Story Notes:

            Rating: PG

            Length: 3700 words

            A/N: Chronologically, this story takes place two weeks after The Price of Knowledge novel and before The Burden of Power series.  The story owes its existence to my sister, Chantelle, who is the real-life inspiration for Ally.  It was written after a performance by the belly dancing troupe that Chantelle is part of, and some of Daniel’s actions in this story are directly taken from my nephew Isaiah’s responses to that performance.

 

 

 

Dancing with the Stars

An interlude in The Price of Knowledge series

 

“Jack!  Jack, look!”  Daniel skids into my office, waving a pair of tickets.  “Ally invited us to her show!”

 

I look up, relieved to be interrupted from my paperwork.  It stacked up during the week Daniel and I took off to recover from the showdown with Gavril and the other ascended beings, and I still haven’t caught up.

 

“Ally’s in a show?”

 

“She’s a belly dancer!”  Daniel’s eyes shine with excitement, and his cheeks are flushed.

 

Nothing much takes me by surprise these days.  After all, I’ve been traveling to other planets for seven years via a stone ring that flushes like a toilet.  Snakes with delusions of grandeur and bugs that look like souped-up Legos are trying to take over the galaxy.  And my best friend is now a six-year-old kid who can levitate three items at once and knows who’s on the phone before it even starts ringing.

 

But Ally…a belly dancer?  That defies imagination.

 

I once thought I knew all I needed to know about Doctor Allyssa Michaels.  She was a competent translator, second only to Daniel in the number of languages she could speak.  More importantly, she knew how to “manage” Daniel.  That took skill.  Back when Daniel was an adult, she had joined forces with me, Carter, and Teal’c in cajoling Daniel to meals and sleep.  She also waylaid projects before they reached Daniel’s attention.  She was one of the few people in the linguistics department I could trust to think of Daniel before thinking of the translation, a task Daniel himself didn’t often excel at.

 

It wasn’t until recently that I’d learned Ally was a woman whose checkered past had developed some surprising talents.  Actress and con artist, she’d bamboozled the NID doctor who tried to take Daniel from the SGC.  She was also proving remarkably adept at juggling Daniel’s various skill levels with a study course that was helping to fill in the gaps caused by his missing memories.

 

But a belly dancer?  I never would have guessed.  Even with the proof of two “Night at the Casbah” tickets in front of my eyes, I’m still having trouble believing it.

 

“Can we go?  Can we, please?” Daniel begs.

 

He leans against my leg and turns brilliant blue eyes upward to do his pleading for him.  It was hard enough to deny the adult Daniel in his full-blown, blue-eyed mode of entreaty.  Saying “no” to the child is downright impossible.

 

“I don’t know, Danny.”  I shudder as I envision Ally in an outfit that reveals way too much skin.  “Belly dancing is—well, you’re probably too young for that sort of thing.”

 

Daniel frowns.  “Jack, it’s a common misconception that belly dancing is an overtly sexual form of dance, but it’s not, really.  It’s a social dance.  It started out as a means of entertainment among the harem women.  Dancing before men was a later practice.  In fact, in some places, the dance is still segregated.”

 

“You do know, don't you, that words like misconception, overtly sexual, harem, and segregated are not common words in a six-year-old’s vocabulary?”

 

“I’m not a common six year old.”

 

“No joke,” I say dryly.

 

“Besides, they weren’t my words.  I read them off Google.”

 

Ah, the glories of Google!  For an information sponge like Daniel, Google is man’s greatest invention.

 

“Jack!” he cries in sudden, aggrieved protest.  “You changed the subject!”

 

“Did I?”

 

He makes a face at me.  “We hafta go, Jack.  Ally says you owe her.”

 

I sigh.  Well, when she puts it that way…

 

#

 

Three nights later, Daniel and I are seated in the front row of a darkened theatre, awaiting our Night at the Casbah.  The stage before us is elaborately decorated.  Persian-style rugs carpet the floor.  Multicolored veils are draped over wooden dividers.  Round cushions and hand drums are scattered around the edges of the stage.  At each corner, a small but leafy tree stands at attention.

