Daniel gazed at his office, unable to believe that it really hadn't been touched since his precipitous departure over a full month ago. Everything was exactly as he'd left it, and he thought wryly that Jack, Sam and Teal'c knew him too well.
But reflecting on the conversation that had occurred at Jack's two nights ago, he retracted that thought. It had been there, in all of their postures and expressions. They hadn't known if he would return, had been afraid that they'd pushed too much, broken the once-solid friendship beyond repair.
Even Daniel didn't know how much of their friendship was left. He too was wary of pushing, had nearly lost his nerve demanding that the others change. He would never ask them to do something he was unwilling to do himself. But he'd wanted to see if they could make it work again, had given in to the gut-deep longing for connection and closeness of friendship.
He'd been so sure that they would turn away, so sure they didn't believe it worth the effort.
He still didn't know if it had been the right decision.
Jack was the mother-hen from hell, with Sam and Teal'c coming in close behind, tying for second.
Daniel was happy that they were making the time to see him, to talk and reconnect, even if he could barely get anything done in the meantime.
"Can I have that book?" Daniel waved vaguely at Jack. He'd been allowed to dispense with the sling the day before, and was enjoying his somewhat stiff mobility. Janet had also told him that he was on downtime for the next two weeks, but she cut him a bit of slack and let him come to base to straighten things out.
"Which one?" The colonel was surrounded by books. Dozens of tomes, some just stacks of parchment or stapled computer printouts, were precariously stacked everywhere.
"Red leather cover, black embossing on the cover." It was in Russian, so he didn't bother with the title.
"Daniel?"
"Jack?"
"There are hundreds of books in here," Jack pointed out patiently, a little grin on his face when the linguist looked up at him over the edge of the tome held reverently in careful hands.
"You're right on top of the one I want," Daniel told him solemnly.
Jack gazed around himself blankly for several seconds, and heard his name.
"Yes, Daniel?"
"I was being literal," the linguist informed him. "You're sitting on it."
Jack was sure he hadn't imagined the mischievous twinkle in the linguist's eye, and grinned as Daniel raised the edge of the text to cover his own smile.
Shifting his weight, Jack handed the book to Daniel, who took it with thanks and then carted both texts over to the cluttered table, where he commenced flipping through them rapidly.
"Whatcha doin'?" Jack asked.
"Just a little cross-confirmation," Daniel murmured, fingers skimming over the print. "SG-8 brought back several ceramic jars that are lined with unusual ores which prevent scanning by X-Ray and MRI. There was one word stamped across the seal, and if I've translated it correctly . . . ."
Daniel frowned, a line appearing between his brows. He leant closer. "'Ulu-Toyo'n'," he quoted. He pushed his glasses up on his nose, sitting back.
"Which means?"
Jack looked mulish, so Daniel hastily replied, "Given the clues thus far, I think it's a bad idea to open them. They're made of such primitive material that the probability of these jars containing technology is relatively low. In fact - "
Scrutinizing the script he had copied from the jars, Daniel bent low, muttering to himself. He straightened with an alarmed exclamation.
"What?" Jack jumped at the noise, and grabbed wildly in an attempt to catch the various books he had knocked off the table in his surprise.
Daniel didn't notice, chewing his bottom lip thoughtfully. ""Ulu Toyo'n, according to the Yakut Indians of Siberia, was malevolent spirit. He created the Yakut and gifted them with fire, as well as one of their three souls. He also ruled the lower world."
"Lower world?" Jack asked, staring at Daniel warily. "As in, Earth? Or as in hell?"
"Maybe," Daniel murmured, throwing him a nervous glance.
Jack correctly interpreted the look. "That's good enough for me," he said, moving to Daniel's phone. Minutes later, the jars were ordered under lock and key, with all biohazard precautions in place.
As he turned from the phone, Jack caught sight of Daniel's face – the amazement there twisted his heart.
"What?" he asked.
"You – you believe me?"
Jack swore internally at Daniel's incredulity. "Yea," he said gently. "You know what you're doing, Daniel. You're a hell of a lot smarter than me," he ignored the linguist's uncomfortable flush, "and you're damn good at your job. If you think those jars are a possible hazard, I'd be an idiot to ignore you."
Politeness kept them both silent, refraining from pointing out the truth of Jack's last statement. "Carter has plans for lunch, I hear," Jack lightly switched topic.
Daniel grinned. "I'll see you in the commissary?" he asked, but Jack could sense the effort he put into maintaining the calm banter.
"Sure," he responded. The linguist really needed space; he'd give him a bit. Maybe. "See you there in five!"
He sauntered out of Daniel's office to the shocked exclamation of, "What time is it? Oh, no!"
