Rating: R/NC-17 for implied sexual situations. Jack/Daniel, Daniel/OMC. AU, drama, angst, romance, first time

Chapter Two: Stranger in a Strange Land

Daniel opened the window and breathed in the acrid smell of car exhaust. His ears were assaulted by the cacophony of sound from the traffic below. He leaned further out, resting his forearms on the windowsill, and noted the shrill, high whine of a siren in the distance.

Restless, he pushed off from the windowsill and turned on his heel and began to pace back towards the door once more. He silently counted off each footstep in Arabic, just for a bit of variety, as he prowled the length of the apartment that was his current residence but which felt more like a prison cell with each passing day.

Daniel certainly couldn't complain about the accommodations. The apartment in which he had been installed was lavish. Tastefully decorated in a minimalist style, it was located in a very pricey part of town, right on Connecticut Avenue near the National Zoo with a fabulous view of Rock Creek Park to the east and Daniel had no doubt that it had cost someone a pretty penny. Under other circumstances he might even have enjoyed it. But at the moment he was ready to climb the eggshell colored walls from sheer boredom.

In the four days since he had arrived in DC, Daniel had not once stepped foot outside and he couldn't help but wonder what the hell he was doing here. Daniel understood why they had flown to DC, of course. Dr. Stephanopoulus taught at Georgetown, held a nice endowed chair there to be precise. When he wasn't globetrotting and lecturing and supervising digs in Egypt, he was here in DC, which served as his permanent base of operations.

What he didn't understand was the delay that followed. Daniel had expected that he'd just go and show up on Dr. Stephanopoulus' doorstep with a lamentably all too true sob story about being kicked out of academia and then earnestly plead with the good doctor for his assistance. Instead, he found himself trapped in his well-appointed apartment, twiddling his thumbs and wearing a hole in the expensive wall-to-wall carpet.

Daniel was halfway to the door before the second set of staccato knocks sounded on his door. He didn't bother looking through the peephole. He already knew who his visitor was. Daniel flung the door open and found himself facing Colonel O'Neill, right on cue.

"Dr. Jackson, I thought I told you not to open your door without first identifying your visitor," O'Neill said as he entered the apartment.

"I didn't need to. It is currently three o'clock," he replied as he closed the door. "You've been arriving at the apartment every day at precisely three o'clock for the past four days. Who else could it be?"

O'Neill frowned at him. "Dr. Jackson, we have these security precautions in place for a reason."

"Why? Are you afraid that the landlord might really be an assassin sent to kill me? Or that I'll start a torrid love affair with the Avon lady? Or do I have that backwards?"

O'Neill's frown deepened and Daniel shook his head to cut off further chastisement. "Forget it. I promise to check the identity of any future visitors. Happy?"

"We need to be careful, Dr. Jackson." Colonel O'Neill reminded him, for what felt like the hundredth time. "You need to maintain a low profile until everything is in place and we're ready to set our plan into motion."

"And what is the plan exactly?" Daniel asked, trying to keep his frustration in check.

"I'm still waiting to hear from my superiors. As soon as I receive word, I'll let you know," O'Neill said, his voice clipped and rather formal.

Daniel sighed and O'Neill's expression softened slightly.

"Look, I sympathize, really I do, but we can't risk you running into Dr. Stephanopoulus before all of our preparations have been made. I thought you understood that?"

This was a familiar exchange. O'Neill had reiterated that same litany of excuses and rationalizations every time Daniel had asked to be permitted to go outside. Frankly, he was beginning to lose patience with the whole sordid mess.

"C'mon, Colonel. I'm going stir crazy here. I'm not asking to go wander the halls of Georgetown or attend one of Dr. Stephanopoulus' lectures. I'm just asking to be allowed to go to Starbucks for a cup of coffee or maybe down to Borders to get a book to read. Hell, even a walk in Rock Creek Park. Something. Anything." This time there was no mistaking his exasperation.

O'Neill shook his head. "No can do, Dr. Jackson."

Daniel gritted his teeth in frustration. Since emotional appeals hadn't worked, maybe logic would do the trick. "Let's be reasonable here. We're in a city that houses nearly 600,000 people in the city alone. That doesn't even include the amalgamated population stats for the greater Washington metropolitan area or the tourist population which is at its peak around this time of the year. The chances of me running into Dr. Stephanopoulus purely by accident is astronomical, wouldn't you agree?"

"Astronomical doesn't mean impossible. As a linguist, I'm sure you appreciate the distinction, Doctor."

"You're just being paranoid."

"I prefer cautious myself."

Daniel tried a different tack. "Look, you guys have Dr. Stephanopoulus under constant surveillance, both visual and electronic, right?" At Jack's nod he continued. "Well, why can't I just go to places where you know he isn't? I mean if you know he's going to a concert at the Kennedy Center, why can't I go out to dinner at Chinatown? C'mon, I don't think I'm being unreasonable here, do you?"

He glared balefully at O'Neill who regarded him thoughtfully in return.

Finally O'Neill responded. "All right, fair enough. You've made your point, Dr. Jackson. Since we are monitoring Dr. Stephanopoulus' we can probably co-ordinate the occasional outing." At Daniel's smile of relief, O'Neill held up one finger in warning. "Ah! Let me finish here. We can coordinate the occasional outing, but there are certain restrictions that you have to agree to in advance.

