Still Waters (SG-1, J/D AU, PG13)

[lokei]

Title: Still Waters
Author: Lokei
Summary: Daniel went to the Black Sea to plumb its mysteries. This season, however, not all of those mysteries are ancient.
Word Count: 19,450
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The Stargate characters from which these iterations sprang are not mine.
Written For: jai_takes_over
Prompt: copious use of a foreign language in dialogue (preferably French or German), AU
Notes: Many thanks to the ever gracious princessofg, who did a glorious last minute beta on this behemoth. All French sections are translated at the end of each paragraph, and all mistakes in said foreign dialogue are to be laid at the doorstep of my rustbucket French.

= = = = = = = = =

Given the events that followed, it was somehow fitting that the stranger’s appearance was heralded by a commotion and shrouded in secrets.

It was the polyglot of shouting that drew Daniel’s attention away from the chart for the day’s survey area. His team spoke a total of around a dozen languages between them, but generally managed to communicate in two or three.

Daniel put his hand up to shade his eyes against the bright Black Sea sun and looked to Mirré to find out what was actually happening. The big African cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed up the deck towards him.

“Doctor Jackson! Il y a un homme dans la mer!” [[There’s a man in the sea !]]

“Dear God,” Daniel muttered, quickly looking over the starboard side.

“Man overboard!” he yelled up to where Sam was standing on the bridge. “Two o’clock, Sam, with the orange safety sausage!”

The captain quickly took over the pilot’s post herself, snapping commands to the sailors. As far as Daniel could tell, they barely needed it, one taking up his position and pointing continuously to the figure to starboard, others quickly fetching a ring and the ladder.

Daniel grabbed up his binoculars from the table which Sam had dubbed his ‘command center’ and trained the lenses towards the diver. He frowned, refocused, and yelled again.

“Sam! We’re going to need the Petrel, I think! He doesn’t look conscious!”

Not taking her eyes from her course, she yelled back, “You’re on it! Take your team!”

Daniel took one more look through the binocs at the diver, who appeared to be seeping blood from a wound hidden somewhere under his hood, and then strode briskly forward.

“Mirré ! Corseau! Parkerson! Assistez-moi! Help over here !” The four of them quickly had the photographic and other support equipment for the day’s surveying safely removed from the smaller speedboat tied to the side of the larger research vessel. Daniel and Mirré passed the last of it up by pulley, and then they cast off from Cassiopeia.

“Gentillement,” Daniel murmured over the sputtering engine. Mirré raised an eyebrow at him. [[Gently.]]

“Bien sur. Vous connaissez quelqu’un qui peut conduire ce bateau mieux que moi?” [[Of course. Do you know anyone who can drive this boat better than I ?]]

Daniel smiled despite his concern. “Personne,” he answered the larger man, for it was true-there was no one Daniel trusted more at the helm of the Storm Petrel. Despite Mirré’s large hands, he had a delicate touch, honed by his hours directing not only the marine archaeology team’s remote control sub, but also their manned craft.

Mirré cut the engine speed and rode the momentum into an easy slide close to the unconscious diver. Daniel had both the life ring and boat hook near to hand as he stood on the dive platform on the stern, but it was pretty obvious that the ring wasn’t going to do any of them much good. Up close, the diver’s lips had a pale bluish tinge, and his face, where it wasn’t bloody, was pale around closed eyes. Daniel suspected that he hadn’t been completely unconscious when he hit the water, or he wouldn’t have had time to inflate the safety sausage which had so improved his visibility, but he’d clearly been in the water long enough to develop a pretty serious case of hypothermia. Daniel picked up the boat hook and reached out carefully, barely breathing as he prodded the diver’s shoulder enough to spin him around in the water and get a clear shot to hook the top of his tank. When he got a decent purchase on the tank valve, he pulled the man closer and passed the hook’s handle to Parkerson.

Muttering praises to boats with dive platforms, Daniel braced himself and hauled the man aboard. He’d learned to dive off a boat by rolling backwards off the gunwale, and he considered platforms a mercy on both ends of a dive. Especially because if this man were wearing any more gear he’d be in serious danger of overloading the lift capacity of his buoyancy compensator.

“Oof.” Daniel glared at Parkerson, who was chuckling. He rolled his eyes. “Get his fins off, Matt, before I push you in.” Daniel set about unclipping the diver’s b/c, gauging the weight of lead, tank, and specialty pieces, only about half of which he could identify at a glance. Once he could get an easier access to the man’s neck, he slipped a hand under the hood and felt for a pulse, finally breathing better once he felt a strong, slow beat.

He nodded at Parkerson, who held the gear steady while Daniel got a hand under the man’s armpits and pulled him out as carefully as possible. Mirré had left his post at the wheel to come to the stern, and Daniel passed the unconscious man to safety on the deck.

They were back at the Cassiopeia’s side in what felt like moments. Daniel grinned as he saw that the rest of his team had rigged a sling and had it all ready and over the side, waiting for them to hoist the injured man aboard. “Attaboys,” he murmured. “And girls,” he amended, as Kerry, Matt Parkerson’s wife and a heck of a photographer, stuck her head over the rail to signal that they were ready to go. Not that she could have heard him over the roar of the Petrel’s motor anyway, but Daniel figured it was always good to stay in the habit.

Jan was at the John Doe’s side, clucking in concern by the time Daniel got back aboard himself. She shot him a distracted smile. “Nice fishing job,” she drawled. “Hooked a handsome one, didn’t you?”

“Like you can tell under all the blood and neoprene?” Daniel raised an eyebrow.

“Hah! So you were looking,” Jan grinned, nodding at the two sailors who stood ready to carry the man off to the sickbay/infirmary.

Daniel rolled his eyes again. “Aren’t you not supposed to ask?”

