So these two geeks walk into a bar...
Stargate: SG-1 belongs to MGM, Metal Gear Solid belongs to Konami and Hideo Kojima
Notes: I found this sitting on my harddrive. I don't remember writing it, but it must be from my Stargate fangirl days. I thought it was kind of amusing (especially with a little editing o.o;;). It looks like it could lead into a longer series, but unless I get back into Stargate, that probably won't happen.
It was arguably the most quintessential bar in the world. The dim lights and low pervasive murmur of the radio were suitably bar-ish, while the occupants themselves looked as though heredity had bred them with a specific "bar" gene.
A well-dressed man eyed his lady friend with equal parts concern and lechery (no doubt gauging her blood-alcohol level), while a group of teens fingered their fake IDs with anxiety. Other shadier figures sat in the shadows, shoulders hunched in the most anti-social, guilt-ridden way possible.
The anthropologist in Daniel Jackson (a good 90 percent of him) wondered how his little group fit into the bar community, but determined he'd need further data and field experience. Bars were Jack's scene, not his, and although he'd seen his share of Cheers episodes, he doubted anyone here knew his name – or wanted to, for that matter.
And while he never concerned himself too much with his appearance, as he scanned the room it took all his concentration to keep from fidgeting with his sporty zippered shirt and khaki cargo pants. These clothes were what he called the "make Jack happy" selection.
At one point his commanding officer and (sometimes) best friend had refused right out to be seen in public with a tweed-clad Daniel. The archeologist had looked to Sam and Teal'c for support, but Teal'c couldn't quite grasp the concept of tweed and Sam had tactfully suggested that maybe for once Jack had a good idea.
Daniel merely sighed in resignation, realizing that Jack's need for security in his position of alpha-male was greater than Daniel's own discomfort at wearing stylish clothing. As for himself, Daniel understood that according to the social norm, he was a geek. While he didn't exactly appreciate being considered such, he accepted it. Jack on the other hand appreciated it, but didn't accept it. Or something.
Things were never easy with Jack.
Glancing at Hal Emmerich, Daniel wondered if his old friend had encountered similar problems in the long years since their college days. Long years indeed. His own time had been full of adventure and kooky aliens straight out of bad science fiction. Daniel knew such things must have changed him since his promising graduate research, but Hal seemed different as well.
Just that morning while making his daily run to the coffee shop, Daniel had bumped into his college classmate. Even after nearly two decades, they had recognized each other immediately, and for the few minutes they talked it seemed as if no time had passed at all. After that brief meeting, they decided to meet later to catch up on old times.
So here they were. While neither had many friends and fewer still outside their respective fields, that didn't quite explain why Daniel was so thrilled to see the computer programmer. Maybe because running into classmates seemed so blessedly normal and average after spending the last five years of his life living and traveling to other planets across the galaxy.
Hal seemed to enjoy Daniel's company as well. With his hair cut short and his enormous round glasses replaced by more fashionable ones, the man had lost much of the boyishness Daniel remembered from their school days. Even the casual attire of jeans and t-shirt only emphasized the other's forced maturity and sadness. Hal had never been the happiest of people, but now...
Daniel couldn't help glancing at Hal's supposed co-worker and friend. While Daniel and Hal sat at the bar, Jack and Dave had taken a dark booth in the corner. No doubt it had something to do with either years of black ops training, deep-seated neurosis or both. Yet despite poor lighting, he could make out both men's features and garments.
Dave also wore jeans and a t-shirt but unlike Hal, appeared out of place and uncomfortable in the civilian garb. He had a Rambo look to him – like all he needed to be in his element were a pack of cigarettes, an AK-47 and a bandanna. And he certainly didn't look like a Dave. He needed a name like Bruce or Fisher or Cobra.
Looking from Dave, with his predator's eyes that detected and evaluated everything, to Hal, who was trying to get the bartender's attention without success, made an amusing contrast. Daniel wasn't one to pry, but he didn't doubt there was a long story behind how they became partners.
