Cascade

By: Kylie Lee

CATEGORY: Action/Adventure

SEASON/SPOILERS: Season 9 “Ethon” and “Icon”

WARNINGS: None

AUTHOR’S WEBSITE:

http://www.kyliefic.com/

1.

"So...we've gone four miles," Cam Mitchell said, shoving aside a branch.

Daniel Jackson ducked, narrowly avoiding the branch as it slapped backward. "Four miles more or less," he said. "I mean, four miles as I translate their units of measure. Roughly four miles."

Mitchell said, in the exact same voice, "So...we've gone about four miles," and Daniel suppressed a grin. Both of them had been happy to go for a hike, leaving Sam Carter and Teal'c with their new friends, the Pelosians. Daniel had been excited to hear of an artifact with writing on it, and Mitchell had been happy to get away from the boredom that came with being on day three of a diplomatic trip, complete with ritual food and ritual sitting on stools for hours on end, looking polite while Daniel translated--that is, tried to translate. "Let's take a look-see." Mitchell stopped, and Daniel came up next to him, reaching for his pocket so he could grab his own field glasses. The Velcro sounded loud as it ripped. Yeah," Mitchell said, squinting a little as he thumbed the focus. "Trees. And whoa--over there. More trees."

"It's--it's like we're in a forest," Daniel said. "A big forest. A big alien forest."

"I was having that very thought." Mitchell pointed, not lowering his glasses. "Okay, I see the next cairn. And--could it be that? There's a stone over there. Take a look-see."

Daniel brought his own field glasses up, and the trees became huge as they sprang into view, disorienting him. Mitchell didn't say anything about the delay. Jack O'Neill would have said something--something sarcastic about Daniel's ability, or inability, to peer through field glasses. Cam Mitchell said lots of sarcastic things, but he rarely said personal sarcastic things. Daniel hadn't yet decided whether Mitchell was waiting until he knew them better before he teased them. He kind of thought so.

Daniel finally found it: the pale flash of rock, too regular in shape to be natural. "Could be. It's worth a look. Definitely worth a look."

Mitchell gestured. "After you."

"Uh--thanks." Daniel adjusted his pack and took the lead. He hoped he could find the artifact. It hadn't been very far away. But now the trees had gotten small again and he wasn't sure he knew where he was. Well, if Cam Mitchell had any illusions left about Daniel Jackson, they needed to get exploded sooner or later. Mitchell seemed like a nice guy. He was doing a good job. But Daniel missed Jack, because he knew and could predict Jack.

Out of force of habit, they didn't say much as they walked, the better to hear stray Jaffa or others who tended to shoot first and ask questions later, although to their knowledge, there were no Jaffa on this planet. It was like a million other missions, Daniel thought as he scuffed through the leaves, sending them, dry and crackling, into the crisp autumn air, breath pluming before him. Had he been on a million missions? It felt like it. He had needed some time off. He had wanted to work on his research. He needed to start publishing again. He'd wanted out, but here he was, with Mitchell, on a mission, out in the field. The momentary intellectual distraction of this people and this language interested him, but as always, he wouldn't be allowed to delve. He'd do the preliminary work, and some other lucky soul would get to do the real fieldwork, living among the people, gaining a real understanding instead of relying on gut and conjecture. He wanted to do that--focus on something.

He was done. Mitchell had joked about getting the band back together, but Daniel was just...done. After the momentary excitement of the Ori and Vala, the immediacy of the threats had receded, and now the repetition of offworld missions was just killing him. Of course, it didn't help that his slowness grasping Pelosian was driving him insane.

Daniel caught a flash of white stone, its square shape resembling nothing as much as a gravestone. "There it is," he said, pointing. "I'd say that's our artifact."

"Cool," Mitchell responded from behind him as Daniel scrambled through low bushes. "I can have me some lunch while you're doing your thing. A ration bar--yes, a ration bar. I can hardly wait. If I eat any more of that stew they keep feeding us--you know? I'm going to stop right there."

"Yeah," Daniel said, distracted by the stone. He circled it and found the inscription.

"Okay, Jackson, get to work and I'll phone Teal'c and Carter."

As Mitchell, back to Daniel, said something indistinct into his radio, Daniel knelt and brushed the artifact's top. Yes, words--this was definitely what Mulualem had been talking about. Some kind of moss or other droopy plant grew over the top of the stone and down, obscuring the carving. He held it aside to get a better look. "Yeah, this is definitely it," he said over his shoulder.

"Can you read it?" Mitchell leaned over, blocking Daniel's light, curious.

Daniel sat back, sending the moss cascading. "No."

"But you'll be able to?"

"Maybe." Daniel shrugged off his pack and pulled out the camcorder. He brushed at his sodden knees as he stood up. "Okay, let me get some video."

"Sure."

Mitchell backed up, and Daniel checked the battery and flicked the device on. "This is Dr. Daniel Jackson on the planet P2X-483, local name Pelos," he began, voice fast and automatic as he reeled off details. He circled the stone twice, then got in close to image the top, his boots sinking into the mud, giving his running commentary. "I'm handing over the camera to Lieutenant Commander Cameron Mitchell," he said when he was satisfied he'd gotten enough footage in situ. Mitchell, surprised, stuffed the rest of a ration bar in his mouth and took the camera.

"Roll 'em," Mitchell said indistinctly, bringing the camera up.

"Lights?" Daniel suggested, and Mitchell said, "Yeah, sorry," and flicked the light on. "I'm going to clear away this moss," Daniel said, kneeling again.

