"A Moving Sea"

By marzipan77

GENish/UST/Angst/Friendship, and we're headed in an AU direction from the actual eps since I don't think Sheppard is one to sit idly by.

SG-1/SGA

Missing scenes for SGA "First Contact" and "The Lost Tribe." Daniel's trip to Atlantis is motivated by more than pure research, much more than a desire to find Janus' lab. Is he burning bridges or is he searching for the boundaries of his connections, fingering the bruised edges of his friendships, and craving absolution in discovery?

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." Kahlil Gibran.

A/N: Apologies for the wait. Family emergencies plus the absence of my SG muse broke my stride with this one. Now that I've got a good idea where I'm going, I hope to update more frequently.

Chapter Nine

Woolsey sat back in his chair, muscles aching after two of the most stressful hours he'd ever spent outside Washington. Jack O'Neill's words still seemed to ring in the silent office, his voice carefully controlled but cutting nonetheless. Cutting right through Richard's persistent insistence on keeping Daniel Jackson from gaining a foothold within the Atlantis base. Too late. He knew it as soon as the scientist appeared in a flash of energy beams in the 'Gate Room that it was already far too late.

Grimace tightening his jaw, Richard slapped both hands onto the desk and spit out a string of curses to try to dispel the echoes of O'Neill's calm statements of support for 'anything and everything that Dr. Jackson needs.' Emphasis on everything. A moment later Richard strapped his control down tightly, closing his eyes against the tumbling resentment and anger that wanted nothing more than to take him apart and put his emotions on display for everyone to see. No. That would not do. He forced a deep breath and then another, slowing his exhalations until the tips of his fingers tingled and his mind ticked back to logical thought.

He pressed the right buttons to transfer O'Neill's personal message to Daniel Jackson to a data crystal, toying momentarily with the idea of cracking the encryption and listening to what Jack O'Neill had to say to his longtime friend and teammate who had come to Atlantis with a hidden agenda that reduced Richard to such undisciplined outbursts. His fingers wove the small translucent disc in and out thoughtlessly. Gathering intel, that's what it would be. Digging for answers, answers that might help him form an effective defense against whatever attack Daniel Jackson was contemplating.

Lips twitching into a dark grin, Richard shook his head and dropped the crystal into a drawer. No. He had other priorities right now. Even if Daniel Jackson believed that his presence should throw a long shadow over the more important work of this base, Woolsey had a mission to prepare for. A mission that could be the beginning of the end of the Wraith threat. He'd deal with the man and his petty demands when he returned. He slid the drawer closed quietly but the distinctive 'snick' of the metal sounded like the slam of a blast door.

He stabbed at a control. "Colonel Sheppard?"

"Sheppard, here."

The disembodied voice was cool and professional – anything else would be open to misinterpretation. Richard lifted his chin. "Report, please, on the progress of Doctor Jackson's investigation."

"Oh, he and Rodney are having fun chasing down … wall sconces, I think. The combined brain power tends to interfere with their communication abilities, at least to dense military types like me, but I'm planning to tear them away for lunch in a few minutes with Teyla – she'll make them talk."

Richard heard the familiar tone of affectionate disdain that colored the colonel's voice when he spoke of the often irritatingly condescending head of the science division. "Interrogation in the face of the torture of overcooked vanara grain. Perhaps you should take Ronon with you," he suggested dryly.

"I think I can handle it," Sheppard returned. "But thanks for the vote of confidence."

Teeth grinding, Richard stamped down hard on an immediately sharp response. "Doctor Keller and I will be beaming up to Daedalus in fifty minutes." Priorities, he reminded himself. Priorities.

He could almost hear the nod. "I'll be there."

"Very well. Woolsey out."

Richard allowed his gaze to rest on the closed drawer. Let Jackson and McKay chase Janus' cryptic clues, let them focus on Ancient technology and bury themselves in the kind of research that fueled their brilliant minds and kept them from interacting with the world around them. In a few days, perhaps a week, Richard would be back with the mantle of victory firmly around his shoulders. And it would take much more than an archaeologist with a doting general in his back pocket to remove him from his post then.

oOo

Watching the back and forth of the determined 'push' of Colonel Sheppard and the stubborn 'pull' of Rodney McKay, Daniel felt his annoyance at being 'personally encouraged' to leave his promising search for Janus' lab for the unappealing food of the Atlantis mess drain away. He was here, in Pegasus, feet firmly planted, books strewn across Rodney's too pristine work surfaces - that's all that mattered. For the moment.

