SG1-16 Four Dragons (3 page)

For the first time in way too long, Daniel actually looked curious. It was as if Dixon held out a meal to a hungry man.

“Heh,” Dixon said with a smirk. “Jack wasn’t kidding about you. Look, all I know is there’s a mix of Goa’uld, ancient Chinese, and ancient Ancient writing.”

“Goa’uld, Chinese and Ancient?” Daniel stepped out of the elevator. “Anything else?”

Dixon shrugged. “Maybe… So far, we’ve found one ring platform and, oh yeah, some crazy-assed statue sitting smack on top of what looks like four graves. We’re headed back there now along with some science types planning on digging ‘em up. Hell, the way Balinsky’s acting, I’m guessing the whole area could use some digging and sifting. He’d probably love the company. You two archaeologists could geek out together.”

With a sloppy salute, Dixon took off. Daniel stepped back into the elevator and the doors closed. She stabbed twenty-two and leaned against the wall, waiting for what inevitably would come next.

“Sam…”

She smiled, glad to see some things never change. “Daniel?”

“What’s next on SG-1’s mission list?”

Sam hesitated. Here’s where it got sticky. She couldn’t lie to Daniel. It’d be like lying to her own brother. “P3X-289, I think. Colonel O’Neill thought it’d be a good idea if we did a simple recon mission. Help you get…,”
Come on, Sam, just say it. He’s a big boy
. “Honest, Daniel, I think the colonel only wants to make sure you’re really ready for active duty.”

Daniel sucked in a big breath and nodded. The Daniel she’d known a year ago would have gone off at this point, stomping his feet, raising his voice. Not that she could blame him. She’d be pretty pissed, too. But instead, this Daniel, this newly returned-to-them Daniel, quietly said, “I’m more than ready, Sam, and I’ve proven that. Even General Hammond knows it. What’s it going to take to convince Jack?”

“He’s just being cautious.” Not that she needed to defend Colonel O’Neill, but Daniel had a point. He’d been a huge help fighting off Anubis’ Jaffa on Kelowna and he’d done an admirable job protecting her six when they’d blown up Baal’s ship on Erebus. Why the colonel felt he wasn’t ready was still pretty much of a mystery.

The elevator doors opened onto twenty-two. Laughter and clinking glasses drifted down the hallway. Before Sam could even contemplate heading toward the mess, Daniel threw an arm across the elevator, blocking her way. “We’re talking about ruins, Sam. Not a Goa’uld stronghold.”

“No, Daniel,” she said, ducking underneath his arm. “What we’re talking about is getting a certain colonel to agree.”

As she headed toward the mess, Daniel called out, “Wait. Aren’t you going to at least help me convince him?”

“Nope. That honor’s all yours.” When Colonel O’Neill and Daniel went at it, the best thing to do was stay out of the way. Barring that, having a mouth full of cake would work in a pinch.

* * *

Teal’c retreated to a corner table within the S.G.C. mess so that he might observe the Tau’ri celebration in silent appreciation. Food and drink lay heavily upon tables to one side, including several fair attempts at Chulak delicacies which the head cook had provided in his honor. At the room’s center, Sergeant Harriman was regaling many there with tales of ‘parking lot’ woes. General Hammond shared photos of his granddaughters with members of SG-3 and SG-8, while Lieutenant Wood and Sergeant Siler argued most vehemently about crescent-shaped tools.

Teal’c was no fool to believe these festivities were simply to do him honor. Living amongst the Tau’ri had taught him the need for “escape valves” as O’Neill had phrased it. Indeed, the laughter and warmth within this room were a welcome respite for all.

As he sipped his cranberry juice, Teal’c admitted to himself that most Tau’ri humor made little sense. But it hardly mattered. The shared camaraderie he experienced as a member of SG-1 taught him the value of these moments. Moments when he put aside thoughts of the Goa’uld. Moments he could celebrate the simple joys of life.

O’Neill approached, carrying a tray laden with desserts. Bra’tac followed close behind. Teal’c stood in a gesture of respect.

“Relax, T.” O’Neill set down his tray. “This is your shindig. Take a load off.”

Teal’c settled back as the two men pulled up chairs beside him. With great flourish, O’Neill removed five plates from the tray, each with a different sweet. Happily, a piece of apple pie had been included in the slew of offerings. Teal’c reached for the plate, but O’Neill warned him off with a shake of his finger.

“Hold on a second, big guy.” From a pocket within his coat, he presented three forks. “One for Bra’tac, one for the guest of honor, and one, of course, for me.”

