AUTHOR'S NOTE TO ALL OF THOSE WHO HAVE ALREADY READ THIS CHAPTER:
It changed. A lot. And by a lot, I mean it changed so much that the rest of the story will not make sense unless you reread. I'm sorry about this, but I think you shall agree that this version is fifty times better than the original. How could it be fifty times better, you may ask? Well, that, dear readers, is mostly thanks to you. You've read and picked apart a good deal of issues with this piece, and I've tried to fix all of my mistakes. So, happy reading. (Again.) I hope you find even more wrong with this story in the future so I can make it better.
Crinaeae Rai
A familiar prickle ran through Duncan MacLeod's mind, his body tingling in familiar anticipation. Ducking off the main road into the shadows of a darkened alleyway, he drew his katana out of his long trench coat, and waited for the Immortal he had sensed following him from the Airman infested bar on the corner to appear.
"I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, " he challenged, his voice the controlled and powerful rumble of a large jungle cat, stepping out of the shadows to confront the man.
"And I, Daniel Jackson, am not interested in The Game tonight." The Immortal was a scholar with sandy hair that flopped over his wire-rimmed glasses, who held books on obscure languages in his hands, rather than a sword. "Nor are you, I think. However, if you insist -" he sighed again and carefully laid the precious books in the nest he made of his jacket, out of the way, and straightened with a wicked looking Chinese straight sword of impeccable craftsmanship, adorned with the traditional long red tassel. "Must we do this, MacLeod? I'm tired and want to go home to read over some texts with a mug of coffee. That's it."
The weariness in the man's voice was a sharp contrast to the readied stance his body held, taut as a piano string.
"If that was all you truly desired, then why did you follow me, Daniel Jackson?" he asked, circling the apparently younger man slowly. Daniel sighed again, unwilling to get into a match for his head when he was tired, mildly sore from a previous mission, and still had the remains of a whiskey double on the edge of his awareness.
With a mental nudge, Jackson dropped another layer of protection that bound his Quickening aura to the level of a far younger Immortal, letting more of his true strength show. "I felt you, and I wondered who was in town. That was it."
"You shouldn't have followed an unknown Immortal if you were not willing to fight, young one." Duncan was not impressed by the "dialing up" the youngster had shown, pretending to be stronger than his heads and years. With a sigh rivaled Jackson's for weariness, he moved to sheath his sword inside his coat, offering the helpful tip - "There are many who would've taken your head the instant your name dropped from your lips."
"Young am I?" Daniel smirked at the ridiculous comment, and walked away, going to fetch up his books and jacket. "Okay, have it your way, MacLeod."
MacLeod only had three seconds to react when the archeologist exploded into action, his sword swinging in a blinding sliver arc that through the light from the flickering street lamp into the archeologist's eyes. Gritting his teeth, Jackson's blade met MacLeod's in a shower of golden sparks.
"I am not some young pup that is begging for training, MacLeod. Save your warnings and tests for someone who cares." Daniel hissed, finished with the insults from the Scotsman. He locked the hilt of his sword with the small guard on Duncan's katana, and pulled the man body to body, letting his Quickening fill the air, like a bolt of lightning about to strike. "Three times have I told you that I am not willing to fight you. Leave me alone, before you bite off more than you can chew."
"Daniel?" a male voice rang from around the corner, pitched like a man looking for a lost puppy rather than lost friend, and accompanied by much semi-drunken whistling.
"That's my friend looking for me. They take turns walking me home after we go drinking on nights off." The scholar explained, tucking the sword back into the jacket on his back and picking his books back up. Duncan nodded, his katana disappearing into his long coat.
"I'm here, Jack," Daniel called out, and the man, wearing a leather jacket over jeans and a cotton t-shirt, the colors dulled to black by the low lighting approached the two men carefully, albeit with a jaunty step and hands deep in his pockets. "Just met an old friend here on the street. When we were in the bar, I saw him walk by, so I decided to catch up with him. You can put the knife away now."
"Hello," the man said cheerfully, his left hand giving the Immortals a small wave. "I'm Jack. And, Daniel, I have no idea what you're talking about by knife."
Daniel suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at the "older" man. He had walked home with Jack from the local bar outside Cheyenne Mountain too many times to believe that the man wasn't holding a live blade in the deep pocket of his jacket. The wave was also planned, giving Jack another few seconds of advantage if Duncan rushed him.
"Duncan MacLeod," he smiled, oozing Immortal charm.
