TableFic: Progress

by Thel

A follow-up to the events of Evolution Part Two from the perspective of the Table in Daniel's office. Part of a series by a number of authors.

TITLE: Progress
AUTHOR: Thel
EMAIL: kethe@hotmail.com
ARCHIVE:  I don't suppose it'll go anywhere but Miz Majel's page.
FEEDBACK: Please.  Good or bad, bring it on.  Here, or by email.  : )
CATEGORY: Episode Tag, TableFic
SPOILERS:  Follow-up to Evolution Part Two, so spoilers a'plenty there.  Other referenced to Stargate The Movie, New Ground and Beast of Burden.
SEASON: Seven
SEQUEL/SERIES:  Table Fic.  References Athene's fic "Offworld" and Debi C's fic "Under Fire", both slash and both available at www.oneworldatatime.net.
RATING: Gen, maybe PG if you're worried about mild references to torture.  Yes, it's a gen story which references slash stories… if you want to see slash, I have no problem with that.  ;)
SUMMARY: This is the aftermath of Evolution from the perspective of the Table.
STATUS: Complete
THANKS TO:  Pettygrew for ideas, discussion and beta and to Judy deV for ideas, discussion and alpha.  grin
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well… none really this time.  Shocker!

Progress

I am a table. I am a rectangular four-foot wide by eight-foot long, golden oak table with lots of grain, a leg on each corner, and a polyurethane sealant. This is important, because though it removes me from the level of `fine' furniture, it adds to my versatility and my longevity.

It has been quiet in Tall Civilian Daniel's laboratory for some days. 

I mark time as all furniture does… monitoring the activities of the mobiles around me.  In the morning, there is a slow trickle of them as they meander about, then a rush of activity. 

This then fades away until something the mobiles call 'lunch'.  Tall Civilian Daniel never seems to indulge in this particular pastime unless one of his team-mates decrees that he must.  They will then either disappear for a brief time or else someone will bring food to the office and they will eat.  As much as I like these mobiles, I do prefer when 'lunch' is held somewhere else as I almost inevitably end up sticky with circles of moisture left by the glasses.  Such things can mar the surface of an otherwise nearly flawless piece of furniture.  It may seem like a small thing but, utilitarian though I may be, I intend to be around for quite some time and I am not above a little personal vanity.

Besides, the commissary furniture expects such treatment and is prepared, both mentally and physically, for the messes these mobiles can make.  I have spoken at length with some of the lunch tables.  They look forward to visits by their mobiles, speaking of a few who have actually designated them with the peculiar mobile designation of 'the usual', as in 'the usual table' or 'our usual spot'.

As a relatively easy piece of furniture to move, I am nobody's 'usual', but I like to flatter myself that Tall Civilian Daniel recognises and likes me.  Every so often I catch him touching the spot on my surface where I stopped a projectile that would definitely have marred his surface, had it impacted.

This slight imperfection is often hidden under piles of books and papers.  Other mobiles have referred to me as 'Doctor Jackson's horizontal filing cabinet'.  This mystified me for some time until I realised that they were referring to his use of my surface, his desk, the shelves and the surrounding floor space as a filing system of sorts.

Every square inch of our respective surfaces is covered in books or papers or odd little pieces of stone, metal or wood known collectively as artifacts.  These things carry great weight.  Not a literal weight, but the weight of knowledge.  The weight of the ages.

But I digress.  I was speaking of marking time in an entirely different fashion.

Lunch is usually followed by a brief rush of activity as the mobiles return to their stations.  Then there is another lull as the mobiles concentrate on their tasks.

Perhaps the greatest rush comes at a time that Tall Military Jack has designated 'Quittin' Time'.  Quittin' Time usually involves a great rush of mobiles, laughing and talking excitedly.  It is similar to mornings, but with a great deal more excitement and mirth.  I know not what activities accompany Quittin' Time as Tall Civilian Daniel rarely partakes in this activity.  He may look up once or twice if someone calls to him, but otherwise he will keep at his work.

Later in the evening, Tall Military Jack may come by and badger Tall Civilian Daniel into leaving.  Often, Tall Civilian Daniel will pat my surface once or twice, arrange his books and follow Tall Military Jack out of the office, pausing only to look back once and then shut off the lights.

The next morning, the routine starts again.

This is how I mark time.

