Disclaimer: you know the routine
A/N: this is the second of a loosely connected trilogy. Each story works as a stand alone piece.
Can You Hear Me Now?
By OughtaKnowBetter
"Did the mission proceed as planned?"
"Not completely, lord." The First Prime fell to his knees, conscious of the honor his lord was bestowing upon him by speaking directly to him. "The off-world mission didn't last long enough to ensure that your plan could be carried out to success. However, several of your other objectives were accomplished."
"Elaborate, First Prime." The Goa'uld's eyes glowed. Literally.
Colonel Jack O'Neill watched as Airman First Class Eric 'Beaver' Deavers cleaned up after SG-1, scraping the leavings of dinner into the fire and stowing away the dishware. He leaned back on his elbow, aware of Teal'c walking the perimeter of the camp, weaving in and around the trees that seemed to be a fixture on 90 of all the worlds the SG teams visited. O'Neill suspected that guard duty would be more of a formality on this deserted planet of PX-487 but he hadn't lived through this many missions on that many planets by neglecting the formalities. Who knew what could come out of those honkin' big trees that surrounded them? He himself would be taking watch a bit later tonight, as would both Major Carter and, as AFC Deavers was rapidly becoming known, the Beaver.
Not, however, Dr. Daniel Jackson. While it was common for O'Neill to decline Daniel's offer to stand a watch—"Washington wants what's between your ears, Daniel, and that doesn't work so well when you don't sleep"—on this particular mission he had another reason: Daniel's foot was swollen to nearly twice its usual size.
Which was an improvement. It used to be three times as big, courtesy of a misstep into PX-487's version of a gopher hole.
The Beaver turned out to be as good a medic as Carter, splinting Daniel's ankle and applying cold water from the nearby stream until the joint decreased to its present configuration. His opinion, echoed by Carter, was that Daniel had sprained it, which was the only reason why O'Neill didn't cut the mission short. That, and the whining that he knew would follow from the archeologist who was already annoyed at being unable to see the ancient stone writings up close and personal, was what decided the colonel. As long as the pair were reasonably certain that the ankle wasn't broken, Daniel could stay. It helped that for a change the Stargate wasn't located several miles from camp. There it was, a great circle of metal, stars gleaming around it and only a few hundred yards from their present position. If something nasty came at them, any one of the four could drag Daniel kicking and screaming to the Gate in one hand and fire off a P-90 in the other. In the meantime, Daniel would be confined to doing the heavy supervising.
The Beaver helped out there as well. Deavers' undergraduate degree was in anthropology, and to everyone's astonishment was picking up Goa'uld as a second language in record time. With Daniel unable to do more than hobble about on make-shift crutches, the Beaver took over the task of photographing and recording the images that they had found on PX-487 to bring back to the SGC. It was Daniel's opinion that they had found the remnants of an extinct civilization, and the specialist had hopes of discovering something that would assist Earth to defend themselves against the Goa'uld.
"He's good, Jack." Daniel rested against a convenient boulder, watching the Beaver set up a tent for the night. "He let me know that he's been taking some on-line courses at night, some sociology and anthropology stuff. I've looked over his papers, and they show real insight. I think I might recommend to General Hammond that SGC spring to send him on for more schooling full time. If he's this good at this level, think of how valuable he'd be to the SGC after graduate school. We can use all the Goa'uld experts we can get. There aren't very many of us, you know."
"Oh, I don't know. I wouldn't mind seeing him move up the military chain of command. He's no slouch in that arena, either. And us team commander types aren't exactly crawling out of the woodwork, either." Jack joined Daniel in watching Deavers erect the tent with a minimum of wasted effort. The canopy was already standing, and Deavers was pounding in the last stake, seeming to give himself a one man competition as to how few strokes with the hammer it would take to send each spike into the hard ground. O'Neill doubted that Teal'c could do better. Deavers was one of the few Earth-bred humans to match Teal'c for size. And O'Neill had seen Deavers work out; he was certain that Teal'c could best the Beaver, but it wouldn't be a pushover. Bets would be won and lost on that contest.
