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Tok'ra Don't Dance by Jb
"Well, I think they should have another look at it. Because it just isn't right." Speaking around a mouthful of the #3 mushroom-burger with double special sauce, Sam jabbed one finger into the air to punctuate her contention. Daniel watched a bit of the sauce try to escape its fate via the corner of her mouth, and suddenly felt a rush of thankfulness for two things: her hearty appetite - it was evidence of her good health - and, that he'd only ordered the caesar salad plate for his meal. Daniel looked around the table, content despite the topic of conversation. He watched Jack shake his head at Sam as she continued to express her opinion on the upcoming award presentation, and although he wished they could talk about something else - anything else - he basked in the pleasure of being here with them all, glad beyond words that all his team had made it to this point. They were all here alive and well, healthy and vibrant. So strong. Life was so fragile, and so precious. That very mix of fragility and value made for such risk, the threat of loss omnipresent. He was lucky. They were all lucky to be here. "I do not understand," Teal'c said, wiping a copious amount of sauce off his fingers onto the tablecloth. "Well," Sam energetically launched into another explanation of her basic point. "Look, let me use an example. Just recently they gave the special distinction designation to - just listen to this, are you ready for this? - a baseball player. A baseball player. Now, really, when you compare -" "No," Teal'c abruptly interrupted her. "I grasped your opinion on this matter on the first of the several times you aired it, Colonel Carter. What I do not understand," he grimaced at his sticky fingers, and at the mess on the tablecloth beside his plate, "is why any rational person might apply such a liberal enough coating of sauce as this on their meat, to the point it becomes impossible to see, feel, or taste anything but the sauce itself." As Pete let out a snuff of amusement at her expense, Sam coloured slightly, flicking her tongue out in an obvious attempt to remove from view any excess sauce on her lips. Teal'c stood, picked up the plate with his partially eaten burger on it, and started eyeing the restaurant. "I require our server. I wish to exchange this for another. It is... disgusting." Seeing her across the room waiting on another table, he headed off with plate in hand and a dangerously determined look on his face. Daniel raised an arm, ready to call him back, but Jack stopped him, smirking. "Oh, c'mon, just let him go do it his way. If it gets out of hand, the police can take care of it." Jack waved a hand toward Pete, but then grew more serious. "Really. Let him take care of it. He hasn't been out of the mountain since being forced to move back to the SGC. He needs this." Right. Feeling a resurgence of guilt over his role in the fiasco that had forced Teal'c back underground, Daniel snuck a sideways look at Jack. He didn't think he saw any censure there, not for Teal'c nor himself, but looks had been deceiving with Jack before. Many times. And as General Hammond had earlier so cheerfully pointed out, Daniel had been spectacularly stupid. "No, Daniel. Don't." Jack leaned toward him, placing both hands flat on the table in emphasis. "Just don't." Sam obviously agreed, nodding at Daniel as forcefully as Jack had spoken. Pete just sat there looking at the table, and Daniel knew that Pete didn't understand why anyone who was at least mentally competent enough to understand the concepts of shoelaces and underwear - so, Daniel, therefore - could have been so ignorant as to have done what he did. And that he would be so apparently readily forgiven for having been so inordinately stupid was something that probably completely mystified Pete. Daniel had to agree with him on that. He'd been let off far too easily. Not only that, but here he was sitting in a D.C. restaurant awaiting a presidential medal ceremony to honour him for... smartness stuff. Ostensibly for being smart, and for being there for however many years doing however many years' worth of smart stuff. For being there as the resident smart pain in the ass for five years, then not being there, then being there yet again - apparently as a pain in the ass yet again, judging from the way Jack griped constantly about how inconvenient Daniel's ethics were to the smooth functioning of Jack's Generalship. Sam's hand closed over his own. "It's done with, Daniel. It was a tough call. Let it go." She shook his hand, chastising him. "And for goodness sake, don't let your feelings over this one incident ruin this for yourself. You deserve this. You've deserved it for years. In fact -" "Ach, ach," Jack waved a finger in the air. "Yeah, yeah, we heard, Carter. It's not enough. Not equitable. Authors, baseball players, business entrepreneurs, actors -" "Actors?" Pete piped up. "You mean, like, movie stars? They get this too?" Teal'c returned to the table, a large platter with not one but two fresh burgers on it in his hands and a smug look on his face. Daniel whispered "Go, Teal'c," to him, jealously eyeing the double helping of potato salad that surrounded the burgers. Sam released his hand so she could wave her own excitedly through the air. "Yes, movie stars. Entertainers. Now, I'm not saying that these people aren't worthy of recognition, but god, really, how is it even remotely possible to justify a movie star being given a medal with special distinction, and not Daniel? I mean, come on." "Rita," Teal'c mumbled through a mouth full of hamburger, and then added, "Very good." "What?" Daniel's question was echoed three ways just a split instant after he asked. He had sworn he wasn't going to get involved in this discussion, even though it was all about him, but the question just slipped out of its own accord. Evidently his loss of control was warranted, as Jack, Sam, and Pete all looked as confused as he felt. "Earlier this very year the entertainer Rita Moreno received this Medal of Freedom," Teal'c said, stuffing potato salad into his mouth. "Yes. Very good. This meal is much improved." "With special distinction?" Sam gaped. Teal'c looked thoughtful for a moment. "No. I do not think so," he decided, and then re-attacked his platter of food. "No payment is required for this meal," he proudly added. "Then why did you mention her?" Sam looked peeved. At the very same time as Sam spoke, Jack said, "It's free? Way to go, Teal'c." Ignoring her impatient look, he rubbed his hands together in anticipation and reached for the dessert placard that was on the table. "I'm having two desserts, then." "My meal is free, O'Neill. For your..." Teal'c faltered, grimacing, and pointed at the only thing remaining of Jack's dinner, the globs of sauce congealing on his plate. "For your... food... you must pay the regular fee." Jack recovered well. "Dinner's on Teal'c," he announced loudly, surveying the dessert offerings. Sam repeated her question a bit more insistently in the background. Not wanting to hear the answer and the inevitable continuation of the discussion over what merit his supposedly worthy life accomplishments held in comparison to those of others, Daniel tried hard not to pay attention, instead wondering if he might get away with trying to scoop some of Teal'c's potato salad if he moved fast enough. He decided that would be rude, though, and settled for wistfully eyeing the plateful of chunky goodness as Teal'c looked up from his meal to answer Sam. "I like Rita Moreno." Teal'c slid his plate closer to Daniel, and passed him a fork. Sam huffed at Teal'c's answer, saying, "Well, that's nice, but it's off-topic," as Jack aimed his own fork at Teal'c's plate. Teal'c summarily plucked the fork out of Jack's hand. "Daniel Jackson may have some. You may not." "Hey. Why him and not me?" "He has asked nicely, whereas you, O'Neill, sought to take advantage." "I didn't know you liked Rita Moreno, Teal'c. That's very interesting." Daniel found himself inexplicably prattling nonsense overtop of Jack's protest that he hadn't heard Daniel ask for anything at all, nicely or otherwise. Shutting up and diverting his attention to Teal'c's plate, he ate a forkful of the potato salad and immediately discovered it wasn't as tasty as it looked. Too much mustard, maybe. Or not enough egg. Jack was watching him eat it, noticeably sulking, so he took another forkful and with a raised eyebrow to Teal'c, seeking permission, waggled it slightly toward Jack. Teal'c sighed deeply, and Daniel reached across the table and dumped the potato salad onto Jack's plate. In the few moments that ensued where Teal'c and Jack bickered over whether or not Jack deserved more of the potato salad, Daniel noticed that Pete had a hand on Sam's arm and was whispering into her ear. She looked annoyed, and her return whisper, "No. I won't just drop it. You don't understand," was inadvertently a tad bit too loud for complete privacy seeing as Daniel was actually paying far closer attention to them than she knew and than he should have been. Daniel closed his eyes and leaned against the back of his seat, his shoulders sagging. He suspected Pete understood the bottom line - that Daniel simply didn't want to belabour this; he just wanted it to be done with - far better than Sam did. But, sadly, he knew he wasn't going to escape this conversation. Either they had it here now, as Sam seemed to be pushing for, or he'd be equally forced into having it in some form or another in private later, probably at least twice if not three times: once each individually with Jack and Sam, and then possibly with Teal'c as well. Jack and Teal'c's efforts to keep the meal conversation light were nice, but perhaps Sam's approach - bring it out into the open and get it dealt with right there and then, when they were all together - was more efficient. And he really did owe them an explanation, seeing as they already had guessed that he wasn't happy. He was spoiling their fun, after all. Except there was a huge, pretty much intolerable flaw in Sam's plan: the presence of Pete. He sat and allowed his thoughts free rein, pushing away Sam and Pete's furtive whispering and Teal'c and Jack's arguing. He remembered how Pete had been there in the warehouse when Daniel had filled Sam in on how he'd got himself kidnapped and given up the translation. And yeah, sure, Pete knew about the Stargate, and although the amount he knew was