He smiles thinly at that but doesn't respond. Instead he lowers himself into the chair opposite with agonizing slowness, wincing at the way the muscles pull in disjointed, medicated knots. Once seated, he lets out a steady hiss of breath and leans back. There. Situated.
"Turns out the IOA was stonewalling us," Daniel explains, voice tense from an inharmonious union of dark frustration and pain. "IOA - well. International Oversight Advisory. They're pretty curious about how an uncleared civilian got through a gate and then back out the other side. Thus," his thumb creeps up beneath his glasses to rub tiredly at one eye, "they're keen on keeping you in one place. Until they decide what they want to do with you."
The hand drops and he shuts his eyes. He just wants to sleep. He wants to sleep for a week. He wants to sleep for a week and before he does that he wants there to be a jet to take Seth home where he can be away from the world he evidently never meant to step into. Or get hurled into, rather. It's terribly confusing. Daniel's pretty sure he looks as awful as he feels, face shadowed and lined in the peak of his weariness and the physical ache of just sitting in one place is dull, insistent, grinding.
His eyes open again with a slight jerk of his chin.
"I'm doing what I can to protect you but there's um. There's no guarantee." Ominous and vague terminology, because Daniel doesn't want to scare Seth with specifics. No one should know the specifics. "I haven't told them anything extensive."
no subject
"Turns out the IOA was stonewalling us," Daniel explains, voice tense from an inharmonious union of dark frustration and pain. "IOA - well. International Oversight Advisory. They're pretty curious about how an uncleared civilian got through a gate and then back out the other side. Thus," his thumb creeps up beneath his glasses to rub tiredly at one eye, "they're keen on keeping you in one place. Until they decide what they want to do with you."
The hand drops and he shuts his eyes. He just wants to sleep. He wants to sleep for a week. He wants to sleep for a week and before he does that he wants there to be a jet to take Seth home where he can be away from the world he evidently never meant to step into. Or get hurled into, rather. It's terribly confusing. Daniel's pretty sure he looks as awful as he feels, face shadowed and lined in the peak of his weariness and the physical ache of just sitting in one place is dull, insistent, grinding.
His eyes open again with a slight jerk of his chin.
"I'm doing what I can to protect you but there's um. There's no guarantee." Ominous and vague terminology, because Daniel doesn't want to scare Seth with specifics. No one should know the specifics. "I haven't told them anything extensive."