Title: Past Perfect

Category: Missing Scene for 1969

Summary: Daniel's behaving strangely and Sam's on a mission to find out why.

Rating: PG

Spoilers: Episodes up through the end of Season Two

Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm just borrowing them for a little while. I promise to return them the way I found them when I'm done.

Notes: Thanks to Linda and Joyce for betaing. And to the writer of the LOC that suggested this idea many, many moons ago.

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Past Perfect

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Their garish, smoke-belching bus sputtered to a stop just as it reached the park limits. As it chugged and wheezed down the road all morning, Colonel O'Neill could be heard making rather colorful threats to it if it didn't get them to New York. But in the end, St. Louis was as far as it could go without some help.

And even the colonel couldn't prevent that. Sure, he could stop two Goa'uld mother ships with a few zats and a couple of grenades, but he couldn't work miracles after all.

"You know," the colonel said as he killed the engine and sat back, eyeing the rest of their group through the rear-view mirror, "I think Daniel was right--this is a perfect place for lunch after all."

Their mismatched group piled quickly out into the brilliant sunshine of August in St. Louis. It was hot and muggy, but there was a clear blue sky and no pollution, so it all evened out. Daniel had handed the colonel the map this morning with this spot circled, suggesting the park as a good place to stop for lunch. Sure enough, he had been right on target. It was perfect--all green grass and warm sun and small, puffy white clouds. Beehives and mini-skirts and tie-dye and business suits melded together in a moving tapestry on the street and sidewalks. Traffic passed them in no particular hurry, windows rolled down and tinny music filtering out from car radios. All in all--except for the broken-down vehicle and the whole problem of being stranded thirty years in the past--it was a pretty nice day.

As SG-1 stretched cramped limbs and soaked up the sun, Sam watched Michael pop the hood and peer inside. The colonel and Teal'c quickly joined him and they all stood staring into the engine in a manly way. She grinned at the picture. Across time and space and political stance, men all had certain things in common.

Jenny came out of the bus with a basket and headed off into the park without a second thought to their transportation problem. As she unfurled a blanket on the grass, Sam decided it would probably be the better part of valor to go with her rather than try to help the guys fix the bus. Growing up with two men had taught her some discretion when it came to them. Not nearly enough to keep her from getting herself into trouble with certain Neanderthal officers, as her dad had always chided her. But some. And two years of unconditional acceptance with SG-1 had given her a healthy motivation not to screw it up in any way.

Well, not when it was avoidable, at least.

Just as Sam started toward the park, Daniel's voice drifted across the short space. "Uh, hey guys?" Turning back, she saw him still standing just outside the bus door, gesturing down the street. "I'm gonna go find a restroom."

She looked around. Across the street, past a couple of businesses, stood a gas station with a small market just beyond. Other varieties of buildings lined the street as far as she could see, ranging from converted houses that sported handmade business signs to a large well-maintained building with a peaked roof that she could barely see among the rest. All in all, it was a pretty civilized area of town--a far cry from all the planets where facilities were about as available as ski runs in Death Valley. God forbid she ask for a ladies' room.

Colonel O'Neill had pulled himself up into the engine, perching one leg inside and one foot balanced carefully on the fender. His voice came out slightly muffled as he answered without removing his attention from whatever had drawn him deep into the bowels of the engine. "Fine, whatever. Don't run off. I don't want to be here too long."

Daniel nodded acquiescence--which accomplished a lot since the colonel wasn't looking--and crossed the street without a backward look.

Scowling, Sam watched him leave. She didn't like this.

Okay, so technically he wasn't doing anything odd. At least not anything she could put her finger on. But it was coming on the heels of days of strange behavior. Call it woman's intuition, call it scientific method, call it combat training--something about Daniel during this trip was setting off every alarm Sam had.

From the beginning, it was clear he didn't like this little adventure they were having. Not at all. He wasn't even showing any discernable enthusiasm for this unique cultural experience. She'd expected Route 66 to be a field trip of anthropological discourses. But nothing. Not a peep. And that, frankly, was disconcerting when it came to Daniel. Even when they were in deep shit, he was still as voluble as normal. Sometimes a little more so, when his developing sarcastic side started to rear its head. But silence? That was downright unnerving.

