marzipan77 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
marzipan77) wrote2013-03-01 10:28 am
marzipan77) wrote2013-03-01 10:28 am
Entry tags:
Renaissance: W is for Weight
Title: “Renaissance: W is for Weight”
Author: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: The weight of expectations and memories can be heavy.
It happened wherever he went now. Sidelong glances. Sudden silences. Open stares. Daniel kept his head down and hurried through the underground corridors, pretending indifference as if oblivious to the weighted, smothering air, the thick, breathless feeling that collected in huddled human pockets in corners and along hallways. As if he didn’t notice the empty space that surrounded him even in the most crowded rooms, left untouched and untouchable by those who were complete strangers and yet familiar with him and his story. Buffered by distrust and disbelief.
Daniel almost missed the comparative acceptance of the quiet guard who had stalked him since his arrival, missed the empty corridors, the facade of intimacy with just those few who had touched the hidden soul within him. They’d coaxed Daniel Jackson, blinking, back into the light, but now, the spotlight seemed too bright.
Jonas’ simple questions had set off a domino effect of planning and activity: briefings with SG-1, where discussion floated around him like a cloud, muffling the voices into unintelligible mumblings, and hurried, uncomfortable sessions where the Ancient language that flowed so effortlessly through his mind was released in fits and starts that only seemed to confuse Jonas further. Daniel’s frustration – and Jonas’s – had stolen his rest and gradually emptied him of the warmth and belonging that had been building – slowly – within him.
The Tok’ra had brought their awkward intensity through the wormhole. Safe in Sam’s lab, Daniel had greeted Sina by name before realizing that he’d never actually met her, starting an avalanche of inquiry and suspicion. Jack and Teal’c had shuffled closer, as if to guard him from exposure, as Sam had tried, again and again, to redirect the operatives’ attention to the schematics of Anubis’s ship. The Tok’ra’s questions had eventually been stifled, but he’d felt their searing stares against his skin and had asked to be excused.
He’d ached with weariness but could not sleep, couldn’t stop his dry, bloodshot eyes from searching tedious page after tedious page, and couldn’t fight the desperate need to do something, to contribute in some way to this struggle, this upcoming battle with Anubis, a being who had already defeated him when he was at the height of his Ascended power.
It was the general’s voice that had broken through his exhausted fugue last night, had shaken him from his mind’s eye and returned him to the present with a startled jolt.
“Doctor Jackson – are all right, son?”
Kind. Kind words, kind eyes even in the midst of this crisis. Daniel had frowned at the man’s sincerity, had shuffled through the papers on his – Jonas’s – desk as if to search for a way to remove the lump from his throat to voice the apology that strained to get out. The firm hand on his shoulder had quieted him.
General Hammond had lowered himself to sit in the only chair not piled with books, a smile creasing deeper lines around his eyes and a sigh easing the tense muscles of his shoulders into a droop. “I thought I might find you here.”
Daniel nodded, still unable to speak, fingers smoothing the fine pages beneath his hands, pages covered with the straight, cluttered writing of the Ancients.
The general tilted his chin towards the scattered papers. “I’ve spoken with Mr. Quinn. He tells me that this language is beyond him.”
“No, no,” Daniel denied quickly, “it’s me; I can’t seem to explain … to teach him …”
One raised hand stopped his stuttering. “Daniel.”
He swallowed his excuses. “No,” Daniel smiled tightly. “He’s not getting it.”
It was the general’s turn to sit, tongue-tied, obviously unsure how to go on. His gaze was steady, weighing, but didn’t stab or pierce as others’ had. A moment later a shadow of distress swept across the pale skin, aging him. And then, as smoke before a strong wind it cleared, leaving a resolute commander behind.
“I find myself amazed and appalled about what I’m going to say, what I’m going to demand of you – again – Doctor Jackson.”
Daniel felt his eyebrows climb. “General?”
Hammond shook his head. “Here you are, miraculously returned to us, your memories stripped away and yet -” He huffed a wry laugh and placed both hands on his knees. “I need you, son. We need you.”
“Of course.” Daniel’s answer was automatic, instinctive. Whatever this man asked of him, however he could help.
A real laugh bubbled up now, and the general’s smile was bright and blazing. “You haven’t really changed, have you? Colonel O’Neill said as much.” Serenity slipped over them like a cloak and Hammond’s humor sank into a quiet camaraderie. “We’ve always expected too much of you, young man, and you’ve never failed to deliver.”
Scenes of carnage, lifeless eyes, and broken bodies rose up to scour Daniel’s senses, but a firm grip on his shoulder sped his gaze outward again.
“Never,” the general repeated confidently.
They needed him. And, above Jack’s furious, scathing arguments against it, the general had called his superiors in Washington and had admitted to Daniel Jackson’s return to the land of the corporeal. And, this morning, had announced it to the entire base.
And now the piercing stares weren’t only from the Tok’ra. Every meeting, every briefing, he sensed it, felt their gazes, their questions and expectations as heavy weights against his spirit.
What was he to them now? Ghost? Phantom? Savior? Reminder of things better left buried? Or, even worse, one who had stormed heaven and had been found … wanting.
