The Abstrusity of the Archaeologist
by Cleo the Muse
Rating: All Ages
Genre: General, Humor, Missing Scene/Epilogue
Warnings: Two swear words, both of 'em Landry's fault.
Episodes: Missing scene for "Avalon, Part One". Minor references to "Prometheus Unbound".
Synopsis: Picks up where the series "The Thief" leaves off. Vala's found the perfect place, the perfect bait, and the perfect hook for fishing, but why can't she catch one reluctant archaeologist?
Notes: Even generals have bad days.

The Abstrusity of the Archaeologist

"The enthusiastic, to those who are not, are always something of a trial."
- Alban Goodier, The School of Love

The stack of reports and requisitions on the corner of the desk had added a few inches in his absence, and was now precariously listing to one side like a paper imitation of the famous tower in Pisa, Italy. The monument to the noble sacrifice of hundreds of trees to the service of the United States Air Force looked like a single gust of air might send its pieces flying to the corners of the office. Shaking his head, Hank Landry lamented that the only thing his predecessor hadn't been joking about was the sheer volume of paperwork the SGC apparently required to run its day-to-day operations.

"It's a good thing there are so many trees in this galaxy," Jack had said shortly after the dumbstruck Landry had mumbled his agreement to lead the Stargate program. "Hey, while you're in charge there, why don't we see if we can get a paper mill established offworld? Either that, our own planet'll be completely denuded in a few short months..."

Grinning to himself, General Landry poked his head around his office door toward Sergeant Harriman's desk. "Walter!" he barked. "Find out what it would take to set up an off-world lumber and paper mill."

The balding man gaped, doing a remarkable impression of a guppy. "Sir?"

"Thank you, Walter." Closing the door, he smiled to himself. So, the little sergeant isn't psychic after all! Which was a shame really, as it would be pretty handy to have someone who could predict all the little emergencies and crises involved in running an entire base, and schedule everything else around them.

Like the unforeseen interference of a certain under-dressed alien femme fatale. Landry felt sorry for Doctor Jackson, having been told by Jack how the archaeologist had "missed the boat" the other two times he'd attempted to travel to Atlantis. Okay, so the first one had been entirely Jack's responsibility, but blame for the second-and now the third-rested squarely on the bared shoulders of Vala Mal Doran.

Not like he would actually share his empathy with Doctor Jackson, of course; Jack had already warned him against that. "It's actually a good thing Daniel won't be at the SGC for much longer," he'd observed later that same night, "'cause if you let Daniel think there's a soft human heart underneath the hardened, military exterior for even a minute... Well, let's just say, he's a hard guy to get rid of, and even harder to ignore."

Landry settled himself in the desk chair with a sigh. "Kind of like this paperwork," he muttered, reaching for the file at the top of the stack. He'd just opened it to the first page when his phone rang. Closing the file and snatching up the handset, he gruffly answered, "Landry."

"I thought I'd let you know that both Daniel and Vala are awake and seem to be just fine," Doctor Lam reported tersely. "I've released them both under the watchful eyes of Colonel Mitchell and Teal'c to finish whatever it was they were translating before they were brought in."

"That's great, Carolyn," Landry smiled, softening immediately at the sound of his daughter's voice. "How long ago did they wake up?"

"About half an hour ago," she answered. "They left the infirmary ten minutes later, but we've had our hands full with Colonel Reynolds and his team ever since."

Landry winced, remembering the sorry state of the four men's recent arrival. "How is SG-3?"

A huff of air was blown through the receiver. "Well, conventional antihistamines are helping the rash and the sneezing somewhat, and I've ordered their clothing and gear marked for incineration. They'll be released from the infirmary within the hour, barring any further reactions from the pollen."

"That's good news. Listen, I'll let you get back to work. Let me know when you release SG-3, okay?"

"Got it," Carolyn answered, then hung up.

Opening the file once more, Landry hadn't even finished the first paragraph, when a knock sounded. What now? he groaned inwardly. "Come in!" he shouted.

Sergeant Harriman stepped into the office, carrying a half-inch thick folder. "Sir? Here's a proposal drawn up last year regarding the establishment of an offworld timber procurement facility-"

Landry felt his jaw drop. How did Walter do it? Was it his glasses? Did they pick up images from the future?

"-given our current de-emphasis of new exploration and re-orientation toward the acquisition of valuable resources and raw materials-"

Maybe it's all in the horoscopes inside those weird tabloids he reads when he thinks no one is looking, the general mused. With Mercury rising in your house, expect your boss to request an obscure file you wrote on a whim a year ago. Lucky numbers are 1, 9, 15, 22, and 34.