limited, he was well aware of the nature of their jobs. But Pete hadn't been there for the previous seven years, and most importantly, Pete wasn't his friend. It was pretty clear to Daniel that Sam had no real idea of what she was actually asking him to get into, in wanting him to discuss the medal award. She wasn't clueing in that his most recent adventure into the land of the stupid was only incidental to his feelings on the subject. Daniel felt an odd mix of guilt and righteousness; he appreciated that Sam - and Jack and Teal'c too, he knew - had intuited there was something bothering him about all this, and he equally appreciated Sam's desire to somehow make it right for him. But weren't his feelings his own to share or not as he saw fit? And, most especially, his feelings were none of Pete's business. He sat there with his eyes closed and his hands in his lap and half-listened to the sounds of the restaurant around him, to the noises of his friends shifting in their chairs, to the clank and clatter of cutlery and dishes and cups and saucers. With Jack and Teal'c light-heartedly arguing over Rita Moreno versus Mary Steenbergen in the background, Daniel seriously wondered if maybe it was time to just call it a night. Just get up and leave. Yes, that's what he'd do. He'd plead tiredness - he had to get up early for that morning meeting, and after that had to be fresh and perky for his lunch with - Oh, wait. He hadn't told Sam yet about the change in plans for tomorrow afternoon. "Sam. I'm sorry, I forgot to tell..." He opened his eyes to find an empty seat across from him. A light tap on his arm had him turning to face her, now sitting right next to him in what had been Pete's seat. "Oh," he said dumbly, "Uhm, what happened to Pete?" "He's taking an extended bathroom break. It's probably the special sauce." Despite the irreverence, it was clear Jack wasn't doing the light-hearted thing anymore. He pushed his plate away and leaned forward, placing his arms on the table, looking at Daniel with an assessing gaze, through narrowed eyes. "He's gone back to the hotel, Daniel. It's just us now." Hell. Daniel sighed and looked away. He was a cad. A first-class cad. His friends wanted this for him; were pleased for him. Knowing that, he really had been doing his best to hide his feelings. For over two weeks now, since the day after he'd first got the word on this thing, he'd been stewing in his own juices, trying to conceal how he really felt. He obviously hadn't done a very good job of it, and now Pete had evidently been banished, having his one evening with Sam in D.C. cut short through no fault of his own. "This isn't right. I'm sorry, Sam," he tried to make it up to her. "Look, why don't we all call it a night? You go, catch up with Pete and spend the rest of the evening with him." He started to get up, but Jack shot a stern "down, boy" look at him and Teal'c grabbed his upper arm to pull him back into his seat. Reluctantly, he gave in. Apparently the evening was already trashed; might as well see it through, now... not that his friends were giving him a choice in the matter. Sam bit her lip. "It's more than just the situation with the Trust that's bothering you, isn't it? I'm sorry, Daniel. Other than you mentioning that, you've been so quiet about this whole thing, and I thought... well, I thought that's what was wrong. I thought all that was needed was a bit of cheerleading." Cheerleading. Daniel stared at her, realising for the first time that she, and probably Jack and Teal'c too, truly didn't have a clue. Either that, or they were being disingenuous and thought he was stupid enough that they could pull the wool over his eyes. That wasn't a very happy nor likely option - no way; they wouldn't do that to him, he thought, so it must be that they didn't see the truth behind this award. Didn't get it. Not even a little bit. They knew he wasn't happy with it, but they thought it was just because he felt guilty and that's as far as it went. Very possibly, they didn't understand any of what was really going on. That realisation was huge, and confounding. The conversation Sam had been pushing for was something completely different from what she thought, and now he hadn't a clue either - he had no idea what to say. How to begin. Or if he even ought to try beginning in the first place. Jack was watching him closely. Daniel hated it when Jack watched him with that particular expression on his face. That intent, bird of prey type look. It meant Jack was looking for things that Daniel probably wouldn't want him to find. He raised his head and met Jack's eyes, and after a split second of eye contact Jack drummed his fingers on the tabletop and groaned, "Ah, crap. So, what, then? Dammit, Daniel, you really are something else. The fun never ends." Daniel took umbrage, because after all it wasn't him who was forcing the issue, but before he had a chance to get out anything more than an initial huff, Jack was up leaving the table. "Just wait a second. Nobody go anywhere." He headed off across the room toward the restaurant reception desk without any explanation. Daniel watched him for a moment before turning back to his empty coffee cup, trying to resign himself to the fact he had little say in whether or not he ought to discuss his real concerns with them. The three of them sat there in strained silence, Daniel wishing they could just back up two weeks, Sam repeatedly looking like she wanted to say something but then deciding not to, and Teal'c studiously making separate little piles of potato salad in the centre of his plate. There were four piles. Daniel surreptitiously watched as Teal'c took one pile and pushed it off to one side, leaving the other three in the centre. He then flattened out the one he'd moved aside with the back of his fork. Made it into a small, messy potato salad pancake. Daniel saw Sam was also watching, her face twitching with tension as Teal'c carefully nudged each of the three piles farther away from one other and placed a chunk of hamburger in their midst. It was when he smushed the hamburger with his fork and shoved it away that Sam evidently couldn't take it anymore. She suddenly blurted out, "Teal'c, just what are you doing, and can you please stop it?" Teal'c seemed startled to realise they were watching him, and put down his fork, pushing the plate away. Daniel thought he looked slightly embarrassed. But then Teal'c seemed to think better of it, pulling the plate back toward himself as he tersely replied, "No. It is not yet complete." He starting depositing individual chunks of the potato salad pancake back into the centre of his plate. It was looking like the reconstruction was going to take quite a while, the way he was going at it with such little bits at a time. Sam's face wrinkled up into a "what the hell is he doing playing with his food, making such a mess" expression, but Daniel was fascinated; he'd never thought Teal'c had so much as a single abstract, symbolic bone in his body. Guess a little misunderstanding mixed with extra potato salad goes a long ways, he thought, as Jack came back to the table with a tray bearing four large cups of hot coffee and a plate full of biscotti. "Bill's been paid," Jack told them, indicating the empty outside terrace at the far side of the building with a tip of his head. "Out this way. It's more private." He set out and they all got up and followed him, Teal'c pausing just long enough, as he stood up, to hastily shove the rest of the smushed-down pile of potato salad back into the centre of the plate with the others. Daniel quietly muttered a thank you to him for that as they made their way through the restaurant to the glass-walled terrace. Teal'c looked at him out of the corner of his eye, and gave him a dignified nod in response. Sam just stared at them uncomprehendingly, and Daniel really didn't feel like explaining it to her. It felt right, actually, not to explain; it felt like a wordless confidence of sorts had been expressed on that plate, and that between him and Teal'c was where it belonged. Settling into chairs around one of the glass-topped tables in the otherwise empty glassed-in terrace, the four of them passed around the coffee cups and poked at the biscotti for a few moments, getting themselves organised. Jack picked up one of the chocolate-dipped ones and used it as a pointer, aiming it at Daniel. "So. Spill." Daniel took a sip of his coffee. He didn't want to spill. He wanted his friends to enjoy tomorrow, even if he wasn't going to. He wanted them to be able to carry on seeing the event through whatever coloured glasses they chose, not the ones he was wearing. But it was probably too late to hang on to that now. He picked that sentiment as his reluctant starting point anyway, just for the hell of it. "Okay, well, just because I'm not happy about all this doesn't mean you guys can't be... I mean, I'd like you to be. Happy, I mean." "Well, we were," Jack drawled, putting extra emphasis on the word "were". "Daniel, you do deserve it." Sam was firm in her resolve. "Like I said, I think this should have been done years ago. By now, you deserve even better." There she was with that cheerleading stuff again. Frustrated, Daniel pointed out, "Sam, what makes you think that I might even begin to buy into the idea of this being a relative thing? The merit of one person's accomplishments measured up against another's? I don't. I won't." "That's not what I..." she started to say, but Daniel interrupted her. "It may not be what you really believe, I know that, but it's the rallying cheer you chose. Do you realise what that baseball player you mentioned did with his life, other than to be one of the best in his sport? He dedicated himself to helping people who were less fortunate than he was, Sam, and he lost his life doing just that. Who's to say whose achievements are more valuable than anyone else's? I'd prefer that you didn't make relative judgements about my worth compared to anyone else, okay?" At the miserable look on her face, he reached out for her hand, softening his tone. "I realise what you've been trying to do, and I do appreciate it. I can't tell you how much it means to me to know how you feel about this." "I too feel as Colonel Carter does," Teal'c said. "I understand that you undervalue yourself, Daniel Jackson, and therefore might be reluctant to accept this award. However, I do not understand why you appear to be angry over being offered it." Angry? Damn. He'd tried so hard to hide