Jolted into wakefulness, Daniel peered outside. The sun was out, weakly shining through the many clouds covering the sky. His heavy thoughts of the previous night had plagued his dreams, relentlessly following him into wakefulness. Focused on the motions of his everyday routine, Daniel showered, ate, and changed into a pair of loose sweats and a t-shirt. Pulling on socks and shoes, he slung his katana over his back, and made his way to the dojo.
Halfway through his first year at the Stargate program, Daniel had realized that he was unsuited for the work he had to do. If he wanted to keep traveling through the gate, he needed to be fit, and in top physical condition.
There was more to exercise that mindless weight-lifting, however. He needed to feel engaged, needed to be challenged and interested, instead of simply working out in the gym on base. So he had signed up to learn Budo, the Japanese Martial Way, at a local dojo. It had taken a long time for him to become comfortable with his body, to build up the strength that the exercise required. Those concepts, rather than technique and practice, had been the major obstacles in his path. In a mild fit of embarrassed self-consciousness, he had decided to avoid mentioning this to any of his team – especially since his progress was relatively slow.
Eventually, he'd become proficient, moving on to combat with a staff. This had taken more time to master – yet had in a way been easier. To center his focus on an object, a tool in his hands, took his mind away from its painful preoccupation with what his body was supposed to be doing. The next step, roughly two years into the program, had been knife combat - a real, every-day skill given the muggings that occurred in the streets of Colorado Springs. The katana had been the final step. He'd been reluctant to start, but the master had insisted. Daniel had been practicing Kendo, the Way of the Sword, for about three years now. He'd only recently graduated from using his wooden bokken to practicing with a steel katana.
This step was particular to his dojo. He was one of three in his class using a steel katana in practicing the kata of Kendo. Most of the other students used shinai, the bamboo sword, and bogu, protective gear. A functional katana was more difficult to control. It was different – while the balance was comparable to a bokken, the weight was something to which he had needed to become accustomed, and honed steel glided more easily through the movements than a cumbersome bamboo sword.
Daniel gave no thought to the fact that he had mastered the ten kata of Kendo, the parts of both the Uchitachi and the Shidachi, or attacker and defender, in under a year. He didn't rush himself, and made sure he was completely confident of every move, before acquiescing to the wishes of his dojo master to move him forward.
Pushing the door open, Daniel found himself an hour early for the lesson, and there were only three others present, including the dojo master, Jiro. Daniel smiled, waved, and took off his shoes and socks.
Respectfully, he bowed, moved onto the mat, and laid down his katana. Beginning to stretch, he saw Jiro moved towards him. "Today, I think we shall practice Gokaku-Geiko." Daniel nodded his understanding. He was surprised by his own enthusiasm for this sparring between two kendoists of similar skill level. "You and I shall pair," Jiro stated. The class contained an odd number of students, and so when there was sparring practice now, Daniel usually ended up working on his katas while Jiro helped the newer students. Daniel's insane schedule often meant that he missed two weeks of practice in a row, and then came every day for a month. He was surprised that he would be full-out sparring with Jiro, however. Usually, when they sparred, it was in the form of Hikitaki-Geiko, the teacher leading the student through the fight.
Daniel continued to stretch, breathing deeply and emptying his mind, preparing for the fight to come. Shaking out his fingers and bending carefully to touch the toes of each outstretched leg as he sat on the floor, Daniel relaxed into the feel of muscles gently expanding and contracting throughout his body. After several minutes, he indicated to Jiro that he was ready. The master, fully fifteen years older than him, smiled and handed him his katana. Daniel grasped the situation immediately once Jiro drew his own weapon and stood, ready, in the middle of the mat. The other two students backed off to the side, respectfully seating themselves out of the way to watch.
There would be no protective gear utilized in this match - just the two men, and controlled steel. The ultimate test of precision and skill.
With a sharp nod, Jiro indicated that the fight begin.
The two men circled each other, blades extended, hands out as counterpoint balance. With a short shout, Jiro attacked. Daniel easily parried, twisting around and into the blade, turning and cutting for Jiro's side. Jiro's blade caught his, and he struck out, pushing Daniel away.
The fight continued fiercely, the attacks passing back and forth between the two, neither giving an advantage nor showing weakness. Daniel's advantage in height and reach was easily ameliorated by Jiro's expansive experience. Minutes passed, filled with cutting and parrying, blocking and ducking. Jiro, knocked to the floor, flipped to his feet and attacked with a yell. Daniel met the attack smoothly, stepped back and launched himself into the air, flipping over Jiro's head to land behind him.
By this time both men were covered in sweat, muscles straining and vying for control of the bout. They had been fighting for a solid half-hour. Daniel, ready to end the battle, attacked with a complex series of cuts and thrusts, then seemed to give ground.