"He's an expert on Scottish history, but not bad on general western European history, Native American history, and Chinese history. Mostly concentrating on the history of sword fighting." Daniel filled in, turning his body to protect Jack from Duncan subtlety. "We first met when I was working on a project in grad. school with a rune based code I came across in an obscure monk's private journals."
Duncan was privately shocked the scholar knew more about him then he had first realized, and it was more than enough to weave a convincing lie for his friend. A good friend, too, from the looks of it, one that wouldn't be easy to fool with little information. And yet, the scholar had fooled him, just as he had fooled Duncan by suppressing the extent of his Quickening aura that had tricked him into thinking the man was a new and brash Immortal with a fancy sword. "Well, Daniel, I can see that you're very tired, so I'll let you be on your way. Perhaps we can meet up tomorrow?"
"Yes, our conversation was cut a bit short today." Daniel agreed, fishing a white business card and pen out of his pocket. He wrote three runes on the smooth back and pressed it into Duncan's hand.
Duncan nodded his understanding - the runes stood for a time and place where it would be safe for them to meet tomorrow. " I shall see you again, Daniel, Jack."
"Daniel Jackson!" Jack bristled, more than a little unhappy at the whole situation. He had finally put the knife back into the sheath at the small of his back, instead of holding it in his pocket when they were a good five minutes out of Duncan's range.
"Jack, it's not a big deal. I can take care of myself, at times."
Jack shot him a look, and Daniel gave him one back.
"Jackson, look - any one of us could die on a mission, so you can understand that it would look really stupid if one of us died by some act of random violence." he ran a hand through his thick, graying hair, "That's why we have the buddy system for nights when we go drinking off base. Never mind the fact that you can barely stand up after one beer."
"Yes, okay." Daniel sighed, opening the door to his apartment with one hand. He was tempted to tell his friend the truth, that the only threat in the night had been Duncan, and that he could put away more than one beer if he wasn't thinking about it, but that was simply the exhaustion talking. Otherwise the thought of telling the Air Force how he couldn't die would never have crossed his mind. The last time he had confided in a mortal, the witch hunters had knocked on his door in the middle of the night. Better to be alone then burned alive. Or crucified. Again.
"What was that project that Duncan helped you with in school? Jack asked, Are you sure that it's not an Asgard-thingy? They did a lot with runes, and stuff." He pushed out his lips, turning "stuff" into "st-oo-f".
Daniel shook his head, "The language, well, more like code, is old, but its only ever been used for communication among Immortals."
Jack settled back in a plush chair, this was going to take awhile for Daniel to explain, and he knew it. "I'm going to need some of your world famous coffee, Daniel, if you want me to stay away for the whole explanation."
Daniel smiled and talked as he walked over to the same kitchenette that was only ever used for heating up water for pasta and making endless pots of coffee. "The Immortals were a lose clan, or association, of warriors spread all over the world. They are sometimes called the Princes of the Universe, since it is said that they cannot die unless they are beheaded by a sword or other metal weapon. They would live their lives, but if one encounters the other, they would fight until one was beheaded. Because they were all over the world, the needed to make sure that they had an effective way to spread messages, laws, birth, and death announcements. They came up with a system where one person could put some runes in a bag, and give it to a clergy messenger that would pass it along. Because the messages depended so much on interpretation, they were safe from prying eyes. "
Jack leaned back in the chair, his head tilted onto the pillow, eyes half-closed, watching Daniel boil the water and coffee grounds in a pot on the stove. He grunted, and the archeologist continued while bringing the hot coffee over in two large mugs.
"As far as I know, they still exist in the form of sword fighting clubs, much like a Shaolin Kung Fu temple or a Tae Kwon Do dojo." Daniel shrugged. "As a group the Immortals have always been an historical enigma."
"The last historical enigma turned out to be an alien race bent on enslavement of Earth."
"No." He replied without an eye blink.
The colonel raised his eyebrow at him, taking another sip of the wonderful coffee.
"There are no records of an Immortal gaining power over a large amount of humans, or starting a cult of personality or a religion around themselves." Daniel explained.
"One of these days I'm going to have to beat your coffee recipe out of you, nothing tastes better."
Daniel gave him a look that clearly said I'd like to see you try, but his words said "I learned it from some Arab traders a few centuries back."
"Very well, keep your secrets." Jack stood up, him eyes wide as she saw the time on his wrist, "I should be getting home."
"I'll drive." Daniel offered, standing up as well. He shrugged on the trench coat he had in the black of his closet, the weight of his sword foreign after his long years not lugging it about and waved him out the door.