it. "Wh... no. No, I'm not -" "Yes you are." Jack waved the biscotti at him. "What, you think you're that good? You're not that good, Daniel. You've been building up a head of steam since right after the thing was announced. Walking around smiling and saying thank you and boy what an honour on the outside while you bitch and whine and complain to yourself on the inside." Sam was nodding, her face clouded with confusion and an edge of what looked, to Daniel's surprise, almost like resentment. "What is it? What could be so bad about being rewarded for all you've accomplished?" "Do you truly not want this, Daniel?" Teal'c quietly asked him. Jack was watching him with that penetrating look. It forced the truth out of him like a bird pulling a worm out of a hole. "No, no, I truly don't want this. I'm sorry, but I don't." There was uncomfortable silence at the table, broken only by the faint dull sound Jack's biscotti sliding back and forth along the edge of his coffee cup. Realising no one was going to say anything, Daniel hurried to explain himself. "Look, it's not that I wouldn't appreciate being honoured. If that's what this was, that'd be... well, it'd be embarrassing, but it'd be fine. An honour. But that's not what this is." "It's not." Jack's tone was flat, and Daniel wasn't sure if the words were a question or a statement. "No, it's not." He treated it as if it were either, giving what could be taken as an answer or as agreement. "Far from it." Sam shook her head. "Why not? Why isn't it? It's supposed to be." "It's a public award, Sam," Daniel pointed out. "It's publicly announced, and publicly recorded." She was smart. She'd see what he was saying. But then again... "Yes. So?" Sam spread her hands in question. Daniel sighed. Why didn't she see it? Suddenly uncertain, he wondered if maybe he was wrong - if he was blowing this all out of proportion. He gnawed on his lower lip, no longer knowing if he was coming or going, and then Sam abruptly leaned forward and dumped the stick of biscotti she'd been nibbling on into her coffee. "Wait. It's public." She stared at Daniel, her eyes narrowed in concentration. "So..." She slowly said, "What exactly are they going to write in the public register, about why they're giving it to you? Have you seen any copy?" Jack broke in. "I've seen an early draft. It was fine. Said something along the lines of having made an outstanding contribution to the security of the United States through an act of heroism, blah blah blah. Something else about cultural endeavours. Pretty vague stuff." Daniel waved a hand, dismissing the relevance of that. "How they word the blurb isn't important. The important thing is simply, specifically, that it is public." He grimaced in distaste, reminded of the inaugural meeting he had to attend in the morning, as he added, "Just as public as my new and oh so bogus appointment to their brand new Federal Fiscal Responsibility watchdog committee." They still didn't seem to understand the importance he'd placed on the public nature of the award, but that last reference they clearly understood. There was a moment of silence as they worked on deciphering his take on the relationship between what they all knew was purely political manipulation and the Medal of Freedom award. When Jack broke the silence, his tone was one of frustration. "Wonderful train of illogic, Daniel. Just wonderful. The committee appointment is a sham, so you don't want the Medal of Freedom." Jack was being obtuse. Daniel wasn't sure if it was purposeful or not, but really didn't care. He was getting angry over having to explain himself like this. "The committee itself is a sham, Jack. My appointment to it just makes the problem real on a personal level. You know that. As for the medal, I don't want to be used as a means to someone's political ends, is what I don't want. It's not rewarding; it's demeaning." Jack stared at him, grimacing as if he was sucking on a particularly bad lemon, while both Teal'c and Sam were looking anywhere but at Jack or him. "You think," Jack said slowly, "that you're being used? That the only reason you're receiving formal recognition is because it benefits Hayes, or whoever?" "Yes." Daniel nodded firmly, surprised when they all still didn't seem to be on the same page as him. God, wasn't it obvious to them yet? "Yes. That's what I think. Do you really believe Hayes would ever have been willing to do this simply in recognition of the things I've done working in the SGC? That it ever would have even occurred to him to do this unless there was something in it for him? I don't think so." "Oh, Daniel." Sam weakly muttered. "That's not what this is about." No," he corrected her, "I think that is what it's about. Actually, that's not simply what I think, it's what I'm convinced of. Just look at it, at the big picture..." "The big picture," Jack repeated, looking as if he'd just swallowed that badder than bad lemon whole. "Yes. The big picture, Jack." Daniel started ticking off his points one by one on his fingers. "First, Hayes brought Weir in for a particular reason - a semblance of not only civilian involvement, but civilian control, remember? - but now the SGC is back under 100% military leadership, leaving that objective hanging. Second, other than the top levels of governments in whatever respective countries having access to whatever little information Washington decides to tell them, actual international participation on the program is limited to one Russian team within the SGC, and outside the SGC it's limited to scientific teams who don't have access to the real truth about the Stargate. Hell, they don't have access to even half the information they need to really do their jobs properly. Except for who? Those American civilian scientists who work from deep within the system. Like me." He saw the truth of what he was saying mirrored in their eyes and their reluctance to meet his gaze. "Third, and we've all known this for years now, the 'gate and the SGC are proof positive that the bigger a secret something is, the harder it is to keep. Whether the time is right or not, whether we like it or not, this thing is going to become public knowledge sooner rather than later, and Hayes is smart enough to make sure that -" "Daniel Ja-" Teal'c started to interrupt, but cut it off mid-word as Jack abruptly, forcefully, raised a hand and slashed it through the air. "So you believe that giving you the Medal of Freedom is simply his way of paving his road of good intentions before the traffic busts out of the parking lot." Daniel winced at Jack's analogy, but at least it meant that in essence Jack understood what he was saying, albeit taking it maybe just a bit too far. "Well, yes and no. Yes; I think that for Hayes honouring my participation now, as early as possible before the floodgates inevitably get opened, is a politically expedient starting point toward re-addressing the same perception problem that brought Weir into the SGC. And no, I'm not actually the paving on his road - not specifically me, anyway - because as an individual, I'm hardly sufficiently important or noteworthy to be enough to actually do the job for him. It isn't really about me at all. None of this is about me." "This is about you, Daniel Jackson. The politics of this government do not matter. I do not understand why you would not wish such an award when it is so clearly well deserved." Teal'c sounded confused, and almost desperate to contradict him. "This event is to honour you." Daniel touched his good friend lightly on the arm. "No, Teal'c, it isn't. It's to use me as a tool, as much and as visibly as possible. Just look at tonight's farce. That's a good example of what this is really about. It's all about getting an upper hand in the game." "Why do the shenanigans of politicians matter, if the act is right and just?" Teal'c asked, and Daniel started to suspect that Teal'c wasn't so much still trying to understand as he was trying to sway Daniel's own perceptions. He'd answer the question anyway, because no matter Teal'c's motive in asking, there was a fundamental, personal hurt in all this that was inescapable for Daniel, and his friends might as well know what that was. It felt easier to work his way up to it rather than blurting it right out, though; easier to talk about it in a roundabout way for the moment. "Did you ask yourself, Teal'c, why you were banned from that cocktail party tonight? Did you stop to think about why they'd even hold such an event, with so many of the guests not even knowing about the existence of the Stargate, when there's already going to be an actual awards ceremony tomorrow for those in the know?" "Washington cocktail parties are all about posturing, Daniel. Politicians do that. They live for it. It's in their blood." "Yes, Jack, I know. But I really don't think that tonight was as innocent and inconsequential as them just using an upcoming medal award presentation as an excuse to hold another same-old, same-old." "What, then?" Sam asked. Daniel looked straight into her eyes as he answered. "Sam, don't you think it's rather inconceivable that pretty much all of Washington isn't at least on some level aware that there's some sort of big secret lurking in their midst?" She nodded in acknowledgement, and as she looked away from him Daniel was confused over the degree of stubborn-looking non-comprehension he thought he saw on her face. He forged ahead, though. "As acclimated now as Teal'c is, with that crowd he'd still be a bit too much of a red flag in that particular bullring." Daniel looked to Jack for confirmation, and got a resigned shrug that yes, that was probably the case. "So he can go tomorrow, where everyone who's going to be there knows all about him anyway, but he couldn't go tonight. Tonight was about working things around to Hayes' best advantage - about trading off the secret, not taking a chance of losing control of it." Jack interrupted him. "Like I said. Posturing. Nothing more, nothing less." Sam frowned at him, but then her face cleared. "Oh. Oh, okay, I see what you are getting at, Daniel. Sir, he's right about that part of it." She looked from Daniel over to Jack. "President Hayes wants to stay in power once knowledge of the Stargate starts to irretrievably leak out, and that's going to be enough of a battle as it is, even if he's ready for it to happen; or in fact, even if he has a hand in making it happen. There's going to be quite an uproar, so he has to be careful and plan well ahead. Ultimately, he