Seconds later, Jiro was kneeling on the floor, his katana lying firmly out of reach, and the blade of Daniel's weapon at his throat.
Daniel slowly lowered the blade to his side and bowed, holding the position as Jiro reached his feet. Jiro smiled slowly, looking down upon the short hair of the most proficient student he had ever had. "Rise, Daniel," he said simply.
Daniel glanced up and straightened. Jiro clasped his shoulder. "Very well done," he praised warmly. Daniel blinked. Jiro was well known for his aversion to both criticism and complements – his skills lay in guiding and instruction.
Daniel glanced down. "I actually wanted to talk with you today," he responded quietly, speaking for the first time that day. Jiro's eyes narrowed at the barely concealed sorrow in his tone. "I'm going to be leaving Colorado Springs soon."
"Why?" Jiro asked simply, moving away from the center of the mat, freeing space for his students to continue their practice and with one hand gesturing for them to do so.
Daniel joined him. "I've decided to leave my job. I've been searching for work, and have found a position on a dig in Jerusalem. I'll be leaving in two weeks, after I've wrapped up some issues at the Mountain."
Jiro rubbed at his neck, just behind his ear, as was his wont when surprised. "How long have you known?" Jiro's attention was riveted to the other man, though his eyes watched the students starting a series of drills on the mat. He motioned for them to continue, and glanced at the archaeologist.
A muscle jumped in Daniel's jaw. "I only made the decision last night, but it's been a long time in coming. I'm displaced where I am, and in the big scheme of things I'm not doing anything that anyone else couldn't. There are - personal reasons, as well," he admitted distantly. Daniel ran a distracted hand over his head, unintentionally ruffling the sweaty hair into spikes.
Jiro slowly nodded. He had paid special attention to this student after noticing the fierce concentration and swift mind couched behind Daniel's unassuming demeanor. He had seen the beginning of this, months and months ago, when it was obvious that something was changing within Daniel. Normally a gentle spirit, the boundaries that had curbed his skill - namely, distaste for violence, had gradually slipped away. The sensitive soul had hardened, armoring itself against pain. But somehow this had not proved to be protection enough, though against what Jiro still wondered. Jiro had watched, with some awe, as again and again Daniel lost himself in the Kendo, his brilliant mind intuitively finding the Bushido. Jiro had never had a student like him.
"I wish you luck, Daniel," he offered quietly, and it was well-meant. A man of few words, he knew that he could come off as brusque, but Daniel made a life out of understanding others.
Daniel nodded slowly, and Jiro turned to the rest of the class, beginning the day's group lesson. Daniel, in contrast, moved to an unused corner of the dojo, taking a small drink and breathing deeply to slow his heart. For several moments he stood, eyes closed, katana held in a double-grip in front of him. As his mind focused to crystal clarity, shedding the pain and misery he refused to capitulate to, he began to practice the graceful moves of the first kata.
The soft noises of other students arriving, of Jiro in the midst of a full group lesson, skittered away from his consciousness, until he was locked in a silent darkness where there was only himself and the weapon. He worked his way through the first kata, gradually speeding up until his motions were a smooth, continuous blur through the remaining katas, always taking the position of the Uchitachi, the attacker, the one holding the long sword. He battled against his fears, striking down the doubts and misgivings in the only way he knew.
He worked through the katas again, as the defender, the Shidachi, this time completing only seven. Imagining the redirected energy of the attacker, turned and used to make him stronger, bolstered his spirits. He cracked his eyes slowly, getting used to the bright sunlight as he mulled over the exercises. The last three katas required the Shidachi to be armed with two short bokkan, and were a test in dexterity – a challenge for him on a good day.
He came back to himself to find the dojo empty, a note from Jiro on the door to please lock up and bring the key to him upstairs, as well as an open invitation to return at any time.
Feeling his throat lock, Daniel gathered his belongings, carefully cleaning the katana and locking up the dojo. He refused to think of how long it might be, if he ever returned. He left through the back door, and climbed the outer stairs to the set of rooms above the dojo where Jiro lived. He handed the master the key, and politely declined the offer of a cup of tea, before heading back to his car.
It was Sunday, four in the afternoon, by the time Daniel got home. Taking the recently-cleaned katana, he carefully wrapped the sheathed blade in protective cloth, and put it in a box containing several of his most treasured personal possessions. The box held the few pictured of his parents that he had, and several of the small, personal items he had managed to hang on to during his childhood. Feeling another stab of sadness, Daniel hardened his resolve. It was past time for him to move on.
He moved to the bathroom, glancing at his empty answering machine on the way. The water was set to lukewarm, and he peeled his sweaty clothes off with a small grunt of distaste. For once, he lingered under the spray, keeping his mind a careful blank as he indulged in the play of cool water over skin. And if the shower washed not only soap and sweat but also tears from his body, no one would ever know.