He used his fingers to gently dig and scrape away the growth of long, spangled moss that partly covered the inscription on the stone's front. It came away in a piece, like a ragged patch of thick fabric. He spared it only a glance before he tossed it aside: pretty moss, soft, thickly dense, with long, drooping whiskers of gold poking out of the green. That was better. Daniel ran his hands over the front of the artifact, roughly cleaning it, leaving smears of mud behind. He finally resorted to dousing it with water from his canteen to wash it clean, suppressing a smile as he considered his archaeology professors' reactions to his very inappropriate preparation methods.

"Okay." Daniel eyed the deeply incised inscription. "Preliminary thoughts. First, it's definitely not goa'uld. I can see a repeated character shape here and here." He pointed, and behind him, Mitchell shifted to get a better view. "These little doodles off them, here and here, are probably inflection markings. I don't see much exact-symbol repetition, so I'm thinking syllabary as opposed to alphabet..."

When he was done, an hour and a half had passed and the sun was slanting toward twilight. Mitchell stuck the camcorder in Daniel's backpack as Daniel held it open. "What a great lecture," Mitchell said, and Daniel looked up sharply, but he saw no sarcasm in Mitchell's eyes. "I don't know how you got that much stuff out of a rock with some carving you can't even read."

Daniel said, "I've found that if I talk long like that, I'm not asked as many questions about my findings by the later teams, and it helps remind me what I was thinking if I have do end up having to go back." He zipped the backpack shut. "Of course, sometimes I'm totally off and in retrospect I sound like a babbling idiot, but..."

Mitchell sounded pleased. "Yeah, well, I find that hard to believe. That kind of lecture you gave--that's why I wanted you. You're the best." He slapped Daniel on a shoulder. "See? Bet you're glad you're in the field and not behind some desk."

"Yeah." Daniel, flattered by Mitchell's faith in him, felt a pang of guilt. Mitchell was a nice guy. But it wasn't going to stop Daniel from doing what was right for Daniel, and what was right was moving off the front-line team. He had only meant for his time back to be temporary. He was just hanging on now.

"You ready to get back? It's going to be dark pretty soon. We should hustle."

Daniel couldn't meet Mitchell's clear eyes. Instead, he busied himself with putting on his pack, then retying the scarf around his head, which had come loose. "Yeah, sorry. I'm good. Let's go."

Right after the mission debriefing, he'd talk to General Landry, and then he'd tell Mitchell himself.

2.

"I wish they understood us." Samantha Carter smiled at the woman who bent over to take their bowls from them. "Thank you," she said clearly, ducking her head. "It was delicious."

The woman ducked back, obviously pleased, and said something long and complex.

"It sounds so pretty," Sam said through her smile. All their smiles had grown stiff from overuse, but the Pelosians seemed pretty understanding about things like etiquette, although they were also quick to correct their visitors' behavior. "I'm so sorry. I can't understand a thing you're saying. But you are very kind."

"Thank you," the woman said, her accent strong--one of the English phrases the locals had picked up. She resumed collecting the wooden bowls.

"Thank you," Mitchell and Daniel murmured. As usual, Teal'c merely inclined his head. He had been even more silent than usual.

"They are cutting us some serious slack," Mitchell said as the server exited. Daniel knew that she would wash up in the kitchen in the next room and then leave. He also knew that very likely, she'd be questioned about their behavior--that's what he'd do, because how people treated social inferiors such as servants was often telling. "I can't figure out their word for 'thank you.' Sixteen syllables? What's that about? Say it again, Jackson."

Daniel obediently reeled off the phrase for "thank you" while Mitchell tried again. Daniel hadn't yet figured out what it meant literally.

"I'll get it," Mitchell promised. "Any word on whether they'll shelter some of the refugees from P2L-228? I saw you talking with Mulualem after today's session."

Daniel shrugged. "I've established some rapport, but mostly we've been exchanging personal histories. It's a common precursor to getting down to business. We all watch each other, see if we think we can trust each other, and then we negotiate."

"The thing that gets me is the goa'uld." Sam rose and headed for the fire. "It's like the one word everybody knows. And it's old news."

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend," Daniel pointed out, joining her on the rug, both of them warming themselves by the fire. Nights grew chilly. "When I mentioned the Priors, they didn't understand."

"I guess that's good." Mitchell stood up and stretched. "They're not here. Yet."

"Gou'ld--Priors--that's easy stuff," Daniel said. "Try explaining that the refugees need a particular spectrum in the sunlight or they can't metabolize vitamin D, so this planet is perfect while the last one we visited isn't."

"You are equal to the task, Daniel Jackson," Teal'c said.

Daniel gave a mirthless grin. "Well," he said. "Thanks for your support. It's taking a little longer than I'd like. But I kind of wish we could put the refugees on P3X-883 with a bunch of vitamin D supplements." He'd done things far more difficult. And really, it had been a while since the basis of a language had so eluded him. It probably seemed to the rest of the team that he was doing fine, but he hadn't yet grasped the underlying structure. "I'll show Mulualem the video tomorrow and see if I can get them to read it to me. That might help me once I've had a chance to better study the inscriptions. A root language would be so helpful right about now."

"That's it for me," Mitchell proclaimed. "All this being awake makes me sleepy. See you kids tomorrow."

"Night," Sam called.

Mitchell paused in the doorway. "Don't stay up all night telling ghost stories." He flicked his flashlight on and held it under his chin, so it cast a reddish, eerie glow. "It was a hook hand on the car handle!" he said with relish. "Oh, you've heard that one," he said when Sam started laughing. "I've got more. Lots more. Ask me tomorrow."

"A hook hand?" Teal'c asked as Mitchell left.

"That one's a classic," Daniel told Sam. "Don't you think?"

"One of the best," Sam agreed. "You going too, Teal'c? Sit with us and tell us a ghost story from Chulak."

"Perhaps later," Teal'c said. "Good night."