It might not have been so noticeable if not for the fact that it was a stark contrast to the rest of the group. SG-1 had been doing pretty damn well considering the circumstances. Sure, they may have been trapped three decades in the past with no real idea how to get home--but no one was bleeding, no one was shooting at them, no one was threatening them with imminent dismemberment or evisceration. No plagues, no Goa'uld, no bureaucrats with budget reports. No prehistoric cavemen, no super-advanced aliens, no staff-wielding Jaffa. So far, not even so much as a hangnail between the four of them. Okay, the colonel did get a cut early on, but that hadn't even required a Band-aid. They'd been in far worse situations. Worse, messier, stickier, more embarrassing, bloodier, wetter--and more--during their short, but infamous, career of crises.

Sam herself had actually begun to enjoy it just a little. While one part of her brain was vigorously forming and discarding theories on the general's note and the phenomenon that had gotten them here, the other part couldn't ignore what was going on around her. The scenery was incredible, they were in the company of two of the most honestly nice people she'd ever met, and she was experiencing a part of her past she'd never dreamed of. It was still almost unbelievable to think that they were actually in the past. What had always been a fascinating intellectual problem, full of beautiful equations and insomnia-inducing possibilities, was now a mind-blowing reality. It really was...well, far out.

The colonel had been in an exceptionally good mood all week, too, lounging around in his leather jacket and sunglasses like a fading rock star. He was in his element--completely at home in this time--and more than happy to go with it. And a Colonel O'Neill in a good mood was something everyone else could enjoy.

Teal'c even looked like he was having a little bit of fun. While he may not have been doing so with the abandon the colonel had, there were some definite indications it was there. He talked Daniel into teaching him to drive yesterday--and did a damn fine job, too. Much to Sam's shock, he even let her and Jenny dress him in that get-up, complete with wig and scarf. And he was perfectly willing to listen to the colonel ramble about the sixties for hours by the campfire. Sam wouldn't even be surprised if 'groovy' showed up in his vocabulary sometime in the future. So, in Teal'c-speak, he was having a not-unenjoyable time.

Which meant Daniel's somber and quiet mood was a sore thumb on the bus. Sam wasn't sure if the others had noticed it or not, but she had. She'd been on constant alert for possible problems on this trip, and this one was tripping the alarms. Initially, she chalked it up to the suspicion that he felt more comfortable immersed in long-dead cultures than in one from his own lifetime. She wasn't quite sure why, but it seemed obvious enough. But over the course of the week, she started to think it was more than that. It had gotten worse the closer they got to St. Louis. He took most of the driving today, being spelled by the colonel only an hour ago. When he did finally retreat to the back, he just watched the scenery roll by the rest of the time. Granted, the silent treatment wasn't unprecedented--when Daniel wanted to clam up, he was pretty good at it. But it definitely wasn't A Good Thing.

All of which added up to a general uneasiness as she watched Daniel jog down the street. She stood staring, trying to pin down that nebulous feeling.

Okay, Sam, this is silly. He's doing nothing wrong. Why invent trouble?

But even as she chided herself, something registered on her brain. She watched Daniel jog past the gas station and continue down the street.

Well, that was strange. He hadn't even stopped to see if the service station had a bathroom. Where was he going?

"Uh, sir?" she called without turning away.

An answering, 'yeah', drifted down from under the hood.

For one single, tiny millisecond, she considered telling the colonel. Then the logical part of her clamped down on the thought. Tell him what? She had no idea what she even thought was making her worried. And you did not get the colonel worked up over nothing. You gave him facts and reasons and he'd move heaven and earth to fix things, but you didn't blow smoke at him. It just pissed him off.

"Daniel had a good idea. I'm gonna go, too."

A hand waved in her direction. Acknowledgement in O'Neillese. She waited for a couple of slow-moving cars to pass and crossed the street. Clutching the unfamiliar purse to her side, she ran a little ways to catch up closer to Daniel. Then, on a whim, she hung back out of sight and followed him.