Jack smiled. His thoughts turned to Daniel's surprised expression, and his mouth twisted. There was little he could do to undo the damage of the past year. His month in the desert had done a little to heal Daniel, but the linguist had nearly reverted back to the self-contained, shy young man who had figured out the Stargate.
Sam's latest attempt to coax Daniel to them was, in Jack's mind, perfectly set up. Casual, and giving them all a chance to interact, find their feet in conversation.
The klaxons, as usual, took everyone by surprise. Three teams – SG-4, SG-9, and SG-6 – were off-world. Jack pressed himself against the wall as SF's pounded down the hall toward him.
When he reached the control room, he found Carter, Teal'c and Hammond already there. Daniel arrived just behind him. "What's up?"
"Nothing," Sam murmured, frowning. Her fingers were speeding across the keys. She turned in her chair, confused. Jack didn't like it when the Stargate's technical expert was befuddled. "No one's dialing in," she said.
"No incoming wormhole? Why did the - " Daniel froze in the act of asking a question, face pensive.
"The iris is shut, but there's no one punching in coordinates," Sam murmured. "Sir, someone broke through the internal locks on the system!" Carter was outraged. "It's almost as if someone triggered the alarm on purpose - "
"Sam, where's SG-8?" Daniel asked, his voice calm. Too calm.
"They should be getting their post-mission physicals, but I saw Major Thurman headed toward the elevator, he said he was going to the commissary," she answered.
"Daniel Jackson?"
At Teal'c's somewhat alarmed query, Jack turned to the linguist. Who, with a venomous comment that Jack couldn't decipher, had rushed out of the room.
"Sir, I recommend you lockdown the infirmary." With that, Jack didn't hesitate in following, and the steps he heard behind him let him know that the rest of his team wasn't far behind. Daniel, however, hadn't lost any of his speed while playing in the desert – he threw open the door to the stairwell and rushed headlong down the stairs.
Jack poured on the speed, and moments later was hurtling down the stairs less than half a flight behind the linguist. "Jack, what level did the SF's say they were going to lock away the jars from P2Z-729?"
Jack was impressed that he was able to run and shout clearly at the same time. "Nineteen!" he huffed.
Daniel pulled up short, and to Jack's surprise he waited until the rest of the team joined him, instead of bursting into the corridor.
"Danny?"
The linguist was obviously concerned, but about what, Jack couldn't tell. "The amphora brought back by SG-8 mentioned a god -"
"Goa'uld," Teal'c interrupted.
Daniel nodded. "The jars are tightly sealed. I don't know exactly what's in them, but - "
"Whatever it is can't be good," Jack finished. He didn't have to see the Carter's face to know that she was thinking of Osiris. "Why would SG-8 be in on this?"
Daniel shrugged helplessly. "I'm only guessing, Jack. Thurman might be at the commissary right now."
"Or we could have a foothold situation," Jack murmured. If Daniel had really believed that Thurman was sitting in the commissary, he wouldn't have run out of the control room in a dead panic. He knew more than he was letting on, and Jack knew it, but he also knew that Daniel hadn't figured it out yet, or he would have told them what he felt they had to know. "You armed?"
Daniel shook his head. Teal'c, ever prepared, handed him a zat. "Teal'c, point," Jack ordered. "Carter, you got our six. Danny?"
The linguist nodded, and they waited in silence as Teal'c eased open the door and slid into the corridor. With snap precision, the rest of the team fell into position, almost as if they'd never been apart.
They moved swiftly toward the storage room, Teal'c holding up a hand as he peered around the corner. "There are two guards," he hissed. "I cannot tell if they are dead or merely unconscious."
"Worst-case scenario," Jack rapped out. "Go."
The Jaffa cautiously led them into the corridor, and Daniel and Sam checked the still forms of two SF's. Jack could tell the man Carter was checking was dead, his neck at an unnatural angle. She caught his eye and shook her head. "Danny?"
"Pulse." Daniel's eyes were tense. "He's unconscious, shallow breathing. There's a bit of blood, but I think he'll be okay for a little while. He needs to get to the infirmary."
"That's where the rest of SG-8 is," Sam pointed out.
Jack swore silently. "With any luck, that situation's contained," he hissed. "No time to worry about it now – we need to keep Thurman from opening those jars."
Stepping forward, Jack took point, Teal'c automatically falling back to guard their six. Daniel was right behind him, Carter on his heels.
The lights were on, harshly illuminating the aisles of stacked crates and labeled remnants of the worlds they had visited. This storeroom was relatively small, and had only ten aisles. Spreading out, the team split, a person per aisle, combing through the piles of boxes packed with strange devices.
