Author's Note: A brief Daniel drabble, set during the episode "Beneath the Surface". JD slash. As usual, I don't own Stargate, Daniel Jackson, Jack O'Neill, or any of the rest of this. They're the property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and probably others, none of whom are me, more's the shame.
Snowflakes
The memories were still loose, scattered like flakes of snow in a breeze. But feelings . . . ah, those were coming back more easily. Confusing, wrapped as they were in lightning-quick flashes of faces and people I couldn't name. A woman I had known in a land that couldn't possibly be - all heat and sand and sun. But I could remember loving her, a soul-deep love overshadowed by a wrenching sense of loss. She had died, killed by . . . by Tor? No, he said his name was Teal'c. Only he denyed it now.
And then there was Jonah. . . . I don't know why but somehow, watching him with Thera made me want to scream. I wanted to pull her away from him, yell at her that he was mine, MINE . . . but I couldn't. Because he wasn't, not really. In dreams, yes, and fantasies built from twisted memory. Things I could have done but never did. And as I lay there, watching while pretending to be asleep, that voice inside my head screamed that he was mine, that she had no right to be sitting there with him. That it should have been me there, nestled against his chest, listening to his heart beat.
It had been me once, but not like that. No, there had been no romance in that embrace, only the desire to comfort and give strength. I concentrated on the fleeting memory and for a wonder, it actually allowed itself to be caught. I had been in the clutches of addiction then . . . a desparate craving for something called a sarcophagus. But he had been there when the craving grew too strong and I had tried in vain to return to the sarcophagus. He had been there when I finally broke down and he held me. He just . . . held me. I admit, I was a little strung out at the time, but it had still felt right. Jack, my protector.
Jack? Right . . . his real name. Jack. Mm, I like the way that sounds. Jack. . . . And I imagine I'd like the way it rolls off my tongue even better. But I can't say his name, not here. They would think I was nightsick, like Tor had been. Only now I don't think he was sick at all. I don't know what they did to him to make him forget, but these memories . . . they can't be lies. Which means. . . .
Which means we don't belong here. I think I've known that for awhile now. I don't know how, just this . . . this feeling that I should be doing something more, something . . . better. And I should be doing it with Jack and Sam and Teal'c. And the chaapa'ai. No idea what that is, actually, but I'll remember eventually.
I hope I can remember more soon. Enough to get us out of here . . . before I go crazy. Before I really do scream at her to get away from him. Before I get him alone in some dark corner and do something I might regret . . . like completely and totally blow his mind. Dear God, have mercy. Take these dreams from my eyes and let me get a little sleep tonight. . . .
The memories were still loose, scattered like flakes of snow in a breeze. But feelings . . . ah, those were coming back more easily. Confusing, wrapped as they were in lightning-quick flashes of faces and people I couldn't name. A woman I had known in a land that couldn't possibly be - all heat and sand and sun. But I could remember loving her, a soul-deep love overshadowed by a wrenching sense of loss. She had died, killed by . . . by Tor? No, he said his name was Teal'c. Only he denyed it now.
And then there was Jonah. . . . I don't know why but somehow, watching him with Thera made me want to scream. I wanted to pull her away from him, yell at her that he was mine, MINE . . . but I couldn't. Because he wasn't, not really. In dreams, yes, and fantasies built from twisted memory. Things I could have done but never did. And as I lay there, watching while pretending to be asleep, that voice inside my head screamed that he was mine, that she had no right to be sitting there with him. That it should have been me there, nestled against his chest, listening to his heart beat.
It had been me once, but not like that. No, there had been no romance in that embrace, only the desire to comfort and give strength. I concentrated on the fleeting memory and for a wonder, it actually allowed itself to be caught. I had been in the clutches of addiction then . . . a desparate craving for something called a sarcophagus. But he had been there when the craving grew too strong and I had tried in vain to return to the sarcophagus. He had been there when I finally broke down and he held me. He just . . . held me. I admit, I was a little strung out at the time, but it had still felt right. Jack, my protector.
Jack? Right . . . his real name. Jack. Mm, I like the way that sounds. Jack. . . . And I imagine I'd like the way it rolls off my tongue even better. But I can't say his name, not here. They would think I was nightsick, like Tor had been. Only now I don't think he was sick at all. I don't know what they did to him to make him forget, but these memories . . . they can't be lies. Which means. . . .
Which means we don't belong here. I think I've known that for awhile now. I don't know how, just this . . . this feeling that I should be doing something more, something . . . better. And I should be doing it with Jack and Sam and Teal'c. And the chaapa'ai. No idea what that is, actually, but I'll remember eventually.
I hope I can remember more soon. Enough to get us out of here . . . before I go crazy. Before I really do scream at her to get away from him. Before I get him alone in some dark corner and do something I might regret . . . like completely and totally blow his mind. Dear God, have mercy. Take these dreams from my eyes and let me get a little sleep tonight. . . .