Daniel Jackson loved airports.
Well, maybe not everything about airports. He didn’t love arguing at the check-in counter about the overbooking of his cherished business class. He didn’t love filling out baggage claim forms when the airline lost yet another of his suitcases. And he certainly hadn’t loved those 19 hours he’d once spent in security when the paperwork correcting his reported death had fallen through the cracks.
No, what he loved was the instant immersion into the global village that was a busy international airport. Hundreds of people, often thousands, speaking a cacophony of dialects all around him. German, Italian, Arabic, Swedish, Mandarin. Daniel closed his eyes and allowed the languages to flow over him in lyrical waves, one rising to dominance for a time, only to soon be replaced by another.
“Papa, Yazn won’t give me back my doll.” Arabic, his first love.
“By all that’s holy, Maria, my love, what did you put in this thing? Rocks?” Italian, romantic even in frustration.
“No, little girl, we’ve a while to wait yet. Patience.” German, efficient even in endearments.
American airports were his favourite. They weren’t any more pleasant than others, and certainly not more efficient. But they were more free. Not in a freedom of religion or freedom from oppression sense, though Daniel appreciated those. More free in the sense that those speaking foreign tongues often believed no one around would understand them. It gave Daniel a more casual taste of the languages than he could normally attain. Pure freedom of expression. Gripes and gossip. Hopes and hates. Listening to them was educational and, frankly, fun.
That was what he was doing now. Eavesdropping on muttered complaints and comments while he waited for Sam to get back from her epic trek down the terminal to find them some drinkable coffee. He knew that quest was doomed to failure, but she’d insisted on the attempt.
“How could such an intelligent woman as you allow herself to be seen in that shade of orange?” Japanese, respectful and condescending in the same breath.
“My God, could you possibly be any more stupid, you administrative idiot?” Italian again, just as frustrated as before.
“Do you think that beautiful man would oblige if I told him I wanted to have his children?” That one amused Daniel, and he looked around to see who the young French woman was referring to. Whoever he was, he’d apparently moved on. Daniel wondered if the man had had any idea what she’d been saying about him. Probably not, since he hadn’t stuck around. Daniel closed his eyes again, listening.
Even more than hearing the languages he knew, Daniel enjoyed hearing the ones he didn’t. The ones where he could grasp one word in ten, one in twenty. Puzzles to be solved and histories to be uncovered. It was often all he could do to stop himself from interrupting the speaker, trying to communicate, scaring the natives.
Hausa. Staccato tones ringing out as the Nigerian couple argued, reminding him of some of the labourers on his beloved digs. Something about the man’s sister and her temper.
Bengali. The young man had forgotten something at his hotel. The missed noun was embarrassing. This was far too common a tongue for Daniel not to know better.
Inuktitut. One of the few modern Earth languages Daniel could honestly say he could make neither heads nor tails of. Another project to undertake at some point. Daniel smiled at the thought of telling Jack he was dodging a trip to the cabin in favour of a vacation in Nunavut. Not that Jack would know where Nunavut was.
Daniel listened to the Innu family for a while, trying to decipher the patterns that would open their language to him. It wasn’t enough, this passive observation. A true breakthrough would require interaction not suitable for the waiting area of an airport terminal. Daniel wasn’t keen on doing anything that might attract the attention of security. Striking up incomprehensible conversations with complete strangers could cause a lot of problems. He’d learned that the hard way.
The family moved on, sadly to be replaced by a loud-mouthed New Yorker and his three buddies. They were heading down south somewhere, apparently with the intention of annoying the native female population. All Daniel would get from listening to them was a headache. He tried to focus on the Nigerians again.
The smell of coffee lifted Daniel from his reverie. Not the perfect scent that came out of his own coffee maker, but a tolerable smell that spoke of a better blend than the usual airport fare.
“You’re doing it again.”
Daniel opened his eyes and looked up into Sam’s smiling face, gratefully accepting the cup she offered. “I know. Sorry, I can’t help it.”
She lifted her carry-on off the seat beside him and sat down. “Don’t be silly. I love the serene expression it gives you. Like the whole world is just flowing around you. Incredibly sexy.”
“Really?” He eyed her appreciatively. “Bad timing for that, don’t you think? We’re about to get on an eight hour flight.”
Sam smiled and leaned into him for a kiss. “Hmm, true. I’ll just have to take what I can get.”
Coffee forgotten, Daniel returned the kiss, deepening it and tangling his fingers in the hair at the back of her neck.
“Merde, he’s taken. How is one supposed to compete with that?” Apparently the man the French woman was so enamoured with had returned. This time, the thought wasn’t remotely interesting enough to distract Daniel from what he was doing. Sam’s laugh against his lips was all he needed to listen to right now.