"Number one, you can't go anywhere where the good doctor or his colleagues are likely to appear. By that, I mean museums, libraries, bookstores and lecture halls." Daniel opened his mouth to protest, but closed it with an audible clicking of teeth at O'Neill's stern expression. "That still leaves a lot of possibilities and I'd say it's definitely better than remaining cooped up in the apartment all day, wouldn't you say?"

Daniel nodded his agreement.

"One other stipulation. You are not allowed to go anywhere alone. From now on until this mission is finally underway, I will be your constant companion, bodyguard, advisor, and tour guide. The terms are non-negotiable, Dr. Jackson. Deal?"

Daniel knew Colonel O'Neill was right; even a little bit of freedom was better than none at all. He extended his hand and O'Neill shook it in covenant.

"Deal."

* * *

"Mornin', Dr. Jackson," Jack announced cheerfully as he entered Daniel's apartment two days later.

"Well, you seem in good spirits this morning, Colonel," Daniel observed.

"No complaints."

"Any news yet?"

O'Neill shook his head. "'Fraid not."

Daniel nodded. He wasn't really surprised. He'd always heard that the wheels of Washington bureaucracy ground slowly. Apparently that even extended to counter-espionage operations as well.

"So, how do you feel about getting out of here for a bit?"

"Really?" Daniel asked, mildly embarrassed at the sudden flare of excitement he felt.

"Sure," O'Neill replied. "It's a beautiful day out and Dr. Stephanopoulus has classes all day long. We might as well take advantage, right?"

"Where're we going?" Daniel asked as he grabbed a jacket from the hall closet.

"You'll see," he replied cryptically.

A little over a half an hour later saw them at their destination.

"The Jefferson Memorial?" Daniel asked, surprised.

"It's probably the last place we're likely to run into Dr. Stephanopoulus and his cronies."

"True." Daniel certainly knew from his own experience that residents rarely visited the tourist attractions in the cities where they lived, unless, of course, they were squiring out of town guests.

Daniel wasn't about to complain, of course. For a few blessed hours he could enjoy the fresh air and sunshine and watch the children buzzing around like manic bees on a pollen high. They walked along the Tidal Basin in a companionable silence, each man immersed in his private thoughts. Finally O'Neill broke the silence.

"Your file says you were born in Egypt."

"That's right," Daniel acknowledged, as he dodged a baby stroller being pushed by a harried looking mother with another small child in tow.

"That must have been different," O'Neill observed.
 
Daniel couldn't help but chuckle. "You have no idea. Mom went into labor on the ferry from Giza to Cairo. My Dad apparently freaked out at first and then calmed down enough to deliver me with his own hands. Dad used to call me his 'little Moses' because I was delivered unto my parents from the waters of the Nile." He shook his head, embarrassed and a little saddened by the bittersweet memory.

 "So, what was it like, growing up in Egypt?" O'Neill asked as he had to dodge himself to avoid a couple of tourists more engrossed in their guidebooks than the path in front of them.

"Oh, Egypt was great," Daniel enthused. "We traveled around a lot. My parents were old-fashioned archeologists. They worked primarily in the field rather than in libraries and they loved to get their hands dirty. Dad was the real dirt grubber and my Mom was the linguist. They made a hell of a team. They were really good at getting grants so they managed to stay there more or less permanently. For me, growing up, it was wonderful. It seemed like one big adventure as we traveled around from place to place, just me and my parents."

Jack frowned. "Still, that must have been hard at times."

Now it was Daniel's turn to frown. "How so?"

"Well, all that time with just your parents and other adults. I mean, didn't you have any friends? You know, other kids your own age to play with?"

"It wasn't so bad," Daniel replied with a shrug. "You have to understand. I lived a rather rarefied life as a child, Colonel. My parents took me with them everywhere--Egypt, Turkey, Italy, you name it-and they positively doted on me. I got a lot of attention from them, much more than the average child, I'd wager. Besides, I loved traveling to new places, loved meeting new people and learning new languages. The world was my classroom. And actually, I was rather precocious so I liked being with adults."

"But didn't you ever meet other kids your own age?"

"Not too often. We were rarely in one place long enough to establish ties of any kind. There was Ahmed, though."

"Who was he?" O'Neill asked.
 
"Oh, Ahmed was Rasheef's son. Rasheef was the foreman on one of my parents' excavation sites near Dendur. We spent six months there. I was seven years old at the time, and thought it was all terribly thrilling. Frankly, it was a bit of a surprise to meet another boy my own age on the dig site. Ahmed was eight and we bonded almost instantly.

"Neither of us was allowed to help with the excavation, of course, much to our mutual consternation, so we entertained ourselves instead, racing across the dunes, imagining our own grand excavations. Sometimes we'd travel into town with Rasheef and his men to pick up supplies, and wander through the crowded streets and stare at all the wonders in the bazaar." He chuckled, remembering their awe at the wares they'd encountered: fabrics dyed in bright colors, exotic spices and plump fruits, copper pots hammered by hand, while all around them people moved and buzzed and haggled for goods. He flashed O'Neill another smile before continuing.

"Sometimes we would visit Ahmed's home to wheedle fresh dates from his mother. We would beg and flatter until she gave in. It was a bit of a game. She'd always give us this stern look and wag her finger at us, and then she'd offer us the bowl with a smile and a ruffle of our hair. We'd each grab a handful of dates and then find some shaded spot near the house to enjoy our booty."

