"Hey, Stan?" Daniel walked into the small room that served as Stan's office, little more than a spare closet. "Got a minute?"

"Sure." Stan looked up from his work and leaned back in his chair. "What's up?"

"Take a look at these," Daniel passed some papers to him, "and tell me what you think."

Stan flipped though the sheets, then hesitated. He pulled the adjustable lamp closer and angled the page in its glare. "Where'd you get this?"

Daniel perched himself on the side of the desk. "It's from the planet where I returned the artifact. These are the scrawls. I've put them through imaging techniques and run scans trying to clear the images on the stonework. Now the markings are a little different on the artifact, and half obscured. There was no way to clear it up, but I know why I was having such trouble. Can't believe I didn't think of it before."

Stan turned the paper. "It's just lines. Lots of lines, but. . .wait. Yeah." He looked up with a smile. "Ogham, that's what it looks like."

"See, I thought that Celtic background would come in handy. One of the oldest known written languages on Earth, found on another planet."

"That's. . .amazing! Shit!" Stan stood and leaned towards the lamp, holding the paper right underneath. "I can see how you missed it, there's no form or flow to this, not like we're familiar with. . .you been able to work out a system?"

"Not yet." Daniel sighed and folded his arms. "I wanted to see what you could do with it."

Stan merely nodded. "Do you think you can get a message from this if we break the code?"

"At this point I'm hoping to break enough of the code to know that it actually says something. Whether we can get the entire message, I don't know. Why don't you take a crack at it? I have a copy at my office, you keep this one."

"Yeah, sure, I'll do that." Stan studied the paper for another moment, then quickly glanced at his watch. "Damn. I have an appointment, I forgot, sh – , I'm going to be late. Think a taxi will come up here?"

"You kidding? What kind of appointment?"

"Just have to meet some guys. Only take a half hour or so."

"Why don't I drive you? I could use the break."

Stan was pulling on his jacket. "Well, to be honest that would be ideal. Sure you don't mind?"

"Nah." Daniel grinned. "I can drop you off and grab a couple of things for the house, I'm about out of food. Time to clock out anyway, and for once I plan on doing that on time."

"Looking forward to the weekend, huh?"

"I never have a proper weekend. Besides, tomorrow I have to help Jack with his truck."

Stan followed Daniel into the hall. "What's wrong with Big Bertha?"

Daniel chuckled. "Big Bertha?"

"Oh, come on. Double deckers have nothing on that monstrosity."

"Well, what's wrong with it is that it's dirty."

Stan paused. "You have to help him wash his truck?"

"I don't have to, I just do. And like you said, it's a big truck." Daniel fumbled for his card and swiped it. "Just let me get my keys and we'll go."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jack and Daniel stood outside Jack's home, both in dingy clothes, and both scrubbing the hell out of Jack's truck. "Why don't you use a car wash like ordinary people?" Daniel flicked suds from his arm.

"Put my baby through a car wash? You lost your mind? This is the only proper way to clean a vehicle." He wrung out his cloth. "It shows love and respect. It is attention to detail and heartfelt devotion toward my only mode of transportation, which, by the way, has never let me down since I started hand washing."

"It isn't your only mode of transportation, and I can't believe you do this every week," Daniel grunted as he bent over to soap up his sponge.

"Really I just wanted to see you in a wet T-shirt."

"Funny."

"And your pants are sliding."

Daniel gave them a jerk as he stood, glaring at Jack. "Don't know why I tolerate you."

"Actually I wanted to ask you something, and didn't want roaming ears to hear."

"Look, if this is about what I said to Carol. . ."

"Wha'dya say to Carol?"

Daniel stiffened. "Nothing."

"Right." Jack started on the windshield. "How long have you known Stan?"

"Greyson? I don't know, few months. I mean we went to the University together, had a few classes together, and then he transferred back home to England because he had to take care of his dad. When he passed away, Stan returned to the States."

"His file says he was born in New York."

"He was. His father was transferred out. Most of his childhood and adolescence was spent in England."

"What's his fascination with the States, then? Why didn't he go work for the queen?"

Daniel just shrugged as he leaned forward to soap up the hood.

"I take it you two lost touch?"

"Me and the queen?"

Jack smirked.

"Never were in touch, really. I kept up with him through acquaintances until the government ripped my life away."

"And gave you a rewarding, exciting, fresh life in place of a dull, academic classroom. My heart bleeds." He grabbed the hose and sprayed the suds from the front window. "So you don't know much about him, do you?" he yelled over the stream.

Daniel dodged the spray and regarded his friend. "Jack, what are you asking me?"

"How well you know him."

"No, what are you asking me?"

"I'm asking how well you know the man, Daniel. That's all."

Daniel paused. "You're investigating him. You think he has something to do with that explosion, don't you? Jack, the man was way down the hall, and he came from the side hall, not the area where the elevators are."

"Good."

"So. . .what are you saying?"

"I'm not saying anything, Daniel. I just asked a question."

"Of course you did." Daniel tossed his sponge into the bucket and snatched at the towel that hung over a chair. He rubbed at his arms angrily.

"Look, I didn't mean. . ."

"If you investigate Stan, then you may as well investigate me too," Daniel huffed and walked into the garage. Jack threw down the hose and turned off the water, and followed him, snatching another towel on the way. He found Daniel standing beside the small refrigerator unit with a bottled water.