Was there anything the airman couldn't do? Why was he only a lowly AFC? O'Neill would have to see that oversight rectified. Daniel deserved at least a sergeant to look after him, if nothing else. Gotta keep up appearances.
The 'looking after' part had been General Hammond's idea from the start. There had been a few too many missed deadlines recently due to a surfeit of papers flying around a certain office, and a certain computer in that certain office crashing a few too many times. Dr. Jackson wasn't computer-illiterate, but priorities had to be set: he could either decipher the ancient writings coming in on almost a daily basis or he could learn the proper care and feeding of a PC. The writings won, and General Hammond assigned this bright young airman to be Dr. Jackson's personal batman. The Beaver's responsibilities included backing up Dr. Jackson's computer documents on a regular basis, getting him to meetings on time, and making sure that the scientist consumed his recommended daily allowance of calories. So far it seemed to be working. Hammond was pleased.
O'Neill reflected on the conversation that he and the General had had.
"You're spending far too much time babysitting, Colonel," had been the opening salvo. "SGC doesn't need you to be making sure that a grown man takes care of himself."
"Yes, sir, but this is Daniel—"
"And you're Colonel Jack O'Neill, ex-Black Ops, the man who led the original expedition to Abydos." General Hammond cut him off. "Those medals that you don't bother to wear mean something, Colonel. We have recruits coming in who need your military expertise, men who will be going through the Stargate to other new worlds and whom I expect will be returning in one piece as often as is humanly possible. I can appreciate your desire to look after your team, but here at Cheyenne Mountain that task needs to be delegated to someone who isn't needed to train newcomers. And that goes for both Major Carter and Teal'c as well. I'll expect you to inform them."
Which was how Daniel acquired a personal assistant. He had objected at first, but the Beaver had demonstrated an eagerness to learn that had appealed to the scientist. Little bit by little bit Deavers won Dr. Jackson over. It didn't hurt that Deavers had a cup of coffee waiting for Dr. J. every morning upon arrival, and a second cup soon after. Fresh grounds, too; none of the commissary mud that passed for a caffeine pick me up.
Jack wasn't quite certain how Deavers had managed to tag along on this mission through the Stargate. Deavers' role was supposed to have been only in the SGC itself. But two months and a couple of hand-to-hand matches later with Jack himself—Deavers was big but O'Neill wasn't about to trust anyone on his team that he didn't have first hand knowledge of their skills—and the personal assistant added the task of off-world bodyguard to his job description. Which made SG-1 one of the few teams of five.
No, not exactly, O'Neill corrected himself. This was still the military. SG-1 had become a team of four, with a civilian specialist tacked on. Having one of the four designated to watch over the civilian specialist made O'Neill's life easier: he didn't have to assign anyone to the task. Someone to pick up after Daniel, and to pick him up when he fell. No more wondering which essential chore would go uncovered by Carter or Teal'c because Daniel needed watching. Deavers was already there. O'Neill himself could get back to the more important job of running the mission.
"I could see him rounding out another SG team," Daniel continued, oblivious to Jack's thoughts. He adjusted his leg on top of his backpack. Deavers had insisted that he elevate it, to help reduce the swelling, and the pack was the most comfortable alternative. "Give him enough time to complete a bit more schooling, and I'd recommend him any day. He'll be as good as Rothman. Or me."
"Better." Jack looked at Daniel out of the corner of his eye, one edge of his smirk quirking upward. "The Beaver is military. He takes orders, Daniel."
Daniel refused to rise to the bait. "And he's much better than I am at self-defense," he acknowledged ruefully. "I'll bet you're not worried that he'll shoot his own foot off."
"Now, Daniel, what ever gave you that thought? Your ankle is only sprained. Not shot up. Speaking of which, how much longer do you want to stay in this forest paradise? Not that I'm trying to rush you, but…"
Daniel sighed. "How about heading back late tomorrow? I should have enough data to work with by then."