"Of course, ghost stories from Chulak are probably way scarier than ours," Daniel said as Teal'c followed Mitchell out. They all had rooms on the second level of what Daniel theorized was a guesthouse. They met in the common area for dinner, but other than that, they took all their meals downstairs with their hosts, during the interminable and meaningless talks. "Demon possession takes on a whole new dimension when Gou'ld are involved. The god--the demon--absolute power--branding--sarcophagi--vats of squishy symbiotes--wait. I think there's a whole study in this. I want to write a book. Several books."

Sam lay back on the rug. "Or a collection of short horror stories."

"Good idea. Didn't Stephen King start out as a member of SG-6? No?" Daniel lay back too and interlaced his fingers on his stomach. "I'm going to tell Commander Mitchell I'm off the team after this mission," he blurted. He hadn't meant to say anything to her until after he'd told the team leader, but this was Sam. He'd already requested some files so he could research a new posting--some archaeological dig on a nice planet somewhere.

"Yeah." Sam turned her head to face him. "I'm not surprised. You haven't been--I don't know. Happy. You haven't seemed that happy lately."

Sam had always been able to sense his moods. "I think I need a change. A desk job. Fieldwork where I actually stay in the field."

"Fieldwork. That sounds cool."

"I had a really good year once, doing intensive fieldwork," Daniel remembered.

"Yeah?"

"Excavated stuff. Learned a language." He turned to meet Sam's eyes. "Met a pretty local girl. Got married. Fell in love. You know."

Sam's gazed at him, her expression suddenly sad. "It's better than being kidnapped by South American rebels," she offered. "Isn't it?"

She was right. "Falling in love is way better than being kidnapped by South American rebels," Daniel agreed. "I'll give you that."

"Yeah," Sam said. "Yeah, it is."

Daniel asked Sam what he'd been wanting to ask her for weeks, but the time had never been right, and they were so rarely alone together. "And you're happy with him? With Jack?" It had been a long time coming, but from the beginning, it had been inevitable. Even Daniel had seen it, and he wasn't known for his insight in these matters.

Sam smiled, and he saw that she was. "Yeah. I am. Although I never expected Cassie to be living with us. And in my little Sam fantasy, I thought he'd be around more. And that he'd do all the cooking. It's--well, it's clichéd, that's how great it is."

"But?"

"But what?"

"There's a but."

"There's no but."

Daniel frowned at her. There was definitely a but. He could tell. Was it the slight wrinkle in her brow? The tone of her voice? "There's always a but," he temporized, because very often, there was. His marriage with Sha're, which had happened in the order he'd listed to Sam--first marriage, then love--had had a big "but" hanging over it. Despite it, he'd been happy.

"No, really, Daniel, there's not."

"Okay, there's not," Daniel agreed. He changed the subject, because Sam's reaction to his question troubled him, and because now he was thinking about Sha're. Old wounds. "If you invite me over, he'll grill bratwurst."

Sam said instantly, "The Friday after we get back. Give Teal'c a ride."

"Deal," Daniel said. "Want to invite the newbie?"

Sam considered. "Nah," she said. "Just old friends this time. The real band. The original band."

"I used to be so young and handsome," Daniel said pensively. "People would rush the stage and ask me to autograph body parts."

Sam laughed. "Oh, yeah. Those were the days."

"Remember your go-go dress? The really short one with the fringe? And your tambourine?"

"The lead singer always needs to wear something eye-catching," Sam said. What I never understood was why you always wore sunglasses on stage. And the way you went through basses! Smashing them after each set!"

They stayed up late, making up outrageous stories about the good old days in the band, even casting themselves in the made-for-TV-movie version of their fiery breakup. But when he finally got himself to bed, Daniel found himself wondering why Sam had lied. Something was wrong with her and Jack, but she didn't want to talk about it. They'd waited so long--both of them. Daniel wished them the best.

There shouldn't be a but, but there was.

3.

The word slipped away before he could catch it.

Daniel woke up, feeling hot. "God," he muttered, utterly disoriented. It was the middle of the night. He was on Pelos, in his sleeping bag on top of the bed. He'd been dreaming, that was all.

He had trouble making his fingers work well enough to unzip the sleeping bag. The cool air hit him, instantly soothing. They'd all been complaining about the cold in the rooms for three days, but now Daniel welcomed it. It immediately chilled the sweat on his skin. He grabbed his tiny flashlight and made his way to the lavatory. On his way back to his room, he noticed the crack of light underneath the kitchen door. Was Almaz still here, cleaning up after them?

Daniel tapped the door gently with the back of a knuckle. "Almaz?" he called.

The door opened, the light from the lamp flickering. Almaz, tiny and slight, like most of her people, ducked at him in the way the women, but not the men, did, and Daniel automatically ducked back, even though he thought men weren't supposed to do that. Force of habit, imitating what others did. He would probably just be perceived as overly polite.

"Is everything all right?" he asked her, knowing she couldn't understand a thing he said. She wasn't a member of the negotiation team; she was a servant. But a kind voice and a concerned face couldn't be misinterpreted. "It's late."

Almaz's voice bubbled, no iambic stress on words--no stress at all, iambic or otherwise. Somehow it reminded him of the first time he'd been in the Netherlands, hearing Dutch spoken: it sounded exactly like English, the same consonant-vowel combinations, the same stresses, the same hard a's, but it made no sense whatsoever. It had been disorienting, expecting everything to make sense. It was the same combination of familiarity and elusiveness here: he kept waiting for something familiar to emerge, a pattern. Eventually Almaz's language would resolve itself, the way Dutch had, and he would be able to distinguish words, but now, even after three days, he could only pick out a tiny fraction.

It was going frustratingly slowly.

Almaz gestured, and Daniel leaned over to peer through the door. To his surprise, he saw a little boy, maybe five years old, asleep on the floor.

