Title: Doctor Watcher Author: akire Email: akire@mailcity.com Status: C/U Category: Crossover: Highland /Stargate SG1, plus misc others Spoilers: umm, got a basic grasp of the Highlander and Stargate universes? Fine. Oh yeah, we’re a Clan Denial fanfic. Mention of ‘Legacy,’ so it may help to know that ep. Disclaimers: D/P and MGM/Gekko really DO own them. If you don’t recognize it, it’s probably mine. If it’s silly or crazy, definitely is mine. But if anyone sends the lawyers after me, I’m sending out the boys with swords ;) Oh yeah, and imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. If you recognize a specific fanfic creation, it belongs to its author (when this series is finished, I may tally them up) Rating: PG, prob. Hey, I’m not offended by much, if it should be rated higher, tell me! Content Warning: purists beware. Language may offend some readers. Summary: Janet’s just doing her jobs, and compares the man with the Chronicle Dedication: That’s long enough. On with the show! ~~##~~ ‘So childlike in his wonder at the Universe.’ Janet sat at the far end of the briefing table and watched an animated Immortal describe temples and cultures and peoples on a world so far from his own that it did not even have a name yet, just a string of letters and numbers. ‘How can he be so old and so enthusiastic, when the rest of us are already jaded with barely half a dozen decades to our credit?’ She jotted down the thought onto her notepad, to transfer it, somehow, into her report later. Many Watcher’s preferred just to record names and dates and places, with none of their insight into motivation or personality or character. Janet was not such a Watcher – she believed that any little snippet of information may help one of her charges’ future Watchers. It was not as if her predecessors had passed down a wealth of information to her. Danya’s Watcher during his time in London in the middle of the last century had recorded the occasional impression, a teasing glimpse into the man behind the Hunts and the Quickenings, but that was the exception rather than the rule. She wished it were the other way round. Knowing those details now would make it much easier for her to complete her self-appointed task of diving into the old man’s psyche, in trying to clarify what made him tick, what kept him sane. How he kept his sense of wonder in such a gruesome and long existence. Joe Dawson, her immediate superior in the Watcher corps, supported her goals, supplying her with a seemingly endless stream of research passes and antique Chronicles not yet uploaded to the main computers. But the details she gleaned from all the mounds of information he gave her only the most teasing of glimpses into what made Danya tick. The briefing concluded with few immediate questions. Daniel’s presentations had that effect. Everyone usually had to go away and digest the huge amount of information he had just poured into their skulls before they could think of anything intelligent to say. Janet folded up her notes, both medical and observational, and stood up to join the queue filing out of the conference area. As she passed Daniel, who was packing up his notes at the head of the table, he murmured so only she could hear. “Good observations, Watcher?” She smiled sweetly, inured against Danya’s jibes and gentle barbs. “As always, old man, as always.” She swept out of the room as gracefully as she could in a uniform skirt. Nodding a greeting to a few SF’s as she passed, Janet headed back to the Infirmary and was soon ensconced in her office, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. One airman, recuperating after having his leg badly broken yesterday, was her only patient in an otherwise quiet Infirmary. Miracle of miracles, she was also pretty much caught up on her seemingly endless stream of paperwork. Looking at her desk over the rim of her favourite cup, she saw the notepad she habitually carried. She swallowed and smiled – Joe Dawson must be due another report, surely. Writing in the Chronicle certainly seemed more interesting than tallying pharmaceutical inventory right about now. Booting up her computer, she felt under the tabletop for the unlabelled black disk that was stored there. Slipping it in the drive, she waited to the screen flickered then returned to what seemed to be her standard desktop. There was nothing onscreen to betray the fact that this was actually a chameleon cover. Hitting the spacebar, she then tapped in her eight digit passcode into virtual thin air. The standard icons – medical files, email, internal messaging – instantly dissolved, to be replaced by a new set of icons – the Watcher’s Database, her personal files and Watcher email, and ObserverNet, the Watcher’s informal discussion network. Whilst her mail downloaded, she logged briefly into the ON. Smiling as she read the list of active chatters, she clicked into one of the many ‘rooms’ in the system. **WDanya has logged into chat 0814GMT** [WDanya]: Good day, gentlemen [WDMac]: Janet! Come to chat to us plebes, have you? [WRRyan]: **bows down low** [WDanya]: Joe, Dave, keep that up and I may start demanding it when I visit you lot in person. [WDMac]: Any time, my dear lady, any time. How’s Danya? [WDanya]: Blowing everyone’s mind with the extent of his ‘academic’ knowledge. How’s the crew up SC way? [WRRyan]: Seacouver? Try sunny Bora Bora! [WDMac]: Some guys get all the