"Hah. You mean Beaver will have taken enough pictures so that Himmelmann doesn't growl when we get back."
"Yeah." Daniel held out his cup. The Beaver, always alert, refilled it. The smell of unadulterated coffee drifted out into the night, strong and dark. "Thanks, Beaver."
O'Neill frowned. "Haven't you had enough for today? How many cups is that? Four? Eight?"
"I'm cutting back, Jack." Daniel sipped gingerly at the hot liquid.
"Not today you weren't. Every time I looked, Deavers was giving you a refill."
Daniel shrugged. "At this point, I think I'm immune." He yawned. "I also think I'll turn in. See you in the morning, Jack."
"'Night," Jack echoed. Deavers was right there, helping Daniel to rise awkwardly to one foot and hobble into the tent that they shared. O'Neill covered a smile. Oh, yeah, but having Deavers around was good for a certain colonel's blood pressure.
"Janet—" Daniel tried to complain.
"You heard me, Daniel." Dr. Janet Frasier wasn't taking any guff. "A week on crutches or I'll put a walking cast on. Here, lie back."
"Why?" Daniel allowed himself to be pushed back onto the gurney. He eyed the nurse beside Dr. Frasier suspiciously. There were boxy scanners all around him, but all were currently silent, waiting for some undeserving soul to put them to use. Frasier had a cart full of bandages that she had just finished using, had taken a sturdy wrap from the cart and applied it to his ankle. Now Frasier took up several white patches and started applying them to Daniel's chest. Daniel looked down in dismay. "What are you doing? Aren't you finished with my ankle?"
"This doesn't hurt, Daniel. I'm taking an ECG." Frasier helped clip the electrodes to the patches on Daniel's chest.
Daniel scowled. "I hurt my ankle, Janet, not my heart. You took an ECG last week."
"And I'm taking one now as well. Christine felt a slight irregularity in your pulse just now. I'm checking it out."
"Never knew Goa'uld snakes caused heart irregularities," Daniel grumbled.
"They don't, and you know that very well, Dr. Jackson."
Oops, getting formal. She must be getting annoyed. Time to shut up. Daniel lay quietly, waiting for the machine to finish printing out its incomprehensible squiggles. He could hear O'Neill in the cubicle next door, putting his clothing back on and clattering something to the floor as he banged into his own stretcher after his own post-mission physical.
O'Neill poked his head in. "All set, doc? Can I return Daniel to his keeper?"
"Not quite, colonel. Dr. Jackson, I am putting you on a caffeine restriction."
"What?"
"You heard me. I am looking at your heart rhythm, and it is telling me that you are on caffeine overload. That stops as of today."
"Janet—"
"No buts, Daniel. Look at this ECG." Dr. Frasier pushed the pink paper in front of him. Daniel sat up to take a look, O'Neill peering interestedly over Frasier's shoulder. "I'm seeing a lot more in here, but the easiest way to tell what I'm talking about is to look at these tall spikes. Every spike represents a heart beat. They should be in a very regular rhythm."
"Okay…" Daniel hoped what he feared wasn't coming.
It was. "Look at this run of spikes. Not even, Daniel. Irregular. A few beats here and there are coming early. Medical terminology: premature atrial contractions. PAC's for short. Translation: caffeine is making your heart do the tarantella. Keep it up, and your heart will run the marathon without you." Dr. Frasier wagged her finger at the archeologist. "Tell that assistant of yours that you are now on a low caffeine diet. I'll let you have up to two cups of the high octane stuff per day, but the rest will be de-caffeinated. Colonel O'Neill, will you make sure that Airman Deavers gets the message?"
O'Neill grinned. "Oh, yeah." He held out the crutches, a much better looking pair than the tree branches they had scarfed together on PX-487. "C'mon, Daniel. Let me help you hobble back to your office that Deavers is cleaning up even as we speak. How can you let the place get that messy while you're not even in it?"
