A Day in the Life

Part I

Teal'c: Between Two Worlds

By Lady Grey

Before opening his eyes, Teal’c was aware of his body. He lay on his back on the narrow bed, barely big enough for his large frame, and sighed. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and gracefully moved into an upright position. His back and shoulder muscles were tight, and he lifted one hand to knead what he could reach with his fingers.

He glanced disdainfully at the mattress, covered in rough regulation cotton sheets. It was a warrior’s bed and he would never complain about it, but he hated that standard issue military cot. It was uncomfortable and left him feeling stiff and sore after sleeping in it. Worse still, he hated sleeping. Since losing his symbiote, he had been forced to take up the practice since kel’no’reem no longer refreshed him as it once did. He continued to meditate, of course, but now it was a matter of mental discipline rather than survival.

Rising from the bed, he spread the covers neatly over it as O’Neill had shown him, making perfect creases and folds and stretching the linens tight enough to bounce a coin. Teal’c had been impressed by O’Neill’s efficiency when he had demonstrated the technique, and gave the bed a final inspection.

That done, he stopped briefly in his private lavatory. He gathered up the newspapers he had been reading the previous evening, his gaze falling on the headlines about a subject that had captivated him for weeks.

The story was an intriguing one, featuring an enigmatic hero who had been appearing during the commission of crimes in the city, subduing the criminals and leaving them for the police to collect after he disappeared. It seemed that the Tau’ri believed they had a fictional superhero come to life in their midst, and much was being made of his heroics in the local press. Teal’c was following the story avidly and wondered what news of the Man in Black might appear that day.

When he finished his morning routine in his room, he took the pass card to his quarters and headed down the hall to SG-1’s private locker room. Snagging a clean towel from the linen supply, he turned right into the shower facility, strolling around the privacy wall into the men’s section. Draping his towel over a nearby bar, he stripped off his sweats, dropped them into the hamper marked with his name, and went to the nearest shower. He turned on the hot water three-quarters of a turn and stood leaning against the cool tile with his palms, waiting for the water to heat up.

Looking down at himself, he noticed that the flaps of his pouch were beginning to adhere to each other. In time, DoctorFraiser had told him, the only proof that he had ever been Jaffa would be the X-shaped scar on his abdomen and the golden tattoo on his forehead. He tried not to think about the fact that he no longer carried a symbiote, but the knowledge was always there, in the back of his mind.

He felt it when he went to lift something heavy and no longer had his former strength. He remembered when he sat down to meditate, knowing that he could no longer find that inner landscape in the depths of kel’no’reem. Injuries were another telltale sign, taking far longer to heal than what past experience told him was an appropriate length of time, learned over the century-plus that he had been a Jaffa.

Most devastating of all was the disgusting weakness of illness. Twice now missions had been scrubbed because he had been stricken with some simple virus. He’d tried not to let anyone know when illness struck, but DoctorFraiser’s frequent and thorough checks of all the teams before and after missions would always turn up any shade of less than perfect health.

Although he felt weaker physically and had many adjustments to make in this new life without a symbiote, he was content with his place at the SGC. He enjoyed work with his team and in the training he did with new recruits. His friendship with DanielJackson had brought a new dimension to his life, a sense of kinship he had felt with few people, even among the Jaffa. Keeping busy was almost a necessity now, but in quiet, private moments of routine like this, Teal’c’s thoughts always strayed back to what he was not, trying to make some sense of what he now was.

The steam began to curl up from the spray and he nudged the cold water tap one-quarter turn to the precise setting he liked best, stepping under the shower head. He turned his back to it, letting the hot water spray against his stiff neck and shoulders. Teal’c closed his eyes, enjoying the heat, feeling his muscles begin to relax.

Today was his one hundred and fifth birthday. His friends had told him they wanted to do something special to celebrate this year, but were vague about what they intended. Teal’c had seen evidence of many birthday parties on television and occasionally in the commissary. Much of the merry-making had to do with colorful paper cones worn on the head, rich pastry adorned with candles, one torch burning for each year of the celebrant’s life.

O’Neill had made many jokes about the number of candles that would be needed for Teal’c’s cake, many having to do with the size of the cake, the measured brightness of the combined candlepower, or the safety hazards of uncontained bonfires. The colonel seemed to enjoy making such remarks, so Teal’c allowed him that pleasure without so much as a raised eyebrow in the man’s direction. Still, it pleased Teal’c that his teammates wished to mark this date with him, to celebrate each other and the friendship they shared.

He smiled as he finished up his shower, shut off the water and retrieved his towel. His Tau’ri teammates were interesting people, he thought. From the first moment O’Neill challenged him in Apophis’ dungeon, he knew what sort of man the colonel was. All fire and steel when called to action; all warmth and good humor when at rest. He gave and demanded respect, and was determined to make Teal’c his “running buddy.”

Teal’c hadn’t understood that term at first. He and O’Neill did sometimes lift weights together and do combat training, but they never ran together because Teal’c was much faster and O’Neill couldn’t keep up. Teal’c did that exercise on his own, usually in the evenings as the day was winding down. O’Neill did his running in the neighborhood where he lived, though Teal’c suspected the colonel had cut down much of that because of the continued deterioration of his knees. It was enough that he could run to the Stargate when necessary, and that he kept in good physical condition to fit the demands of a first contact team.

“Running buddy,” he said aloud, wrapping his damp towel around his waist and heading for the locker room to fetch his fatigues.

Col. O’Neill had explained that the term meant ‘someone you hang with to have fun.’ They did that, sometimes. In the last year or so, there had been fewer fishing trips and more Jell-O wrestling nights. It seemed that O’Neill needed something to keep his mind occupied, rather than sitting in the peace and quiet of rural Minnesota dangling an empty hook in the water of his stagnant pond. Such inactivity gave rise to introspection, and O’Neill wanted none of that lately. Teal’c understood why.

Though there had been no memorial for DanielJackson following his ascension, each of them had, in their own way, engineered personal memorials for their lost comrade. Having him back now was reason enough to celebrate, and in Teal’c’s mind, that was what he would be doing tonight. The scientist had only been back in human form for a few months, and it was a pleasure to be able to look upon his face again.

Teal’c laced up his boots and stood, heading for the elevator that would take him up three floors to the commissary. The team was meeting for breakfast and, no doubt, to wish him a happy birthday, though he had told them many times that such attention to the date was unnecessary on his behalf. MajorCarter had simply told him that they celebrated the privilege of his friendship, and that they had another year at his side.

She was an affectionate and beautiful woman, brilliant and stubborn, and a great warrior all at once. He was proud of her, and felt privileged to fight at her side. Beneath all that, however, was a heart that felt deeply for those she trusted with her love.

He smiled, grateful to be among those fortunate few.

Stopping at the elevator, he punched the button and waited for the car to arrive, hands clasped lightly behind his back. When the doors slid open he stepped inside, turned to face the control panel and felt a moment’s surprise as he noticed DanielJackson a few paces from the door, about to join him. He hadn’t heard the man approaching, hadn’t felt the usual awareness of someone coming up behind him that his century of training had taught him.

