Title: The Words You Say
Author: Shoshone
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Jack/Daniel friendship. Gen but can be read as pre-slash.
Spoilers: season 1, Brief Candle; season 2 Bane
Warnings: language
DISCLAIMER: Stargate Sg-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.

Ever do something stupid?

I don't mean stupid like when we T.P.'d Teal'c's quarters.

Which I admit maybe in retrospect wasn't as brilliant an idea as it seemed at the time.

But we'd just gotten him back. And after you've been set upon by bugs the size of Oldsmobiles like you were the last living roach motel and then cocooned like a live caterpillar, well, it sort of came up that a guy might need a welcome home pick me up.

Course it seemed a whole lot funnier to us after me, Carter, and Daniel'd polished off the last of that bottle of Glen Fiddich left over from the base Christmas party in celebration of getting the big guy back. Yes, sir. You've never seen anything more laughable than watching two scientists giggling like school children while they bump into walls and try to hang toilet paper. Two of them looked like mummies by the time they were done.  You could just feel the love when Teal'c got a good look at the room.  Could have melted solid titanium steel with that face and the raised eyebrow aimed in my direction.  Like this was somehow my fault.  Me!  Guess Jaffa on Chulak don't engage in many high school hijinks.

So, okay, looking back not such a smart thing to do.  But livable.

And, yeah, maybe that time where I ate whatever was placed in front of me without looking just because some cute semi-naked dancing girl was waving alien pizza in my face was maybe a little bit on the "Well, duh!" side too. At least it looked like recognizable food. You should see some of the stuff these guys usually to try to get us to eat. Though, I'm sure you've more than heard the lecture Doc has given on making those kinds of assumptions in her pre-gate lecture since then. Never put anything in your mouth before having it checked out by the lab first. But, hey, did you miss the part where I mentioned she was SEMI-NAKED? That's practically a defense in and of itself.

But this time...like I said, ever do something that is so beyond stupid that you sort of freeze on a dime because you know you've just done a really, REALLY bad thing. And that if you hold very still maybe Murphy and all the laws of physics will immediately cease moving time forward so you can rethink this one.

You know what I'm talking about. It's that click. Oh, yeah, so quiet, and yet somehow it manages to vibrate all the way up your leg. A truly precious sound. There's certainly nothing quite like it. That "oh, I am so fucked" triggering hum of a pressure sensitive mine going live beneath your foot.

So here I am.  Frozen like a statue.  I've yelled myself hoarse for Daniel and the rest of the team. Tried the damn radio too. 

Nothing but ear-squealing static. 

Making me now both fucked and deaf.

They can't hear me.

And that leads to the million dollar question of why not?

Well, guess what you get when you put six thousand tons of stone blocks one on top of another with each cut so precisely, so exactly, that there's no need for mortar?  Yes, sir. These babies are so tightly set you can't even get the edge of a Swiss army blade between them. I know I tried. Back, when was it, only two hours ago? I was standing over Daniel watching grass grow...I mean watching him copy stuff down.  I'd already patrolled all the chambers and perimeters, the nooks, the crannies, and the thousand year old plumbing holes.   I'd given in after the third circuit of checking empty rooms realizing it was a forlorn hope that I'd somehow missed any six foot monster types who might liven up the party and had returned to sort of poke at the architecture checking for any immediate and volatile danger of grout rot. Only to find blocks packed tighter than a Lego set. 

You couldn't pry these suckers apart with anything less than a crowbar and a pack of C4.

Then let's say for good measure you go ahead and make those blocks four or five stones deep.

In every direction.

Including up.

You know what you get?

That's right. An absolutely sound proof chamber, that's what.

And, oh, lest I forget, why don't we make the stupid things out of stuff so dense that radio signals can't go through them.  At all.

Yeah, now there's an idea.

Why is it that I can't get a subcontractor to lay bathroom tile in a straight line, but every Tom, Dick, and Apophis seems to have slaves, BADLY treated slaves, that can build Fort-Knox-like temples with precision and ease?

So I'm stuck waiting and playing statue of Man-Who-Was-Walking-But-Had-Better-Not-Move-If-He-Wants-All-His-Parts-To-Go-Home-With-Him, a small but pivotal role in this otherwise very large, very mazelike, very boring set of empty corridors.  Except, from the way Daniel was all but ignoring me earlier, empty corridors with the long lost final chapter of Tom Clancy's latest novel written all over them.

I've come to be an expert on the Oh-My-God-It's-The-Meaning-Of-Life-Stuff nirvanaesque glow that comes into Daniel's eyes and the way he sort of ducks his head down to the notes he's taking as if it's so good he doesn't want anyone to realize quite how much he desperately wants to study it. (Yes, some days I swear it does too seem like it's every single solitary broken pot shard we find laying around which will have all of society crumbling to the ground if Daniel's not allowed to record it.  And, it will be all Daniel's fault that society came to its tragic end, right after it being all MY fault for not letting him.)

