Duty
"Unauthorized incoming wormhole!"
He was on his feet and fumbling for his glasses before the blaring alarm had a chance to echo once through the quiet base. Nothing, not even the caustic voice of a cold-eyed O'Neill, could wake Daniel so thoroughly from a dead sleep. He shoved his feet into the boots that he'd dropped next to his bed and hurried towards the door to his on-base quarters, no thoughts for the books and papers he was disrupting from his frantic movements. His boots made an odd clomping sound in the empty concrete hallways, almost as loud in his ears as the heavy beating of his heart. Something was wrong – this wasn't going to be the Tok'ra or Bra'tac checking in - nothing good ever happened at o-dark-thirty. His pace brought him to 'Gate Room just as SG-5 was stumbling through the event horizon, dusty, gritty - bloody, Daniel realized as his eyes took in the deep gash on Col. Bates' temple and the makeshift sling supporting Maj. Cosgrove's left arm. Robert Rothman was already being helped onto a stretcher by one of Warner's burly orderlies, his right pant leg slit to the knee and his ankle encased in a field splint. Noticing that his colleague was being well cared for, Daniel moved to lend a shoulder to a swaying young lieutenant who seemed to be covered from ankles to eyebrows in a fine film of dust. Bates stopped at the end of the ramp and waved away a hovering medic, eyes roving over the group as if to make doubly sure that he'd returned with just as many men as he'd led through the wormhole only 20 hours ago.
"Robert?" One of the orderlies had finally gotten the archaeologist safely situated, and Daniel carefully surrendered his hold on the young airman to his ministrations so he could catch up with Rothman's fast moving gurney. He grasped his friend's arm as the man closed his eyes to shut out the dizzying sight of the corridor lights flying past. "Tell me the roof didn't cave in, Robert," Daniel whispered urgently.
Rothman's wry laugh turned into a cough and Daniel steadied him until he managed to catch his breath. Shaking his head from side to side, he reached out and grabbed Daniel's sleeve. "I should have seen it, Daniel, the rock around the entrance should have told me it wasn't stable. Major Cosgrove pushed me out of the way and got hit by one of those big timbers. It probably would have killed me if he hadn't." Another series of coughs tore from his throat and Daniel glanced up at Dr. Warner's concerned expression.
"Don't try to talk, Dr. Rothman," the doctor advised solemnly.
Timbers? Daniel leaned down, one hand on Rothman's shoulder, guilt and worry furrowing his brow. "I'm sorry, Robert, it was my fault. I thought the video showed some damage to the columns, I should have warned you…"
Rothman's dirt-caked frown mirrored Daniel's own. "Columns? What are you talking about, Daniel? We set up camp in an abandoned mine near the temple. The roof collapsed in the middle of the night. They spent the next three hours digging me, Cosgrove and Lt. Loder out," Rothman gasped.
The relief that seeped through Daniel's body was spoiled by concern for Rothman and the men of SG-5. Forced to wait in the hall while the injured were evaluated and treated, Daniel paced anxiously, glancing at his watch every few minutes trying to determine whether he had enough time to run back to his quarters to grab the text on pre-Aztec civilizations to study while he waited for permission to see his colleague, or if it would be a waste of time. The nurse could come out any second, and as those seconds ticked by he was reminded that his 24-hour deadline was fast approaching. He'd give it another five minutes, he decided, shoving his hands into his pockets. His fingers slid along the smooth edge of the envelope the 'Gate Technician had handed him only twenty minutes ago – the one that bore Rothman's name on the outside written in his own careful scrawl. Daniel was suddenly confident that the decision to wait until Robert could have visitors was the right one – he'd known this afternoon when he'd written the note and handed it to the spectacled sergeant to be sent through the wormhole at SG-5's first check-in that Robert Rothman deserved to hear the truth about the SGC's new 'acquisition' sooner rather than later. Just as he managed to gather his evaporating patience and lean back against the cold stone of the underground corridor, a petite blonde nurse approached with a smile.
"Dr. Jackson, you can see Dr. Rothman now if you'd like."
Clean, dressed in infirmary scrubs, and sporting a brace on his ankle, Rothman looked infinitely better than he had when he'd stumbled down the ramp. Daniel stopped at the foot of the bed, eyeing the IV line that trailed from one arm, not quite sure if his colleague was totally alert or already drugged out on pain meds.
"Robert?"
Brown eyes blinked open and Rothman folded one arm under his head to peer down the length of his bed. "Hey."
"You doing okay?"
"Yeah, it's just a bad sprain, nothing broken." He gestured down the line of beds towards the source of Cosgrove's clearly audible moans. "Better than a separated shoulder, that's for sure."