Somehow, the scientist had sneaked up on him without even trying.

“Morning, Teal’c,” he said with a weary smile, his eyes hidden by his prescription sunglasses. “Happy birthday.”

Teal’c inclined his head. “Greetings, DanielJackson. You are awake early today.”

Daniel reached for the button numbered 22 and winced, one hand automatically going to his side and then dropping self-consciously.

“Yeah, couldn’t sleep last night.” He made a face and straightened, shrugging his shoulders, rolling his head around and rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’ve been up since about five.”

The car began to move and Teal’c faced the doors. “You have not been sleeping well. Perhaps you should mention this to DoctorFraiser.”

“Nah. She’d just push sleeping pills at me. I’ll be fine. It’ll pass.”

“You are wearing sunglasses, yet we are below ground. Are you afflicted with a migraine this morning?”

The other man nodded. “Medicine hasn’t kicked in yet.” DanielJackson’s voice was soft and tense with pain.

Teal’c knew the scholar often suffered from those terrible headaches and that they made him light-sensitive and nauseous. The Jaffa decided to spare his friend further conversation and allow him time for his medication to take effect. Silence fell between them as the car continued its upward journey.

Though he was innately aware of the man beside him in the elevator, Teal’c did not make eye contact or look at him directly. DanielJackson stood silently, arms clasped around his body, head down in thought. He was quieter now, Teal’c thought, since his return to the mortal plane. Quieter in the sense that there seemed to be less noise beneath the man’s surface, though he did tend to chatter less as well.

What disturbed Teal’c most was the sense of quiet desperation he had felt lately whenever DanielJackson was near. He jumped at small unexpected noises, was distracted in briefings, and never seemed rested any more. The strain was beginning to show in his face and posture, Teal’c mused as they strolled down the corridor side by side on the way to the commissary. He let DanielJackson go ahead of him in the food line, ignoring what the scientist put on his tray in favor of a subtle study of his demeanor instead.

For almost a month now, DanielJackson had been avoiding their regular meditation sessions in the evenings. What once calmed him now seemed only to agitate him, and whenever Teal’c extended a formal invitation DanielJackson appeared alarmed. Then his gaze would slide guiltily away and he would mumble some excuse to be elsewhere. It was troubling.

“DanielJackson, are you angry with me?” Teal’c asked gently as they set their trays down on a table surrounded by four chairs. The two men sat across from each other, rather than side by side. Teal’c kept his eyes downcast on his plate rather than pin his friend with a direct gaze.

“No. Why do you ask?” DanielJackson tore open a syrup packet and poured the gooey brown stuff all over his pancakes. He reached for a second syrup packet and then a third without looking up.

“You are avoiding my company in the evenings.”

The scientist looked distinctly uncomfortable for a moment, as if wrestling with himself for the proper words. “It’s not you, Teal’c, I promise. It’s me. Something I need to work out.” He sighed and seemed to wilt slightly, meeting his friend’s gaze hopefully. “I just need to keep busy, keep my mind occupied so I don’t…” He shrugged. “I can’t explain it.”

“This difficulty… Is this what prevents you from sleeping properly?”

“Yeah. I need to do something about it because what I’ve tried already isn’t really working like I thought it would.” He picked up his fork, carved off a piece of pancake and stared at it, watching the syrup drip off it. “I just don’t know what else to try.” He stuffed the morsel into his mouth and cast his gaze back on the stack of flapjacks as he chewed.

“If there is any way I can assist you…” Teal’c offered, still studying the man.

DanielJackson swallowed. “Thanks, but I don’t think there is. I have to handle this myself. Somehow.”

It seemed unnatural for the human to ingest his favorite breakfast without the attendant pleasure noises and facial expressions that always went with the first bite and Teal’c missed that. He felt something was truly troubling the man and he was beginning to show physical signs of the stress. Teal’c could see the dark smudges under his eyes, half-hidden beneath the sunglasses. DanielJackson looked more than tired and worn. He looked… anxious.

“You should speak with DoctorFraiser,” Teal’c insisted. “Perhaps she may find the answer to your difficulty that is not in the form of medication.”

DanielJackson hunched over his plate. “If I don’t find an answer on my own soon, I will. I promise. Okay?” He made reluctant eye contact through the dark haze of his lenses.

Teal’c nodded in agreement.

An ear-splitting song sounded from the commissary doorway and both men turned to look. Colonel O’Neill had just made his entrance, spied Teal’c, and burst into a loud, grating, off-key version of the Tau’ri birthday tune. The entire room sat in stunned silence for a moment and then other voices joined in from all over, trying to drown the colonel out.

“Stand up. Take a bow!” DanielJackson urged, smiling now. He also began to sing.

Reluctantly, Teal’c got to his feet, surveying everyone in the room with what he hoped was an intimidating glare. He was having a hard time not smiling and pulled his mouth down into an even more severe frown. Everywhere he looked voices fell silent and people turned back to their meals. All except O’Neill and DanielJackson. The scientist, at least, could carry a tune.

The colonel grinned as he finished up. “Top o’ the mornin’ to ya, Birthday Boy,” he called and headed for the chow line to get his breakfast. As O’Neill sat down with them, he eyed the scholar beside him. “Headache or hangover?”

“DanielJackson has a migraine,” Teal’c announced. His young human friend just grunted in acknowledgment.

MajorCarter joined the trio at the table moments after O’Neill sat down with his tray. “Happy birthday, Teal’c,” she announced happily. “Boy, is today gonna be busy! And tonight-did we decide on where we were going?” She directed that question to her commanding officer.

“Jack Quinn’s Irish Ale House and Pub,” O’Neill answered brightly. “Can’t wait for that Drunken Angus ribeye. I’m pickin’ up the tab, kids. My treat, in honor of the big guy’s big day.”

MajorCarter looked startled. “Was that your choice or Teal’c’s? Remember whose birthday it is, sir.”

“It was my choice,” Teal’c assured her. “DanielJackson has described a traditional dish from a place called Ireland. I intend to sample Bangers and Mash this evening at JackQuinn’s.” He gave her a slight nod of approval for her quickness in ensuring his happiness in the choice of restaurant.

His stomach reminded him of the meal he had piled on his plate and settled quietly into satisfying his hunger while the others -- mostly O’Neill -- talked about the upcoming day.

When he finished, Teal’c disposed of the remains in the appropriate container, turned in his tray and empty dishes, and headed for his first assignment of the day, taking the elevator up from the 22nd floor, where the commissary was located, to the 17th.

The room he wanted was a short walk from the lift. Teal’c greeted SergeantSiler quietly and offered his assistance in setting up the photographic equipment. “Thanks, Teal’c, but I’ve got it,” SergeantSiler assured him. “Happy birthday. You sure don’t look your age, sir.”

Understanding that was a Tau’ri compliment, Teal’c gave him a polite nod and stood patiently by until the sergeant was ready for him. The 17th floor was still largely undeveloped, most of it set aside for future expansion. This room had been allocated about ten months back as a small studio where SergeantSiler had set up his photography equipment. The photos he had taken over the past ten months were part of a project spearheaded by MajorCarter in the wake of DanielJackson’s ascension.