"Sounds like you had fun."

"Yes, yes I did. Those six months near Dendur were wonderful, probably among the happiest of my life. Of course, at the end of that time we moved on to another dig site, near Giza, if memory serves. Ahmed and I made a solemn pact to became famous archeologists and work side by side." He shook his head ruefully. "Childish fancy."

"Well, obviously you held up your end of the bargain,"

Daniel snorted. "Hardly. I was supposed to become a famous archeologist, not a notorious one. Right now, the only thing I'm famous for being is a crackpot."

An awkward silence fell between them. "What about Ahmed?" O'Neill asked, trying to shift the direction of the conversation. "Did he ever become an archeologist?"

Daniel shook his head. "No. Ahmed died of a snake bite just two weeks shy of his thirteenth birthday, though I didn't find out until years later. His mother was devastated."

"Sorry," O'Neill murmured in apology.

Melancholy washed over him as he thought of Ahmed whose death was a painful lesson in the fragility of life and the tenuousness of the ties that bind. Determined to hang on to the pleasant mood, and divert O'Neill's attention before he could ask any more questions about Egypt and Ahmed, he quickly changed the topic.

"So, what about you? Where were you born?" Daniel asked.

"Me? Oh, I've got water in my blood too, just not the Nile. Minnesota, the Land of 10,000 Lakes, though in truth it's closer to 15,000," O'Neill clarified. "Beautiful country up there. My granddad had a cabin near Lake Winnibigoshish. Nothing but trees and sky and water up in those parts."

"Sounds nice," Daniel said. "I bet it gets cold in the winter, though."

"Yeahsureyabetcha," Jack replied merrily, adopting a distinct Minnesotan accent. "Damn cold. But it's great for hockey and ice fishing, and curling, if you have a taste for it."

"Curling?"

O'Neill shook his head, chuckling. "Don't ask."

So Daniel didn't ask, though he was sorely tempted to. This was the first real piece of personal information that he'd managed to pry loose from the reticent officer in almost a week of constant companionship.

"You don't talk much about yourself, do you?" Daniel asked.

"Nope," came O'Neill's short reply and Daniel knew that the window had just closed. It was a pity. Daniel found these brief glimpses into the man's own private world to be tantalizing. The more he learned about Jack O'Neill, the more he wanted to learn and the less, he realized, that he actually knew.

In the days that followed, Daniel made O'Neill his new subject of study, working assiduously to glean as much information from the reticent colonel as possible. It proved to be quite a challenge. It wasn't just boredom or idle curiosity that drove him. Daniel genuinely wanted to understand this man with whom he seemed to have so little in common but who was suddenly an integral part of his life.

Apparently Daniel wasn't the only one at a loss to understand his new companion. O'Neill seemed equally puzzled by Daniel. Daniel was well aware that he'd led an unconventional life and that he'd missed out on certain experiences that were apparently part and parcel for the typical American male. Daniel had never really felt the loss, but O'Neill seemed scandalized by Daniel's occasional gaps of knowledge. Daniel had no idea where this mentoring impulse came from, but he saw no harm in it. It always seemed to be something innocuous that sparked it, some casual, throwaway remark that Daniel didn't understand but which O'Neill clearly felt was important.

"Afternoon, Dr. Jackson," O'Neill greeted.

"Afternoon, Colonel. Any news yet about the mission?"

"No, sorry."

Daniel sighed. "No surprise there. So, what has you in such good spirits today?"

"The Orioles finally won one last night, against the Yankees no less. The 'Iron Man' himself scored the winning run," O'Neill replied. His smile dimmed when he noticed Daniel's confusion.

"The 'Iron Man'? You know, Cal?"

"Um, sorry. Not ringing any bells."

"Cal Ripken, Jr? One of the greatest players alive? Don't tell me you've never heard of him?"

Daniel shook his head. "Afraid not."

O'Neill looked stunned. "How can anyone not know who Cal Ripken, Jr. is? Cal is baseball."

"Well..." Daniel began hesitantly. "I've never actually been to a baseball game."

"What?"

"I've never been to a baseball game."

O'Neill stared at him. "OK, that's not just wrong, that's un-American."

Daniel shrugged. He didn't see what the big deal was, but apparently to O'Neill this was a grievous oversight and one that had to be remedied ASAP. Three hours and a few phone calls later found them sitting on the metal bleachers at a Bowie Baysox game. They were apparently some minor league team affiliated with the Baltimore Orioles. Instead of going to an Orioles game, Jack had brought him here instead.

"For your first taste of baseball, you should see how the game is really played. These guys," Jack said, gesturing at the playing field below, "play for the love of it. They're not a bunch of spoiled, over priced whiners obsessed with photo-ops and endorsement contracts like the pros. Well, except for Cal, of course. He still gets it."

Daniel just nodded sagely in response and watched the game.

"I cannot believe that you have never been to a baseball game," O'Neill said, shaking his head in disbelief for at least the twentieth time as he sat back down next to Daniel. "Here," Jack said, handing Daniel a hot dog.

"Sauerkraut?" Daniel asked, eyeing the pale mass piled on top of the hotdog with suspicion.

"You have to eat hot dogs with sauerkraut at baseball games. It's required by law," O'Neill explained. "Especially here in Maryland. Baltimore is an old German town and they take their 'kraut very seriously around these parts."