Daniel's eyes flickered to Jack, looking more sardonic than usual (never a good sign). That meant he was probably muttering about clichés. That was just what Jack did. But that didn't mean Daniel had to like it. The more spiteful part of the anthropologist labeled his CO's worn jeans and leather jacket the "having a mid-life crisis" outfit.
While this wasn't entirely fair, for the hundredth time he wondered if he should have insisted Jack not come along. But because work had detained Sam and Teal'c only made things more awkward, Jack had weaseled his way in, citing something about a designated driver. This was just an excuse, and Daniel knew what it came down to was that Jack had heard mention of Hal's ex-CIA friend and figured the man was trouble. Based on Daniel's track record, the colonel no doubt considered it part of his responsibility to SG-1.
The archeologist suppressed a sigh. A man dies once and suddenly everyone thinks he can't go to a bar without someone holding his hand. Okay, so he'd died a few more times than once, but it wasn't like Teal'c's record was much better...or Jack's for that matter.
Just because he thought it more socially acceptable to start a conversation with "hello" rather than flipping the safety off the P-90 obviously meant he was a complete loony and ought –
"Daniel, can you hear me?"
Daniel blinked, exchanging bitterness with the embarrassment that comes from not listening to a friend speak. Hal, sitting on an adjacent bar stool, looked at him with concern.
"Sorry Hal, it's kind of loud in here."
It really wasn't.
"Oh, no problem. Anyway I'm glad that you're free tonight. Dave and I aren't staying in town more than a few days, and it's been how long?"
Guilt washed over Daniel. "Yeah, sorry about that. I kept on meaning to look you up, but one thing lead to another..." He shrugged apologetically, ignoring his understatement of the year. "I never did properly thank you for setting up that artifact database. Even after we graduated, I used it in my lab."
Hal flushed. "That old thing? It was the least I could do, considering how much you helped me with Japanese." A thought seemed to come to the programmer. "Oh, is that why you're working for the military? Your language skills?"
"Pretty much. Of course I do other things." You know, fight parasitic aliens, obtain super advanced technology, keep Jack from shooting everything that moves. "But my primary job is translation."
"The military's not so bad, I guess." Hal commented in a tone that implied everything but. With hesitation he added, "They didn't make me cut my hair, though."
"Oh. Uh. They didn't require me to either. It's...it's personal."
The programmer's eyes tightened as a thought came to him. As small frown creased his face and he ran a hand through his own trimmed hair. Daniel wondered but didn't ask. He knew better than most the value of privacy. After a moment, the darkness passed from his friend's eyes, and Hal smiled once again.
"Still, I recognized you right away."
Daniel smiled in response. "It took me a moment but you're not so different either. What does that say when after over ten years, we still look the same?" Sipping his beer, he continued, "And out of all the coffee shops in all the world..." He shook his head then tossed back the remainder of his beer. "Your first time in town and you happen to come to the place I go every day."
Hal appeared less amused by the circumstance and flushed slightly, studying the bubbles in his glass. "Funny, isn't it?"
Daniel shrugged, "They make great coffee, though."
His college mate's face suffused with something between relief and amusement and his lips twitching wryly. "Amen to that."
Hal swirled his drink then sipped it with a thoughtful expression. As Daniel looked over at his old friend, several synapses in his brain fired. He wasn't sure whether the thought came because the years had made him wary or if the military's paranoia was rubbing off on him. In either case, his cheery mood darkened.
Unconsciously licking his lips, he fixed his eyes on the well-worn grain of the wooden table. In a slow and deliberate voice he mused, "Although it's kind of strange to see you after all these years."
Hal's eyes remained on his glass of beer and in an equally casual tone he replied, "Yeah, it's been, what? Fifteen years since college, and for the last five of them, it's like you've fallen off the face of the planet."
Daniel shifted on his stool as niggling paranoia ala Jack made him wonder how much irony versus coincidence that statement contained. Why, yes. I helped translate ancient alien technology then traveled to the other side of the galaxy where I got married. Where's is my wife now? Now that's a funny story...