"Left-overs, Jack. Left-overs."
The First Prime abased himself before his god. "Lord, let me but know your wishes and I will kill myself to carry them out."
"That will not be necessary at this time," the Goa'uld informed him. "It is my wish that you continue as you have done. This subterfuge, though tedious and long, will advance my plans." Teknet waved his hand around the small apartment. There were dirty dishes everywhere, and clothing dumped onto the floor. The Goa'uld was not a polite house guest. "Clean these chambers, First Prime, while I go among these Tau're and meditate upon my next step." He paused, his eyes briefly glowing. "How many of these Tau're are competent in reading Goa'uld?"
"Only four, my lord, including Jackson. I do not include the shol'va, Teal'c." The First Prime spat, to show his contempt for the renegade Jaffa.
The dark eyes glowed again. "It does not please me that so many Tau're can decipher the holy Goa'uld script. They profane the language. It is only Jaffa, and those that I favor with my mark that should be knowledgeable."
"I look forward to the day that I may openly wear your symbol, lord!"
"Yes," the Goa'uld commented, "you do. For now, seek ways to diminish this number of four while searching for my missives. But do it secretly. You must not reveal yourself at this time."
Daniel inhaled the aroma gratefully, hands cupping the hot mug and steam rising. His office had never looked so tidy, his papers never so caught up on filing. And there was an almost full bag of fresh coffee grounds in the closet. Daniel was used to seeing the quantity as two levels: almost gone and completely gone. "I don't know how you do it, Beaver, but this de-caffeinated stuff tastes as good as the real thing."
Deavers grinned. "All in how fresh the grounds are, Dr. J. That, and never washing out the coffee pot. My grandmother used to threaten my grandfather with a wire scrub brush, so he took the percolator and hid it in the barn. I used to sneak out there whenever I visited him, and he'd share a pot with me. Tasted great on some of those cold winter mornings."
Daniel leaned back in his chair, taking another sip. For a change, the wheels of the chair didn't crunch on papers that had fallen to the floor and not been retrieved. Another blessing. "Where was home?"
Another bright-toothed smile. "Vermont. Little place outside of Barre. Cold as PX324, but a great place to be a kid. I learned to ski almost before I could walk. Now I've got a place not too far from here, a little cabin in the woods. Best place to get away from it all and relax on weekends."
"And the interest in anthropology?"
The Beaver ducked his head shyly. "A bunch of North American Indian artifacts all around where I grew up, mostly the Lenape tribe. Kinda whet my interest, so when it came time to choose a major in college, that's what stuck. Heck of a lot better than cranking out solutions to physics problems. Numbers and me aren't the best of friends."
Daniel smiled in sympathy. "I hear you. But, the military?"
"What can you do in the real world with a degree in anthropology? 'Join the army, go meet other people in other countries, and shoot them,'" Deavers mis-quoted the slogan. "I was hoping to avoid the 'shoot 'em' part. Never dreamed that those other countries would be on other worlds."
"So you joined the military just to have a job? There are easier ways to make a living."
"But a great way to find yourself," Deavers countered. "I've been to three countries, Dr. J., and now a couple of planets! Most of my friends have visited Canada, and that's all. And I have a great retirement plan, assuming I live to collect it."
Daniel changed the subject. "You have a knack for speaking Goa'uld," he said in that language. "Have you always picked up languages quickly?"
"Nope. I almost …flunked Spanish," Deavers admitted, stumbling over the words.
Daniel covered a frown. Something didn't sound right; he shrugged it off. The accent? Maybe. "Time to get back to work," he said, back to English, sitting up in his chair, letting the seat back come to an upright position. "Where's that report I was working on?"
"Right here, Dr. J." Deavers retrieved it from almost under Daniel's elbow. "And the one from the previous mission is already on General Hammond's desk, with a copy on Colonel O'Neill's. I ran it through spell-check; I hope you don't mind."