wants to keep control over the SGC within the United States. In other words, to continue to rest with him. He's going to need personal allies within Washington, and within the governments of other countries who already know about the Stargate. Lots of allies." "Yes. And allies don't necessarily have to be friends... just people who can help you." Daniel nodded at her and turned to Teal'c, as it was him who'd inadvertently asked for the bald truth of why this was such an issue for Daniel. "Tonight was about me being representative of Hayes' special little secret, paraded out into a room full of ambitious people, some of who do and some of who don't know about the Stargate or about who I am or what I've done. So that those who aren't in the know can wonder about who I am, really, and what my relationship with Hayes is, and wonder if the guy standing next to them knows more or less than they do, and if there's any way they might be able to take advantage of any of it. Like I said, tonight was for Hayes and his buddies to trade off the secret. And for when the project finally is revealed, for everyone to remember their places." "I thought you just said it wasn't about you, Daniel." For some reason, Jack was making this really hard for him. "One minute it isn't even about you, and the next, you're Hayes' means to his ends. You know what I'm thinking here? I'm thinking you're blowing this all up out of proportion. I repeat: it's just posturing." Daniel looked down at the tabletop and toyed with his coffee cup for a moment, then looked back up at his friends. "For them, as far as they know, yeah, it's the same old game. For Hayes I suspect it's more involved than just that. And for me, well, for me it's something very different." He swallowed against a suddenly dry mouth, and forged on ahead. "When I made the decision to ascend, it was because I wanted to... to do more. I thought I would have a chance to finally really make a difference, but all that appears to have happened was that..." He faltered a bit on the truth, then pushed it out. "From what I've remembered so far and from what I've been told, the truth of the matter was that instead of making a difference, I effectively had to turn my back on pretty much all I thought I stood for. I was emasculated of everything I held to be true of myself and of everything I believed was really important." He raised a hand to stop the objection he saw forming on Teal'c's lips. "Wait. Just wait, okay? I don't want to hear about how I appeared to you and helped you. That's not enough. It doesn't even put a dent in it." Teal'c frowned at him but held his tongue. Jack wouldn't look him in the eye, and Daniel figured he should just finally get this over with. "When I returned, I struggled with trying to make sense of it all - I'm still struggling - and the glimpses I've had of my time as an ascended being have helped me realise there aren't any shortcuts. I've been working hard trying to make up for the time I was ascended. And up until recently I felt like who I am, and what I believe in, and what I can contribute really do matter. That if I keep my eye on the ball and work at it, I can make that difference. That I belong." Sam whispered, "You do, Daniel." He thought of four lumps of potato salad, and had to smile, but the smile immediately faded as he told them how he really felt. "But this thing... for me, this takes all that and twists it all around. Tomorrow when I accept that medal, it won't be because what I do is important and makes a difference; it'll be because I'm a prostitute to someone else's agenda. And the feeling that's the bottom-line sum total of my worth to them isn't going to go away, because my name will be forever publicly tied to that agenda, and because this committee membership and the award will just be the beginning. They're playing with a different ball, and they're pulling me out of my game to use me in theirs." He couldn't look at them. "I'll do it because I have to, because just shutting up and going through with it is in the best interests of the SGC. But please don't ask me to enjoy it. And don't ask me when and where and how I'm going to rediscover those feelings of belonging and being able to make the right kind of difference, because I have no idea if that's even going to be possible." There were a few seconds of silence, then Jack slammed back in his seat, his chair rocking with the impact. "Shit," was all he said. Sam put her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands. He heard a rough, almost primitive-sounding rumble, and the noise puzzled him for a second until he realised it was coming from Teal'c, next to him. The deep growl from low in Teal'c's throat was short, but impossible to miss. Jack leaned forward and pointed at Teal'c, his finger jabbing the air in emphasis with his words. "No, don't start. Just don't start with me." "I will 'start' with whoever I please, O'Neill." Teal'c turned to Daniel. "If you believe this recognition to be a lie, and feel your reasons for not wishing to participate are well justified, then is not your own behaviour dishonest?" "Oh god, Teal'c... that's just the point he's -" Sam stopped mid-sentence, clamping her lips tightly together. They all waited for her to continue, Daniel with his heart sinking as he realised she probably wasn't going to back him up with the less obvious aspects of the question, after all. Sure enough, after a moment of apparently frustrated indecision she just shook her head and looked away. Teal'c's question, taken in its most literal form, was basically rhetorical; Daniel didn't bother answering it. The answer was a self-evident yes. The motives behind his handling of the issue were less straight-forward, but judging by Sam's reluctance to bring it up they probably weren't interested in hashing over just why he'd chosen the path he had - not only to go with the official program despite its impact on him, but to try to hide the depth of his feelings from his friends. He figured now that trying to avoid discussing the real truth behind the medal award probably had been a mistake. But even so, he wasn't at all sure he could have done any differently. It had hurt to realise that to those at the top his participation in the SGC was valued according to its usefulness as political hay. It had hurt too much for him to face head-on, at first, the fact that recognition for his efforts was actually only recognition of his utility to them, and when he had faced that sad reality the pleasure and excitement of others who were so thrilled for him only served to magnify his growing sense of isolation from all that he'd thought he was such an integral part of. That this wasn't the first time he'd been played for a chump was almost unbearable. Watching Jack, Teal'c, and Sam now, Daniel was honestly unable to tell if they primarily felt upset for him, or, rather, were upset by him. It wasn't a moot distinction, and as he realised he wasn't sure which of the two he was seeing, Daniel felt that gulf of understanding and perception he'd been experiencing over the last several weeks stretch out to become so impossibly wide that he didn't know how to even begin trying to bridge it. At least not now, not tonight, anyway. He stood up. "Look, I'm really sorry about all this. Jack, you may be right - I might be blowing this all up out of proportion. I'm not sure." The lie stung his throat and he had to swallow hard before he could continue. "I am pretty sure, though, that this isn't getting us anywhere. Nowhere good, anyway." Sam slid her coffee cup away from her. "You're probably right. Maybe we should call it a night." She slid back her chair, readying herself to stand up, and looked up at him. "Daniel, I'm sure Pete won't mind cooling his heels for awhile before we head out tomorrow; maybe we can talk about this at lunch, when you get back from your meeting, if..." She looked around the table at Jack and Teal'c, seeking their agreement. Jack shook his head. "Don't look at me. I'm in meetings for the day. Wasn't going to be tagging along with you guys anyway." He aimed a level stare at Daniel as he spoke, and Daniel remembered that yes, right, he did have something he had better tell Sam and Teal'c, didn't he. "Yeah, about that. Sam, I'm sorry," Daniel apologised. "I can't go with you. I'm expected for a one o'clock lunch with President Sinclair and his wife." In rapid succession, Sam looked surprised, then disappointed, and then more than just a bit frustrated with him, stiffening as she simply said, "Oh. I see." She looked down at the tabletop for a moment, and when she looked back up at him it was clear she'd chosen to take the high road. Standing up and pushing her chair in, she gracefully let him off the hook. "Well, that's okay. It's not like we're setting out to save the world or anything. It's just sight-seeing." She leaned forward, gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and moved away from the table. "I'm off then. Teal'c? We should decide what time we want to get going tomorrow." As she stood waiting for him, Teal'c gave Jack a nod of farewell, then stood still for a moment, tipping his head slightly to one side as he silently regarded Daniel. Still without a word, he turned and joined Sam, and the two of them left, winding their way around tables. Daniel watched them go, miserable over the way things had turned out. For some unfathomable reason, it seemed his feelings over being yet again being taken for a patsy had disappointed them far more than could be accounted for by his not sharing their pleasure. "Well." Jack was still seated, playing with the same stick of biscotti he'd started out with. There was melted chocolate on his fingers, Daniel noticed, and a portion of the rim of his coffee cup looked as though it had been dipped in mud. Jack didn't seem to notice, or if he did he didn't seem to care. He just sat there, tapping the end of the biscotti against the table, looking at Daniel thoughtfully. "Well, well," he repeated. Tap, tap, tap. The end of the stick broke off, and he started pushing it around on the glass surface of the table, wielding the rest of the biscotti like it was a hockey stick, creating smudged brown trails on the tabletop. Daniel flashed back to Teal'c and his potato salad, and wondered if maybe there was some sort of subliminal message in the streaks of shitty brown Jack was making. Hmph. Yeah. Probably. "Well," Jack said again, and promptly reached forward and dropped the biscotti into Daniel's