luck. [WDMac]: **grumbles good naturedly** [WDanya]: Dare I ask what takes you to Bora Bora? [WRRyan]: Not what – who. The lovebirds have flitted off again. [WDanya]: Wish they thought to invite Danya. My tan could use the work. [WDMac]: Join the queue. Speaking of queues, I’m looking at the list of reports in my inbox and your name is conspicuously absent. [WDanya]: **smiles innocently** [WDMac]: Need to do better than that, my lady [WDanya]: It’s in the mail? The dog ate it? I have a note from my mother? [WDMac]: Why don’t you try ‘I’m writing it now, oh Great Watcher Boss Man, and you can expect it tomorrow at the latest’ [WDanya]: Yeah, that too…umm, I have to go now guys. You know, patients to sew up, scripts to order… [WRRyan]: …reports to write… [WDanya]: Let me guess, yours are on the back of a postcard and end with the line ‘Wish you were here?’ [WDMac]: They do and I’m swapping assignments! [WRRyan]: **sighs** [WRRyan]: There goes that great idea. [WDanya]: Have fun in the sun, Dave. Joe, report __is__ incoming. Promise! [WDMac]: I’m holding you to that, doc! [WDanya]: You do that Joe. Enjoy the sun, Dave. Enjoy the bar without Dave, Joe. Ciao [WDanya]: **waves** **[WDanya] has logged out of the Network 0825GMT** Sniggering, her mind halfway to Bora Bora already, Janet closed that window and opened up her own Watcher log. As was her habit, she windowed it and filled the other part of the screen with the link to Danya’s Chronicle in the central database. The familiar logo span on the screen for a moment as it routed through blind connections to the New York server. Checking to ensure that the door was closed and that there was nobody skulking around nearby, she returned her attention to the screen as the soft, neuter voice whispered out of her speakers. **Chronicle: Danya. Current identity: Doctor Daniel Jackson. Current location: Cheyenne Mountain Complex, Colorado Springs, Colorado USA. Six thousand, eight hundred and ninety six confirmed Immortal kills.** The screen lit up with a global map, liberally dotted with red, marking the location of each of his kills. She flicked the mouse to the small rotating Watcher logo which span southeast of New Zealand, and brought up his in-depth text file. She had updated the photo just last month, pilfering the one off his security pass. It was certainly easier than getting a target to ‘accidentally’ walk through a tourist shot or one of the other tricks she had tried on prior assignments. Next to the file was all the basic statistics -- current location, birthplace, age, teacher, weapon-of-choice, and brief character profile. Clicking another link, she brought up his chronology. The full file, if printed, would probably make a stack a metre high. Without this unusual but effective indexing system, searching for a reference could take months. Hence the chronology – a hypertext list of years, eras and major events, separated by Watcher period. Flicking to the end, she clicked on her name to jump to the start of her stint as Watcher five years ago. Her report began with a summary of what had happened during the first mission to Abydos – extremes of classification be damned, this was History! Scrolling down rather than using the anchorlinks, her eyes flew across the screen as the pages flicked past. Accidents and incidents covered up, missions completed without anyone being the wiser. His one head taken since his return from Abydos – a young Headhunter who picked the wrong bar, the wrong man to challenge. It had been the only time Janet had seen him fight for real. If bidden by her thoughts, the report scrolled into view. **…he introduced himself formally, with a little bow of respect for his opponent. As he said his name, the last vestiges of the Jackson personality seemed to dissolve. I knew and he knew that he could probably beat this kid in his sleep, but a Challenge was a Challenge, to be taken seriously or not at all. I never envisioned Danya to be a ritualistic Gameplayer, but with hindsight I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. The introductions, the respect shown and demanded in return – the precision of his attack. There was only one defensive move that I saw from my position – the very first one, as he gauged the strength behind that initial parry and chose his course accordingly. Not a wasted motion or overuse of power. Every stroke was minimalistic, with just enough power and extension to do what it must, the footwork almost excruciatingly neat as he span and wove around to deliver a pommel blow between the kid’s shoulders. I did not count, but I estimate that Danya had him on his knees with perhaps a dozen strokes. No offers of mercy or clemency either – I don’t know if I was expecting any. Daniel Jackson is the personification of kindness, forgiveness, giving. Danya just took the kids head, shook off the aftereffects of the Quickening, cleaned his sword on the corpses’ shirt and went back into the bar to rejoin Jack, Sam and the other SG personnel inside. The entire combat took maybe ten minutes from when they met up in the alley.