Jan chuckled. “I got out of the military partly for the stupidity of such things. Besides, it’s more fun to needle you than to actually get an answer.”

Daniel shrugged. “I cause enough turbulence in the academic world simply by existing, Jan. Speculation about my methods, motives, and mental stability abounds. No one but you cares about my romantic persuasions.”

The petite doctor blew him a kiss as she jogged off to see to her patient. “I give it an hour before you’re down in my realm demanding to know his name, rank, serial number and shoe size.”

Daniel sighed and checked his watch. Three hours, maybe. He did have a marine archaeological survey to run this morning, after all.

He made it just over two, and it was one of Jan’s ‘surgeon’s mates’ that came to fetch him. “Doc says he’s waking up, thought you’d want to be there to translate.” Daniel glanced at the images coming up from the remotes-a whole lot of seaweed. He rubbed his nose. Gee, what a surprise. They were on the edge of what he’d determined was the likeliest area, and he could afford to leave. He flagged down Ryan, stuck him in front of the monitors, and pinned his intern with his sternest look.

“Get me if there is anything interesting on that set of screens, you understand? You stop the remote, you mark the position, and you get me.”

Ryan’s round face went serious and Daniel left him searching seaweed video with the curious intentness of someone who was very, very new to the field. The lead archaeologist grinned, and was still grinning when he made it to Jan’s den of iniquity and needles.

“Someone sent me for my seasickness meds?” he said lightly, chuckling as Jan aimed a swat at his shoulder, the highest she could reach.

“If everyone were as little seasick as you, I’d be out of a job nine days out of ten. The tenth day is always the most interesting though-your fish is showing signs of returning to consciousness.”

Daniel followed her and installed himself on the nearest cot, studying the man now that he was out of neoprene and returned to a reasonable color. The bandage on his head was worrisome, but not as bad as it could have been, and it gave the man a sort of rakish air, his light brown and lightly graying hair sticking up in tufts above it. As Daniel watched, the man opened his eyes and took in the surroundings with a practiced, assessing flick. Daniel upped the probability that this man was military from ‘likely’ to ‘almost certain.’ No one carried that much gear just for fun, not unless they were doing some pretty darn technical diving in caves or the like. Daniel’s own gaze flicked to the man’s neck, looking for dog tags. Nothing there, but that too was inconclusive.

The man opened his mouth and looked like he was about to speak, then frowned. Daniel flagged one of Janet’s nurses.

“Friedrich! Wasser, bitte?”

The man returned quickly with a glass of water and Daniel smiled his thanks before passing it on to the stranger, who accepted it with alacrity. Daniel didn’t want to think about how horrible the concentrated salt taste must be after so long in the water, or how dry his throat would be after breathing off a tank for hours.

“Deutsch?” The stranger pinned Daniel with surprisingly alert brown eyes. Daniel grinned.
“No, but Friedrich is, and I can always use the practice.” He gestured around himself. “We’re like a floating UN on this particular barge. About half of us are American, the rest are rather an amalgam. You’re on the Cassiopeia, an archaeological survey ship. I lead the expedition-my name is Daniel Ballard-Jackson.”

The man considered that for a long moment-just enough for Daniel to wonder if he was going to have to be exercising some other language-but then the diver’s mouth curled up at the corners. “You do marine archaeology and your name is Ballard?”

Daniel rolled his eyes. “Robert’s a cousin of mine-distant on my mother’s side. All that means is that I get a lot of Titanic jokes and have to work twice as hard to keep my lab space at Woods Hole lest I be accused of benefiting from nepotism.”

The lip curl turned into a smirk, and the man held out a hand from under his pile of blankets. “Jack O’Neill.”

Daniel shook his hand and raised his eyebrows, waiting for any further introductory information. When none was forthcoming, he shook his head a little. “Let me guess-you were floating around over equipped and minus a dive buddy because you’re military, and you can’t say anything more, right?”

O’Neill’s smirk grew. “I’m from Minnesota.”

Daniel sighed and tried not to think about what level of trouble he’d just brought aboard. He was going to have to talk to Sam, and fast. “Fair enough. How are you feeling?”

“Warming up.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow again. “And here I’d figure that coming from Minnesota, you were born with natural antifreeze.”

“Me and the giant squid,” the other said amiably. He held up a hand as Daniel opened his mouth again. “And no, I don’t want to talk about how I ended up floating all alone, either.”

Daniel frowned but didn’t protest. He was really going to have to talk to Sam, but for now he’d let it slide. “Once you’re feeling better, Jan will probably insist on making sure you’re fed and all-I’ll go see about rounding up some clothes for you from my team and the rest of the crew. Unless you’re really attached to that wetsuit?”

“He’d better not be.” Jan appeared at Daniel’s elbow and he smiled down at her.

“Oh?”

“Well, we had to cut the hood off to protect the head injury, and the rest of it’s not fit for anyone to be wearing, especially when recovering from hypothermia.” Janet passed a cup of hot tea-herbal, by the smell of it-to O’Neill, and barked a short “Drink it!” when he made a face.

“So, Mr. O’Neill,” Janet continued, “now that we know you’re alive and you’re going to stay that way, whom do we call?”

O’Neill shook his head. “No one.”

Janet eyed him sharply. “Excuse me?”

O’Neill looked at her, stone faced, and Daniel put a tentative hand on Jan’s shoulder. “Maybe we should ask again when his head hurts a little less, Jan?” he murmured.

Janet eyed him next, but Daniel pursed his lips and Janet nodded reluctantly, knowing as well as Daniel did that neither Daniel nor Sam would let the question rest for long. Then she patted Daniel on the arm, with a determinedly cheery, “Clothe him and get him out of my hair already!” and whisked off again.

