By last-one-picked
Setting: Middle of season five-ish. AU.
Pairings: S/J, of course.
Rating: T, just in case
Notes: This is my first fic I've actually had the nerve to post, so please R&R! This is looking to be a long and complex one, but it'll be worth it. Oh, and my Latin is a little rusty, so forgive me if I manage to completely butcher that language.
Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate or any of its characters; I've just borrowed them for a while. Of course, if Daniel wanted to stay around a little longer, I certainly wouldn't mind… The title of this story is shamelessly borrowed from a Madeline L'Engle novel of the same name, which I've never read. All other characters and events are mine.
PROLOGUE"I've known death in a lot of forms—I've held it at arm's length, courted it, slept in it, and ran from it, but never have thought I'd succumb to it like this. To think, all these years we've risked everything to save Earth, and we're still too stupid to save it from each other." Daniel's words ominously accent the still night. The whole city below us seems bathed in the same paralyzing stillness as our forest—a certain type of quiet horror, the feeling of falling during a dream but being completely unable to scream.
The only light is the vacant moonlight; most residents have fled Colorado Springs, and the few who remain traverse the streets without headlights, as all forms of electrical illumination have been banned for several days. I look out and see Israel, Bethlehem, a nation starved for hope. But this time, all the hopes and fears that converge in the taciturn, emotionless sky will not be satisfied. This time there will be no rescues or third act revivals. This time it all will end.
By tomorrow this will all be gone.
"Tomorrow…" I can't help but whisper.
With a groan, Daniel lowers himself onto the ground and retrieves something from the inside of his coat pocket. "This may well be the last bottle of Schnapps in the entire county."
"Since when do you drink?" I join him on the ground and take a swig from the bottle. It burns my throat pleasantly.
"Since I realized that the planet is teetering on the verge of annihilation and there's nothing we can do about it. Besides, since the heaters went out… well, I'm not gonna spend my last night on Earth freezing."
The cynicism in his voice surprises me—after all, Danny Boy is still a dweeb, with disheveled hair and an unfailingly naïve attitude-- until I remember that this is the guy who makes it a habit to have at least one perceived death a year. He's probably had a lot of time to think about the end; he's put everything in order in his head. He's resigned. I realize that I haven't. I take another drink.
"Where'd you get this, by the way?" I ask.
"The party."
"So now not only are you drinking, but you're stealing too?"
"It's Christmas, isn't it?"
"Yeah, Christmas Eve."
When silent nights were supposed to be salvation, not condemnation. When children were supposed to dream about sugarplums, not enemy bombs.
Christmas.
The last Christmas.
"I… I can toast to that."