Well, this was certainly... uncomfortable. Spying on Daniel. Not the 'spying' part--she'd done covert maneuvers lots of times, even long before the Air Force. She'd learned her best work by spying on Mark and his friends during his not-quite-sanctioned parties while their parents were gone. But the 'Daniel' part of this made her hackles rise. This wasn't an enemy. Or a bullying older brother. This was Daniel. Not even Doctor Jackson, or even a teammate. Just Daniel, and Just Daniel was her friend. There were things so intrinsically wrong about what she was doing here, she couldn't even name them.

But she did it anyway, following him at a discreet distance as he crossed the intersection at a traffic light. She quelled her natural instincts with a more driving force--duty and obligation. There was a job to do. She was the Guardian of Time. She had laughed herself good and silly three days ago when she thought of the name. It was so...cheesy. Like bad science-fiction. All she needed was a cape and some tights and she was ready to go.

Oh, and a good sidekick. Daniel seemed like the obvious choice, but she'd much rather see Teal'c or the colonel in the mask and tights.

But--all jokes aside--it was true. As the only one who truly understood the implications of disruption of the timeline, she had made herself the protector of it. The danger of changing things was too great. Even the small things, like the money they spent on coffee yesterday morning. A dollar spent in 1969 could change a shopkeeper's books and thus his life. A simple dollar in the right direction could be the deciding factor in any number of choices. It could change a man into someone who chose to marry, to have children, to open another store, et cetera, et cetera. The changes could be endless. They could go on to affect the lives of an infinite number of other people. Customers, family members, neighbors, employees, vendors--the list went on and on. In the last few days, she'd been both witness to, and interceptor of, a host of such possible problems--most of which the rest of SG-1 weren't even aware of or understood.

So whatever was going on with Daniel and his strange behavior, she had a responsibility to make sure it wasn't anything to worry about. She hoped it turned out to be nothing more than her own overworked paranoia, and she could slip quietly back to the group and feel stupid. But she was also fully determined to make sure either way, to make sure nothing else happened. It was bad enough they were interfering with Michael and Jenny's lives in their own selfish need to get home.

Daniel was loping up the steps in front of the big, ornate building toward the front doors. Sam waited a few seconds, lingering on the street corner, until he disappeared inside. One more time, she pushed down the voice of accusation that burned inside her brain. She was doing the right damn thing, and she wasn't going to worry about conscience now. She'd worry about it later. Probably for a long time later, but that was an acceptable risk.

Getting a good view of the building for the first time, it was more than she had figured on. Stories-tall columns stood sentry over the huge stairs, topped by a beautiful stained-glass window. It looked like a museum, and every alarm bell that wasn't already in high gear went off at once. This wasn't a coincidence. She was suddenly damn glad she'd followed her instincts this far. Daniel plus Museum equaled Trouble, although she still couldn't pin down what kind exactly.

Leaving the hot afternoon sun behind, she quickly went inside. The interior was beautiful. A main lobby with a few milling visitors looking at maps or buying tickets. The walls were decorated with finely-veined marble columns and delicate sculptures of mortals and gods. A set of marble stairs went up in a lazy curve to a second level from which doors led to other halls, presumably wings of history and time nicely categorized and labeled for the ease of the general public.

She gave the room a quick survey, spotting Daniel taking the stairs two at a time and disappearing into the leftmost doorway on the upper level. Gathering up the long, flowing skirt--remembering once more how impractical being a girl could be and wishing for a nice pair of BDU's--she shadowed him at a less conspicuous pace.

Following him through the doorway, she found herself in a hallway lined with artifacts under and behind glass. They were Egyptian, she thought. She wasn't entirely sure, but she had managed to pick up a few things from Daniel in the last two years.

Egyptian. Okay, this was getting worse. Daniel plus Egyptian Museum equaled More Trouble. The damn equation was getting uglier.

Leaving the hallway--Daniel already out of sight--she entered a large room with high ceilings and light flooding in from full-length windows set in beautiful, dark wood walls. More displays were set around the huge room, both in and out of glass cases. Statues, scrolls, hieroglyphics, utensils. She didn't know anything about most of it, her learning scattered at best--courtesy of impromptu field lectures and being shot at by aliens posing as those figures carved all over this room.