"Your son?" he asked. "He doesn't look very comfortable. Isn't there an extra bedroom? Why don't you sleep in there tonight? Down the hall?" He gestured to illustrate.

Almaz's voice told him that such a suggestion was out of the question, but Daniel handed her his flashlight and bent down to pick the boy up.

"Hey, guy," he said softly as the boy opened sleepy eyes. "I don't know why you aren't home tonight, but let's move you to a bed, okay?" He nodded to Almaz, who unwillingly held the door open. "The one at the end of the hall is closest to the lavatory," he suggested.

Almaz's quiet, troubled voice followed them down the hall, but she shone the light so Daniel could see.

"I don't see why not," Daniel said, responding to her tone. "We don't mind, and you can talk to your boss tomorrow if it's a problem. It's an emergency, after all. Okay, here we are. Down you go, little boy." He leaned down to pull the blanket aside before he laid the boy on the bed, releasing the pleasant scent of the dried flowers they scattered on stored bedding.

Almaz handed him his flashlight back as she said something.

"No, I don't have any children," Daniel said. "My wife and I were just discussing it when she--" When she was taken by the goa'uld. The pain had faded long since, but he still felt hesitation, a dull pang. It was second pang tonight. "--when she died. Sam has a daughter and Teal'c has a son, but both of them are much older than your son." He gave Almaz the flashlight. "Here, you keep this. I have another one. No, it's okay. See how it works?" His fingers slipped. It was ridiculously cold in the rooms without fires. "On. Off. On. Got it? Good night."

Almaz followed him out. She gave him a tentative wave as he made his way back to his bedroom.

"Good night, Almaz," he said. "Sleep well."

"Sleep well," she repeated.

4.

Daniel made a rolling motion with one hand, urging Teal'c on.

"Teal'c," Sam hissed, poking him.

"Rya'c," Teal'c said at last, face impassive. He crossed his arms to show he wasn't happy about answering such deeply personal questions. "My son's name is Rya'c. He is recently married."

Daniel translated as best he could, giving his hosts the gist of it. He had had to resort to gestures much less today.

Teal'c continued. "His wife's name is Kar'yn, of the Haktyl."

Their host, Mulualem, stirred and spoke. Daniel translated: "He says you seem displeased about your son's marriage."

"Not at all," Teal'c said, Daniel translating. "Originally I was against it. I thought Rya'c too young. I thought his marriage would sway him from his life's purpose. But I have seen that he was wise in his choice. She is a formidable woman."

Teal'c lapsed into silence, and Daniel said in his broken Pelosian, "Teal'c will likely say no more."

Mulualem spoke again. Daniel felt relief. He had made the breakthrough--his mind had gotten itself wrapped around the heavily inflected language, and suddenly it was, if not exactly making sense, easy to figure out the gist. "Teal'c, Mulualem wonders about your parents, their parents, and so on, as far back as you want to go."

"They are all dead," Teal'c said. "Most were leaders of the Jaffa. There is nothing else to know."

"Eh," Mulualem said when Daniel completed his halting translation, the little catch sound that all of the Pelosians made. He stood up, signaling that today's interview was over. Daniel and the rest of the team stood too. Mulualem pointed at Daniel. Although he spoke in Pelosian, Daniel could understand him as though he spoke English. "Tomorrow we will talk about you. And then we may negotiate."

"I look forward to it," Daniel said. "Thank you."

"Thank you," Mulualem said in English.

"What did he say?" Sam asked as Mulualem left.

"He said that tomorrow, I get to give my life story, and then we'll talk about what we want." Daniel scrunched his cheeks up and squeezed them. His face felt oddly stiff and unresponsive from smiling so much. "So I guess we head for the Gate for today's check-in and then head upstairs for dinner. I anticipate we'll be here three more days." He draped his arm around Sam in a half-hug and gave her a shake. He'd had a lot of fun with her last night, staying up late and being silly. "Sam, great job with your life story, but you left out all the good parts--Selmak, for example."

Sam leaned into him. "I figured the whole 'my dad was a good Gou'ld' thing would be too hard to explain. And Jolinar--just forget Jolinar. Was it my imagination, or did Mulualem seem interested in adoption?"

"He was interested," Daniel confirmed. "But maybe it was because Cassie came through the Gate--that kind of outsider goes beyond known clans. Maybe they perceive it as risky behavior." He let go of Sam. "I liked your story, Commander," he offered, because Mitchell was looking at him and Sam oddly, like he was puzzling through something. "I don't know much about you, so it was great to hear--to hear what you had to say." In fact, Mitchell had been pretty uninformative.

"Well, I went for short and sweet, but Teal'c beat me to it," Mitchell said. "So tell me this, Jackson: what's the deal with the inscription? Mulualem looked at the video but he didn't have much to say."

Daniel shrugged. He hadn't really been surprised at Mulualem's lack of interest, although it seemed at odds with his recommendation to visit the monument. Mulualem probably wondered why Daniel wanted ancient writing, rather than samples of the current writing system, of which there were many. Mulualem hadn't actually translated the stone. Daniel had the impression that he couldn't read it. "I'm pretty sure he said that the writing would make us understand."

"And will the writing make us understand?" Teal'c asked.

Daniel considered. "Possibly. There are several such stones--we just visited the closest. I thought I'd survey them and see how the inscriptions relate to the current writing. But mostly I was curious. I think the root is Semitic, but if that's the case, it's pretty idiosyncratic. Of course, many of the languages we encounter through the Gate are offshoots of the Semitic family--it makes sense when you consider the location of the Gate on Earth, in present-day Egypt--"

He broke off as Sam held up her hands and laughed. "Okay, Daniel!" she said. "Stop! Stop!"