A year of planning had been put into the project, most of the time hers. Now, almost all of it had been completed, except for a revision in the roster. She would need help from many to finish on time, and this was among the last of the items needing to be completed. SergeantSiler had taken individual photos as people were available in their off time, teams when they were on stand-down and not in the infirmary. Taking portraits and team shots of all the SG teams had been a scheduling nightmare, since the sergeant had never been assured from one day to the next who would be called to emergency duty or come back injured from a mission. Some had never gotten their portraits made at all, and MajorCarter had had to scrounge for photos of those who never came home.

“Teal’c, are you ready?” SergeantSiler asked, adjusting with one of the umbrella lights.

“Indeed. Where do you wish me to stand?” Teal’c was dressed in standard SGC attire: black T-shirt and green fatigues. This was the outfit that all of their pictures that morning would feature first, with wardrobe changes to follow. A clothing rack stood to one side of the stage area with their extra uniforms ready and waiting. Teal’c’s Jaffa armor was waiting for him behind a dressing screen set up in the back corner of the little room for privacy.

“Have a seat on the stool, please.” SergeantSiler stepped away from the lights and picked up a small hand-held device. When Teal’c was seated, the sergeant held the device up in front of his subject’s face and pushed a plunger attached to a long cord. The lights all went off at once, and SergeantSiler checked the meter for proper settings. “Okay, let’s do a standard military head shot first, and then we’ll do some portrait style poses without the jacket.”

They were almost finished by the time O’Neill, MajorCarter, and DanielJackson appeared in the doorway. Seconds later, the scholar excused himself to retrieve his fatigue jacket and O’Neill sidled up to the sergeant, watching him work.

“This is the last one in regulation clothes, sir,” SergeantSiler informed him. “We’ll do a couple in the Jaffa armor and that’ll be it for you till we do the team shots. Major, you’re next, so if you’ll please get ready…”

O’Neill’s eyes gleamed with mischief as he watched Teal’c disappear behind the dressing screen. He bounced on his toes, hands clasped behind his back. “Hey, T, got a word for ya. I want you to think about this while you’re changing. This is the money shot, buddy. The one for all the girls back home.”

“The girls back home will never see these images, O’Neill,” Teal’c called over the screen as he took off his clothes. The Jaffa armor was heavy, some of it pliant metal mesh, other pieces stiff and unyielding. The silver gleamed in the dim light behind the screen and the feel of it against his skin brought back old memories, most of which he preferred to leave buried; however, this was how he had arrived among the Tau’ri and they wanted a photograph to commemorate what he had been then, in addition to the man he had become when he offered O’Neill his allegiance. “SergeantSiler, do you wish the helmet on or off?”

“Off, please, sir,” the photographer answered quickly. “Even when it’s open, it covers too much of your face. Just the rest of the armor will do.”

Teal’c threw on a dark Chulakian robe over the top, then stepped out from behind the screen and took his place, standing beneath the lights where the stool had been before the sergeant moved it. This would be a full length shot and SergeantSiler handed him his staff weapon to complete the outfit. Teal’c drew himself up stiffly, proud to be a former First Prime, proud because he had betrayed a false god and was now fighting for his people and for the Tau’ri.

He glanced at the colonel. A grin spread across O’Neill’s face. “Okay, Teal’c. Think about… Ishta.”

The colonel was a very smart man, Teal’c knew. The images that flashed through his mind were filled with soft skin, softer lips and long, golden hair.  The thought of the Jaffa priestess brought warm memories of love and tenderness that contrasted wonderfully with the warrior Ishta had been, fighting to save her people from the tyranny of Marduk. Teal’c smiled, unable to contain it.

“There we go,” O’Neill crowed. “Bet that one’s tacked up in the nurse’s station before the day’s out.” He winked.

“It better not be,” MajorCarter shot back. She eyed SergeantSiler sternly. “These prints go only to me, right?”

SergeantSiler’s eyes were twinkling. “Yes, ma’am. For the project.”

Teal’c was absolutely certain now that there would be extras made of all the prints, handed out to whoever wanted them.

The Tau’ri, he thought, were strange people. Endearing, but strange.

He shed the robe and posed for a few more solo pictures in his armor.

DanielJackson reappeared as the last photograph was taken, looking a little surprised at seeing his teammate in his old Jaffa uniform. Teal’c left the hot stage and wandered over to stand with O’Neill and the archaeologist while MajorCarter took her place on the stool beneath the lights, also dressed in black T-shirt and green fatigues. SergeantSiler held the light meter up in front of her and began readjusting the lights to account for her smaller stature and fair complexion.

Informed that he would need additional changes of clothes, DanielJackson left again for the locker room.

“Do you think he suspects?” asked Teal’c.

“Well, he got the memo about the special presentation tomorrow,” O’Neill returned casually, “but he doesn’t know how big a deal it is. I think we’ve all managed to keep it a secret. Everybody’s managed to keep him off 27 and 28, and the guards won’t let anybody get a peek past the partitions on 11, so we should be good to go.” He tipped his head back and gave his friend a coolly dangerous gaze. “If I get wind that anybody’s let even a hint slip, they’re dead meat.”

Teal’c gave him an approving nod and turned to watch as SergeantSiler worked with MajorCarter. O’Neill’s background conversation made her cast incredulous looks in their direction and all of her pleasant mood was caught on film. Then MajorCarter went to change out of her fatigues and into her Class A’s for the next shot.

While they waited for her to dress, talk turned to the enigmatic local celebrity, the Colorado Springs ninja, dubbed by the press as the Man in Black. To date, since the man’s first appearance two weeks earlier, he had foiled seven crimes in progress, caught the perpetrators and immobilized them without harm to anyone. When his missions had been completed, he had disappeared into the night accompanied by the sound of a motorcycle engine fading into the darkness.

Reports said he sometimes carried a sword and kept his face covered with a motorcycle helmet or black ninja-type mask that covered his entire head and showed only his eyes. Teal’c had been following the story with interest, especially the wildly absurd theories promoted by local tabloids. Whoever the masked man was, Teal’c heartily approved of his personal campaign against crime. He was saving lives.

O’Neill gave Teal’c a gentle punch in the shoulder. “So, T, I heard the Ninja was out again last night. Picked up a story on the radio as I was driving in this morning. You heard anything new, ‘cause I know you keep up with all that.”

“I have not yet listened to the local news, O’Neill. I will investigate further as my schedule permits.” He gave his C.O. a slight bow, pleased that the colonel was taking interest.

“Yeah, well… Ya think a guy like that has a death wish or something? And how the hell does he know where to go?”

“That is, indeed, the mystery,” Teal’c returned with a slight smile. Everyone who followed the story was asking that question. If the police couldn’t do such things, how did this lone vigilante manage it?

DanielJackson returned during the middle of that discussion, his regular glasses now in place on his nose. He listened intently, apparently unaware of the mysterious local celebrity. Teal’c was surprised that the scholar had nothing to say about the subject, just shrugged and walked away to hang up his BDUs on the nearby clothing rack. Teal’c saw the gleam of interest in those blue eyes as DanielJackson listened and made a mental note to take up the subject with him again when they were alone. Teal’c was curious about DanielJackson’s opinion of the local hero, though the younger man remained inscrutable on the subject.