Of course, this routine is not always maintained.  Some days, Tall Civilian Daniel has 'missions' and goes offworld.  I know now what 'offworld' means, as I was… fortunate enough to accompany them on one such mission.  A corner of my surface was slightly scuffed by some heavy objects and I saw the sun.  It was all very exciting for a simple piece of furniture.

Tall Civilian Daniel and his team do this on a regular basis.  They have been to many interesting places.  The archaeologist often reads his reports aloud, checking that they sound right.  From these moments, I have gained a rather extensive knowledge of the universe outside of the large sliding door that separates this office from the rest of the base and the rest of the universe.

I have learned that Tall Civilian Daniel and his friends lead exciting and dangerous lives.  As functional furniture, it is my duty to assist in whatever way I can, be it a place to pile books or a convenient surface for a weary soul to rest his head.  I can imagine no better way to pass the time.

And, in waiting for my mobiles to return, I can imagine no worse.

Tall Civilian Daniel is on a mission.  I remember him preparing to leave.  He was in the company of one called 'Bill'.  Short Round Bill is one of Tall Civilian Daniel's team of archaeological mobiles.  I'm not quite certain what 'archaeology' means, but it has a great deal to do with heavy books, old wood and rough objects that scuff the surfaces of unwary tables.

Mobiles from around the base bring Tall Civilian Daniel objects to study and classify.  On his missions, the civilian goes into the field to retrieve yet more objects.  I hear Tall Military Jack occasionally question when they will have enough of the odd artifacts, but so far, Tall Civilian Daniel has not found his limit.

In this case, Tall Civilian Daniel's mission was not through the ring of water.  He was taking a 'plane' to Central America to look for an object that once belong to a mobile called 'Telchac'.  It was all very mysterious.  Something about a Fountain of Youth, weapons and Super-Soldiers.  I noticed at the time that Tall Military Jack was very reluctant to let his friend leave, but the mission was a 'go' as the military mobiles say, and the archaeologist left.

Tall Civilian Daniel has been gone for six days, as I mark time, and it seems to have worried his team-mates.  Tall Military Sam has visited the office every day for the last four days.  She sits at Tall Civilian Daniel's desk and talks quietly to him.  It reminds me of the many conversations that Tall Civilian Daniel has held in this very office with only the furniture to listen.  He is not here, at least not that I can see, but this does not deter her.  She tells him softly of her day, her adventures with something called a naquadah generator, and a plan to defeat someone called 'Anubis'.  Every day, she ends with the simple entreaty, "Come home to us soon, Daniel."

On two occasions, Tall Alien Teal'c has come into the office.  He says only "Kel Sha, Daniel Jackson" and then stands in the center of the room.  Eventually, he bows his head and leaves.  I wonder at that, and at the strange words.  Tall Alien Teal'c is a strange one.  He has the firm presence of an old oak armchair.  Solid and imposing with a austereness that seems harsh at first.  Slowly, you begin to appreciate its finer qualities and in time you realise that the majestic structure is really quite comfortable and slips easily into any arrangement.

The behaviour of these two mobiles mystifies me at first.  On the second day, listening to Tall Military Sam, I understand a little better.  Tall Civilian Daniel has gone on a mission, without his team.  They have been left behind, and they want him to return.  They fear for him only because they feel as though they should be doing something to assist him.  Of course, they know that he is a capable individual, but such is their bond, they would feel better were they together.

Something changes.  The melancholy has turned to outright worry.  It is the couch that clarifies everything for me.  For three nights, after the others have left, Tall Military Jack has entered the office late at night and stretched out on the couch for a brief time.  He is silent for the most part, but once, he brought a sheaf of papers with him and several maps.  He spent several hours on the couch sorting through them and speaking softly to himself.  I could not make out his words, but the couch understood everything.

Afterwards, the couch explained that Tall Civilian Daniel was not only on a mission… he was missing.  Tall Civilian Jack was planning some sort of rescue.  From the sound of it, so the couch says, this rescue mission was a secret.  Military General Hammond was not to know of his plans.  Something about diplomatic relations.

Being a utilitarian piece of furniture, I do not understand such things.  The couch, however, is an old hand at discussion and diplomacy.  It seems to understand these mobiles better than I… even if it does have a tendency to complain about how they smell.

Whatever the case, Military General Hammond's superiors were not allowing Tall Military Jack to retrieve Tall Civilian Daniel.  The Colonel was making plans to fetch back the civilian without the General knowing.  It was fascinating, but unfortunately, Tall Military Jack went missing shortly thereafter.