O’Neill was staring at his cup and then at her retreating back in alternation. “She’s quite the little dictator, isn’t she?”

Daniel chuckled. “Ship’s doctor, Janet Fraiser-Jan to those of us who are smart enough to stay on her good side. I’d be careful to stay on her good side if I were you.” O’Neill snorted and Daniel continued, “Seriously, though, she’s a fabulous doctor. She’s only that brisk when you’re on the mend, so that’s good news for you.” He looked the other man over, assessing height and weight once more now that O’Neill wasn’t covered in a thick layer of foam rubber. “I’ll be back with clothes for you in a few minutes. You probably really do want to drink that tea-you’re still shivering.”

O’Neill stuck his tongue out at Daniel as the archaeologist headed for the door, but brought the mug to his lips and Daniel hid his smile until he was safely out in the corridor.

= = = = = = = = = = = =

After dropping off the assortment of clothing Daniel had collected, he didn’t see O’Neill again until he was busy logging the final results from the day’s survey-a whole lot of rocks and seaweed, a crashed speedboat, circa 1950, and a whole lot more rocks and seaweed, with the occasional interesting fauna thrown in: stingrays, spiny dogfish and the like. Were Daniel diving for fun, he’d be logging some of those rock formations as interesting for closer investigation, but none of them showed the signs he was seeking.

A blur of caramel colored sweater caught his eye as he finished the log and passed the coordinates for the next day’s survey on to the sailor waiting patiently at the table. Daniel turned to see Jack O’Neill leaning on the railing, keeping an avid eye on the submersible recovery operation, proceeding smoothly under Mirré’s watchful gaze. Daniel bit back a whistle-that sweater, which his roommate in grad school had colorfully termed ‘burnt butterscotch,’ looked much better on O’Neill than it ever had on Daniel. It clung in all the right places and picked up the remaining light brown in O’Neill’s silvering hair and the lighter flecks in his dark eyes.

“Damn Janet anyway,” Daniel muttered. “Aren’t there complications enough on this crazy cruise?”
Still, he sighed and headed closer anyway, until he was leaning on the railing arm’s length away from O’Neill. “Pretty cool, isn’t it?” He offered. “That’s Otto, our remote sub.”

“Otto?” O’Neill was giving him that tilted smile again.

“Yeah, well, that cousin I mentioned? He had the mythological allusions all sewn up-the JASON project, the Argo, all that. So we went the marine biology route. That’s Otto, short for the Otter, and the little boat we used to pick you out of the water back there? That’s the Storm Petrel. And our manned submarine is Meg, short for Megaptera.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Megaptera Novangliae. Big wings of New England-the Atlantic humpback whale.”

“And let me guess, your sub pilot’s name is Jonah.”

Daniel laughed. “Tempting, but no. Mind you, there is a lab techie back at Woods Hole named Jonas. He wanted to join the team for this excursion but I had strict space limitations this time around.”

“Why so strict?”

Daniel nodded at the opposite side of the ship, where Sam’s crew was readying their equipment. “Shared resources,” he said. “I had to do a lot of compromising in order to put this expedition together, so my team and I get the daylight research hours for our projects, and Sam’s team get the evening and night time survey hours for theirs.”

O’Neill shifted around to look and then turned back. “So what are they doing?”

Daniel shrugged. “Something or other for the Navy, actually. Sam’s the captain but she’s also a scientist, and she’s the one with the connections that helped make this expedition possible.”

“What does the Navy want in the Black Sea?”

Daniel shot Jack a look. “You’d probably know better than I,” he said pointedly. O’Neill flushed but said nothing, and Daniel sighed.

“Look, we overlap two meals a day with the other team, and dinner should be just about ready. I’ll introduce you to Sam, if you like, and you can interrogate her to your heart’s content. Or not. The cook’s pretty good, and it’s meatloaf night, which is always a favorite.”

“Food sounds good. I don’t suppose there’s any chance your cook is good at pie?”

“A good chance,” Daniel gestured towards the hatchway. “This way.”

“Lead on,” the other said, then snagged Daniel’s shoulder as they were passing through the hallway. “Thanks for the clothes, by the way.”

“Like the sweater?” Daniel grinned.

“Yeah.”

“Oh good,” Daniel merely smiled. “Me too.”

That got him an inquisitive look and Daniel practiced his blandly innocent face until they reached the mess, with its muted roar of two shifts swapping raucous stories and celebrating one of the better meals of the rotation. He led the way to the ‘officer’s’ table, to which he and Mirré had honorary admittance. Mirré was there ahead of them-the man seemed to have a preternatural awareness of when the first loaf left the oven, every time-and he stood to welcome O’Neill to the table. Sam was there as well, and she rolled her eyes as she and her second in command, Lou Ferretti, also stood. Daniel pulled up in front of his usual chair to do the introductions.

“Captain Samantha Carter, Lieutenant Ferretti, this is Jack O’Neill. And this is Monsieur Teal’c Mirré, my lead sub pilot and right-hand giant,” Daniel grinned up at the massive man, who nodded regally.

“Enchanté de faire votre connaissance,” the man intoned, and Daniel poked him. [[Pleased to make your acquaintance.]]

“Un peu de politesse, s’il vous plait,” he murmured. “En anglais pour mon ami américain.” [[A little politeness, if you please, in English for my American friend.]]

“S’okay,” the American in question shrugged. “I got the gist.”

Mirré favored O’Neill with a skeptical look, but nodded as they all sat down to their dinner.

“So, Mr. O’Neill,” Sam leaned forward and Daniel recognized her expression as the one he termed ‘I’m going to analyze you if I have to use a steak knife to do it.’ “As glad as I am to see you up and mobile, I have to ask-what happened?”

