The Stupidest Question
He knew the minute the words left his mouth that it was the stupidest question he'd ever asked. At the time, that certainty was progress of a sort. No one, including him, knew much about the "Naked One"---no dearest wish, no fondest memory, no wildest night. Stupidest question was a start.
She was very kind about it.
*"We were really, _really_ good friends."*
It had still hurt, of course---her immediate and utter incredulity. And no geek can help but wince at the sound of the dread 'f' word.
*Guess that makes me a geek then. No surprise there.*
He was trying to have a good sulk over it.
*After all, how many amnesiacs newly reunited with their dearest friends got the "I love you, but I'm not _in love_ with you" speech right off the bat?*
And yet, she loved him, admired him, valued him. His death . . . or whatever it had been . . . had touched her deeply. The way she'd met his eye unflinchingly as she all but called him a coward for not wanting to reclaim his identity bespoke their closeness. Try as he might, he couldn't summon up the usual sense of inadequacy.
*Usual? Oh Lord . . . I get that I'm a geek. Please don't let me be a teenager.*
One way or another, it was time to find out.
He stepped through the tent flap, squinting into the bright sun.
"And what of DanielJackson?" The large man's question carried across the square.
Jim . . . no, *Jack,* glanced at Sam. She gave a minute, apologetic shake of the head. They shared a small, pained smile.
*Ah . . .*
Feeling like a voyeur, he spoke:
"He's going home."
***************************
The SGC was incredibly disorienting. The constant wailing of the klaxons and the pervasive sense of urgency unnerved him. Twice he'd frozen as he rounded a corner behind Sam and Jack to find a seemingly endless stream of uniformed people rushing along the stark hallway toward them. Twice he'd been slammed aside into a wall.
Sam and Jack had both done their best to ease him through the day. It seemed that every person he met was certain that Daniel would remember him or her. Each would regale him with some story about himself (an alarming number featured him doing something stupid and getting injured) and insist with a hearty slap on the back or punch to the arm that he must remember that. Between these good-natured greetings and his run-ins with concrete walls, his upper body looked tie-dyed.
They gave him a few minutes with each person, trying (and failing) to keep their expressions neutral as, each time, he shook his head with an apologetic smile. Then Sam would take his arm and shepherd him away leaving Jack to linger and make his excuses.
"Big fall from ascension, I guess. HUGE head bump!"
They meant well, but in some ways, Jack and Sam were the most bewildering part of the day. He found their conversation impossible to follow. Part of it was the complete lack of context---the names, places, acronyms---it might as well have been a foreign language.
*Of course, they tell me I speak 23 of those . . .*
More than that, though, the ebb and flow of it left him lost. Sam valiantly tried to parlay what amounted to a commentary on the weather into a running conversation that could be held entirely in the present tense for his benefit. Jack spoke little, interjecting a joke here and there into Sam's tour-guide schtick.
Beneath the chatter, Daniel became aware of another conversation---one that excluded not just him, but all the people they came across as they wended their way through the corridors of the SGC. From time to time, either Sam or Jack would utter a complete nonsequitor, often a single word or half sentence. The other would nod or comment without hesitation. Once or twice, Daniel thought of asking what they were talking about, but their rapid shifts back to the main conversation prevented any such intrusion. The feeling of voyeurism he'd had back in the village returned.
By the time Jack left him in his guest quarters, he found himself longing for the familiar tedium of Shamda's fables. He was overwhelmed by the sea of expectant faces and weary of trying to read subtext not meant for his eyes. He glanced at the half-unpacked boxes littering the room with relief. Inanimate objects were about his speed at the moment.
*Archaeologist. Makes sense.*
He reached into the nearest box, pulling out an irregularly shaped stone pocked with faint markings could easily have been writing or the work of erosion. Switching on the desk lamp, he set the stone in the middle of the blotter and stared at it.