Rodney was still wearing that hangdog expression he'd adopted after watching Keller and Ronon hustle off towards their meeting with the Wraith, absent-mindedly poking at the food heaped on his tray. Daniel shook his head - Rodney McKay playing with his food might just be the herald of the apocalypse they'd all been expecting since he and Jack, Ferretti and Kowalsky, first stepped foot through the 'Doorway to Heaven.' Clearly the idea of 'heaven' meant different things to different people, and, if Rodney's glum behavior was any sort of hint, his definition had a lot to do with a certain young, blond-ish, young, admittedly kinda cute, young doctor.

And Daniel's own definition? He huffed silently, eyes down, imagining a completely different group of people surrounding him in another commissary in another galaxy in another time. The warmth. The understanding. The way he'd … fit. Was needed. Valued.

"Doctor Jackson, I understand that this subject might be difficult, but, I am most interested in your travels with the Ancestors."

He looked across the table into Teyla's exotic eyes and, strangely enough, was reminded of the gentle, wise eyes of his Jaffa friend. She was tiny, fragile-looking, the complete opposite of Teal'c when you took in just the surface. But he could see, without much of a glance at all, that her strength filled her small frame like molten steel, and that her wisdom and grace had been earned by generations who lived every minute scrambling for some kind of existence under the shadow of the Wraith. Was that any less a slavery than what the Jaffa survived at the hands of the Goa'uld? And, if he saw more of a parallel than was really warranted, well, maybe he missed a certain taciturn friend more than a little bit.

"My 'travels' with the Ancestors." Somehow all of the sarcasm he'd meant to saturate the words with had drained away. She didn't deserve that. "I'm sorry," he immediately began again, as if she could parse his thoughts, "it – it's not that it's difficult. It's just that it is." He laughed and shrugged his shoulders, happy to see her grin in response. "How about that for an explanation?"

"Yes, yes, very eloquent, Daniel," Rodney snapped at his side. "Now you see why the SGC puts so much faith in his diplomatic skills." The air quotes were obviously to be understood as the scientist was still busy fiddling half-heartedly with his lunch.

"I believe I understand," Teyla smiled. "Perhaps it is something … too personal … to try to discuss with another?"

Daniel screwed up his face, thinking, unwilling to retreat behind such a convenient excuse. Ultimately, it would be a lie. And hadn't he promised himself that telling it like it is was going to be his new catch-phrase?

"Not exactly." He pushed his tray towards the middle of the table so that he could rest his elbows on the edge. "There's a lot to consider. I mean, I could talk about the Ancients – the Ancestors – for days," he ignored the snort that punctuated that statement, "but, many of the things I've remembered, or put together from other evidence since my return, are pretty subjective." The disappointment that clouded her features was painful. He shifted his chair closer. "Now, if there were particular questions you wanted to ask … maybe that would be easier."

"Hmm, let's see. One, why are they so annoyingly unhelpful? And, hey, thanks so much for the Wraith – quite a gift to the human race they turned out to be. Two-"

"Rodney."

Wow. Daniel's eyebrows rose as he glanced back and forth between Teyla's 'stern mom' expression and the suddenly silent, pouting man at his side. Shut the great Rodney McKay up with one word. She was good.

"What everybody fails to remember when you talk about the Ancients," Daniel continued at Teyla's rather regal nod, "is that the people we call the Ancients were just that – people. They may have evolved to a level of existence that seems unbelievably advanced, or spiritual, or godlike, but they are not gods. And, if we disregard the Ori and a few other exceptions along the way, they never intended to be considered gods. They lived and died, worked, had families, were scientists or administrators or historians, mothers and fathers. They raised families. Caught illnesses. Made treaties with other cultures, just like we do. They made mistakes – really big mistakes, sometimes – and, I guess more than anything else, tried to figure life out. Just like us."

"And had egos the size of the Ypistis Nebula," Rodney added.

"Not unlike some people at this table," Daniel shot back. He blinked and frowned. "Y-pestis?"

"Don't ask."