O’Neill took a slow sip of his water and then waved at his head, indicating the bandage still wrapping it. “Sorry, Captain, but I’m afraid I don’t exactly remember.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed and she shot Daniel another recognizable look. This one dated back to when they had met in college, and it said ‘I hate it when you get me into this kind of stuff.’ Daniel shrugged.

“You don’t remember?” she repeated.

“It’s dark,” he answered, somewhat nonsensically it seemed to Daniel, but Sam sat back and tapped her lip thoughtfully, which meant that she understood something from it. It was Daniel’s turn to give her an annoyed glance, but she ignored it, and skillfully turned the conversation to Daniel’s success or lack of same that day, and Daniel took the cue to entertain the table with tales of Ryan the intern’s incredible enthusiasm for seaweed and bizarre rock formations. Every time one looked the slightest bit like it might have been affected by the hand of man, he was bouncing out of his chair like it was covered in pins. Once during this recitation, Daniel even managed to make O’Neill laugh, and was unreasonably pleased by the man’s reaction.

At the end of dinner Ferretti offered to show O’Neill the quarters that had been made available to him. Daniel could have done it-he knew that one of the more junior officers that had the bunk across the hall from him had agreed to shift his space for O’Neill’s sake, so it was far more easily Daniel’s role to play escort. But Sam had given him the ‘we need to talk’ signal, so he let Lou take over playing tour guide while Daniel tagged along after Sam to her favorite conference spot at the stern.

“Spill it, Sam,” Daniel urged. “You’ve been pondering something dire since the beginning of dinner.”

“I think your rescued man is Special Ops, Daniel,” Sam said seriously. “That line about not remembering?”

“He said it was dark,” Daniel nodded.

“That was a test to see if I had the clearance to recognize it for code. He’s good, whoever he really is. Something that’s ‘dark’ is pretty highly classified.”

“More classified than whatever it is you’re doing?”

“Sonar mapping is not classified, Daniel.”

“Sure, Sam, but they can map the ocean floor via satellite now, so that isn’t all that you’re doing here, and you and I both know it.”

“This isn’t about my project, Daniel,” Sam sighed. “And you know it’s the price for getting to do this expedition your way. If you were a little less stubborn-“

“If I were a little less stubborn there’d be no expedition at all,” Daniel interrupted. “Only the fact that your Dad doesn’t hate me tipped the balance of feasibility here, and I get that. I get that having a general for a father has its perks as well as its drawbacks, and I’m thrilled you were able to pull some strings for your ‘weirdo archaeology buddy’ but I don’t have to like the fact that I’m also giving you perfect cover for something military and probably vaguely illegal, internationally speaking.”

“Daniel,” Sam sighed and Daniel crossed his arms.

“I love you, Sam, but I don’t have to love the military on your behalf.”

“Daniel, have you even considered that your Jack O’Neill might be involved in something even more ‘illegal’ than what I’m doing?”

Daniel shot her the ‘do you think I’m STUPID?’ look he’d perfected by the second week of freshman year, which was notable for its sheer volume of really silly collegiate arguments. “What do you want me to do, whack him over the head again and tip him back over the side? That would raise a few questions, wouldn’t it?”

Sam shook her head. “Of course not. But I’m not putting today’s incidents in the official captain’s log, either. Not until I have a better idea what we might accidentally have sailed into.”

Daniel gripped her shoulder and smiled. “You’re an officer and a lady, Captain Carter.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and Daniel laughed. “You know, you’re the second person to do that to me today.”

“You deserved it,” Sam grumbled. “Now, you know you can win just about anybody over-my Dad is living proof. Try to find out whether this O’Neill is a squall or a tsunami for me, okay?”

“Aye-aye, Captain.” Daniel dodged her swinging hand and headed for his bunk, with a possible detour by the quarters of a certain Jack O’Neill.

= = = = = = = = =

“Come in!”

Daniel opened the door to O’Neill’s bunk and paused in the doorway, taking in the scene before him. O’Neill had neatly folded the pile of clothes Daniel had brought him and had them stacked on the tiny bureau-top space, but the military precision ended there. He was sprawled across the similarly tiny bunk, Daniel’s caramel sweater balled up under his head, and one of Matt Parkerson’s black thermal shirts stretched just a smidge too tight across his chest.

Daniel cleared his throat. “Hey.”

“Hey,” the other said easily. “Figured it would be you. All ship shape and Bristol fashion with the lovely captain?”

“Sam’s fine. She wanted to go over tomorrow’s search pattern.”

“Sure she did,” his eyes were knowing and Daniel rolled his eyes as he stepped further into the small room, shutting the door behind him.

“Okay, have it your way. She’s concerned about whether or not we may have picked you up and picked up a pack of trouble while we’re at it.”

“Very humanitarian of her.”

“She’s the captain. She has to be concerned about all of us,” Daniel glared. “Doesn’t mean she’d have ever considered leaving you or anyone else in the water.”

O’Neill put his hands up in surrender. “Easy, Doctor Ballard-Jackson.” He frowned. “By the way, that’s a hell of a mouthful. I’m calling you Daniel from now on.”

“Sure, Jack,” Daniel put a little sarcastic emphasis on the other man’s name. “If that’s who you actually are.”

Jack looked a little surprised. “It is actually my name,” he protested mildly. “Your captain may be convinced I’m dirty from the skin in, but I really am Jack O’Neill.”

“Special Ops?” Daniel hazarded another guess.

Jack frowned but didn’t deny it. Instead, he said. “Colonel. Not that that leaves the room. You appear to be too damn smart for your own good, but I don’t think I have to tell you that it’s not for your own good to spread that around.”

Daniel nodded and leaned against the wall. “Believe it or not, Jack, I do actually have a sense of self-preservation, personally if not professionally.”

