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“So, as you can see from this image here,” Daniel said as another photograph appeared on the screen. “This was taken from inside the cave. And just there –” he added, as he clicked onto the top right corner of the image. “It’s clearly cuneiform.”
When his revelation didn’t get any response, he waved a hand in the air and continued excitedly. “And this is where things get really interesting, because here –” he said, as he highlighted a different section of the carvings, “this is incorrect for this system of writing.”
Jack bit back a sigh. “What’s your point, Daniel?”
“Well, as we know, cuneiform writing began as a system of pictograms –”
“English 101,” came Jack’s droll reply, which garnered a smirk from Carter.
“– which stemmed from an even earlier system of shapes, but in the third millennium, these pictorial representations became simplified and more abstract as –”
“Daniel?”
“Right,” he nodded. “I’m getting to my point now.”
“Get there quicker.”
Unaware of the long-suffering look that was shared by the others around the briefing room table, he continued. “The system is a combination of logophonetic, consonantal alphabetic and syllabic signs –”
“Oh, jeez,” Jack sighed.
“– but the structure is more akin to that of, uh, poetry.”
“Poetry?” Jack echoed. “You want me to send SG-1 on a four-day mission to read poetry?”
“No. Uh, yes. Well –” Daniel winced, then glanced down at his mission folder. “I say poetry, but it’s more like… a series of limericks.”
“Limer – Forget it, Daniel. I’m –”
“Look, I know this sounds ridiculous, but I think it could be important, Jack.”
“How?”
“Well, this is clearly an example of two ancient cultures, with vastly different –”
“Daniel,” he interrupted, with more patience than he thought he had. “Have you been able to translate any of those symbols?”
“I’ve tried, but –”
“And do they hint at anything even remotely important?”
“That’s why we need to go to PCZ-568, because –”
“So, let SG-11 handle this one.”
“Jack –” Daniel removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Jack knew he was giving the archaeologist a hard time, as this discovery – whatever it may or may not turn out to be – was his friend’s area of expertise, but with Anubis still lurking somewhere in the galaxy, sending SG-1 off-world to read some poems was not high on his agenda.
The two men stared at each other from opposite ends of the table, when Teal’c interrupted. “Daniel Jackson, what is a limerick?”
Despite the tension in the room, Jack couldn’t help but snort, and he chose to ignore the glare that Daniel sent his direction.
“Uh, a limerick, in this context, is a five-line poem,” he explained. “Typically, its content is of a humorous nature.”
“Doesn’t it has a specific rhyme scheme?” Sam asked, then quickly shrugged at the ‘what-do-you-think-you’re-doing’ look Jack gave her.
“Yes,” Daniel nodded before he took his seat. “So, the first, second, and fifth lines rhyme with each other, and the third and fourth lines, which are shorter, form a rhyming couplet.”
After a few moments of silence, Teal’c answered with a solemn, “I see”, even though Jack could see that the Jaffa hadn’t grasped the concept at all.
“Could we get back on track here,” Jack said with a long-suffering sigh.
“Yes, as I was saying, it’s believed –”
Deciding he’d definitely heard enough, the General tuned out Daniel’s voice and flipped open his notepad and started to write. He now had various limericks going through his head and while most of them were childish or else particularly rude, he still found them amusing. Like the one about the man from Nantucket –
“Sir?”
Jack’s head shot up when Sam’s hand came to rest on his arm, but when he looked around the table, he saw all three of his former teammates staring at him. Clearly, they had decided the briefing had finished and were waiting to see whether they would be going off-world or not. He cast another quick glance at Carter and when he saw her attention focused on his notes, he tried to subtly shield them from view.
“Fine,” he finally sighed, but when he saw Daniel’s curious expression replaced with one of excitement, he pointed at his friend. “But only for two days.”
“Two days?”
“Two days is fine, sir. Thank you,” Carter replied quickly.
When no further comments were made, Jack dismissed the team. He was vaguely aware of them collecting their notes, but he didn’t realize they were still hovering until Daniel appeared at his shoulder.
“Jack?”
He quickly ripped the page from the notepad as he got to his feet. “Daniel?”
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” he answered. “Don’t you have a mission to get ready for?”
“Yeah,” he said, then gestured towards the paper in Jack’s hand. “What’s that?”
“Notes. From the briefing.”
“Can I see them?”
“No.”
Studiously ignoring his answer, Daniel forged on ahead. “Why not?”
“Classified.”
With a roll of his eyes, the younger man reached out and grabbed the page before Jack could stop him, and then stepped out of his reach.
“Daniel –”
“Is this a limerick?”
“Give it back. Now.”
“What does it say?”
Jack winced at Carter’s question. He’d momentarily forgotten she and Teal’c were still there. Unfortunately, Daniel, distracted by the paper in his hand, seemed to forgotten that very important point too when he started to read.
“There once was a colonel called Carter,
Who just seemed to get hotter and hotter.
With a handful of sass,
And a really nice –”
“I’ll take that, thank you,” Jack snapped as he plucked the sheet from his hand.
He refused to look Sam in the eye, but he could feel her gaze burning into him. After what felt like an eternity, she finally spoke, her voice quiet and unsure.
“Daniel, Teal’c. Go get geared up.”
She waited until they left the room before she moved closer to the General, who instinctively took a step back, only to freeze when Sam shook her head. She reached out and he silently handed over the now crumpled piece of paper.
She frowned as she read its contents. “You didn’t finish it.”
Jack eyebrows shot up in surprise. Whatever he had been expecting his former second-in-command to say, that hadn’t been it. He was also surprised at the lack of anger or disapproval in her voice, but rather the curiosity that lined her statement.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I, uh…”
“Couldn’t find anything else to rhyme with Carter?”
“I –” He hesitated when he saw the slightest smile grace her lips. So, safe in the knowledge that she wasn’t angry, he smirked. “Is that sass I hear, Carter?”
She shrugged, but Jack’s amusement quickly faded. “Look, Sam, I’m sorry, I –”
“Are you?”
Truthfully, Jack wasn’t sure. He was sorry that Sam heard the limerick, but he wasn’t necessarily sorry over its content because, in his unbiased opinion, everything he’d written was true. So, he decided it was best to go with honesty.
“I’m sorry I got caught.”
When Sam narrowed her eyes, he grimaced. “It’s inappropriate, I know, but I also meant every word,” he added quietly. “I’m not sorry about that.”
He waited with baited breath as Sam worked through his answer, her expression switching from surprise to embarrassment to determination in one fell swoop.
“Can I keep this?” She asked, holding the page in the air.
“I think it’d be best if you got rid of it.”
“No! I – I want to keep it.”
“What? Why?”
A pink blush appeared on Sam’s face, which intrigued him and he cocked his head to the side. “Carter?”
“I’ve never had a poem written about me before.”
“It’s a limerick, Carter. It’s hardly Walt Wiltman or Emily Dickinson or even Shakespeare, for crying out loud.”
“No, it’s not,” she agreed. “It’s you.”
Her eyes met his and Jack found himself unable to look away.
“Carter, I don’t think it’d be a good idea,” he murmured. “It’s not exactly... conventional.”
“Probably not,” she said, matching his tone. “But can I ask you something, sir?”
“Sure.”
Carefully, she folded the piece of paper and tucked it into the pocket of her BDUs, before she took a step back and started to make her way out of the room. “When have we ever been conventional?”