"I don't think so, Danny-boy," Jack plucked the keys out of the archaeologist's hand. "I'll just take the piece of crap you call a car home, since you've been drinking."
"So have you."
"Yeah, but I was a frat boy. I'll see you at lunch tomorrow, Daniel." Jack countered, walking to the door.
"Right." Daniel groaned good naturedly, wishing more than ever that he could tell the Arab traders that had taught him to make coffee were right their recipe would be the only one he would ever used for as long as he lived.
Daniel parked his bike next to Duncan's shinny black car in the church parking lot early the next day.
"Why did you ask me here, Doctor Daniel Jackson?" Duncan's voice rang out seconds after Daniel felt the tingle running down his spine, his faint Scottish accent winding around his words.
"I've been out of The Game for a century and more, Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod" Daniel answered, stepping onto the holy ground of the church.
Duncan's sword was already in his hand, his words soft "And you wish to test your blade against mine."
Daniel was armed in the next heartbeat, "You are the only Immortal around for miles. It is only fitting."
With a war cry, Duncan lunged in, his blade a sliver blur that exploded into action. Daniel parried the attack, his blade moving inside Duncan's guard. Faints, spins, lunged, and strikes from every fighting style know, and sometimes forgotten, to men flowed one into the other. A dance as interact and beautiful as a flamenco dancer.
'He fights with his whole body' Duncan realized, as he jumped away from a beautifully executed leg sweep that would have him on the ground had he been the least bit sloppy. The Scot returned with a twisting blow, only to be answered with a parry from Daniel's hilt, and a grab to his elbow, pulling the two men close together, Daniel's sword dangerously near his throat.
"Had this been The Game, I would have your Quickening now." Daniel said quietly, releasing him. His sticky hair stuck close to his forehead, glasses gone, falling off at some forgotten point of the practice match.
Duncan ran a cloth over his blade, before sliding it home in its sheath. "How many heads has that last move gotten you?"
"It's called Threading the Left Golden Bridge. I learned it a while ago in a Southern Shaolin Temple. Same time I earned this sword, in fact." Daniel gestured to the straight sword at his side. He never answered Duncan's question. "You're not bad, the way your katana is more of a part of you then not is quiet frightening, but you have a tendency to forget about the rest of your body, which is the only reason why that technique worked. On another Immortal, I would have lost my hand."
"Maybe not, the hilt parry does a descent job of moving my katana out of head range." Duncan reviewed the move in his head, analyzing it from every angle.
The scholar shrugged and shoved his dusty glasses back onto his nose, his brown eyes shut away from the world. Glancing at the sun, he sighed, "I have to go to lunch, or my friends will have my head."
Duncan laughed, "An ironic way to lose your Quickening. Perhaps I should drive, so your knowledge is not lost until the last our heads has fallen."
Daniel smiled warily, suddenly uncomfortably and keenly aware that any Immortal who gained his knowledge with his head was then a national security risk, "That would be great, thank you."
"Daniel!" Jack's voice rang out through the dinner in which Daniel and Duncan had just entered, most of the sweat and grime gone from their appearances.
"Hey, Jack, I'm not too late, am I?" Daniel gasped, his hesitant voice so different to Duncan's ears. This was the scholar man he showed the world, not the prince of the universe that had taught Duncan an important fighting lesson minutes before.
"We just ordered, Daniel Jackson." Teal'c, in the guise of a human called Maury, answered, his voice stiff.
"Right. Yes, so this is Duncan MacLeod, and old friend form university."
"Doctor Jackson and I go quite a ways back, at any rate." Duncan turned to Daniel and clasped his hand, his soft voice dropping an octave. "We shall catch up another time, Daniel."
"Yes, we shall." Daniel said equally soft, his voice once again strong. He blinked and once again the Immortal was replaced by the scholar. "So, what did you get for me?"
"I believe it is called a gyro." Teal'c butchered the word, pronouncing it "gee-roo".
"Her-o" Daniel corrected absentmindedly. All of his friends were incapable of pronouncing the Greek words of his favorite dishes, Teal'c in particular.
"Was that the guy you ran into last night?" Sam asked, making a subtle disappointed face at the taste of her coffee.
Jackson smiled, it figured that Jack wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut about the chance encounter with Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod last night in the alleyway. "Yes it was. We had a rare chance to catch up today."
"What does he do?"
"Duncan MacLeod is a scholar, a collector of antiques, and a dojo owner." Daniel ticked off on his fingers, "He's really done a bit of this and that over the years."