"You ready to head for the Gate, Jackson?" Mitchell asked. "Who else wants to check in? Teal'c? Carter?"

"Wait a sec," Daniel said, spotting Almaz, who had been quietly and unobtrusively puttering away over in a corner, clearing the sideboard and stacking dishes in a basket. He headed over. "Almaz, is everything all right? Was there a problem with you and your son sleeping in the guesthouse last night?"

Almaz looked up quickly, her face registering surprise. "No," she said. "No problem. Mulualem is kind, as are you. It will not happen again."

"It's no trouble. If you need to use the bedroom, well, isn't that what they're for?"

"They are for guests," Almaz said firmly. "Your friends are waiting."

Daniel turned, only to see Sam, Teal'c, and Mitchell staring at him.

"I think our boy genius has cracked the code," Mitchell opined.

5.

"Isn't it a little...weird?" Sam said, voice low. Daniel had to strain to hear her.

"The dude's a genius." Trust Mitchell to back him up. "So he had a breakthrough. Now he gets the language."

Teal'c's voice rumbled. "Daniel Jackson has never before exhibited such behavior when learning a language."

"What Teal'c means is, Daniel does not suddenly start speaking the language like a native. He kind of--he kind of goes slow. You know, like he was doing with Mulualem."

Mitchell sounded amused. "Yeah, Carter, I got it. But couldn't it be that he knows a similar language and his mind finally just clicked on it?"

"Such an explanation is unlikely," Teal'c noted. "He has studied the Pelosian language's structure in both its spoken and written forms--and in vain."

"When you know as many languages as Jackson knows--" Mitchell argued stubbornly. "I mean, you're bound to get a little confused."

Daniel backed away from the door and leaned against the wall, pondering. Well, it was a little weird, he had to admit that, but finally figuring out the language had been an incredible relief. So what if had been rather...sudden? When he was in the zone of another language, his mind thought it. He didn't translate per se; he just spoke, and it came out. That was what had happened today with Almaz, although he usually had an awareness of the language the other person spoke. He'd almost perceived Almaz as speaking English, but of course she had spoken in Pelosian. What was odd was that he hadn't perceived the exchange as odd.

Daniel took a deep breath, pushed off the wall, and opened the door. "Hey, guys," he greeted them as they looked up guiltily. He pulled up a stool and plucked a piece of fruit from a bowl in the center of the table. He needed to head them off at the pass by acknowledging their discomfort. "So I know you're probably worried about the whole language thing--"

"It's just--" Sam began, just as Mitchell said, "Jackson, no, we really don't think--"

Daniel overrode them. "--but I don't want you to get too excited. The exchange I had with Almaz might have sounded like I can meaningfully communicate, but keep in mind that I don't have a lot of vocabulary words."

"Vocabulary?" Teal'c prompted.

"I mean, I know the words for simple things that we've heard the people here say. But for complex ideas and negotiations--"

"You still don't know the term for 'vitamin D,'" Mitchell put in.

Daniel nodded. "That pretty much sums it up. Vitamin D, power struggle, Priors, strategic defense, the nature of wormholes--well, I can't do that one in English except by metaphor." He began peeling the fruit. "I made a breakthrough today, but it's not like we get to knock off early or anything."

"Fine by me," Mitchell said promptly. "The weather here is great, the people are nice, and I don't fear decapitation. It's like I'm on vacation."

Sam huffed out breath in exasperation. "For goodness' sake, Daniel, let me."

"Hey!" Daniel let her take the piece of fruit he'd been mangling and watched her deftly peel it. "Your fingers are smaller," he pointed out.

"Not that much smaller," she said. "These are good--kind of mango-y. Can I have half?"

"Sure." Daniel accepted what she handed him.

"It was just--weird," Sam said as he bit into the sweet fruit. "Hearing you talk to Almaz like that, her answering you--you were having a real conversation."

"And tomorrow I'll negotiate," Daniel said.

"You do what you do best." Mitchell slid his stool back. "And I'll do what I do best, which, on this mission, is basically sitting around, looking polite. I've got a book in my room calling my name. Holler if you need me."

"That's so sweet," Sam murmured as Mitchell left. "The whole hero-worship thing he's got going for you, Daniel. Sweet."

"Hero worship?" Daniel said blankly. Mitchell appreciated his contribution to the team, and said so. How was that hero worship? In fact, it was a nice change from Jack's sniping, affectionate as that sniping had become.

"He called you a genius, I believe," Teal'c pointed out.

Daniel swallowed a piece of fruit. "Maybe I am a genius."

"Yeah," Sam said skeptically.

"You and Dr. Carter are both geniuses," Teal'c said. "I believe General O'Neill has said as much a number of times. Admittedly, circumstances were usually dire."

"Hero worship," Sam repeated, grinning.

"Perhaps a wager, Samantha Carter?" Teal'c asked.

"How long it takes Colonel Mitchell to lose patience with Daniel here?"

Teal'c inclined his head. "Indeed."

"Very funny," Daniel said, but he was smiling. He stood up. He wanted to go over the inscription on that stone again. "Very funny."

6.

First, he was aware of the scent of the dried flowers the Pelosians scattered on stored bedding. It wafted up from his pillow, released by the heat of his head.

Then Almaz gestured, and Daniel leaned over to peer through the door. He saw a little boy, maybe five years old, asleep on the floor.

"Your son?" Daniel asked, even though he knew it was. The lantern on the kitchen's worktable flickered, exuding sepia-toned light. Shouldn't everything be darker? It was the middle of the night. Everything was soft-edged, sepia, gray, like an old photograph. "He doesn't look very comfortable. Isn't there an extra bedroom? Why don't you sleep in there tonight? Down the hall?"

