Author's Notes: This chapter is a little longer than the others.

Chapter Seven
Talking Other Ways

If anyone had told Allyssa Michaels she would one day work at a top-secret military facility, she wouldn't have believed it. If anyone had told her aliens existed, she would have laughed in his face. In fact, she had. There had been that dweeb in college, a genius five years younger than the rest of her classmates, whose shaggy hair and antiquated glasses hid shy eyes. Daniel Jackson hadn't actually mentioned aliens, but he'd been passionate about his theories on cross-pollination of cultures, and once the popular Ben Lakefield whispered "aliens," everyone else had been quick to join the bandwagon, Ally included.

Working on her doctoral thesis in linguistics a few years later, she'd been forced to reconsider Daniel Jackson's cross-pollination idea. The similarities between "dead" languages and languages used in different countries throughout the world couldn't be mere coincidence. Like Daniel, she didn't refer to alien influence, but her lectures and books were branded revolutionary and unconventional. Every once in a while, a reporter would decide to sensationalize her theories by alluding to aliens.

She'd been close to giving up the lecture tour when an old high school teacher asked her to give a series in Colorado Springs. The students were the bulk of the audience, but since the lecture was open to the public, a few others attended as well. She couldn't help but notice one of the attendees, a young man who watched her with a focus that was unnerving and a half-smile that hinted at private amusement. When the young man invited her to join him for coffee, she'd accepted immediately. After all, he was good-looking with no ring on his left finger, and she was single. They'd reached the coffee shop before he introduced himself.

"You don't remember me, do you?" His smile was self-depreciating. "Daniel Jackson. We were in college together."

She gasped her recognition and stared at him for a full minute. He was wearing a dark blue suit that fitted him nicely, instead of the secondhand, baggy clothes of their college days. His hair was shorter. He met her gaze with an air of quiet confidence. While she was still floundering at the changes in the man she'd once considered a dweeb, he offered her a job.

Sometime later, she learned that Daniel Jackson hand-picked or had a say about every person who worked in the SGC's archaeology, anthropology, and linguistics departments, all of which he headed. He ignored the military practice of last names or ranks and called each of his colleagues by his or her first name. He knew details of everyone's lives, including the names of husbands, wives, and children. He never missed a birthday. Whenever there was a possibility he might be detained off-planet, he arranged for someone to deliver the card in his place. He was the boss everyone loved.

Ally's crush on Daniel faded quickly. It hadn't taken her long to realize that Daniel was dedicated to the Stargate program, his team, and the memory of a dead wife. He didn't have personal life. He didn't have time. Missions, preparation of briefings and reports, translations, supervision of three departments, research, not to mention stays in the infirmary... It seemed to her that no one worked as hard or as long as Daniel Jackson, and she was happy to collaborate with his team members when they stopped by to drag Daniel off to the commissary or home to bed. She stepped into the role of assistant head of linguistics by the simple expedient of dealing with questions and situations before they ever reached Daniel.

She was devastated when Daniel died--or ascended, whatever that meant. They had become good friends who worked well together. She accepted a promotion to head of linguistics while archaeology and anthropology were given to others. Only Daniel could manage three departments at once; no one else was even willing to try. Jonas Quinn was the first to agree that while he had taken Daniel's place on SG-1, he wasn't ready to supervise any department on a planet still alien to him. In linguistics, she maintained the fiction that Daniel wasn't really gone. She and her colleagues approached every language crisis with "Well, Daniel says..." or "This is what Daniel does...".

After Colonel O'Neill called to tell Ally he was bringing in an alive, descended-- whatever that meant--Daniel who was now six years old, Ally wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. In the end, she paced. Pacing helped her think. Usually. It didn't work this time. Her mind was a complete blank when the entrance of O'Neill and Daniel brought her to a halt in the middle of her office.

It was Daniel. There was no doubt about that. Even at six--six!--he wore the same thoughtful expression and smiled the same shy smile. Daniel, in jeans, tennis shoes, and a bright blue Star Wars T-shirt. She sat, rather heavily, and was insanely grateful that she'd been close to a chair. O'Neill smirked. She was willing to bet he'd witnessed this sort of reaction all day.

        "Daniel, this is Doctor Allyssa Michaels, head of linguistics."
        Daniel, his small hand tucked inside O'Neill's, grinned at her.  "There's lotsa 
doctors here, isn't there?  I usedta be a doctor when I was bigger.  Jack said so."
        He turned his grin upward.  Trust shone in his eyes.  O'Neill melted--who 

wouldn't, Ally thought, with that look directed at you?--and released Daniel's hand so he could ruffle Daniel's hair. Daniel leaned against O'Neill's leg like a puppy wanting to be petted. O'Neill rested his hand on Daniel's opposite shoulder, allowing Daniel to stay in the position he'd chosen.