Jack frowned, "He doesn't seem that old."
"I know. He's younger than me, but more driven, I suppose. I lost many years in the deserts of Egypt, while he was out living life." Daniel sighed, "so…"
The food came shortly, and the team talked of many things – never returning to the topic of Daniel's odd friend, for which Daniel was glad.
The itch doesn't seem to go away. I thought that after sparring with the illustrious Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod (who should really brush up on his hand to hand combat in consort with a weapon) my need to rejoin The Game would be tricked into dormancy, sated for the next hundred year. However it seems to have had the reverse effect. Instead of decreasing, the itch has only increased to the point where I can think of little else. It is nearly impossible for me to keep my mind solely on the many alien translations that are plied on my desk, or on the trips through the Gate. My colleges have noticed the change in my behavior – no longer am I able to keep the mask of timid scholar in place. More often than not, the mask will slip and I will utter a remark true to the persona of the traveling warrior Daniel ben Yaakov. Luckily, these slips have mostly occurred in discussions involving my wife, Sha're. The cut of losing yet another wife is fresh and deep, only spurring the itch further. I want nothing more than to challenge another of our race, feel the exhilaration I my inhuman veins, the rush of power, thoughts and emotions that is the electric Quickening. This itch must go away soon, before it drives me to take my own head, or I shut myself away in a monastery, as Darius did all those years ago. One thing is clear, however – before I rejoin the Game, I must tell the others in the SGC. If any Immortal takes my head, they will have knowledge that will be able to bring down the whole of the United States government, at the very least. The only question that remains is how?
Daniel sprinkled drying powder upon the wet ink, before stashing his journal in the highest shelf in his book case, the last in a long series of such journals he had kept ever since he learned to read and write. Later, he would take the personal journal home, safe away from praying eyes, but for now it blended in with the more professional journals that Daniel did not have to worry.
Knock! Knock! Knock! "Daniel, I need more coffee." Sam's voice closely followed her knocks upon the door.
"It's open," Daniel answered, walking over to the coffee pot he had set up in the far corner of his lab. "One of these days I'm just going to set up a colossal peculator in your lab so you don't have to keep bothering my work."
"But that wouldn't be any fun, now would it?" Sam followed him to the beloved coffee maker. "Besides, I have too many things that would be ruined should I spill coffee on them."
"Right, because what's one more stain on a useless ancient manuscript?" Daniel bit back harshly. 'Careful, Dan,' he thought fiercely in his head, 'careful.'
"Daniel Jackson, look at me." Sam ordered, "What has been up with you these past few days? Ever since you ran into MacLeod, you've been edgy and hard to work with. Sometimes I think you're two people, one the Daniel I know, and another, harsher Daniel that I've never seen."
Daniel braced himself on the counter, staring intently at the coffee maker. This glasses were off, allowing the full force of Daniel's gaze to rest upon the world. Pouring the coffee seemed to steady him, giving him something real to focus on. "Look, I'm fine. Here's your coffee."
For all his calm words, the man was obviously not 'fine'. He thrust the mug in her hands, hard enough to cause the boiling brew to slosh over the side of the mug in a tragic arch, scalding Sam's rough fingers. Only years of having her fingers abused in such a manner allowed her to keep a firm hold on the cup.
Daniel marched himself over to his covered desk, searching for his notes on the runes that Duncan had deftly slipped in his pocket at their last meeting. His fingers turned the pages, while his eyes ran over the lines of words in several different languages and codes. Softly, he admitted, "I think that I'm going to have to take some time off, and soon. I need to get my head together before I get it taken off for me."
"What are you talking about?" Sam inquired, confusion and worry tainting her words.
Daniel looked at the woman before him. She had stood by his side in the recent months since the rise of Apophis, accepting him as an intellectual equal. She, Jack, Teal'c – they all deserved answers. Answers about his life that Daniel couldn't give them, anymore then he could tell Duncan about his current life and work for the military. How had he gotten in this situation – hiding half his life from everyone he knew and had grown to trust, to care about?
"Enjoy your coffee, Sam, I have to go." Sliding the now deciphered runes into his pocket, Daniel shrugged on his trench coat, resisting the urge to sigh with pleasure at the comfortable weight of his sword resting on his back, a reminder of the warrior he was and will always be. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yes, I'll see you tomorrow," Sam echoed, worry for her friend and colleague etched in every facet of her body.
"Do you ever get the itch?" Daniel bit out between blows. Duncan had started a series of deliberate chopping movements jarring against the usual fluidly of his swords work that prevented Daniel from using any hand grabs or leg sweeps.