Tall Military Sam and Tall Alien Teal'c also went missing and for two whole days, as I mark time, I was left alone.

Well, not completely alone.  The couch attempted to teach me of diplomacy and how to tell the condition of a mobile by how they smell.  I believe that I now understand something more of diplomacy, but 'smelly feet' is fortunately a mystery that still eludes me.

Finally, having exhausted our simple store of conversation, the couch and I lapsed into a comfortable silence and were content to simply mark time.

I am taken by surprise therefore when, after six long days and in the middle of the night, the door to Tall Civilian Daniel's office slides open.  The couch and I wait silently, not exchanging a word until the light is turned on, revealing Tall Civilian Daniel.

I am distressed to see him…

Oh, don't misunderstand, I am certainly happy to see him, but he has not been well cared for.  Someone has tarnished his surface terribly.  His eye and lip are both swollen and discoloured.  Were he a table, he would need extensive sanding to smooth out the gouges in his cheek and forehead.  

Oddly, he seems to have acquired two more legs.  These appendages are mechanical in nature, smooth metal to assist his flesh.  Sensing my confusion, the couch explains that they are 'crutches'.  Mobiles use them when their own legs are unable to bear their weight.  An indication, the couch explains, that Tall Civilian Daniel's leg has likely been marred by some accident.  These new legs are a good thing, I think.  Four legs are much sturdier than Tall Civilian Daniel's spindly pair.

Proving the couch correct, the archaeologist props the 'crutches' up against the wall and hops awkwardly on one leg over to the couch.  He collapses gratefully onto its naugahyde cushions, crushing the pillow that reads `I have abandoned my search for truth and am now looking for a good fantasy' under his head.

Tall Civilian Daniel then curls up on his side, wrapping his arms around his chest, before giving one determined wiggle and sighing.  He appears comfortable.

The couch is upset.

Tall Civilian Daniel has most definitely not been well cared for.  The couch reveals that there is a strange patch on his leg that smells of the infirmary and of medicine.  Tall Civilian Daniel has recently showered, but the couch maintains that the scent of blood still follows him.  Tall Civilian Daniel has also apparently lost some weight.

The couch also insists that Tall Civilian Daniel has been burned.  I wonder how this could be.  The couch tells me of a time many years ago when one of the military mobiles was engaged in an activity called 'smoking'.  It involved setting fire to some dried leaves and paper and then breathing in the resulting smoke.  Very odd.  In any case, a careless mobile left his 'smoke' on the couch where it burned the naugahyde cushion.  While I can see no defacing marks, the couch assures me that it is there.  The crafty mobile simply flipped over the couch's cushions, attempting to hide the evidence of his carelessness.  Whatever the result, the couch now says that someone has burned the surface of the archaeologist stretched out on its cushions.

Tall Civilian Daniel has been ill-used indeed.  We wonder what has happened, but even a piece of furniture as worldly as the couch cannot come up with any good ideas.

We must wait then for someone to explain this to us.

Fortunately, we do not have long to wait before visitors arrive.

The door slides open, revealing a figure, silhouetted against the lights of the hallway.  I make out the rugged profile easily.  It is Tall Military Jack with Short Round Bill and Short Doctor Janet in tow.

They pause and look in, perfectly quiet.  Tall Civilian Daniel is breathing deeply, with a slight rasping sound.  The Colonel nods firmly and whispers.  "Told ya.  Sleeping."  He makes a shooing motion at the other two.  If I had to guess, I would say that they are checking on the condition of their mobile.  Satisfied, they allow the door to slide shut and they leave.

I hear the increased activity that signals the onset of morning.  Mobiles wander down the hallway.  Their noise is muted by the thick door to Tall Civilian Daniel's office, and he does not wake.  When it tapers off, the door opens again, revealing the Colonel.  Once again, he stands by the doorway and peers in.  I can see his surface wrinkle as he squints, trying to make out the form of the archaeologist asleep on the couch.

Tall Civilian Daniel sniffs loudly and turns over with a grunt.  I catch the merest hint of a smile on Tall Military Jack's face before he steps back and allows the door to slide shut again.

Some more time passes.  The couch and I sit quietly.  Of course, the mobiles cannot hear us, but out of respect for the slumbering figure nestled on the couch's naugahyde cushions, we maintain our silence.

The door slides open again.  I believe it must be approaching lunch.  I wonder if Tall Civilian Daniel will sleep through the noise once more.  He does.  He mutters once, rubbing his cheek on the pillow.