"-Joint Chiefs. Would you care to take a look at it, sir?" Harriman finished. "It was all General O'Neill's idea, but another set of eyes wouldn't hurt."

Resisting the almost-insatiable urge to heave a sigh, Landry motioned to the pile on the corner of his desk. "I'll read over it, but I'm sure it's fine. Thank you, Walter."

"You're welcome, sir," the short sergeant replied, easily balancing the file atop the skewed stack and retreating from the office.

"Never thought I'd complain about people doing their jobs too well," he grumbled to himself. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Landry stood up with his empty coffee mug and walked over to the machine to pour another cup. Inhaling the rich aroma as he returned to his chair, he turned his attention back to the folder he'd already opened on his desk, re-reading the first paragraph. He was half-way through the second paragraph when the phone rang again. "Landry," he growled.

"Sir! It's Colonel Mitchell. Jackson's got the tablet translated, and thinks he knows where the treasure is located."

"Already?" the general blurted, glancing at the clock. Hadn't Carolyn released the linguist from the infirmary only half an hour ago?

"Oh, yeah!" Mitchell exclaimed. "Doctor Jones might've forgotten his razor, sir, but at least he knows where to find the Holy Grail."

Doctor Jones? Landry blinked, then gave a short laugh. "Right. How long will it take to prepare a mission briefing?"

He could hear the question being repeated in the background, then, "Is an hour soon enough?"

Landry had to remind himself once again that he was in command of the SGC, an elite front-lines reconaissance and combat deployment facility. Every soldier and civilian serving there was representative of the best and brightest in their respective fields, including the man who was arguably the world's most brilliant linguist-slash-archaeologist-slash-anthropologist-slash-warrior-slash-diplomat-slash...

"Jackson says he can have it ready in half that," Mitchell continued, apparently taking the general's silence for disapproval, "but he'd really like to have some slides prepared for-"

"An hour's fine," Landry interrupted quickly. "Tell Indy to leave his hat and bullwhip in his lab."

The colonel's grin was audible. "Yes, sir!"

Landry shook his head with a smile, replacing the phone in its cradle. Oh, yes, Jack had described all of his former teammates in great detail, spinning larger-than-life portraits of each with his vivid descriptions of their many strengths, weaknesses, and peculiarities. Of course, he'd wrapped up each biographical spiel with a quick "but so-and-so won't be there very long, so you don't have to worry about that" statement, but had left Landry feeling as though he'd known each member of SG-1 for years.

He could relate to Teal'c somewhat, given the large alien's military background, and could reasonably compare Sam Carter's analytical mind to his own scientifically-inclined daughter. But Doctor Jackson? Even Jack had admitted he still didn't entirely understand his friend, and they'd known one another for a decade!

The ringing of the phone interrupted his reverie. "Landry."

"General, I've just released Colonel Reynolds from the infirmary, and the rest of the team should be ready to go in another five minutes. Do you want me to send them all down for a debriefing as soon as they're done?"

"Just Colonel Reynolds, for now," Landry answered. "He can give me a prelimenary report, but the rest of the team can wait for a full debrief 'til later."

"He's on his way, General."

"You don't have to call me 'General'," he admonished.

"Of course I do, General, you're my boss," Doctor Lam answered curtly. "I recommend putting SG-3 on stand-down for a few days, at least until the rash clears up. Will there be anything else, General?"

He sighed. "Not now, Carolyn." Yes, Jack, if there's one thing about Jackson I understand, it's that willfull, disobedient part you described in such pain-staking detail... The earpiece of the phone had just clattered into place when it rang again, invoking the sudden, satisfying imagery of smashing the offending device against the wall. "LANDRY!"

The quiet chuckle on the other end caught him by surprise. "Oh, yeah, somebody's at the technology-bashing stress level. Just don't tear any wires out of the wall, or Sergeant Siler'll get mad."

"It's been a hell of a day, Jack," Landry answered, exhaling heavily. "I don't know how you and George dealt with this."

"I don't know about Gen-George, but when things too bad, I found that sticking my fingers in my ears and humming really loudly helped a lot," the often-juvenile General O'Neill replied cheerily. "So... Colonel Caldwell told me Danny missed the boat. Who or what kidnapped and/or killed him this time?"

"That's not funny, Jack."

"If it weren't so true it would be," Jack answered. "Seriously, I've got almost no details here. Do I need to come out there? Is he okay?"

Landry rolled his eyes. "Carolyn's released him from the infirmary-thanks for that, by the way-and he's currently preparing a briefing on the translation of some Ancient treasure map brought here by Vala Mal Doran."

