"Renaissance: T is for Translation"
Oct. 18th, 2011 03:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
marzipan77“Title: “Renaissance: T is for Translation”
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
marzipan77
Fandom: SG-1
Pairing: None
Rated: T+ for language and memories of violence
Summary: A series of fics beginning at Daniel’s descent back to Earth from the Ascended Plane. Chapter by chapter, these fics, about 1000 words each, beginning with “A”, will explore Daniel’s attempt to regain his memories, his mortal existence, and his place within the SGC and on SG-1.
Warnings: Angst/Emotional Whump/Memories of Death
Disclaimer: I don’t own Stargate, or Jack, or Daniel, or anything but my cats.
Written for the Alphabet Challenge on the Stargate Drabbles List.
Summary: If the past is prologue, how does Arrom translate into Dr. Daniel Jackson?
He sat, legs crossed, back braced against the side of the bed within the quarters he’d been assigned, a room that, while filled with things familiar and strange that had touched his life as Daniel Jackson and had, in turn, touched others, felt empty, lifeless, cold. His fingers swept up and down the soft fabric that pooled in his lap, tracing the intricate pattern, smoothing the short fringe, and folding the long scarf over and over again around his hands. It warmed his skin, brought with it memories of dark, caring eyes, bright with intelligence, that had searched out his deepest pain, his hidden well of loneliness, and had drawn him, unwilling, into the light. Iranya’s scarf. Its blues and whites reminded him of the skies of Vis Uban – and of a mother’s love and longing for what she’d lost.
These items that had been left for him – books and artifacts and jewels – they were other reminders of loss from the people here, people who had lost a friend, a brother, and, yes, perhaps a son. This Daniel Jackson who had played a role in their lives, who had been a voice of conscience and a hand of help and encouragement, who had opened the door to the stars and had imagined a galaxy free from slavery and death. Teal’c had told him stories of this man, this explorer, and Daniel knew in his heart that the strong but gentle man spoke truth even as he wanted to deny it. But Arrom, the simple refugee, sat silently within him, bewildered.
Doctor Daniel Jackson belonged here. Deep within this mountain, surrounded by concrete walls and crumbling scrolls and the mingled breath and sweat of the fiercely loyal men and woman who dwelt here, worked here, lived and died here. He belonged in some basic, fundamental way, felt roots that extended deeper than the tunnels and that spread out towards the stars. Stepping through the Stargate had completed one journey for Arrom and had begun a hundred – a thousand – others for Daniel Jackson. Left naked and nameless on a far-off world among an accepting and welcoming people, Arrom had been born – had provided the gaping wounds of his soul with time: time to heal. And now, he was finished.
Somehow, while Daniel had been gone from this life, living among the energy of the universe, filled with knowledge and power, the skin and bone and soul that had defined his being had waited for him to return. Here. To this place and to these people. To begin again his interrupted journey, to fill a hole, to fulfill a purpose. A purpose beyond the comprehension of a blue robed, broken man within a candlelit tent.
A few minutes after Jonas had left, still fumbling for explanations and assurances, the others had arrived. Jack stood straighter, the smooth planes of his face relaxing into affectionate smiles and a soul-deep sense of peace. Sam – warm and sure, blue eyes bright with a certainty that flowed directly from within. They’d been anxious to touch, Jack’s shoulder brushing his, one hand clasped briefly to Daniel’s cheek; Sam happy to take his hand and walk along at his side as they led him to a room with one table filled with food. Old patterns emerged, familiar sounding stories, names, and places filling up some empty corners within Daniel’s mind. They’d been both anxious and relieved when Teal’c related how the two had spent the night, and some of the awkwardness between them all had fallen away, dropped into the warm, rippling pool of shared memory.
Led back to this room, their words had died away. Jack had eyed the silent airman outside his door with an aggressive intensity before crooking a half smile at Daniel and sauntering away, both hands in his pockets. Sam had wriggled her fingers, following in his shadow. Teal’c had been the last to leave him, and Daniel had been deeply touched when the large man had grasped him by one forearm and drawn him in to his chest.
They wanted him here.
But, still, whatever rules governed Daniel Jackson’s resurrection – if there could be such things – held him at arm’s length from the answers he yearned for, from the power to find his way forward.
There was a hand at work here that was not his own – that much he understood. Teal’c’s reverence for the Ascended beings who had welcomed Daniel at the moment of his death colored the Jaffa’s thinking, but the connection was clear, obvious. These people, this SG-1 had been drawn to the world of Daniel’s abandonment at a specific time for a specific purpose – for him, to find him. These beings, so far removed from physical life, from human existence and frailty, who moved galaxies and governed heavenly forces, were concerned with him. One human life – one life still intricately connected with these others.
Daniel had to know.
He carefully folded the blue scarf and placed it among his Earthly treasures, his fingers trailing over its surface almost reluctantly before he turned and opened the door.
“Airman?”
The young man seemed surprised to be addressed directly. “Yes, sir?”
“I need to attend the briefing – SG-1’s briefing.” Daniel let the door fall closed behind him. Yes, one must study the past to understand the present, to fully embrace the future – that was an idea at the very center of his existence. But right now, the past could wait. He was here – now – for a purpose. ‘Placed here for such a time as this,’ his memory supplied. He could not wait on the future; the next step on this journey must be his own.
“Uh, I don’t…” The airman hesitated, uncertain.
