In a Universe Not So Far Away

AN: This story takes place in an alternate universe in which two major things are different causing a lot of other differences. One difference is Catherine Langfords location on the day Daniel's parents died, it will be obvious in this chapter. The other is something about Sara O'Neill shortly after Charlie is born. You'll know it when you see it. Lots of shippyness: Catherine/Ernest, Jack/Sam, Daniel/Sha're.

Chapter 1: A Shoulder to Cry on Someone to Rely on

Catherine Langford's POV

1973 New York

I've thought about becoming a mother. Thought about like every little girl does. I thought about it when Ernest and I were engaged. We thought about it, we dreamt about it, we talked about it, we planned about it.

When Ernest died in the accident my hopes of motherhood disappeared, but my dreams didn't. My longing didn't. I still think about being a mother, but at 49 I didn't really expect to.

I defiantly wasn't thinking about motherhood this morning as I arrived at the New York Museum of Art. I was thinking about the exhibit I was contributing to. I was thinking about meeting the famous Claire and Melbourne Jackson. You know, I never did meet them. It would have been really nice to meet them, to know there thoughts on childrearing, considering I'm rearing their child.

I didn't see them when I came that day, what I did see was a little boy, gorgeous blond hair, intelligent blue eyes, strange Arab like clothing –screaming and kicking the museum guide who was holding him back. The poor worker didn't know what to do with him. Really, I didn't know what to do with him either. But seeing him I remembered my own mother's death, and I decided I should probably take a guess.

I scoop him up and start petting his hair. He fights me hard, kicking and screaming, trying to get back to his parents. But the second we were out of sight and sound of them he falls limp against me. He was heavy enough that I sank to the floor of the hallway with him on my lap. I held him close to me and rocked him. I smoothed his hair.

"Sweetie, Sweetie," I said knowing that it didn't really matter what I said; it was the sound. Also, most people said pretty annoying things to grieving people. I still cringe at the memory of some things people told me when my mother died.

"I'm not sweetie, I'm Daniel," he says sounding much younger than he was. I remember whining for six months after my mother died.

"Nice to meet you Daniel, I'm Catherine," I say tucking his head under my chin.

"Are they dead?" he asks.

I pull him back, and looked right in his bright blue eyes. I wasn't going to lie to this child. "Yes, Danny they are."

"It crushed them." I nodded my chin in contact with his forehead on each down stroke. "The chain broke." I rub his back. "Are you sure they're dead? Maybe they need me. Maybe they need me to help them."

I held him tighter, "There are a lot of people out there taking care of them, Daniel. You have to stay here. Your parents would want you to be safe, to…not see it."

"Would," he says sadly, it sinking in. He's the child of a linguist, so all it takes is one past tense verb for reality to crash in on him.

"It crushed them?" he asked uncertainly. I thought of how many times I'd replayed my mother's death. I wondered how it would have been different if there had been someone to talk about it with.

"Yes, Daniel, it crashed them."

"Who will take care of me?" he asked with big scared open eyes. I wanted to volunteer, but I was not about to make promises that I could not keep.

"I don't know yet, Danny. Someone called a social worker will come and tell you. Your parents probably picked someone out. Do you have aunts, uncles, and grandparents?"

He thought for a bit, "Nick, but Mom says he's only good around artifacts. He's my Grandpa," he added as an afterthought. Well, that didn't sound to promising.

"Danny, if you don't have a family they will find you one to live with."

"Your family?" he asked hopefully.

Please yes, I thought. Out loud I said, "I don't really have a family, Danny. My Mom died when I was little, and my dad died when I was older." His tiny arms wrap around me. Oh, the sweet little child is offering me comfort.

"So, does the hurt go away?"

I was about to answer what someone had told me when I was five years old and I asked that. I was going to do that, but I couldn't. I promised myself I wasn't going to lie to the child. "It doesn't go away Daniel. But it changes-becomes a dull ache instead of a breath taking throb. Sometimes there are hours, days, weeks between the pain. But it doesn't really go away."