"Get out! The same Vala who snatched the Prometheus last year and tossed Daniel around like a pro wrestler?"

"Same one. She used some sort of alien cuff to link the two of them together, which is why they collapsed when they were separated." He snorted. "She's apparently refusing to take the damn things off 'til Daniel finds her treasure for her."

"He's got it translated already?"

"Yeah, and-"

"So I'm guessing he's been awake... two hours? An hour in the infirmary, an hour with the tablet?"

"A little over an hour," Landry corrected, glancing upward at the sound of a hesitant knock at his door. "Carolyn kept him there only ten minutes." He waved the splotch-covered Colonel Reynolds to a seat.

Jack tsked. "Pushover. Janet would've kept him there for thirty."

"I find it funny there's somebody here who can out-stubborn her," he grinned. "Listen, Jack, I've got Reynolds here in my office. Should I have Doctor Jackson to call you later?"

"Nah, I'll catch him another time. 'Bye."

"'Bye, Jack." Finally-finally!-hanging up the phone, Landry cleared his throat. "General O'Neill," he offered in explanation. "So, how'd you get the... dye job?"

Reynolds made to answer, but ended up sneezing into a hastily-readied tissue, instead. "De blants s'rounded de 'Gate on all sides, Gen'ral," he managed a good nose-blowing later. "We didn' nodice de bollen 'dil we were already halb way 'cross de field. By den, id was doo lade."

"Pretty well coated in pollen by then, eh? Well, from the looks and sounds of it, Colonel, you've had a pretty rough day. Go home, get some rest, and come back in three days, okay?"

"Yes sir, dank you, sir," Reynolds nodded, relieved. He stood to leave the room, but not before erupting in another violent sneeze that was probably measurable on the Richter scale.

And of course the Leaning Tower of Paper decided it was safer on the floor. Folders, files, and reports flew to all corners of the room, scattering across Landry's office like autumn leaves. Frozen in surprise, the general could only stare at the sudden chaos that was his formerly tidy workspace.

"Dorry, dir," Reynolds began, reaching for a fallen folder.

"Just go home, Colonel," Landry sighed, closing his eyes. After the afflicted officer left the room, Landry pulled himself to his feet and began gathering the documents strewn about the room, haphazardly poking folders into a box leftover from his move into the office. He'd just tucked the last one in when someone knocked on the briefing room door. "Come in, already!"

Colonel Mitchell peered cautiously around the door. "Uh, sir? We're ready in here, now."

Giving the clock a startled glance and realizing it had, indeed, been an hour since Mitchell had phoned, he waved the colonel off. "I'm comin', I'm comin'..."

Sparing a glance at the corner desk to see that Harriman had apparently run of on some unknown errand, Landry stepped toward the head of the table, but at the last second, veered off to one side, remembering that 'slides' had been mentioned. Sure enough, Doctor Jackson came in just a second later, carrying a memory stick for the projector in one hand and a bundle of papers in the other.

"Why do we have to ask to use the Prometheus?" the voice of Vala Mal Doran floated through the door shortly afterward. "I didn't ask the last time."

"Oh, yes, and we all know how well that went," Daniel retorted, turning from the computer in the corner to glare at Vala as she entered the room. "It took them two weeks to repair all the damage from the gliders and al'kesh."

"None of that would have happened if you had listened to me and not locked me back up in that cell!"

"Oh, right, 'cause you were telling me the truth about why you needed the ship in the first place, weren't you?"

She put her hands on her hips. "Would you really have helped me if I had?"

He smirked. "No... Which is exactly the point of why we're asking to use the Prometheus... We're doing this my way, now, not yours."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," Vala grinned, holding up the arm encircled by the alien bracelet.

"All right, break it up, kids!" Mitchell announced loudly, interrupting what was sure to be a very vocal outburst from the linguist. "The General's waiting."

"Sorry, sir," Daniel answered contritely, then cleared his throat. "Uh, if you'll all have a seat, we can get started." As soon as everyone was seated, he dimmed the lights with the remote. "Right, uh, General, how much do you know about the legend of King Arthur?"

Landry blinked. How did we go from Ancient treasure, to the Prometheus, to the legend of King Arthur? "Pretty much what any American knows: the sword in the stone, Guinevere, Lancelot, Excalibur, Merlin."

"Ever heard of Avalon?"

"Yeah," he replied, still unsure in what direction this was going. "Mythical island ruled by wizards?"