"That would not be appropriate." Trust Almaz to be worried about propriety. Well, maybe she would get yelled at if she slept in a guest room. Daniel handed her his flashlight. He'd take responsibility if there was trouble.

"Hey, guy," Daniel whispered as the boy opened sleepy eyes, hefting him up. "I don't know why you aren't home tonight, but let's move you to a bed, okay?" He nodded to Almaz, who unwillingly held the door open. "The one at the end of the hall is closest to the lavatory," he suggested.

"My husband did not arrive to pick me up," Almaz said. "It is most unlike him. It is too late for him to arrive now. He would stay at home, thinking me safe here." She flashed the light on the floor so Daniel could see to step, following him as he walked. "It is not appropriate for us to stay in a guest room."

"I don't see why not," Daniel responded. "We don't mind, and you can talk to your boss tomorrow if it's a problem. It's an emergency, after all." He nudged the door open with his foot. "Okay, here we are. Down you go, little boy." He tugged the blanket aside before he laid the boy on the bed, releasing the pleasant scent of the dried meyata the Pelosians scattered on stored bedding.

Almaz handed him his flashlight back. "You are most kind. Do you have children of your own?"

"No, I don't have any children," Daniel said. "My wife and I were just discussing it when she--when she died. Sam has a daughter and Teal'c has a son, but both of them are much older than your son." He gave Almaz the flashlight. "Here, you keep this. I have another one." The gift definitely made her uncomfortable; he had to wrap her fingers around it. "No, it's okay. See how it works?" His fingers slipped, but Almaz's were sure. "On. Off. On. Got it? Good night."

Almaz followed him out. She gave him a tentative wave as he made his way back to his bedroom.

"Good night, Almaz," he said. "Sleep well."

"Sleep well," she repeated.

The scent of meyata wafted up from the pillow, tickling his nose, and Daniel woke up. He'd been dreaming of Almaz and her son. He had forgotten to ask her son's name.

"Sleep well," she had said.

Had she said it in Pelosian or in English? Had she been mimicking his last words? He found he couldn't remember.

He rolled onto his side and settled his head deeper into the pillow. The meyata, light and pleasant, smelled earthy, like green twigs, underneath the slight sweetness of the scent. He liked cultures with soft pillows. The hard neck braces made of stone or wood were the worst; you had to lie on your back. The only thing they were good for, in Daniel's opinion, was saving hair from being crushed, and as a man, that was not high on his list of priorities.

"Sleep well," Daniel muttered, stretching out his arm. "Ayo ababeme."

Nobody was next to him. It had been a little over a year since someone had shared a bed with him, and much longer than that since someone had been there when he reached out, since someone had spent the entire night with him. He stroked the smooth fabric of the empty space next to him, remembering. His hand was icy. He drew it back into his sleeping bag and tucked it under his arm. When he got warm again, he would be able to fall back asleep.

Ever since Sam had teased him about it, he'd been thinking about hero worship.

7.

Out of force of habit, Daniel stayed in the left-hand wheel rut as he ran. Farmers stopped their work and lifted their hands in greeting as he passed, and he waved back. The grass stayed short because the road was well traveled, but despite this, the footing was more uneven than he would have liked. The road had been roiled up by vehicles traveling during a rainstorm or something, and it had hardened into huge, bumpy ruts. He'd never been much of a runner, but the persistent chilliness, which he'd first enjoyed when he'd arrived on Pelos, seemed to have settled in his bones. Running made him warm again, made his

fingers flexible and flushed his face. The minute he got home, he was going to hop into a hot shower, and he was going to drain the hot water heater dry. Billows of wet heat would roil out of the room when he opened the door. He would resign from the SGC altogether and excavate in some desert somewhere. Egypt was good. He hadn't been to Cairo in about a year and a half.

"Jackson!"

Daniel slowed his pace and turned so he was running backward. "Commander Mitchell!" he called. "What are you doing here?"

Mitchell sped up so he could draw alongside Daniel. He took the right wheel rut, leaving the left for Daniel. "I didn't think it's a good idea for our chief negotiator to go off alone," he explained. "Consider me your jogging partner for the morning." Mitchell extended his left arm and tapped the watch strapped to his wrist. "And consider me your timer. Beep beep! Time to head back. Negotiations in forty-five minutes."

Daniel stopped. Mitchell ran a small loop and came back around. "Have you been following me this whole time?" Daniel asked. "Yep," Mitchell said. "But now it's time to turn back."

Daniel checked his own watch. He hadn't realized how long he'd been out. He took in Mitchell, who seemed to have barely broken a sweat, and contrasted his own sweat-stained T-shirt, wet at the neck and armpits. Daniel figured Mitchell was capable of a four-minute mile at the very least. He'd probably ramped himself back for Daniel, and he'd stayed far enough back that Daniel hadn't even noticed him.

"Good idea," Daniel agreed. "Sorry--I'm sure my pace is a little slower than you'd like."

Mitchell shrugged, hands on hips as he breathed. "It's not my run. It's yours. You ready?"

Mitchell kept pace with Daniel. When Daniel slowed, Mitchell slowed too, staying right beside him. Daniel found it disconcerting. He had no desire to race--that wasn't it--but having someone basically act as his bodyguard during an early morning run felt just a little weird.

"So your life story is today?" Mitchell asked after a few minutes of mostly silent panting.

"Yes," Daniel affirmed.

"Too bad I won't get to hear it--understand it, I mean."

Daniel looked sideways at Mitchell, but Mitchell was busy dodging a particularly deep wheel rut. What did that comment mean? "I'm sure you've read my file," he said. "I doubt I'll say anything that's not in there."

"I was just--struck, I guess, about how unrevealing everybody's little biographical sketches were," Mitchell said. "Just the facts, without any emotion behind it."

