A/N: Basing this in Northern Ireland and some of Donegal as that is where I am from. Don't want to insult my fellow Southerners by writing about areas of the beautiful south I have never been to before. If I use slang I'll keep updating the glossary. I've often wondered how Sam got called so often on her mobile by random people. I mean how did they get her number? How did they know where Jack lived? How did they battle the trust so often without leaving the SGC so often, etc. All these burning questions, and one unique POV.
No Snakes In Ireland
Glossary – necessary knowledge of an Ulster sense of slang. (We've got ton's of it and then some!)
Backstreet Millie: A 'Millie' is defined as a working class person who would be dismissed as being quite common in their manners. Belfast had a lot of small streets back in the days of the Mills in Victorian Times. So to be described as a Backstreet Millie means that you are common. A lot of my older friends use it when they are talking in jest about gossiping and giving your own opinions about general daily things.
Catch yerself on – wise up! Scundered - embarrassed
What's the craic? – what's up? what's happening? Skitter – misbehaving child/adult
What's the bars/tell me the bars – asking about gossip Kinks – bent double (often with laughter)
Slapper –Tramp/S***(insert expletive here) Hidin'- getting beaten up
Craic – tends to cover a multitude of sins i.e. fun, story, you get the jist in context.
Pants – Not from NI but to say that we talk about Pants for underwear. To say pants is a polite way of say S***. It's basically because there are only so many times you can say a cuss word before it gets boring.
"More power to ye" – well done, that's interesting
Prologue – the Present
"An ciorcal ársa gur shuigh sé ar an dumha Thit na nathracha dúirt go raibh teacht go tríd i bhfoirm daonna. Tá scéal inis de fada roimh agus le troid a thagann amach anseo. Luíonn A banphrionsa agus Codlaíonn i gloine a bheidh tar éis in Éirinn le nathracha a ardú arís eile ar an oileán".
I looked at the writing on the sheet of old paper. Blinked and looked again. This was not what I thought it would be. Okay I don't speak Gaelic but I'm computer savvy enough to type it into the translation programme on my laptop and figure it out. So maybe it was time to look at the English again because the Irish was starting to sound scarily like something I'd heard about. A common legend stating that there were no snakes in Ireland. I lifted my head from my overcrowded and unnecessarily untidy desk in the museum offices. Organisation never really was my strong suit. I mean who has time to organise in an office really? You're lucky to get 10 minutes to type up your reports. What am I up to? I was trying to see if my boss was here or hiding next to the coffee pot for the next few minutes. Relief! She's havin' a cuppa coffee. Ah good the good old coffee pot. Working in this museum means that all the staff work their arses off but Belfast being Belfast there has to be time to allow for a few Backstreet Millie moments around a cuppa. I looked at the translation again on Google. Okay so it was older irish but there has to be some derivation in the newer dialect doesn't there? I mean at least that's what my friend Daniel tells me when I speak to him. Ad nauseam.
"The ancient circle that sat on the mound that fell told of snakes that had come through in human form. A story told of long before and of a fight that future come. A princess rests and sleeps in glass will wake in Ireland to once again raise snakes on the island". I raised my eyebrows and shook my head. That in my books was impossible but here it was in plain black and white on her laptop screen. I heard the chatter come to an end as the silence from the kitchenette seem to peter off. I decided that this was not a one women job and I thought to email it to an old friend – one with a bit of pull and a lot of interest in the mummy sitting downstairs in the soon to be reopened exhibit. It sometimes was worth working two jobs I thought. It's just I never thought the second one would ever be useful to anyone but it was. Once, a long time ago I'd met a man once who helped me out of sheer kindness and now I am part of a network of his eyes and ears.
Chapter 1 How Aileen Jones met Doctor Jackson – the past
Okay so here's the story. If you were to say the name Doctor Daniel Jackson in academic circles of archaeology at best you would get someone in kinks laughing. However, mention the same name in military circles at best you would get connections at worst you'd get a visit from some strange people from MI6. Since I'm Aileen Jones, I hadn't to worry about that either. Why? Cos I have a long standing relationship with the good doctor that came from a cross community trip to Chicago. Ya know I'm not exactly buddy buddy with the guy but I am friends with him. My friendship with the good doctor began when he was working at a university there. I was out one night at a bar with the cross community project workers and the group for one of the American teens that was having her birthday there. Of course part of the group that came with me was from my adorable comprehensive high school and being the fat girl I was often the target for the bullies. Of course these were the same bullies who got onto the trip to the windy city. They'd made the night hell for me and I ran out of the bar and I didn't stop running for the two whole blocks. Right smack bang into a rather tall and weedy man out for a walk with a book under his arm. I'd slammed straight into him on a dark street where the shops seemed to have closed for the night and only a few people seemed to be walking by them.