He leans against me, and then pulls away. I see the problem right away-my Eye of Ra necklace. The one that I took the day my father discovered the artifact, is digging into his cheek. I pull it off, and am about to set it away, but his little fingers are tracing the lines, so put it around his neck. His fingers keep tracing the lines as he asks, "Do you think Nick will take me?"

My stomach hurts a little with fear that the answer is no. No and this kid will have to deal with rejection on top of loss. "Danny, I don't know the answer to that question," I lift his chin so those bright blue eyes are focused into mine, "But you need to remember something forever for me ok? You are strong, and smart, and beautiful, and good. You deserve happiness, and love, and safety. If the world doesn't give these things to you, you are going to have to stand up and demand them, do you hear me?"

"Boys and handsome," he says with a smirk. But then his face falls and guilt covers his whole face. I know what he's thinking. I tortured myself with the same thought for years after my mother's death.

"You aren't betraying them by laughing at a joke. They want you to be happy." He looks at me in surprise. "When you lose someone, you feel a lot of things. You are changing all the time. It's ok to smile, laugh, cry, be sad, or angry, or confused, or scared, or empty. When you lose someone you feel-a lot of different things. They are all ok."

He changed position on my lap, "Catherine," he says bright eyes looking into mine. "You shouldn't be nice to me, because I killed them," he said honestly.

I. Am. Not. Even. Surprised.

I grab on to his chin to keep his eyes focused on me. "Daniel Jackson you didn't kill your parents."

"I was talking to Mommy, and that is why she didn't hear the chain snap. If I was being a good boy and reading my books like she told me to be it never would have happened."

"No baby, she still wouldn't have heard the chain, and if she had she wouldn't have had time to get away. Everyone feels guilty when they lose someone they love. It doesn't matter if it is true or not, everyone feels like if they had just been better or smarter or nicer their loved one would still be here. I spent years trying to figure out how I caused my mother to get sick. I even did it when my Dad died, and by then I was old enough to know better. But accidents just happen. The just happen, and grief doesn't do anyone any good."

"I could have saved them," he says resolutely.

"No, Danny, you couldn't have. But it's ok you think that, for a while. Grief is a journey, a personal journey. I'm not going to sit and tell you you're going the wrong way as long as you are still moving toward healing, child. I wouldn't steal your grief from you."

He must not have understood everything I said. He snuggled against me, "So you still like me even though I killed them."

I smile rubbing his back, "I would still like you if you had killed your parents. But. You. Did. Not. Kill. Them. Daniel Jackson." His muscles relax against my body. "I will like you, Danny, forever, and for always, no matter what."

"That is…safe," he said falling into a sleep punctuated by nightmares which I rocked away. I had just rocked away his third nightmare when a figure of a woman appeared above me.

"Miss?" she asked.

"Call me Catherine, and who are you?"

"Mrs. James, I'm a social worker. They" she gestured toward the room where Daniel's parents had died, "told me you have the Johnsons' son out here?"

"Yes," I said, "I'd shake your hand, but…"

"Your hands look pretty busy," she sat down next to me, "Do you know the family?"

"I was going to start working with them today," I said wistfully.

"So you don't know who I should be contacting."

"He," I said nodding to the boy on my lap," said something about a Grandpa Nick. Think it was on his mother's side. He's an archeologist, or something related-anyway he looks at 'artifacts'. But Daniel didn't seem very sure he'd want him."

The woman pursed her lips.

"I want him," I said quietly.

She paused, "I assume you're not a registered foster parent."

"No," I said.

"If you want to come with when I take the boy,"

"Daniel," I supplied.

"Daniel, to my office we can start the paperwork. No promises, and if family claims him that's that. But," she looked at the boy on my lap, "As soon as your paperwork goes through if no one has claimed him he's yours."

"Would adoption be an option?" I asked.

"Not right away, but defiantly at some point, depending of course on the family," she looked at him, "How is he doing?"

"He thinks it is his fault. Doesn't believe they're dead one moment, knows it the next. He wants to go in and see them, and he's had three nightmares since he feel into exhausted sleep."