*Rocks!*
*Artifacts!*
*Sir . . . *
*Fine. Play with your _rocks._ You've got an hour.*
Was that memory or imagination? He smiled to himself. It didn't really matter. Either way, it was a connection. He had the measure of his team. The rest of his life must be lurking somewhere.
He turned away from the desk, scanning the room for another object. Kneeling beside an open box, he dug in, hoping to come across something personal. Who was he? An archaeologist. A linguist. A member of SG-1. But who *was* he?
*The photo.*
It had caught his eye immediately. The woman was beautiful. Her smile reminded him of Sam's---open, warm, anxious to please, to connect. There had to be more of her. And of his family. Friends outside work. Where were they? Shoving the box away from him he hauled another up on to the bed and sat beside it, chucking books and artifacts haphazardly behind him.
Coming up empty, he grabbed a discarded book and began riffling through the pages on a hunch. And there it was. A lone snapshot of him looking uncomfortable in a suit. His presence in the photo was incidental. The focus was a striking woman, tall and slender. A mass of curly hair blazed around her face, its unruliness a counterpoint to the icy self-possession of her gaze.
*I loved her.*
That was definitely not a memory. It was a reading of the photo. He stood with his shoulder toward the camera, one hand shielding his eyes, the other extended to her in offering. She faced the camera, her chin angled as if she were in the act of turning her back to him. The woman was undeniably beautiful, but her eyes were cold, her lip arched in something near a sneer. He had loved her. The feeling had not been mutual, obviously.
*Maybe we were really, _really_ good friends.*
Something about the quality of the light was familiar. He brought the snapshot closer to his face, hoping to coax the memory forward.
*A cemetery.*
Cemetery? Was she dead? He glanced toward the photo on the nightstand. The two women were somehow connected.
*I loved them.*
But it was more than that. Frustrated, he flicked the photo away from him. As he watched it drift to the floor, a sudden, high-pitched noise somewhere between a squeal and a hiss erupted in his mind. He cried out, clutching his head as he curled himself tightly into a ball. The door slammed open, the sound cutting off as abruptly as it had begun. He peered through his fingers at the SF who burst in, his sidearm drawn.
"Are you all right, Dr. Jackson?"
"Fine," he muttered, uncoiling and shoving himself into a sitting position. "Just . . . overwhelmed. I'm sorry."
"Not a problem, doctor," he replied unconvincingly, reholstering his weapon.
*Ok, maybe stick to rocks. Or . . . books?*
He spied a leather-bound journal peeking out from under the desk chair where he'd tossed it. He opened to the middle, staring blankly at the handwriting. It must be his, he supposed, but it looked not only unfamiliar, but nigh illegible.
*. . . know what possessed Jacob to have Jack take the wheel . . .*
A strange image flashed through his mind. He was lying on his back under a giant . . . ball? . . . a book nearly pressed against his nose.
*How long's this gonna take, kids?*
*I have _no_ idea.*
He turns his head to see Jack, his head in . . . Sam's lap? He frowned. Something had gone wrong then. He remembered scuttling out from under the object.
*Jacob?*
The panic in Jack's voice had frightened him more than the swift descent of the ball. Too late, he'd remembered Sam, but Jack was already whisking her out from under the mine. He steadied her with an arm around her waist as he jerked them both against the wall. The ship lurched once, then leveled and the mine drifted back upward. She flashed Jack a nervous smile of gratitude, laying one hand on his arm for a moment to reassure him. He'd looked away quickly, feeling what he now realized was a familiar sense of having intruded.
He flipped forward, stopping short as he picked out the words "Sam's death." Frowning, he tried to decipher the rest of the page.
*This one is important.*
*For this reason, this one was chosen.*
He could hear the synthesized voice clearly in his mind. It was the stuff of cheesy sci-fi movies, but chilling nonetheless.
*Cheesy? Sci-fi? Do I watch those?*
He paged forward through the journal, futilely trying to stave off the memory that came unbidden. Sam, but not Sam. Her eyes blank, her face expressionless, her hands moving ceaselessly in time with the chattering of a keyboard. The voice was Sam's.
