(no subject)
Happy birthday, Des.
(Unfortunately, it's just a snippet from a WIP. Best I could do.)
God bless the Nox.
Jack hadn’t thought of them in years--well, not since that matinee of The Fellowship of the Ring--but they hadn’t forgotten him in his hour of need. He had no intention of blowing the opportunity, which was why he’d said virtually nothing for the last hour.
Jack was the most junior officer in a room that included Peter Pace, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff; Michael Moseley, the Air Force Chief of Staff; and General George Hammond of Homeworld Security.
“Damn it, George, I get that these folks would make powerful allies. But if they want to negotiate, why don’t they just say so?” General Pace had already asked this question several times; no one had an answer. “And why can we send only Jackson and O’Neill? That doesn’t get your dander up?”
General Hammond was far too politic to point out that he hadn’t suffered from dandruff in decades. He turned to Jack. “As long as we’re theorizing without data, Jack, what’s your opinion on the Nox and their motives?”
Jack folded his hands on the table in front of him and cleared his throat. “I don’t think they’re interested in negotiations, sir. When they were worried about stolen technology, they didn’t hesitate to report that directly to the SGC. The only other times the Nox initiated contact, they were offering to help-to take in the Tollans and to act as arbiters at Skaara’s trial. I’m guessing this invitation involves something along those lines; they’ve spotted a problem and want to help.”
General Moseley jumped all over that. “Are you suggesting the Nox may have a solution for this stalemate with the Ori?”
“No, sir. They’ve never gotten involved in the big picture before, not with the Goa’uld and not with the Replicators. I doubt they’d wait until now to step in.”
General Pace nodded. “I agree. Which is why I think we should politely decline unless we can send in a full team. Whatever this matter is about, it’s not worth the risk.”
Jack’s gut twisted, but he didn’t speak.
Hammond said what Jack hadn’t dared. “A full team would be disarmed as easily as two men. The Nox aren’t after our military leadership. And my guess is that if they wanted to abduct Dr. Jackson, they could do so at any time.”
Jack ignored the bruise to his ego. “I’d be Daniel’s escort, sir. I know we’ve had a lot of nasty surprises from other alien races over the years, but the Nox have always been straightforward with us. Whatever this is about, they wouldn’t have contacted us if they didn’t think it was important. Maybe we can earn some bonus points for the future.”
“Like the payoff to helping the Asgard, the Tok’ra, the Tollans, and the Jaffa?”
“I’ll grant you the Tollans and the Tok’ra were a…disappointment, sir.” Jack grimaced. “But we’d never have defeated the Goa’uld without the Jaffa. And the Asgard have protected Earth for centuries. That has to count for a lot, even if they won’t share their technology.”
General Hammond interjected before Jack could warm to his defense of Thor. “We probably should consider the Nox as likely to fall into the same patterns as the Asgard. They are far in advance of us socially and technologically, and their attitude toward us appears to be benevolent.”
General Pace wasn’t buying it. “They’re also practically unknown to us, invisible in their presence, and deliberately secretive in matters that concern the safety of our personnel. Can we really afford to let Jack escort Dr. Jackson into a trap? Can we afford to lose either one of them to a people who haven’t lifted a finger against the Goa’uld, the Replicators, or the Ori?”
The room fell silent.
Jack clenched his fists beneath the conference table and struggled for words. His brain was still sputtering when he looked up and fielded a clear “shut the hell up” signal from General Hammond.
“I think I’m in the best position to answer that, Pete, because it’s a decision I’ve had to make far too many times. Though I think this mission is likely to be less dangerous than many SG-1 has undertaken, it is a venture into the unknown. And there are no two people better equipped to walk into the unknown than Jack O’Neill and Daniel Jackson.” General Hammond paused. “Can we afford to lose them? No. That’s why we have to let them do what they do best. Trying to protect them from risk will certainly kill their spirits, and not using their gifts may well get the rest of us killed, too.”
“You want to do this, Jack?” General of the Air Force Moseley asked.
“Yes, sir!”
General Pace pushed back in his chair and took an unspoken poll of the other men in the room. He sighed. “All right, Jack. Have your adventure. Go, listen to what the Nox have to say, and get yourself and Dr. Jackson back in one piece.”
“I will, sir. Thank you, sir.” Thank you, George. Thank you, Anteaus and Lya. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
***
Jack took his carryall from the young driver and checked the time: 2205 hours. “You should take off, son. Clear the streets before the drunks take over.”