** The date stamp on that report was just under eighteen months ago. Thinking a moment, she scrolled up to the last recorded kill – September 1991, another youthful challenge successfully met out the back of the Oriental Institute, Chicago. Nearly a decade with only two kills, a year spent entirely off the planet, another five years working almost constantly either through the Gate or in his office under the Mountain. Two Immortal kills in ten years, a fraction of his average for the same period. How would he fare in a more even contest, she wondered? She knew, intellectually, that Watcher’s should not feel personally involved in the lives of their charges, but she considered Danya a special case. No doubt Joe Dawson felt the same about Duncan Macleod, Dave felt the same about Richie. Every Watcher could think of at least one subject they felt ~connected~ to, one assignment which went beyond the bounds of merely observing. Danya was hers. Pulling up the wonderful search engine that ran on the Watcher Network, she set up parametres to search for extended periods of inactivity, followed by several challenges in quick succession. Perhaps his history would indicate whether enforced idleness in the Game would lead to Danya loosing his skills. She certainly didn’t want to see him loose his head now just because he was a little ‘rusty.’ She turned off the monitor and went out to check that the airman was resting comfortably, and that his leg had not gotten infected. By the time she had returned with fresh coffee and turned the monitor back on, the first results were filtering through. She sighed at the size of the task she had set herself. Statistically, Danya averaged something over twenty confirmed kills a decade. But he was by no means consistent. Take the period 1790-1864. No confirmed kills, yet from 1865-1869 he had taken nearly thirty heads. She perked up slightly at those dates. Those were his hunting years, as recorded by one William Lever – a Watcher after her own heart. He was the only Watcher in recent times who, like Janet, recorded more than names, dates and places. Clicking through, she called up the Lever Chronicles and began to read…. ~~##~~ London 1866 William Lever, youngest son of a merchant, ducked from shadow to shadow as he trailed his quarry. He suspected that he could have followed Danya whilst dancing a jig and the older man wouldn’t have paid him the slightest attention, but it paid to be cautious when following an armed killer. Danya was his first assignment, and he was determined that his contribution to the old man’s Chronicles would be thoroughly complete. He knew he had only been assigned Danya because of the man’s nearly century-long neglect of the Game. How were his superiors at HQ to know that Danya would suddenly begin taking heads with a Hunter’s zeal? He was well aware of the debate amongst senior London Watchers as to whether he should be replaced with a more experienced Watcher. But until he made a serious error, William felt his position relatively secure. Being Danya’s Watcher was certainly a busy duty now. As Danya paused to look up a small blind alley, William reflected on how bored he was when he first began this assignment. Night after night sitting in the slush and snow, wishing that the old man would do something more exciting than read in his study. He remembered what his father always said – be wary what you wish for… The clash of sword on sword alerted him to the fact that Danya had found tonight’s prey. Edging to the end of the blind alley, he saw Danya’s dark figure fiercely engaged with an unknown Immortal. It was difficult to make out the other man’s face in the dimly lit alley, but he could tell the stranger was not a local. His midnight-black skin and unusual clothing were token enough of that. Tucking his gloved hands under his armpits, William tried to ignore the steamy plume that flowed out of his mouth and nose as he focussed on the battle playing out before him. This wasn’t personal. Danya’s face was neutral to the point of blank as he swung and blocked – just as it had been every time for the past few months. William had spent every spare minute available to him researching not only his own subject’s history, but the history of every one of his victims – twelve in the past eighteen months. So far he had found no link, no common element to suggest a reason why Danya had suddenly decided to go out late at night and hunt down any Immortal he found. It was occurring with such frequency that William now knew the routine. Danya would continue on with his current life, as scholar, tutor and gentleman of society. But then he would scent the Buzz, and undergo a frightening transformation from gentleman to savage. He would leave the warm comfort of his London home to track down the source of that Buzz. Young and old, male and female, English and foreign, there was no-one he wouldn’t Hunt. William discreetly fell back deeper into shadows as the small hairs on the back of his neck began to rise. He swallowed convulsively as the awe-inspiring spectacle of the Quickening filled the small space between buildings. It was after midnight by the time William made it back into the humble accommodations the Watchers had found for him a street back from Danya’s well-appointed home. Stretching numb fingers towards the banked fire, he let the heat flow over him for nearly half and hour before lighting a lantern and bringing it over to his writing table. As a tingling sensation returned to his fingertips, William gathered together pens, ink, and the Chronicle. Marshalling his thoughts as he jotted down the date, William bent to the page and began to write. ‘He is leaving his home earlier and earlier each time