"Trust me on this; I appreciate the spell-check like you can't believe. The computer must have had a hard time with the Goa'uld script." This kid was efficient, and so eager to please. Was Daniel himself ever that child-like? According to Jack he was. And still was. Never mind. Just take advantage of it, like Jack and General Hammond want me to do. I have to admit, it's a relief having someone do the scut work for me. Even better than having a graduate student; they tend to talk back and argue. The Beaver just takes orders and does what I ask.
"I pamper the computer just like I do you, Dr. J. Works just fine, only without the coffee."
"Daniel," O'Neill called down the hall. Daniel and Deavers were headed for the briefing room—on time, O'Neill noted, watching the young airman with the armload of books for his civilian charge. "Daniel, hang on a second."
Daniel waited for O'Neill to catch up with them. "Yes, Jack?"
O'Neill looked distinctly uncomfortable. He focused on the Beaver first. "You go ahead, Deavers. I need to speak with Daniel for a moment before the mission briefing. We'll meet you there." He waited until the young man had obediently disappeared down the hall before continuing.
Daniel wasn't good at being patient. "Jack? What is it?"
O'Neill frowned. "It's the mission, Daniel."
"Right. P3X-6J4. Goa'uld occupied, lots of Jaffa around. We talked about nipping in, grabbing what we can in a day or so, and heading right back out before they know what hit 'em. Lots of shooting and shouting. Sounds like you should have a lot of fun, Jack. Right up your alley. Me, my fun begins when I get to translate what we bring home. What's the problem?"
There wasn't any way to pussyfoot around the news. O'Neill steeled himself. "You're not going, Daniel."
"What?" Daniel couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Of course I'm going, Jack. You need me. There's no way that you and Sam could recognize the important stuff that's written in Goa'uld, and Teal'c doesn't read fast enough to be able to do the job."
"There's going to be a fire fight," O'Neill tried to say.
"I know. We discussed this. I promise, I'll do exactly what you tell me to do, Jack. Just this once, I won't give you a hard time about shooting back. I'll even wear one of those heavy duty flack jackets you've been talking about." Daniel rocked back expectantly on his heels. "These will be Jaffa, Jack. Shooting at them will not be a problem."
"Daniel, it's out of my hands." O'Neill felt like a heel. It had been General Hammond who had broached the topic, but O'Neill had had to agree with his superior. This particular mission was going to be one of the more dangerous ones they'd come up with. It had the potential for great rewards, but an equally great potential for one or more of SG-1 to end up dead—or worse. "This has to be a strictly military operation. This is for your safety, Daniel, as well as mine. And Carter's, and Teal'c's. And Deavers."
"The Beaver? What has he got to do with—?" Daniel caught on. His face went dead. "You're taking Deavers because he can read Goa'uld."
"It won't be the same," O'Neill tried to explain.
"You're right; it won't. Deavers is good, very good for only studying Goa'uld for two months but he's not up to my level. He won't be able to recognize weapons-grade information on the fly," Daniel said flatly.
"That's not what Teal'c says," O'Neill returned as coolly as he could. This is hurting me a lot more than it's hurting you, Daniel. You think I like telling you that you can't play with the big boys? "Teal'c says Deavers' accent is close to flawless. And he's military."
"What?" Daniel couldn't believe his ears. "Has Teal'c heard him lately?"
O'Neill hurried on. "You're always saying you need time to catch up. This is your chance, Daniel. We'll be back before you know it, and we'll regroup on the next mission. You'll hardly miss us."
"Deavers can't do the job." It was simple statement of fact.
Reality check, Daniel. "Neither can you," O'Neill returned, working to keep the multitude of emotions out of his voice. "You're a civilian, Daniel, and you know it. You don't have the training for an operation like this, and you could get yourself or one of us killed trying to cover you. You've said it yourself; Deavers is a better man in a fight than you. And there's going to be plenty of fighting on this trip. You're not going. The decision's been made."
"The decision's crap."