“Sit down,” Jack invited, scrunching up on the bunk to leave Daniel some space by his feet. “And stop with the tantalizing hints about rogue archaeologists. I’ve never seen Indiana Jones on a remodeled Navy hunk of junk before, so what gives?”

Daniel sat. He gave the other man a considering look before starting his explanation. “Indiana Jones jokes aside, I’m going to assume you know at least a little bit about archaeology, because you’re not an idiot. However, as exciting as the general public finds mummies and Machu Picchu and the Titanic and is willing to lump them all together, the world of archaeologists is not so uniform. There are a reasonable number of people in the field who will tell you that marine archaeologists are glorified treasure hunters-pirates’ chests and Spanish doubloons and all. And if you happen to be a marine archaeologist who has un-canonical opinions about trade routes and the factual roots to ancient folklore, well,” Daniel shrugged. “There’s a limited amount of grant money in the field already-people don’t usually like to give money to someone deemed a little too close to the fringe. So, compromises.”

“Compromises including giving civilian cover to the femme fatale captain and her secret military projects,” Jack filled in his own ending to that particular abbreviated sentence.

“That’s the obvious one, yes,” Daniel agreed snappishly. “There’s also the staff limitations, and the fact that I had to assemble an international team with compromises to several other organizations, that my survey season is abbreviated-“ He broke off and tucked his hands back under his elbows, thunking his head gently against the bulkhead behind him. “Not important. The season’s early yet, I have faith.”

Jack looked like he wanted to make a smart ass comment, but then restrained himself and said seriously instead, “You must.”

It wasn’t what Daniel had expected, and he looked more closely at this stranger sitting on the same mattress. Flippancy he was used to, even from those who had known him and worked with him for a long time. Understanding from someone whom he’d known for a few hours was unsettling, and he wasn’t sure how to reply.

“You too,” he finally said. “I’d imagine, anyway.”

Jack ran a hand through his hair and stared at Daniel for a while. Daniel felt himself flushing under that steady regard, but didn’t break eye contact. When Jack spoke, his voice was gravelly with some emotion that Daniel couldn’t identify.

“Ideally,” Jack said. He re-tucked the sweater behind his head and changed the subject with about the same subtlety as a ton of falling bricks.

“So, French, German, thought I maybe heard some Italian in the mess hall, there-how many languages have you got on this boat, anyway?”

Daniel raised an eyebrow but went with the new topic gracefully, ticking the list off on his fingers. “Mostly we’ve got people who communicate in French and English, with a smattering of other languages. Native speakers, though? We have Russian, Flemish, Italian, French, English, Spanish, German, Arabic, and one irritable Welshman, who nevertheless is an incredible mechanic. I stole him from Steven’s expedition and I don’t think poor Steven will ever forgive me. Not that I mind very much.” Daniel grinned. “Seeing as we haven’t seen eye to eye since undergrad, if he stops talking to me altogether, it won’t be much of a loss.” He shrugged. “So that makes the language total somewhere around 15, I think.”

“No wonder they think you’re on the fringe if your math is that off. Find yourself plotting points in the middle of Siberia, do you? That was only nine.”

Daniel chuckled. “Yeah, but I speak six more languages on top of those, so I promise the math works out.”

“I’m impressed. Why so many?”

Daniel shrugged. “Folklore and mythology, mostly. It’s much more interesting when you read it in the original language-you lose so much of the delicacy of the language when you read things in translation. And folklore is the root of where I focus my research, so it behooves me to know as much in as pure a form as possible.”

“So you’re on the fringe because you’re chasing bedtime stories in the deep blue sea.”

“Bluntly put but not entirely inaccurate,” Daniel shrugged again. “And to be equally blunt, you still haven’t given me any clue just how much trouble you’ve brought aboard with you.”

Jack copied Daniel’s shrug and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly, but not in any real amusement Daniel could see.

Daniel nodded. “Right then. Is there anybody we should be trying to contact on your behalf?”

Jack looked surprised that it had come up again, and Daniel frowned inwardly. Who were these people Jack worked with or worked for, that simple thoughtfulness and concern could be so unfamiliar?

“No, not yet.” Jack was frowning now, but at least wasn’t completely brushing Daniel off the way he had Janet. “I wasn’t completely lying about the circumstances surrounding my dunking, you know. Until I know more about how I got here, it’s probably better if I lie low. Like, really low.”

Daniel pinched the bridge of his nose above his glasses. This whole thing was uncomfortable in the extreme. He had already gotten some indication that Sam was willing to keep things under wraps, but that was not at all a natural way for Daniel to conduct his affairs. Compromises Daniel understood, not that he liked them, but he understood them. Getting this expedition off the ground had required the metaphorical deal with the devil when working with Sam’s Navy contacts, and Daniel was still smarting from some of the conversations he’d had with the more caustic governmental representatives.

Jack was watching him, and Daniel knew that some of his reserve had to be showing on his face.

“I don’t plan on making any trouble, Daniel,” Jack said quietly. “I can’t swear that it won’t find me, but I’m not looking for it. In fact, if there’s anything I can do to help minimize the difficulties, I will.”

Daniel sat back against the wall and crossed his arms. It wasn’t like he couldn’t use help-every time he turned around he realized how much he needed another pair of knowledgeable hands. Was a little help from someone whose history was basically a locked box worth the potential cost of opening it? Just how eager was Daniel to be Pandora, anyway? He sighed, knowing Jack was still watching his thoughts chase across his expressions. He chanced a look at the man with his peripheral vision. Yup. Those clever, captivating eyes were locked on him, and one sea-chapped hand was stretched out towards him on the bed spread in mute entreaty. Damn the man for being such an appealing mystery. Daniel never could resist his own curiosity for long.