Ally watched them, feeling her own heart melt. She and O'Neill rarely crossed paths. Except for the occasional briefing, the few times she and O'Neill met, he had been cajoling or ordering Daniel away from work. She saw then how much O'Neill cared. But it was through Daniel himself that she really knew O'Neill. Daniel had talked about his team all the time. For Ally, anyone who was worthy of that kind of respect from Daniel was worthy of her own.

"Daniel's having a little trouble with his memories," Jack said, squeezing Daniel's shoulder gently. "Yesterday he understood a conversation in French, but he couldn't remember any French words himself. We thought you could help us get a feel for how many languages he remembers. You speak, what, fourteen languages?"

         "Sixteen," she said.  God, was that her voice?  Croak, croak.  Get a grip, Ally.
        "Pretty close to twenty-three then."
        She still remembered the first time she had discovered Daniel spoke twenty-three 

languages. At first impression, nine times out of ten, Daniel seemed to be that dweeb she had thought he was. Newcomers to the SGC often snubbed the unassuming Dr. Jackson. They soon learned their mistake. The SGC personnel were fiercely protective of Daniel. Anyone, no matter how brilliant, who continued to harass or criticize Daniel didn't last. She'd seen it happen.

A few months after she started at the SGC, she had passed an office and overheard one of their new interpreters complaining to O'Neill.

        "He checks everything."
        O'Neill had sighed.  "That's his job, VanBuren.  Why, exactly, are you coming to 
me with this?"
        "You're his commanding officer.  He has to obey you."
        O'Neill gave a bark of laughter.  "Well, that's the theory, anyway.  But just in the 

field. Even I know better than to cross him in a departmental matter. Look, VanBuren, have you talked to Daniel at all?"

"Of course not." VanBuren sniffed. "He is a child playing at a man's job. I don't know what your superiors were thinking, putting him in charge of three departments."

"Playing?" O'Neill's voice was low, and Ally didn't need to see the colonel's eyes to know they were dangerously narrowed. "VanBuren, how many languages do you speak?"

        "Six, sir," the man answered with a hint of arrogance.
        "Doctor Jackson speaks twenty-three languages.  Most of them fluently.  

Including a couple considered dead by your colleagues. He's the reason this program exists." O'Neill was speaking quietly, but she heard the strength of his pride in Daniel as if he were shouting it. "Now, unlike me, Doctor Jackson is a polite, rational man, and if you take your concerns to him and discuss them--nicely, VanBuren--I'm sure he will do what he can to help you out. However, if I ever hear you whining about my linguist again, I'll send you packing. Is that understood?"

Three days later, VanBuren was in Ally's office, borrowing a research book, when O'Neill stormed in, grabbed VanBuren by the jacket lapels, and shoved him back against the bookcase. "What part of `discuss nicely' didn't you understand, VanBuren?"

She had to give the man credit. Faced with the wrath blazing from O'Neill's face, she would have turned into a blubbering idiot.

        "I simply pointed out that someone more experienced--"
        O'Neill's hand covered VanBuren's throat and momentarily cut off the words and 

the air flow. "No one has more experience than Daniel Jackson. No one, and I mean absolutely no one, has more right to be here. Anyone who tells him otherwise is not welcome." O'Neill stepped back, releasing VanBuren so suddenly the man staggered. "Get out."

        VanBuren rubbed at his throat and stared.  "Are you...firing me?"
        "Yep."
        "You can't..."
        "Watch me.  Get.  Out.  Now."
        VanBuren did the first and only smart move of his brief employment at the SGC.  
He got out.  Fast.  O'Neill's shoulders sagged.  He massaged the back of his neck.
        "God, I wish I knew what Daniel sees in jerks like that."
        By that time, Ally was really worried.  She realized she hadn't seen or heard from 

Daniel in the past two days. Unless he was off-world, he checked in with the department at least once a day. "Is Daniel all right?"

"He will be. Right now, he's extremely hung-over." O'Neill sighed, still working at his neck muscles, and muttered, "I go through more beer trying to get that kid to talk."

        "What happened?"
        "Mr. I'm-Smarter-Than-Everyone tried to talk Daniel into resigning.  Pretty much 
completely demoralized him in the process."
        O'Neill stalked from the office.
        After some discreet snooping, Ally figured out that while O'Neill had handled 

VanBuren in the end, the watch system over Daniel was far more inclusive. Siler had overheard parts of VanBuren's "discussion" and reported it to Teal'c. Dr. Lee had noticed that Daniel seemed depressed and mentioned it to Major Carter. After Daniel picked up his allergy medication at the infirmary, the nurse who'd helped him commented to Doctor Frasier that Daniel hadn't even asked how she was doing. Doctor Frasier passed that tidbit of information on to General Hammond, who had just received a report from Lou Ferretti that one of Ferretti's team caught VanBuren trying--unsuccessfully-- to garner support for Daniel's resignation from the assistant head of archaeology. Nyan, Daniel's research assistant, called Teal'c, Carter, and O'Neill in an effort to locate Daniel who was an hour late for a staff meeting. The gate guard had confirmed that yes, Daniel had left, and yes, he had seemed rather distant, and he'd be happy to send an SF to track Daniel down. That was when O'Neill took matters into his own hands, found Daniel, got him drunk enough to wring the story of VanBuren's haranguing out of him, and proceeded to fire VanBuren, subject to General Hammond's approval, which was given immediately without question.