There were a fair number of people scattered around looking at the artifacts--mostly older patrons, although a couple of student-types could be seen peering closely at the displays. On the other side of the room, there was different activity. Behind a roped-off section, several big, burly workmen were positioning a stone slab onto a pedestal. Tools, crates, and packing material lay scattered around them, and several other people in suits and dresses stood watching.

As did Daniel.

He was leaning on the short end of a long glass case containing a scroll of some kind, facing the far end of the room with his back to her. She followed his apparent line of sight to the work-crew, listening to them yell directions at each other in the normal chaos of civilian operations.

Confused, she stood still for a few minutes, debating what to do. Daniel certainly wasn't doing anything worthy of her having stalked him the whole way from the park. On the other hand, there was no way the sudden trip had been spontaneous. Daniel had pinpointed an Egyptian museum thirty years in the past with unerring accuracy and made a beeline for it. It was hardly a coincidence.

"Doctor Jackson?"

The voice came from behind her, startling her. A well-dressed man in his forties walked past her without a word and continued toward the activity. From the corner of her eye, she saw Daniel pivot on his elbows toward the voice and catch sight of her. Their eyes met, anger or annoyance flickering briefly across his face before being replaced by slight embarrassment and deeper sadness.

The man who had just entered stopped in front of a woman and they were immediately deep in conversation. Sick realization hit Sam. She knew this woman, this Doctor Jackson.

Daniel's mother.

She'd never met the woman--obviously--but watching her die over and over again under the pillars of her own exhibit gave Sam a certain morbid familiarity with her. Understanding at once what had dragged Daniel all the way here from the park, she couldn't decide whether to be angry or sad.

She walked silently over and leaned on the case beside Daniel--unacknowledged for the better part of a minute.

"Did you follow me?" He didn't look at her, and she was glad of that. The last thing she wanted right now was to get pinned by those accusatory eyes.

She nodded. "You've been acting strange."

"I have?" He looked at her then, genuinely surprised. Surprised because he wasn't aware of it or because someone had noticed?

Of course we notice, Daniel. Jeez.

Eyes back on the activity around them, he sighed. Pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses. "I didn't think it was obvious."

It probably wouldn't have been to someone who hadn't spent three-quarters of her time over the last two years in his company. But too many things about SG-1 were under the surface--gleaned on the fly--so they had all learned pretty quick how to read each other. Or they'd have been dead a long time ago--several times over, in fact, in some very inventive ways.

She watched Daniel watch the man talk to his mom. "Daniel, this is exactly what I was talking ab--"

"It's okay," he cut her off. "I'm not gonna change history or anything. I'm way over here, see?"

As though there was any safe distance in this type of thing. There were just too many variables. "I don't think this is a good idea."

"Probably not." He didn't move, though.

"But you did it anyway." She couldn't hide how disappointed she was. Daniel was smarter than this. Even the colonel had understood how important it was they protect history.

"Do you know what this is?"

Sam was confused by the apparent non-sequitor. "What?"

He looked down at the glass case under his elbows. She followed his lead. Colorful pictures and hieroglyphics she didn't understand adorned a long scroll of papyrus or whatever it was they were using to record life in ancient Egypt. Daniel cocked his head almost reverently as he examined the artifact. "The Book of the Dead. The route to the afterlife. Souls measured and weighed. Appropriate, don't you think?"

Sam didn't answer. What exactly was she supposed to say to that? Yes, Daniel, I really appreciate the irony of this situation, too. No, I don't think this is at all morbid. Sure, let's discuss ancient Egyptian death rituals and beliefs while we watch your dead mom build an exhibit.

"Let's go, Daniel. You shouldn't have come here."

He turned to look at her sidelong. It rooted her to the spot--the intense sadness in those deep, blue eyes. "How could I not?"

She turned to look at the woman, still deep in conversation with the well-dressed man. "Daniel..."

"Are you telling me if that were your mother, you wouldn't have come?"