You know I can and will argue with Daniel until we're both ready to smack someone, preferably the archeologist standing stubbornly in front of us, when he goes dragging his heels trying to turn a three hour mission stop into a full length Gilligan's Island re-enactment.  But if you listen, I mean not just hear him, but take the trouble to listen, there's a difference. This time you could see he really REALLY meant it and was trying hard to steal himself into putting on a good front of how not disappointed he was going to be when I told him "no" accompanied by the And-You-Know-Very-Well-Why glower.

Maybe it's the fact that that I've got the Encyclopedia Britannica of reports stacking up in my To Do box, maybe it's the fact that up until I stepped on the welcome mat I was kind of maybe sort of enjoying having a nice quiet mission where no six foot monsters jumped out and dragged me or any of my people off to be dinner, or maybe it's just I'm a complete sucker for archeologists who bite their lower lip wistfully and hug their backpacks to them like they're five.  In any case Colonel Pushover pretended he didn't notice the first extra hour beyond our departure point slipping past. Or the second. There's just something about seeing Daniel want something so bad and being afraid to demand it that messes with my head.  I'd feel like a total waste of good commando training, except you can see Carter does the same thing, Teal'c too. 

After the second hour, I started making some noise.  But they were only half hearted, not unlike the way you set your alarm clock knowing you're going to hit the snooze button a time or two. 

At about the three hours past the deadline mark, I started up the real mutterings about having to wrap things up. There's only so much tardiness good old George will put up with before he sends out the marines to find out where his wayward kids have gotten to, then send us all to infirmary hell with orders to stick really big needles in our butts when he finds out we've been worrying him for no good reason.  Show up three weeks late and half goa'ulded and dead one little time, and they never let you forget it. Besides it was a solid five mile hike back to the gate, and I didn't think trying to scramble over that broken and stone tossed landscape someone halfheartedly labeled a road after dark was such a good idea.

Still Daniel had looked so damn glad.  Like I'd given him a puppy or something.  Christ, it was only a couple of hours, yet you'd think I'd told him I'd spray painted "Budge Is An Idiot" all over the university library or something from the way he reacted. All that in your face stubbornness and he goes and acts like this. Had it really been that long since we let him just play with stuff on a mission? I counted back.  And started to feel a little guilty. Wonder what he'd do if I actually set a mission whose declared objective was to actually study socio-cultural-mythological-whoseywhatsits for an entire day or two. We'd probably have to administer CPR.

But wait. Hold on. We were talking about me. 

Let's not forget who's important here. 

". . ."

Why do I hear crickets chirping?

Steady there.  Focus on the end of the corridor.  That nice long crack running from the ceiling's corner to about a third of the way down.  Old earthquake?  Water damage?  On the other hand, not caring much here.

You know, it's amazing how much thinking you can get done with a little quiet time to yourself, especially when there's nothing to do but feel the sweat slowly form and drip off your forehead.  Gives you a whole new perspective. 

Waaay better than any kel'nor'reem shtick. 

Should really tell T about it.  No doubt save a bundle on candles. 

Course it'd be a lot easier to tell him if I hadn't decided a half busload was better than none, sending Teal'c and Carter on ahead to the gate. 

I stare annoyed at the overdone stupid masonry around me with its decorative chicken feet drawings stamped out on all available surfaces including the floor.  So I'm stuck here, waiting for Daniel to notice that no one is currently buzzing in his ear like a mosquito.  Waiting until he gets bored with the wall art and comes up for air.

I'm pretty certain I'm gonna be here forever.

Except forever turns out to be only about five minutes long.

"Jack?"

"Stop. Don't come any closer."  I order with all the command I can force into my voice.  To his credit Daniel halts as if he's just run into a force field right there on the doorway's threshold.

"The place is rigged, mines are all over."   I try not to shift my weight as I look back at him.  Have you ever tried to do that?  Oh, not stand in one place without moving. That's playground kindergarten stuff.  Most of us can do that even without the "let's blow you to hell" incentive.  But have you ever tried standing perfectly still with all the weight on one foot without shifting your balance or fidgeting or coughing hard or anything.  I'm here to tell you it's harder than it looks. Especially while trying to hold a conversation with a man half a corridor behind you.

"Are you okay?"  Daniel asks cautiously.

"Sure.  Fine.  Peachy.  Already ordered pizza and pay-per-view cause I love it so much." I snap but then tone it back.  After all it really isn't Daniel's fault that I'm a pushover who stupidly stepped down on the wrong piece of former goa'uld real estate.  I see his worried look and wave a hand. Might as well throw the guy a bone.  "I think I'm all right as long as I don't move off it."

I check my watch, if Daniel books he can still probably catch up to Teal'c and Carter at the stargate. "Get back to the others and get help."

Daniel frowns at me, immediately not jumping to do my bidding.

"Daniel, go!"

"How?"