“I’ll wait, sir. Dr. Jackson might not be home.”
“On the biggest party night of the year? He’s home.” And if he wasn’t, Jack had a key. “Besides, I’ll bet that wife of yours is desperate for the relief shift by now.”
The airman grinned. “She claims that twins entitle her to combat pay, sir. Thanks. Thanks a lot. And Happy New Year.” He sketched a salute and splashed happily back through the slush to the Air Force limo.
Jack paused on the sidewalk to contemplate the winter sky. Even with a cloud bank rolling in from the north, he could identify more stars here than on the clearest night in DC. He felt a brief pang of regret that he’d sold his own Colorado Springs home, with its rustic porch and rooftop observatory. The world had turned upside down; here he was, the strange night visitor in Daniel’s suburban neighborhood.
This quiet block hosted no rollicking New Year’s Eve parties. Most of the homes featured some sort of Christmas display, ranging from the ubiquitous icicle lights to flashing candy canes and Santa’s sleigh. Even Daniel’s front door, Jack noted with amusement, was framed by a string of vaguely star-shaped red and white lights.
Jack straightened his dress uniform and headed for the door. On closer inspection, the blinking lights strung there appeared to represent starfish--or possibly the amorphous, luminescent forms of the Ancients. Doubtless a gift from Teal’c.
He rang the bell. The house’s dark windows didn’t trouble him; whether in his office or at home, Daniel preferred minimal lighting. Too many years spent in tents reading by lantern light, Jack supposed.
Eventually Daniel opened the door, his finger stuck in a book. “Jack! You’re early. Come in.”
“Plane got in early,” he said, as he removed his hat and stepped inside. “Funny how often that happens when you’re an Air Force general.”
Daniel rolled his eyes at the remark. He shut the front door and put down his book. Jack dropped his bag. They faced each other in the dim hallway.
“Hey. Come here.”
The invitation was all the prompting Daniel needed to step into Jack’s hug. Jack held on for a long time, savoring the warm solidity of Daniel’s body. He rubbed the short hairs at the back of Daniel’s neck and kissed somewhere in the vicinity of his left ear. “Sorry about Nick,” he said softly. “I wanted to be here.”
Daniel’s fingers gripped in his coat, and then one hand brushed down Jack’s back. He pulled away. “I’m fine. You know we weren’t close.”
Still, Dr. Nicholas Ballard had been Daniel’s only blood relative. And Daniel had cared enough about the obnoxious old grump to visit him in an asylum and endure his tirades.
Daniel took Jack’s hat and coat and ushered him into the living room. “The burial was day before yesterday. The giant aliens wanted to cremate him, but I knew Nick wouldn’t have approved. Beer?”
“Sure.” Jack flopped down on the sofa and switched on a lamp. He studied the room, which he’d seen only a couple times before moving to DC. Nearly all the furnishings were familiar to him from Daniel’s previous homes. The walls were surprisingly bare, though. Apparently Daniel hadn’t yet bothered to unpack all his artifacts and artwork.
Daniel returned and handed him a cold bottle of some expensive German ale.
“Why not cremation?” Jack asked. Daniel’s startled blink told him he should probably have dropped the subject.
Daniel chuffed a sigh and settled at the other end of the sofa. He propped his stockinged feet on the coffee table beside his laptop and took a long swig of beer. “Cremation,” he declared with a wave of the bottle, “is not for narcissists.” He immediately shrugged and offered a rueful smile as unnecessary apology. “Besides, it’s hardly archaeological fair play.”
Jack snorted. “I hope you left a warning for whoever digs him up.”
“That sort of thing only encourages vandals.”
“You should know.”
Daniel slid Jack a sidelong glance. “I did think about asking for a tombstone with eight tiny reindeer, though. After all, he was a Dutchman named Nicholas, and he did die on Christmas Day.”
“It’s a good thing you’re a model of taste and restraint, Dr. Jackson.” They clinked bottles, and each man relaxed into his own corner of the sofa, the tension of reacquaintance dissipated.
Jack scratched at his chin. “We expecting any visitors tonight?”
“Oh! I’m supposed to tell you that Teal’c has a hot date--his words--and Sam is running some naquadah sequencing experiment that has to be monitored constantly on the off chance that she might blow up the mountain. They’ll both be at the New Year’s buffet tomorrow. Cameron’s on leave for another week.”