Interestingly enough, O’Neill seemed to disapprove of the man’s heroic acts, questioning his sanity. That seemed to get a reaction out of the scholar. His eyes gleamed with a silent challenge, and when O’Neill met his gaze, the colonel seemed a little startled. DanielJackson’s gaze slid away then, keeping his opinions to himself, and O’Neill straightened a little, believing himself to have won their unspoken battle of wills. The discussion stopped when the colonel’s impatience to be done returned and more flashes went off.

Teal’c thought about that interesting little interchange between the two men as he posed with his team for the group shots. He changed out of his armor and back into fatigues and then civilian clothes for a few more, still thinking about his teammates. He knew that those two often seemed to have entire conversations composed of body language or simple looks. They could simply call each other’s names and express opinions that only the other could read. It was uncanny how they could communicate like that and still be so vastly different from each other.

It was also something Teal’c enjoyed watching.

He stepped out from behind the changing screen with his armor draped over his arm and said goodbye to his comrades and the sergeant.

“See ya, T. Don’t forget, 1900 hours,” O’Neill called out as he headed for the door.

Teal’c went directly to the gym to start his workout. He started with the Jaffa martial art, mastaba, and the warm-up exercises Master Brata’c had taught him so long ago, letting his mind drift back over his youth. Those were good days, filled with fierce hope and pride. Experience had tempered those emotions in this older and wiser man, but now that he had joined the Tau’ri, he often found himself hopeful that one day the Jaffa would know freedom from the slavery and oppression of the Goa’uld; and proud that the team on which he served worked hard to make a difference in that conflict.

For most of his life, Teal’c had lived in exile, made homeless by Cronus and again later by Apophis. Though he had earned the respect of the Jaffa society on Chulak, he had cast it away at a moment’s notice with the promise of freedom that came through in the person of Colonel O’Neill. Not once had Teal’c regretted that decision.

Sometimes it felt as if no progress at all was being made. Then he would remind himself of all those among the System Lords who had fallen before the Tau’ri, more false gods destroyed by SG-1 than any other team in the command. He was partly responsible for that, and one day they would find a way to neutralize the threat the Goa’uld posed to all who might potentially be their slaves.

Teal’c attacked the weights, letting his anger fuel him, pushing himself until his arms and legs were trembling with fatigue. He paused to rest, noticing that most of the other occupants of the gymnasium had left, as they always did, when he started his workout. O’Neill had told him it was because they were intimidated, but Teal’c did not understand. He was no longer as strong as he once was and, though he could still lift far more weights than any other man at the SGC, he saw no reason for the other men to leave.

He began to wrap his hands in preparation for a workout on the heavy bag, glancing up at the sudden sound of others entering the room. O’Neill was chatting away, regaling something of importance to DanielJackson, who strolled at his side, head down, listening to the older man’s informative monologue about the value of martial arts. Teal’c ignored them as they did their warm-ups, glancing at them occasionally as they started their regular round of hand-to-hand combat training.

DanielJackson had requested this intensive training shortly after his return to Earth.

It seemed strange when Teal’c first observed O’Neill teaching DanielJackson, but understood after spending more time with the newly descended man that this was not quite the same DanielJackson they had lost after Kelowna. He was more intense, more serious, but also quicker to smile and laugh than before his ascension. He took all his training at the SGC more seriously, driven to learn, to better his fighting skills. Applying his prodigious intellect to this physical challenge, the scientist had become a proficient warrior.

His first reaction in a fire fight or fist fight was still to duck and cover but the reaction time was shorter now when he would flow into the appropriate action and carry his own weight in the battle. Teal’c thought there was still a great deal for DanielJackson to learn but in time, with experience, he would become the equal of any of SG-1 in battle. Perhaps, one day, he might even surpass them all.

Teal’c smiled to himself as O’Neill threw his younger friend down on the mats yet again. DanielJackson sucked in a breath painfully, and O’Neill gave him a hand to haul him back to his feet.

Teal’c had made another recent observation about his youngest teammate. The revelation had come as a surprise and required additional covert study before Teal’c was certain of his conclusion. He strolled over to the equipment rack, chose a rubber knife similar in size to ones they used in the field, and walked toward the two men on the mats.

“DanielJackson,” he called. When the man turned, he tossed the knife to him. Caught with expert grace by the handle, Teal’c smiled inwardly and glanced at the colonel. “Try that technique again, O’Neill.”

Before his ascension, the scholar would have dodged the knife, let it hit the floor and then picked it up. Now, he had known exactly where to reach in mid-flight to pluck it out of the air without touching the blade. This was a different DanielJackson, indeed.

“Why?” The colonel rested his hands on his hips and cocked his head. “I think I’ve beaten Daniel up enough for one day, don’t you?”

Teal’c just waited, one eyebrow arching in a silent challenge.

O’Neill turned back to face his student. “Okay. One more time, though that knife’s not gonna make any difference.” The colonel tipped his chin up in playful defiance. “Stab me, knife boy.”

DanielJackson looked down at the rubber weapon in his hand. When his head came up, his expression was different, glittering with intensity. He turned the weapon in his hand so that the spine of the blade was flat against his forearm, the handle clutched in a reverse grip, thumb closed over the top of the handle. With his arm hanging down at his side, the blade was pointing straight upward, in line with his forearm and all but hidden from view.

Teal’c knew this would make the knife harder to dislodge from a fighter’s hand because it was protected by the arm and tightly clutched in a firm grip. Using the weapon in that manner would require the fighter to get in very close to his opponent, but it also allowed the one wielding the blade to push it harder and cut deeper because the fighter’s weight would be pressing in with the natural motion of the arm. Holding the knife like that was like growing a sharp spine on the underside of the forearm.

He smiled to himself and stood still to watch, his own workout temporarily forgotten.

“I haven’t taught you reverse grip,” O’Neill corrected, pointing at the knife. “Do it with the blade pointing forward.”

“I’m more comfortable with it like this,” DanielJackson assured him.

“Okay, whatever. Go for it.” He dropped down slightly into a ready position and waited for the attack, knees slightly bent, hands raised defensively, one close in to the body, the other extended outward.

DanielJackson’s left shoulder was angled toward O’Neill, his head turned to make eye contact. Knife held in his right hand, DanielJackson dropped his gaze to the center of O’Neill’s chest and then attacked. He moved faster now, stepping in close to O’Neill, turning to his left as he closed the space between them. His body deflected O’Neill’s hands as he finished the turn, his arm rising as he moved, fist closed over the handle, the blade hidden against DanielJackson’s forearm. Almost faster than Teal’c’s eye could follow, Daniel sliced diagonally across the colonel’s sweatshirt from left hip to right armpit, following the arc described by his thumb as if he was simply raising his arm inside that tight space between the two men as he turned.