 

The music in the background has a seductive beat.  I notice my foot tapping in time and deliberately stop it.  I’m supposed to be bored; Daniel is expecting it.  I had planned to let Carter or someone else do the cultural thing with Daniel, except Ally had written “Especially for Colonel O’Neill.  No exchanges acceptable” on my ticket.  I was beginning to wonder how Ally had gotten to know me so well when Daniel admitted that the addition was his idea.  He knew I’d be bored, and that was okay with him, but he really wanted a “father-son outing.”  The paperwork says I’m Daniel’s legal guardian, but it was the first time Daniel himself had ever referred to me as “father.”  I stopped griping after that.

 

Beside me, Daniel is quivering with anticipation.  Every once in a while, he’ll check out the audience behind us, but mostly his attention is focused on the stage.  He doesn’t want to miss a moment of the belly dancing.

 

The aromas of coffee, cinnamon, mint, and honey drift from the lobby into the theatre.  Treats like baklava and Turkish coffee are being served during the intermission.  My mouth is already watering.

 

Daniel nudges me.  As the lights on the stage dim, I hear female giggles interspersed with the jingle of bells and the rustle of clothing.  The Sultan and Sultana—according to the program—settle onto two of the cushions.  The Sultan waves a languid hand in the direction of the giggling.  Daniel tenses like a hunting dog.  The stage slowly brightens, and twenty ladies dance out.

 

Daniel pokes me again and points toward Ally.  I’m surprised he recognizes her with all the makeup she’s wearing.  Although it takes me a minute to reconcile the translator I know with the decked-out lady on stage, the makeup fits this incarnation of her and doesn’t seem gaudy at all.  I check out the rest of her costume.  Her hair is hidden beneath a burgundy-colored turban, which is covered with a net of gold strands and tiny bells.  Hoops, also with tiny bells, dangle from each ear.  Her blouse is turquoise with long, flowing sleeves that swish gently around her arms as she dances.  The blouse cuts off like a halter top above her waist, leaving about three inches of her stomach exposed.  Tied over the turquoise harem pants are several hip scarves fringed with bells and tiny coins that clink together at every movement.

 

“See?” Daniel hisses with vindicated satisfaction.  “It’s not about sex.”

 

I have to admit that he’s right.  It’s about the dance.  The women’s faces are alight with the joy of movement.  They’re having fun up there, laughing and cheering each other on to greater displays of skill.  And it’s definitely skill.  Even I realize the practice and physical effort that must be involved in moving just the hips or making it look like one muscle has rolled upward from stomach to shoulders in a single motion.

 

At a pause between dances, the Sultana welcomes the audience and gives them permission to clap with the music or shout out the traditional ululation to encourage the dancers.  She demonstrates a noise that sounds like a cross between a battle cry and a kid’s rendition of machine gun fire.  Daniel jumps right on that one.

 

“It’s called a zaghareet,” he tells me just before he imitates the Sultana.  Loudly.  “Eldeledeledeledele!”

 

There are twitters from the audience.  The belly dancers grin.  Ally looks proud.  The Sultana pauses to smile at Daniel and say, “Yes!  Just like that!”

 

Daniel nods, happy to be of service.  He bounces on his seat during the rest of her speech, eager for the dancing to resume so he can ululate some more.

 

I feel contentment wash over me at the sight of Daniel’s exuberant behavior.  Lately, Daniel has been expressing his mature side while we’re at the SGC.  Most of the personnel seem to relate to him better when he acts like a little grown-up.  I don’t like it though.  He’s got more knowledge than the average six year old, but he’s not an adult anymore.  It’s not his natural state.  It’s like watching the adult Daniel hold his tongue whenever we passed up the planets with ruins in favor of the planets with weapons.

 

Daniel is a kid now.  When he’s upset, his vocabulary sinks to toddler level.  When he’s excited, he gets hyper.  When he’s happy, he laughs.  I want him to have the freedom to experience all that.  He grew up too fast the first time.  As long as we’re stuck doing the second childhood thing, we might as well do it right.