Something had . . . possessed her . . . for lack of a better word. He shuddered as the oily, undulating shriek once again echoed through his memory. With an effort of will, he blocked out the sound. They'd saved her. Sam was fine. How? A series of images crowded in on him.
Jack aiming a strange weapon at Sam, his face as blank as hers had been in the hospital bed.
Sam collapsing to the ground, an arc of energy snaking up and outward from her hands.
Jack sitting by her bedside, defeated. His own voice deafening as he conveyed some piece of useless information.
This wasn't how it ended. What happened? Sliding his glasses up, he rubbed his eyes until he saw stars.
*I was shouting for you to hear.*
*We heard.*
Jack plucked at the blankets by her side, his hand hovering just shy of her skin. He had looked away. They had all looked away, accustomed to creating the illusion of privacy where there could be none.
*So, I'm not the only outsider.*
He closed the journal and lay back on the bed with a groan of frustration. Where were his memories? Rolling on to his side, he grabbed the framed photo and propped it up on the second pillow. He ran a fingertip over the curve of the woman's cheekbone.
*Who are you?*
He drifted off to sleep.
********************************
Sha're don't be shy.
He jerked awake, the photo frame clutched to his chest.
Sha're.
His dreams had been both exhausting and terrifying. Several times he'd kicked furiously upward toward consciousness only to be pulled inexorably back into another nightmare. And then, just as he found himself embroiled in a slow, sensuous kiss with the dark-haired woman, he'd awakened, suddenly and completely, her name on his lips. And there it was. His life, perched just on the edge of his memory. He needed to know.
He shrugged the jacket they'd given him back on as he shouldered his way through the door. The SF who'd been dozing against the wall snapped awake at the commotion.
"Doctor Jackson, I was . . ."
"Resting your eyes, I'm sure. Where can I find . . . Teal'c?"
He looked puzzled. He'd intended to go looking for Jack, but a nagging memory changed his mind at the last second.
"This level, B corridor . . . I can show you," he began, looking reluctant.
"No," Daniel replied thoughtfully, then grinned, "I . . . I think I can find that. Teal'c doesn't sleep, does he?"
"No . . . he does that . . . thing."
"Right! That thing. I know what you mean." He tapped his temple. "It's all coming back!"
****************************
He sat motionless in the chair across from Teal'c. She was dead. He didn't know how. It felt wrong to ask Teal'c to tell him.
*II'll remember her later. Remember losing her. And having her.*
Instead, they'd talked about Oma Desala and why she might have sent him back with with just a pinpoint of light shining through to let him know his memories were there for the taking. They talked about Anubis, threats, strategies, tactics. Politics. A nice, safe, manly topic.
Finally, he couldn't keep from asking anymore. It wouldn't be the stupidest question he'd ever asked. So there was that.
"Teal'c . . . what I've been able to remember other than . . . " he faltered as he glanced toward the frame lying face down on the desk, "Other than her name. A lot of it is about Sam and Jack . . . and what I'm wondering is . . . "
Teal'c regarded him silently. He wasn't one to help in these situations. He suddenly recalled.
"I'm wondering if I don't have any good memories of my own."
"You have experienced joy in your life here, DanielJackson. Friendship. Victory. Discovery. I feel certain that you will remember this in time."
"But not love. I mean not love that doesn't end with . . ." he gestured toward the photograph. "It's like some part of me knows that anytime I've been . . . close with someone . . . like Sam and Jack are . . . it's been . . ." He sighed, rolling his eyes upward in a struggle against the tears that threatened, "It's been some kind of disaster that I really can't face right now. So all I can think of is their . . . moments."
Teal'c blinked.
Daniel froze with the sudden certainty that, relatively speaking, he'd just seen the large man's eyes bug out in classic Tex Avery fashion.
*Tex Avery?*
"Teal'c?"
"MajorCarter is under Colonel O'Neill's direct command." He said stiffly. More stiffly than usual.