Amused by his brother-in-arms’ zeal, Teal’c humbly accepted a fork and awaited O’Neill’s command. Across the table, Bra’tac raised an eyebrow, but then followed suit.

“Dig in, gentleman. I’ll explain along the way.” O’Neill tucked into the chocolate cake and held a forkful up to Bra’tac.

Teal’c shook his head. “Your chocolate is incompatible with tretonin, O’Neill.”

“You’re joking,” O’Neill said with a frown. “Since when did something so sublime as chocolate mess up your daily dose of ground Goa’uld?”

“For the same reason I must avoid coffee whenever possible.”

“Get the jitters, huh?” Swallowing the offending cake, O’Neill continued, “Wow. I don’t know whether to be sorry or envious. You’re missing out on some good eating.”

O’Neill took up the apple pie and laid it down before Bra’tac. “Try the pie.” He then returned to eating his cake with a fervor usually saved for the field of battle.

When Bra’tac eyed the plate of Tau’ri fruit and pastry, Teal’c gave a silent nod of approval. His mentor broke off a small piece, sniffed suspiciously, and then placed it in his mouth. A smile spread across his face and he continued to eat. Pleased, Teal’c took advantage of a plate of ‘short cake’ covered in red jellied berries, but scraped off the offending whipped cream. While iced cream had its merits, Teal’c had yet to develop a liking for other forms of bovine lactose.

Bra’tac pointed with his fork at what was left of O’Neill’s cake. “Not everything which is ‘good’ for the Tau’ri is suitable for Jaffa. This ceremony, for instance. How does awarding Teal’c sleeves of stripes aid in the battle to gain Jaffa freedom?”

O’Neill peered at Bra’tac in consternation. Mildly concerned that the two might argue, Teal’c held his breath a brief moment. For all their differences, he admired them both greatly and knew they had far more in common than either might believe. Arguments were best left to discussions of tactics, not issues of culture. Surely, these dearest friends would respect the day’s purpose.

O’Neill did not disappoint. With a smile, he handed a napkin across the table to Bra’tac and pointed at an offending crumb on his beard. The Jaffa Master nodded his thanks and wiped away the culprit. Impressed by the Tau’ri diplomatic gesture, Teal’c tucked away the memory of the napkin as a suitable distraction for future use.

“Just to be clear,” O’Neill said, “this ‘sleeves of stripes’ thing is a big deal.”

“How so?” asked Bra’tac.

“Well, for one, Chief Master Sergeant is pretty high up the food chain… especially for a non-officer type.”

“So he may command troops? Lead attacks?”

“Only when necessary,” Teal’c interjected. His preferred place was with SG-1, but he would serve as needed in the cause against their shared enemies.

“Speaking of command,” said O’Neill, “now that you’re a Sarge, you’ve got all sorts of things to look forward to. Like, maybe moving off base. That is, if you want.”

“Indeed,” Teal’c replied. This possibility pleased him immensely. “I would appreciate the opportunity to see this world as I rise each day.”

The cake now gone, O’Neill attempted to partake of the short cakes, but Teal’c effectively blocked him with a downward swipe of his fork. O’Neill duly surrendered and began to eat another of the cakes he’d brought. The sweet was white, with dried flakes of some substance called ‘coconut’ which stuck in Teal’c’s teeth. He had no problem with O’Neill’s commandeering such an offensive dessert.

“Yep,” O’Neill said between bites, “you’ve got all sorts of things to look forward to now, Chief Master Sergeant Teal’c.”

“Such as?”

O’Neill shrugged. “Some hazing. The other enlisted men will want to weigh you down with all sorts of ridiculous tasks.”

“Surely you jest,” said Bra’tac.

“Actually, I don’t.” O’Neill glanced behind him to where Sergeant Harriman now spoke with the young Lieutenant Simmons. “But seriously, T. Anyone tries anything stupid, tell them to come talk to me. That’ll keep them at bay.”

“I shall,” promised Teal’c. Behind him the sound of determined boots entered the room. No doubt to take part in what was left of the celebratory feast. “Is there anything else?”

“Yes, O’Neill,” said Bra’tac as he set down his fork, having finished his pie. “Will this new rank bring in turn new knowledge which might aid in the fight against the Goa’uld?”

“Well, let me think…” O’Neill took another forkful of his cake and stared at it closely. “Might be a good idea to get you some training in oh, so outdated, yet still used, Morse code.”

“Is this Morse code an ancient weapon of the Tau’ri?” asked Bra’tac.