When Daniel returned the next day, he was withdrawn and barely looked anyone in the eye. Ally brought him a coffee, told him she'd heard a rumor that he'd been holding back on the linguistics department, and badgered him until he'd demonstrated all twenty-three languages that he spoke. Only to find out that twenty-three was the number of Earth languages and didn't include Goa'uld and its various dialects, the Unas language, and a couple others Daniel had picked up in his interplanetary travels. She got him chuckling--Daniel never laughed--when she tried to imitate some Goa'uld words. O'Neill had walked in at that moment, heard Daniel, and nodded at her with such a look of appreciation, she knew she had an advocate in Colonel O'Neill if she ever needed one.

"Doctor Michaels?" O'Neill's questioning voice broke her out of the reverie and brought her back to the present

She started and felt her face flush with embarrassment. "Sorry. Daniel, why don't you sit--"

She stopped. Daniel had already chosen a chair--his usual one. She had stacked files on Daniel's chair so no one else would ever sit there, and now this child-sized Daniel was transferring the files to the floor and completely ignoring the empty chair nearby. Once the files were stacked on the floor, he climbed into the chair--his chair-- and smiled up at her. His feet dangled several inches above the floor. O'Neill had wandered to the other side of the office, still in Daniel's line of sight but obviously out of Ally's space, clearly leaving her in charge of the conversation.

Ally scooted her own chair closer to Daniel. "Can you tell me which languages you remember?"

"Not any! Doctor Janet says I got holes in my brain." In her peripheral vision, she saw O'Neill open his mouth as if to correct Daniel's medical terminology and then close it without speaking while Daniel continued, "She gived me lots of tests this morning. Some of 'em was real hard."

        "Colonel O'Neill thought you understood French."
        "I guess.  We was at the mall, and I heared a boy and girl talking."
        "Were they talking like this?" she asked in French.
        Daniel nodded.
        "Can you say something to me in French?  Tell me how old you are."
        "I'm six," Daniel answered in flawless French.  "I was older, but Shifu had to 
make me little again."
        "Who's Shifu?" she asked, switching to Russian.
        Daniel switched with her.  "He's my friend.  I think he used to be something else 
too, but I can't remember."
        She tried German, rusty though it was.  "Does he live here in Colorado?"
        "No.  He lives--I don't know where he lives."  Daniel giggled.  "This is a funny 

way to talk. I sound like I'm growling." He glanced over at O'Neill and shifted from German to English. "Did you hear me, Jack? I sounded just like a bear."

        O'Neill smiled.  "You sure did."
        Ally went back to English as well.  "Can you say `bear' in the language we were 
just speaking, Daniel?"
        Daniel's grin dropped.  So did his gaze.  He stared at his tennis shoes and shook 
his head.  "I don't know the words," he muttered.
        "Let's try talking this way again," she said, returning to German.  "Now can you 
tell me?"
        He lifted his head, a surprised expression on his face, and answered in the same 
language, "Now I know it!  It's bear.  That's weird, isn't it?"
        She tried to smile back.  Weird didn't begin to cover it.  The whole situation was 

completely, totally bizarre. Her used-to-be-dead boss was now a six-year-old kid who could speak better German than she could.

"Would you ask Colonel O'Neill to bring me the clipboard on top of the filing cabinet next to him, please?" she asked in Spanish. "I should be taking notes."

Daniel translated the request into English. O'Neill delivered the clipboard, lifting an eyebrow when he passed her desk and saw the available clipboards there. He tousled Daniel's hair and retreated to watch the proceedings again from the side. Daniel gave a huff as he smoothed his hair back in place, but the grin that accompanied it contradicted his attempt at exasperation.

"Maybe you could ask me something," Ally suggested in Arabic as she flipped to a fresh piece of paper and scribbled notes. "You must have questions."

The Daniel she knew always had questions. This one bounced and swung his legs. "Oh! I like this way of talking. It's easy!"

Arabic was Daniel's "first" language. He had once mentioned that it seemed as if he'd learned it while he was still in the womb. Occasionally, he'd told her, the Arabic word would come to him before the English word did.

