TITLE: The Sought Ones
SEQUEL: to "The Lost Ones"
AUTHOR: Cyn(di)
EMAIL: custardpringle@yahoo.com
RATING: PG—language
CATEGORY: supernatural, romance, drama, angst
SUMMARY: They were supposed to be gone forever. But "forever" is a very relative thing.
SPOILERS: I'm pretending "Heroes" and "Lost City" never happened, but anything else is fair game.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Wasn't going to post this till Monday, but I couldn't stand it any longer.
Broken Skye, who to my knowledge never actually read "The Lost Ones," thinks Daniel died at the end and told me to write a sequel bringing him back. So I'm writing one. It starts . . . hmm, maybe a month or so after the other story ends. If you haven't read "The Lost Ones" either, parts of this may not make sense to you, so please go do that now.
I'm not very good at writing the POV of an eight-year-old boy. Please be patient with me.
I don't own any of these people, except for Aurel. And, considering her, cough, pleasant, cough, personality, I'd be more than happy to let the Stargate people have her as well.
This is, and will be, betaed by Frisha and LE McMurray, for which I am deeply indebted to them both.
--------------------------------------------------
Submitted for your consideration: deep in the bowels of the SGC, a storage room.
A small, empty, forgotten storage room.
Six cold, bare, grey concrete surfaces with cold, grey, vacant air between them.
And a flash of light—not blinding, for there was no one there for it to blind.
Or was there?
A cold, grey storage room, empty but for two people.
Two people, who stood there looking around them, wholly disoriented
Two dead people.
A small blue-eyed boy with a mop of light brown hair, wearing a t-shirt and jeans and wondering what had happened to the small pistol whose barrel he had been examining with interest only moments ago. A moment later, this thought was joined by contemplation of how angry this disappearance would make his father, and who his unfamiliar companion might be.
A young woman with dark curly hair and deep brown eyes, dressed in the finery of a queen she was not, worrying about what had happened to the man she had only recently been killing. At the same time, she was just beginning to realize that for the first time in two years she was alone in her own head.
A small, forgotten storage room, empty but for two people and a voice.
*You have been restored,* it told them coldly, slithering through their minds like a snake.
The boy shuddered and clutched the woman's skirt, and she crouched down instinctively to comfort him. "Who are you?" she called out. "What have you done to us?"
*I have restored you,* the voice restated with a chuckle. *You both have been dead for some time. I retrieved you both from shortly before your actual deaths.*
Neither was sufficiently calm to wonder why.
"I'm dead?" the boy asked, wide-eyed. "This doesn't look like heaven. Are we ghosts?"
She hugged him. "I think what we are being told is that we are not dead even though we should be."
"Why?"
*That will become clear in time.*
The woman shook her head suspiciously, but her eyes too widened abruptly as a question came to mind. The last instant before her death, the last thing she remembered . . . "My husband!" she cried out in sudden alarm. "Is he all right?"
*He is all right,* the voice assured her, although it didn't sound terribly pleased about it. *He is here. I will direct you to him.*
The boy perked up slightly, addressing the voice directly for the first time. "What about my mom and dad? Are they here too?"
*Your father is here. I will take you to him as well. All I ask is that you keep my existence a secret, at least for now.*
"Then how are we to explain what has happened to us?" the woman asked.
*I will reveal myself eventually,* it promised. *But now is not yet the time.*
"Very well," she agreed doubtfully, and the boy nodded his assent as well. "I will keep your secret—for now, at least."
The door sprung open, seemingly of its own accord. The two passed cautiously through it into an abandoned corridor. He was still clinging tightly to her hand.
Then the voice began to whisper to them again, and they separated wordlessly to follow their own paths, the door swinging noiselessly shut behind them.
The storage room was empty once more.
-----
Having grown only too accustomed to military procedure over the past two years, Sha're was not particularly surprised that she was accosted by guards almost as soon as she entered a more commonly used part of the base. As they escorted her officiously to a small holding room, she caught a glimpse of the young boy she had met before, and a name drifted to the surface of her confused mind: Charlie. Charlie O'Neill. Sitting down on the small cot provided, she wondered about that momentarily, knowing she'd never seen the boy before.
But Daniel had told her about him, certainly. And she knew quite well that Charlie O'Neill had been dead over a year before she had even met Jack and Daniel.
"Wait," Sha're called out quickly as the second of the two soldiers was closing the door behind them. "You must find my husband."
"Really," he said indulgently. "And who would that be?"
"Doctor Jackson." The formal mode of his name was unfamiliar to her, but still stirred up such a wealth of emotion that she had to fight to continue calmly. "And the boy's father is Colonel Jack O'Neill." It took more effort yet to pronounce the name correctly.
It was almost worth the difficulty to see the slack-jawed amazement that appeared on the guard's face as he absorbed this information. "All right, ma'am," he said finally, "I'll see what I can do," and left, shutting the door firmly behind him.
As Sha're sat there, waiting, she suddenly realized what had happened. Daniel, of course, would have been able to recognize Charlie, and the knowledge had somehow passed to her while their minds were joined by the ribbon device. This clarification was of little comfort, however.