"Yes . . ." Daniel waited for him to elaborate.
"They cannot be . . . together," he frowned as if the euphemism disgusted him.
"Why not?"
"Regulations forbid it." Teal'c replied as if repeating someone else's often-used excuse.
"Regulations. Forbid . . . being in love? They're not very good at it then." Daniel snapped.
"It would be most unwise for two who must go into battle side by side to allow such emotions to cloud their judgment." Again, Teal'c's response sounded scripted.
"That's Jack talking!" Daniel interrupted.
"It is I, DanielJackson. Teal'c. Do you not recall?" Teal'c looked concerned.
"I mean . . . you're just repeating what Jack has told you. Aren't you?"
He nodded, "And MajorCarter as well, although she used an example about insects to illustrate her point." He frowned. "It was most unconvincing."
"That's because it's . . . it's complete fucking bullshit! What the hell are you smiling at?" Daniel demanded.
"We have had this conversation many times before. It is the only subject I know of on which your language is nearly as colorful as O'Neill's." Teal'c's smile broadened. "I have missed your company."
"So you agree with me, then." Daniel tapped the desk with excitement. "We have to do something!"
"There is little we can do," Teal'c said his face settling once again into its habitual impassive expression.
Interference was not his style. Daniel remembered that now, too
"They are . . . " Teal'c paused , "MajorCarter is an adult. Their choices are their own."
"Maybe," Daniel said slowly, "But then, shouldn't they have all the available information to make them?"
Teal'c conceded this with a slight inclination of his head.
Daniel smiled, "So they should have it! Have you got Sam's home number?"
"Indeed, but it will be of little use to you. You will find MajorCarter in her laboratory." Teal'c settled himself back on the floor, clearly indicating his intention to resume his meditation.
"It's the middle of the night!" Daniel shook his head as he started toward the door, "What's she still doing here?"
"I can see that much of your memory has yet to return, DanielJackson," Teal'c closed his eyes with a serene smile.
***********************************
Sam whirled around as the door to her lab flew open, a piece of chalk flying from her hand and shattering against the blackboard.
"Daniel!" She breathed. "You scared me!"
"I'm sorry," he said perfunctorily. "Sam, why are you here?"
"Existentially?" She turned to grab another piece of chalk.
"Jack made the same joke earlier!" Daniel giggled a little as if this fact pleased him to no end.
"Colonel O'Neill used the word 'existentially'? In a sentence?" Sam shot him a skeptical look over her shoulder.
"No. Of course not. But that's not the point." Daniel fiddled with a series of objects littering her lab bench.
"So . . . you came to break my stuff?" She said casually, returning to her equations. "That's new. You'd better clear it with the Colonel."
"Sam, aren't you tired?" Now that he was here, he was having trouble broaching the subject.
"A little," She admitted, her chalk pausing in midstroke, "Dammit! This is all wrong." She hurled another piece of chalk to its powdery fate.
"Jell-o!" Daniel exclaimed.
"What?" Sam blinked, trying to clear her bleary eyes.
"Blue jell-o. Wobbly, disgusting stuff. It's your favorite."
She smiled warmly at his look of triumph, "That's right! Your memory's coming back. That's great!"
"Yeah, it is," He returned her smile. "So, I'm buying . . ."
"Daniel, I really . . ." She waved a hand at the half-filled blackboard.
"Need a break?" He pointed to a spot on the board behind her, "There's really a coefficient of 'DOH!'?"
She sighed and scrubbed out the error. "Ok, ok . . ." she raised her hands in surrender. "I could use a sugar boost."
************************************
Sam was eagerly tucking into Daniel's untouched dish of jell-o by the time he got around to his point.
"Sam. Earlier, I asked you a really stupid question."
She widened her eyes expectantly.
"I asked if there was anything between us and . . ."
"Daniel, it's ok." She began gently, laying her hand over his. "It's natural that you'd wonder."
"No, it's not . . . and I knew it before I remembered anything," he insisted. "The idea that you'd ever even look at me is just so ridiculous . . ."