She nodded.

"So about par for the course for grieving child right?" I added.

She looked surprised, "Why do you say that?"

"My mom died when I was little," I said not looking at her. Hoping this didn't ruin my chances.

"Well," I hear her smile, "I hope that little boy ends up with you then. You…deserve each other." She paused for a while, "We need to get him down to the office now." I stood up slowly and lifted Daniel up with me.

His eyes opened, "What is happening, Catherine?"

"The social worker I told you about came. She wants us to go to her office."

"You will come with me?"

"Yeah, baby, you're stuck with me for a little longer,"

He curled in closer to me.

"Hadn't you better walk?" Mrs. James asked him.

He nodded his head furiously, and tried to get down.

"You are not a burden Daniel, remember that for me, Sweetie. I'll carry this load, since I can't carry the real one."

"I don't understand that, Catherine."

"That's ok, Daniel, just remember you are nobody's burden," I said shifting him onto my shoulder and starting down the stairs.

Mrs. James gave me a clipboard with the forms attached so I could fill them out without having him leave my lap. I saw Mrs. James rush off with them the second they were done. But I had no delusions I would be going home with the child tonight.

He slept again and again woke from the nightmare.

"Shh, Danny, boy, come on out of that and back to the real world."

His big bright eyes met mine, "The real world isn't much better than the nightmare."

"No baby, today it is not."

Mrs. James had returned, "There are cartoons on TV Daniel." I could tell by his face that he didn't know what a cartoon was. Archeologist's son-intelligent eyes.

"Danny, do you know hieroglyphics?"

"Only Hieratic and Copic. Dad said if you managed the beginning and the end the middle would come easier."

Ok, so even smarter than I thought. "Well, I was thinking you and I could write secret messages in hieroglyphics."

"You know hieroglyphics?" he asked in shock.

"Danny, I'm an archeologist too." I paused, "Just like my father before me." I had a feeling somehow that being the daughter of an archeologist might just mean more than being one myself.

He nodded gravely, "Catherine Langford," he said.

"Yes, Danny, but my old hieroglyphics is a little week. I'm only really fluent with Demotic and Copic, so we'd better stick to Copic."

Daniel considered this for a moment then slowly he said, "Or we could write something in Coppic, then you translate it into Demotic and I would translate it into Hieratic, and this way we can both learn something."

Ok, this boy finally surprised me, "Danny, how old are you?"

There is an owlish look behind his glasses, "Eight years and one month the solar calendar, would you like it in lunar as well?"

I grinned, "No that is alright." That was the moment when I realized I loved little Daniel Jackson. He was my son. Forget the paperwork.

Of course, me deciding Daniel belonged to me didn't actually mean he got to go home with me that night. I knew that. Daniel didn't.

"What did I do wrong?" he scribbled in Copic hieroglyphics. I answer him, aloud in Arabic, his native tongue, "Baby," which is a beautiful word in Arabic, "You've done nothing wrong. But they don't know me here. They have to make sure I'm a good person. That I won't hurt you. Because they can't have you getting hurt again."

"But I know you are good," He says, and I kiss his forehead.

He takes off my Eye of Ra necklace, and hands it back to me.

"You know Danny, if I told you that was thousands of years old do you think you could take care of it until I see you again?

He shakes his head.

"Alright then, it's yours."

He shakes his head harder and tries to hand it to me again, but I won't take it.

Three days had passed. Three long Danieless days before I was all cleared through the social services office and he became my foster son. It's the day of his parent's funeral. They haven't even told him. He's desperate for touch. They seem like good people, but they haven't noticed. I scoop him up and hug him, hold him, carry him, rub his back in big slow circles.

I told him about the funeral. I explain what is going to happen at the funeral. I tell him about how people at funerals look at the dead before. As I am carrying him into the room to see his parents, his fingers grab onto the door frame, "You said Mom and Dad wouldn't want me to see them dead."