coffee cup. He licked the chocolate off his fingers. "What a goddamned mess." Daniel silently agreed. Yes it was. If they'd just have left him alone, hadn't forced him to bring his feelings over all this out into the open... Jack stood up, abruptly asking, "So what do you want to do?" "What do...?" Confused, Daniel gestured toward the street entrance. "Uhm... go back to the hotel?" Jack gave him a disgusted look. "Oh, please. You know damned well what I'm referring to." No, no he didn't, actually. Daniel felt the frown on his face, the deep furrows in his brow, and let it do the talking for him. Jack peered at him for a moment, and then let out a long sigh. He circled the table, leaving, and as he walked by Daniel he said in passing, "Okay, so maybe you don't. Too busy dictating the truth according to Daniel Jackson to grab a clue, I guess." What? Daniel stood there for an instant, bordering on being completely dumbfounded, and then leaped forward to catch up to Jack in several long strides. He whipped around to stand in front of Jack. "Wait just a minute. What's that supposed to mean?" "It means, Daniel, what do you want to do about the award ceremony? If you feel the whole thing is so demeaning, then don't go. It's that simple." Jack's tone was far too excessively patient, especially considering he was being disingenuous, which told Daniel he was about an inch away from being patronised. It made him angry, and he blurted out, "Oh, screw that, Jack. You know damned well I have to go. And you know just as damned well that's got nothing to do with what I was asking you." He made quote marks in the air with his fingers, "'Dictating the truth according to Daniel Jackson' -" Jack made eye contact with him, but didn't answer right away, shoving his hands into his pants pockets and looking like he was considering something very weighty. When Daniel saw Jack's eyes narrow slightly, he knew Jack had decided not to beat around the bush. "You know, Daniel, you're the only guy I've ever met who can be so, so completely wrong while being right. Yes, okay, we get it. Hayes and his pals are taking advantage. They're using you. You're probably quite right, too, in that who, or what, you think you are isn't who or what you are to them." Jack pulled one hand out of his pocket and tapped Daniel on the chest. "And you're right about something else... which of course is why you are so, so, oh so wrong." Uh, what? Daniel felt his mouth moving of its own accord, doing that fish-gulpy thing he hated about himself. Made him look idiotic. He clamped his jaw, and very nearly bit one side of his tongue in the process. Gad, what a fool. "So, so, so... what am I so right about that I'm wrong?" he managed to force out, confused and utterly frustrated, knowing there was an important message coming here, but not having a clue what it was. "Daniel, you're a smart guy. You were right when you said there's no way it would have occurred to Hayes, on his own, to do something like this in recognition of the things you've been through, the things you've done. For the SGC. For Earth. For all of us. He wouldn't. And he didn't." Jack walked around him, nudging him with his shoulder as he passed by. "We did, Mr. Smart Guy. Me, Hammond, Teal'c, and Carter. Which makes you the stupidest guy this side of the Pegasus Galaxy." He tossed a last comment over his shoulder as he walked away. "If you decide not to attend, just be sure to let me know in advance. I'll try to keep my cell on." And then he was gone. Sitting alone in the back of a chauffeured car for the third time that morning, Daniel fingered his cellphone. He replayed in his mind the message Sam had left on the hotel answering service that morning, and wondered if he ought to give her a call. She'd sounded cheerful enough - maybe a bit too cheerful; perhaps a bit forced, he wondered - as she'd told him that they'd try to get back to the hotel in the afternoon in time to see him before he had to leave, but couldn't promise they'd make it. He was being picked up for the awards ceremony a bit earlier than everyone else. He hadn't had a problem with that before last night, the reason for the extra time being that he was going to spend the hour or so before the main event with General Hammond and Jack. Now, though, after last night, he was looking forward to four o'clock with an awkward mix of yearning and trepidation. Jack was right - he'd been terribly wrong in being right, and he owed them all an apology. Visions of him, Jack, and General Hammond amicably sorting it out, deciding what to do about it all, and relaxing over coffee drew him in like a fly to honey, but that wishful scenario still didn't change how badly and deeply he felt about being used. In fact, knowing that the sincere best intentions of his friends had been so calculatedly manipulated to suit Hayes' purposes just added fuel to that particular fire. He absolutely did not want this, even though he now knew the original motivation behind it had been the honest appreciation of his friends rather than the dehumanising political expedience that had taken centre stage with him. Sam had said she hoped he was getting through the morning meeting without too much suffering, and that she hoped he'd enjoy his lunch with the Sinclairs. And that he shouldn't hesitate to give her and Teal'c a call on her cell phone if he wanted to, for any reason, at any time during the day. Well, he had good reason to do just that - there was that apology he owed them, and he really didn't want them breaking their day off short just to catch a few minutes with him at the hotel. That wouldn't be fair to them. He dialled her number slowly, and stared at the phone as his thumb hovered over the send button. The numbers called out, yes, yes, just call them, just a quick word and a quick sorry so they know that you know, but his thumb wasn't co-operating. What if they were in the middle of something, and couldn't or didn't want to talk to him just then? Or, what if they weren't, and still, despite Sam's message, didn't want to talk to him? He wouldn't blame them; basically he'd taken their gift and flung it back in their faces. Of course, it had come addressed from someone else, wrapped in second-hand sackcloth sincerity... but they hadn't really seen that. They'd seen what they'd originally intended - the gift they originally bought, not the perversion of use it was put to by their delivery-man. Two weeks worth of his sulking around, capped off by last night's overt rejection of what they'd no doubt gone to a lot of trouble to lobby for, had hurt them. So. Just do it. His thumb punched the send button, and when the little arrow began to dot its way across the screen he put the phone to his ear. And the car went right down a short ramp and into a wide, completely enclosed drive-through attached to the side of a large, white, colonial-style building. A metal-roofed drive-though, apparently, judging by the way the phone signal abruptly disappeared. Closing his eyes momentarily in annoyance, Daniel leaned forward and asked the Sinclair's driver, "Is this it, then?" and the man - Peter, he'd said his name was, when he'd picked Daniel up at the hotel - nodded and told him he'd drop him off right in front of the lower entrance. All he'd have to do was go up a short flight of steps and introduce himself at the main desk; President Sinclair was already in the dining room, waiting for him. Peter smiled a dark-eyed, dark-haired handsome smile at Daniel over his shoulder, and told him he'd pick him up right here, later, at the same place he was being dropped off, when he was done. In the next instant, the car pulled up next to an impressively large, ornately etched and decorated set of glass doors, waited on by a man in black and white formal attire. Wearing spats and white gloves, no less. As the automatic lock on his door released with a faint snick, Daniel turned the cellphone off and slid it into his pocket. This really didn't look like the sort of place he should slouch on in to with a cellphone attached to his ear. He'd call Sam and Teal'c later, after lunch, and make sure they knew not to cut their day off early on his account. The doorman held the door open for him, greeting him by name, saying he was expected, and politely gave him directions as to where he should go once he was upstairs. Daniel noticed a slight quizzical lift to one of the man's eyebrows as he went by into the building, and it was only when he was halfway up the wide, granite flight of stairs that it occurred to Daniel he'd probably just missed something a bit delicate here. But he wasn't sure. Feeling foolish, he darted back down the steps, not quite sure how to gracefully handle this, but figuring that the direct approach was probably best. He fumbled in his pants pocket just in case, and then pushed the door open, sticking his head through. "Uhm, excuse me?" The doorman turned to face him, and reached out to hold the door open. The raised eyebrow had been joined by a slight twitching of lips, Daniel noticed. Yep, he had definitely missed something. "I'm sorry, I'm not familiar with... I'm not sure if I'm supposed to... ahh..." The doorman half-grinned, then smothered it and shook his head. "No, sir, not necessary. We don't accept gratuities." Daniel ahh-ed an unspoken thank you, but just before he turned away to re-enter the building, the doorman's eyebrow danced upward again and he gestured toward Daniel's chest as he advised, "Sir? If I may? You might wish to lose the tie." Daniel frowned, but figured that part of the doorman's job probably involved making sure people didn't enter under-dressed. If the man said tie-less was acceptable, then it probably was. Nodding another thank you, he loosened and slipped off his tie as he went up the steps. And then considered stripping off his suit jacket as well as he got to the top and found himself on plush red carpeting under an ornate vaulted ceiling, in the company of people incongruously dressed in anything but dinner-wear. The lobby area was set up as a large, comfortable study, with acres worth of polished bookcases and intimate groupings of comfortable chairs. In and around them sat and wandered about ten or so men, that Daniel could see right off, anyway, and nary a one of them was wearing anything more... well, just more... than the equivalent of casual slacks, golf shirts, and loafers. The reception desk was located directly to the right of where Daniel was standing. He undid all the buttons on his suit