Daniel shook his head, trying to shift gears. "Anywho, most of the Ascended beings with whom I've interacted were, once you got past the glowing and the tendency to talk in rambling haiku, most intent on making sure they didn't make any more huge mistakes – and, in the case of some, trying to protect us from following in their more misguided footsteps." He'd treaded that same road, struggled with his own ego, his own best intentions and bull-headed meddling. He remembered his foolish words to a suffering Jack O'Neill in Ba'al's prison about life and destiny and – damn. "I know this," he closed his eyes, his voice dropping to nearly a whisper, "they're capable of unbelievable courage and loyalty and sacrifice." Oma. Merlin. Ganos Lal. Cold strands of despair and guilt reached out through his being. "And that I'm the last person who should judge them."

Eyes open, he watched as Teyla's soft gaze bored down past his well-guarded borders to the vault of regret and conscience that would be locked away deep within him for the rest of his life. There Daniel kept the faces of the dead – Skaara, Harrid and Salis, the crews of the ships incinerated by the Ori fleet, whole planets dead of the Priors' plague, and, now, all those who could not live with what they'd done as puppets of those powers. This quiet, alien woman whom he'd exchanged a handful of words with in as many minutes saw right through him.

She was calm, posture straight but completely at ease, and spoke directly to his soul. "I believe that the Ancestors make many attempts to guide us in our path, but that, ultimately, we are responsible for our own decisions." She leaned forward barely an inch. "And that we are entitled to make our own mistakes, just as they did."

Smiling, Daniel thought back to a wise little man with grass in his hair. "'The very young do not always do what they're told.'"

Teyla cocked her head. "Are we still so very young?"

Lately, Daniel had felt so very old, but, under the glinting eye of this woman, he couldn't help but laugh. "Well, clearly, some of us are still moping teenagers."

Face a picture of woe, Rodney took a moment to catch on. "Hey!"

"If you're not going to eat that, can we get back to work? Secret lab … find of the century …" Daniel prodded.

"Fine. Sure. Whatever." McKay slid his chair backward. "I want to have something more than a bunch of water-logged light sconces to show Sheppard when he gets back from his hand waving and check in with the control room."

Teyla stood with them. "I wish you luck, gentlemen. And, Doctor Jackson-"

He smiled. "Daniel. Please."

"Daniel." She gave him another one of those regal nods that reminded him of Teal'c. "I hope that we may talk again, soon."

"It would be my pleasure." Huh. He actually had meant that. Maybe Daniel Jackson could find a place here in Atlantis after all.

oOo

Sheppard jogged up the steps to the control room, trying to shrug off the suspicion that dogged him since his little send-off talk with Woolsey a few minutes ago. Something was up with that guy, something that had him wavering between skittish and smug and that got under Sheppard's skin like fire ants at a picnic. Being tied down here in Atlantis by Woolsey's insistence on the letter of the law was kind of a joke – as if Sheppard would go more than an arms' length away from the jumper bay while the Daedalus winged off to meet with Todd. Not damned likely. He'd be waiting, finger poised over the proverbial button to launch the rescue mission.

"Private transmission for you from Colonel Caldwell, sir."

"Well, that didn't take long," John muttered, meeting the technician's eyes. He tilted his head. "I'll take it in Woolsey's office."

"Ah – sir –"

"I know, I know," Sheppard put his hands up in a placating gesture, lowering his voice as if eager to not upset the children, "Mister Woolsey wouldn't like that. How about I promise not to touch anything and you override the locking mechanism, huh?"

Chuck's smirk spoke volumes about Woolsey's heavy-handed leadership style and John quirked a half-smile at the sound of the office doors sliding open at his back.

He threw himself into the desk chair and stabbed at the controls. Oops, already broke that promise. "Sheppard here. What can I do for you, Colonel? Sick of your passengers already?"

"No comment." Caldwell's stern, no nonsense tone was darker than usual. "While this journey doesn't promise to be as comfortable as our trip to Pegasus, Doctor Keller and her … entourage … are settling in."

Sheppard's eyebrows rose. Interesting. "And Mister Woolsey?"

"Let's just say he's a bit more prickly than usual, and I intend to keep a safe distance."

Leaning back, Sheppard laced his fingers together behind his head and addressed the ceiling. "So what's with the secret messages?" Caldwell had proven to be a 'by the regs' kind of guy. A military man through and through. Dealing with civilian administrators trying to throw their weight around wouldn't endear Woolsey to the man. But, this smelled like a different kind of rat.

A wave of silence moved through the empty space between the ship and the city. "How's Doctor Jackson getting along?"