I set him down and kneel down to his level, "Daniel, I did say that. But that was when they were," I shut my eyes. What would I say crushed? Banged up? Horrible looking? Best not to say anything, "Now someone has made them look pretty, or as pretty as dead people can look. Some people say it makes the death feel real to see someone they love in the casket. But it's your choice Daniel, I won't make you go in there. The only thing is, this is your only chance. If you wish you did it in ten years you can't then. Of course you can unsee them either."

He nods. He walks into the room. I follow him ready to scoop him up if he needs it. My hand is on his shoulder. He reaches out and touches his mother's hand. My own hand involuntarily withdraws from his shoulder in horror. I remembered what it felt like when I touched my mother's hand-like she was a wax figurine-horrible.

But Daniel doesn't pull his hand away. He strokes her hand, her cheek, his shoulder. Every grief is different.

"They aren't really my parents anymore are they?" his voice is cold and scientific.

"No, Danny they aren't." He takes a step back, and leans against me. I wrap my hands around his little shoulders. I feel them shaking, and I realize he's crying. I walk around him and bend down so I can envelope him in a big safe hug. He cries for a while. Then he snuggled his face into my shoulder drying his eyes. Then he pulls away and leads the way out of the room.

Every culture in the world has a mourning ritual. Grief is so unique and individual. Yet each culture chooses one way, one single way to mourn. You wouldn't think it would ever work. To take one way to deal with a thousand griefs, but it does somehow. The way to mourn has been honed by thousand of years, and trillions of griefs. It's the best possible way to dispose of grief, which means it can turn despair into depression. But that is no small thing.

Danny took in the whole funeral like a wide eyed little sponge. I kept my arm around him the whole time trying to guard him, trying to protect him. But all the things I was trying to protect him from were on the inside, so it didn't work very well.

The social worker had told me that Nicholas Ballard would be at the funeral. I was terrified he would take Danny from me. Also terrified that he would not want Danny, that he would tell Danny he did not want him. I didn't want him to break Danny's heart.

When I met Nickolas Ballard I didn't know it was him. He was shaking Danny's hand, and I thought it was just another anonymous acquaintance offering condolences to the little orphan. I thought he was perhaps a neighbor or distant relative. The stranger was just at the age where funerals are social events worthy of scourging for paper for.

"Nick," Daniel says hopefully, fearfully, and I find myself examining the face of his grandfather. I didn't think too much of him at the start. This was Daniel's closest relative, a man who had just lost his own daughter. He was shaking Danny's hand coolly and without any words of comfort or emotion or facial expression.

"Daniel, I'm going to take you to breakfast," Nick says.

Daddy grabs onto my hand, "This is Catherine Langford, an archeologist. She is my foster mom. She's coming with," Daniel says in the same tone her grandfather used. Daniel looks up at me with a look of terror.

"Ok," Nick says walking toward the big church doors.

I bend down on the pretense of tying Danny's shoe. It wasn't untied. "Danny," I whisper, "Remember, you are strong, and smart, and beautiful, and good. You deserve happiness, and love, and safety. If the world doesn't give these things to you, you are going to have to stand up and demand them."

Then I stood up and we caught up with Nickolas Ballard. "So, Mr. Ballard, what is your specialty" I said when the silence became unbearable.

"Mayan culture," he replied.

"Nick studies pyramids, just like Mom and Dad," Daniel adds helpfully.

"Step pyramids are quite differently than Egyptian pyramids," Nick says dismissively. I decided right then and there that Daniel would not be living with this man.

"I didn't mean exactly the same. Although the tunnels inside are laid out remarkably similar and there appears to be some kind of link to astronomy in both," Daniel's said defensively.

Nick didn't acknowledge his defense and I patted Daniel's back, "Just that they are both pyramids is pretty cool."

Daniel says something in a language I don't recognize.

"What was that?" I ask.

"Mayan," Nick replies.

"You taught him Mayan?" I ask. I can see by Nick's face that I guessed wrong. No, this was something Daniel had done all on his own, a little boys desperate attempt to please his grandfather. I promised myself Danny would never have to fight for anyone's attention ever again.