jacket and stuffed his tie into his pocket as he went over to it. The spit and polished attendant smiled at him, also calling him by name, and before Daniel could really get his bearings he was being swept along by a pretty young lady, out of the main lobby area and around a couple of corners. She showed him where there were washrooms located right inside the entrance to the dining area, and without so much as a pause in their relentless forward motion ushered him directly to a table at the far end of the elegant room. Ray Sinclair saw them coming, and rose to greet him. "Dr. Jackson. Glad you could make it. How are you?" Daniel murmured that he was fine, thank you, they shook hands, and the young lady smoothly deposited him into his chair and vanished. Left wondering just how she'd got him from point A to point B without him really being aware of most of the trip, Daniel looked around the room curiously. Sinclair sat patiently, sipping coffee, as Daniel took a few minutes to acclimate himself. He took in the fine bone china and the abundance of soft, fresh bread rolls on the table, and figured both that the food was probably excellent and that Jack wasn't going to get any leftovers. Not that Daniel was at all hungry; he just highly doubted this kitchen stocked doggy-bags. Overall, it wasn't his kind of place, really, he decided. More than just a bit on the stuffy side. Stodgy, certainly, even despite the casual dress of the members. He turned his attention back to his host just in time to see Sinclair discreetly raise a finger in signal to someone behind where Daniel sat. Sinclair unfolded his napkin and fussed about with settling it on his lap, smiling easily as he cheerfully told Daniel, "I've taken the liberty of pre-ordering lunch for us. I hope you don't mind? There are only a three choices on the luncheon menu, and one of them involves tuna salad." He grimaced and wrinkled his nose in a show of displeasure over the tuna, and then turned the smile back on. "So I've ordered one each of the other two selections for us. You're welcome to whichever you prefer." Daniel had a rebellious urge to tell him that it was the tuna he'd actually prefer, thank you very much. He liked tuna. A lot. It occurred to him they were missing both a person and a meal order, though, and he waggled his fingers toward one of the two empty chairs at their table. "I'm sorry, I understood your wife was to be here?" Sinclair's smile slipped. "Ah, no. No. Of course not. Why would you think that?" Daniel was at a loss to explain how he'd got that impression, but he hadn't been alone in that understanding. Jack had assumed that was the case as well. Their mistake, Daniel figured. Not a big deal. At Daniel's question, though, Sinclair's bonhomie had given way to that intense look Daniel had been on the receiving end of at the cocktail party, and if anything the tension in the man's face was intensifying by the moment. Daniel felt distinctly uncomfortable. He apologised faintly for misunderstanding and fussed with getting his own napkin smoothed out on his lap, and was saved from further scrutiny by the abrupt appearance of bowls of steaming hot soup and plates of fresh salad in front of both him and his host. Sinclair switched streams like a spawning salmon heading for home, a smile leaping onto his face after only a split second of minor turbulence. He waved a hand at the soup, encouraging Daniel to try it. Whet his appetite for the main course. The food was excellent; he'd love it, Sinclair was certain. Daniel stirred the soup gently and took a tentative sip from his spoon, watching as Sinclair spooned up his own soup with an intensity that certainly didn't seem warranted. It wasn't that good. The rate at which the man was attacking the appetisers did serve to put a dampener on any attempts at conversation, though. That was all right. Daniel wasn't exactly looking forward to them getting down to just why he was here anyway. Daniel forewent the soup and ate his salad in silence, and a bit after that, when he was back with the soup and mid-way through separating the small chunks of carrots and celery from one another - getting frustrated with the barley's tendency to float into his way - Sinclair suddenly said, "My wife isn't able to go out much. Last night was a rare exception." He pushed his dishes away from him, and ran his fingertips along the edge of his empty soup bowl. "Aren't you going to eat the soup? It's good soup. Mavis always liked the soup here, but she can't eat out anymore. She's an insulin-dependent diabetic, you know." No, Daniel didn't know. And although he had been both fascinated and moved by Mavis Sinclair, he wasn't sure he really wanted to know. He'd been dreading having what Sinclair might want from him confirmed, hoping against hope it wouldn't be what he thought. He made what he thought were probably appropriately sympathetic noises, and Sinclair rambled on without acknowledging Daniel's offering. "She's relegated to a very strict diet now. The diabetes is relatively new; it's because she's so compromised by... well, anyway, it's dangerously brittle. She's spent more time in the clinic than she has at home these last few weeks. It's very frustrating for her. She's always been so healthy, so active." Sinclair gave a signal and a busboy came and took their plates. An instant later a waiter deposited their meals in front of them. Another hovered nearby, and ritual wine-tasting ensued. All the savoir faire disappeared from Sinclair's demeanour the moment they were left alone again. He stared down at the plate in front of him, probably not even seeing what was on it. "I guess you're wondering why I've pushed you into coming here to meet with me," he said softly. "No. Not really. Not wondering, I mean." Sinclair looked up at him then, and as gently as he could Daniel told him the truth. "Sir, I'm sorry, but as much as I'd like to, I don't think there's any way I can help you." "I think you can," Sinclair answered him, taking a sip of wine. He tipped the glass slightly toward Daniel. "Even if you don't see it as that." Daniel frowned, not sure what that meant. He sure as hell hoped it wouldn't have anything to do with Goa'uld sarcophagi or Asgard beamy-thingys, or Nox hands-on healing. Or, god forbid, glowy energy beings. He spread his hands wide, half-shrugging his uncertainty. "I don't understand." "Hope can be a good and constructive thing, but sometimes it can also be a curse. An obstruction." Sinclair drank a third of his wine in one go, and set the glass down on the table just that bit too hard. "I'm a pragmatist, Dr. Jackson. Always have been. I don't believe in blind faith, and I don't believe in being strung along by false hopes, by wishes that can never be granted. But, at the same time, I can't seem to... I can't..." Sinclair's voice broke slightly, and he took another sip of wine, then cleared his throat noisily. Daniel sat there feeling completely inadequate. And underneath that, frustrated and angry, because he knew what was out there, what treasures of life and technology and spirit existed that could turn what seemed like false hope into solid reality. Oh, if only it were within his power to harness and use them... but it wasn't. And hell, even when it had been, he hadn't been able to make it happen. Sinclair cleared his throat again, and this time finished the sentence. "I can't seem to give up on hoping, no matter how much my better judgement tells me it's false hopes I'm clinging to. And it's getting in the way." He leaned forward, pinning Daniel with another of his intense gazes. "Have you ever wanted something so much that even though you know you can never have it the wanting leads you again and again to its door, when you should be going somewhere else? Doing something else? I'm frozen in place here, Dr. Jackson. Pinned to the wall by hope." Daniel gaped at him. "And you want me... me?... to just... just, what? To dash those hopes once and for all for you? To tell you you're right to give up?" How could he do that? He couldn't. How could this man think him capable of just callously saying that no, there was no way, no hope, no anything. "No, no, of course not." Sinclair looked faintly impatient with him. "Indifferent false indulgence isn't what I'm looking for. And if it were, do you really think I'd come to you - to Dr. Daniel Jackson, guardian of truth, justice and the all American way - to get it?" He waved a hand in a gesture of dismissal. "I may be desperate, but I'm not delusional. I'm well aware you can't conjure up a quick fix, not one way nor the other." Daniel was uncomfortable with both the tone and language just used - it might be because he was touchy to start with these days, but it felt like he'd just been insulted in the same breath as the one used to ask for his help. He pushed that discomfort aside and concentrated on the issue of what Sinclair might want from him. As former President, Sinclair would know, of course, that it was impossible for Daniel to wave any alien magic wands for him. And if it wasn't that, and it wasn't callous hope-bashing Sinclair wanted - which was good because there was no way he was getting that either from Daniel - then there must be something else. He suddenly realised that what he'd said to Sinclair, that there wasn't anything he could do to help him, wasn't the bottom-line truth of the matter just because Daniel thought so. For all he knew, there was something he could feasibly do to help that just wasn't clear to him right off the bat. "Okay. So, what can I do for you?" Daniel volunteered with sincerity, leaning forward over his plate to snag his wine glass. At his offer, Sinclair sagged slightly with what looked to Daniel like cautious relief. "What I'm hoping you can do for me is something you really shouldn't do, and I realise I have no right to ask you to do," Sinclair warned him. "I'm no longer in office, and at this time I don't meet criteria for inclusion on the need to know list." Oh. Right. Daniel took a sip of wine and thought about that. Sinclair, a fairly rigid pragmatist, had a problem with hope; with understanding where he stood. And he was out of the loop. "Have you spoken with anyone else? Approached anyone else?" Daniel asked him. He rather needed to know that, and what the outcome of it might have been, before he could decide whether or not he should knowingly break the letter of the law of national security here. "I've spoken with Rob - I'm sorry, President Hayes. He was sympathetic, but