"To rejoin the game?" Duncan asked, "No, never. I've heard that other older Immortals often do."
"Darius never did." Daniel pointed out, "and he's the oldest Immortal that I've ever met."
"We should name that man the patron saint of Immortals." Duncan laughed, returning to a circular parry to block Daniel's return blow.
Duncan shook the sweat out of his eyes, giving Daniel an opportunity to lock the two hilts together, coming body to body with the other man. "Maybe he is a saint. Of kittens or something."
The Scotsman shrugged, attempting a kick that Daniel had taught him earlier. He blocked, and shoved the man away, forcing him on his bottom. With a flourish, he spun his Chinese blade above Duncan's head, a strong movement that would have beheaded him. "And that's a match. Good one, too."
Duncan put his hand up, and Daniel grabbed it, with the idea of pulling Duncan to his feet, only to end up sprawled on the top of the man.
"Yes," Duncan agreed, ideally stroking the other man's sweat soaked hair off his neck.
The two Immortals lay there, plastered against one another in the church's field, their lungs burning for the air that they had denied their bodies during the fight.
"How do I tell them? About me? About The Game? About the itch?" Daniel asked softly, raising his head to look Duncan in the eyes.
"I have only told one mortal in my life, Daniel, so I have little in the way of help to tell you." Duncan swallowed, his voice thick with pain, "My wife to be, I told her early on, before we started dating. I had to make her shoot me in the chest before she would understand, but in the end she stood by me. However, when she found out about The Game, I thought she would be the one to take my head."
"I've never had to tell anyone. The one time I thought I would have to, she turned out to be a Watcher." Daniel sighed, "While there are many of us in the business of history, there are not many in the field of Egyptology."
"They say the first of us came from Egypt."
Daniel shrugged, "I've heard this and that, but in the end, does it matter who started this crazy Game?"
"It matters to me, Daniel" Duncan said so quietly that Daniel could barely hear them, but he uttered them so intensely, that Daniel forgot to breathe.
"Then I hope that you find your answers." Daniel laid back down on Duncan's chest, "What happened to her? Your wife?"
"She was killed. By a drug addict. I saved her from every Immortal hell bent on destroying me through her, and she was killed by some random person." His arms wrapped tightly around Daniel, as a five year old would cling to a beloved stuffed bear for comfort and strength.
"My wife, Sha're, was brainwashed. She doesn't remember me, or my love for her." Daniel blinked away tears, "I can't leave the SG-C, they're giving me the only chance I have to find her, save her, start my life again with her. But, the itch – every day it gets worse. I know that I will have to leave to satisfy my need, but will I be able to return, with everyone knowing what I am?"
"These are questions that no one can answer for you, Daniel." Duncan sat up, pushing Daniel off him, "Do you feel the itch every second of every day?"
Daniel shook his head, "Not on holy ground. The Game truly does not exist here, and neither does the compulsion to rejoin it."
"This is the time of the Gathering, perhaps this itch is The Game's way of bringing all the players to the forefront."
"I felt this itch as a young man, newly risen from the grave, when I took my first head, my first Quickening by shear dumb luck." Daniel sighed, "I suppose that I'm due for a head at any rate."
"You've never told me about your life before you were killed."
"You've never told me about yours."
"One day I will, Daniel."
Daniel wanted so much to return the oath, but his jaw remained closed. Rising to his feet, Daniel once again had his sword in his hand. "Want another round?"
"I don't know" Duncan was on his feet and armed in a flash "Can your bones keep up with me, Grandfather?"
"Can your mind compete with mine, son?" Daniel taunted back, smiling all the while. He may not be able to tell Duncan the details of his lives, but a friendly fight was something both Immortals could readily enjoy.
"I'm worried about Daniel." Samantha said without preamble to Jack and Teal'c in the busy mess hall. Daniel had just disappeared yet again, most likely to spare with the strange Scottish man that he had been spending all of his time with recently.
Teal'c nodded his head, his monotonic voice as clam and flat as ever, "What is the cause for your concern, Captain Carter?"
"Better question – when are you not worried about the good doctor?" Jack put in, smiling.
"Aren't you the least bit worried that he's been spending all of his time off base with a man we know nothing about?" Sam asked, annoyed that her fellow gate-teammates did not see this as the big emergency that she did.
"Really, it doesn't sound any more dangerous than any of your dates." Jack countered, "Look, we have a mission in a couple of days. We can all talk to him then."