Stunned but still stepping into position for the throw, O’Neill stopped dead in his tracks when that rubber blade made a sharp, graceful turn from his right armpit up to his left ear, swiping across his throat. The dull blade scraped deeply against the underside of his jaw. Had it been a real knife, the second cut would have been a mortal wound.

Teal’c saw the look in DanielJackson’s eyes at that moment. It was fearless, calculated, powerful. He had learned the lessons O’Neill taught him, and improved upon them.

For a moment, no one spoke. DanielJackson stepped away, his face flushing bright pink. His eyes slid away from Jack’s and he spoke to the far wall, looking anywhere but at his C.O, and finally at the mats beneath their feet. “Sorry, Jack. I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to do that.” He stood with his head down, looking guilty and contrite.

Teal’c cocked his head, expecting the scholar to respond with stubborn pride rather than apparent shame in his prowess. That made no sense. Perhaps it was a result of the migraine the man had been experiencing earlier in the day. He was not quite himself.

“Yeah, you did,” O’Neill returned a little breathlessly. His head turned now toward Teal’c. “Okay, why’d you give him the knife, and what difference did it make? ‘Cause it obviously made one.” His eyes turned back to study the younger man.

“I have noticed that DanielJackson is a more accurate and effective fighter with a weapon in his hand,” Teal’c intoned. “In the field, his skill with his pistol never fails us. While he is not the expert marksman that MajorCarter is, he is still an excellent shot. Given a knife in hand-to-hand combat, his fighting skills improve dramatically because he can focus on the weapon, rather than on himself, against his opponent. Rather like using a magnifying glass to turn sunlight into an ignition source. A man with a weapon fights far differently than one who is empty-handed.”

DanielJackson appeared startled by that observation. He stared down at the rubber knife in his hand. “Huh,” he grunted softly. “I never thought of it that way but you’re right. I need a tool.”

He flipped the knife up into the air and caught it, flicked it into the reverse position in his palm and sliced it through the air. “Imagine that.” He smiled up at the Jaffa. “Thanks, Teal’c. I’ll remember that.” He looked at O’Neill. “Shall I kill you some more or have we had enough for today?”

“We’ll work on T’s theory some more tomorrow, maybe. I need to get to work. Colonel stuff, you know.”

DanielJackson nodded, expertly tossed Teal’c the knife and headed out of the gymnasium. Both men watched him leave, contemplating what they had just seen. Then O’Neill turned to him with a sigh. “Thanks, buddy. You know, I never expected that, but as smart as he is, I guess it was only a matter of time before he learned to beat me at this stuff.” He touched his throat, remembering, “but he still needs to learn to do it empty handed. There won’t always be a weapon in reach out there and he’s gotta know how to hurt, disable and kill with his bare hands, for when the time comes, when it’s necessary.”

“Yes. I am pleased to see that he is learning to overcome his weaknesses. We will be a stronger team for it.”

O’Neill raised his head, shook off the somber mood and smiled up at his taller teammate. “Enough of the talk about work, T. It’s your birthday. Go have fun striking fear into the new kids.” He clapped the Jaffa on the shoulder and followed DanielJackson out of the gym.

Teal’c cocked his head, thinking about the irony in that last exchange.

The Tau’ri were very strange people indeed.

After a rousing workout teaching new recruits some of the mastaba fighting methods, Teal’c returned to the showers, afterward heading back to the commissary for a late lunch. Following that, he wrote up the necessary reports on the training session and saved the electronic file for future use. The reports were only filed weekly, though he made daily entries to ensure they were as accurate as possible.

Taking a little break, he decided to log onto the Internet, checking both of the Colorado Springs newspapers’ websites, investigating new reports on the mysterious ninja crime-fighter. Theories abounded but none of the handful of articles he read about the Man in Black had the feel of real research, filled instead with mild to wild public speculation as to his identity. Several people remarked that he carried a sword; others said they never saw one. Sometimes he would wear a black ninja mask; at other times a motorcycle helmet. No two descriptions of him were exactly the same but the efficient way he had carried out his rescues left no doubt that he knew what he was doing.

Teal’c was certain that the enigmatic hero would eventually be unmasked or, as the colonel feared, hurt or killed during one of his encounters. He logged off, hopeful that whatever gods were watching might look after the man.

He checked the clock on his computer and saw that it was time to meet MajorCarter on Level 28.

“Hey, Teal’c,” she called when she saw him. She stood just outside the embarkation room beside a folding table stacked with picture frames. Holding a pencil and ruler in her hands, she pointed to the marks she had made on the corridor wall. “I’ve got the punch spots marked,” she informed him. “Sergeant Siler’s bringing me a power drill to make the holes, and once I get a couple started, you can put in the screws. How was training today?”

He frowned at her mightily and made a disapproving growl low in his throat. “These recruits are innocent children who have very little concept of true combat. Their training will go very slowly because they have so much to learn.”

“That bad, huh?” She grinned. “Well, maybe I’ll be able to come up and help tomorrow after the excitement dies down. Yelling at the new kids is always fun.” Her smile broadened.

She pointed with her ruler at the electric screwdriver and canvas tool belt filled with metal screws. “Those are for you. I’ll be finished with the marking in a sec.”

Teal’c tied the apron around his waist, fastening the straps in the back, then picked up the screwdriver and gave it a test squeeze, making the shaft turn and die. “I am ready, MajorCarter.”

She glanced up just as SergeantSiler appeared with the drill. “Shall we?” she asked, and pulled a stepladder into position to start the top row of holes, aiming the drill at the first mark. “Major Ferreti and his team will be by later to help with hanging the pictures once we’ve got the screws in. That part shouldn’t take long.”

“I will assist you until we are finished here,” Teal’c assured her.

“Thanks,” she said with a gleam of contentment in her eyes. “I couldn’t have done this without you, you know. You’ve been a big help, Teal’c. I appreciate that.”

He nodded and waited for her to get started on the project that had taken so much of their personal time over the last year, now coming to fruition. Hours later, all the holes were punched and the screws set.

MajorCarter hung Ernest Littlefield’s picture at the top herself, straightening it until it was perfectly level. Small magnets attached to the lower corners on the back of the frames would help keep the pictures in place through all the vibrations the rotating Stargate sent through the floor and walls, but eventually many would need straightening.

The second row of pictures featured Colonel O’Neill, Ferretti, Kawalski, Daniel, and all the others from the very first mission to Abydos. Below that, hung closest to the door, was a group photo of the current roster of SG-1, with the other teams in line after that in numerical order. As rosters changed, new photos would be taken and old ones replaced so that only active teams were featured on this tribute wall.

“It’s gonna look great, Teal’c,” she told him, reaching for the next team picture.

“Indeed,” he agreed. “A fitting tribute to the first contact teams, from the beginning.”

He stepped back to gaze at the completed display and felt satisfaction in her accomplishment blossom again. It was a beautiful homage, he thought, an accomplishment that MajorCarter should be proud to have completed. It was a reflection of her spirit, of her warmth and kindness, her courage and support, not only of her fellow teammates, but also of everyone who served at the SGC.