said things had changed since I was last privy to any information. He'll keep an eye out in case any opportunities arise." Sinclair looked faintly ill as he admitted that, and, Daniel was surprised to see, also somewhat frightened. Taking a deep breath, Sinclair told Daniel two things that Daniel already knew. "That's President-speak for 'don't call me, I'll call you'. But I've never been one for sitting around at home on a Friday night waiting for the phone to ring." Daniel nodded. Yeah, neither had he. Sinclair needed more than what he already had; whether that was because he hadn't been told much of anything or because he didn't trust the person saying it wasn't any of Daniel's business. Decision made. "All right. So what would you like to know?" Sinclair sat back and his eyes filled momentarily, so Daniel took a slow, deliberate sip of wine in order to give him a moment. In short order, Sinclair composed himself and picked up his fork. He pushed some food around on his plate and then ate a forkful, and thanked Daniel for being willing to help him without actually saying it right out. "Please, eat. There's not much more than this I can offer you. You should at least leave here with a full stomach." Daniel looked down at his plate. It was laden with fresh fruit and vegetables, and a heap of some sort of creamy stuff on a bed of red lettuce. He tried it, more to please Sinclair than because he was hungry, and found it was potato salad. More or less pureed, weirdly enough, but he could taste lots of egg in it, and just the right amount of mustard. It reminded him of Teal'c, and of the phone call he had to make, and for a moment he contemplated excusing himself to the washroom and taking care of that. He didn't want to be rude, though, and somehow it felt like getting up from the table just then would be disrespectful of Sinclair's situation. He stayed, and ate all of it, and all of the fruit and vegetables too, and drank two glasses of wine to boot, while he told Sinclair what he needed to know. About the current dismal status of the Tok'ra, and that no, they had no idea how to contact them, including Jacob Carter. That Sam's ability to use Goa'uld devices - specifically the healing device - had declined steadily over the years since Jolinar had died within her, to the point that now Sam was barely able to make the device glow. They didn't know quite why that had happened, but there it was: no hope there. No sarcophagi on tap anywhere, no, and yes, the Asgard certainly had the ability to help, but whether they'd be willing was another story entirely. Mavis was just one person out of billions, and the Asgard were just as pragmatic as Sinclair himself. And Sinclair well knew, anyway, that President Hayes would never approve of them asking the Asgard to intervene in this. During their conversation, it was made clear to Daniel that Sinclair wasn't asking him for anything more than to be filled in on the status quo, and as he answered Sinclair's questions, Daniel understood that in effect Sinclair was holding his list of hopes up to the bright light of reality, testing the feasibility of continuing to cling to, or of finally surrendering, each one. And when they were done with both the talking and the eating, Sinclair turned on him just a wee bit, lightly admonishing him for breaching confidentiality, and forcefully extracting a promise that Daniel would never do anything like this again. "The program needs you, Dr. Jackson. The world needs you," he told Daniel. "I'd much prefer to see your association with the Stargate program maintained on the basis of your ethics, rather than see it curtailed as a result of your exercising more compassion and discretionary judgement than the rules allow for." Sinclair lifted one finger, and they sat there in silence as the staff descended to clear away the dishes. Wine glasses were refilled, and a carafe of coffee and a platter of desserts were deposited on the table. When they'd done and gone, Sinclair leaned back and absently picked at the edge of a piece of pastry for a moment. Daniel thought he was far away, maybe lost in the process of sorting out false hopes from possibly salvageable ones, but then Sinclair abruptly straightened in his chair. "You know, you have a certain reputation here in Washington. You're quite the bone of contention in some circles," he scolded. "During my tenure, I watched you change the rules of our own game, right underneath our noses, several times. I'm sure you're aware there are people who didn't like that - people who don't like that - even despite where there's been positive results. That there are people who want you out." People wanted him out. Daniel stomach clenched. He wondered if Sinclair intended this - if this was in fact what it sounded like; if he was being given a warning - or if the man was simply talking shop. But then Sinclair raised his wine glass in salute. "Me? I'm not one of them. I don't think we ever could have accomplished some of the things we have if it hadn't been for the way you operate. Today is long overdue, young man. Please accept my congratulations." Oh. That. Summoning up a faint smile, Daniel tried to be gracious about the congratulations. He nodded and smiled and busied himself with pouring a cup of coffee, all but dying inside. Despite being intended as a compliment, Sinclair's comments cut deep on a personal level, and not only that, they irrevocably confirmed Daniel's interpretation of this whole thing. He was seen by some in Washington as being less than a golden boy, was he? Well, to be honest with himself, he already knew that, had known it for a long time. Hearing it said out loud, though, and from the former President... well, it hurt. More importantly than shaking up his feelings, though, the statement that some people actively wanted him out pointed toward yet another layer of manipulation and motive in this whole affair. His gut churning, Daniel briefly closed his eyes and peeled it back to take a look. What better way of removing him from where they didn't want him than by sliding him into where they thought the very things they didn't like about him would do them the most good? "Dr. Jackson?" Sinclair's voice intruded, and Daniel abruptly opened his eyes. Sinclair's gaze was assessing, concentrating attention on Daniel that he didn't want, so Daniel gave him a tight-lipped smile: no worries, nothing wrong here, nope, everything's fine. He stirred his coffee thoroughly, and belatedly realising it was black hastily added some cream to it, feeling his face redden. He wasn't surprised when Sinclair didn't buy his rather incompetent attempt at nonchalance. "You seem upset. I hope I'm not the cause?" "No, of course not," Daniel assured him. This time when he stirred his coffee, it actually did something. He watched the cream swirl around for a moment, knowing he should let this drop, but he just couldn't. He had to know. "Sir, do you happen to know what's going to happen next, after this farce is done with?" he blurted out. "What they're planning to do with me?" Sinclair seemed taken aback at the question. "Pardon me?" Now that he'd asked, said it out loud, Daniel felt more sure of himself. More comfortable with grabbing the truth by the horns and staring it in the eye. "With respect, President Sinclair, thank you for the congratulations but I don't want them. Not for... this. What I would like very much is to know what to expect, so I can start figuring out how to deal with their next step." "Their next step." Sinclair levelled an authoritative stare at him. "Just what are you insinuating here?" The look and harsh tone might have intimidated Daniel just a few minutes ago, but it didn't now. Nor was it in any way a convincing denial of awareness of the politics Daniel was referring to. He leaned forward, folding his arms in front of him on the table. "Sir, please. You took a chance on me; you placed your trust in me when you asked me to help you. Well, I'm doing the same with you now. I'd appreciate it if we could speak frankly." Sinclair snorted derisively, and wiped a hand over his face, suddenly looking older than his years, and profoundly tired. Dispirited, with a faint touch of disgust. "I wasn't taking much of a chance, Dr. Jackson. And it isn't trust that led me to you. It was expediency. You're a far easier mark than any of the others I could have gone to." Daniel froze in selfish dismay, but then re-interpreted the cynical words, finding a possible alternate meaning. He checked it out gently, softly. "Or maybe it's too hard to show them your pain. To risk being patronised out of pity." Sinclair covered his eyes with one hand, the other clenched on the tabletop. He sat immobile for long enough that Daniel was beginning to seriously worry, and then pulled his hand away. His eyes were red, his expression one of disbelieving grief that Daniel understood all too well. "I would never have..." he started, faltered, and had to take a sip of wine before he could continue, "O'Neill, George, the President, any of the others. They're military men, and politicians. I would have walked away not really knowing... never really sure..." What to do with the hoping, Daniel finished it in his mind. Forever unsure, once his wife was dead and buried, whether among the hopes that had been pushed aside there might have been a chance worth chasing. Or if hopes clung to out of uncertainty were, in reality, simply albatrosses. Why did it have to be either / or, though? Daniel felt himself grow tense with sense-memories, his back straightening and the muscles in his arms and thighs tightening as he momentarily relived the complex, painful mix of feelings - hope and desire, defeat and betrayal, wishes and prayers, and ultimately the surety of failure - that had filled him for three long years. He found himself whispering, "Either, or. It shouldn't have to be like that." Sinclair said, "I'm sorry - What?" His voice was thick. Daniel just shook his head, never mind. He thought for a moment, picking at his thumbnail, and then, not really sure if he was doing the right thing, offered, "Your wife seems like a lovely person. You mentioned charitable work?" Sinclair pulled in a deep, ragged breath, composed himself with effort, and gave Daniel a strange, almost mystified look. Daniel winced, not even trying to keep the 'oops' he was feeling inside off his face. So, maybe not the right thing then. But then again... "Yes. For over twenty years, she's worked with victims of spousal