have a history of seducing my immediate superiors, nor do I really want to begin the tradition. I could really do without the knowledge that he remembers my attempt at garnering his sexual interest, particularly since I went at it with the enthusiasm worthy of an Australopithecine.
To make it worse, I didn't need to know that he beat the living daylights out of Daniel because he perceived a threat from our friend as far as interests in me went. Talk about alpha male tendencies found in the common Australopithecine colonel. Unfortunately, those are all the reality right now, with the cold comfort that it was due to the primitive part of our minds that brought this uncharacteristic behavior along. It was
animalistic logic that led us all to our actions, as much as our civilized selves may detest it.
The question of the moment was whether our civilized selves could learn to deal with what happened.
As usual, Colonel O'Neill's method is to make snide comments, and he was true to form. I stared after him as he went ahead to talk to Tuplo and the other citizens of the Land of Light. Disbelief was still foremost in my mind as I replayed the exchange over in my mind. I could only imagine what this promised to follow up with back on Earth, as well as for other missions.
"Sam? Are you okay?" Daniel had slowed down in order for me to catch up. Compared to the other members of our group who were elating at their reunion with lost family and friends, he looked miserable and scruffy. His clothes were torn and ripped, his hair going in all directions, and most of the glimpses of pale, bare skin I could see also bore signs of bruising.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I said, going to fall in step beside him. "Just fine. How about you?"
His head ducked slightly, gaze directed at the grass as we walked. "I'm fine."
"Right..." I knew the truth had to be far from what he was letting on in words. His gait was stiffer than usual. "I'm glad we found you when we did. You were looking a little too comfortable in front of that fire. You do the caveman schtick better than most men."
I was rewarded with a laugh, albeit more than a hint of embarrassment in his voice. "I wouldn't know about that, though. I think you and Jack won the Emmy in the dramatics department."
"Oh, yeah..." I let out my own nervous laugh. "That."
"Yeah, that." He glanced at me, and I couldn't help noticing the emerging bruises on his face and jaw. "Jack was pretty adamant that I didn't go see you after you ended up in the infirmary. He, uh... got a little jealous, I guess."
"I heard." And that probably explained at least a few of the darker bruises visible. I gave him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry that I led him on. I guess I ended up planting ideas in that head of his, and that's why he did that."
"Don't apologize," he said, hands moving to the tattered remains of his BDU pockets. "You were as affected as he was. Just be glad he wasn't as under the virus' control as you were in the locker room. As for what you did, it makes sense from an anthropological point of view."
My gaze sought out the back of the colonel's head. He was in the middle of discussing something with Tuplo. The Minoan leader was, well, I wouldn't say ecstatic, but he was nearly floating in his joy. Melosha, recovered from the virus, was at his side, holding her father's arm. If Tuplo offered his daughter as a bride to Lord O'Neill, I wouldn't have been surprised. Unimpressed, but not surprised.
"How's that, Daniel?" I asked, glancing back at him. The more we walked, the more he looked like he was ready to sit down and pass out. Despite the fatigue in his countenance, there was a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. Our archaeologist has quite the sense of humor in him the rare times he lets it out to play; it isn't boisterous but definitely wicked in a delightful way.
"Obviously you were going for the alpha male in the group," he said solemnly. The twinkle was still there, glittering in the sunlight. "You've got good taste, though. There's so many to pick from in the military. Just be glad you didn't end up tackling Makepeace."
The fact that he was the walking wounded was the only reason I didn't hit him. I did laugh though, the two of us chortling enough to make the other SG members look at us with raised eyebrows. When Colonel Makepeace looked our way, we laughed even harder, which likely made the Marine think we weren't quite recovered yet.
It felt good to laugh.
In a military world, Daniel was turning out to be a refreshing change. His lack of reverence for things military, particularly when they had nothing to do with his worldview, was unfortunately like a double-edge sword. In the field and in several other matters, it was to his disadvantage, as much as it was to our collective disadvantage. The saying that a team can only be as strong as its weakest member certainly held true with us. Thankfully since our return from Chulak, we hadn't had any serious situations to fight our way out of; I would seriously question our ability to come out unscathed if we had.
I knew from the updated reports about the first Abydos mission that Daniel could use a firearm if necessary. He lacked polish, his skill being more haphazard than that of a marksman. He'd been improving lately, with the daily drills Colonel O'Neill forced him to attend; he could hit the bull's-eye a little more often now. The question truly demanding answer was whether the training would pull off in a high-tension confrontation with an enemy, more than likely Jaffa with their advanced staff weapons and other assorted Goa'uld weapons. I sensed it would, since his baptism by fire was over a year past by now, but by his reaction to situations in recent missions where we'd been faced with a potential opponent, he'd been slow to react. I might have been setting my expectations too high.