he Hunts. This evening, there were still people on the streets returning to their homes for the night as he set out. It certainly made it easier for me, as his Watcher, to follow him: I could blend into the crowd, and thus keep closer tabs on this most intriguing Immortal. But these earlier departures are beginning to worry me. Danya seems less and less concerned with maintaining his daylight cover. Scholarly gentlemen of society do not normally stalk the streets at night, Hunting and killing with impunity. I fear it is only a matter of time before he is spotted. London is a busy city, there are eyes everywhere. I am not the only one Watching his kills, of that I am almost certain. I have also noted that the distinction between his daylight personality and the Hunting persona that comes out after dark is beginning to blur. There are stories that just last week he verbally berated one of his students – they say he was in a terrible rage. No doubt he will loose students to tutor if he continues to deteriorate. However, these small indicators of rage or a lack of self-restraint are not evident when he fights – it is almost as if, by Hunting, he is satisfying some deeply buried urge. When he controls himself in a manner suitable for civilized society, he is denying these urges, and it pains him, hence these outbursts I have heard tell of. If my theory proves correct, I dread what will happen when these urges completely overwhelm the veneer of civilization.’ Reading through what he had written, William nodded to himself. Pausing only to stretch his finger to the fire once again, he continued on to sketch a brief description of Danya’s latest victim. A quick search of the corpse before he disposed of it had yielded few clues as to the strange Moorish man’s identity. William had kept the loser’s sword, to be delivered to the London Watcher’s office on the morrow. Perhaps they could identify the man by some distinctive feature of the weapon. Yawning widely, William left the journal open to dry as he moved around the small room, checking the bolt across the door and ensuring the curtains were drawn tight before he headed to his bedroom, determined to get a few hours sleep before dawn. ~~##~~ Janet read the scanned copy of the journal twice, the spidery writing straining her eyes. Daniel loosing control? Leaning back in her chair, she sipped at the cold dregs of her coffee. William’s notes were not gelling with her experiences of the man…or were they? She knew Daniel had an almost phobic fear of loosing it, going mad. That whole scene with Machello was proof enough of that. But perhaps it tied in with something else, something older? Earlier that day she had wondered how one could get so old and not get jaded? Perhaps nature’s pressure release valve for his kind was not to become jaded, but to…go insane? Rubbing her brow against the headache she knew was approaching, Janet put down her coffee cup and tried to think through this logically. Nearly 150 years ago, Danya had just started killing Immortals, hunting them like some of the younger ones were prone to, issuing Challenges on a frighteningly regular basis. They began suddenly, with no warning – no visitors, no unusual Quickenings in the months prior. According to Lever, Daniel just walked out his home one evening and laid into the first Immortal he found. Janet knew from her induction that London in the 1800’s was like Paris today – a busy and popular Immortal haunt. Danya had plenty of choice of prey. The next night he did it again. The evening after was a Friday, he went to a party and, according to Lever, was its sparkling star. Saturday night, he took a child Immortal’s head. That alone was enough to give Janet pause. Danya almost never attacked the children, and Janet could not recall another episode in his Chronicle where he had Challenged a child. Like many cultures and communities across the world and through time, it had been engrained in him that children were special – the future of the clan, the people. It took a lot for the rational knowledge that this ‘child’ could easily be older than you were to overcome those deepest of impulses. Scrolling on, Janet read further, Lever’s descriptive prose painting pictures of Danya the scholar turning into Danya the hunter – it was a Jeckyl and Hyde transformation, but without Hyde committing suicide to destroy Jeckyl. The nighttime personality encroached further and further into the civilized personality until one day…Janet flipped to the next scanned page…Danya discovered his surveyor. ~##~ Lever swallowed and felt the hard, cold tip of the steel blade press even further against the bare skin of his neck. His mouth went as dry as leather, yet William didn’t swallow again. Those blue eyes, until now only seen from a distance, were focussed on him with the intensity of summer sunshine. William felt he couldn’t have looked away even if he had tried. “Who are you?” There was no choice in William’s mind to stay silent. He knew the credo of the Watchers – death before dishonour, never betray the secret. Those old men in the hall to whom he had sworn his oath were not here now with a sword at their throats. “William Lever, sir.” Danya’s expression twisted into a cruel grin, his eyes still slightly dilated from the Quickening he had absorbed only minutes earlier. “Sir, hmm? Yes. Why were you following me?” William tried to bolster his