“Huh.” Jack scratched at his chin. “So do you have any idea what this is about? I mean…why us? Why now?”
Daniel’s tongue flicked back and forth across his lower lip. He shook his head. “Not a clue. Except that you’re here. Which I assume means you plan to go.”
“With an engraved get-out-of-jail-free card? You bet.”
“Landry doesn’t like it.”
Jack scoffed. “He’s envious. And the president thinks it’s a great opportunity.”
Daniel nodded thoughtfully. “So it’s a go, then.”
“You have doubts?”
“No, no more than you. I’m looking forward to it. I just wonder why.”
“OK. So plenty of time to jabber about that at the briefing.” Jack reached for the remote. “Mind if I turn on the game?”
Daniel fell asleep before midnight, his mouth hanging open. Jack closed the laptop, turned down the volume on the TV, and watched the New Year come in to the accompaniment of Daniel’s snores. Eventually he switched off the lamp and TV and removed his shoes so that he could stretch out with his feet in Daniel’s lap. He lay awake for a long time, turning over ideas in his head, before he allowed himself to consider why he didn’t just wake Daniel and head for the guest room.
Because this was why he’d come, of course. He missed going on missions, but he didn’t long for the terror or the responsibility. He longed for this-this domestic scene. He missed sharing a tent with the man snoring beside him, the world-class pain in the butt who had answered his dying call from some other plane of existence. He missed being part of a team that was both a well-oiled military machine and a closeknit family. He missed doing work that mattered with his closest friends.
Hammond and the president had tried to persuade him that Washington was where he could now be of service. But it wasn’t true and never had been. In DC, even great men had to become politicians. Jack would never succeed in that arena.
He wouldn’t be first choice for a field team when he could no longer lift a teammate over his shoulder and carry him out of the line of fire. Fortunately, the Nox were probably the least likely people in the galaxy to take up arms. But Daniel could find trouble anywhere, and no one knew how to protect him better than Jack. As a bodyguard, he was underweight but overexperienced. It would have to do.
Daniel stirred. He rolled his head. “Mmm.” He coughed and sat up. “Jack? Bed?”
Jack waved him off. “I’m fine with the couch. You go. I’ll wake you at 0900.”
***
(Unfortunately, it's just a snippet from a WIP. Best I could do.)
God bless the Nox.
Jack hadn’t thought of them in years--well, not since that matinee of The Fellowship of the Ring--but they hadn’t forgotten him in his hour of need. He had no intention of blowing the opportunity, which was why he’d said virtually nothing for the last hour.
Jack was the most junior officer in a room that included Peter Pace, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff; Michael Moseley, the Air Force Chief of Staff; and General George Hammond of Homeworld Security.
“Damn it, George, I get that these folks would make powerful allies. But if they want to negotiate, why don’t they just say so?” General Pace had already asked this question several times; no one had an answer. “And why can we send only Jackson and O’Neill? That doesn’t get your dander up?”
General Hammond was far too politic to point out that he hadn’t suffered from dandruff in decades. He turned to Jack. “As long as we’re theorizing without data, Jack, what’s your opinion on the Nox and their motives?”
Jack folded his hands on the table in front of him and cleared his throat. “I don’t think they’re interested in negotiations, sir. When they were worried about stolen technology, they didn’t hesitate to report that directly to the SGC. The only other times the Nox initiated contact, they were offering to help-to take in the Tollans and to act as arbiters at Skaara’s trial. I’m guessing this invitation involves something along those lines; they’ve spotted a problem and want to help.”
General Moseley jumped all over that. “Are you suggesting the Nox may have a solution for this stalemate with the Ori?”
“No, sir. They’ve never gotten involved in the big picture before, not with the Goa’uld and not with the Replicators. I doubt they’d wait until now to step in.”
General Pace nodded. “I agree. Which is why I think we should politely decline unless we can send in a full team. Whatever this matter is about, it’s not worth the risk.”
Jack’s gut twisted, but he didn’t speak.
Hammond said what Jack hadn’t dared. “A full team would be disarmed as easily as two men. The Nox aren’t after our military leadership. And my guess is that if they wanted to abduct Dr. Jackson, they could do so at any time.”
Jack ignored the bruise to his ego. “I’d be Daniel’s escort, sir. I know we’ve had a lot of nasty surprises from other alien races over the years, but the Nox have always been straightforward with us. Whatever this is about, they wouldn’t have contacted us if they didn’t think it was important. Maybe we can earn some bonus points for the future.”