Daniel rolled his eyes at O'Neill's highly suspect interpretation of state law before taking a bite out of the hot dog.

"'S good," Daniel announced with genuine surprise.

O'Neill beamed at him, taking a bite of his own hot dog. "Told ya. Trust me, I'll never steer you wrong."

Daniel couldn't help but smile in return at that remark. O'Neill seemed relaxed, enjoying the game, the weather, and, Daniel believed, his company as well. The other man clearly relished his role as guide and mentor and took his self-appointed role quite seriously. Daniel, for his part, enjoyed the attention wholeheartedly.

"Jeez, I can't believe your Dad never took you to a baseball game, Daniel."

"I grew up in Egypt, remember? I'm afraid there weren't a lot of baseball diamonds in the Valley of the Kings. And after my parents died, well, I...kind of withdrew, you know? I preferred books to people for a long time. And then I was in college and was too busy for stuff like baseball games."

It should have felt uncomfortable talking about his parents and their loss to this man who was still a relative stranger. And yet, it didn't. He saw O'Neill wince slightly as the memory of Daniel's loss flared in his mind.

"Sorry, Daniel. I wasn't thinking," O'Neill apologized, his voice soft and warm. He reached over and placed a hand on Daniel's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, compassion and strength flowing from him into Daniel. His hand lingered a few moments longer before he removed it and grabbed his beer for a quick swig.

"It's OK, Jack," he replied softly. "It was a long time ago."

"Still, I know those kind of hurts never really go away," Jack said simply. He didn't explain further and Daniel found himself wondering, not for the first time, what kinds of losses O'Neill had in his own past, what forces shaped him and made him the man he was today. It was neither the time nor the place to ask such things, so he asked something else instead.

"OK, Jack. Explain to me again how they compute the ERA?"

O'Neill launched into a lengthy and detailed explanation of baseball stats in general. Daniel didn't really pay attention. He let the sound of O'Neill's enthusiastic voice wash over him. They spent the rest of the afternoon like that, engaging in this traditional ritual of male bonding, marked by the eating of hot dogs, the drinking of beer, the cheering of 'their' team, and the booing of the umpires when they made a bad call. It was a world away from his own experience, novel and exotic in its normalcy. And Daniel felt an unexpected wave of gratitude that Jack O'Neill had shared this with him.

"Hey, Jack? How about another couple of hot dogs? My treat." Daniel asked as he stood up to make his way to the concession stand.

"Sounds great. And Daniel?"

Daniel turned back to his companion. "Yeah?"

"Don't forget the sauerkraut."

Daniel couldn't help but smile. "Wouldn't dream of it. I don't want to break any laws, now do I?"

Jack grinned back at him and Daniel went in search of more high calorie, condiment slathered hot dogs.

* * *

"According to your file, you have two doctorates," Jack said over dinner a few days later.

"That's right," Daniel replied between spoonfuls of tom ka gai. The tangy broth burned its way down Daniel's throat and he savored the taste before he swallowed.

Daniel had convinced Jack to go out for dinner instead of staying in and cooking or ordering delivery. He had suggested a small Thai restaurant on Connecticut and after a careful inspection, and not a little wheedling on Daniel's part, Jack had deemed it safe enough. It was a Tuesday night, after all, so the restaurant was nearly empty and Jack had snagged them a booth in a far corner, far way from any prying eyes.

Jack had settled himself in a spot that allowed him the best view of the room and a clear line of sight to the restaurant's front door. Daniel knew this was how Jack thought; security was always the number concern, and Daniel wondered if he even gave it conscious thought or if it was so deeply ingrained Jack could do it in his sleep

"I did my undergrad work at UCLA and then went to Columbia to do a PhD in linguistics," Daniel explained. He pushed his empty soup bowl to one side.

"How old were you?" Jack asked as he looked up from his own soup.

"Oh, well, I started at Columbia at nineteen and finished my doctorate at twenty-two."

"Jeez, that was fast!" Jack exclaimed with genuine surprise, despite the fact that he obviously already knew the bare bones from Daniel's dossier.

Daniel shrugged. "Well, Columbia is renowned for its accelerated programs. Very intense, very focused, which I rather liked, though they do tend to churn graduates out pretty quickly. To be honest, I really felt I still had a lot to learn, which is why I wanted to earn a second doctorate in the first place."

"So that's when you went to Chicago, right?" Jack asked, wiping an errant drop of soup from his chin before he pushed his own soup bowl aside.

"Yes, the Oriental Institute, to be precise. It's affiliated with the University of Chicago and it's really one of the best, if not the best place to study archeology in the country," Daniel said. He dug into his plate of green curry and breathed the heady aroma of green chili paste and coconut milk.

"I toyed with the idea of going to Harvard-that was my Dad's alma mater-but in the end I opted for the Oriental Institute. That's where my Mom studied, and besides..." Daniel paused, mildly embarrassed.

"What?" Jack prompted.

Daniel shook his head. "It's gonna sound kind of corny."

"C'mon, spill," Jack encouraged with a grin and a nudge of his elbow.

"Well, to be perfectly honest, I really wanted to got there because they'd organized the King Tut exhibition in '76 and that show really reminded me of growing up in Egypt." Daniel shook his head again. "That sounds really dumb, doesn't it?"