"Indeed." Teal'c added, "It does not seem to me that Daniel Jackson is in any danger, Captain Carter."
Sam huffed, outnumbered, "Fine, I'm going back to the lab to look at those Goa'uld artifacts."
Duncan MacLeod is becoming a better friend then I ever could have imagined, even if he sees the world in black and white with no shades of gray. He understands the way that we must live, with more secrets clouding our paths then truths. I feel that I should tell him about my work at the SG-C, however, this is not any easier then telling my friends at the SG-C about The Game, and everything else in my life that I have hidden from them. I do fear that our friendship cannot end well, especially if this noble man finds out what I have been keeping from him before I can explain it. The last time I let anyone in this close to me, she was captured and turned against me. Sha're, Sha're – my beautiful queen, one day I will find you and save you from the hell you are in. Sam, Jack, and Teal'c have all noticed the changes in my behavior since I have started to feel the itch, but, save for Sam, they are all acting as if nothing is wrong. Janet, my Watcher, has also noticed the change in my behavior. She notes it on my charts for her database, but not on the charts that she puts into my medical military file. For once I am glad of the Watcher's influence in my life, having to explain my knack for not having any wounds after all of our crazy missions would have been awkward indeed. The itch is still not any better, if anything it is worse, however, I have become used to it, and able to control my mask more effectively. I'm not sure whether I should be more happy or scared at this new task.
"I think that I should tell my Watcher that I know who she is." Daniel confessed to Duncan, they had just finished their last match at the Church before Daniel has to leave for his next mission with the team. "If nothing else, it'll give me a chance to practice talking to mortals about it."
"Hmmm," MacLeod muttered noncommittally, as they walked home together from the church to Daniel's apartment building, where they were both staying. "Tell me again why you will be gone for an unspecified amount of time?"
"I have to go on a trip of sorts for work. I have no idea how long it'll take." Daniel sighed, "I'm sorry for not being able to be more specific."
"I understand, Daniel, I will always understand." Duncan said, his words holding an intense edge. He had grown fond of this two-faced Immortal, the doctor who lived a more secret life then many could. "I shall wait for you to return."
Daniel's eyes flickered with fear at the intensity of Duncan's words, the certainly in his speech. "I don't know how long I'm going to be."
"So you have said, I shall still wait for you here."
"Oh, I had this made for you." Daniel said, handing Duncan a spare key he had cut that afternoon on his way home from the SGC.
With soft fingers, Duncan took the key almost reverently. "Thank you, Daniel."
The scholar shrugged off the embarrassing gratitude in Duncan's face. "Just think – you'll finally be able to eat something other than pasta every night."
"You have been too long a bachelor for me to expect anything else from you." Duncan teased. "You would think you'd learn to cook one of these lifetimes."
Pain flashed over Daniel's eyes, evident even behind his glasses, "I know."
"We live a long, hard life, Daniel. Death is a part of our lives, more so then any other person." Duncan told him softly.
"I know" Daniel said equally softly. He knew this lesson better then Duncan could ever realize.
Three of the four members of the SG-1 team stumbled through the gate. Daniel Jackson was not among them.
"He's dead. I can't believe he's dead." Sam whispered over and over, her voice hoarse from screaming, and crying before and after the horrible ordeal that had been Daniel Jackson's funeral. The three survivors were standing in front of Daniel's plain apartment door.
"I know." Jack's voice was a hoarse as Sam's. Both noticed that Teal'c had yet to say anything.
"Do we really have to do this?" she whispered. It was finally hitting her – more so then at the service, or when she had seen the Stargate swallow up the wreath, that her friend was dead. Burned to death by something with no face and no name on the shores of a planet that had no name other than a string of letters and numbers while the rest of them had hid in the ocean.
Turning the key, the three entered the apartment, causing Duncan MacLeod to hide in the bedroom, sword in his hand. Through the crack in the door, the Immortal saw the three intruders were none other than Daniel's so called friends.
"Col. O'Neill thinks I'm a geek. I have no idea how to get us back. I'll never get paid." Sam read from the diary on the table, her voice, even muffled through the door, sounded choked with grief.
"Daniel…" Duncan whispered to himself, filling with dread at the picture these people were painting.
"But, we can't, he couldn't have…"
Pulling himself together, Duncan fled the apartment and drove to the church where he and Daniel had spent much time, sparring, talking, eating, sleeping, living. If Daniel was still out there, he'd come back to find him here. "Daniel Jackson. I told you I'll still be here, so you should find a way back."