The work was tedious and monotonous but as each picture went up Teal’c felt a growing sense of contentment. Trapped as he was between two vastly different worlds, this was the one place that felt like home, the only family he could still claim. Master Brata’c was like a father to him, raising Rya’c in his absence but the toll of this never-ending struggle against the Goa’uld had kept his son so far away from him it felt as if Rya’c belonged more to his mentor than to himself.

By the time the last screw had been set Teal’c knew time for their appointment at Jack Quinn’s was drawing near. He excused himself to change into civilian clothes and find an appropriate hat to go with his outfit, choosing a black Henley shirt, dark grey pants with a fine houndstooth print, with an Irish walking cap to top it off. Lastly he picked up his black leather jacket, draping it over his arm for fending off the cool of the early spring night.

He went to DanielJackson’s office and knocked on the frame around the open door. “It is time, DanielJackson,” he announced, eyeing the new suit the scientist was wearing and taking note of the fact that his sunglasses were back in place of his regular lenses. “Are you ready?”

“Just one second,” he said, jotting down a note in his journal. He sighed, closed the book and started stacking the other books on his desk. He opened a drawer and took out a wrapped package covered in gold paper and tied with a festive red bow. With a smile, DanielJackson rose, tucked the present under his arm and headed for the door. “Shall we?”

They checked a car out of the motor pool and Teal’c drove to the restaurant on South Tejon. The exterior had the look of a European bookshop, with gray-blue painted wood and tall, narrow windows. Above the door a large black sign with white letters bore the establishment’s name, Jack Quinn’s Irish Ale House and Pub, and the two men strolled in and asked to be seated with the O’Neill party. They found the colonel already seated in a booth, a small package wrapped in brightly colored paper featuring cartoon characters set in the middle of the table.

As Teal’c and DanielJackson slid into the booth with him, O’Neill checked his watch. “Hey! Happy birthday, T. Thought you guys would never get here. Women have been trying to pick me up for half an hour.”

DanielJackson glanced over the top of his sunglasses, checking out the dining room which was exquisitely decorated in rich dark woods and frosted glass panels. “What women, Jack? Sheesh. You wish.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head, then pushed his shades up higher on his nose.

A moment later, a breathless MajorCarter dashed in and plopped down onto the open space beside Teal’c. “Sorry I’m late, guys,” she panted. “Just tying up loose ends.” She glanced at her watch and shot a meaningful, sober glance at the colonel.

He lifted his eyebrows in a silent question, then raised his hands to emphasize the gesture.

She shook her head. “He promised,” she told him emphatically. “They’ll be ready.”

“Who promised what?” asked DanielJackson, glancing between them. “What will be ready when?”

O’Neill’s eyes twinkled. “You wanna add a ‘where’ and ‘how’ for good measure, there, Daniel?”

“You will find out tomorrow,” Teal’c promised. “For now, we must celebrate another year together.” He sobered, remembering that DanielJackson had been gone for most of that year between his birthdays. “And the return of one we have greatly missed.”

“Celebrate the living,” O’Neill agreed with a nod. He glanced up and eyed the waitress who appeared at their booth. “Drinks all around, on me.”

They ordered beverages - Guinness for O’Neill, diet cola for MajorCarter, Zinfandel for Daniel and water for himself - after which the group turned their attention to the menus. By the time the waitress appeared with their drinks, they gave her their order and raised their glasses in salute to each other. Conversation was quiet and familiar and Teal’c felt at peace for the first time in a long while. Periodically his gaze would drift to DanielJackson’s face when he was not speaking, listening intently to the talk flying back and forth between O’Neill and Major Carter.

Teal’c saw the restlessness there as he fidgeted, unable to sit still. He seemed to be looking for someone or something, as if expecting an unwanted guest to come through the door, glancing at it often over his shoulder. Something vexed the scholar at a time when he should have been able to relax with his friends and that troubled Teal’c.

Their food came and he stared down at his plate for a moment. Covering most of the platter was a heaping mound of Yukon gold mashed potatoes. Beside them lay a steaming pile of mild Irish sausages nudging into fresh steamed green beans and battered strips of fried onions. He tried one of the sausages and approved the flavor after a thorough chew. Taking a bite of each of the offerings, he decided he liked Bangers and Mash.

O’Neill reached over with his fork and speared a sausage without a break in the joke he was telling.

Teal’c watched his sausage disappear into his commanding officer’s mouth. Such an act on Chulak could lose a man both his hand and his social standing, but customs on Earth were different. Over the years Teal’c had learned that taking food off someone else’s plate was never done in polite company but in the intimate surroundings of family it was often accepted. That O’Neill felt comfortable enough with his teammates to sample their food - as he also did with MajorCarter and DanielJackson as well - was testimony to the strength of the bond between them all.

For a moment Teal’c just sat and looked at the humans surrounding him, contemplating his appreciation of them on this special occasion. From his first look in O’Neill’s defiant eyes and his plea for help in Apophis’ dungeon, Teal’c knew this man was a singular warrior but he was so much more than that. He was a man of honor, strength and courage; someone worth admiring.

MajorCarter, for all her brilliance and pleasant demeanor, was a well of deep affection and fierce loyalty.

And DanielJackson was the best of them all. His was the way of the peaceful warrior, fighting only when necessary, always seeking other alternatives to violence. He was compassionate and wise far beyond his years. Teal’c felt humbled to know that a man less than a third his age had managed to reach a higher spiritual plane simply by virtue of his character and understanding.

There was much Teal’c could learn from these three and much that they had learned from him. Courage, love and wisdom were excellent companions, and he thought those were the best gifts of all, the constant presence of these three in his life. He felt he was a rich man, indeed.

The waitress came and cleared the plates away and three presents were pushed toward him.

“I need no gifts,” he told them fondly. “I already have all that I need, here with me tonight.”

“Aw, Teal’c! That’s sweet,” MajorCarter said warmly. “But we got you stuff anyway. Here, open mine first.” She thrust a large envelope toward him.

On the cover was a small black and white drawing of a kitten looking up at a dark blue sky spangled with stars. Beneath the cat it read, I hope the stars shine especially bright for you tonight.

Inside, the message continued: If they don’t, squint. It makes them look sparklier.

She had written, Happy 105! Love, Sam.

He read the card aloud and withdrew a gift certificate to Illuminations, his favorite candle shop. “Thank you, MajorCarter. I will enjoy this greatly.” He smiled and accepted the gaily wrapped package from O’Neill. That was a new game for his X-Box, patterned after the wildly successful television series, Wormhole X-treme!

“I get to be the colonel when we play it,” O’Neill told him adamantly.

Teal’c smiled. “Then I shall be Grell.” He offered a polite nod in thanks for the gift.

DanielJackson held onto his package for a moment, a look of indecision on his face. Finally, he laid the gold-wrapped package on the table and slid it across to his teammate. “Happy birthday, Teal’c.” Then he looked away.

Carefully, Teal’c unwrapped the parcel. Inside was a leather-bound book, the cover stamped in gold. He read the title aloud. “A Book of Five Rings by Miyamoto Musashi and The Art of War by Sun…” He couldn’t pronounce the last name.

“Sun Tzu,” DanielJackson finished for him. “Open it up.”