"Not to me. I remember seeing that show when it was at the Field Museum of Natural History. I was on leave and visiting my folks and they really wanted to see it so I went along. It was pretty damned impressive."

Daniel blinked in surprise. "You're from Chicago?"

Jack nodded. "That's where I grew up. My folks moved there when I was, I guess about six. I lived there until I went to the Academy."

"Do they still live there?" Daniel asked.

"Yep. Dad always complains about the winters and threatens to move to Florida. But they never will. They love the Windy City too much."

"It is a great place," Daniel said. "Beautiful architecture and great museums."

"And great sports teams." Jack added.

"Of course."

"So, where were you in '76?"

"I was living in New York then. My foster parents, the Donahues, knew how much I liked Egyptian stuff, so they took me to see the show when it was at the Met. We had to stand in line for five hours to get in but it was well worth the wait. They practically had to pry me out of there."

"So, I take it you liked grad school?"

"Sure. There's always so much to learn. That process never stops, but it was nice being in an environment where everyone is focused on learning, even if it can get a little too intense at times. Contrary to what most people think, it's not really for the faint at heart."

"I dunno, I didn't think it was that bad." Jack offered with a shrug.

Daniel stared back at him in astonishment. "You went to graduate school?"

Jack glared at him. "Don't act so surprised, Daniel. Just because I'm in the military doesn't make me a moron."

"I'm sorry. I never meant to imply that you were stupid or anything. It's just..."

"Yes?"

Daniel shrugged. "Well, it's just that you strike me more as a man of action, someone who learns by doing rather than by sitting and reading about it, is all. I'm sorry."

"You said that already, Daniel. Anyway, no harm, no foul."

"So where did you go to grad school? What did you study? What did you do your thesis on?" Daniel started shooting questions at Jack, delighted to find another unexpected experience that they shared.

"Whoa, slow down." Jack said, hastily swallowing a mussel. "In answer to your questions, I earned my masters in International Policy and Practice at GW. I wrote my thesis on the role the US military should play in ferreting out international terrorist cells in the Middle East."

"Well, that sounds appropriate."

"Actually, it was my thesis that led to my current assignment. I was required to do a Masters for promotion to the rank of Major, hence the decision to go to grad school in the first place. But some of my higher ups read my thesis and thought I was well suited to other things, so here I am."

Daniel nodded. "Actually that's how it should be. Putting the theory into practice. Knowledge isn't any good if it isn't put to use and shared with others. Attaining knowledge purely for the sake of having it is, well, rather self-indulgent, don't you think?"

"I suppose so. Actually, I liked grad school. I found it, I dunno, relaxing."

Daniel laughed. "Obviously you and I had very different experiences in grad school. Let me guess: you went part time and the Air Force footed the bill, right? So you missed out on the number one bone of contention: money." Daniel took a sip of water before continuing. "You know, it's funny, most people have this vision of academia as this wonderful place of high ideals, far removed from the petty, pragmatic concerns of the average person. Hence the term ivory tower. But in reality, it's still made up of people, people who are every bit as flawed as the rest of the non-academic population. Academics can be just as petty and snide and self-serving as anyone else. They have all the same egos, the same jockeying for position, the same scrambling for money and prestige, the same rivalries and resentments that you'd find in, say, your average corporation.

"That isn't to say there aren't wonderful people in academia, people who are genuinely committed to the goals of higher learning and the dissemination of knowledge, it's just that, well, reality always has a way of creeping in."

"Well, that was quite the harangue, Dr. Jackson," Jack said.

"Sorry. I get carried away sometimes." Daniel flushed in embarrassment

"So I see," Jack replied. "There's nothing wrong with being passionate about your ideals, Daniel. And you're right; your experience in grad school sounds very different from mine. It sounds like it was very intense."

Daniel wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Oh it was. It was also very competitive. Especially at the doctoral level. There's a process of winnowing out, so by the time you reach that point you really are talking about the best and the brightest. But the culling isn't really done because there is never enough money to go around, never enough jobs once you graduate, so you compete constantly. For classes, for funding, for grants, for your professor's time, everything. It's invigorating, but it can also be wearing, you know?"

Jack nodded his head. "Yeah. It must be hard to make friends."

"Yes," Daniel replied. "Yes, it can be. I had a couple of pretty close friends at the Institute, Steven and Sarah. We gravitated to one another, almost immediately and were thrown together constantly. We shared all the same classes, the same books, the same advisor. Even our study carrels in the library were adjacent. I can't tell you how many nights we spent together, just the three of us, studying for exams, mocking poorly written undergrad papers, applying for grants, kvetching about some new, and totally unfair departmental policy. Typical grad student stuff." Daniel paused and shook his head.

"The problem was we were too much alike, too competitive. We each wanted to be the best and that kind of drive, well, it puts a strain on things."

"What were they like?" Jack asked, his voice soft and compelling, and Daniel wondered if Jack hadn't somehow mesmerized him because he couldn't believe that he was talking about Steven and Sarah like this. Those memories were especially painful and he normally shied away from even thinking about them, but here he was talking openly about a pair of ex-friends and ex-lovers.