A hand swooped down between Teal’c and O’Neill. Daniel Jackson’s hand. He snatched up the coconut cake.

“I wasn’t done eating that,” O’Neill said, his voice grim.

“Oh, I think you were,” replied Daniel Jackson, his voice impatient. “At least, until you hear me out.”

For a moment, Teal’c considered offering a napkin to Daniel Jackson in hopes of a distraction. But one look at his determined face — arms crossed, his stance firm — convinced Teal’c to belay the attempt. Meanwhile, O’Neill’s eyes had narrowed.

Teal’c set down the napkin. Clearly, no distraction would halt an argument between his two team mates.

* * *

Daniel sank into the seat next to Master Bra’tac, Jack’s cake in his hand. Thanks to a head’s up from Sam, he knew what to expect if he just out and out asked to join the dig on P3Y-702. To buy time as he figured out a strategy, he nibbled at Jack’s cake.

“Ah, Daniel,” Jack said. “What ‘cha doing?”

“Eating cake.”

“My cake, you mean.”

“Not anymore,” said Daniel, swallowing the last bite.

The infamous O’Neill stare down commenced.

Obviously, if Daniel came right out and asked, Jack would say no. Daniel would argue back. The old Daniel would have stomped his feet. He would have begged. He would have prodded. He would have needled Jack until he finally gave up or walked out.

If there was one thing Daniel had learned from facing death, losing a year of his life, and then suddenly appearing on a far off planet — in the nude, no less — it was that time was precious.

Arguing with Jack would be wasted time. Wasted energy.

A complete and utter failure.

Spotting Sam over by the coffee urns, Daniel mimed wanting some and then waved her over. She shook her head, he pleaded with his eyes. Finally, she gave in, grabbed three cups and walked over.

“Coffee, sir?”

“Why thank you, Major.” Jack took the proffered cup, his eyes never straying. “At least someone respects me around here.”

That was Daniel’s in. “Do you want another piece?”

“I wanted the one you ate.”

Daniel picked up the sole dessert plate left untouched. “How about Boston Cream Pie?”

“That appears to be more a cake than a pie,” Master Bra’tac said, though Teal’c raised a hand in warning.

Teal’c knew. He knew what Daniel was trying to do. God bless him, he was trying to keep Bra’tac — and himself — out of the line of fire.

Jack, on the other hand, continued to stare Daniel down.

Some things never changed.

“How about you replace my cake?”

Daniel leaned in, matching Jack stare for stare. “What if I said no?”

Jack blinked. “Excuse me?”

Score one. Daniel leaned back in his chair, “Not fun, is it?”

“What the hell?” Jack glanced at Sam. Then Teal’c. Then back to Daniel. “Did you come back wrong or were you just always this dense and I somehow forgot?”

Closer. Jack had to see his point. “Having someone say no to something you really want. Better yet, something that you really need — ”

“For crying out loud, Daniel, it’s not going to happen so give it a rest,” Jack yelled loud enough for everyone in the mess to turn around. In the ensuing silence, a pin could have dropped.

Game over and fail. Time for the direct approach. “Jack, it’s important. Trust me on this. You want to find the Lost City, don’t you?”

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not quite the idiot you think I am.” Jack took one look at the folks still in the mess and they went back to minding their own business. “I know all about Dixon’s latest Chinese ruins find.”

“We can’t randomly jump from one planet to the next, searching for clues,” Sam added. “It’s not a good use of our resources.”

Daniel leaned forward, desperate to get them to understand. “This isn’t only about Chinese ruins. Colonel Dixon said they found some Ancient writing as well. If I’m going to make any sense out of that tablet, the more Ancient writing I can see, the better.”

“Yet Major Carter is correct,” said Teal’c. “In choosing destinations that contain Ancient ruins that might aid in your research, should we not be more cautious with our choices?”

Jack’s head shot up and he stared at Teal’c.

“As Teal’c says, you must choose with care,” Bra’tac said. “Time is of the essence. There is word amongst what is left of the Fifth Column that Anubis is once again on the rise.”

Daniel shook his head. “But this could be significant. If there’s a link between — ”

“Fine then,” said Jack. “We’ll go.”

Daniel’s jaw dropped. Had he really, finally, won a round with Jack O’Neill? “You’re serious.”

“Sure.” Jack grabbed the plate of Boston Cream pie out of Daniel’s hand and set it down. “If Hammond approves the mission, we’ll leave at…,” he checked his watch, “how’s oh eight hundred in the morning sound?”