The archaeologist shifted until he was facing Jack full-on. “I don’t suppose you know anything about underwater photography.” Jack opened his mouth but Daniel plowed on. Now that his decision was made he just wanted to get through it.

“Because, you know, I’m short-handed, like I said, and Kelly’s a great lab photographer, and I’ve got good pilots and techs and all, but if we do find anything in shallow enough water to dive and take pictures and surveys that way, there’s really only me who has a lot of photo experience, and I could use some back up I can trust.”

Jack waited until Daniel had to take a breath and cut in. “I can do that.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow.

“No, really. I can do that. I may be from Minnesota but I started diving when I was a kid, visiting my grandparents in Florida. I’ve been carrying a lens underwater for years.”

Daniel nodded. “Good.” He paused, thinking of possible snags and trying not to think about what Sam was going to say about all this. “You’re going to need a cover story.”

Jack nodded and Daniel rubbed his forehead. He was digging in so deep, here, that there had just better still be hope at the bottom of this box of troubles. “Right. If anyone on board asks, you got separated from your IMAX film crew working on a project for NOVA or something, and we’re keeping you on until we reach port in Istanbul in a few weeks for the mid-season break.”

Jack nodded. “PBS. I can do that. Pity they don’t need a film crew for The Simpsons, though. It’d be easier to maintain cover.”

Daniel rolled his eyes and started to get up . “Anything else before I turn in for the night?”

The other man tipped his head to one side and back again. “Whose sweater is this?”

“Mine.”

“Comfy,” was all the man said, and so Daniel was left to leave the room with the reflection that apparently he was not the only one who could do the cryptic comment thing on this ship.

= = = = = = = =

The third time Daniel came across Jack interrupting his team the next morning, he reflected sourly that Jack O’Neill’s idea of ‘low profile’ appeared to be ‘draw attention to yourself and establish that you’re harmless by goofing off and getting in everyone’s way.’ Daniel was really not sure this was effective, being rarely a goof himself, and never while trying to get the most out of every precious research minute.

“Jack,” Daniel broke into the military man’s outlandish story about fishing without the slightest qualm. “Stop bugging my team.” He tried to say it sternly, but didn’t manage to put much heat behind it. The man was just too easy with that rakish grin which he now turned on the hapless head archaeologist.

“Sure, Daniel. Need something from me?”

Daniel had a few choice ideas he was keeping to himself about that, actually, but he beckoned the other man over to show him through the camera equipment he’d hauled out of its protective cases.

“Based on our preliminary sonar readings of this area from the end of last season’s expedition, we should be closing in on a pretty densely ‘pinged’ section of the survey site. I don’t like to miss things by just going to the largest mass on the sonar map-as often as not it’s a rock outcropping anyway-so that’s why we’re doing a thorough survey from one edge to the other. Still, that means that with luck, we’ll be finding what we’re looking for in the next few days.”

“So you’re hoping to get some good footage soon. Guess I’d better hope the doc clears me to dive tomorrow.”

Daniel nodded, watching carefully as Jack lifted one of the cameras with knowledgeable, respectful hands. He was cautiously impressed to see the way Jack’s clownishness fell away as he expertly manipulated the waterproof casing and controls.

“Been at this since you were a kid, huh?”

Jack looked up and grinned. “Yup. What about you-been doing the archaeology by boat thing forever?”

Daniel shrugged. “You could say that. Archaeology runs in the family, and the oceans run in me, so it seemed a reasonable choice.”

“You don’t actually sound all that thrilled about it.” Jack gave him a sharp glance.

Daniel smiled ruefully. “I grew up a few centuries too late to be an explorer in the Age of Sail, so I spend my time hunting down traces of it instead. When I can, I crew a windjammer up in Maine, for a taste of that whole authentic experience. Problem is, the seasons overlap to a frustrating degree, so I have to work pretty hard to find time on the edge of one season or the other to get out there.”

Jack nodded thoughtfully. “Family mind your being away on long expeditions?”

Daniel took the camera off Jack’s hands and placed it back in its case methodically, timing his words to the soft sounds of the latches clicking. “My parents died when I was young, and there really isn’t anyone else.”

Jack frowned. “I’m sorry.”

Daniel shrugged again. “I’m really enjoying getting to do this particular survey with Sam-we met in college and have been friends ever since.”

“Close friends?”

“Sure. Apparently I’m one of the only one of Sam’s friends that her father can stand, so I guess that makes us close.” Daniel grinned. “The General is rather a difficult man, so maybe the fact that I can stand him is as good an indicator. How about you-you didn’t ask us to let anyone know you were alive, so…”

“Not married,” Jack seemed to know where Daniel was going. “And I try to tell my parents as little as possible. They know not to ask, anyway. And how could I ask anyone to wait around for me, when I know any mission I’m on may be the one I don’t come back from?” His face went graver still. “This one nearly was.”

Daniel, who was not normally a physical-comfort kind of person, still felt the urge to put a hand on Jack’s shoulder, which he resisted. “Good thing for you I’m an excellent fisherman, then, isn’t it?”

Jack forced a smile. “Another thing we have in common. Ever been fishing in Minnesota?”

“They have fish in Minnesota?”

“Philistine,” Jack retorted, clearly working hard at approaching equilibrium. “There are some real beautiful monsters out there.”

Daniel snorted. “Sure, tell me another one, Sinuhe.”

“Who the hell is Sneeze Me?”

“Sinuhe, also called Sinuhe the Sailor or the Shipwrecked Sailor. He was a sort of folklore hero in ancient Egypt, like Odysseus or one of the other great travelers of myth.” Daniel gestured out at the waters beyond them, deceptively blue and friendly looking on the surface of this inhospitable interior cousin to the Mediterranean. “He’s the one I’m following out here, looking for traces of some of the places mentioned in his tales. There’s an Egyptologist-Wallis Budge, who claimed to have identified them, but for all he was a noted scholar, he was still an idiot.” Daniel grinned. “And if I’m lucky, I’ll be able to prove it.”