"You think the Pelosians are looking for emotion?" Daniel asked, curious. He'd been treating the exchange as an opportunity for each to take the measure of the other's culture, looking for hints that made the other acceptable, or unacceptable, as a trading partner.

"I think they're looking for our humanity," Mitchell said. "They're looking for a reason why they should talk to us, do us a favor."

"So why didn't you share when it was your turn?" Daniel asked.

"I figured something would get lost in translation." Mitchell shrugged. "But you talk, we can't understand, your privacy is retained, everybody's happy."

"I'll, uh, I'll take that under advisement," Daniel promised, because Mitchell made an excellent point.

"See, one thing I was happy about was getting to work with you guys," Mitchell said. "I figured you'd have a Three Musketeers thing going and I would be the odd man out, but I haven't really felt that way. You guys have all been great--really welcoming."

"Uh, thanks." There it was again, just like with Sam: a "but" that didn't follow, but that just hung there. He thought he could guess what it was: the three original team members had a rapport that Mitchell simply couldn't share, at least not yet. But of course Daniel planned to resign from SG-1 after this mission. "You're doing a great job." He'd probably waited a second or two too long to say that. It sounded false.

"Well, I'm no Jack O'Neill," Mitchell said.

"That's really no problem," Daniel assured him, and Mitchell laughed.

"How was it with he and Carter on the same team?" Mitchell asked.

Daniel gave him a sideways look. "What do you mean?"

"Aren't they...together now?" At Daniel's look, he added, "I know, don't listen to the rumor mill, but two team members dating--"

"It wasn't like that," Daniel cut in. "They were totally professional. Nothing went on while Jack was Sam's direct superior."

"Nothing?" Mitchell said skeptically.

"Nothing," Daniel repeated firmly. After all, he was pretty sure it was true. "You know the Air Force. Nothing." Daniel slowed, and Mitchell paced him. He couldn't talk and run at the same time. In the distance, he saw a farmer turn and look at them, then return to work.

"And now?"

"And now they're living together," Daniel said. "They don't really talk about it."

"Yeah, okay. I had to ask. When I saw you put your arm around Carter, it just made me wonder is all."

Daniel actually appreciated Mitchell's candor, even if he was way off the mark. He was doing just what he should do as team leader: he'd wondered whether he'd spotted a problem, so he was handling it. He said, "I understand. Sam and I are old friends. That's all."

"Okay," Mitchell said.

Daniel threw him a look. "What else?"

Mitchell shook his head. They'd slowed to a walk by now. "Nothing else. That's it."

"You're sure?"

"What, Jackson? I'm sure."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"We're going to be late." Daniel broke into a trot. He had to think about what to tell Mulualem today, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Mitchell had wanted to say or ask something, but hadn't, just as he was sure that Mitchell knew there was nothing between Sam and Daniel. So why had he asked? Or why hadn't he asked Sam?

8.

Daniel set his mug down as Almaz held out a basket of something to him. They looked like roasted pepitas--pumpkin seeds. He took a few, because refusing food was rarely a good idea, and nibbled one. Strangely, it tasted sweet.

"Delicious," he told her. The sixteen syllables of "thank you" followed, now spoken automatically, as fast as the Pelosians could speak it, the inflection perfect. "Almaz, I forgot to ask your son's name. He is well?"

Almaz smiled. "His name is Tulelo, the same as his father, and he is well."

"Your husband didn't come to get you that day?" Daniel seemed to remember that this was the case, but he couldn't say how he knew. She hadn't told him. Had one of the other women mentioned it? That must have been it.

She nodded. "His horse had thrown a shoe and he could not repair it in time."

"I am pleased he is well. I was worried."

"Thank you. I was too." Almaz offered the basket to Sam next.

"Oh--sweet," Sam said in surprise as she politely tasted a pepita. She addressed Almaz, even though Almaz couldn't understand her. "Thank you. They're good, but I was surprised because we eat them salty at home, not sweet." She took a small handful.

Almaz, uncomprehending, smiled and ducked and moved on.

"Your words fall like water from your lips," Mulualem put in, addressing Daniel.

"Should I tell of my family?" Daniel asked. If they had time today, he hoped to ask Mulualem again about the inscription on the monument. It didn't resemble modern Pelosian writing, and Daniel hoped his host could provide some insight. Now that Daniel's language skills were better, another conversation about it was due.

"It would interest me," Mulualem said, the phrase he'd used continuously during negotiations. Daniel hadn't understood its literal meaning until today; he'd taken it to mean "tell me more."

"Unlike Sam and Teal'c, I have no children," Daniel said. "So I begin with myself." The Pelosians began with the youngest generation and worked backward. "My parents were scholars who died when I was young in an accident. I was cared for by my grandfather, Nicholas, my mother's father, also a scholar. I too am a scholar, of the words and actions of grandfathers and their grandfathers and their grandfathers. And grandmothers."

"Ancestors."

"Thank you, yes. Ancestors. The words and actions of ancestors. I learned of the Stargate, of how to make it--to make it alive." Daniel mimicked the Stargate's whoosh. "We went through, to Abydos. The people there greeted us, and it is there that I was given my wife. I remained when my people left, to live with my wife. Her name was Sha're."

"Sha're," Mulualem repeated experimentally.

"Time passed. Sha're and her brother were taken by the goa'uld. I went after them with the help of my people, but I was too late. She and her brother became goa'uld against their will, and they hid so I could not find them. I looked for her for several years, wanting my wife back, but she died." Daniel's limited vocabulary frustrated him. He wondered whether the Pelosians knew that the goa'uld were parasites and the people they appeared to be merely the hosts. He didn't know if he could explain that.

"Very sad," Mulualem said. "How did she die?"

"Teal'c killed her. But it was not my wife any longer. It was the goa'uld that had taken her body. My wife was long dead."