"Daniel!" She said sharply, "That's not true! You're . . ."
"A devil with the ladies, I'm sure," He cut in, holding up a hand. "Sam, it's not about me. I understand that. And don't think I don't appreciate the ego boost."
"Ok, so what's this about? Not that *I* don't appreciate the jell-o . . ."
"It's about you and Jack."
Sam's spoon froze on its way back down to the dish for a fraction of a second. She swallowed hard. "What about me and the Colonel," she said levelly, her eyes on the dish.
"You and Jack have been crazy in love with one another for years and it's time you did something about it."
Sam did the only thing she could do under the circumstances: She inhaled a lung full of blue jell-o.
Daniel hurried around to her side of the table, thumping her on the back. "Sam! I'm sorry! Are you all right? Should I get Dr. Fraiser?"
Sam's streaming eyes widened with panic, "NO!" She wheezed, "No one! Water . . . "
Daniel raced to another table, snatching a paper cup full of water from the hand of an unsuspecting nurse with an apologetic smile. Sam grabbed the cup from his hand with a glare and downed its contents.
"Daniel," She whispered as soon as she was physically able to speak.
"Sam, just take it easy. Do you want more water?"
"Daniel," She grabbed his sleeve. "Sit!"
He slid back into the seat across from her and folded his hands demurely, waiting for her to recover enough to talk. She coughed a few times into a napkin, eyeing him warily as if she thought he was about leap on to the table and start singing *The Ballad of Sam and Jack.* He hoped it wouldn't come to that. He hadn't yet remembered if he could sing.
"Daniel," she said carefully, her voice stronger, "I know that this must be confusing for you. You've got memories of a pretty strange life coming back to you. We . . . all of us . . . the things we've seen . . . we're all very close. Like family."
"I'm starting to realize that," He smiled shyly and squeezed her hand. "But that's not what I'm talking about. You and Jack . .. "
"Ok. This is awkward . . ." Sam withdrew her hand and stared at the table. "There have been several alternative realities . . . one of which you visited, actually. That's a fascinating story, really. Do you remember . . ."
"Sam," Daniel said warningly.
"Ok, ok," Sam cut him off. "My point is . . . we know there are realities in which Colonel O'Neill and I . . . well, not us, of course, the versions of us who existed in those realities . . . are together. In a non . . . professional way. And that's what you're probably remembering."
"No, what I'm *remembering,* is that it nearly killed him when he had to shoot you the second time with that . . . zat. Zat?" He looked to her for confirmation. She nodded numbly. "What I'm *remembering* is that you didn't sleep for three weeks when he was trapped on Edora . . . and . . . and how he almost let that . . . Tok'ra woman . . . with the pleather and the collagen . . ."
"Anise," Sam offered absently.
"Anise . . . he was willing to let her cut into his brain on the off chance that it would save you." He closed his eyes as the memories rushed over him.
"Daniel, the Colonel . . . this is what we do. We all put our lives on the line for one another. We have to if we're going to get the job done. We'd both have done the same for you and Teal'c," She smiled a little sadly, "I hope you'll remember that soon."
"No, no, Sam! That's not it." He opened his eyes, "I know . . . I've known since you came into that tent . . . that we're close. What you'd do for me. And what I'd do for you. That's not it. But you and Jack . . . I spent all today feeling like an outsider . . . like I'd never fit in."
"Daniel, this is hard. None of us . . ."
"No no no . . . it's not your fault. You see, that's what I remember now. That this isn't new. And it isn't just me. Do you even realize that the two of you hardly even have speak to one another?"
"That's just because the Colonel doesn't understand half of what I say . . ." Sam laughed.
Daniel reached for her spoon and started in on the remainder of the jell-o, "You get that from him. The jokes. The evasion. I'm not letting this go, Sam."
"Ok. Ok," she drew a deep breath. "The thing is, Daniel. That even if there were . . . something . . . between us. We can't pursue it. No matter how much either one of us might want to. Things are more complicated than that. What we do as a team . . . it's important. And it has to come first. And I think you'll realize that as you memories come back."