 

“Opah!” Daniel shouts out after another demonstration from the Sultana.

 

I try to decide whether I should be pleased or embarrassed as my kid unknowingly does his “oh, isn’t he cute?” thing.  The Sultana and Ally are beaming at Daniel, so it’s obvious what they think.

 

The Sultana returns to her cushion, and the dance resumes.  The women who aren’t involved in a particular sequence stand off to one side and “opah” or “eldeledele” along with Daniel and a few of the braver audience members.  There’s a man behind me who sounds just as enthused as Daniel, his bass voice booming in contrast with Daniel’s higher-pitched one.

 

After a while, I forget that I’m supposed to be bored.  Each dance is unique.  A mirror dance with two dancers paralleling each other.  One of twirling veils.  Another with all the woman using hand cymbals in synchronization.  Another accompanied by the hand drums. 

 

There are skits as well.  My personal favorite is Old Mohammed Had a Tent.  The Sultana asks the audience to sing the chorus with them, and even I can figure out the lyrics to a tune as familiar as “Old McDonald Had a Farm.”  It’s more fun listening to Daniel, though, as he belts out the words, only to dissolve into giggles when the dancers act out the various people and animals in Old Mohammed’s Tent.  Old Mohammed’s frazzled wife keeps forgetting the baby in the tub, which catches Daniel’s funny bone every time.

 

At the intermission, we eat our baklava, and I allow Daniel a small cup of Turkish coffee.  It’s worth it just to see the expression of pure bliss that crosses his face after the first sip.  I heroically resist, however, when he begs for more.  The event won’t end until past his bedtime, and the last thing he needs is a caffeine high that will keep him up even later.

 

“I think Ally is flirting with me,” I complain as I use a wet paper towel to wash honey off Daniel’s mouth.  And his cheeks.  And his hands.  And the front of his shirt.  And his forehead.  I decide not to ask him how the honey got way up there.

 

Daniel looks surprised.  “No, she’s not.”

 

“She keeps winking at me.”

 

Daniel giggles.  “She’s not winking at you.  She’s winking at Scott.”

 

“Scott?  Who’s Scott?  Do I know a Scott?”

 

“The guy sitting behind us.  Ally’s fiancé.  He’s really good with the zaghareet, isn’t he?”

 

My jaw drops.  “Ally’s engaged?  When did that happen?”

 

“Um, last week.  Didn’t you read the memo on your desk?”

 

I can’t find anything on my desk.  Memos are the worst.  Itsy-bitsy, tiny pieces of paper with trivial details and doubtful importance.  They usually disappear before I can read them.  I can’t believe something this important was trusted to a stupid memo.

 

Daniel looks a little confused.  He obviously doesn’t know about the disappearance ratio of memos.  “There was a party at the commissary yesterday.  Remember?”

 

“I remember cake.”

 

Daniel gives a long-suffering sigh, and I recognize it as one of the parental sounds I’ve heard Janet use with Cassie.  “Jack, what are we going to do with you?”

 

I grin, hearing Janet in that one too.  It makes me wonder what kind of mischief Daniel got into the last time Janet took care of him for a few hours.

 

I blink innocently.  “It was good cake.”

 

Daniel rolls his eyes.  Since he turned away just before he did it, I’m betting he picked that one up from Carter.  She’s sneaky like that.

 

We head back to the theatre, and sure enough, Ally is taking advantage of the intermission to give Scott a little personal attention.  He looks familiar.  I think he might be one of the new recruits who arrived last month while I was busy settling Daniel in.  I remind myself to pull his personnel file for a quick look-see.

 

“Daniel!”  Ally bends to Daniel’s level and opens her arms.  Daniel runs to her and allows himself to be engulfed and cuddled.

 

“Did you hear me?  I was cheering for you.  The other girls too, but mostly you.  I did the zaghareet just like you showed me.”

 

She kisses his forehead.  I hope I washed all the honey off.  “I heard you.  You’ve been excellent.”

 

“Scott was cheering too, but not Jack cuz he’s undercover.”

 

Ally looks up at me with a raised eyebrow.  “Undercover?”