A flurry of movement caught Daniel's eye and he turned, seeing something dark flit across the end of his aisle, heading right, to the rest of his team. He took two quick steps forward before something grabbed him by his sore shoulder and whirled him around.
It had been Thurman, once. "Luke," he said calmly, ignoring the way his heart was beating too fast. "Luke, it's Daniel."
"Daniel." The voice was grating, as rough as ground glass, and disturbingly cold.
"Luke, what happened?" he asked, pretending that he couldn't tell that there was something wrong, that Thurman had been changed, somehow. Ignoring the Beretta pointed dead-center on his heart.
A wiry, short man, Thurman was normally a staid individual with a dry sense of humor that shone through his outward impassivity. His blond hair was streaked with brown, his green eyes normally sparking with life now clouded and dimmed.
He didn't receive an answer, and as Thurman stepped toward him, he maintained his distance, taking only one step back. He didn't drop his eyes, instead focusing on Thurman's chest, giving the impression of maintaining eye contact without locking his gaze with the other man's.
Knowing that he was backing toward the end of the aisle, Daniel's options were limited. Thurman's face tensed, and Daniel moved before he could think. He shouted, "Jack!" and hurled himself to the side, firing the zat.
Not only did the weapon not have an effect on Thurman, it appeared to energize him. He sucked in a breath and stood straighter, finger tightening on the trigger. Daniel dropped to the ground and fired again, but nothing happened.
He had little room to maneuver. Thurman advanced on him, and Daniel flinched as he pulled the trigger.
A bullet pounded into the concrete next to his head.
For the first time, Daniel realized that Thurman – or whoever he really was – didn't intend to kill him. Yet, anyway. It needed energy, and absorbed the electrical impulse of the zat blast.
For the first time, Daniel heard other voices, calling to him, shouting at Thurman. "I'm okay," he reassured his teammates without taking his eyes off the – the thing in front of him.
Thurman pulled the trigger, and another bullet lodged itself in the cement, too close to his body for comfort.
Three zats hit Thurman, who closed his eyes and drew himself taller. "Don't!" Daniel shouted, pulling away and scrambling backward, to where Jack, Sam and Teal'c had taken cover at the end of the aisle. He froze as Thurman leveled the pistol on him once more. Third time's the charm, he thought giddily, waiting for the report of the gun.
The thing opened its mouth, and spoke. "You will take me to the Chappa'ai."
Jack snorted. "Not in this lifetime."
It cocked its head. "You will take me to the Chappa'ai, or I will kill this one."
It was using Thurman's knowledge of Daniel's usefulness to the SCG and his team to bend them to its will. It was clearly not expecting any resistance from him, and with dread Daniel heard the pause behind him lengthen. They were going to do it. They were going to let – whatever this was – possess Thurman and escape; hell, they were going to give in to a hostile alien life-form!
Pissed, Daniel hurled his zat with all his force at Thurman, then hauled himself up and ran for it. A double clatter behind him told him he had hit his mark – Thurman's gun had been knocked out of his hand. He heard his name and ducked on instinct, a zat blast furrowing into a crate on the level of his head.
Stupid, stupid! He'd armed Thurman with a zat, which unlike a gun, wouldn't run out of bullets anytime soon.
He swore between his teeth.
"Daniel?" Sam. "Are you okay?" He dropped down beside her, taking advantage of the crates to use as cover.
"Fine," he answered tightly, and it was true. Aside from a few new bruises, he was unhurt.
Jack handed him a Beretta, and Daniel's mouth flattened. There were no second chances with guns. Zats weren't any use – he refused to think about what it meant if they couldn't get the situation under control.
Thurman was standing in the center of the aisle, staring at them.
Focusing his attention on Thurman, he glanced at the others and found identical looks of concentration on their faces. It was still between them and the door.
"You will give me my brothers, and take me to the Chappa'ai!" the creature shouted once again.
"Gee, let me think about this." Jack's voice was dripping sarcasm. "No."
"Brothers?" Sam murmured.
"The jars." Daniel released the safety on the gun.
"You know where my brothers are!"
The two scientists winced – the thing had heard them, amplifying – or perhaps not even using – Thurman's senses.
Jack caught all their eyes and made a swift signal. On his mark, the team split into pairs, and raced down alternate aisles towards the door.
Thurman beat them all to it, but at least now they were closer. They were between him and the door; not, in Daniel's mind, a place they particularly wanted to be, but somewhere they had to be. There was irony in that, if he wanted to think about it. Which he didn't. "Sir?" Carter yelled.
Before they could do anything, there was a release of compressed air and the thunk of a small impact. Moments later, Thurman slumped to the ground. SG-2, headed by Feretti, moved cautiously into the storeroom.