I really hoped not. I'd like to see Daniel come out of a fight without any injury, to prove to both him and us that the effort put into his training as a member of our team was well worth it.
Outside of the military aspect of Daniel's role in SG-1 and the lack of solid skill, I was really warming up to him as an individual. Particularly where the sciences were concerned, we were getting along very well. His archaeology and linguistics were a far cry from my astrophysics, but we were united in a common cause for knowledge. When he began to chaff at the bit the first few times he was refused permission to study the off-world cultures to any extent, he began to press both the colonel and General Hammond to be lenient and allow some scientific research on our missions.
I could see that it was something Colonel O'Neill wasn't the least bit interested in. He'd brushed off Daniel's concerns a few times too many, a fact that didn't really help the situation between them. Although Daniel had been back on Earth for close to three months now, he still hadn't found an apartment. It was due both to a lack of time and lack of funds; while he received the paychecks he was due from the two weeks spent working on the deciphering of the Stargate, not to mention a huge bonus because of it, he was still low on money. The hunt for an apartment was just something he kept on pushing back, and despite their differences, Colonel O'Neill hadn't implied at all that Daniel was overstaying his welcome. I think he knew as well as I did that the reason for Daniel's hesitation was due to his quest.
Finding a home here on Earth would be admitting that his stay here would be more than the year the Abydos gate would be shut. It meant that it would be a commitment. The purchase of furniture, new books and belongings would mean that he was acknowledging the search for Sha're would take longer than a few trips through the Stargate. As a guest in another man's house, he could deny what he was facing: calling another place home. It would be, in a sense, giving up a part of that hope he'd been trying to collect since we first realized Sha're was a Goa'uld host; settling down on Earth meant that he'd no longer be able to call Abydos home.
And so despite his hesitation in that action, he was throwing himself wholeheartedly into his position at the SGC. We knew what thoughts were going through his head the moment he stepped into the wormhole, but it was more than his desire to rescue Sha're that fueled Daniel Jackson. When he was met with a dead-end of interest as far as research possibilities went, he went above them. He pulled me aside one day to ask if there was another way to get the answer we wanted. He knew that when we came across something that was right up my alley, I'd likely be met with the same refusal he was experiencing. It was best to team up and work to our common benefit.
What he proposed caught me off-balance at first. When the SGC began, the General stated quite clearly that the only people who would know about the program would be those already involved and later to be assigned, the President and the Chief of Staff. Daniel had little doubt that getting to the man at the top of the hierarchy would be met with no answer; instead, he wanted us to address a letter to the Chief of Staff. We worked on it together, ordering our arguments in a way I knew would work from experience at the Pentagon. To be honest, though, the proposal was mostly his doing.
I also wasn't sure how our letter would be received. After signing our names as heads of the SGC Research department and sending it off, we waited a long time to hear a response. The letter went out a few weeks after Major Kawalsky's death, and it wasn't until the beginning of the Touched crisis that we received our reply.
I still smile when I remember our reactions when the news was delivered. We'd have known earlier if Daniel hadn't kept on pressing the general to get his whole protest out in the open, but it felt satisfying nonetheless as we were told that the President himself had authorized this element of the SGC's mission. We planned to go out celebrating, but the sickness put the plans on hold.
My affection for my teammate went beyond our common scientific goals and Daniel's refusal to meet with hierarchical expectations. The latter quality is half the reason I think General Hammond isn't overtly fond of him, and it's one of the more daring qualities I admired. It promises to try the colonel's patience, too. But what I never expected was his presence allowing me to drop the masks of Captain Carter and Doctor Carter, allowing Sam Carter to come out without pretense.
For the remainder of our stay in the Land of Light, we tried to strengthen the ties already established with the Minoans. It was clear they were grateful for the help received in vanquishing the Touched virus. The fact that they were a culture the Goa'uld seemed to have otherwise ignored promised to play into our favor, depending on future circumstances. True to the nature of their ancestors, as Daniel explained, these people were peaceful and lovers of life. The armed guards at the head of the monumental stairway was the only sign of weapons we spotted, though I wouldn't have been surprised to see other weapons stashed carefully in the unforeseen unlikelihood that they would be needed.
In light of our recently updated program mission, Daniel finally got the chance to go exploring, but not before he rested and ate. We all insisted on that, including Tuplo and his fellow leaders. The time wasn't wasted, and I was glad to write the conclusion of this mission report as, "And a good time was had by all
* * * * *
Upon our return, we were all given a careful examination by Doctor Fraiser. One of the newer additions to the SGC along with the Marines, she was turning out to be the liveliest yet. I hadn't had many opportunities to talk with her, but from what I'd seen, she was taking very well to our facility and the unique circumstances we'd be facing with the
Stargate in operation. She was feisty and intelligent, and we all owed her our thanks for solving the mystery of the illness.