This time, Tall Military Jack enters the office.  He looks around and quickly zeroes in on the archaeologist on the couch.  He grimaces and then steps lightly over to the other man.  The Colonel grabs the desk chair and wheels it over to the couch, sitting down heavily on it, being deliberately loud.

When this fails to get a response, he clears his throat noisily.

Tall Civilian Daniel jerks awake, one hand coming up to ward his face.

"Turn it off!"  He exclaims ducking his head as though he expects a blow.

"Dammit."  Tall Military Jack says before reaching out his hand, stopping just short of touching his team-mate.  "Daniel?  You awake?"

The archaeologist squints, looking around.

"Daniel?"  Tall Military Jack tries again.  "Come on.  Are you awake?"

Now, Tall Civilian Daniel focuses on the Colonel, realising that he is back in his office.  "I certainly hope so."  He mutters, gathering his wits and sitting up.  He gets about halfway up before he hisses, clutching at his leg.

Tall Military Jack's hand immediately reaches out and steadies him.  "Easy."  They stay still until Tall Civilian Daniel nods.  He is balanced well now, and the pain appears to be decreasing.  Tall Military Jack speaks again.  "Where were you?"

"What?"  Tall Civilian Daniel's brow furrows worse than poorly painted pine left out too long in the sun.

"You said 'turn it off'.  Where were you?"

"Oh."  The archaeologist rubs his uninjured cheek carefully.

"Honduras?"  The Colonel presses on.

"No.  Bedrosia, actually."

Tall Military Jack frowns.  "Bedrosia… Nyan's home?"

"Yeah."

Tall Military Jack nods.  While it is not obvious to the couch and me, he is obviously reminded of something important.

"The cages."  Tall Civilian Daniel finally has hand enough of the silence and volunteers the information, distracting himself by pulling the pillow onto his lap and running his fingers over its cloth surface.

"When they questioned us."  The Colonel replies.

"Yeah.  It was funny.  Rafael reminded my of Reygar in a way.  Both men trying so desperately to discover the truth.. but trying at the same time to deny it.  They really only wanted a truth that would suit them."  Tall Civilian Daniel shakes his head and then winces, regretting the move.

They sit silently for a moment.  Tall Civilian Daniel stares at the cushion.  Tall Military Jack stares at his team-mate.

"So… tell me about it?"

"I think I pretty much covered everything in my briefing."

Tall Military Jack ignores him and states again.  "Tell me about it."  This time, it is not a request.

"Tell you what?"  Tall Civilian Daniel sighs.

"Oh… I don't know, Daniel.  How about all the things you left out of your report?"

"I didn't…  I didn't leave anything out."

"Uh huh."  The Colonel looks unimpressed.  He recites quickly, apparently from memory.  "'We were taken by a rebel group and questioned.  The device was activated and caused a zombie-like effect on one of the dead kidnappers.  Taking advantage of the distraction, Doctor Lee and I escaped, and we met up with Colonel O'Neill.' "

"That's pretty much it."

"Very succinct."

"Well, I am a linguist."

"Daniel…"

"Jack…"

They pause.  Tall Civilian Daniel's eyes dart from his friend down to the floor.  I know this body language.  He is attempting to hide something.

"They questioned you?"

"Yes."  There is strain in his voice now.

"About the device?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"What?"

"How did they…"

Tall Civilian Daniel shakes his head, grimacing.  "Jack."

"Daniel, you have small burns covering your back and chest."

"They're.."  He trails off.

"Yeah, come on, Daniel.  Explain them away.  You can't.  Those sons of bitches burned you, didn't they?"  Tall Civilian Daniel's eyes close and he tilts his head back.  Tall Military Jack continues ruthlessly.  "You have a concussion.  Your face and chest are badly bruised and your wrists are raw and bloody.  I read the medical report and I can see it on you.  Daniel, you were tied up and tortured."

"Jack…"

"Here's what I can't figure out.  Why wouldn't you tell us?  They didn't just question you, they tortured you.  Why not tell us… me?  Did you think I could look into that shack and not know what the car battery was for?  Not know what they did to you?"

Tall Civilian Daniel is tired and not thinking well, he shakes his head as he grasps for an explanation.  "I…"  He trails off helplessly.  "Jack, you don't understand."