“Like the payoff to helping the Asgard, the Tok’ra, the Tollans, and the Jaffa?”
“I’ll grant you the Tollans and the Tok’ra were a…disappointment, sir.” Jack grimaced. “But we’d never have defeated the Goa’uld without the Jaffa. And the Asgard have protected Earth for centuries. That has to count for a lot, even if they won’t share their technology.”
General Hammond interjected before Jack could warm to his defense of Thor. “We probably should consider the Nox as likely to fall into the same patterns as the Asgard. They are far in advance of us socially and technologically, and their attitude toward us appears to be benevolent.”
General Pace wasn’t buying it. “They’re also practically unknown to us, invisible in their presence, and deliberately secretive in matters that concern the safety of our personnel. Can we really afford to let Jack escort Dr. Jackson into a trap? Can we afford to lose either one of them to a people who haven’t lifted a finger against the Goa’uld, the Replicators, or the Ori?”
The room fell silent.
Jack clenched his fists beneath the conference table and struggled for words. His brain was still sputtering when he looked up and fielded a clear “shut the hell up” signal from General Hammond.
“I think I’m in the best position to answer that, Pete, because it’s a decision I’ve had to make far too many times. Though I think this mission is likely to be less dangerous than many SG-1 has undertaken, it is a venture into the unknown. And there are no two people better equipped to walk into the unknown than Jack O’Neill and Daniel Jackson.” General Hammond paused. “Can we afford to lose them? No. That’s why we have to let them do what they do best. Trying to protect them from risk will certainly kill their spirits, and not using their gifts may well get the rest of us killed, too.”
“You want to do this, Jack?” General of the Air Force Moseley asked.
“Yes, sir!”
General Pace pushed back in his chair and took an unspoken poll of the other men in the room. He sighed. “All right, Jack. Have your adventure. Go, listen to what the Nox have to say, and get yourself and Dr. Jackson back in one piece.”
“I will, sir. Thank you, sir.” Thank you, George. Thank you, Anteaus and Lya. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
***
Jack took his carryall from the young driver and checked the time: 2205 hours. “You should take off, son. Clear the streets before the drunks take over.”
“I’ll wait, sir. Dr. Jackson might not be home.”
“On the biggest party night of the year? He’s home.” And if he wasn’t, Jack had a key. “Besides, I’ll bet that wife of yours is desperate for the relief shift by now.”
The airman grinned. “She claims that twins entitle her to combat pay, sir. Thanks. Thanks a lot. And Happy New Year.” He sketched a salute and splashed happily back through the slush to the Air Force limo.
Jack paused on the sidewalk to contemplate the winter sky. Even with a cloud bank rolling in from the north, he could identify more stars here than on the clearest night in DC. He felt a brief pang of regret that he’d sold his own Colorado Springs home, with its rustic porch and rooftop observatory. The world had turned upside down; here he was, the strange night visitor in Daniel’s suburban neighborhood.
This quiet block hosted no rollicking New Year’s Eve parties. Most of the homes featured some sort of Christmas display, ranging from the ubiquitous icicle lights to flashing candy canes and Santa’s sleigh. Even Daniel’s front door, Jack noted with amusement, was framed by a string of vaguely star-shaped red and white lights.
Jack straightened his dress uniform and headed for the door. On closer inspection, the blinking lights strung there appeared to represent starfish--or possibly the amorphous, luminescent forms of the Ancients. Doubtless a gift from Teal’c.
He rang the bell. The house’s dark windows didn’t trouble him; whether in his office or at home, Daniel preferred minimal lighting. Too many years spent in tents reading by lantern light, Jack supposed.
Eventually Daniel opened the door, his finger stuck in a book. “Jack! You’re early. Come in.”
“Plane got in early,” he said, as he removed his hat and stepped inside. “Funny how often that happens when you’re an Air Force general.”
Daniel rolled his eyes at the remark. He shut the front door and put down his book. Jack dropped his bag. They faced each other in the dim hallway.
“Hey. Come here.”
The invitation was all the prompting Daniel needed to step into Jack’s hug. Jack held on for a long time, savoring the warm solidity of Daniel’s body. He rubbed the short hairs at the back of Daniel’s neck and kissed somewhere in the vicinity of his left ear. “Sorry about Nick,” he said softly. “I wanted to be here.”