She was giving Daniel a hard time when we finally showed up on her doorstep. It was clear by then that whatever injury suffered on the planet from the repeated attacks he'd endured, nothing was serious. I was betting on the prognosis being mainly serious contusions and abrasions, but I wasn't relaxed until I heard her echo my suspicions. It was nothing anti-inflammatory medication and painkillers couldn't deal with.
The colonel, Teal'c and I were waiting on the other side of the curtain that shielded her and Daniel from our view. From a few of the comments heard, Colonel O'Neill was wincing in sympathy. Even Teal'c looked a little squeamish. But the answer we all wanted to know made me, at least, smile in amusement.
"You're going to live, Doctor Jackson." Fraiser's words were accompanied with the sound of rustling cloth. "And yes, you can put your clothes back on. By the way, I was wondering about something. The condition fed on excessive levels of histamine in the blood. Would you care to tell me why you, of all people on this base, would come down with it?"
I could just imagine the sheepish look, the blushed cheeks, that came over Daniel at her words. "Is that was caused it?"
"Yes, Doctor Jackson. Now please answer my question." The woman may be petite, but she could be imposing.
"Uh..." I imagined a quick and tight smile at this point. "I've been meaning to refill my prescription, actually. I ran out just before our mission began, and with all the fuss, I didn't have time. It didn't really come to mind, either."
His voice trailed off as the colonel breathed a very loud, "Oh, for crying out loud."
We heard the rattle of pills against plastic before the curtain was shoved aside. A bootless Daniel was sitting on the bed, fingers curved around the three bottles in his left hand. His cheeks still held traces of pink against the darkening bruises, his gaze locked with the diminutive doctor whose arms were crossed against her front.
"I figured that was the case," was Fraiser's reply. "So there's your prescription. I expect that this won't be occurring again. There _are_ alternative ways to administer allergy medication, Doctor Jackson, but I suspect that the means won't be very comfortable if you're sitting down to work. Am I understood?"
The pills were set aside long enough to get his feet shoved into the boots. "Perfectly, Doctor."
"Right." Now that her point was made, she was a little less confrontational. "Take the anti-inflammatory pills along with the painkillers every four hours. If that doesn't help, we'll find something that'll work. And if you experience anything unusual, I want to know about it."
Standing up to tower over her, he gave her a quick salute before beetling it out of the infirmary. I followed in his wake, but long enough to hear the colonel ask Fraiser about the secret to her success with wayward archaeologists. Her reply was a smug, "That's a trade secret. Colonel."
I caught up with Daniel in front of the elevator. He'd shoved the bottles into his pockets, and as he came to a halt, the pills rattled noisily. He was looking tired, which was a given. Grey was crowding in as the hue of his face.
"What are you doing tomorrow?" I asked. "We've got time off."
"Good." He was looking up at the numbers, waiting for the car to make the six-floor trip to our stop. "Uh, tomorrow? Sleeping. Why?"
I used tact with my suggestion. "I was just thinking that you might want to try looking for apartments again. We can make it an outing. We can have that celebration we were planning on, and do a little house hunting while we're at it."
"Yeah," he said, looking thoughtful. "I guess it's time to get my act in gear. Jack's probably getting sick of me."
I took this to be a good sign. "So is that a yes?"
He turned to smile at me. "Yes, I'd like to do that, but maybe the day after tomorrow?"
"That can definitely work."
We left it like that. The first chance I got, I headed home. My cat, Schrodinger, was certainly happy to see me; it's strange how animals can make you feel like a neglectful parent. I paid him attention while going through the mail that collected during my absence, putting aside the bills and other notables for perusal when I was in the mood. There were more chores that needed done, but I decided that they could wait until the next day. I had an appointment with my bed, and nothing short of being tripped by Schrodinger and cracking my head against the floor was going to keep me from it.
All in all, a good day-off.
We'd come back on a Thursday, so by Saturday, I was ready for our adventure. I had the feeling the Colonel enjoyed the weekends for sleeping in, so I waited until a decent hour of the morning to dial them up. The phone rang three times before there was a clatter on the other end. A gruff voice, rough with sleep and unrecognizable, spoke.
"Yeah?"
That caught me a little unprepared. I sat up in my chair, shifting Schrodinger who'd sprawled out over my lap. "Good morning. Colonel O'Neill?"
A throat was cleared. The sound of shifting fabric came over the phone. "Carter? That you?"
"Yes, sir." I glanced at the clock on the VCR. I frowned when I read that it was ten o'clock. "I'm sorry, sir, did I wake you?"
He snorted. "I'm off-duty, Carter. You think that I was just lying here, _hoping_ the phone would ring?"
"Never, sir."
"Remember that. And, no, I wasn't sleeping." The irritation in his voice kept rising exponentially. "I can't sleep. Dr. Perky is awake and having a grand old time, let me tell you!"