Sam was caught flat-footed. Would she have? She watched Daniel's mother gesturing animatedly in conversation. Vital and passionate. So full of life. She thought unwittingly about her mom--with her soft, blonde hair and big smile. If she had her mom standing there alive--young and beautiful--would she be here, too? Could she have said no? The logical part of her--the one with a Ph.D. and years of Air Force training--knew it was wrong. But other parts of her--like the fifteen-year-old that had cried alone in the back seat of her father's sedan after Eddie Dayton got touchy-feely on her first date--that part of her honestly couldn't say if she would have done anything differently than Daniel did if she had a single, solitary chance to talk to her mom again.

"This is why you wanted to stop here, at the park."

Daniel smiled, probably at her lack of an answer to his question. They both knew. "See that?" He pointed at the stone slab covered in hieroglyphics. "My parents found that in an expedition. We spent the summer in St. Louis while they set up the displays and created the Art Museum's Egyptian exhibition. I started school here. I don't remember much of it, but the exhibit is still there." He smiled self-deprecatingly. "In our time, I mean."

Sam nodded. "We should go." Her one goal, repeated over and over again until it worked. To wear him down was her only plan.

Again, Daniel didn't move. The woman...Daniel's mother...finished her conversation and moved over to unpack one of the crates. She carefully unwrapped an object, a piece of pottery or something, and brushed it off with her loose top shirt.

Daniel smiled at the sight. "She was always complaining about never being able to get anything clean from all the years of dust built up."

And she caved in. Hearing the wistfulness, the simple longing in that voice--in mundane and unimportant words--she couldn't fight any more. Just one minute. Then she'd take up the good fight again. Just one minute--a few measly seconds--surely she could give him that. "I'll bet. So she was in the field a lot?"

He nodded, focused intently on the scene across the room. Across time. "She loved it. The only time you could get her out of the desert was to fill up a museum somewhere with things she'd pulled out of the sand."

"She's got a nice smile."

"Yeah, she did." He smiled again. "I used to love to watch them work. I don't think they were ever more than a hundred feet from each other. Working or not. Did everything together."

"Mine were hardly ever together." Summer vacations, science fairs, school plays, her track meets, Mark's football games. Mom was a regular, but Dad was invariably a no-show. Sam never understood why the whole world got a piece of him and she never did. Of course, twenty years of growing up and a job keeping the universe safe had sure altered her perspective.

"Dad said he liked to keep an eye on her," Daniel added softly.

Yeah, well maybe he should have done better in New York then, huh? "We should go, Daniel," she repeated. Gently. She wasn't angry any more. Just sad. Sad for him, sad for herself. Sad for all the children who had ever gone through life without a parent.

He took a deep breath. Pushed off the glass case, tugging at his jacket cuffs absently. "I'm sorry, by the way."

"For what?"

"For not listening to you."

She grinned. "I expect it. If you guys start listening to me, what'll I do with all the extra time?"

It coaxed a smile out of him in return.

"Can I help you?"

Both jumped at the boom of a deep, male voice right behind them. Sam spun around, ready for attack--instincts jumping in line. She found herself face to face--actually face-to-neck--with a man a little older than her, with dark hair and craggy, sun-weathered features.

He studied them with keen, intelligent eyes behind black, plastic-framed glasses, reminding Sam of some of her college professors. Perched on his hip was a small boy with wild, light brown hair and inquisitive blue eyes. Something red was smeared across his pudgy little mouth and cheeks.

"Sorry," the man apologized. "Didn't mean to startle you. I noticed you watching."

Something about this was tickling at the back of her brain. Something about this guy...

"You look like you've seen a ghost, buddy."

Sam looked at Daniel. The man was right--he looked like someone whose grave had just been tramped on. Stark white, mouth hanging open, all facetiousness gone.

The man stuck out the hand not holding the toddler, noticed it smeared with red and wiped it on his pant leg, scowling good-naturedly at the oblivious little boy. "Mel Jackson. And you are?"

Oh, god. Oh, god. And that made the baby...

Oh, god. Oh, shit.