"I guess that's one way of putting it." He responded in a noncommittal tone. "I've been..." Daniel was a born diplomat and thus moderately good at lying but extremely good at half-truths. "...busy."
Okay, so this was the understatement of the year.
Hal appeared doubtful and Daniel hurried to change the subject. "What about you? I know our fields rarely cross, but the last I heard was that you'd gotten a job with the Department of Defense."
Hal shrugged. "You know how the military is."
Both men involuntarily glanced at their respective partners. Jack vacillated between glaring at Daniel and glaring at Dave, while the latter smoked his cigarette with deliberation that implied any attempts at small talk would result in physical harm.
Neither seemed happy in the least, and if Daniel had been an outside observer, he would have found their antics amusing. As it was he felt more annoyed than entertained and refused to be sympathetic. This was Jack's own fault. He was Daniel's CO, not his mommy.
"So..." Hal sloshed the little remaining liquid in his glass.
"So..." Daniel traced the wood grain with his finger.
"Um, I've been working on my Japanese."
Daniel arched an eyebrow. "Really?"
Hal grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, after you stopped tutoring me, I lost most of it, but...it's such a great language, you know? Boku wa Otacon desu. Hajimemashite."
Daniel did a valiant job of not wincing at the heavy American accent. Give his friend a computer language and he'd be programming colossal death-robots before the night was out. Give him a few phrases in another language and he'd end up sounding like some overly dramatic anime character.
"Are you learning for business or pleasure?"
For some reason, Hal's mouth twisted in a wry grimace. "Definitely not business."
"But you're in town for business?"
"Pretty much."
"And what exactly is business?"
Hal pushed up his glasses. "Um, it's kind of complicated. We're part of an NGO. Sort of...er...grass roots activism, I suppose. Dave and I...you know."
The programmer made a vague gesture as if that explained everything. Daniel didn't inform his friend that such a motion was obscene in at least five cultures, two of them on Earth. Instead he nodded with feigned understanding.
Hal continued, "But you...I suppose whatever you're up to is classified. Although I'm sure it's an interesting story how an archeologist started working for the Air Force."
Daniel shrugged. "Not really. They came to me right after I got evicted from my apartment. All I wanted was to get paid." He paused. "I did...eventually."
The other gave him a sympathetic smile, eyes becoming foggy from the alcohol, and raised his glass in a mock toast.
"Here's to that." Hal downed the liquid then paused. "And here's to friendships that aren't fucked up."
Daniel returned the grin. "I'll drink to that."
He tossed back his own mug.
Daniel ordered another round of drinks – because that was the socially acceptable thing to do at bars and not at all because the alcohol was making him feel warm and fuzzy. He even felt generous enough to order drinks for Jack and Dave, having forgotten that they were the designated drivers.
A comfortable lull descended as they waited for the drinks, and both were content to put the conversation on hold for the moment. When the bartender shoved the beers toward them, Daniel took a few sips before turning back to Hal.
"Speaking of friendships, your partner..." Daniel glanced at Hal's friend, suspending disbelief, "...Dave, seems...nice."
"He isn't really."
"Yeah. I figured."
Hal smiled a rueful but sincere grin. "But he's good, deep down." He peered at Dave from across the bar. "Way, way deep down..."
Daniel followed his friend's line of sight and licked his lips nervously. The diplomat in him felt obliged to add politely, "And he and Jack seem to have hit it off."
His tone implied that by "hit it off," he meant it in the most brutal, violent, non-metaphorical way imaginable. And by the looks Jack and Dave exchanged, he wasn't far off.
Both men silently considered their friends' track records and mutually agreed it was about time to go. Finishing their drinks, they rose to leave before tensions could rise any further and result in violence. Violence that could be connected to them at least.
Even as they reached to pick up their coats, Jack and Dave materialized at the counter, wearing identical expressions of annoyance.