"Look. I asked a simple question, nothing I haven't asked anyone else in that area at that time."

"What, you asking if they know Stan well?"

"I'm questioning everyone about everything, Daniel! The only one I haven't questioned yet is you, so what, you want the O'Neill interrogation now or later?"

"You. . .wait, you think I had something to do with it?"

"Oh for the love of god. . ."

Daniel pinched the bottle between his thumb and forefinger. "Well?"

Jack sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "You two have been pretty chummy lately."

"Jealous?"

"What?"

"Nothing. We just get on well. There's no secret thing."

"Right. Shoot straight with me?"

"You think there's a secret thing, don't you?"

"Christ, Daniel. . ."

"Okay, okay!" Daniel watched his friend for a few moments, then sat with his back against the refrigerator door.

"Okay. We've been checking a lot of background, not just on Stan, but. . .you never told me about your work before the SGC."

Daniel stared. "You've seen my file, it's there."

"Yeah, but the process isn't."

"Process?"

"Of an archaeologist."

Daniel smiled. "You inhaled gas fumes, right? What, was your truck running and I didn't know it?"

"Funny." Jack echoed Daniel's earlier tone. "Really though, what did you do?"

"I studied. Applied for grants. Went on digs. Studied some more. Got really dirty." He took another drink.

"Your grants ever cut?"

"Sure. Happens to all of us. Can't tell you how many cuts I went though. You just plow on and keep looking for funding."

"What if you can't find it?"

"I dunno. You keep looking. It never occurred to me that I wouldn't get money for my research, it was just a matter of being in the right place at the right time and knowing where to look."

"Isn't there some kind of waiting list for this?"

"In some fields, yes. In archaeology, not so much, but there is a list." He shrugged. "It helps to know people."

"Who do you know?" Jack found himself more interested than he thought he would be.

"Believe it or not I tossed around my grandfather's name a few times."

"Nick?" Jack smiled slightly and leaned against the rough garage wall. "I thought everyone thought he was nuts?"

"They did. But he had a few friends, and they helped me get started. Think a lot of it had to do with guilt. What. . .happened to my parents was pretty well known in the archaeological community. Between that and Nick, I think some of the budgeting on my behalf was purely sympathetic."

"Get much?"

"For my own stuff? I didn't need much. Spent a lot of time as an associate on digs, I rarely headed an expedition myself." His expression had turned inwards, then he came back with a snap. "Seriously Jack, why the interest?"

Jack took a seat near him. "Don't know. Been thinking a lot. You know Donna Mason had an interest in archaeology?"

"No way," Daniel responded softly.

"Yep. It was listed as an interest in her personnel file. Funny what you find when you search their file." He looked at Daniel. "Rather impersonal way to get to know someone."

"You can't know everything about everyone at the SGC."

Sigh. "No, I guess not. Not a bad notion though. "

"Wonder why she never talked to me about it?"

"She had a crush on you."

"What?"

"You heard."

"Oh god." Daniel shook his head and smiled in disbelief.

"Hand me a water."

Daniel shifted and opened the door, then tossed a bottle to Jack. "Wonder why she didn't pursue it? Archaeology, not the crush."

"Maybe she was going to."

"I can think of worse professions." Daniel grinned around his bottle. "I never thought of doing anything different. People used to talk about how much I learned, but they didn't realize that this was all I knew. Nick, my parents, it didn't take that much studying in school. I grew up as an archaeologist, especially after my parents died."

"You think it was a way to keep close to them?"

Daniel started to peel at the label. "You bet it was," he said softly.

Jack nodded and let a small respectful silence hang in the air. It was the first time Daniel had spoken openly about his past, and he was reluctant to keep pressing. But he did. "So, after you had all these grants and the community knowing about your parents and all. . ."

". . .oh yeah, they're legends for the wrong reason now. . ."

"Did it hurt when everyone refused your theory?"

Daniel snorted. "You assume I expected everyone to believe me."

"Didn't you?"

"I had a theory. A damn good one. But theory isn't proof, which tends to drive the more archaic half of the scientific community away. If you can't pull them in with that first sentence, you've lost them, they can't waste time with you. That's why so many walked out on me. Theories are usually fine as long as they make some sort of scientific sense. Mine reached into the realm, not of impossibility, but improbability. In their eyes, there was nothing solid at all to go on. Of course I didn't expect them to believe me."

"What made you pursue it?" Jack asked quietly.

Daniel thought for a moment. "I believed it," he responded in a low voice. "Inner belief is the only thing a scientist has to go on the majority of the time. Strip that away and you have nothing."

"So. . .you're saying that all science is, is a matter of faith?"

Daniel grinned. "Ironic, isn't it? The one thing that supposedly disavows faith and relies purely on facts. Thing is, it's the faith that gets you those facts." He smiled again. "I think science isn't a matter of proven theories, it's a matter of proven faith. Nice to know, huh?"

Jack nodded thoughtfully while staring at his own bottle. A glance at his friend showed him to be in that far away place where only Daniel was allowed to go. He picked up his sponge and threw it at his friend, and he jolted from his pondering. "Come on, oh scholarly one. Still got the bed of the truck to do."