Daniel’s fingers gripped in his coat, and then one hand brushed down Jack’s back. He pulled away. “I’m fine. You know we weren’t close.”
Still, Dr. Nicholas Ballard had been Daniel’s only blood relative. And Daniel had cared enough about the obnoxious old grump to visit him in an asylum and endure his tirades.
Daniel took Jack’s hat and coat and ushered him into the living room. “The burial was day before yesterday. The giant aliens wanted to cremate him, but I knew Nick wouldn’t have approved. Beer?”
“Sure.” Jack flopped down on the sofa and switched on a lamp. He studied the room, which he’d seen only a couple times before moving to DC. Nearly all the furnishings were familiar to him from Daniel’s previous homes. The walls were surprisingly bare, though. Apparently Daniel hadn’t yet bothered to unpack all his artifacts and artwork.
Daniel returned and handed him a cold bottle of some expensive German ale.
“Why not cremation?” Jack asked. Daniel’s startled blink told him he should probably have dropped the subject.
Daniel chuffed a sigh and settled at the other end of the sofa. He propped his stockinged feet on the coffee table beside his laptop and took a long swig of beer. “Cremation,” he declared with a wave of the bottle, “is not for narcissists.” He immediately shrugged and offered a rueful smile as unnecessary apology. “Besides, it’s hardly archaeological fair play.”
Jack snorted. “I hope you left a warning for whoever digs him up.”
“That sort of thing only encourages vandals.”
“You should know.”
Daniel slid Jack a sidelong glance. “I did think about asking for a tombstone with eight tiny reindeer, though. After all, he was a Dutchman named Nicholas, and he did die on Christmas Day.”
“It’s a good thing you’re a model of taste and restraint, Dr. Jackson.” They clinked bottles, and each man relaxed into his own corner of the sofa, the tension of reacquaintance dissipated.
Jack scratched at his chin. “We expecting any visitors tonight?”
“Oh! I’m supposed to tell you that Teal’c has a hot date--his words--and Sam is running some naquadah sequencing experiment that has to be monitored constantly on the off chance that she might blow up the mountain. They’ll both be at the New Year’s buffet tomorrow. Cameron’s on leave for another week.”
“Huh.” Jack scratched at his chin. “So do you have any idea what this is about? I mean…why us? Why now?”
Daniel’s tongue flicked back and forth across his lower lip. He shook his head. “Not a clue. Except that you’re here. Which I assume means you plan to go.”
“With an engraved get-out-of-jail-free card? You bet.”
“Landry doesn’t like it.”
Jack scoffed. “He’s envious. And the president thinks it’s a great opportunity.”
Daniel nodded thoughtfully. “So it’s a go, then.”
“You have doubts?”
“No, no more than you. I’m looking forward to it. I just wonder why.”
“OK. So plenty of time to jabber about that at the briefing.” Jack reached for the remote. “Mind if I turn on the game?”
Daniel fell asleep before midnight, his mouth hanging open. Jack closed the laptop, turned down the volume on the TV, and watched the New Year come in to the accompaniment of Daniel’s snores. Eventually he switched off the lamp and TV and removed his shoes so that he could stretch out with his feet in Daniel’s lap. He lay awake for a long time, turning over ideas in his head, before he allowed himself to consider why he didn’t just wake Daniel and head for the guest room.
Because this was why he’d come, of course. He missed going on missions, but he didn’t long for the terror or the responsibility. He longed for this-this domestic scene. He missed sharing a tent with the man snoring beside him, the world-class pain in the butt who had answered his dying call from some other plane of existence. He missed being part of a team that was both a well-oiled military machine and a closeknit family. He missed doing work that mattered with his closest friends.
Hammond and the president had tried to persuade him that Washington was where he could now be of service. But it wasn’t true and never had been. In DC, even great men had to become politicians. Jack would never succeed in that arena.
He wouldn’t be first choice for a field team when he could no longer lift a teammate over his shoulder and carry him out of the line of fire. Fortunately, the Nox were probably the least likely people in the galaxy to take up arms. But Daniel could find trouble anywhere, and no one knew how to protect him better than Jack. As a bodyguard, he was underweight but overexperienced. It would have to do.
Daniel stirred. He rolled his head. “Mmm.” He coughed and sat up. “Jack? Bed?”
Jack waved him off. “I’m fine with the couch. You go. I’ll wake you at 0900.”
***