As soon as we get to the restaurant Danny excuses himself to go to the bathroom. He's a smart enough kid to know the adults involved are going to want a little time to settle his fate. He squeezes my hand as I leave, letting me know what he wants. Oh, I'll get you that and more. So when Danny's made his exit I get right to the point.

"What do you plan to do?" I ask Nick.

He blinks, blinks just like Danny does. And I remember, he's Danny's blood, and that is something I can never be.

"I can't take care of a child…" he says.

At least he knows it. But I cut off the excuses I can feel coming, "Ok, that's what I thought you would say. Just as well, because I love that little boy. But you're his Grandpa, so here is what you will do. You will pretend you want him. Pretend it's killing you not to take him. Pretend you think he's better off with me, and you are not taking him because you love him so much. You are going to hug him. So help me you will send that little boy a letter every single month, in the language of your choosing, that child is a genius who knows several, in case you haven't noticed. You will be here for every Christmas, and each of your grandson's birthdays. You will do all of this, because God help him, Nick, you are all the family that little boy has left."

His face made me feel for a moment as if I had been too cruel. He began to speak, "Ms. Langford, I do love him, and I do believe he's better off with you," his voice got soft, "I've never been good at understanding other people. Even when I want to. I can't connect. There's a part of me…missing…or broken."

I looked at Nick. He wasn't bad, just damaged. "Daniel is an extraordinary child," I told him.

"I know," he says with a smile of pride. I see Daniel returned from the bathroom, since Nick's back was to him I greeted Daniel to let Nick know he was there.

Nick turned to him grinning, "Daniel," he says holding his hands out to him. Daniel looks at him uncertainly, than glances at me. I nod and Daniel went to him. Nick pulls him unto his lap, "Daniel you know I love you right?"

Daniel just examines his face.

"I do Daniel," Nick said hurt by his confusion, "Ms. Langford loves you too. We decided that as much as I love you, South America is no place for a child. So you are going to go live with Ms. Langford." Either Nick really did love the boy or he deserved an Oscar.

Daniel wraps his hands around Nick's neck, offering him comfort. "I'm sorry you lost your daughter," he whispers. Nick starts to sing a song. I think it was a declination of Latin verbs. It didn't really matter, because obviously in their family it served as a lullaby. I could tell this was something Nick or Nick's wife had song to his daughter, and that that daughter had song to Daniel. They stayed that way until the waffles arrived. Then Daniel sat down and ate the whole plate. From the conversation I'd had with his other foster parents this had to be the first full meal he'd eaten since his parents had died.

"When does your plane leave, Nick?" I asked as we got close to finishing our meal.

"Tomorrow," he says.

I grin. "Great, because I have a brand new baseball and a couple of gloves and I've never played catch. Can you help me, Nick?" I asked.

He grins, "What do you say Danny want to play baseball with your Grandpa?"

Daniel mouths the word "Grandpa". Nick nods his head. Daniel says, "Yes, Grandpa," and for one millisecond there is light in Danny's eyes. Those eyes were amazing when they are happy.

There was still a month left of summer vacation. It was vacation for Danny, who had never actually been to school before (having spent his childhood in Greece, Pakistan, and Egypt). And it was vacation for me, who had no archeology classes to teach, but only my research to do. For that I could take Danny with me. Less for him to adjust to. He'd sit in my office as I worked reading a book or translating hieroglyphics, he was quite determined to learn Copic before summer ended.

Sometimes he would sit on my lap and do my work with me. Daniel was a genius. He speaks four languages, and reads seven. He had a good background of the history of almost any culture. But his real strength was his striking ability to think outside of the box. His new way of looking at things could cause him to solve some problem I'd been working on for weeks in a single moment.

Of course I never should have showed Danny the research on the artifact. It was after all kinds of classified. But it was my father's notes. I wanted Danny to know the man who would have been his grandfather. And I always felt the closest to my father when I was reading notes he'd written with his own hand. Besides all that: it was my father's life work, my life work, and I wanted it to be my son's life work as well.

