Change of Focus

Daniel absentmindedly flipped his security card over and over in one hand as the elevator began its slow descent within Cheyenne Mountain. His eyes were fixed on the numbers scrolling across the small readout, but his sight was turned inward, oblivious to the two airmen exchanging nervous glances behind his back. It was…considerate…of the general to call him last night to let him know that SG-1 had returned safely from their off-world mission with no bumps, bruises, or even hangnails to show for it. Hammond had kindly let Daniel know that the team had breezed through their standard medical checks and were dismissed from the base for the evening so that Daniel didn't have to bother reporting to the mountain to check on them. A Major General in the Air Force passing along information like that was very…thoughtful…but it also spoke of deeper, weightier issues. SG-1 was back. The team had been dismissed. As a linguist he could not help but notice the significance of the general's choice of words.

After his last confrontation with Jack, he'd barely made it home and into his bedroom before he'd dropped – waking up nearly eighteen hours later in the same green BDUs he'd been wearing for days. Stripping them off and leaving them on the floor, he'd stood under the shower until long after the water ran cold, imagining the complaints from his neighbors that were certainly piling up on the building manager's answering machine. Coffee fortified him long enough to seek out some real food from the local grocery store, making sure to strategically place a bag of fruit on the passenger seat so he could stifle the insistent hunger pains on the drive home. Dropping onto the couch a few hours later after seeing to the petty needs of utility companies, his cleaning service, and the automatic food dispenser on his aquarium, Daniel had to admit that he'd needed the break. Twenty minutes after that he began to fidget, wondering if it were permanent.

Jack had been angry. Well, that wasn't new; Jack not angry with him would be more unexpected. What worried Daniel wasn't the anger – he'd deserved it – it was the barely controlled disappointment that he'd seen in Jack's eyes. He didn't think Daniel took his role on SG-1 seriously. No, that wasn't it. Jack thought Daniel put his team behind his research, his off-world exploration second to his on-base studies. The life of the mind before the life of the body; the ethereal over the tangible. It was the same old song and dance that he'd been playing around the military since he first set foot in Colorado Springs and had his first encounter with Jack O'Neill, General West, and the U.S. Air Force: that one's focus could only be one or the other. The military mind could not seem to grasp that he could be equally committed to both. Any diversion from the behavior they saw in their recruits – and expected of him - was met with resentment, mockery, and bitterness. Follow orders, toe the line, listen to direction. Don't question, don't consider – that has already been done for you by people higher in the chain of command. They were right: in dangerous situations, following the orders of a commander was vital, and the 'clear chain of command' that Jack always spoke about was critical, but it was hypocritical of them to apply that thinking to every single situation that presented itself in the SGC.

In academia, questioning, considering, challenging theories and assumptions was expected, not ridiculed. A person's ideas were given weight, much more weight than his physical presence, because it was his ideas that defined him, that set him apart. And there were as many dangers inherent in the discipline of the mind as there were in the discipline of the body, but he'd never convince his military colleagues of that, he smiled to himself. The patience and stubbornness Daniel exhibited at the SGC were the results of his long academic focus, and were the "muscles" he brought to his field work as well. Painstaking attention to detail. Willingness to go over the same research again and again and again until he could find the right answer. These were his strengths, and he knew- he knew that if he could bring them from the geeky side of town where they were appreciated to the violence riddled neighborhood of the front lines he just might do some good here.

It was up to him to reconcile the two areas of his life, and even more difficult, he had to convince Jack and General Hammond that he could do so. If there was one thing he'd learned from the military it was their insistence on the individual's commitment to the team, "one for all, all for one," and "no one gets left behind." When your life depended on the man or woman standing at your side, and not in a metaphorical, symbolic sort of way, but in a "they're going to shoot you in the head" sort of way, the philosophy made sense. And even though he'd been on his own since he was eight years old, Daniel embraced that philosophy with his entire being. In society, in academia, in the military, it was the bonds built between people that kept them sane and kept them safe. And Daniel had been the weak link in the SG-1 chain since the beginning by that very measure. Blame it on his childhood, blame it on his intelligence, blame it on his choices, whatever, it was Daniel who had to resolve his place within the two worlds he inhabited. Find his place. Define his role. Especially now when his roles of husband and father, or foster-father, had been irretrievably shattered and broken.

He opened his eyes to dispel the images those thoughts always brought along with them and looked around his quiet apartment. One more day. He only had one more day before he returned to the SGC. He had to be ready. So, while the latest Archaeological Journals sat tantalizingly on his desk, he changed into sweats and headed out, determined to find some balance between his research and his role on SG-1. He would not let them push him away.

During the five mile run he'd made his plans. Eat. Sleep. Study. Work out. Feed his brain. Feed his body. He couldn't be the little brother, the one everyone looked out for, the guy who had to be reminded to put on his shoes, for crying out loud, any more. He was young, he could still work long hours at his desk, cover his cultural staff, and take care of himself. He shook his head, sweat flying from the ends of his too-long hair. Other people managed to balance busy lifestyles – airmen at the SGC had families, kept themselves fit, and handled off-world missions. His mentor in Chicago, Dr. David Jordan, managed to keep up with his archaeological studies, raise three children, chair two departments, write a book, and advise one over-achieving and over-eager associate at the same time. Surely if he put his mind to it, Daniel could do the same. The frown deepened between his brows. At least he didn't have to worry about making time for family commitments.

Daniel blinked, his gaze reluctantly turning from his confidence of yesterday to focus on the reality of the upcoming meeting with Jack and General Hammond. He'd found the message from Jack on his voicemail last night when he'd finally remembered to charge his cell phone. Meeting. 07:30. Hammond's office. Don't be late. Thanks, Jack, don't bother to give me any hints about what I should expect, you and Hammond just blind-side me like usual. He glanced down at his watch. Traffic had been terrible, so he didn't have time to head to the locker room to change out of the jeans and sweater he'd put on this morning. Great. Just when he didn't want to draw any attention to the differences between Dr. Daniel Jackson and the military establishment around him. He rehearsed his points again, carrying on the inner dialogue he'd been imagining for the past two days between him and Jack, him and the general, reacting calmly to their expected statements, their presumed responses to his promises.

His feet must have taken their usual path through the control room, up the circular metal staircase and into the briefing room, but he couldn't exactly remember the trip, or who he might have passed on the way. 07:25. Good. At least he wasn't late. The door to Hammond's office was still closed, and Jack's broad shoulders covered in standard Air Force blue blocked Daniel's view through the glass, so he crossed to the observation window to wait, arms across his chest. The Stargate was dialing and SG-5 was waiting at the base of the ramp. His eyes opened wider in momentary surprise when he caught sight of the bearded figure adjusting the straps of his field pack next to Major Tissault. He'd been so wrapped up in his own problematic world that he'd forgotten that Robert was heading out for an extended survey of the ruins on P77-898 this morning. Shifting his weight to turn back towards the stairs, Daniel remembered that he wanted to repeat his warnings about the instability of the roof structure before Robert Rothman left, but before he could take a step, Hammond's office door was flung open and he froze. Jack and General Hammond were not alone.