Daniel grunted in agreement, folding his arms over his chest. "Sounds like you ran into some bad luck."
"You're telling me," Rothman snorted. "Good thing the big burly Marines were there to come to the rescue. Hey, remind me to not bad-mouth them for at least a week, okay?" he smiled. Suddenly taking in the subdued lighting and minimal staff in the infirmary, a thought struck him and he narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing on base, anyhow? It's like four in the morning, isn't it?"
Shrugging, Daniel merely smiled tightly.
His frown deepening, Rothman tried to push himself to a more upright position. He glanced from side to side and whispered as if he were a conspirator in a grade-B movie. "Is something going on? Somebody dead? Missing?" Rothman's voice strained towards the higher registers as he let his gaze travel up and down Daniel's frame momentarily. "You're here, so my first bet on a victim is already out."
"Very funny, Robert," Daniel huffed, hesitating again, not quite sure how to – or if to – broach the subject with his friend in this very public setting. "Just getting some work done, you know me." Maybe Robert had enough on his mind; maybe he should let him rest. God knew he wouldn't get much once Daniel told him about Kendrick's arrival. He hesitated, wondering just how to best protect his friend from the latest idiotic military decision and frustrated that, whatever road he chose, his friend would be hurt. If SG-5 hadn't picked a decaying mine shaft for their camp that night, Rothman would still be off-world and oblivious, but here in the infirmary he was likely to hear about the scientist's appointment in a casually dropped phrase any minute. Grasping the letter he'd written earlier in the day, he moved to the side of the bed and held it out to the injured man.
"What's this?"
Now it was Daniel's turn to glance around. "Listen, Robert. I know you'd like to stay here as the pampered guest of the SGC doctors and their big scary needles," he didn't stop to acknowledge Rothman's sarcastic exclamation, "but, do me a favor. Read this when you have a chance. And, if you decide you'd rather recuperate at home, or take a few weeks leave, I'll be glad to drive you. Just have an airman call me."
"Daniel?" He eyed the envelope with suspicion. "You are dying!"
That prompted a genuine laugh. Daniel shook his head, a smile still lingering on his face. "No, Robert, I'm not dying. Just read it, okay?"
Three hours later Daniel was back in the infirmary, receiving a copy of Rothman's care instructions and a firm lecture on his own need for rest from Janet Frasier who had been barraged by Robert's repeated requests for discharge as soon as she reported for duty. Daniel shoved the anti-inflammatories and pain meds into his already heavy pack full of reference materials, careful to nod sincerely every time the doctor paused in her recitation while watching Rothman attempt to navigate on his new crutches. He knew that look – the one of mixed disgust and fury that distorted the archaeologist's features. It had been the only expression he'd seen on Rothman's face for almost the entire first year of their acquaintance back in Chicago. Robert Rothman, Ph.D. in Anthropology and Master's in Archaeology blinked rapidly, desperate to flee the suddenly claustrophobic underground base before he came face to face with a nightmare from his academic past.
Shuffling slowly past the sentry station at the surface, Daniel reached over to steady his friend while he cursed every god from every pantheon of every mythology he'd ever heard of under his breath. Of course. It's almost 07:30. I am an idiot. Most on-base personnel reported at 08:00, so it made perfect sense that the two figures both he and Rothman wanted to avoid at all costs would be coming towards them through the parking lot. He could see the whitening of Rothman's knuckles as he clutched the crutches' handles lurching painfully as he tried to move faster.
"Just keep moving," Daniel whispered, pointing to his own car to their right as he angled to the left, placing himself between the wounded archaeologist and the approaching figures.
"Daniel." Jack was still wearing reflective sunglasses which effectively hid his eyes, but not his mood. "Missed you last night."
"You only gave me 24 hours, Jack; I didn't have time for 'team bonding' night." Daniel tried to keep his tone light while surreptitiously glancing at Rothman's progress towards the waiting vehicle.
"Oh, of course, your famous research to prove me wrong," Kendrick's smile seemed especially venomous in the early morning light. "My dear fellow, surely there are other, more vital tasks better suited to your talents?"
Daniel ignored him, keeping his own gaze locked on where he assumed Jack's was behind the shades. "You heard about the accident?"
"You driving Rothman home?" was Jack's only reply.
"Yes, but I'll be back in plenty of time." After a tense moment both men began to move off in opposite directions – Jack to deal with his responsibilities as 2IC of the SGC: the shuffling of teams and assignments that always resulted from injuries, and Daniel to deal with his. Neither noticed the sudden recognition in Kendrick's eyes at the mention of Rothman's name. Standing alone in the Cheyenne Mountain parking lot, Dr. Donald Kendrick felt the familiar stirrings of victory.