"Oh um hi?" the man looked at me. To be fair I was scared upset and confused and at 16 I wasn't exactly miss 'good looks' either more like 'Never Been Kissed' the high school version. Brown short bobbed hair, grey eyes, psoriasis, just slightly more than overweight and at a healthy 5 foot 8 inches I was awkward in appearance. This rather awkward yet cute looking guy with the most gorgeous blue eyes, long fringe, tall and slightly lanky height intimidated me slightly. I sniffed and rubbed the tears away from my eyes trying to cover up my tears. Never want them to see me cry. The man studied me closely.
"Um, I think you are supposed to say hello back but from the way you are rubbing your eyes I'd say I'll forgive you for that one." He smiled gently and I accepted the tissue he dug out of your pocket and blew my nose.
"Thanks mate! I'm while sorry for slamming into ye like that!"
The man smiled again. "So I take it you are not from around here then?" I hiccupped with tears and giggled softly.
"Not from around here, no. Not exactly. Gee, not that it's obvious or anything. Please for heaven's sake don't tell me that I'm Irish and that's quaint. I've been getting that ever since I arrived here especially from a lot of women and it's getting old! I'm Aileen Jones but my real friends call me either AJ or Ali and for the tissue can you call me Ali?"
The man broadened his grin. I could tell he could see something of my spunk hiding behind the tears I was trying not to let fall.
"Daniel Jackson but please, call me Daniel and I'm guessing you're from the North of Ireland Ali." I grinned. Ostensibly I'm proud of where I had come from, well, maybe not all of its history, but I was proud of the side of Northern Ireland that few people recognised including the accents. My grey t-shirt had a Celtic cross on it. We'd all been stuck with the fashion choice when they were out as a group much to many of the groups disgust including Aileen's. Grey was definitely not my first choice in colour.
"Ah Danny boy, so how wouldja know that? Hmm?" My eye's flicked to the t-shirt that said Crossing Borders. The T-shirt kind of pointed to the obvious. Daniel smiled shyly.
"I'm working at the university in the archaeology department. I know something about languages." Daniel slid a finger along his nose up to straighten his penny round glasses and he shifted his feet. I was shocked that he bothered to recognise where I was from but nodded sagely as if this was nothing new and I just quietly said "more power to ye." Daniel smirked at that saying. It was clear that it wasn't one he'd heard of before. He looked at me the gawky teenager in front of him in the dark street in the middle of Chicago and I think he realised at this point that this girl was runnin' about minus an adult. I think that at this point he decided then to ask the innumerable question that any adult who'd caught a lost child and asked a question any adult would ask of a teenager.
"So why were you running by yourself in the middle of a strange city?" He gave me his best lecturer stare. I caught it and ducked my head.
"The craic of it is that I have had a pants night. That's the knickers kind not the trouser kind! The trip that I came on has turned into a nightmare because the guys have decided it would be a laugh to tease me about my psoriasis. They kept saying that I should be separated from the rest of the group because I of my psoriasis." I laughed bitterly and continued.
"Scabby shouldn't be let near a bar and bring the cool factor down and I still have 3 weeks of this trip left and I would rather go home right now. What's worse was that the girl whose birthday party I was at agrees with them and deemed me unfit for her party."
The sobs began again. I got about 3 metres outside the pub door when the tears began and had managed to gasp them back into submission before bumping into Daniel. I really hadn't wanted to cry especially in front of a rather cute stranger who happened to be kind. Daniel took my hand and squeezed. I shook my head as if to clear it. I really hated being seen crying. It was like letting the world know you couldn't handle what it threw at you. Weakness!