 

Daniel nods.  “He’s pretending to be bored.  It’s very hard.  I think he wants to say ‘opah!’ too, but then everyone will know he’s not bored, so he can’t.  He used to do that during briefings too.  I remember.  Sam would be talking, and Jack would doodle because he was pretending to be bored, but he wasn’t really.  Hey, Jack, did you doodle when I was talking too?”

 

“No.  I was busy catching up on my sleep then.”

 

I’m teasing, and I wait to see how he’ll respond.  I have to be careful sometimes.  He has a tendency to take anything I say literally.  He’s as bad as Teal’c used to be.  This time, though, he gets it and rolls his eyes again, this time making sure I can see him do it.

 

“Ha, ha, very funny.”  He turns his attention back to Ally.  “Can you teach me how to belly dance like you?”

 

She smiles.  “Sure.  Tell you what.  During the last song, the Sultana will invite everyone who wants to dance up to the stage.  You can come dance with me then.”

 

“Really?  Cool!”  He’s bouncing again, and I’m really glad I didn’t let him have any more coffee.  “I’m gonna go dance, Jack!”

 

I frown.  “Are you sure you want to do that, Daniel?  It sounds like it might be boring.”

 

Daniel looks at me as if I’ve grown a second nose.  Ally laughs.  The lights in the theatre dim briefly, warning everyone that the intermission is about to end.

 

“I have to go.”  Ally gives both Daniel and Scott one more kiss.  Her assortment of bells and tiny coins clink and jingle as she heads backstage.

 

The second half of the show is even more lively.  Now that the audience has been primed and fed, and the inhibitions lowered by the optional dollop of mint liqueur available for the Turkish coffee, they’re more willing to ululate and yell out “Opah!” and clap to the music.  Which is good because Cheerleader Daniel is fast fading.

 

Midway through the second half, Daniel climbs up into my lap and wiggles into a comfortable position.  His head slumps back and rests on my shoulder.  He grows more sleepy through the next couple songs, his eyes glazing.  I surreptitiously check my watch.  Yep, we’re an hour past his usual bedtime, and he’s running out of gas.  No more zig-zag-parakeets for him.  The opah kid is out of oomph.

 

Ally crosses the stage in front of us, throwing another wink in Scott’s direction.  Daniel lifts his hand in a drowsy wave, forgetting that she can’t actually see him with the spotlights pointed toward the stage.

 

I keep an eye on the program.  When we’re five songs from the end, I nudge him.  He’s not quite asleep but getting closer.  If he drops off without dancing onstage, he’ll be miserable for days.

 

“Hey, you.  Wanna wake up?  Five more songs and you can go dance with Ally.”

 

He straightens abruptly.  “Now?”

 

“No, after five more songs,” I repeat.

 

He nods, rubs his eyes, and then blinks rapidly, clearing sleep from his system.  The dance comes to an end.  He wiggles impatiently.

 

“Four more songs.  Right?  Four more?”

 

I nod.  He gives a little bounce.  His gaze is glued on Ally.  The moment the dance is over, he leans back toward me just enough to whisper, “Three more songs!”  He starts wiggling again, and I finally pluck him off my lap and plop him back into his seat beside me.  I’m thinking I should have waited longer before waking him up.

 

He counts down after each song.  By the last one, he’s as rigid as a runner awaiting the starter’s gun.

 

When the music for the last song fades, he asks in a whisper, “Now, Jack?  Now?”

 

“Wait for the Sultana to tell you it’s okay,” I whisper back.

 

He nods, still focused on Ally.  The Sultana makes the invite.  Daniel hops off his chair, takes three steps, and then glances back over his shoulder for my permission.  Grinning, I wave him on.  He beams and races toward the stage.

 

In the process, though, he’s lost track of Ally.  He falters at the edge of the stage, looking lost and bewildered as he tries to pick out one person in a crowd of belly dancers and audience members, most of whom are twice his size.  Another dancer tries to urge him forward, farther onto the stage.  Turning shy, he takes a step back and looks frantically in my direction.

