Work Text:
If You Don't Want the Answer (Don't Ask)
by Darklady
General O'Neill scanned the spray of photos that had invaded the DMZ of his desktop. Fuzzy first responder snaps – not news photos – but the contents were as clear as the context. One hotel room, trashed. He assumed it was from the 6.5 quake that had hit San Francisco the week before, rather than from the guests. (Air Force personnel were not immune from the occasional drunken spree - whatever the Marine contingents might claim - but they did tend to throttle down before the collateral damage reached MP levels.) There was the standard TV-slash-minibar armoire, now fallen but still tall enough to catch one end of the roof beam. There was the other end of the beam, just clearing a hotel- bland floral spread. There, below the spread, were the shapes of two men. Both trapped. One looked like he might make it out with bruises. The other? Damn lucky he was on a mattress that likely yielded under the shock, but even so? Jack hoped the guy had damn good health insurance. There was the paramedic team, pulling the jaws of life past the easy chairs. And there, on the back on one chair, was a far-too-recognizable jacket. Air Force blue. The fold concealed the name tag but…
"Captain Miller?" Jack read from the top of the folder. The one the photos had been in.
"SG-12 sir." Chief Master Sergeant Walter Harriman materialized. Possibly though the wall.
Jack reminded himself to have a word with Sam about enlisted personnel borrowing the xeno-tech. Or maybe not. If it got the work done….
"That would be our biology and agronomy team." Dr. Daniel Jackson, who had more reason and practice at doing the glow-thing, came in though the door. "Warner gave them two weeks medical after the (here Danny's fingers curled into air quotes) `blue chicken pox' thing."
Oh. Yeah. The memory made Jack want to scratch. Just from sympathy. Childhood disease on PHM-126. Fortunately caught before the whole base had to go Wildfire, and even more fortunately not contagious past the first day. The doctors had released the guys. Told them to recover at home. "Guess Miller got past the itch well enough to travel."
Danny leaned over the photo spread. "One itch, at least."
"Captain Miller was found in a most inappropriate position." the JAG Major straightened her already Barbie-smooth skirt. "A position that strongly suggests he is in violation of 5.37.3.4."
Well, yeh, so? What Jack wanted to voice was… also inappropriate. Plus photos could lie, and he didn't have x-ray vision, and for all he could see they could both have been wearing PJ's. Not to mention that whatever Miller had up his ass, Jack sure as hell figured it was better than what Major pain-in-the had up hers. None of which figured to make the slighted dent in the armor of righteousness standing before his desk.
He picked up a photo. Somewhat to study it, mostly to keep his hands around something other then her neck. Damn sure did look like Miller.
"You sure about this? `Cause, if it's just with another team member… well, lemmie tell ya… these gate teams get mighty close sometimes and…"
"The other …" You could hear the hesitation in the Major's voice – even if you could not time it. "Mr. Colfax was… is... a civilian."
Good to know the guy made it OK. He shot a mental `attaboy' to the paramedics.
"Well then!" 5.36.2.1.4 back atchya! Jack tossed the picture back. "I can't imagine some stray civilian is gonna disrupt our good order around here."
"At least not more then the so-called experts we pay to … sorry, Jack." Danny had spent the last week sorting out the new Egyptian contribution (who thought they spoke Coptic already) from the new Oxford contingent (who though Budge was a reference source) from the visiting UC crew (who thought Danny was the son of Von Danikin). By Friday, he had been looking longingly at the P-60's and asking if contractors could be sent out with the Marines for `attitude adjustment'. Better yet – with the Unas. His bullshit tolerance was at a galactic low.
"Ya see?"
"General. This is a serious breach of regulations."
"Ya see, Danny. I told ya you shouldn't mouth off."
"Sir. Dr. Jackson." Her lips puckered at that last. Clearly addressing a civilian `second' left a bad taste in her mouth. Fair enough, Jack figured. Letting this Kinney clone walk out of the mountain alive left a bad taste in his. "Captain Miller's lack of decorum and the subsequent injury to the dignity of the Air Force …"
"In San Francisco?" Jack hadn't spent much time there. He was Air Force, not Navy, and his California time had been spent farther, but…hey… San Francisco. He didn't figure the locals were gonna start throwing rocks. Or they might – but not `cause of one flyboy dropping his pants.
"Regulations are regulations, sir. The charge has been made. The man may be on leave, but he is still under your command. It is your duty to investigate these charges and section 5.40.2."
"Oh well." Since the bitch clearly wasn't going to leave? And since when and by what moron had they cleared some pentagon pussy to even get down to this level? Much better back when he could have reviewed the file (straight into round storage – thank you 5.40.3) and sent back a `got it handled, thanks' memo. Complete with `and you don't gotta know how' classification. Things had been going to hell since Hammond got shoved upstairs. But since reaming Davis was gonna have ta wait until after he fixed this crap?