The title page inside had an added note, printed at the bottom. “A new translation by Daniel Jackson, Ph.D.” That surprised Teal’c. “You wrote this book for me?”

The scientist cleared his throat. “Uh, not exactly. I’d been working on it for a while, since Lord Yu came here for the negotiations with the Asgard. Figured I should brush up on my Asian histories and cultural icons.” He glanced at O’Neill, then back at Teal’c. “I found the manuscript in the base archives and finished it up after I got back. Then I had a copy of it bound just for you. They’re both classics for warriors from some of the greatest military minds of our planet.”

“Can I see that?” asked O’Neill, lifting it out of Teal’c’s unresisting hands. He looked down at the book, turning the pages, talking as he skimmed through it. “Musashi was a samurai who was never defeated in a swordfight. Sun Tzu trained armies that conquered most of Asia. Both of ‘em scholars as well as warriors.”

He fell silent for a moment, looking at an illustration in the book. Then he squinted at it. “Daniel, did you draw this?” He held up the picture, pointing at the signature. MajorCarter reached for the book and pulled it away from him and Teal’c got a look at the artwork then.

It was a portrait of Teal’c dressed up in samurai armor, striking a dramatic pose.

DanielJackson shrugged. “Well, yeah. All archaeologists learn to draw. We have to. Not everything we recover from a dig site can be photographed properly and we have to make notes on pieces of artifacts and-“

“Damn, Daniel, is there anything you can’t do?” O’Neill demanded with a note of startled admiration.

The scholar looked nonplussed behind his shades. “Well, of course, Jack. I can’t tango, drive a tank or give birth. There are lots of things I can’t do.”

MajorCarter burst out laughing.

Daniel reached for his after-dinner coffee and casually took a sip. The two men just stared at each other, until DanielJackson finally turned away with a small smile.

“That was a good one, Daniel,” MajorCarter said gaily. “Give birth. Not exactly something you can learn, though the other two…” She stopped talking when the colonel gave her a stern look. Handing the book back to Teal’c, she added, “It’s a beautiful book, Daniel. Nice job.” Then she glanced at her seatmate. “Could I read it when you’re done? I’d like to see Daniel’s take on those subjects.”

“They were translated from the original texts,” DanielJackson announced. “Both men were elegant writers. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“I believe I will, DanielJackson. Thank you. I shall treasure this book which you have made for me.” He glanced down at the picture, impressed by the likeness and the attention to detail. Teal’c would not have guessed that the man was such an excellent artist.

He looked up at his young friend. DanielJackson was fidgeting in his seat, looking even more tense than usual.

“Uh, sorry, Teal’c, but I have to leave now,” he said brusquely, sliding off the bench and standing beside the table. He stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets, then pulled them back out and buttoned his jacket. His hands were shaking.

“Then we shall accompany you, DanielJackson,” Teal’c responded, reaching for his gifts and starting to stack them together.

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” the scientist shot back, raising a hand. “You guys stay and party. I’ll take a taxi back to the base. Hope you had a great birthday. See you guys later.” He fumbled in his pocket for his wallet as he talked, threw down a couple of bills on the table and left before anyone could speak.

“What the hell was that all about?” O’Neill asked unhappily, his brows tugged down in a perplexed frown over his eyes. “He didn’t even stay for the cake.” He signaled the waitress, who disappeared into the kitchen to fetch their dessert.

Teal’c sighed. “DanielJackson has not been himself lately,” he offered quietly. “I do not believe he is ill aside from an increased frequency of migraines, but he is distracted and tense, especially at night. I have suggested he see DoctorFraiser but he wishes to find his own solution to this problem.”

“I thought something was up with him,” O’Neill agreed worriedly. “Has he had any trouble with anyone on the base, arguments or head-butting with anybody?”

Teal’c shook his head.

“No, sir, not that I know of,” MajorCarter answered, her eyes wide with concern. “Has he been working out too hard, maybe? I mean, I know you two have been getting really intense with the hand-to-hand combat training lately but he just seems like…” she glanced down at the table, her brows twitching together as she remembered specific incidents in question, “…like he’s had a lot of accidents lately. He winces when he moves but passes it off to clumsiness, running into doors and stuff.”

She waited for acknowledgment from either of the men. They just looked at her, waiting for more details. “Look, I don’t know if you two have noticed it or not but he’s not as clumsy as he used to be. I’m not buying the stories.”

O’Neill stared down at the table, deep in thought. “I saw bruises on him this morning before our workout. That was why I was asking about the arguments. I know I’ve been rough with the training but it’s what he’s wanted. I’d know if I were leaving a mark. I didn’t put those there and they didn’t come from falling against the stair railing.”

“You are correct,” Teal’c told them both. “He is hiding something from us. Something he does not wish us to know.”

“I’ll find out what it is,” O’Neill promised. “We’ll help him, even if he doesn’t want help.”

The waitress came toward their table with a small round chocolate cake bearing a handful of burning candles. The entire waitstaff of the pub followed her and when she set the cake down, they began to sing the Jack Quinn version of the birthday song.

“Well, here sits a bloke with a birthday

“Who thinks getting older’s a curse, eh?

“But you’re never too stale

“To get laid and drink ale,

“So be thankful today’s not your worst day!”

O’Neill and MajorCarter chuckled and applauded. Teal’c merely raised a questioning eyebrow, after which the staff scattered.

He looked at his cake. “There are only seven candles, O’Neill,” he observed.

The colonel smiled. “Yeah. One for each year you’ve been with us, T. I figure when you joined up with us, it was kinda like being reborn. Brave new world, and all that.”

“Indeed.” He leaned over and blew the candles out.

They flared into brilliant life again.

Teal’c stared at the candles, then blew them out again. And again. And was about to try for a fourth time when O’Neill explained that they were trick candles.

“The Tau’ri are strange people,” he observed aloud, staring at the candles as O’Neill dunked each one into DanielJackson’s coffee cup.

MajorCarter cut and served the cake and they chatted about classic practical jokes and birthday traditions as they ate it. Eventually they began to make ready to go their separate ways. O’Neill paid the bill, and MajorCarter and Teal’c stood up to wait for him. They exited onto the sidewalk out front and stood silently for a moment, just looking at each other.

“There’s one more present for tonight,” O’Neill told him warmly, patting him on the shoulder. He stuffed his hands into his pants pockets, his expression serene and pleased. “We took the liberty of having Siler put it in your quarters while we were out tonight. Hope you don’t mind that we barged in like that.”

“What is this gift, O’Neill?”

“You’ll see when you get home,” MajorCarter assured him with a smile. “It’s from almost everybody on the base, Teal’c. We took up a collection and got you the best one we could find, engineered by NASA. Janet and I picked out the… uh… wrappings.”

“Do you wish to observe while I open it, as with your other gifts?”

They shook their heads, both grinning. “No, this is one you should open alone.” MajorCarter said goodbye and waved as she left, promising to call if she needed any help finishing up her project.

The two men watched her walk away.

O’Neill clapped him on the shoulder. “Go home, T. Get some sleep. Got another big day tomorrow.” He grinned. “The biggest.”