 

I see the panic rise.  He can’t see me.  Because of the stage spotlights, the rest of the theatre is in shadow.  Afraid that he’s going to freak, I jump up and hurry toward him.

 

Ally spots him before I reach the stage.  He shrieks when she grabs his hand, but the fright passes as if it’s never been when he realizes who has his hand.  His face lights up with an excited grin.  She grins back and swirls him into the press of people.  He goes willingly.  I amble back to my seat and settle in to watch the kid learn how to shimmy his hips.

 

During the ride home, Daniel’s animated monologue about his dancing, interspersed with the occasional “Did you see me, Jack?”, eventually tapers off.  The truck is quiet as he slides slowly toward sleep again.  When we get home, I heft him into my arms to carry him inside.  He lifts his head off my shoulder.

 

“Wait, Jack.”  He tips his head back farther.  Moonlight illuminates his face.  “Look.  Look at the stars.”

 

I pause.  It’s a beautiful night.  We don’t have to be at the SGC until tomorrow afternoon, so there’s time to admire the stars.  For Daniel, I’ll take time for anything.

 

I think this is what I missed most about Daniel the year he was ascended.  Heck, even the year before he ascended.  No one could do awe and wonder the way Daniel could and make me see it too.  The treasure in the tiniest scrap of paper.  The miracle of a pottery shard.  The delight of another language.  The simple beauty of a star.  We’d lost that awe for a while, first to military needs and then to a lethal dose of radiation.  We didn’t deserve another chance, but we’d gotten it anyway.

 

“They’re so bright,” Daniel whispers, as if he’s afraid to break the silence of the evening.  He rests his head on my shoulder again.  “Can we dance with them before we go in, Jack?  Please?  Dance with me.”

 

I sway gently from side to side.  For a few minutes, nothing else exists.  Just me and Daniel, dancing with the stars.

 

“The Others sent me back,” Daniel says after a while.  His breath tickles my neck.

 

I pause just a moment, startled out of the swaying, and then resume the rhythmic back-and-forth rock that I’ve got going.  Daniel sighs and snuggles a little closer.

 

Daniel hasn’t talked much about the Others and what happened the day he had transformed into a glow-ball right there in the SGC.  He was safe, he said.  The Others would leave him alone, with the knowledge he’d gained from them intact.  And that was it.  I haven’t pressed for more.  Although there are still nightmares, the fear is gone from Daniel’s eyes, and that’s enough for me.

 

“They forgot how to care,” Daniel continues.  “They don’t know how to dance with stars, Jack.  They think they’re just balls of gas.  Nothing special.  They have the whole universe, and they can’t see it.  They can’t see how magnificent it really is.”

 

Awe and wonder.  I smile, starting to feel a little empathy for those Others.  When Daniel had shown up, they probably hadn’t know what hit them.  I can still remember the rapture on Daniel’s face the first time he said, “Jack, don’t you see?”

 

“After they ascended, they forgot how to live.  They’ve gone so high, they can’t relate to us anymore.  They need a guide to show them the way.  Someone to teach them.”

 

“So they sent you, huh?  Good choice.”

 

He doesn’t move his head, but I feel the movement of his smile.

 

“This lesson of theirs is going to wait awhile, though, right?  Like, after you grow up?”

 

“It’s already started.”

 

“You holding class after I put you to bed every night?”

 

I get another smile for that one and a huff that might have been laughter if Daniel hadn’t been half-asleep in my arms.  “We’re all doing it, Jack.  You, me, Sam, Teal’c, Jonas, Ally.  All of us.  We’re teaching them.”

 

“That so?  Mind telling me how?”

 

“They’re watching us live.  That’s all we have to do.  Live.  Grow.  Laugh.  Love.”  He pauses, and I feel the smile widen.  “Dance.”

 

“Oh, easy stuff then.”

 

“Yep.  Easy stuff.”  The smile gives way to a giant yawn.  His head droops a little closer to my chest.

 

“Go to sleep, Daniel,” I say quietly. 

 

“Wanna dance more.”  The protest is barely audible.

 

“We can dance again tomorrow.  The stars will always be here.”

 

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