Even though she had managed to remain relatively calm for the past several minutes, Sha're could feel that combined confusion and exhaustion were very nearly about to over power her. Such a short time ago—it seemed almost inconceivable—she had been wrestling with Amaunet, trying desperately to speak to Daniel before it was too late. And then Teal'c (another name from Daniel's memory) had shot her, and moments later she'd found herself here, intact and thankfully without the Goa'uld. It was, in a way, almost anticlimactic.
Then again, it wasn't such a short time ago, whatever she might think. There was no way Sha're could possibly know how long had actually passed—but it was probably quite a while, if the soldier's reaction had been any indication. Anything could have happened in that time—anything at all. And the gods (if they existed) only knew how much her son had grown by now, if he was even still alive.
The small room was well heated, but Sha're began to tremble, hugging herself tightly and hoping desperately for the best.
-----
Charlie was, to put it mildly, terrified. He had been plucked, with no warning whatsoever, out of his parent's bedroom (was this some sort of punishment for going through his dad's stuff?) and ended up here, with some weird evil-sounding woman talking to him in his head. She'd said he could see his dad, but instead he'd gotten grabbed by a couple of airmen who had locked him in here. Probably thought he was a spy or something.
He hadn't meant to do anything wrong, really. All he'd wanted to do was have a look at his dad's gun, which was by far the coolest thing in the house. Charlie was quite certain he didn't deserve to be here. And he knew exactly what "here" was, too; he'd seen plenty of sci-fi movies. With the weird voice, there was only one possibility: he was on a flying saucer. These people were, of course, really aliens in disguise, and more would be coming any minute to take him away for experiments. Sure, they could try telling him he was dead, but that was just crazy nonsense. Charlie wasn't fooled.
And he'd forgotten to do his homework first, which was going to get him into even more trouble when (if ever) he got back home.
With these comforting thoughts in mind, Charlie huddled miserably in a corner of the room to which he'd been confined. He remained there, motionless, right up until an alien who looked remarkably like his father (but couldn't be, way too old) came into the room, took one look at him, and asked loudly, "Okay, what kind of a sick joke is this?"
Charlie perked up hopefully. Maybe he was too young to be experimented on and they'd send him home instead.
He felt sorry for the woman he'd met before, who had obviously believed every word the aliens fed her and who would probably make a perfect subject.
-----
Just next door, the door to another holding room opened, and Sha're looked up and let out an audible gasp as her husband entered the room. Their eyes met, and Daniel's glasses—which he had been absently fiddling with on the way in—dropped from his hands and smashed on the concrete floor.
SEQUEL: to "The Lost Ones"
AUTHOR: Cyn(di)
EMAIL: custardpringle@yahoo.com
RATING: PG—language
CATEGORY: supernatural, romance, drama, angst
SUMMARY: They were supposed to be gone forever. But "forever" is a very relative thing.
SPOILERS: I'm pretending "Heroes" and "Lost City" never happened, but anything else is fair game.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Wasn't going to post this till Monday, but I couldn't stand it any longer.
Broken Skye, who to my knowledge never actually read "The Lost Ones," thinks Daniel died at the end and told me to write a sequel bringing him back. So I'm writing one. It starts . . . hmm, maybe a month or so after the other story ends. If you haven't read "The Lost Ones" either, parts of this may not make sense to you, so please go do that now.
I'm not very good at writing the POV of an eight-year-old boy. Please be patient with me.
I don't own any of these people, except for Aurel. And, considering her, cough, pleasant, cough, personality, I'd be more than happy to let the Stargate people have her as well.
This is, and will be, betaed by Frisha and LE McMurray, for which I am deeply indebted to them both.
--------------------------------------------------
Submitted for your consideration: deep in the bowels of the SGC, a storage room.
A small, empty, forgotten storage room.
Six cold, bare, grey concrete surfaces with cold, grey, vacant air between them.
And a flash of light—not blinding, for there was no one there for it to blind.
Or was there?
A cold, grey storage room, empty but for two people.
Two people, who stood there looking around them, wholly disoriented
Two dead people.
A small blue-eyed boy with a mop of light brown hair, wearing a t-shirt and jeans and wondering what had happened to the small pistol whose barrel he had been examining with interest only moments ago. A moment later, this thought was joined by contemplation of how angry this disappearance would make his father, and who his unfamiliar companion might be.
A young woman with dark curly hair and deep brown eyes, dressed in the finery of a queen she was not, worrying about what had happened to the man she had only recently been killing. At the same time, she was just beginning to realize that for the first time in two years she was alone in her own head.
A small, forgotten storage room, empty but for two people and a voice.
*You have been restored,* it told them coldly, slithering through their minds like a snake.
The boy shuddered and clutched the woman's skirt, and she crouched down instinctively to comfort him. "Who are you?" she called out. "What have you done to us?"
*I have restored you,* the voice restated with a chuckle. *You both have been dead for some time. I retrieved you both from shortly before your actual deaths.*
Neither was sufficiently calm to wonder why.
"I'm dead?" the boy asked, wide-eyed. "This doesn't look like heaven. Are we ghosts?"