"There is something missing," he said.

"How do you know that?" I asked kissing his forehead.

"In the last notebook he was talking about you as a teenager. In this one you already graduated college, and were typing his notes for him on the weekends."

I was pondering this when he asked, "Who is Ernest?"

"I forgot that would be in there Danny," I said meanwhile wondering why Ernest wasn't in there more. After all Ernest worked with my father for years. After all Ernest's death is what forced my father to abandon his research in the first place.

"Who is he?" Daniel repeats.

"He's a man I almost married," I say. Danny turns to me with questions in those big blue eyes. "He died, Danny." He wraps his little arms around me and offers his comfort. As I rock him I make a mental list of people to contact for my father's missing notes.

I'd fooled myself into thinking that Daniel was doing better. I mean really better. The nightmares were growing infrequent, and less intense. He was smiling more, and crying less. I really thought Daniel was getting better. I was in for a surprise.

I left my office to drop off a few papers with the secretary of the department. One of my colleges asked me to come look at something in his office. Daniel must have left my office looking for me, and couldn't find me. I came running when I heard him screaming, "!"

When I rounded the corner my own heart stopped, because Daniel was not breathing. I don't know if you've ever seen someone having a panic attach. I never had. But if you've seen a heart attack or the reaction of someone who is allergic to bees it is pretty much the same thing. He's standing there fighting for his breath, and I have no idea why. I start to panic, because I'm sure Daniel is dying.

There is a hospital a few blocks from the university, so I figure if I take him there myself it will be faster than waiting for an ambulance. I scoop him up and run. I'm almost down the last flight of stairs before I hear him start breathing hard and fast. I set him down and look at him.

"Are you ok Danny?" I ask uncertainly.

He nods and starts crying, burring his head in shoulder, "I thought you were gone like my parents."

"It's ok, Danny, I'm here, I'm here," I say holding him and rocking him back and forth. But my stomach feels all tight, because I know it isn't ok. Danny needs more help than I can give him.

"Dr. Livingstoon," I address the young man, "Daniel was very nervous about coming to see you. I hope it is alright that I promised to stay with him for the first session. Most of his problem is separating from me, and it just seemed like new thing, and doing it without me was a bit much for the first day."

"Quite alright Dr. Langford, quite alright." But the psychologist is giving me a dirty look as Danny climbes into my lap. "Danny, why don't you sit next to me?" I ask.

He furrows his brow at me.

"You didn't do anything wrong Danny, but we came here to help you be ok when I'm not around. We might as well start with a little step."

He nods.

"Does Catherine often read your mind Danny?" Dr. Livingston asks with a smile.

"Often, but not always," Danny replies.

"Tell me about a time when she couldn't read your mind," he says.

He glances at me, and I nod giving permission, "I don't know why she thinks I'm a baby."

"Danny, I don't think you're a baby," I say looking at him confused.

"But you called me baby, Catherine," he says exasperated.

"Oh, Danny, I don't mean it like that. " What did I mean when I said that? "I just mean," Baby-a possessive word, "I just mean that I love you. That you are mine."

"But I'm not really yours Catherine." This kid could break my heart like none other. I lift up his chin so those bright eyes are looking into mine. He needs to hear this, "Danny, you do know I want you right? That I am doing everything I can to make you mine forever and for always? But this takes time."

He's confused. So I keep explaining.

"Danny, you remember when we first met and you didn't understand why you couldn't take me home. I told you they had to make sure I was a good person before they let you come home with me," he nods, "it's like that except they want to make sure I'm the right family for you forever. You just have to wait," I said smoothing his hair.

"Then you can promise forever?" he asks.

I'm about to says yes, but Dr. Livenstoon breaks in, "Daniel, she can't promise that. Your parents didn't choose to leave you. They wanted to stay with you. They loved you. All Catherine can give you is 'for as long as I'm able'." Daniel is sobbing, clinging, and I'm calming him down.

"Danny, b…" No, I can't call him baby anymore, "I'm here Danny. I'm here."