“It’s okay,” Daniel smiled, eyes wide open as he turned towards the hallway. “I know the way.”
Author:
marzipan77Fandom: SG-1
Pairing: None
Rated: T+ for language and memories of violence
Summary: A series of fics beginning at Daniel’s descent back to Earth from the Ascended Plane. Chapter by chapter, these fics, about 1000 words each, beginning with “A”, will explore Daniel’s attempt to regain his memories, his mortal existence, and his place within the SGC and on SG-1.
Warnings: Angst/Emotional Whump/Memories of Death
Disclaimer: I don’t own Stargate, or Jack, or Daniel, or anything but my cats.
Written for the Alphabet Challenge on the Stargate Drabbles List.
Summary: If the past is prologue, how does Arrom translate into Dr. Daniel Jackson?
He sat, legs crossed, back braced against the side of the bed within the quarters he’d been assigned, a room that, while filled with things familiar and strange that had touched his life as Daniel Jackson and had, in turn, touched others, felt empty, lifeless, cold. His fingers swept up and down the soft fabric that pooled in his lap, tracing the intricate pattern, smoothing the short fringe, and folding the long scarf over and over again around his hands. It warmed his skin, brought with it memories of dark, caring eyes, bright with intelligence, that had searched out his deepest pain, his hidden well of loneliness, and had drawn him, unwilling, into the light. Iranya’s scarf. Its blues and whites reminded him of the skies of Vis Uban – and of a mother’s love and longing for what she’d lost.
These items that had been left for him – books and artifacts and jewels – they were other reminders of loss from the people here, people who had lost a friend, a brother, and, yes, perhaps a son. This Daniel Jackson who had played a role in their lives, who had been a voice of conscience and a hand of help and encouragement, who had opened the door to the stars and had imagined a galaxy free from slavery and death. Teal’c had told him stories of this man, this explorer, and Daniel knew in his heart that the strong but gentle man spoke truth even as he wanted to deny it. But Arrom, the simple refugee, sat silently within him, bewildered.
Doctor Daniel Jackson belonged here. Deep within this mountain, surrounded by concrete walls and crumbling scrolls and the mingled breath and sweat of the fiercely loyal men and woman who dwelt here, worked here, lived and died here. He belonged in some basic, fundamental way, felt roots that extended deeper than the tunnels and that spread out towards the stars. Stepping through the Stargate had completed one journey for Arrom and had begun a hundred – a thousand – others for Daniel Jackson. Left naked and nameless on a far-off world among an accepting and welcoming people, Arrom had been born – had provided the gaping wounds of his soul with time: time to heal. And now, he was finished.
Somehow, while Daniel had been gone from this life, living among the energy of the universe, filled with knowledge and power, the skin and bone and soul that had defined his being had waited for him to return. Here. To this place and to these people. To begin again his interrupted journey, to fill a hole, to fulfill a purpose. A purpose beyond the comprehension of a blue robed, broken man within a candlelit tent.
A few minutes after Jonas had left, still fumbling for explanations and assurances, the others had arrived. Jack stood straighter, the smooth planes of his face relaxing into affectionate smiles and a soul-deep sense of peace. Sam – warm and sure, blue eyes bright with a certainty that flowed directly from within. They’d been anxious to touch, Jack’s shoulder brushing his, one hand clasped briefly to Daniel’s cheek; Sam happy to take his hand and walk along at his side as they led him to a room with one table filled with food. Old patterns emerged, familiar sounding stories, names, and places filling up some empty corners within Daniel’s mind. They’d been both anxious and relieved when Teal’c related how the two had spent the night, and some of the awkwardness between them all had fallen away, dropped into the warm, rippling pool of shared memory.
Led back to this room, their words had died away. Jack had eyed the silent airman outside his door with an aggressive intensity before crooking a half smile at Daniel and sauntering away, both hands in his pockets. Sam had wriggled her fingers, following in his shadow. Teal’c had been the last to leave him, and Daniel had been deeply touched when the large man had grasped him by one forearm and drawn him in to his chest.
They wanted him here.
But, still, whatever rules governed Daniel Jackson’s resurrection – if there could be such things – held him at arm’s length from the answers he yearned for, from the power to find his way forward.
There was a hand at work here that was not his own – that much he understood. Teal’c’s reverence for the Ascended beings who had welcomed Daniel at the moment of his death colored the Jaffa’s thinking, but the connection was clear, obvious. These people, this SG-1 had been drawn to the world of Daniel’s abandonment at a specific time for a specific purpose – for him, to find him. These beings, so far removed from physical life, from human existence and frailty, who moved galaxies and governed heavenly forces, were concerned with him. One human life – one life still intricately connected with these others.
Daniel had to know.
He carefully folded the blue scarf and placed it among his Earthly treasures, his fingers trailing over its surface almost reluctantly before he turned and opened the door.
“Airman?”
The young man seemed surprised to be addressed directly. “Yes, sir?”
“I need to attend the briefing – SG-1’s briefing.” Daniel let the door fall closed behind him. Yes, one must study the past to understand the present, to fully embrace the future – that was an idea at the very center of his existence. But right now, the past could wait. He was here – now – for a purpose. ‘Placed here for such a time as this,’ his memory supplied. He could not wait on the future; the next step on this journey must be his own.
“Uh, I don’t…” The airman hesitated, uncertain.
“It’s okay,” Daniel smiled, eyes wide open as he turned towards the hallway. “I know the way.”
