The whole thing starts like a thousand other missions do, with a normal exploration gig through a new address.
That's what SG-1 does, after all.
It continues like a thousand other missions do, with a normal disastrous first contact – some sort of diplomatic mistake devolving into the kind of clusterfuck his team seems to attract with uncommon talent, a catastrophic mess of misunderstandings they'll have to solve or risk having a war on their hands on a planet whose naquadah levels are beyond promising.
That is also what SG-1 does, sort of.
And then it takes a decided turn for the bizarre.
Because there is a woman there, in the cell he is thrown in after Sam and Teal'c are led away – Jack, at least, had managed to high-tail it, which means they'll probably be rescued, at least – and she is so out of place Daniel can scarcely believe her real.
She has a wild mass of blondish corkscrew curls and an odd electronic device in her hand – some sort of scanner judging by the way she's moving it all over the lower part of a wall, but nothing Daniel has ever seen: not Earth tech, not a Goa'uld design. Very odd.
Perhaps it is a camera: she seems very intent on taking pictures of the lower wall she's examining. It is a strangely designed camera, if it is; nothing like he's ever seen before and definitely years beyond what scant technology they've seen so far on this rather primitive, agricultural planet.
That she isn't from around here is obvious. Not only is she muttering in what is, Daniel's trained ear confirms, British English; there's also her clothes.
The soil here is mostly a vivid red, or sometimes dark yellow, because of the abundance of iron oxides; the color choices for clothes tend to reflect this, much like the browns and tans of many a culture on Earth. She, however, is wearing an olive green, sleeveless dress, flatteringly fitted at the top, loose and flouncy below the belt, over stout khaki leggings – out of place on a planet where men and women alike wear short skirts and layered wrappings hiding their upper bodies.
Plus, well. British English.
"Who are you?" he blurts out.
She can't possibly be a member of the Stargate program, can she? He's never seen her before. She's not in uniform. She's... odd.
His eyes linger on the thick leather belt for the midriff area and the thigh-holster on her right leg.
Oh, and the gun. The one in the holster.
Daniel is rather concerned by the gun.
He has one too, of course – years in the military and all that – but the very fact he still has it prove the locals do not even know what it is.
Just who is this strange woman?
She's whirled around at his exclamation and is examining him with a trained soldier's stare, sizing him up, making him feel self-conscious.
She looks supremely unconcerned with being in a prison cell. In fact, she looks more like she's the queen of the place, graciously allowing the scowling guards to remain in her presence.
After a moment, she smiles seductively at him: "Well, well," she purrs. "Doctor Daniel Jackson, as I live and breathe!"
He is instantly on his guard.
"How do you know my name?"
"I am so glad to meet you." She slinks forward with deadly grace, a hand outstretched. "Doctor River Song, archaeologist."
"You are an archaeologist?" Daniel can't help asking, skeptical.
Her luscious lips stretch in dangerous smile. "I greatly admire your work, Dr. Jackson. Such visionary ideas for your time! I absolutely agree with your approach to research, you know, it is my own as well."
Daniel tries to calculate the odds of meeting an incongruous British archaeologists with a seductive aura of mystery, on a random planet half a galaxy away from Earth, who just so happens to be a fan of his, and his mind just doesn't compute. Maybe he's hallucinating.
"And the discoveries credited to you..." she goes on with an annoying, knowing smile. "You're the best archaeologist of this age! Truly, you are brilliant. And believe me, I know brilliance," she says, thoroughly embarrassing him.
"Err... yes, well... I... thank you, er... Doctor Song..." stammers Daniel.
"Oh, please call me River," she purrs. "I've always wanted to meet you. You're one of my heroes, you know!"
Daniel gapes, not sure if he is incredibly flattered or slightly terrified.
She claims to be an archaeologist, and Daniel isn't entirely sure how this makes him feel. Mostly, he's having trouble wrapping his mind around it. Indiana Jones and Lara Croft aren't exactly realistic models of archaeological researchers.
Of course, he is an archaeologist, and he goes around visiting distant planets, making Earth's first contacts, waving energy weapons around, getting in trouble (and out of it) with System Lords, saving planets (including his own) from assorted alien threats. Also studying lost languages and examining artifacts of ancient civilizations of course, although these days it seems almost an afterthought rather than his reason for living as it used to be.
But, well. The Stargates count as extenuating circumstances, after all.
What is her excuse?
He can't help being fascinated by the carvings she points out to him.
They're beautiful in a rough, unelaborated way, the coarse-grained surface of the local stone giving power to the simple lines and volumes of the compositions, making them meaningful without any need for polishing or color. They only cover the lower portion of the wall, any other surface left bare and unadorned, and Daniel lays on the dusty floor to examine the figures closely, wondering about the scant detail, the significance of the ground frieze.
The blonde woman brazenly shares her knowledge of the local art, sounding halfway between a tour guide and a university lecturer. He kind of likes it.
She's there, she tells him, to document these very carvings, which she's studying in the future, while they're still in the present.
He gives up any questioning line centering around the time travel part of her explanation right from the start. He knows it is possible; he knows it invariably complicates things; he knows that attempting to understand it makes it worse. Like with that indeterminacy principle Sam keeps going on about. If you look close enough to understand it, it's gotten too complicated to understand. Best not to think too hard on it.
"Sounds like an amazing opportunity," he remarks neutrally.
"Oh, yes! I'll be the envy of the entire faculty. Give it twelve centuries and this will be a hotspot of archaeological research in this sector," she says airily. "Of course, we thought this was a tomb, not a prison... love a tomb," she confides.
Daniel doesn't trust himself to comment.
"Why don't you tell me what happened?" she says abruptly.
"Hm?" Daniel raise his head in confusion, gaping slightly at her. What is she on about?
She's watching him with a knowing look. Again.
"You're imprisoned, Dr. Jackson. That doesn't usually happen without a reason." She pauses briefly. "At least, not unless you're travelling with my husband."
"Husband?" Daniel is surprised. Wasn't she flirting with him? He'd thought... Ah. Maybe he got it wrong. Wouldn't be the first time. Still...
"So what did you do?" she asks, ignoring him.
He's not entirely sure why he starts talking, but once he's begun, why should he stop? So their whole, brief but disastrous stay on this planet is quickly sketched for her convenience.
"...and Jack decided to try the fruit, which was apparently a very bad idea, because as soon as he jumped to pick it they started shouting and..."
"Oh, well, that was your mistake right there, then," she interrupts cheerfully.
"What?"
"He jumped."
"..."
"This culture is very particular about leaving the ground."
"...What?"
Daniel is busy trying to puzzle out her comment, but she doesn't seem inclined to elucidate it.
"Well, we'd better get out then," she says instead, cheerfully.
"What?" he asks again, feeling like a gaping idiot.
"I'm done here. I doubt you have any interest in remaining?"
Daniel shakes his head.
"Then we should go."
"We're in prison," he points out stupidly.
"Yes. And we're getting out."
She adjusts her shoulder-straps with sensual confidence and Daniel has to work to dredge up a little, weak sarcasm: "Gladly, but how?"
"Oh, Dr. Jackson. I make it a hobby to break out of jails..."