Huh. "Oh, he and McKay are hard at it, but, frankly, I think the air will be a bit clearer now that Elvis has left the building, so to speak."

A sigh. "Acknowledged. Listen, Sheppard. Daniel said a few things to me during our flight, things that are making me even more … let's say concerned … than usual. And the fact that you and your team are persona non grata on this jaunt, well, I wouldn't mind if Atlantis was already working out an end run for this play."

Daniel. Not Doctor Jackson. Sheppard let his fingers walk over Woolsey's too clean, too neat desk, searching for an outlet for his untapped nervous energy. John had only had a few hours to interact with the man who had opened Earth's Stargate – and had opened the way to Pegasus – and already he could tell that weeks – months – years might not be enough to mine the man's experience. Caldwell had had three weeks. John opened and closed desk drawers, gaze turned inward. What had they discussed? Woolsey? Atlantis? The Wraith? His lips tightened. He'd been warned off this mission, left out of the loop, stripped of any chance to meet with Caldwell, to discuss strengths, weaknesses, these men or this mission, colonel to colonel. And whose strategy was that, he asked himself, already quite sure of the answer.

Eyes narrowed, John weighed Caldwell's words, Daniel's attitude, O'Neill's warnings, and his own well-honed intuition. Daniel had arrived weary, wounded, but ready for a fight. Woolsey was raw, inexperienced, and bearing a chip on his shoulder that could cripple a giant. Keller was that bane of all soldiers facing a strong enemy – a scientist/humanitarian who knew she was right. And one Daedalus class cruiser even with the added bonus of one trigger-happy Satedan was no match for a swarm of Todd's hive ships if this was an ambush.

Tactics snapped into place, gaping holes in this 'Master plan' now peppered with Sheppard's own brand of 'friendly interaction.' His fingers flying over the control panel, he snapped upright.

"Why don't you take your time leaving the system, Colonel? I know your crew is the best there is, but, giving them a chance to take a deep breath and shake out the systems before they meet up with the Wraith seems only fair."

He heard the slow comprehension behind Caldwell's acknowledgment. "Uh-huh. We're scheduled to hit hyperspace in eighteen minutes, Colonel. That suit you?"

Sheppard nodded to himself, typing out the commands to put three jumpers equipped with stealth shields in launch position. "Your call, Colonel. I'll just sit back here and wave," he smiled, figuring Lorne and his other two teams could easily catch up to the Daedalus in time to make the jump in its wake; silent, invisible – ready and armed to the teeth.

Caldwell signed off and Sheppard put the wheels into motion, radioing each team commander with his orders, and then moving to the control room to monitor and watch out the tall windows as the ships moved through the atmosphere before winking out of sight. Hands on his hips, he sighed, wishing it was him at the helm, wishing himself far away from this peaceful, quiet city and into the thick of things, where he belonged.

The Control Room techs checked frequencies, requesting and acknowledging status, a well-oiled machine. They hadn't even hesitated for a moment at Sheppard's new orders. He stopped next to Chuck's station, idling gazing at the inactive 'gate below them.

"Keep me posted," he muttered, looking two, three, four moves ahead to plan ship positions, fallback, counter-attack, and rescue operations, if needed. Lorne would contact Ronon on the other side, set up secure communications. And, if Woolsey was right, and Todd had somehow turned from a self-promoting, back-stabbing frenemy into an upstanding humanitarian, well, he'd never have to know, would he?

"Sir?"

Chuck's voice halted his movement towards the stairs. He turned back, frowning at the data crystal the tech held out in one hand.

"Before Mister Woolsey left, there was a communication from Stargate Command. I was instructed by General O'Neill to make a copy of the communique and deliver it to Doctor Jackson ASAP."

"Really," John murmured, arms crossing over his chest.

"Yes, sir." The tech's throat moved nervously. "In fact, the general was very … straightforward in his wording, sir."

"I can imagine," Sheppard smiled. He snatched the crystal from Chuck's willing hand and raised it in a salute. "I was just about to go check in with the good doctor." He leaned forward as if sharing a secret. "Consider the general's mission accomplished."

"Thank you, sir."

"No problem." He hurried down the stairs. Back-up on its way for Caldwell. City at stand-down. Scientists with their hands full. O'Neill and Jackson talking. His gut churned. What could possibly go wrong?