"Teal'c!" Mulualem turned to face the Jaffa, who, hearing his name, had leaned forward to listen. "This very same man?"

"Yes."

Mulualem pursed his lips. "Hard to see him every day."

"No," Daniel said. "He is my friend. He saved my life on that day, and on many days that followed."

"Your wife long dead, but her body remains, as if alive," Mulualem mused. "We have such stories, but they are not real."

"We have such stories too," Daniel said. "I never thought them real until I saw it with my own eyes."

"And her death touched your heart?" Mulualem reached over and, shockingly, because he had never touched him before in such a manner, laid the tip of index finger on Daniel's chest.

"It did," Daniel said, blinking in sudden confusion and dizziness. It was as though he could feel Mulualem's finger cutting through his body.

"None of you speak of your heart." Mulualem didn't move his finger. His black eyes glittered. "You have hearts?"

"We do," Daniel gasped.

"Permit the water to fall like tears," Mulualem said. "Speak to me of love. Show yourselves worthy."

"Daniel?"

Sam's voice sounded from far away. Unexpectedly, in a rush, Daniel's eyes filled with tears.

Permit the water to fall like tears.

9.

He said, "I understand. Sam and I are old friends. That's all."

"Okay," Mitchell said.

Daniel threw him a look. "What else?"

Mitchell shook his head. They'd slowed to a walk by now. "Nothing else. That's it."

"You're sure?"

"What, Jackson? I'm sure."

Daniel stopped. The air was too clear; the sun was too bright. It was morning again. A bird wheeled overhead. When he looked up, the sun blinded him. His eyes filled with tears from the brightness, and he blinked them away.

"Nothing else. That's it."

"You're sure?"

"What, Jackson? I'm sure."

"What do you want to say?" Daniel spoke the words distinctly, felt his mouth shaping them, but the word that came out was, "Okay."

"Okay," Mitchell said.

And they stood there, sweaty from the run, small against the plain, standing in wheel ruts that wound through the grass, leading nowhere but the horizon, not speaking. Mitchell wanted to say something, wanted to say it so much that he shouted.

"Tell me," Daniel begged. He wanted to know. The sun glinted on Mitchell's hair. Mitchell's clear blue eyes reflected the sky.

"Speak to me of love," Mitchell said, but his mouth didn't move.

And he was running. "...Sam and I are old friends. That's all."

The mission report, about a year ago. You were on a planet--I can't think of the name. The Rand Protectorate. A woman named Leda cared for you after you were wounded. You spent a lot of time alone with her. A lot of time.

"Okay," Mitchell said.

Daniel threw him a look. "What else?"

She was young and beautiful, and her husband was out of town--I mean, for months on end. So what was the deal?

Mitchell shook his head. They'd slowed to a walk by now. "Nothing else. That's it."

"You're sure?"

You're telling me that the two of you weren't up to something? I read your report. It's clear you cared for her. I just want to know how far it went. I just want to know how far you go. I mean, you're on another planet, she's available, you're available...

"What, Jackson? I'm sure."

10.

"Okay," Daniel said.

"Jackson, you okay?" Mitchell asked, concerned.

Daniel looked down at Mulualem's finger, then into Mulualem's face.

"Love," he said. Mitchell wanted to know if he'd had an affair with Leda. But he hadn't asked. He had tried to lead the conversation by asking about Sam, but then he hadn't followed through.

"Love," Mulualem repeated.

"Sha're was given to me as my wife, as a gift of friendship," Daniel said. "It is the way of her people, but not the way of mine. She was unasked for. My people ask. She was beautiful, a leader's daughter, intelligent. I had not thought to marry. I had not thought to love a woman. I had tried before. But Sha're showed me I was capable of it. When she was taken by the goa'uld, I searched because she had come to mean more than herself. She had come to mean that I could have a family and children."

"She opened a door for you," Mulualem said. "I understand. She is in your heart still?"

"She will always be in my heart," Daniel said. "But she is gone. I am still alive."

"And now?"

Who was in his heart now? The glint of sun on hair, blue eyes, hero worship. Daniel struggled to breathe. He knew now; he understood. It was another reason why he had to leave SG-1.

"I do not want to speak of now," Daniel said. "Now is too new."

"Now cuts," Mulualem agreed. "The past has healed." He withdrew his hand, and Daniel sat back.

"Daniel Jackson," Teal'c said, and Daniel, surprised, realized that Sam, Teal'c, and Mitchell were all standing up, and had been during his entire exchange with Mulualem. But he hadn't noticed them getting up or moving. Their faces looked grim.

"What?" Daniel asked, blinking up at them. "What's wrong?"

"You were just--uh--really quiet for a while," Sam told him. "Kind of a long while."

"Four minutes." Mitchell tapped his watch. "You and Mulualem here stared at each other for four minutes, and then I guess you told him about Sha're, because I heard her name."

Daniel reflexively checked his watch. Had it really been four minutes? He hadn't been paying attention to the time one way or another. He'd had that weird flashback about the morning run, and then he'd done as Mitchell had suggested: he'd revealed something about himself. Mitchell had been right. It seemed that Mulualem wanted something of them.

Daniel found he was shaking a little. "May we end for today?" he asked Mulualem. Maybe tomorrow you can tell me about your heart."

"My wife carries my heart, as Sha're carried yours," Mulualem said. "There is little to tell."

Daniel knew strategizing when he saw it. "It would interest me," he said, the syllables sounding strange coming from him instead of Mulualem.

"Eh." Mulualem stood up and theatrically threw his arms overhead. "Yes," he announced before stomping out.

"Guys--I'm fine." Daniel held up a hand to stop them, because of course they were all talking at once. Although he was little confused about what had happened, he was