Sam needed to get them out of here. Now. This was so incredibly bad she couldn't even wrap her brain around the idea that it had managed to happen. All her hard work to prevent any contamination to the timeline, and here they were--standing face-to-face with her worst nightmare. She had to get them out of this conversation as quickly as possible. There was no telling what damage they could do to the timeline, even by a perfectly innocent conversation. Butterfly wings and all that.

Oh, god.

The man's hand was still hovering expectantly in the two feet of space between them, and Sam recovered her shock enough to shake it. "Samantha Carter."

He looked toward Daniel, who hadn't moved or said a word since they'd been discovered. Sam decided to take matters into her own hands. "This, uh, this is--"

"Jack." Daniel fumbled for Dr. Jackson's hand, grasping it blindly, not looking away from the man's face. "Jack O'Neill."

She blew a breath out. Good going, Daniel.

"And this is Danny." Dr. Jackson adjusted the boy around so they could see him properly. "Who, as you can see, has been managing to beg candy from someone."

They both turned to look at the boy, who stared innocently back at them.

Danny. Little Danny Jackson. So small, so tiny and innocent. Untouched. She found herself consumed by an urge to grab him up and run away with him. Anywhere, to just keep going. To try to save him from all the loss and heartbreak this little boy was going to have to survive. The spiral that was going to start only a few years down the road in New York City and continue right on down to form the man standing next to her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Daniel reach out tentatively towards the kid...towards Danny.

Focus, Sam. Let's keep it in check here, soldier. You've got a job to do, and it just got more imperative. She reached out and grabbed Daniel's arm, preventing him from finishing the motion. She had no idea what would happen if two versions of the same person made contact. It could be nothing; it could be the implosion of the entire universe. There were no road maps for the fabric of time.

Both men turned to stare at her strange behavior. Her brain groped for an excuse. "Ah, germs." Germs? A doctorate and that's the best you could come up with? "You might still be...contagious, you know." Daniel continued to stare at her, confused. She gave a forced smile to Dr. Jackson, explaining that, "he's been sick. Flu. Wouldn't want to pass it on."

Daniel turned away, shaking his head slightly. He lowered his arm and Sam let go of it, hoping he had understood the hint.

Danny stared back at them, brows puckered up in curiosity and maybe a little fear.

"Well, Jack." Dr. Jackson shifted Danny again and adjusted his own glasses. It was a familiar gesture Sam had seen out of his son so many times. "You interested in Egyptology?"

"Uh, a little."

Dr. Jackson smiled. "It's a fascinating field, I assure you."

"I know." A small, lopsided grin.

"I could show you around a little."

A quick glance told Sam Daniel was seriously considering accepting the offer. This was really not good. Thank god she'd followed the instincts that led her here. There was no telling what sort of damage could have been done here by a son trying to reach across time to a father he would never get the chance to know properly. "No," she broke in. "We've really got to get going."

"Well, I promise not to take too long."

"No, really. We're just passing through. Gotta hit the road again, you know."

"Where you headed?"

"New York."

"Oh, one of our favorite places. So many cultures in such a small area. Excellent museums. You should be certain to see the Museum of Art. My wife and I are lobbying to get a new Egyptian exhibit going there. She's drawn up a plan for a wonderful display with real pillars and everything..."

Sam automatically turned to Daniel as his father talked. He'd lost another shade of color, if that was even possible. She reached out one hand and put it on his arm, reminding him she was there. Not that she could do anything, but she had gotten pretty damn good at 'just being there.' Memory dragged her back to the Gamekeeper's virtual world and the same sense of helplessness she'd felt there, unable to do anything in the face of his tragedy mindlessly repeating itself in Living Technicolor and Surround Sound.

Dr. Jackson didn't appear to have noticed Daniel's response. Good. "I can give you a name for when you get there--get you a private tour if you like."

God, they'd already had all the tour of that place either of them would ever need. "No, no. We really aren't going to have time." Time. Ironically, it would be the one thing they would have in abundance if she didn't figure out what the note was about. "We're on a pretty tight schedule."

"You should learn to relax more. Go with the flow as the kids say. I keep trying to convince my wife of the same thing."