"Steven, he was the overtly ambitious one. We used to call him Mr. Charm 'cos he could schmooze his way through any grant board. Sarah, well, she was the ruthless one. Very poised, very in control, but Sarah always looked out for number one. If, for example, a book that was essential to another's student's seminar report mysteriously vanished from the library, only to reappear just as mysteriously the day after the presentation, she was probably the one behind it. No one ever pointed a finger at her, of course, and she was far too clever to be caught out, but I always had my suspicions."

"Yikes."

"Yeah. I learned to be very careful around both of them. It's hard to maintain a friendship when you have to watch your back constantly."

"I guess so."

Daniel leaned back against the cracked leather banquette. "You know, it's funny. Even after all this time, I'm not really sure how Steven and Sarah felt about each other. I always got on alright with them both, but there was always, I dunno, an animosity between them. Nothing I could ever quite pin down, but there was definitely something there."

"You said they were competitive. Maybe it was just their competitive streak showing."

"Maybe," Daniel agreed. "But it was more than that. It felt personal. I thought maybe they had been lovers at some point and that things had gone sour. They would have been a disaster as lovers. They both had to be on top and neither of them took rejection well. I learned that from personal experience."

Daniel looked carefully at Jack. He had no doubt that the CIA had been quite thorough in their compilation of his file, so Daniel assumed that Jack was aware of his sexual proclivities. Still, nothing had ever been said or even intimated, at least up until now. Jack was certainly smart enough to read between the lines of Daniel's last remark Daniel looked for some hint of censure or disdain, some indication that Jack was disgusted. He found none.

"So, what did you do after Chicago?" Jack asked.

Daniel flashed him a brief smile, as grateful for Jack's acceptance as he was for a new topic of conversation. "Well, after Chicago, I got a post doc from Oxford. I spent a year teaching there and a year working in Egypt."

"And then?"

"Ah, then I had to return to the real world and academia. I got a tenure track position at UCLA and well, you know how that turned out." He gave Jack a self-deprecating smile.

"It's all politics, Jack, personal or departmental," he explained as he ran a finger through the drops of condensation collecting along the side of his water glass. "People seem pleasant enough as long as you go with the flow and don't start to question the status quo. I remember both Sarah and Steven tried to discourage me from sharing what I'd learned, as did most of my colleagues. But I just couldn't leave it alone," he said. He shook his head in angry frustration at his own naiveté as well as their lack of support.

"When I finally acted on my conscience and shared my ideas, well... let's just say that each and every one of them dropped me like a hot potato. They couldn't disassociate themselves from me fast enough. So much for friendship." He lifted his water glass in mock salute.

"I'm sorry, Daniel."

 "Thanks, Jack. That means a lot to me." Daniel was surprised to realize how true those words had become.

Jack nodded and offered him a warm, lingering smile, before trying to lighten the mood once more. "OK, so where did that waiter go? I saw Crispy Banana on the dessert menu and I think I have to give that a try. How 'about you?"

"That sounds...nice."

"And hey! They have 'jackfruits' ice cream!" he exclaimed, looking up from the little plastic menu holder next to his elbow. "I have no idea what a jackfruit is, but I think I need to find out."

Daniel smiled again as Jack kept up the light hearted banter about crispy bananas and exotic ice creams. Yes, he thought to himself. Very nice indeed.

* * *

"So, Daniel, tell me about Dr. Stephanopoulus," Jack said. His graceful fingers toyed with a bishop, wiggling the piece back and forth as he mulled over his intended move.

He and Jack were facing one another across the chessboard that Jack had supplied upon learning of Daniel's interest in the game. He leaned back against the leather cushions of the sofa, watching Jack deliberate, listening to the melodic strains of "Lucia di Lammermoor." That had been Jack's choice of music and it had surprised the hell out of him. For some reason he hadn't suspected the no-nonsense O'Neill to be an opera buff. Of course it was a misconception, one of many Jack had overturned in due course.

"Daniel?" Jack finally moved his bishop with a flourish.

"Hmmm?" Daniel's attention was focused on his own move. He picked up a rook and placed it on firmly on a shiny black square. He glanced up, pleased to catch the scowl that flittered across O'Neill's face. "What did you say?"

"I asked you about Dr. Stephanopoulus," Jack said.

"You've read the files," Daniel replied. He took a sip from his cognac, his gaze never leaving Jack's face.

"All your file said was that he was a friend of your parents, and that he had introduced them and been best man at their wedding. I assume you met him, though there was no specific reference to such a meeting in the file."

"Oh," Daniel answered softly. He closed his eyes for a moment as gathered his thoughts. "Well, to be honest, I've only met the man a handful of times in my life. The first time was in Egypt when I was five years old. He came to the site my parents were excavating at...let's see, that would have been the summer of 1970, so it must have been Karnak.

"Dr. Stephanopoulus just passed through on his way to oversee a dig at Abydos further up the Nile. He seemed nice enough. For the longest time I remembered him as this giant bear of a man, or at least that's how he appeared to me at the time."

Daniel took another sip of the cognac before putting the snifter back down on the coffee table. "I remember him coming to our dig site one afternoon and my parents staying up late talking and laughing. My mother came to tuck me in and kiss me goodnight alone that night since my father was still talking with Uncle Ari.

 "I remember my Dad seemed awfully pale the next morning, and he kept wincing at every loud sound, groaning and cursing at the brightness of the sunlight outside our tent. I was so worried that he was sick. Mom reassured me that he wasn't sick at all and then explained, quite sagely, that my father had overdone things a bit and should know better than to get into drinking matches with Greeks. Of course, I didn't understand any of that and said so to my mother. She smiled and said she knew, kissed me on the forehead and sent me outside to play."