"I know you, Daniel.  You wouldn't talk.  You didn't talk.  I know that.  Did you think that I…"

"No!"  Tall Civilian Daniel is adamant.  "Jack, it's not… It's just that…"

"I watched that slimy bastard with the pet Unas turn that pain stick on you.  When I was still rolling around on the ground trying to figure out which end was up, you were on your feet trying to negotiate.  When they questioned you on Bedrosia you were sick and hurting but you stuck to your guns.  Dammit, Daniel, a staff blast to the chest couldn't even keep you down."

Tall Civilian Daniel's head drops.

"Here's something interesting.  You know that guy I was with?"

"Uh… Burke?"  Tall Civilian Daniel is wary of the abrupt change in the conversation.

"Yeah, Burke.  We used to be on a team together.  Me, him and Woods.  We were tight.  One day, a mission goes wrong.  Woods is killed and everyone points the finger at Burke."

Tall Civilian Daniel massages his sore leg absently, but doesn't speak, waiting for Tall Military Jack to continue.

"So… He told them what he wants to hear.  He told them that nothing happened.  Mistakes were made and people got hurt."

"And… and that didn't happen."

"Nope.  Turns out now that Woods sold us out.  Burke stopped him from sending the mission all to hell and getting all of us killed.  He didn't want Woods' friends or family to suffer, so he covered for him.  Said nothing happened.  It was all an accident."

"That's… that's… tragic, Jack, but I don't see…"

Tall Military Jack held up a finger.  "No.  You don't."

Tall Civilian Daniel's gaze drops once again to the cushion.  I only hope for its sake that his questing fingers do not find any loose threads.

"I know what you're doing, and I know why.  Lee told us everything.  Daniel… you were captured and interrogated by hostile forces.  You did not tell them how to activate the device, in fact, you tried to warn them and you didn't stop warning them even when they hurt you.  Not only did you keep it together, you managed to escape.  You got yourself and Lee out of there and drew off the enemy when Lee couldn't keep up.  In my book, that's not 'nothing', Daniel.  You laid your life on the line again… and you covered it up… again."

Tall Civilian Daniel's brow furrows and he finally looks up at his commanding officer.  "I…"

"Did good."  Tall Military Jack's words are soft, and he finally smiles.

The civilian is speechless.  His jaw drops open a bit, red-rimmed eyes going wide with shock.  All of a sudden, I can see the tension leave him.  He has been worried about this, worried what his friends would think and how they would react.  Tall Military Jack has, with two simple words, laid all of those fears to rest.

Tall Military Jack has now made his point.  He slaps his palms against his legs and stands, handing Tall Civilian Daniel his crutches.  "Now come on.  A CO's work is never done.  Carter and Teal'c are coming home any minute.  It's Carter's first real command and I want to make sure she got through it without killing anyone."  He grins, taking the sting out of his words.

Tall Civilian Daniel shakes his head.  "Only happy when you're taking care of everyone, right Jack?"

"Hey, come on now.  It's a very proud day for any Colonel.  My kids are growing up.  You're commanding missions.  Carter's commanding missions.  Teal'c…  well Teal'c's working to free an entire race of people.  We'll give him another month or two before we ask about a progress report."

"You know, she'll probably be ready for her own command soon."  Tall Civilian Daniel speaks softly.

Tall Military Jack shoves his hands into his pockets and sighs.  "Yeah.  Last hurrah for this version of SG1 pretty soon, I think."

"Jack…"  Tall Civilian Daniel reaches out and grips his arm.

They stand quietly for a short moment before Tall Military Jack nods and gestures with his head.  "Come on.  Let's get to the gate room.  We'll head down to the commissary for lunch once Carter and Teal'c have been to the infirmary."

"Change is not necessarily a bad thing."

"What?  You want to eat somewhere else?"

"Jack, you…"

"Yeah Daniel, I know."  He reaches out a hand and grips the side of Tall Civilian Daniel's neck.  "I know."

They seem to have reached some sort of agreement.  Tall Military Jack drops his hand and gestures for the door, asking Tall Civilian Daniel to tell him more of this strange device.  There's a pause, and then the office fills with Tall Civilian Daniel's words.

They leave for lunch, and I am left once again in my own routine, marking time.

I am a table. I am a rectangular four-foot wide by eight-foot long, golden oak table with lots of grain, a leg on each corner, and a polyurethane sealant.  Change comes to all of us in small ways.  While it may mar some surfaces, it also shows the strength of the underlying construction.  Anything well-made will survive, as long as there are those around to care for it.