Sam had to laugh. As tense as the moment was, she couldn't help it. The irony was just too much. "Actually, we're usually very flexible. You kind of caught us at a bad moment--we're, um, we're not at our best."

He nodded acceptance, if not understanding. "You're sure you have to go right now? You came all the way up here. Seems a shame not to see anything."

Before she could continue, Daniel recovered his voice. "That's okay. I saw what I came here for." He stuck out his hand purposefully, eyes locked on his father's as they clasped hands again. "I, uh, can't tell you how glad I am to meet you. You and your wife are...kind of role models for me."

"Us?" Dr. Jackson laughed, shaking Daniel's hand. "I assure you, we're no role models. Especially after you've seen my wife celebrate a find."

A smile slid across Daniel's face. A tiny, ephemeral thing, full of old memories and happy families.

Feeling like a heartless clod, Sam fought the urge to let this continue. But she didn't have any choice. They had to go. Daniel was treading paper-thin lines here. Any moment, he could cause some minute, inconsequential change in his father's life that would drastically alter the existence of one bittersweet archaeologist with allergies and astigmatism. And she was damned if that was going to happen on her watch.

"Uh," she broke in before they could go any farther. "Jack." Well, that was really bizarre. "We've really got to go. We're gonna be missed soon, and you know how he gets when we're late."

Daniel looked down at her quizzically, brows furrowed, as though he'd forgotten she was still standing there. Licked his lips and slowly pulled his hand back in. "Right. It was good to meet you. I'm sorry I couldn't meet...your wife."

'Sorry' probably didn't begin to cut it.

Okay, it was time to move. Sam started toward the door, counting on him to follow. Daniel never had a problem sticking close to her before--instinctively trusting her to keep him in one piece--and she was counting on that now.

Dr. Jackson turned as Sam, with Daniel reluctantly in tow, moved around him toward the door. "You, too. Feel free to come back and see us if you stop back through here. We'll be here all summer."

"Thanks," Sam responded, gesturing Daniel toward the door again.

Daniel took one last look at his father, holding the preschool version of himself, and then toward the crowded workspace where his mother could no longer be seen.

Sam hesitated, unsure whether to keep pressing or not. Nearly two years ago, Daniel had surprised the hell out of her by mowing down a Goa'uld larvae tank in some primitive need for revenge. And in that moment, she received her first lesson in assuming things when it came to Daniel Jackson--you just can't do it. Ever. Just when you think he's a loose cannon, he's tucked up right in line like a perfect wingman. And just when you think he's completely with you, he's light-years away tilting at windmills. And just when you think he's following you out the St. Louis Art Museum, he might be following his late father on the fifty-cent tour.

It could go either way, and usually only the colonel could call it with any degree of accuracy.

She watched, hoping she could avoid being The Bad Guy here any more. She would if she had to, no question. She just hated to have to.

C'mon, Daniel.

Then he turned tortured, reddened eyes back to her and she knew she had won. It was a sour victory--she was left feeling as though she was personally killing his parents all over again in front of him. There would never be a second chance at this. Once he left--once she convinced him to leave this place--he'd never get anywhere near this moment again. She knew it. He knew it. And she knew without a doubt he had made that choice, once again. Like so many other things in his life he had turned his back on because he had to. Because something in him demanded that he keep going, no matter what the cost.

He turned away, giving her a reprieve from those eyes, and faced his father again. "Goodbye."

Dr. Jackson looked puzzled. Maybe because, like Sam, he heard all the years of want and regret carried in that single word. But he would never have any idea why. Sam had too much of an idea this afternoon. "Goodbye."

Then Daniel strode determinedly through the door ahead of Sam, not looking back. The single-mindedness of a man who knew if he didn't leave now, he never would.

She followed him through the hallway and down the stairs, eyes riveted to the back of his jacket as it wrinkled and rippled with his every move. They got all the way to the bottom with no stops and no sounds. Then, on the last stair, he suddenly sat down. Fell onto his butt, actually, like a puppet whose strings were cut. It was so unexpected that she nearly plowed into him. As she recovered, he pulled off his glasses and ran a hand through his hair.