and parental abuse. Mostly with children in underprivileged communities." Sinclair sounded proud of her, and his voice grew stronger as he explained further. "DVSS? Domestic Violence Support Services? Have you heard of it?" Daniel nodded; who hadn't? "Mavis founded that," Sinclair told him. "Started it up from nothing and built it into what it is today, on her own, without any partisan support or special consideration at any point along the way. She was National Director, but still went out into the safe houses and worked directly with the clients, right up until last month." Okay, so... wow. The DVSS was nation-wide. Huge. From what Daniel knew of it, the organisation had expanded their mandate over the years to extend to helping people in all sorts of difficult circumstances, not just victims of domestic abuse. Most of their work was done in the most dismally underprivileged areas in cities, towns and rural areas all across the country. Thousands of people were helped every year. She'd done that? "Oh. That's, that's incredible. I've always donated to them. Once a year, every winter... when I've been ali... uhm, when I'm here, I mean, " Daniel heard himself say, and mentally kicked himself. That was hardly fitting recognition of the achievement. "Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do," Sinclair actually smiled at Daniel, although the smile was a sad one. "And what you've already done for me. You're right; I couldn't go to anyone else because I was afraid. I was afraid they'd pity us. But it wouldn't have done me any good even if I had been able to swallow that fear, anyway." "They'd tell you they couldn't help, that there wasn't any hope. But they wouldn't explain why they were saying that, and you'd never know if it was because of non-disclosure or because there simply wasn't any help out there to be had." "Yes. And I need to know. And now I do." Sinclair nodded a thank you to Daniel. "I knew you'd tell me the truth about what's happening out there, and let me draw my own conclusions about whether or not there's anything to hope for. I knew you'd do it, because you have a proven track record of doing what you think is best for others, and damn the torpedoes. It's what endears you to us - to some of us, anyway." Daniel almost laughed in response to the wry humour that had entered Sinclair's voice with the last statement, but really it wasn't very funny when you thought about it. He wasn't at all the rebel he was being painted as. "That's not actually true," he started to defend himself, but decided not to bother. Sinclair already knew that; he was just toying a bit with Daniel now. Which was all right. "So what are you going to do?" he asked instead. "I don't know yet." Sinclair finished off the dregs of the wine in his glass. "I'm going to think about what you've told me, and I may or may not pay another visit to Rob Hayes. Ask him to let me take Mavis on a short trip off-world before she... just, before. I've always wanted to go through the Stargate." Daniel sighed, and bit his lip in concern. "It's up to you. I don't..." He was about to tell him that sort of request just might be too transparent, and even if the President did grant them that special treatment, without someone on the inside looking out for changes in the status quo or new opportunities, there was absolutely no chance of a Tok'ra with a handy healing device, or one needing a host, showing up beside a DHD somewhere. But he didn't, because maybe he was reading too much into it - maybe Sinclair really did just want to give his wife the gift of a visit to another world before she died. Really, it wasn't his place to give any advice here. Sinclair, as former President, knew far more about what might or might not be politically possible than Daniel did. "There's one more thing I'm going to do, Dr. Jackson." Daniel frowned at the serious tone, and felt like a bug under a microscope as that intense, assessing look appeared on Sinclair's face again. "I'm going to return your favour. I'm going to tell you what little I know about the future planned for you. Which isn't much, frankly. But I hope what little it is helps you." Oh boy. Here it comes. Daniel fully expected to be told that from now on there'd be far more dubiously mandated committee meetings in his future than there would be trips off-world, and far more diplomatic than archaeological or linguistic tasks on his work schedule. He wasn't disappointed. Okay well yeah, he was massively disappointed, but just not... never mind. It was all true. They were going to turn those very ethics and traits of his that they complained about to their own advantage, and disenfranchise him of the things he believed in and cared most about in the process. God, how could this be happening? Oh, Jack. "I'm sure they meant it for the best," Sinclair was telling him. "I can see you don't share that view, and I certainly can appreciate your reasons. This is a difficult situation for you. Look, clearly you have some decisions to make. Just... well, try not to throw the baby out with the bath water. Ultimately, in the end, you may have more power than you think." Daniel was startled out of his thoughts at the mention of his having power. Decisions? What actual plausible decisions and power could possibly be under his control here? "Sure, I can decide to respectfully decline; I can refuse the award and quit the committee. And then what? Find myself in even worse straits," he bitterly observed. "Or I can go along with it, because that's what's best in the long run for the SGC." He really was choiceless, because the good of the SGC had to be his first priority here. The bottom-line for him personally was that he was damned if he did, damned if he didn't. "And that's really all there is to it for any of us, isn't it?" Sinclair moved his napkin from his lap to the table, dropping it in an untidy heap. "What's best for all, babies and bathwater both? Always remember, doing the right thing has its rewards, Dr. Jackson. I suggest you reap some of them for yourself." He looked at his watch and waved a hand at the table, at the dessert platter. "Are we done here? It's almost three." What? Reap some... Wait. Three? Daniel hurriedly checked his watch. Yes, just before three o'clock. With a groan, he realised he only had forty-five minutes to get back to the hotel and change his clothes in time to catch his ride to Hammond's office. He hadn't contacted Sam yet; if they'd decided to meet him at the hotel, they'd probably already started back there. He'd just give Sam a quick call now, maybe, and then harass Sinclair with singular resolve until he explained his cryptic comment about reaping rewards for himself. Daniel wasn't in the mood for cryptic. He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and waggled it slightly in Sinclair's direction. Okay to use this here? When Sinclair nodded and pulled out his own phone, Daniel turned his cell on, hoping against hope that Sam might have left a message telling him they'd decided not to go back to the hotel early. There were two messages. And yes, there, one of them was from Sam's number. Daniel keyed in the right entries, and listened to the voice-mail playback. He sighed in a mixture of relief and wistful sadness as her voice told him it was two-forty, they were having a great day, wished he could have been there with them, and that they wouldn't be able to get back to the hotel before Daniel had to leave because Teal'c was currently heavily involved with a group of 5th graders at the Textile Museum. The Textile Museum? Uhm, okay. The other message was from Jack, and when Daniel started the playback and the first thing he heard was his own name spoken in that tone - yes, that one - he knew he was trouble. Apparently he'd been ratted on: Jack knew about what happened at the meeting this morning, about his contribution to the discussion. Well, fine; what did Jack, or anyone, really, expect of him anyway? To just sit there and listen to all that committee mandate and constitution crap with what apparently seemed to be accepted by most everyone else there as being all due obsequiousness? Nevertheless, he winced as Jack's voice told him they'd talk about it later, and he had better have his ass at Hammond's office on time. Sinclair was rising from his seat, talking on his own cellphone, when Daniel slid the cell back into his pocket. He beckoned to Daniel, and Daniel followed him out of the dining room and through the few short corridors leading back to the lobby cum library cum reception area. Apparently they were leaving. Well, that was all right - he could clarify the mystery advice with Sinclair as soon as the man got off the phone. Barring that, they could discuss it in the car. Partway to the lobby, Sinclair turned and asked him what time he was being picked up to go to the award ceremony, his finger over the microphone of his cell. When Daniel told him he had to leave the hotel before four o'clock, because he had a meeting beforehand, Sinclair looked surprised, but simply turned back to his phone conversation. They were heading side by side down the staircase toward the entrance by the time Sinclair put his phone away. Just as they got to the bottom, the black car Daniel had been brought in slid smoothly to a stop outside the doors. "Thank you for coming, Doctor Jackson. Thank you for everything. And remember what I said." Sinclair stuck out his hand, and Daniel shook it, only just then realising that Sinclair wasn't going to be riding with him. "It was my pleasure. Please give my regards to your wife," Daniel politely told him, because really, if he didn't want to be boorish he didn't have much choice other than to gracefully part ways with Sinclair. Yes, babies and bath water, right things, reaping rewards. He remembered what he'd been told, and was annoyed that it was being left at that. This was his future, damn it, not a word game. "You might want to think about cancelling your car," Sinclair advised him. "By the time you get back to the hotel, you'll barely have enough time for a change of clothes before you have to head out, and if Peter is going to be dropping you off there anyway, he can wait, if you like, and drive you to wherever you need to go." Daniel looked around for a second car, peering past Peter's black job, and Sinclair smiled at his confusion. "Oh, I'm not so old and stuffy and convinced of my own importance that I can't drive myself around, Dr. Jackson. My car's parked in the underground lot. |