She hugged him. "I think what we are being told is that we are not dead even though we should be."
"Why?"
*That will become clear in time.*
The woman shook her head suspiciously, but her eyes too widened abruptly as a question came to mind. The last instant before her death, the last thing she remembered . . . "My husband!" she cried out in sudden alarm. "Is he all right?"
*He is all right,* the voice assured her, although it didn't sound terribly pleased about it. *He is here. I will direct you to him.*
The boy perked up slightly, addressing the voice directly for the first time. "What about my mom and dad? Are they here too?"
*Your father is here. I will take you to him as well. All I ask is that you keep my existence a secret, at least for now.*
"Then how are we to explain what has happened to us?" the woman asked.
*I will reveal myself eventually,* it promised. *But now is not yet the time.*
"Very well," she agreed doubtfully, and the boy nodded his assent as well. "I will keep your secret—for now, at least."
The door sprung open, seemingly of its own accord. The two passed cautiously through it into an abandoned corridor. He was still clinging tightly to her hand.
Then the voice began to whisper to them again, and they separated wordlessly to follow their own paths, the door swinging noiselessly shut behind them.
The storage room was empty once more.
-----
Having grown only too accustomed to military procedure over the past two years, Sha're was not particularly surprised that she was accosted by guards almost as soon as she entered a more commonly used part of the base. As they escorted her officiously to a small holding room, she caught a glimpse of the young boy she had met before, and a name drifted to the surface of her confused mind: Charlie. Charlie O'Neill. Sitting down on the small cot provided, she wondered about that momentarily, knowing she'd never seen the boy before.
But Daniel had told her about him, certainly. And she knew quite well that Charlie O'Neill had been dead over a year before she had even met Jack and Daniel.
"Wait," Sha're called out quickly as the second of the two soldiers was closing the door behind them. "You must find my husband."
"Really," he said indulgently. "And who would that be?"
"Doctor Jackson." The formal mode of his name was unfamiliar to her, but still stirred up such a wealth of emotion that she had to fight to continue calmly. "And the boy's father is Colonel Jack O'Neill." It took more effort yet to pronounce the name correctly.
It was almost worth the difficulty to see the slack-jawed amazement that appeared on the guard's face as he absorbed this information. "All right, ma'am," he said finally, "I'll see what I can do," and left, shutting the door firmly behind him.
As Sha're sat there, waiting, she suddenly realized what had happened. Daniel, of course, would have been able to recognize Charlie, and the knowledge had somehow passed to her while their minds were joined by the ribbon device. This clarification was of little comfort, however.
Even though she had managed to remain relatively calm for the past several minutes, Sha're could feel that combined confusion and exhaustion were very nearly about to over power her. Such a short time ago—it seemed almost inconceivable—she had been wrestling with Amaunet, trying desperately to speak to Daniel before it was too late. And then Teal'c (another name from Daniel's memory) had shot her, and moments later she'd found herself here, intact and thankfully without the Goa'uld. It was, in a way, almost anticlimactic.
Then again, it wasn't such a short time ago, whatever she might think. There was no way Sha're could possibly know how long had actually passed—but it was probably quite a while, if the soldier's reaction had been any indication. Anything could have happened in that time—anything at all. And the gods (if they existed) only knew how much her son had grown by now, if he was even still alive.
The small room was well heated, but Sha're began to tremble, hugging herself tightly and hoping desperately for the best.
-----
Charlie was, to put it mildly, terrified. He had been plucked, with no warning whatsoever, out of his parent's bedroom (was this some sort of punishment for going through his dad's stuff?) and ended up here, with some weird evil-sounding woman talking to him in his head. She'd said he could see his dad, but instead he'd gotten grabbed by a couple of airmen who had locked him in here. Probably thought he was a spy or something.
He hadn't meant to do anything wrong, really. All he'd wanted to do was have a look at his dad's gun, which was by far the coolest thing in the house. Charlie was quite certain he didn't deserve to be here. And he knew exactly what "here" was, too; he'd seen plenty of sci-fi movies. With the weird voice, there was only one possibility: he was on a flying saucer. These people were, of course, really aliens in disguise, and more would be coming any minute to take him away for experiments. Sure, they could try telling him he was dead, but that was just crazy nonsense. Charlie wasn't fooled.
And he'd forgotten to do his homework first, which was going to get him into even more trouble when (if ever) he got back home.
With these comforting thoughts in mind, Charlie huddled miserably in a corner of the room to which he'd been confined. He remained there, motionless, right up until an alien who looked remarkably like his father (but couldn't be, way too old) came into the room, took one look at him, and asked loudly, "Okay, what kind of a sick joke is this?"
Charlie perked up hopefully. Maybe he was too young to be experimented on and they'd send him home instead.
He felt sorry for the woman he'd met before, who had obviously believed every word the aliens fed her and who would probably make a perfect subject.
-----
Just next door, the door to another holding room opened, and Sha're looked up and let out an audible gasp as her husband entered the room. Their eyes met, and Daniel's glasses—which he had been absently fiddling with on the way in—dropped from his hands and smashed on the concrete floor.