Suddenly my head whipped around as I heard my name and saw a trio of the teens from the bar walking over to me. I sighed and shuddered with fear and I felt rather than saw Daniel glance at me. The birthday girl was flanked by two boys. They raked their eyes up and down me in disgust. The girl, Pippa Spence who was the ringleader of the group had a thick build cropped blond hair and a pair of finely rimmed square glasses which covered her brown eyes that glared at Aileen in barely contained disgust. She ignored Daniel and opened her scathing flabby gob.
"Scabby, do you know you've wrecked my birthday. The counsellors are ready to call the cops on you because of your disappearing act."
My head whipped up in defiance and my grey eyes clouded in a lot of barely contained fear and some determination. Again my body shook slightly. I felt Daniel's hand on my shoulder and I relaxed into it. Somehow Daniel's presence seemed to make me feel bold and for a moment I felt I could, for once, say what I always meant to say to a person. Usually the words came long after something happened but not tonight.
"Pippa, catch yerself on! You've made my night a misery because I have a skin condition which I can't control. You've teased me, berated me and made fun of everything I've said. By the way in case you've forgotten my name is Aileen and you've ruined my night." I could feel the words crack as I said them and felt more fear at the mob in front of me.
Again I could feel Daniel watched this exchange with caution. He was not exactly invited to this cat fight but there seemed to be some understand some of my predicament. I was an outsider from the looks of the fight and I could see in his eyes he felt that he could relate. Pippa looked at me with evident fury on her face. "Ruined your night? Oh boo hoo! Scabby, did you forget whose birthday it is and who the party is for? I didn't have to invite you but I did." The venom in her words was evident there and then.
"I'm surprised that you bothered at all judging from the way you've treated to me. I just came to enjoy the party. You came to enjoy the smack down on the nearest victim you could see." I hotly spat back. Pippa fumed at that and I could see in her expression that she felt that she wanted blood spilt because for once she'd been humiliated at her party and as a popular kid I'm quite sure that didn't happen often. Pippa balled her hand into a fist and took a swing at me who'd covered my face only to be stopped by Daniel who must have grabbed her arm. This time it was noticeable that he was going to intervene. I was grateful to him for speaking at this point.
"Anywho, I think I'd better get you and this group back to your counsellors. I think I want a word with them and I think now would be a great time for me to take a walk over to that party of yours. Whatcha think Ali? Fancy some company?" I smiled shyly. My head was definitely turned by this knight in shining armour.
"If you don't mind a scundered wee lassie no. I'd be glad of it." Whilst they were walking back to the bar, I realised that there'd be a call home to her parents about this and that scared me. My father was a decent man but his temper was fierce when I was getting into trouble. I knew I'd be getting a long distance earful for this I was sure. I turned my head and leaned in and whispered to Daniel. "If I forget later, thanks Daniel. I'm kinda glad to have met you." That's how it started. He'd left me his card so that I could send him a letter to let him know that I was okay and I'd written one and posted it to him before I left the States. It was one of those one time meetings that ended up being a random act of kindness.
Two months after that a rather disastrous lecture was given by one Doctor Daniel Jackson to his peers and he was laughed out of academia and brought into the Stargate programme. I grew up but I never forgot that meeting.
A few years after that….
I remembered applying for this job that had me so quietly filling in paperwork now for my latest mystery that I'll be sending to Daniel. I needed to work now that I'd finished a degree in Heritage Management at one of the Yorkshire Universities. I saw this job, which have now, a few years ago in the Belfast Telegraph for a Jackson Foundation asking for administrators or archaeologists to look out for certain pieces of information. I had been one of the few hundred to be selected for it as Northern Irish entries were thin on the ground. It was only on my interview in London did I realise who my boss would be and even then I nearly didn't recognise him. He was on the interviewing panel on one of those rare months when SG-1 was having a quiet month although I didn't even know what that was for quite some time. They'd just got over what Daniel would later tell was the Osiris incident in Chicago and they needed eyes and ears to prevent it happening again. However at the interview I was told that it was research for a private foundation that worked independently. I'd walked into the room for the interview. I was really nervous like I wanted to puke my lunch that I had just managed to afford considering London is so expensive.
During my time in university I had specialised in the history behind things and how to control damage to those specifically sensitive to cultural and heritage areas. Not a typical person to hire for the kind of archaeological job they were thinking of but I know but I put my case forward stating that people who worked in heritage often had to know their pieces in order to tell those who visited museums what they were. One of my hobbies at home had become spending time reading up on items in the hopes that I could work well in one of the local museums and that they administrative/tour staff were often getting their eyes near artefacts long before the public saw them. They had to know the museum inside and out. Who better to do the job that they were asking I argued and they pressed me on many points and I had responded in kind on many of the tests and questions they had had. In the end I realised I hadn't a prayer but I was glad to have tried.