"Enchantresses, actually," Daniel corrected. "According to Celtic mythology, Avalon was located within a veil of mists, and was neither a part of this world nor the next, but somewhere in between. It features heavily in the myths of King Arthur and of the famous enchanter Merlin. Merlin-also known as 'Myrddin' in Welsh mythology-was believed by some to be a prophet-"

Belatedly, Landry remembered something else Jack had told him about Daniel: "That man is a born teacher. If he was gonna be around there very long, I'd warn you not to let him get started on a topic... but he's not, so I won't. If you don't make him get to point right away, you'll find yourself on the receiving end of a twenty minute lecture about basketweaving techniques of the Fourth Dynasty. You won't know why you know it, but if you ever find yourself with some handy reeds from the Nile, you'll certainly know what to do with 'em." He'd then taken another swig of his beer and added, "But since Daniel's headed to Atlantis, you won't really have to worry about any of that."

"Are not the Ancients prevented from interfering with the existence of mortals?" Teal'c asked suddenly, bringing Landry's thoughts back to the present.

How did we go from Avalon to the Ancients?

Ascended Ancients, yes, for the most part," Daniel agreed. "But it's possible Merlin was not actually ascended himself but was, in fact, just a human far along the evolutionary path."

"What does this have to do with where this alleged treasure is buried?" Landry demanded, his little moment of daydreaming having left him completely lost.

"Well, there are a number of conflicting interpretations, but certain threads point to the Knights of the Round Table gathering great treasures from the far corners of Arthur's domain and hiding them in a magical strong hold at Avalon," he explained.

"Including the Holy Grail," added Mitchell.

"According to some," Daniel corrected.

Vala had looked bored up to this point, but was suddenly very interested. "This 'grail'…what's that worth?" Landry stared in surprise, finding the room's other occupants doing the same. "What?" she exclaimed.

At last, the general was beginning to get an inkling of where all this was leading, but a sudden flurry of what sounded suspiciously like Latin reminded him that Daniel's twenty minutes were long since past. "Yes, yes, and the point is...?" he interrupted a bit more harshly than he'd intended, standing up to put himself as near to eye-level with the tall archaeologist as possible. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Mitchell rising to his feet as well, and waved the man down.

"Certain Celtic legends says that Glastonbury Tor-the hill overlooking the town-is actually hollow, and that contained within it is the underworld Avalon."

"Has no one ever done any sort of geological survey?"

Daniel looked so genuinely apologetic, it was hard for Landry to maintain the facade of arrogant hostility he'd unwittingly erected about himself. "There have been several scientific studies-"

"Jackson!"

"We're talking about the Ancients here, sir. It's very possible that the underground entrance was concealed by some technology," the linguist stuttered, talking so quickly he was stumbling over his own words.

"Sir, we're hoping to use the Asgard sensors aboard the Prometheus to find something we haven't been able to see before," Mitchell concluded.

"Thank you!" Landry exclaimed, wondering just how in the world a simple request to use the sensors aboard the Prometheus had turned into a twenty-five minute discussion of Arthurian legend. They wanted to look for an Ancient treasure site under Glastonbury Tor in England? "Well, two years ago I wouldn't have believed we'd find an Ancient outpost under a mile of ice in Antarctica," he said aloud, more to himself than to anyone in particular. "I'll call the president. I'm sure he'll want to inform the British Prime Minister."

Stalking off into the office, he refrained from shutting the door only so that he could overhear whatever discussions he was sure were about to take place among those he'd left in the briefing room. Straightening the considerably smaller stack of files which had managed to stay on his desk, he strained his ears.

"I'm sure she'll be interested in whatever we find," he heard Daniel say, before the archaeologist quickly left the room.

"Try playing hard to get," Vala advised.

A quick glance through the briefing room window showed Mitchell's incredulous expression. "Man, look who's talkin'."

Chuckling to himself, Landry turned and sat down in his chair, nearly jumping in surprise when he realized Teal'c was quietly standing beside the door to the hall. "How can I help you, Teal'c?"

The massive Jaffa bowed his head. "Although I have resigned my position at the SGC, I respectfully request permission to accompany Daniel Jackson and Colonel Mitchell on this mission."

"As long as I'm in charge around here, you'll always have a place at the SGC," Landry soothed.

Teal'c nodded graciously. "Thank you, General Landry." He turned to leave.

"Just one question."

"Yes?"

Landry picked up his long-since abandoned coffee cup, wincing when he realized it had gone cold. "Is Doctor Jackson always like that?"

The Jaffa gave a small smile, bowed from the waist, and left the office.

Author's Notes:
I'm BAAAAAAAAAaaaaaack! Honestly, I'm through with "Avalon, Part One" this time. Really! There should be space for a small "Avalon, Part Two" piece, a little "Origin" fic, then its on to THE TIES THAT BIND!