One week later, Daniel was sitting on the exam table, thoroughly bored and craving to get out to see Duncan, although he submitted to many of the tests that Janet had ordered. "Janet. My dear Watcher. Do we really have to go through this song and dance? You know as well as I do that my stats will not have changed, even after my ordeal in Nem's 'clutches'. Furthermore, why do I have to do this if you're just going to falsify your reports to the military?"
The female doctor looked up, fear flashing briefly in her eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about, Doctor Jackson."
"Yes, yes you do, Doctor, dear." His hands light sharp, Daniel grabbed her wrist, shoving the sleeve so both Immortal and woman could see the tell-tale Watchers' mark burned into her skin. "You are a Watcher. A mortal who does nothing more then watch and report on my actions in your beloved database. It's only fitting that I watch who is watching me, is it not?"
"Daniel, let go of my arm." Her words were soft, her breathing deep. Clearly the woman had never been in charge of watching an Immortal who knew her game, and had no idea of how to react. "Yes, I am your Watcher."
"Why?" Daniel tilted his head, so like the scholar she had gotten to know that Janet nearly let out the breath she had been holding. But, not yet. He still had her wrist captive, limiting what she could do, push come to shove. And he was still an old and powerful Immortal, his origins lost to the Watchers.
"To protect you." She answered, to be answered with a snort of distain. "Would you really want to explain to the military doctors why you are never hurt? Why the sedatives that they slip into your food never work quite right? Why you can stay awake and have no food or water for months at a time, and act like it's nothing? Why your x-rays show more lead in you then a pencil? Would you really want to have to explain all of that?"
"The enemy of my enemy is someone who I must trust and depend on to keep my secrets, Janet, not my friend. Not now, at the very least." He let go of her wrist, but the danger was still there. The mask of Doctor Daniel Jackson, the puppyish scholar who was everyone's little nerdy brother was still in place, but she had just seen the man behind the mask. The warrior that lived his life for few reasons, save for learning and The Game. The warrior that had fought and killed and survived in the harshest worlds.
"I would like to be your friend, Daniel, in time." Her voice was quieter now, more hesitant.
"And I would've liked for you to have told me your purpose long ago, when you joined this team." Daniel sighed, "If wishes were fishes, we'd all cast nets." He turned to her, a sly smile on his lips that must have caused much flutter over the centuries. "Now, do we really have to do these silly tests?"
"Even though you are Immortal, Daniel Jackson, you are not immune to psychological damage. Having your brain dug around din by some alien device could cause some damage. I want you to come to me at the first sign of nightmares. Or flash backs. Or anything abnormal." Janet reprimanded.
Daniel gave her a look.
"More abnormal then normal for you." Janet sighed. Immortals were the worst patients in the history of medicine.
Duncan was waiting for Daniel, but he was not sitting in the field behind the church, where Daniel had left him. Instead, the man came face to face with an Immortal who was armed, dangerous, and extremely unhappy. "I had heard that you were dead, Doctor Daniel Jackson. After all, your friends came to clean out your apartment while I was there. You can learn many things if people do not know you are listening. Would you like to know what I learned about you, Doctor Daniel Jackson?"
"I know." Daniel answered softly, letting the man circle him without moving a muscle. "There's much about my life in recent years that not many people know about me."
"Other than your travels to other planets, you mean. Or do you mean your ability to lie to every person that crosses your path?" Duncan bit out. He hated being lied to. Hated it. "What else have you not told me, Daniel? Who else have you lied to about yourself?"
"Two years ago, I became sick and tired of listening about all the fallacies in Egyptology taken as fact. So, I started to correct them. My first few papers, which relayed heavily upon my letters and journals I wrote as an Ancient Greek explorer of Egypt where folded into the span of knowledge excepted by my peers. Emboldened, I wrote a paper disusing the true builders of the Great Pyramids of Gaza, citing mostly my own works with no outside help or sources. I was regarded as a quack among the people who had one year ago lauded me for my successes. Little did I know that at the same time the Air Force had a group of researchers on the origin of the pyramids. They found some symbols that they couldn't figure out. I was able to translate for them, and we discovered this cult of people in Egypt who were holding the native people captive using fear and violence along with drugs and brainwashing. I met my wife among those people, and chose to live with them. Then, another sect of the same cult found us. They killed many of my men and took my wife as the wife of the leader of their sick cult." The man's voice was bitter, his wounds old. "After that, I came here and tried to forget how to live. I shut myself away, but you and Jack just keep pulling and pulling at me until I am once again open and vulnerable."