"Ah yes, the evils of strong drink. And your mom was right; drinking with Greeks is a hazardous occupation. I hope they weren't drinking ouzo. That stuff is nasty and I'm fairly sure it's toxic when imbibed by non-Greeks."

"I have no idea, but Dad was pretty delicate all day, Mom seemed to derive an unnatural pleasure from it. She was never one to say I told you so, but she made sure he recognized his mistakes so he wouldn't repeat them. Of course, I didn't realize at the time that I was witnessing my very first hangover. Obviously, that youthful warning didn't have much of an affect on my adult behavior, as you well know."

Jack let that comment pass. He then cursed softly as Daniel deftly maneuvered him into check.

"So, what about later? When did you see Stephanopoulus again?" Jack asked as he turned his attention to the board once more.

"I guess the next time was when I was twenty-two, twenty-three. It wasn't too long after I began my graduate studies at the Oriental Institute. Dr. Stephanopoulus had come to give the keynote address at the annual symposium. I was thrilled at the prospect of hearing him speak. He was, after all, one of the big names in the field. But frankly, I was even more delighted to meet the man who I remembered from my childhood. I attended the lecture and hung on his every word. I remember he was speaking on the rise of cult of Aten and the accompanying transformation of the use of hieratic in sacred writings of the Amarna period. Amazing stuff, really groundbreaking at the time," Daniel explained.

He frowned as Jack captured one of his bishops. Daniel stared at the board for long moments to weigh his options before he moved one of his knights.

"Anyway, after the lecture, I gathered up my courage and went up to introduce myself to him. I was flabbergasted because he actually remembered me. He grabbed me in a bear hug and said he was delighted that the son of his dear departed friends had chosen to follow in their footsteps."

Even now, after so many years, Daniel remembered the feel of the man's strong hands gripping his shoulders as he smiled down at him and murmured how Daniel had grown into a tall, handsome man like his father. Stephanopoulus' hands had remained on his shoulders and his warm gaze had lingered on Daniel's face until Daniel had begun to feel a faint unease crawl along his spine.

"Daniel?" Jack's soft query broke through his reverie.

Daniel shook his head in bemusement.

"Sorry, just got lost in my own memories for a moment there."

"S'all right. I know how that goes."

Daniel flashed Jack a grateful smile before he picked up his narrative once more.

"I've run into Dr. Stephanopoulus on a few occasions in the intervening years, at various conferences and once in passing on a dig at Hermopolis. He was always pleasant, always gracious and offered me lots of encouragement. He even went so far as to try and persuade me to transfer to Harvard-that's where he was teaching at the time-so I could study directly under his tutelage."

Jack cocked an eyebrow at that "What did you say?"

 Daniel shrugged. "I told him I was flattered, but that I had to decline the offer. I was very happy at the Oriental Institute, Dr. Jordan was a wonderful advisor, my funding was great and besides, a transfer at that point in my course work would have delayed my degree."

"How did he take it?"

"Oh, fine. He said he understood my reasons and said he would continue to watch my career with interest, which apparently he did."

"How so?" Jack asked.

"Well, I know for a fact that he was seated on a number of grants boards, several of which gave me funding first for my dissertation and then for field research when I was just starting out as a junior faculty member. I also found out that he was the outside reader for the first article I ever had published. I don't think you have any idea what a privilege it is for a doctoral candidate to get published in the 'American Journal of Archaeology.' Ostensibly, they use a double blind process." At Jack's puzzled expression he hastened to explain. "That means that neither the reader's nor the author's identity is known to the other in order to ensure fairness. Of course, there weren't a whole lot of people working on language systems in ancient Egypt at the time, so he had to suspect that I was the author. Once it was published, there was no longer any need for secrecy." Daniel shook his head again. "That was a real coup for me starting out."

"I suppose so."

"Anyway, Dr. Stephanopoulus was always one of my staunchest supporters, right
along side Dr. Jordan. His approval and encouragement meant a lot to me. A lot..." Daniel's voice trailed off.

"Daniel?"

"I haven't seen or heard from Dr. Stephanopoulus since my crash and burn a few months ago." He paused, pulling in a slightly ragged breath. "What if Dr. Stephanopoulus feels the same way the rest of my peers do?" Catching Jack's expression he shook his head. "C'mon, you had to have considered the possibility, Jack, and you know it. Granted, his standing in the archeological community would probably shield him from any and all scandal, but that still doesn't mean he would be immune from the general scorn attached to my name right about now. And even so, why should he risk embarrassment by association with a thoroughly disgraced crackpot? He has absolutely nothing to gain and everything to lose here."

Jack reached out and grabbed Daniel's left hand, wrapping his fingers about the other man's wrist. "There's no point in worrying about what-ifs here. We've taken every possible scenario into account and we believe that this will work. If it doesn't we'll go back to the drawing board and start over. You shouldn't be worrying about this, Daniel. We trust you...I trust you, to do your best. That's all any of us can ask for."

Daniel nodded. He had made a commitment and he would see it through.

"I guess maybe I'm hoping that you're all wrong and that Dr. Stephanopoulus is nothing more than a successful and well traveled archeologist and that all your suspicions are unfounded. He's been good to me over the years. I really, really hope he's innocent."