"Daniel's awake, then?" I asked. There was a faint sound on his side of the connection, something I couldn't really make out to identify properly.
"Yeah," he said, the lack of enthusiasm dripping from the word.
"May I speak to him?" It felt like I was pulling teeth.
"Hang on," the colonel mumbled, and it sounded like he was covering the phone with his hand. His next words were shouted, but muffled to my ear. "Daniel! Phone! It's Carter! And if you _dare_ turn that goddamned appliance on again, I'll break it! I swear I will! Saturday morning is _not_ the time to figure out how to get the right grind for the bloody coffee machine! You got that, Jackson?"
I heard a faint reply, then another extension was picked up. Colonel O'Neill dropped his receiver loudly back on the cradle the moment I heard Daniel's voice. "Hello?"
"Hey, Daniel. Annoying the old guy?" I was grinning, I couldn't help it.
"Apparently," he said, sounding mildly huffy. "I mean, it's, what, ten o'clock? I've been up for half an hour. He was up late last night, watching the game. His problem, not mine."
"Ah, but he's lord of the castle," I laughed. "So you're still up for today?"
"Yeah, if you don't mind being in the company of a techno-colored archaeologist. My face is looking rather impressive right now." He paused, and a loud whir came from right by the phone. "Anyway, what's up?"
I winced as a loud yell came from the background. "You're doing that on purpose, aren't you?"
"Me? Never." He flicked the device on for another few moments.
"Sounds to me you're going to need some rescuing pretty quick, Daniel..." I said. There was a perversity to the situation that I was really enjoying. "I can provide the getaway car."
"Sold." The grinder was turned on again. When it was shut off, I could hear that the yelling had started anew. This time, the vocabulary included a wide selection of colorful four-letter words. Daniel continued as though there wasn't a problem. "Jack felt bad about what happened. About the, uh, you know. Alpha-male thing. So he bought me this yesterday. I couldn't stand the idea of it sitting here and not getting to tinker with it."
"You'll be lucky if he buys you anything ever again," I said wisely, but I couldn't help grinning. The colonel had walked himself into this situation. "Every Christmas and birthday, you'll get another piece of the grinder back."
"Maybe he'll take it back and see if there's a model with a silencer," Daniel mused. He was doing something, I had no idea what. I could hear clanks along with the odd whir.
"Oh, yes. A silencer is just what he has in mind. But it's not
for the grinder."
"Very funny." The whir this time ended with a creak. "Oh, oh."
I wished I could see this. "Was that you or him causing the demise?"
"It died of fright," he muttered, the concentration heavy in his voice. The yelling had renewed in the distance. Daniel told me to hang on for a moment before putting the receiver down. "No, it died! Yeah, sure, divine will? Try cheap import! Italy, Jack! Not Taiwan! What? Oh."
Waiting until he was definitely back on the line, his presence announced by a sigh, I prodded him with another question. "So when do I stop by?"
"Is an hour enough time?" He sighed again. "There goes my hope for freshly ground coffee. Jack's out of everything else but this jar of instant coffee."
"Eew. I'm not a connoisseur, but even so." I made a face. "Get in touch with your primitive side and grind the beans yourself."
He sounded like I just insulted him. "I'm an archaeologist, not a Neanderthal, despite recent events."
"Ah. I knew there had to be a difference. Rocks and coffee beans don't go, then?"
"Very funny, Sam. I thought you needed to be a colonel to make bad jokes. It looks like something is stuck in the hopper. Think that'll work?"
"It could. Give it a try, or," I tried to make my offer sound enticing, "we could go to Starbucks, my treat."
"I'll go for that, too. Just wait a moment..." He trailed off as the sound of a metal instrument tapping against more metal was heard. The whir burst back into existence, along with a very unpleasant addition of something that was definitely not a bean being ground. "Whoa! Oh, no..."
"Daniel? Maybe you should just leave it alone..."
He was incredulous. "It just ate the knife!"
I really winced this time. "Remind me to never let you near any of the science labs."
My jibe was lost as an exasperated yell came clearly from Daniel's end. Thumps began as the Colonel stormed his way downstairs. "Uh, Sam? I should, um, go. What did you say again? An hour?"
"Right."
"I'll be ready to roll."
"I'll be there," I promised.
"Good." He made an audible gulp. "Bye. Jack! It's only a grinder! Baseball bats are for sports, not -"
Whatever was next was lost when the line clicked off. I laughed loudly, rubbing the fur around Schrodinger's ears. Oh, yes, this was promising to be a load of fun. What Daniel needed was all the room he needed for his books, artifacts, and, as it now appeared, his ailing new coffee grinder.
The only question was who'd survive Jack O'Neill - him, or the grinder.
If I say that for his housewarming present, I bought Daniel a bag of Starbucks dark roasted coffee, freshly ground, I guess that answers that.
*fin*
© January 19, 2001 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.