"Second entrance?"

"No."

"Back door."

"No."

"Windows?"

"No."

"Laundry shoot?  Doggie door?"

"There isn't any other way out of the tomb except by this corridor." 

"Yeah, well, I was hoping."  Hoping I'd missed something in my inch by inch three hour meticulous search.

"No, nothing. What about the radio?"

"Apparently Verizon can't hear me now."

"What?"

"Signal's screwed,"  I elaborate.

"Riiight." He gives up frowning at me for frowning at the cuneiform chicken feet on the floor for a minute, craning his neck taking in the entire area, wall to wall, lips forming words I can't hear and probably wouldn't know even if I could, then nodding to himself, he takes a giant step out into the room.

"Daniel!"

"It's okay." His face is scrunched up tight with concentration as he carefully places his feet along the stones. "I'm pretty certain I know what I'm doing."

Pretty certain?  Of all the stupid, hare brained, over assumptive, I want to shout him back.  I want to tell him to get the hell away.  I don't care if there are directions for how to bypass the entire security of Victoria Secret's fall catalogue written down there. They could be wrong. Or better yet, now here's a thought, whoever wrote it could be LYING.  Step this way.  Surprise.  Boom. You're dead.  But he's already hurriedly hopping from one stone to the next I don't dare distract him.  God, if he makes a mistake. One false step. 

My deodorant has officially failed me, by the time he's standing on the two closest tiles beside mine. Kneeling down he inspects the section of floor I'm on, reading the El Pollo loco scratchos as he goes.  Gently he places a warning hand on my ankle.  It's heavy and warm.  And his fingers dig in to give me a little squeeze as he cautions, "Don't move."

"Wasn't planning to."  I assure him staring straight ahead, finding it helps to keep my balance better, and prevents me from both wanting to grab him and hug him to me for still being alive or wrap my hands around his neck and strangle him for giving me a heart arrhythmia.

"So, been here long?" He asks conversationally, trying to break the tension and carefully not meeting my eye. 

Years.  It's what I want to say, I hear myself think it, try it out for size, but somehow the words go dry in my throat as I feel the gentle weight of Daniel's hand move from ankle to boot top, trying to balance himself as he tries to makeshift disarm the bomb beneath my foot. Somehow in my distraction the truth beats its way free instead, "Actually not as long as I thought I would be. "

"Knife, please."  That's Daniel, polite to the last kaboom.  His foster parents should be proud.  I unsnap it and pass it down. 

"You did say it was time to go. " He reminds absently, side of face practically touching ground as he squints at the faint lines.

"Except you weren't exactly paying attention at the time."  Full archeologist auto-response mode had been engaged.  "Oh, Daniel, time to go.  Yes, Jack.  We need to start packing up.  Yes, Jack.  Carter and Teal'c are already long gone.  Yes, Jack.  Gee, my hands are glowing and my hair's caught fire. That's nice, Jack.  Stop me when any of this sounds familiar."  I tell him as I watch out of the corner of my eye as he carefully slips the tip of the blade between the cracks of the square, brows twitching as he wiggles it around.  Not that I'm complaining mind you, but I would have sworn it was going to get dynamite to move Daniel out of that hall.  I glance down at the stone beneath my foot. Wince. Okay, bad choice of words.

Daniel throws me a hurt and somewhat indignant look.  "You know, I DO listen to you, Jack."  He ducks his head back down, poking in annoyance at the LIVE land mine beneath his hands. Adding obstinately, "when it's important." 

There's a sharp click, and I feel something give a little.  Daniel lets out a breath, "There. Thought so."  He gives me a relieved grin. Cool as a cucumber and twice as annoyed with me, or so he'd have the world believe, except I can see the way he wipes his sweaty palms against his legs after he wiggles then jerks the knife free offering it back to me. "Okay, I think it's safe."

"You think?"

"Well, we're both still here, ergo…"

"Ergo?"

"I…yes." He snatches a quick glance down at the writings, confirming he's turned it off. "Yes, it's definitely safe."

"Good."  I grab Daniel by the collar and yank him to me, pulling him into a hug.  "You ever EVER do that again I'm going to beat you severely."  I warn him sternly squeezing the stuffing out of him.

"You'd do it for me," Daniel's words are muffled against my shirt but fierce all the same. His hands clutch at the back of my jacket, holding on tight. Not letting go. Never letting go. "You'd do it for me, Jack."

You know Daniel and I aren't in any way alike.  He's always on the last line of one chapter of the book and me on the first of another.  But his words remind me, despite those differences, we ARE still on the same page.  Who else would walk across a loaded mine field to stand next to me.  I know hardened field officers who would wait for the demolitions experts before doing a thing like that.  Daniel sees me waiting and just strolls on over.  Trust like that fucking scares me.  But he's right, I'd do it for him. 

I hold him tighter. Do it in a heart beat.

We may not always hear the other one. But we always do listen.

The End

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