"Maybe it is, which means you'll have plenty of time to tell me about it in detail once we get back in forty-eight hours. End of discussion, Daniel."
"But—"
"End of discussion, Daniel. We have a briefing to get to."
"Don't you mean you have to get to?" Daniel asked bitterly.
"I meant what I said, Daniel. Just because you won't be going doesn't mean you don't have valuable input." Jack turned back one last time. "I wouldn't let Hammond tell you about this in front of the others. You deserve that, Daniel. I mean it. The Stargate program wouldn't be a reality without you. But we have to face facts. This mission is going to be strictly military. You'd be a liability."
Hammond leaned forward to speak into the mike, his words going into the Gate Room. "Good luck, SG-1."
O'Neill sketched an airy salute from the bottom of the ramp. "Gonna need it, general."
Teal'c and Deavers were already at the top of the ramp, waiting for the other two to finish adjusting their packs. They could see Hammond behind the glass, hovering behind Davis who was monitoring the computer panel in front of him. Off to the side, almost hiding in the corner with an unreadable expression on his face, stood Daniel Jackson, hands jammed into his pockets.
Carter tightened a shoulder strap. She checked the safety on her P-90. "Daniel's taking this pretty well, sir."
"I hope. I really hope so, Carter. Because I have a feeling that this mission is going to look like a barroom brawl compared to the tantrum that Daniel is going to throw once we get back. I think I'm going to go hide someplace, so he can't yell at me. I already feel like a heel."
"He understands the reasons, sir." But the tone of her voice implied that Carter believed her own words as much as O'Neill did. "I mean, he's got to be as sick of ending up in the infirmary as we are of dragging him there. This mission would have been like waving a red flag at a bull. Asking for trouble. Daniel doesn't have the expertise for this sort of thing."
"Yeah. I just hope that we do." O'Neill led the way up the ramp to the undulating blue wormhole. He paused before stepping in for one last line. "Keep your head down, Carter, and don't forget to duck."
"Your report, First Prime."
"It goes well, my lord. General Hammond refused to allow Jackson to accompany SG-1 on the last mission. They obtained information, but not the more worthwhile pieces that they could have. Those were bypassed, unrecognized by SG-1 as valuable."
"Very good, First Prime. What else?"
"I have heard murmurings among the newer military personnel on the base that perhaps having a civilian among them isn't worth the aggravation, and that what they see as the success of this mission has demonstrated that idea very clearly. Jackson himself fueled those rumors by hiding in his office during the past mission. Sulking is what gossip says, although the quantity of time that Jackson put in shows that to be inaccurate. Those of a less forgiving nature have pointed to the apparent childish sulking as justification for eliminating all civilian personnel."
"Good. Seeing Jackson ridiculed pleases me; that particular Tau're is a menace to all system lords. Tell me more."
"I have arranged for him to be harassed, lord. It looks like more of the hazing that he underwent when he first joined the Stargate program, but it is having the desired effect. He never knows when he will be subjected to various annoyances and humiliation, and the pranks are designed to be unnoticeable to the others on his immediate team. It is having an effect on his work. He was expected to catch up on his work while SG-1 was off-world; instead, he spent his time cleaning up from the harassment. Because he has so far refused to admit the situation to O'Neill, he appears to be merely inefficient or sloppy. The more vocal opponents have suggested incompetent, and I have encouraged this line of gossip. Your plan appears petty on the surface, but it is having the desired effect: the work of the Stargate program is being hampered."
"Excellent. At this rate, we will be able to destroy the Stargate program altogether. The loss of Jackson will hurt them more than they can imagine. The others who speak Goa'uld?"
"Removed for the most part, your excellence. One dead, another hospitalized with no clear certainty of ever returning to profane the holy Goa'uld tongue."
"Well done." Teknet's eyes glowed, thinking. "It is perhaps time, First Prime, that you increase the pressure on Jackson. I am enjoying your efforts."
The First Prime's face lit up. "Thank you, lord!"