I looked over at the good Doctor. He had so changed since I last saw him. He looked less of a geek and more – I don't know, like he had seen so much including horror beyond description. I knew the look. I had seen it in some of the old war veterans I met in the churches on Remembrance Sunday in November. You know the day to honour the soldiers of all the wars. My reason is my two grandfathers and my great grandfather. My great grandfather died at Ypres and the other two were Home Guard or as my old friend Harry liked to call it Look, Duck, Vanish (Local Defence Volunteers or later known as the Home Guard). Like the horror didn't entirely wash away. I wished them all the best at the end of the interview. For me that's a standard practice in my everyday life. Just because you may never meet someone again doesn't mean you do not want the best for them. I got up from my seat and was walking out only to find to my great delight that I was being walked out by Daniel himself from the conference room of the hotel. I stopped and turned to look at him.
"Can I just say Danny boy, it was nice to see you again." My words were full of delight at seeing him. Daniel raised his head up sharply. Again I learned later, much later, that no one called him Danny except Jack.
"Excuse me? What did you call me?" His voice had risen slightly and suspicion crossed his features. I smiled apologetically. Somehow I knew he wouldn't remember. My dad (Bless him and rest in peace) used to say he couldn't remember half the people he met when he was a salesman. I noticed in that awkward moment that he was still cute from when I'd last seen him now with short hair and in the time from when I had last seen him but it was obvious that was he now spent time working out. To me he was 'buff' (very hard not to notice that! You would have to be blind not to notice this guy) but he still had maintained that kind of awkwardness I noticed the first time we'd met.
I caught my breath and thought 'Uh oh! I'd just my chance blown my chances at this job outta the water!' I took another breath and looked up at him and I saw his face was slightly annoyed. I knew I had to talk fast and tell the whole truth.
I sucked in a breath before rambling. "Sorry mate. You just reminded me of someone who was kind to me once. My mistake! He just rescued me from a hidin' from a trio at a screwed up invitation to a birthday party in Chicago by a rather nasty chicky. Anyway, see you Doctor. Thanks for the interview." I smiled nervously after speaking and walked away from the hotel conference room never looking back. Yet I could feel a pair of eyes boring into me the whole way out of the hotel, I swear some days I still can. It's the effect of seven years of bullying and I felt like I had been lucky. I got to meet my hero again - the guy who was kind for no reason for one moment in time when I needed it.
Two months later I got a call but it wasn't what I thought it would be. I'd been offered a job in the Ulster Museum in Belfast that I'd applied for and I took it. Not everyone's dream job granted but it helps pay the bills plus free history to work around! WOOOHOO! After my first year there working in the museum guides section I received a call from the Jackson Foundation. There was a spot for an administrator and would I be interested.
"Interested? Are ye nuts? Course I'll take it!" my tone was full of delight over the phone. The woman I spoke to advised me that I would have to go through some stages such as a police check, health evaluation and so on but I took all in my stride. What I didn't know then was that my stride had just changed from normal world to crazy world and so had my perspective on the universe.
Over the course of my work I slowly got to know the man through various emails and webcam updates as the years went on. I never told anyone about my other job at work and I always looked forward to delivering my reports to the guy. I had access to information about certain events and artefacts that passed through Queens University's archaeological department and the Museum itself that were not readily available to the foundation at hand and as such my skills set changed just enough for me to develop my skills in the museum and I managed to change departments as the years went on. Over the course of the late night reports and emails we began to develop a good friendly relationship but we never spoke again about how we met. Some days I often wondered if the guy ever remembered – somehow I doubted it. Someday, I promised myself I'd bring him over to Northern Ireland and I'd find a way to thank the good Doctor for that one act of kindness. After all a girl can hope.
Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I wish to own Queens University, the Ulster Museum, Belfast Telegraph or anything else I may later mention regarding Northern Ireland or its culture. They are there simply to tell the story not to make any money. Any references to people are coincidental and any places are simply there to act as a reference point for others who have not been to Northern Ireland. I hope you enjoy this!