courage. He did swear an oath…the fist which held him up by his shirtfront clenched tighter and shook him violently. William’s courage fled. “I had to.” The shaking stopped. Danya’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Why?” William considered not answering for a fleeting second. “You’re…you’re my assignment.” The back of William’s head struck the stone wall with the force of Danya’s fist in his chest. The blow was contained, only a fraction of his true strength, and William knew it. “I’m meant to Watch you, record who’s heads you take, when and how. I’d never interfere! You were not even to know I was following you! Please!” “Watch for whom? Record for whom?” Closing his eyes and pressing down the panicky sobs that were welling in his bruised chest, William told him about the Watchers. “So these Watcher’s, they know who I am?” William just nodded. “Yes sir. You have their attention, taking so many heads after so long out of the Game.” Danya looked at him, his face too pale even in the cold night air. William saw him come to some kind of mental decision a split second before the pommel of his sword impacted above his right eye. When he came too, he was alone in an empty room. He knew it well, but never from the inside. Danya’s parlour. The heavy furniture was still there, but all the books and personal details had been taken. Rising on shaky feet, he completed on full circuit of the room, eyes seeing but brain not comprehending. On the small table by the couch where he had lay was a folded piece of paper. Picking it up as if it were a dangerous animal, William unfolded it carefully. The cursive script that filled the centre of the page was simple. Leave me be, Watcher, lest I loose all control of myself. William looked around the now bare and soulless room. He would have to leave Danya alone, now. For William doubted the Immortal was even still in the country. Sagging on the couch, fingertips stroking the fine texture of the page, William sighed, alone in his failure. ~##~ ‘…loose all control…’ Janet murmured the phrase out loud as she massaged her temples. What had begun as a simple check to ensure Daniel wasn’t getting rusty had turned into a speculation about his continued sanity. Janet knew, that in mortals at least, there was some trigger, some defining event or moment which set off the whole reaction. It could be a simple as a smell, or a particular sound, or as complex as a Quickening. William hadn’t been able to spot it, but he was a raw recruit, inexperienced in reading the signs of Immortals and untrained in medical observation. Janet was skilled in both areas, and she couldn’t see it either. Her phone rang, the gate room alerting her to the return of SG-12 from their survey mission. Sighing again, she logged out of the database and dashed off a quick missive to Joe to cover the still-absent report. Seeing the five man team enter her Infirmary, she logged out of the system and went to work as a doctor. Automatically poking and prodding, asking questions and noting responses, one part of her mind was totally focussed on the job at hand. Yet another part of her was turning over and over what she had just read. Just as she was signing off her report giving SG-12 a clear bill of health, bootsteps alerted her to visitors. The man of the hour appeared from around the corner, a small smile lighting his face as he spotted Janet. Behind her, Janet was well aware of her duty nurses poking their heads out of offices or from behind cubicle screens – even Liam, the latest addition to SG Medical, gave the newcomer a long and appreciative look. One glare from Janet was enough for ogling eyes to retreat back behind curtains or into stock rooms. There were some benefits to having a reputation as a ‘napoleonic power monger’. Danya, as usual, seemed oblivious. “Hey Janet, what are you doing tonight? I haven’t seen Cassie in ages.” She gave him a look. “What am I? Chopped liver?” Daniel’s smile was sweetly wicked. “Don’t answer that. Anyway, Cassie’s class has gone a camp. She won’t be back until Sunday. I’m all by myself tonight.” He shrugged. “Come over then. I’ll cook, and we’ll gossip.” She smiled. “Oh, let me see, a reheated frozen meal and the latest reality show, or some of your fine haute cuisine and intelligent conversation. Decisions, decisions.” She paused for a beat. “Seven okay?” Daniel nodded, hands in pockets, looking adorable in that little-boy way he had. “It’s a date. See you then.” Janet watched as he strolled out the room. As she returned to her own office, she couldn’t help but overhear the excited whisperings of her nurses. She snorted and turned to the Inventory – they obviously needed something to do if they had time to gossip like that. ~##~ “Have you heard of a wonderful invention called a dishwasher, Daniel?” Janet asked playfully as she unfolded a teatowel. “Do you want to try and lug one up here?” He retorted. “Besides,” he added with a wave of his sudsy hands. “Where could I put one?” Janet shrugged and picked up a plate, wiping it dry. “Oh, you’d be surprised where they’ll fit.” Daniel shrugged, hands under the water. “Nah. I like doing them by hand. It’s actually an old archeologist’s trick. On digs they all want to be washer – best way to get your hands clean.” He stopped scrubbing and held them up to the light. “See. Spotless.” Janet laughed and flicked him with the towel before resuming