Carefully, she sat down on the step beside him. Close by. She said nothing. People squeezed past her up and down the stairs, a couple of them remarking on rude people who sit on the stairs. She waited, at a loss as to what to do. As much as she had been his friend for almost three years, she still had little idea how to help him with anything. Daniel wasn't the type of person who sought out help, and what she'd learned had been by accident and trial-by-fire. And this wasn't one she wanted to screw up in the process of trying to be helpful.

"Sorry," he finally said.

"It's okay." It was a painfully inadequate platitude. "You all right?"

"Gimme a minute." He scrubbed the heels of his hands over his face, digging into his eyes. "God."

"I know."

They sat in silence for another minute, Sam glaring at one woman trailing a kindergartner in pigtails who stopped to stare at the distraught man on the bottom step. They moved on at Sam's icy stare, the woman pointedly looking away.

Daniel sighed. "That was really dumb, wasn't it?"

Well, yeah, it kinda was. "No, it wasn't."

He looked up at her, puffy eyes saddened in a well-familiar look. Self-deprecation, condescension, amusement, a little derision. Ironic humor. The look that asked if she'd been paying any attention whatsoever.

"Maybe just a little," she admitted.

He looked away again, out at the foyer, elbows still resting on his knees and glasses idly dangling between thumb and forefinger of one hand. "Do you know why I got into archaeology?"

"I figured it was because of your parents."

He didn't respond. Just stared at a huge painting across the room. A battle scene--war horses rearing up, men with wicked weapons fighting enemies in a battle for life and death. All of them locked in struggle for all eternity, never to win or lose. Unending stalemate.

"It's all already dead. You can't lose anything because it's already gone."

"Or anyone," she finished.

Tears came to her eyes. Daniel had probably danced his whole life on the edge between bleak despair and the sheer force of will that kept him going. So many forces piled up against him, and him battling them all alone. While she was out building a career out of the attempt to gain things for the whole world, he was scrabbling to make one out of the desperate attempt to just not lose anything more.

"It didn't help much, did it?" That sad, ironic smile again. He stood up then, replacing his glasses to hide his naked eyes. Looked around the museum lobby, maybe just now realizing they weren't alone. "I think I'd like to get out of here now." Looking down at Sam, still sitting on the step, he reached down and gave her a hand up. "We'll miss lunch if we don't hurry."

She nodded, letting him pull her up from the floor. "We'll tell the colonel there was a really long line for the bathroom."

He nodded absently. She followed him through the lobby, neither saying anything. As he held the main door for her, she asked again, "You sure you're okay?"

"I will be." They walked into the bright sunshine and cacophony of passing traffic. A horn blared as a Chevy pickup truck full of teenagers tailgated a long station wagon. Daniel stood looking out at the activity for a moment, rhen fumbled for his sunglasses and started down the stairs.

As they reached the junction between stairs and sidewalk, Sam's curiosity outweighed her concern. She had one burning question. "Can I ask you something?"

The response was absent and only half-hearted as he watched the midday activity swell around them. "Sure." But he looked a little better. Involved, rather than withdrawn. For better or worse, he'd taken his one chance.

Images floated up at her from long-buried memories. Her mom's beautiful long hair blowing in the gentle wind of some park on some nameless air base. Her soft chuckle as she laughed at a lame joke a seven-year old told. Long, polished fingernails moving to show Sam how to polish hers in a desperate attempt to forestall her being a tomboy.

"Was it worth it?"

Daniel looked over at her, startled. She immediately regretted asking. It had been thoughtless. But she couldn't help it. The small part of her that had never been able to say goodbye wanted--needed--to know what it felt like.

He stared at her for a few seconds, hands stuffed in his pockets. Then looked back at the building briefly. "Yeah, actually. I think it was."

She just nodded. So many things in life were like that.

On impulse, she reached out and tucked her arm in the crook of her friend's elbow as they walked along the sidewalk back toward the park and the rest of SG-1.

Toward the future, leaving the past where it belonged--behind them.

**********************************************

~~finis~~