Teal’c nodded, remembering. “Tonight we have celebrated the living. Tomorrow we remember the dead. It is good that we do this for ourselves... and for those left behind.”

Pride shone in O’Neill’s eyes. “Yeah. It’s a good thing. Friendship is a gift we give ourselves, and we need to remember how privileged we are to have such good folks in our lives.” He turned to stroll toward his truck, head down in thought, casting his voice over his shoulder as he walked. “See you later, T.  Happy birthday.”

“It has been happy, O’Neill.” Teal’c strolled slowly toward the borrowed car, wondering what this last gift was that the whole of the SGC had purchased for him.

After turning in the borrowed car at the motor pool, he climbed up the side of the mountain, his breath puffing out in a sheer white cloud as he exhaled. There was a special spot he had picked out, high up on the slope with a view of the yawning entrance to the mountain and of the city sprawled out beneath it. This was the place he had come to mark his own memorial to the lost, practicing the ritual of Chulak for the dead. In this spot he had burned many candles in the sheltered alcove of stone, reading aloud the words he wished to say to the departed and then burning the letters, watching the ashes fly away on the wind, carrying his message to the stars.

He could see little in the darkness but the memories of that place were sweet and sharp, bitter and warm all at the same time. Here he had mourned DanielJackson in private, when no public ceremony was held after his ascension. Now his friend was back but tomorrow Teal’c would return here in the dark with another letter, one for all those who would be remembered in the coming ceremony. He would read their names aloud to the night and every year afterward, he would repeat the ritual, adding in the new names on the list for those most recently fallen. As long as he lived, that would be his special part in the ceremony, his personal memorial to the lost.

Looking upward, he saw great swaths of tiny lights dotting the sky. Millions of stars shone overhead in the cold blackness of space, separated by vast spaces from each other, yet many of them connected by a network of portals placed by an ancient race eons past. The Tau’ri had explored a few of them, discovering fascinating new things on each planet they touched. Sometimes they all came home with nothing more to report than sand in their shoes, but sometimes they didn’t come home at all.

Embracing himself against the cool seeping through his jacket, Teal’c looked around in the darkness below him, watching the distant city lights twinkle against the gloom. Those lights reminded him of the lost ones, bright points of light gleaming against the smothering shadows. One day, he promised himself, there would be a sunrise of freedom for a thousand worlds. When the Goa’uld were defeated, when they were no longer a threat to anyone, all of humanity scattered all through the galaxy would then be able to live in the light.

That would be a good day, indeed. Well worth whatever sacrifice they paid.

He trudged down the mountainside and took the elevator down to Sublevel 11. Checking in at the security station posted between the elevators, he saw that DanielJackson had signed in ahead of him. He straightened and stared down at the signature page, an idea beginning to form in his mind. He shook it off, chastising himself for being as absurd as the tabloids he so enjoyed.

Teal’c glanced at the partitions standing behind the security desk. Construction had been underway on this floor for three months now and it had only been finished that week. The short gray corridor that once linked the access elevators was now covered with beautiful wood paneling. Soft dark blue carpeting made a welcome cushion beneath his feet. The partitions where the wall had been were gray and ugly but Teal’c had already seen what was on the other side of that temporary barrier, having helped to build it and finish up the decorating. Most of it was done, save for a last few pictures to hang.

He glanced at his watch. The deadline was nearing and he knew MajorCarter had been stressed as she arrived at the party because SergeantSiler had not yet returned with the printed photos as he promised he would. Teal’c wished the soldier at the security post a good night and rode the elevator down to Level 25, where he and DanielJackson had their permanent quarters.

As he passed by the scholar’s room, he glanced down at the book in his hands, his suspicion from moments earlier growing more powerful as each second passed.

He looked at the closed door, staring, trying to imagine…

No, he must be wrong, he decided. DanielJackson rarely left the base, and then only in the company of others on his team. Perhaps it was time to stop reading the tabloids and concentrate on more worthwhile publications, such as the wonderful book in his hands.

Teal’c pulled his pass card from his pocket and swiped it through the lock on his door. He pushed it open and found the lights already shining, left on by the interlopers who had brought his final gift. Directly in line with the door, his meditation cushion and the surrounding candles were undisturbed. He stepped inside the room and glanced left, his face breaking into a wide smile as he spotted his final gift.

The uncomfortable military cot was gone. In its place was a large bed, fully big enough for a man his size. Stout wooden posts stood at the four corners. The mattress was covered in beige sheets, already folded down in invitation. Thick, soft blankets lay beneath a black velvet bedspread embroidered in heavy gold thread.

Entranced, he moved toward it, reaching out to touch the linens in awe. The sheets, he discovered, were made of silk, smooth and soft, warming beneath his fingers. With one hand he pressed into the mattress and saw that the surface of it formed exactly into the shape of his spread fingers. It was firm yet pliable and he wondered what it would feel like beneath him.

Standing by the foot of the bed was a large card, fully five feet tall and four wide. Someone had airbrushed a caricature of him on the front of the card beneath the words, “Our Favorite Jaffa!”

The cartoon Teal’c was smiling outrageously. In his hand he held a staff weapon in the shape of a giant blue-and-white-swirled birthday candle. Dressed in Jaffa armor that twinkled silver, he stood on a cake with fluffy yellow frosting, all the candles in a bundle on the side, looking more like jet exhausts than candles. The emblem on his forehead was a white oval outlined in red, but instead of the snake of Apophis in the center, there were three red letters.

STP.

He wondered what they represented, making a mental note to ask MajorCarter later. Stepping fully into the room, he set his presents down on a nearby table and went to take a closer look at the card. Inside in big, bold letters, a message had been printed:

Happy Birthday, Teal’c! From all of your friends at the SGC.

The inside surface of the card was covered with signatures. He felt a lump rising in his throat as he looked at them, taking care to try and read every scrawl. Some were so indistinct he couldn’t distinguish a name in the loops and squiggles but it didn’t matter. That the people he saw in the corridors each day cared enough to add their names to this paper touched him deeply. Some wrote little messages, which he read with a full heart.

Finally, when he was certain he had looked upon each signature at least once, he turned back to the bed. Eagerly he took off his clothes and left them in a pile where he stood. Tonight he would forego meditation until a little later; he had to try out that bed immediately. Slipping beneath the covers, he lay back against the thick new pillows and let his body relax.

It was like floating in a pool of warm water. He sighed as his eyes drifted closed, aware of the wide smile on his lips, unable to wipe it off. His arms and legs spread out until he completely covered the mattress, end to end and side to side. He meant to rise and brush his teeth but the lure of the bed kept him snuggled down into it, unwilling to leave its comforting warmth.

“Ahhhhh,” he moaned blissfully. “The Tau’ri are wonderful people.”

Without realizing exactly when it happened, he fell asleep, content in the knowledge that, on this world, among these strange, wonderful people, he was loved. Now, in this comfortable bed, it seemed to Teal’c that he had, after more than a century in exile, found a place to call home.

Teal'c

P3X-22Y

August 13, 1999

On to Part II: Sam’s Day: Forget Me Not

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