her duty. Dinner had been incredibly enjoyable, Janet truly relaxing for the first time in far too long. Their conversation had skipped across a dozen lightweight topics, humorous stories and anecdotes that can only be shared between staff of their most secretive base. She had wondered how to broach the subject of the Lever Chronicles. How do you just out and ask someone if they had ever gone on an insane killing spree? “Janet?” “Huh?” She asked, suddenly tuning back into her surroundings. “I think the plate’s dry,” Daniel chided gently. Janet felt herself blush slightly. “Sorry.” Daniel reached over and put the plate back on the draining rack, before relieving her of her towel. Using it to dry his hands as he spoke, he told her “I think the rest can be left out to dry. Now, what is it you want to ask?” “Huh?” She asked again, then mentally slapped herself. Daniel chuckled. “Janet, for a member of an ultra-secret organization, you read like an open book some days. You’ve had a burning question all evening, I can tell. Now, go sit down, compose your thoughts, plant you mikes or whatever it is you do, and I’ll get coffee.” As if she were a child, he gently pushed her in the direction of his living room. Unsure whether to seethe or smile, Janet did as she was told. She was curled up on one end of the sofa, shoes off and feet tucked beneath her, when Daniel rejoined her a few minutes later. Settling down with his own mug on the other end, he regarded her with a steady gaze. “Okay, shoot.” “Do you remember a man named William Lever?” Daniel paused mid-sip. Swallowing his mouthful, he nodded slowly. “Yes. Just a kid given a job to big for him. I’d heard rumours of mortal’s recording the lives of Immortals by then, but hadn’t put much stock in them until I found one for myself.” Janet smiled despite herself. “Proof in the pudding?” “Something like that. So tell me, why are we talking about the delightful Master Lever?” “I was reading his Chronicle again today, and something caught my attention.” The slight air of amusement faded from Daniel’s expression. “A whole lot of somethings, if my memory serves,” he spoke softly. “Though, for that period, it’s doubtful in the extreme.” Janet pounced. “So there was something wrong?” Daniel snorted, but the humour evident earlier was now noticeable by its absence. “I was going out of my mind, Janet. Already falling fast by the time the good Master Lever and I had our little chat. If he hadn’t forced me to run, I don’t know what would have happened.” “Where did you go? Our Chronicles have a gap.” Off his sly look, she held up her hands. “Completely off the record if you’d prefer.” “I do. I headed where I always go when I think the Universe is having too much fun kicking me in the guts.” Understanding dawned. “Egypt. Of course.” Daniel shrugged, cradling his mug carefully. “Out the back of beyond, past all the gentlemen explorers stripping the mummies for their wrappings and looting the tombs in the name of ‘science.’ No Immortal’s to hunt, no one at all, in fact.” He tried for a joke. “I do so hate falling apart in front of an audience.” “It’s happened before.” Despite her best intentions, it came out as a statement rather than a question. Daniel just nodded, eyes on his coffee as if the dark liquid held the secrets of the Universe. Janet took a deep breath, well aware she was past the point of no return. “Why then?” The silence dragged on so long Janet felt she wasn’t going to get her answer. “A lot of reasons, I suppose. My time again, maybe.” He stopped again, but Janet could almost hear his mind turning as he thought of how to phrase his words, and so she kept her silence. “I was already on the way down when I took that first head. I had been fighting so hard for control, but then this…this kid, really. He just crossed into my radar and…and I just lost it. Next thing I know, his head is on the cobblestones and my mind is getting fried. He was a Hunter, you see.” Janet felt her jaw drop open. “A Dark Quickening?” Daniel was immediately shaking his head negatively. “No. I just got an up close and personal reminder of how…how thrilling it can be to Hunt.” He looked up at her from beneath his long fringe. “I was a Hunter once, Janet. I’d felt the bloodlust before, but normally I could control it. But…I was already so tired…” “So you ran with it,” Janet murmured, more to herself than to her friend. “I think I understand.” Another shake of the head. “No, I don’t think you do. You don’t really know what it’s like to Hunt, Janet, and I hope you never do. Anthropologists and animal behaviorists get it, to some extent. They’ve seen how really good Hunters take on attributes of their quarry. They become their prey to capture their prey. I…I did that, Janet. I went Hunting and became my worst nightmare. I went cold inside, my only pleasure came from the kill, nothing else came close. It was all I wanted…” he trailed off slightly, looking anywhere but at Janet. “I scared myself, Janet. Even as I Hunted, there was a part of me that was sickened by what I was capable of…” Janet sat back, Lever’s words echoing around her head. ** I dread what will happen when these urges completely overwhelm the veneer of civilization…** “But you recovered,” she whispered to herself. She almost jumped off the couch when Daniel answered her anyway. “Eventually. We all do, you know. Well, we recover from the insanity