"You're right." Daniel swallowed the last of the jell-o. "And I think that's why I'm here." He set down his spoon.
She smiled, relieved. "Existentially?"
"Maybe," he said slowly, "Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and the two of you not being together will make sense. Maybe I'm just . . . making up a happy ever after for you two, because . . . eventually I'm going to remember how it was that I wound up losing Sha're and . . . Sarah? Is that right?"
Sam nodded, tears in her eyes. "Sarah Gardner . . ."
"Yes. Thank you." He filed the name away quickly, pushing down the stab of fear and regret it aroused. "I'm not ready yet . . . to know what happened . . . but I know there isn't . . ." He swallowed hard and swiped at his eyes. "I know that I loved them both. And that they're gone. And there's no hope. No future. So maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and I'll think that the fact that you and Jack have that . . . hope . . . doesn't make a difference. But I'll be wrong." He slid his chair back from the table. "Goodnight, Sam. Get some rest."
Sam folded her arms on the table, dropping her head on to them with a sigh. She drew a shuddering breath. She was so tired she could barely think, but her mind refused to shut down.
*Hope.*
She stood so abruptly, her chair toppled backward with a clang, drawing annoyed looks from the late night crowd at the commissary. Not bothering to right it, she strode quickly through the double doors, breaking into a jog as she rounded the corner.
***************************
Jack slumped in his desk chair half-heartedly considering purple's next move. He could capture red's Maggie with his Lisa, but that would leave Grandpa open two moves from now. He was just reaching to make a wimpy move of a Bart to a neutral location when Carter burst through his door a split second after a cursory knock. He started back, his arm sweeping away half the pieces.
"Carter! For cryin'out loud! What's wrong? What are you doing up? What are you doing here at all?" He scowled, crouching down to retrieve the pieces he'd knocked to the floor.
"Sir . . . Jack . . ." Her voice was thick with tears. She could barely manage a whisper.
"Major . . . Sam," he mimicked, suddenly nervous. "What's up, Carter?" he asked more gently.
"I . . . I've been talking with Daniel. And . . . I need to ask. Is there . . ." She sniffled, tilting her head upward to keep the tears from falling. "Is there anything . . . between us?"
Jack froze in the middle of hauling himself up from the floor. He stared at the the purple Marge queen clutched between his fingers for a moment before setting it decisively back on the board. He walked toward the door, gently moving her aside.
Closing the door, he stood with his back against it for a minute. "Is there anything between us?" He repeated quietly. He took a step toward her, folding her in his arms. He kissed her hair and whispered, "Sam, that is the *stupidest* question I've ever heard."
Fin.
Story Notes: Category: Friendship: S/D, D/T, SJR (as ever), Challenge
Spoilers: References to (but few actual spoilers) Serpent's Venom, Entity, Divide & Conquer, A Hundred Days, Daniel's tendency to pick hosts with greater accuracy than your average System Lord, etc.
Season/Sequel: Set during the events of Fallen.
This is, technically, a response to uberaeryn's challenge posted on 02/25/04 on the samjacknc17 list. However, as I excel at failure, I neglected to put anything remotely NC17, so here's some wholesome PG fic (for minor language). Email: polly_lynnxx@yahoo.com, Feedback me, Seymour.
Spoilers: References to (but few actual spoilers) Serpent's Venom, Entity, Divide & Conquer, A Hundred Days, Daniel's tendency to pick hosts with greater accuracy than your average System Lord, etc.
Season/Sequel: Set during the events of Fallen.
This is, technically, a response to uberaeryn's challenge posted on 02/25/04 on the samjacknc17 list. However, as I excel at failure, I neglected to put anything remotely NC17, so here's some wholesome PG fic (for minor language). Email: polly_lynnxx@yahoo.com, Feedback me, Seymour.
DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc, are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters and plots are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended. ... [ read more ]