“So what makes this Snowy character so interesting?”

Daniel shrugged, but couldn’t keep the casual tone for more than his first sentence. “Why is the Bible interesting? Why do people still retell the stories from the Greek myths? Why are the names of the days of the week still named for the Norse gods? Story is everything. It tells us who we are and where we came from and what dreams and fears we have in common. It takes us out of ourselves and into ourselves and off to places that haven’t been seen in thousands of years, or ever. Finding a piece of reality we recognize in a story is like taking just one step and ending up in a whole new world.”

Daniel stopped suddenly, realizing that he was getting off on one of those conversational tangents that Sam generally called ‘loud literary lusting,’ and Jan called something far ruder and expressive of certain ‘frustrations.’ “So, anyway,” he readjusted his sunglasses and saw Jack grinning at him, but at least not laughing, “finding Retenu or one of the other places Sinuhe describes would be a major archaeological coup. Rather my own Sinuhe moment, even.”

Jack tilted his head. “Oh?”

Not sure whether the man was humoring him or not, Daniel pressed on gamely, quoting from one of the popular translations. “I became great thereby, I grew large in my riches, I became abundant in my flocks. Thus God hath done, so as to show mercy to him whom he had condemned, whom he had made wander to another land. For today is his heart satisfied. A fugitive fled in his season; now the report of me is in the Residence. A laggard lagged because of hunger; now give I bread to my neighbor. A man left his country because of nakedness; but I am clad in white raiment and linen. A man sped for lack of one whom he should send; but I am a plenteous owner of slaves. Beautiful is my house, wide my dwelling-place; the remembrance of me is in the Palace.”

“So, academic vindication is equal to divine justice?”

Daniel chuckled. “A little grandiose, I suppose, but that feeling of having been hounded from home only to return a victor, well.” He shrugged again and smiled self-deprecatingly. “Who doesn’t want that? It appeals even to a ‘book-mad treasure hunter’ like me.”

Jack nodded, looking like he’d understood a lot more than Daniel maybe wanted him to. “Then I hope we find the good stuff.”

Daniel looked out over the water. “Yeah, me too.”

= = = = = = =

The morning following, they hit what Sam later termed, in a grand understatement, a ‘snag.’

Daniel was overseeing the launch of Otto when there was a commotion from the port side. He headed in to the bridge to find out what was up, only to find Sam running up from below decks, cursing up a storm in the wake of the sailor who had been sent to fetch her.

“Captain?” Daniel always found that appealing to her professional side was usually a good plan when she started sounding like an eighteenth century foremast jack. Upping her rum ration was a last resort. “What’s going on?”

Sam gestured out the port window, where what appeared to be a warship was bearing down on them at somewhat alarming speed. “They’re demanding we stop and allow them on board. In French, nonetheless.”

“Well, it is one of the official international diplomatic languages. Who are they?”

“Turkey, I think. Interested in taking any bets on this having to do with your interesting piece of flotsam?”

“No takers.” Daniel stuck his head out the hatch and yelled for Mirré. “Mon cahier rouge, s’il vous plait!” [[My red binder, please!]]

By the time the Turkish officials were aboard, Sam had calmed down enough to crack jokes under her breath about this being the first time she’d been pulled over driving anything other than her Harley. By the time they had requested to speak with the head of the archaeological expedition, Daniel had his red notebook with all his permits, letters of reference, letters from heads of state, and assorted other annoying official paperwork tucked firmly under his arm.

The person in charge of this high seas highway patrol introduced himself as Akar Besim, a representative of the central Turkish intelligence agency. Daniel greeted him politely, ending with a professional nod. He’d worked with enough diplomats to know that starting out with bowing and scraping was a bad idea, as far as establishing a baseline of respect was concerned.

“Alors, nous démodons vos papiers de permission gouvernemental et aussi la liste des personnes de l’expédition. Tous sont sur la liste ? » Besim said brusquely, holding his hand out imperiously. Daniel calmly passed his binder over as Jack came up to his elbow. [[So, we require your government permission papers and also the list of people on the expedition. Is everyone on this list?]]

“What’s up?” Jack said in an undertone.

“We’re showing our professional passport,” Daniel replied equally, keeping his eyes on the official, who was thumbing through the papers impatiently until he got to the list of crew and archaeological team. “And they wanted a list of people on the team and the crew.”

“Oh?” Jack’s voice was devoid of any inflection-when Daniel glanced over, his face was too.

The official thrust the binder back at Daniel. “Assemblez votre equipe maintenant. Il faut les compter. » [[Assemble your team now. They must be counted.]]

“Bien sur,” Daniel said, hoping that no one else could hear how hard his heart was pounding. “Pourrais-je poser la question pourquoi vous etes si interresse par mon equipe archaeologique?” [[Of course. May I ask why you are so interested in my archaeology team ?]]

« Nous cherchons un terroriste, » the other replied. [[We are looking for a terrorist.]]

« Vraiment ? Quel horreur,” Daniel said sincerely. “Vous n’allez pas lui trouver ici. » [[Really ? How horrible. You’re not going to find him here.]]

Behind them, Mirré was protesting the attitude of the Turkish soldiers who were ostentatiously counting the team and Sam’s crew.

“Ne t’inquiète pas, mon ami,” Daniel called back, aware of the way Jack was turning to stone at his left elbow, and Sam into a boiling pot at his right. “Nous n’avons pas des problèmes avec nos visiteurs.” [[Don’t worry, my friend. We don’t have any problems with our guests.]]