"Doc, we got work to do...important work." Dave said. He glanced at Jack as if implying the other obviously did not have anything of the sort. Jack glared in response, for once not resorting to smart-ass remarks. Daniel wasn't sure this was a good thing.
"Yeah, Danny. General Hammond wants us in early for the briefing of that important mission."
If looks could kill, both scientists would have had to drag their respective partners home.
"Uh, yeah." Since Daniel did not feel like dragging anyone home, much less someone who weighed as much as Jack, he subtly shifted his weight, stepping between the two older men. Hal followed suit, while warmly clapping his friend on the back.
"Good to see you, Danny."
"Yeah, Hal, I had a great time."
As they shook hands, Daniel turned to Dave and smiled the smile he usually reserved for hostile natives on other planets. The older man's features remained hardened, but he shifted ever so slightly and nodded in return, confirming quantitatively that hard-ass ex-military weren't immune to the anthropologist's charm.
Repressing a smirk, part of Daniel (only a very very small part) thought, I still got it.
Hal meanwhile turned to shake hands with Jack, who seemed more than a little flustered at Emmerich's similarities to Daniel. He kept glancing between the two as if he couldn't decide whether they were long lost brothers or he just needed a pair of bifocals.
Yet as they stepped through the door and into the night, the affects of the two scientists seemed to fade, and Jack and Dave reverted to eyeing the other with suspicion. Daniel and Hal exchanged mirrored expressions of long-suffering.
Except for the requisite goodbyes, no one spoke as they parted, walking down separate streets toward their vehicles. The walk seemed to compound Jack's foul mood, and when he and Daniel got into the car, Jack fumbled with the keys, disgruntled and more than a little pissy. Daniel didn't mind – it was expected and the beers were making him feel very nice and spin-y.
But as he bucked his seat belt and watched Jack start the ignition, Daniel made a mental note to request General Hammond to supply either tranqs or Prozac for the next time Jack had to interact with other testosterone-pumped males. That or get his CO into a therapy class.
In many ways Jack was very predictable. This was good when he covered Daniel's back in a Goa'uld firefight but not so good when diplomacy or good manners were required. Daniel tried to think of his friend's vices as cute or charming but failed.
Jack's not-so-subtle voice interrupted his musings. "Have fun?"
Jack's tone implied that Daniel's fun was directly proportional to his own suffering and that Daniel ought to feel guilty for every ounce of it, just as he ought to feel guilty every time Jack had to deal with Daniel's scientific curiosity, civilian attitude or general geekiness. Daniel was used to this and thus ignored the sarcasm as he'd done many a time before.
"Yes, thank you. I haven't seen Hal since college. Funny the ways he's changed...never struck me as the military-type."
"You don't strike me as the military-type."
"Huh?"
"Yes?"
"What?"
"Huh?"
Daniel blinked then dropped it, having lost the thread of the conversation. He lapsed into thoughtful silence, conjuring a mental image of Hal's companion. Grumpy and irritable, Dave made the members of SG-3 look like civilian-coddling pacifists. He stole a quick glance at his own resident military hard-ass.
Unlike most, Jack could be reasoned with in the best of situations and ignored in the worst. In addition to this Jack seemed to understand that Daniel would shamelessly take advantage of his leniency on most, if not all, missions. It was just the way they worked.
Sometimes it made Daniel vaguely uncomfortable to realize that Jack, ex-black ops colonel in the Air Force, was not only somebody he could depend on, but also someone who had eerily similar thought patterns.
As if on cue, Jack muttered, "And did you see that guy's hair? I mean, pu-leez, the McGuyver look went out of style in the eighties."
Daniel agreed mentally but didn't want to encourage his friend by telling him that. And besides, he'd seen some of those high school photos which Sam, while pretending to do research on some quantum physics equation, had dug up using the military's network. Jack was hardly in any position to criticize anyone else's fashion sense.
Daniel settled for rolling his eyes and muttering, "Pot, kettle."
Jack glared, "I heard that..." Then after a pause, he growled, "Damn cliches..."