"You told me that your wife was brainwashed. That you were trying to find her and start your life anew with her."
"The Goa'uld, they're parasites. My wife was brainwashed by them and is living with them now." Daniel looked down quickly, his tears stinging his eyes. " I want to free her from that. I have to free her from that sick son of a bitch."
Duncan sheathed this sword, his arms crossed over his chest. "Why did your friends think you were dead?"
"I was captured, and my friend's saw me die in a burst of flame. Really, I was dead, but there was no good way I could have told them that. Nem never meant to kill me, at any rate." Daniel swallowed, "I translated more Cuneiform than I ever want to see again in my life. In the end, the alien, Nem, I found out that he only wanted to find out what happened to his wife when she came to our world. I let him use his memory machine on me, and she was killed by the Goa'uld as well. Before I left him, he told me 'What fate Sha're?' It gave me hope."
"Have you told the others that you work for about the memory machine used on you?" Duncan asked.
"I wrote a basic report. They don't expect much from me, being a civilian and all." Daniel gave a wan smile, "I doubt they'll even look very closely at my report, given 'The traumatic events' I went through with the brainwashing and all."
"Enough of this then." Duncan smiled, but it was a ghost of his former smiles. "We have talked enough for now."
Daniel's stomach dropped to his feet, feeling more in his heart than beating flesh and blood. His friend didn't believe him, and Daniel didn't blame him. The version of his adventures with SG-1 that excluded all mention of aliens, space travel, and wormholes was a bit hard to take. But for now, Duncan was willing to pretend that everything was fine between them, and Daniel had to hold on to that lie as the rest of his world slipped away. "I am glad that I didn't lose you, my friend."
"As I am glad that you could tell me the truth at long last, Daniel." Duncan dropped his stance back, sword at the ready, "Now, we fight."
Daniel entered the infirmary the next morning, his face pale but happy. He entered Janet's private office and closed the door tightly behind him.
"Ah, Doctor Jackson, what can I do for you today?" Janet asked, her morning smile ever present.
"Duncan knows."
Those two words changed everything. The smile was gone from her face in a flash. "How?"
"He doesn't know about the wormholes or space travel, but he knows pretty much everything else. He was staying in my apartment when Jack, Sam, and Teal'c went to clean it out after my supposed death. Which, by the way Janet, can you get them to be bloody well sure if I'm dead or not before they clean out my apartment again?" Daniel asked, "As in beheaded dead?"
"I'll be sure to try next time Daniel. It would be a lot easier if your ilk left bodies instead of just your swords behind, you know." Janet rubbed the bridge of her nose, she could feel a headache coming on. "I'm going to have to report this to the Watchers."
"No, you don't." Daniel sat in the chair across from her desk. His voice was deadly serious, and for the first time since she had known him, Janet felt the weight of his Immortal aura. "Just like you don't have to report this to your military superiors. Really, this is a military issue, not a Watchers issue. But you're not going to report anything about the Immortals or the Watchers to the military. You never have and you never will."
"What makes you so sure of this?"
"Because it's your head as well as mine if you tell the military, now isn't it?" Daniel shrugged, but it was not the careless shrug of a scholar that knew more of times long gone then he did of times in the present, it was the shrug of a man who wore power as a clock. A man who knew all of your secrets in a single glance.
"You're starting to scare me Jackson." Janet said warily.
Again he shrugged, "I know. You see, that's the point. I like you Janet, and I would very much like to trust you, but you keep making it harder and harder for me to do so."
"You are as guilty as I am of leading a double life."
"Wrong." Daniel's voice was low and intense, "My chooses were taken from me when I died. You made your choices for yourself. Now." He blinked and he was Daniel Jackson again, sitting in her office, not a powerful Immortal who was not to be crossed.
He left, and for one horrible instance, the woman was afraid that he had taken all the air out of the room with him.
Joe –
Daniel Jackson knows who I am, and why I am here. Apparently he has known for a long time, but only felt the need to tell me this after everyone was convinced he died on a mission for the Air Force. (I for one am not sure that he did not die and come back to life, as our friends are so want to do.) Today, he told me what I would and would not tell my various superiors. While his reasoning was correct, and the reasoning I had used, it was still terrifying to be faced with someone who seems to wear power and knowledge as a clock, when I am so used to dealing with a timid scholar. Advice is requested.
Janet.
The Watcher sent the email without any twinge of remorse. Joe was Duncan's Watcher, after all, and if the two Immortals were going to be close, then they was no reason for their Watchers not to be close as well.