Gigi Sinclair

"Dr. Jones is dead."

"Better tell Aqua. They've been looking for him." Jack snorted at his own wit and flipped past a "Sports Illustrated" article on the NBA. There was something inherently wrong about a sport where you could score a hundred and two points and still lose dismally.

"What?" Daniel never had appreciated good music, in any form.

"Forget it. Was he a friend of yours?" Jack skimmed over a golfing article, then wondered what had ever happened to Feretti's clubs, the ones he and Teal'c had "borrowed" in the time loop.

"Not exactly."

Jack glanced up at Daniel, who was staring intently at his archaeology journal. "But you knew him, right?" Hey, Jack could do sensitive with the best of them. Well, he corrected himself, he was no Carter or Fraiser, but he was a solid second-tier sympathizer.

"Everyone knew him, Jack. Dr. Henry Jones, Junior. Questionable archaeological technique, but he saved some of the world's most valuable artifacts from the Nazis."

"The Oskar Schindler of old stuff?"

"Not quite." Daniel sighed, a little wistfully. "I met him once."

"Really." Jack tried to sound as neutral as possible, which was difficult given the admiration in Daniel's voice. Daniel tended to get all bent out of shape when Jack exhibited any trace of jealousy, but that didn't keep him from putting the moves on anything with legs. Including certain choice articles of furniture. "Guess he must have been pretty old by that time, huh?"

Daniel shrugged. "He was in his seventies. Still an amazing man, though."

"So how come I never heard of him?" Daniel looked at Jack evenly and ignored the question. Jack tried again. "So what did this guy look like?"

"There's a picture here."

Jack reached out for the journal. It was petty, sure, but Jack knew he'd feel a whole lot better once he saw that Jones was a just a geeky old academic.

He wasn't. There were two pictures with the article, one captioned "Dr. Henry 'Indiana' Jones, Junior, Harvard, 1933" and the other "Dr. Jones, Oxford, 1978." In the first case, "Indiana" was standing in a fedora and a suit beside an old-time car, looking vaguely uncomfortable as a woman with a stuffed bird on her hat hung onto his arm. "Indiana" was, Jack had to admit, extremely good- looking. Jack had thought Daniel was the only human being that could make glasses look devastatingly sexy, but now he saw that had been a mistaken assumption.

Jones reminded Jack vaguely of a movie star, although he couldn't quite put his finger on which one, with light-coloured hair—probably brown, although it was hard to tell on a black-and-white photograph—and a scar on his chin. In the second picture, Jones' hair was grizzled and grey and there was a patch over one eye. He was no longer as handsome, but he was still attractive. Jack could imagine women falling at his feet even at that age. Women, and Jack thought, impressionable young archaeology students. "Where did you meet him?" Jack asked, handing back the journal.

"There was a reception at the university when I was an undergrad. Strictly for the department chairs and a few select grad students. I sneaked in." Daniel smiled nostalgically. "Dressed as a waiter. I had to carry hors d'oeuvres around all night, but it was worth it."

"I guess." Jack tried to picture a young, longhaired Daniel in a tuxedo and apron, handing out crab canapés for the chance to see his idol in person. "You probably didn't get to speak to Jones, though, right? I mean, at a fancy reception like that he was probably monopolized by the dean or whatever." Jack hoped.

"I didn't put in all that effort just to stare at him from behind a potted plant, Jack." No, Jack thought. Despite what most people, including Jack, would like to believe, Daniel had never been retiring. "He was flattered when I told him what I'd done to meet him."

Jack just bet he was. Dirty old man.

"He told me that you can't always follow the rules, or you'll never get anything out of life," Daniel mused, like he was talking to himself more than to Jack. "Then he said there would always be people like the dean trying to tell me what I could and couldn't do, and I had to say fuck them or I'd never amount to anything."

"Inspirational stuff." Jack couldn't remember ever giving Daniel any solid advice. Beyond "duck," but even then, Daniel didn't listen often enough to make it worthwhile.

"Then we had sex in a bathroom stall."

"What?"

Daniel shook his head. "You're so transparent, Jack."

"Hey." Jack straightened up. "I'm not the one gushing about some dead guy."

"Dr. Jones was amazingly brave," Daniel admitted, and Jack wondered if that was supposed to make him feel better. "And old enough to be my grandfather. You never had a pointless crush on a hero?"

Jack decided not to mention the Mickey Mantle phase of his youth. He'd never met Mickey Mantle in person and anyway, Mantle didn't have an eyepatch and a sideline kicking Nazi ass.

"I'm not jealous," Jack lied, turning back to his magazine. Anyway, he reminded himself, Jones was dead and therefore not exactly a threat.

Funny how that wasn't as comforting as Jack would have thought.

"If it hadn't been for Dr. Jones' influence, I probably wouldn't have had the courage to stand by my theories," Daniel went on, conversationally. "And I never would have met you. So really, you should be thanking him."

"Right." Jack sighed and tried to be reasonable. "I'll get right on that. Maybe send some flowers to his grave or something."

"It was just puppy love, Jack. You don't have to worry."

Jack knew he was being patronized, but he didn't care. He grunted and riffled his magazine pages. "Anyway, what's a Nazi or two compared to a few dozen Goa'uld, right?"

"Actually, we have all kinds of high-tech weapons, and rumour has it Dr. Jones rescued a lot of artifacts armed only with a bullwhip and a revolver…" Daniel looked at Jack and quickly added, "But you're still the top dog."

Damn right, Jack thought. And if he and Jones met up in hell or wherever, Jack would be sure to challenge him to a bullwhip duel or something, then they'd see who was tougher. As long as Daniel wasn't around to watch.