part, anyway. It’s almost like its part of our makeup – we have to have a break every few millennia. Time off for bad behaviour.” The joke was almost acid for the self-recrimination in the tone. “Live, grow stronger, fight another day. Trite but true.” He smiled self- consciously and looked into his empty mug. “More coffee?” ~##~ “Doctor? That was the Gateroom, SG-1 is heading down for their check- up.” Janet looked up from the never-ending stack of paperwork with a small smile for the distraction. “Thanks Susie, I’ll be right out.” As the nurse retreated from her office, Janet rose and began stacking her files neatly. She had been brooding all day, trying not to ponder on the awkward way she and Daniel had ended the previous night. But what do you say when your friend tells you he habitually falls into a bloodcrazy insanity every once in a while? How are you meant to react? Any further musings were cut off as the man himself strode into her domain. Even at a distance, she could see something was up. There was a tension in his neck, a certain something in the way he carried himself which screamed ‘Stay Away From Me.’ Concern growing, Janet stepped into the Infirmary in time to see Daniel disappear into one of the curtained cubicles. Turning her head, she saw the rest of SG-1 come in, confusion and worry on their faces. Okay, so Jack wasn’t being an ass again – what else could it be? Deciding it was time to do a bit of covert investigation, she waved Susie over. “Take Doctor Jackson up for his MRI, would you Susie? I’ll get started on the others.” Forcing herself into nonchalance, she watched through her eyelashes as Susie escorted Daniel away to the medical imaging. The crossed arms only reinforced the ‘Keep Away’ attitude he was all but screaming. Waving the other three team members onto examination beds, she started with Sam. “What’s up with Daniel, he looks a little tense?” Janet hoped her tone wasn’t conveying her concern. Feeling behind Sam’s ears and along her neck, she listened as the physicist spoke. “I don’t know. He barely said two words all mission, then almost snapped Graham’s head off when we got back.” Jack chimed in with his usual flippant humour. “There were none of his rocks on P4X…whatever. Danny just got in a snit cos he was bored.” Janet pasted a smile on her face as she took a blood sample. “And Graham?” “Didn’t move fast enough out of Danny-boy’s way, obviously.” Jack winced as Janet approached with a tray of needles. “Never get in the way of a deprived archeologist.” He shrugged, then whispered an apology as Janet yanked his arm down to hold it still before sticking the needle. “He’ll drink some coffee, play with those gizmo’s SG3 brought back and he’ll be as happy as a grave robber in ruins.” Wincing as the needle was withdrawn, he smiled and changed the subject. “How’s Cassie?” Admitting to herself that she could not get any more out of these three without arousing suspicions, she allowed the conversation to drift around her. That was one of the benefits of working in a top secret military facility – the base grapevine was fantastic. ~##~ A trip to the Mess for an ‘afternoon snack’ soon yielded her the full story, as it were. Graham Simmons had been in the Gateroom checking on one of his sensors when SG-1 had returned. He had jumped down to say hello – no doubt eager to talk to Sam some, his crush becoming painfully obvious – and had strayed too close to Daniel. Whilst his actual words to the technician were inaudible to any of the witnesses, the general consensus was that it was enough for Graham to go a rather spectacular shade of first white, then red, before he raced out of the room like Apophis itself was on his tail. Apparently even the General had noticed it, but Daniel had stormed out for her Infirmary before he could be called on it. Detouring several levels to walk casually past his office, she noticed the door to his office was firmly closed. Janet was more than a little surprised. He always left his door open when he was in, it was the only way people would come to talk to him. Very early on in his career with the SGC, he had learnt that people weren’t knocking and ‘disturbing him,’ on pain of death from a certain over-protective Colonel. Sealing himself up like that, it was out of character for the Jackson personality. “You looking for Doctor Jackson, maam?” She turned, startled out of her reverie, by the young technician who had addressed her. “Um, just seeing if he had gone home, that’s all. Nothing that can’t wait.” The tech nodded, leaning in conspiratorially. “That may be a good idea, maam. He’s not exactly in the best mood at the moment.” The tech nodded once. “From what I understand, it’s interrupt him on point of death. I’ve never seen him this grumpy before!” Janet smiled, her mind going into damage control. “Rough and dull mission. If it was me, I’d be shooting things with a P-90 by about now.” The tech laughed and saluted before heading off down the corridor. Janet returned to her own domain slowly, Janet turned over in her mind everything that she had learnt in the past few days. Was it her own overactive imagination filling in the gaps? Everyone was allowed an off day once in a while, weren’t they? It didn’t mean anything, surely? Forcibly, she put these thoughts to the back of her mind as she completed her early evening rounds. But once her duties were done, and she was back in the office, she managed to resist temptation for all of ten minutes before the black disk came out and she was logging into the Chronicles. Typing rapidly, she soon found the passage that was on her mind. **There are stories that just last week he verbally berated one of his students – they say he was in a terrible rage. No doubt he will loose students to tutor if he continues to deteriorate.