Jack nodded, giving his hand a gentle tap of support. "I know, Daniel. I understand that this is hard for you and it won't get any easier before it's over."

Daniel could feel the warmth of Jack's hand where it remained clasped lightly about his wrist. He knew he should perhaps comment upon it, but truth to tell, he enjoyed the physical contact. He turned his attention to the chessboard instead, his eyes lighting with amusement as he took in the position of the pieces arrayed before him. With deliberate care, he reached out with his right hand and moved his bishop into place.

"Checkmate," he murmured with a grin.

Jack stared down at the chessboard in disbelief. "Oh for crying out loud!"

Daniel chuckled at his opponent's obvious consternation.

"You go ahead and laugh it up, Rock Boy. Just you wait until the rematch."

Jack gazed at him, challenge evident in his expression and in every line of his body.

"Rack 'em up, Daniel. I'm gonna kick your ass."

Daniel smiled back. "You can try, Jack," he replied, as he reached down to ready the pieces for a new game. "You can certainly try."

* * *

"Daniel?"

"In here!" Daniel called out in reply. He could hear faint shuffling sounds from the living and he knew that Jack was probably hanging his jacket in the hall closet. Daniel didn't look up from the pot he was stirring as Jack moved up behind him.

"Whatcha cookin'?" he asked, peering over Daniel's shoulder to see the contents of the pots bubbling merrily on the stove. Daniel could feel the heat of Jack's body as he stood there, close but not touching. The temptation to just lean back into the other man's strength was nearly overwhelming. For a brief, reckless moment he wondered what Jack would do if he let himself go and acted upon instinct. But the moment passed and sanity took hold once more.

"Pasta primavera." Daniel drew in a breath as Jack reached around him to snatch a piece of zucchini from the cutting board. For an instant, he could feel the Jack pressed up against him, lean and firm and strong and then he was gone, pulling away to munch on his ill-gotten booty.

"Smells good," Jack confirmed and Daniel flushed. He turned away from the pots for a moment and resumed chopping the vegetables.

"I picked up a film."

"What did you get?" Daniel asked. He neatly chopped a bell pepper.
 
"'Five Graves to Cairo,' Jack replied, as he opened the refrigerator door and extracted a beer. "Right up your alley, desert rat that you are."

Daniel frowned. "'Five Graves to Cairo'... isn't that a World War II flick?"

"Yeah. So? It's set in Egypt and it's about as close as Wilder ever came to archeology. It's good, trust me on this."

Daniel flashed him a look of amused suspicion.

"Hey, be grateful. I could have picked up 'Stalag 17'," Jack warned him.

"Well, at least it wasn't 'Lost Weekend,'" Daniel replied, until he saw Jack frown, remembering too late the circumstances surrounding their first meeting.

"Sorry, that was a rather ill considered comment on my part. Here," he said, shifting the conversation away from the awkward subject. "Taste."

Daniel held out the spoon he was using to stir the sauce and offered it to Jack to sample. Jack leaned in and wrapped one hand about Daniel's to hold the spoon steady as he opened the mouth to taste the contents of the spoon.

"Nice," he praised, his voice soft as he released the spoon and Daniel's hand.

Daniel turned back to the stove, using the simple task of preparing the food to help him regain his equilibrium. He could feel Jack's gaze upon him the entire time. The sensation wasn't unpleasant; quite the contrary. Jack's gaze was strangely warm and tender and ripe with a wealth of unasked questions that hung between them.

"Well," Daniel began, "if I'm doing all the cooking here, the least you could do is lend a hand, Jack."

"What to you want me to do?"

Daniel dropped the vegetables into the pot, wiping his hands on a tea towel near the sink once he was done. "Well, for starters, you could spread the garlic butter on the bread and pop it in the oven. Oh, and open the bottle of wine on the table to let it breathe." He stirred the pot slowly and watched as the vegetables sank into the sauce. "Do you want to eat at the table or just eat in the living room while we watch the movie?"

He craned his neck in time to see Jack shrug. "Well, we might as well eat in the living room, save time."

"Oh?" Daniel asked faintly surprised. He had all the time in the world, or it least it felt that way. So what was the rush? Did Jack have somewhere else to go? Daniel felt a sudden pang of disappointment at the thought before he squashed it down. Jack O'Neill had a life of his own. He probably had better things to do than just baby-sit the new spook wannabe. Maybe he wanted to go out with some friends? Maybe he had a date?

"Jack?" he queried softly.

The other man shrugged again. "I, um...picked up a second film. I thought we could watch them both tonight. That is, if you don't mind?"

Daniel flashed him a quick smile and an assurance that he didn't mind in the slightest. Secretly, he was thrilled that Jack would be staying a little longer tonight, would maybe even sleep on the couch as he had done a couple of times.

Three hours later, their dinner plates abandoned and the bottle of wine emptied, they sat together, side by side, shoulder to shoulder and laughed hysterically at Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis vamping it up in 'Some Like it Hot.' Every once in a while Jack's knee would bump his, sometimes by accident, sometimes by intent, accompanied by one of Jack's wry grins and Daniel would respond in kind. This felt good, he thought to himself. This felt right.

And he slept well that night, knowing Jack was sprawled across his sofa sleeping soundly in the next room. For now, it was enough. Tomorrow would take care of itself.