The lead soldier saluted the official still standing before them, and reported the number of persons aboard the vessel. The official frowned and rapped out something in Turkish which Daniel assumed was the equivalent of ‘are you damned sure of that?’ The soldier repeated himself, and the official turned smartly back to Daniel.

“Toutes les personnes sont de l’équipe original?” [[All of these people are from the original team ?]]

Daniel put on his furrowed-brow-concerned-intellectual face. “Oui, bien sur,” he let offense color his tone, in a ‘how dare you assume I’m harboring stowaways’ fashion. “Peut-être vous pensez que je ne connais pas chaque homme et chaque femme sur ce bateau? Mon honneur et ma réputation professionnelle restent sur mon équipe. » [[Yes, of course. Maybe you think that I don’t know every man and every woman on this boat ? My honor and my professional reputation rest on my team.]]

Getting no further with Daniel, the intelligence agent went through exactly the same song and dance with Sam, who was distinctly less pleasant, though not outright rude in her responses. Her French fell not so trippingly off the tongue, but she made herself understood.

« Bon, alors. Merci pour votre coopération, » Besim said, without a touch of gratitude in his tone. [[Fine then. Thank you for your cooperation.]]

“Bonne chance,” Daniel replied as blandly as possible. He held his breath imperceptibly until all the interlopers were off the boat, and then leaned back against the wall of the cabin and blew out a long slow sigh. [[Good luck.]]

Jack was looking from Sam to Daniel and back again. “I’m not sure I know exactly what happened here,” he admitted. Wordlessly, Daniel flipped the binder open to the team roster and passed it over. Jack’s eyes flicked down the page and paused partway.

“Daniel,” he drew the archaeologist’s name out. “My name is on this roster.”

Daniel shot him a tired grin and leaned a little harder on the wall. “Laser printers are a wonderful thing,” he murmured. “Go Navy.”

Jack chuckled. “Go Navy,” he echoed, and nodded at Sam. “My thanks, Captain.”

Daniel pushed himself off the wall and headed back to the Otto, leaving Jack to the beam of Sam’s conspiratorial smile, finding himself suddenly wishing to be busy.

It took Jack nearly an hour to find his way back to where he and Daniel had been reviewing the requirements for shooting film in the Black Sea’s anoxic environment, where the water was more still and stale than pretty much anywhere else on Earth. The sea floor was remarkably deep and comparatively uniform, and the lack of opportunity for the deepest layers to circulate meant an anoxic environment-great for preserving ancient artifacts. Not so easy to deal with otherwise.

For one thing, it got really freaking cold really darn fast, especially as far from shore as they were at this particular section of the survey. When they’d left Bourgas, their Bulgarian port, and when they reached the opposite end of the survey nearer Istanbul, the water was more welcoming, but out here was a bone chilling dive, every time.

Which reminded Daniel of a question he’d wanted to ask since Jack had regained consciousness.

“Why the hell would they send you out in a wetsuit, even a good thick one? This is definitely dry-suit diving territory.”

Jack looked up from the charts he’d been studying and frowned. “Wetsuits are easier to move in, less bulky. Easier if you need to take your gear off for any reason, too.” Those sharp brown eyes bored into Daniel’s own. “Those would be reasons you don’t need to know, just in case you were planning on asking.”

“I always ask,” Daniel muttered, and unexpectedly, Jack grinned.

“I’ve figured that out already, actually. Though it took that Turkish fellow a while to get the drift.”

“Any idea why they were out terrorizing scientific vessels?”

Jack gave Daniel another look. “You just keep asking these things, don’t you?”

Daniel raised an eloquent eyebrow and Jack shook his head. “As it so happens, I don’t know for sure. I don’t even know how accurate my suspicions are. And I have a knock on the head to prove that keeping my mouth shut for the time being is the smartest thing I can do, a point on which your lovely captain and I are in agreement.”

Daniel scowled. The frequency with which O’Neill had been making appreciative comments about Sam had not escaped him, nor the question about whether or not he and Sam were close friends.
It wasn't as if Daniel had expected the onset of the Florence Nightingale effect, or anything--just because Daniel had hauled Jack from the water did not mean that Jack would fall into his arms. Daniel wasn't sure he wanted that anyway--professional caginess about his preferences aside, Daniel did find both men and women attractive, depending on the circumstances. He just also preferred those circumstances not to include overhanging suspicion and mystery, or potential partners who could easily throw him overboard without injuring themselves or possibly their consciences.

And it wasn't even that Daniel disagreed with Jack's assessment--you'd have to be blind or extremely odd not to find Sam attractive. She was tall, fit, classically pretty with blue eyes and nearly-blond hair, plus she was sharper than a lionfish spine, and just about as deadly if you crossed her. Daniel would have gone for her himself, had he not made the capital mistake of dating her college roommate first, and disastrously so. He'd invited Ellen out to a fancy restaurant for dinner the first night of spring break, and then failed to show up to meet her, having at the last minute gotten the opportunity to assist in a dig in a National Park for the week. As those had been the pre-cell phone days, he’d even failed to call her until the next day to explain where he’d gone. When he returned, Sam had sat him down, got in his face, and informed him that while *she* could understand the draw of one's intellectual curiosity to the exclusion of all else, that didn't mean Ellen did. And that because *she* understood, *she* would never date him or anyone like him either. And with that out of the way, they proceeded to end up best friends.

So it wasn't really anything rational that Daniel could explain away to himself, just a lingering sense that someone who looked so good in Daniel's sweater might take the time to look at Daniel himself. Which was illogical at best, and put him in a thoroughly bad mood.
So it was a good thing that just as Jack was looking at him quizzically, Ryan bounced up with his excitement at top volume.

"Doctor Jackson! Doctor Jackson! We've spotted something, we've got something! Come see!"

On to Part Two