Jack turned to Harriman. "Guess you better pull the records on this one."
"Already done, sir. PDQ-669 sir.
"Oh. PDQ-669."
"Yes sir. PDQ-669."
"Well then." Jack swept the evidence back into the file. "PDQ-669."
"I'm sorry, sir. I don't recall that regulation. What…"
"Not a what." Jack's favorite `straight man' pitched in. "A where."
"Also, in this case, a why."
"When." Danny caught himself. Word jokes were fine – in strict limitation. Clearly he had reached that limit. "On that… address… we came across a xeno-weapon."
"A xenophobic xeno-weapon." Jack grinned as Danny winced. Bingo. He'd known he'd find a use for that pun.
"The aliens… natives… wanted to assure that any gate invaders would not contaminate the local gene pool."
"Goin' for a pillage – yes. Rape – no. Kinda sorta." Jacks palm traced stargate circles in the air.
"They built a… the inscriptions called it a `sterilization area'… around their gate. I'm afraid we translated that in medical rather than the sociological meaning. Our field medic ran skin swabs. Even… other fluids. All the … cellular biology… was still healthy so… we assumed the process was ineffective. Broken, perhaps. So… more teams came though. W didn't discover the full purpose until several weeks into the dig." Danny's face fell into solemn lines. "I take full responsibility for the error."
"Not your fault, Danny. I'm the one who sent those teams into harms way."
"But I…"
"What? Shoulda thought. hey, this pansy ass weapon is seriously pansy ass. Get serious."
"General. You can not mean to blame Captain Miller's actions. " There was the silent throat-clearing thing again. " Blame his condition on some sort of improbable `gay ray'?"
"Improbable?" Jack did his classic eyebrow-lift." Check your facts. DOD's been working on one for years."
"And it…" She… boggled. That was the only word for it. Total paradigm shift with a side order of psychological restructure to go. "It works?"
"Only in three to seven percent of exposures. As best we can determine." Danny shifted from solemn – administrator to serious-scholar. "Although this indicates there may be a delayed reaction. Perhaps viral-related?" He sent her wide blue eyes from behind his slightly slipping glasses. Priceless. If this had been Hollywood, and the role was geek, Danny would have been holding a little gold statuette.
"Seems to hit the Marines hardest." Jack added. Which Renolds attributed to `Spartan fighting spirit'. Jack attributed it to… well… mostly to the greater private space on the average Air Base. Plus maybe the average grunts inability to keep their jaw from flapping after the third beer.
"Warner can't yet figure out that one." Danny had had to be forcibly restrained from explaining the variances between Athenian pederasty and the Hoplite tradition. Not that the Marines would have minded being called `Athenian' (much) but like most of the SGC they liked Danny-boy better without the lectures.
"Of course, the research side is sort of… hindered… by what he can't ask. Those regulations, ya know."
"But rest assured, we provide the very best couples therapy to every case he diagnoses. Just part of that excellence in all they do the Air Force is so dedicated to. And I can tell you, from personal experience, that Dr. Warner does not hold back when it comes to his patients." Danny shifted his attention back to Jack. "Speaking of which?
"Best get the medics on it." Jack passed the confiscated evidence over his shoulder to Harriman. "Have them run a full workup on Miller the minute he gets back. I want the full report on my desk before he sets one foot off this planet. "
Jack smiled up at the Major. His first real smile. "Give the Senator my thanks for bringing this… medical situation… to my attention. And assure him that, in keeping with current force retention goals, the Captain will be returned to maximum possible duty as soon as reasonably possible."
"You're going to allow…."
"What else can I do?" Jack twisted his fingers in a `my hands are tied' gesture. "It's like you said. Regulations are regulations. And this is clearly a case of `not the service members fault'. We have to consider it `in the line of duty'."
***************
After the door closed behind her (Not hard enough to be considered a `slam' – there are rules after all – but definitely with a certain… forcefulness…) Danny perched on the once-again-bare desk. "You realize that half the SGC went though the PDQ gate?"
"Damn nice planet." Jack leaned back in his chair.
"Including most of the high command." A quick spin sent the younger man's legs to each side, trapping the chair between them.
Jack pretended not to notice. "Apothis was coming. We needed the evac site."
"Including a certain General – then- Colonel O'Neill." Catching his lapels, Danny rolled Jack forward.
Jack shifted down. His knees were under the desk, and with the chair drawn up his nose was at… call it desktop level. Some sort of `top' level, at any rate. With long experience, he trailed one hand up a muscular thigh towards the conveniently located zipper.
"Hey. I'd never ask my men to do what I won't do myself."
"So if I do this?" Daniel collapsed back, hands braced on the edges of the desk. "It's just a case of… fallen in battle."
Jack's tongue came out. "That's my story and I'm sticking to it."
***END***
Sorry. The bunny bit. (Musey is a BITCH these days. Never what I want. Always what she wants.)