"Can I look around, Doctor Michaels?" he asked in Arabic. "Please? You have lots of books. I like books. I won't touch them. I just want to look."

"In a minute, Daniel. I want you to read something for me first." She wrote out a short message in the hieroglyphs that formed the Abydonian language, which Daniel had taught her to speak and write.

He gave the paper she handed him a brief perusal. "It says to give praise to the sun-god Ra and a bunch of stuff like that."

"That's right, Daniel. It's from the Book of the Dead." She paused. He looked at her blankly. "Um, okay. Why don't you read it to me now?"

        "I just did."
        "You told me what the words mean.  Can you tell me what they say?"
        He studied the hieroglyphs, nibbling at his lower lip.  He fidgeted in the chair.  "I 
can't.  I don't know."
        He sounded so upset that she reached across the distance separating them and 

patted his knee. It felt strange. Right now she saw an anxious child. Five minutes ago, as that same child flowed effortlessly from language to language, she had seen only Daniel. She could just imagine Daniel's reaction if she tried to comfort him like this, the way he'd smile bravely and the way his eyes would shutter the emotion inside. He'd shrug in his self-depreciating way as if the hurt didn't matter, even though she could see it like a mountain threatening to crush him.

At that moment, the child glanced up and offered her that same brave smile. She snatched her hand back, flustered.

"Yes, well, uh--" She cleared her throat and forced her mind to concentrate. "Let's see. What if I start?"

She read the first couple words in Abydonian. Daniel's face beamed recognition, and his voice lilted familiarly over the Abydonian words as he finished the rest.

"Thank you, Daniel. Good job. Go ahead and take a look around while I talk to Colonel O'Neill for a few minutes, all right?"

He nodded, slid from the chair, and hurried to the nearest bookshelf. Ally joined O'Neill in the corner of the office.

"I only tried a few languages to get us started," she said. "He didn't seem to have any trouble with them. Except..." She trailed off with a sigh.

        "Except?" O'Neill prodded.
        "Well, I had to initiate the language.  He was fine once I started, but other than 

English when he talked to you, he couldn't speak the language without a prompt. It looks like he can translate into English, either from a spoken or written language, but he can't translate English into something else on his own."

O'Neill scrubbed his hands through his hair and grumbled, "It's like they just reached in there and took things out at random."

        "They?"
        "Long story."  O'Neill yawned heavily.  "Sorry.  We were up most of the night.  
Daniel's not too keen on sleeping right now.  Damn glow club."
        The mystery was killing her, and she asked plaintively, "Colonel, what's going 
on?"
        "We're having a briefing with General Hammond and Doctor Fraiser at 1930.  

Why don't you join us? You can give your report to Hammond then." O'Neill checked his watch. "You've got an hour before Doctor Frasier wants Daniel again."

Ally resigned herself to waiting and headed back to Daniel. He had dragged a chair to one of the tables where several of her ongoing translation projects were spread out. As she came closer, she saw that he was bent over the stone tablet SG-1 had brought back from Abydos a month earlier. Apparently, the ascended--whatever that meant-- Daniel had insisted the tablet contained information about a supply of Ancient weapons, but no one in her department had been able to translate it.

While Ally watched breathlessly, recognizing the look of concentration on Daniel's face, Daniel's small finger gently underlined the words carved into the tablet. His mouth moved silently. Ally motioned for O'Neill to join them.

        "Whatcha doing, Daniel?" O'Neill asked.
        "Translating," Daniel replied absently.  "It's Ancient, like you got downloaded 
into your head.  It's old though.  I can't figure it all out."
        "You told us it had something to do with a lost city and some Ancient weapons."
        "Did I?"  Daniel frowned and peered closer at the tablet.  "Not lost.  Hidden.  I 
think they just wanted it to look lost."
        He picked up a photo Ally had been using as reference and then studied the paper 
attached to it.  He shook his head.
        "This is wrong."
        "That's your own handwriting, Daniel," O'Neill said dryly.  "You translated it a 
couple years ago."
        Daniel scrunched his forehead.  "But it's wrong.  This word is `light' and this one 
is `eternity' and this one is `listen.'"
        Ally grabbed a pen and drew a line through the words Daniel had pointed out.  

After she had written in the corrected translation, she reread Daniel's notes. "Oh, wow. That changes the whole meaning. Are you positive about this, Daniel?"

"Oh, sure, that one's easy." Daniel had lost interest in the translations and turned away. "Hey, Jack, didja see the books? She's got lots and lots, doesn't she? Can we come back here again sometime so I can read them all? Why don't you have this many books in your office? Huh? And how come her office is bigger than yours?"

Ally grinned. It was good to have Daniel home, but she was sincerely glad she wasn't the one responsible for him. She knew how much the adult Daniel liked to ask questions; Daniel with the curiosity of a six year old boggled the mind.