** So he was snapping at people when he was…before. That meant nothing. Shutting down and locking up her office for the day, she picked up her bag and coat and headed for the surface elevator. It was a coincidence, nothing more. She wouldn’t have thought twice about it if she hadn’t been reading the Lever Chronicles. Besides, she argued with herself as she approached the final check-out, Danya had been Hunting almost nightly before Lever noted the change in his daily behaviour. Danya hadn’t played the Game in over a year, and there was no sign of that changing. She noted that Daniel had signed out over an hour before. Hopefully tomorrow would see him return in a better mood, and she could put these fanciful ideas to rest. Picking up her bag, she nodded goodnight to the SF on duty and stepped out into the cold evening air. A voice hailed her, and she smiled hello as Doctor Warner, her opposite number, walked up to greet her. “Evening, Janet. Heading home? Hope Cassie isn’t afraid of thunder?” “Why?” She asked with a smile. “Oh, just saw this intense bolt of lighting as I was driving out of town.” He looked up as he shifted his own bag from one hand to another. “Strange, its not really the right time of year.” He shrugged. “Oh well, just a storm, right?” She nodded weakly, a sickening knot forming in her stomach. “Right.” Warner didn’t notice her discomfort as he waved farewell and headed into the mountain. Dazed, Janet unlocked her car and drove home, arguing with herself all the way. It couldn’t have been a Quickening. And even if it was, it didn’t mean anything. There was no pattern yet, it could have just have been a chance encounter – Colorado Springs was certainly a logical stopover point for anyone passing through the area. It didn’t mean anything, yet. The argument ceased when she saw her email that was waiting for her at home. A cc- message from another field watcher to Joe, noting the death of her subject at the hands of another Immortal in Colorado Springs. The description was a near-perfect match. It was Danya. ~##~ “I was wondering when you would appear,” an exhausted voice told her as the door swung wide. She held up a shopping bag. “Icecream. Irish coffee, nice stuff.” Janet was inordinately pleased when the Immortal smiled. He stepped back to let Janet enter. As she passed, she took visual stock of her charge. The battered tracksuit pants and t-shirt looked like they had seen better days, but the bare feet were surprisingly cute, as was the rumpled hair and slightly dazed expression. She strode through his apartment, finding two spoons before returning to the living room and pulling him down to sit beside her. She thrust a spoon in his direction. “Dig in. It should be nice and melty now.” The smile returned. “Melty? Is that a word?” Janet dug out a good size scoop. “You got anything better?” He sighed and put his spoon to use. “My neurons are too fried to remember my own name at the moment, let alone a proper adjective for…mmmm” He shut up and just savoured the flavours. “Good.” She smirked and took another spoonful. Side by side, they ate in companionable silence until they were scraping against the bottom of the small container. Putting it aside, she settled back against the cushions. “What happened?” Daniel dropped his spoon on the coffeetable and scrubbed his face, ruffling his hair even more. “A bad day got even worse.” He looked at her from between splayed fingers. “I stop to pick up something for dinner, felt a Buzz.” He shrugged. “Went outside, to the carpark. He was waiting. We took it round the back, I won.” The long-fingered hands dropped back down to his lap. “BIG Quickening,” he sighed. “Really, really. He was old for a Hunter. Lots and lots of heads to his credit.” Another sigh, longer and more drawn out than before. “I came home, had a shower, you came, we ate ice cream, I tell you the story.” He shrugged. “And that brings us up to date.” She smiled, feeling reassured and slightly foolish for the wild flights of fancy that her imagination had taken. People had bad days, even laid back Immortals. Challenges were issued all the time, even in places like Colorado Springs. It didn’t mean anything. “Are you alright?” Janet laughed. “I was going to ask you that!” Daniel smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Great minds think alike. I’m fine, just exhausted and jittery all at the same time.” He shrugged. “I’ll survive.” He raised an eyebrow as if to say ‘now you.’ She nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. A little worried about you, but fine now.” She rose. “And as both your Doctor and your Watcher, I am telling you to get some rest.” She leant over and pecked a kiss onto his forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay.” “Sure thing, Janet. Goodnight.” He shuffled along after her and saw her out the door. Smiling, Janet returned to her car. It wasn’t until she was almost home that she realised. Neither Daniel nor the death report had said who had Challenged who. ~##~