Daniel side-stepped the soldier who had stumbled to a halt in the corridor in front of him. He lowered his eyes, shaking hands deep in his pockets. He moved quickly, looking for safety, for a place beyond the scrutiny, away from whispered conversations and narrowed eyes and awkward avoidance of an accidental touch. ‘Unclean, unclean,’ his memory provided images of bandaged lepers warning the multitude of their approach.
“Doc! Hey, Daniel!”
The touch on his arm surprised him, turned him with startled eyes and hands raised to ward off the expected attack, but, instead, he stumbled forward into a warm embrace that crushed the air from his lungs.
“My God! I couldn’t believe it when Siler caught us in the ‘gate room and told us. It’s – you’re –” One hand ruffled through his short hair. “You’re really back!”
Other hands slapped warmly against his shoulders, voices and laughter crowding around him, holding him tightly in their midst. Names leapt to his mind, faces grim beneath an alien sun, streaked with dirt, weapons held tightly in wary readiness. Ferretti surrounded by the laughing boys of Abydos. Coburn silent and steady at their back as they sought the Harcesis child. Griff, as gruff as his name, deadly in battle, unsmiling even as his eyes gleamed with something approaching relief. Penhall – wide-eyed and still wandering through the galaxy with the innocence of youth. The scent of another world hovering around them, SG-2 closed on him as comrades would greet a long lost friend.
“What the hell, Doc, did you piss off the glowy types like you used to do the colonel?”
“Or were you too skinny and they had to throw you back?”
“Hell, Major, now that the great Doctor Jackson is back, Anubis is toast!”
Daniel smiled and shook extended hands, shrugged off idle questions, and left the group outside the infirmary with easy promises of coffee or beer or time. Ferretti was the last to let go.
Their nudges and bumps, friendly teasing and taunting, their willingness to touch and crowd him close returned memories of other men and women, stalwart, strong, those who had fallen and those who still remained. A base full of comrades, a world full of strangers, all at risk now from one powerful enemy. Jack’s worried scowl. Teal’c’s hovering guardianship. Sam’s intense focus. And the general’s readily offered confidence.
Daniel raised his head. The holes in his memory, the fleeting fears of others as they regarded his resurrected form, the questions behind the Tok’ra’s eyes – he could bear that weight. To take his place among them, to add in his humble contributions, to help save these people, to keep them from harm, well, he’d gladly bear the weight of the world.
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: The weight of expectations and memories can be heavy.
It happened wherever he went now. Sidelong glances. Sudden silences. Open stares. Daniel kept his head down and hurried through the underground corridors, pretending indifference as if oblivious to the weighted, smothering air, the thick, breathless feeling that collected in huddled human pockets in corners and along hallways. As if he didn’t notice the empty space that surrounded him even in the most crowded rooms, left untouched and untouchable by those who were complete strangers and yet familiar with him and his story. Buffered by distrust and disbelief.
Daniel almost missed the comparative acceptance of the quiet guard who had stalked him since his arrival, missed the empty corridors, the facade of intimacy with just those few who had touched the hidden soul within him. They’d coaxed Daniel Jackson, blinking, back into the light, but now, the spotlight seemed too bright.
Jonas’ simple questions had set off a domino effect of planning and activity: briefings with SG-1, where discussion floated around him like a cloud, muffling the voices into unintelligible mumblings, and hurried, uncomfortable sessions where the Ancient language that flowed so effortlessly through his mind was released in fits and starts that only seemed to confuse Jonas further. Daniel’s frustration – and Jonas’s – had stolen his rest and gradually emptied him of the warmth and belonging that had been building – slowly – within him.
The Tok’ra had brought their awkward intensity through the wormhole. Safe in Sam’s lab, Daniel had greeted Sina by name before realizing that he’d never actually met her, starting an avalanche of inquiry and suspicion. Jack and Teal’c had shuffled closer, as if to guard him from exposure, as Sam had tried, again and again, to redirect the operatives’ attention to the schematics of Anubis’s ship. The Tok’ra’s questions had eventually been stifled, but he’d felt their searing stares against his skin and had asked to be excused.
He’d ached with weariness but could not sleep, couldn’t stop his dry, bloodshot eyes from searching tedious page after tedious page, and couldn’t fight the desperate need to do something, to contribute in some way to this struggle, this upcoming battle with Anubis, a being who had already defeated him when he was at the height of his Ascended power.
It was the general’s voice that had broken through his exhausted fugue last night, had shaken him from his mind’s eye and returned him to the present with a startled jolt.
“Doctor Jackson – are all right, son?”
Kind. Kind words, kind eyes even in the midst of this crisis. Daniel had frowned at the man’s sincerity, had shuffled through the papers on his – Jonas’s – desk as if to search for a way to remove the lump from his throat to voice the apology that strained to get out. The firm hand on his shoulder had quieted him.
General Hammond had lowered himself to sit in the only chair not piled with books, a smile creasing deeper lines around his eyes and a sigh easing the tense muscles of his shoulders into a droop. “I thought I might find you here.”
Daniel nodded, still unable to speak, fingers smoothing the fine pages beneath his hands, pages covered with the straight, cluttered writing of the Ancients.
The general tilted his chin towards the scattered papers. “I’ve spoken with Mr. Quinn. He tells me that this language is beyond him.”
“No, no,” Daniel denied quickly, “it’s me; I can’t seem to explain … to teach him …”
One raised hand stopped his stuttering. “Daniel.”
He swallowed his excuses. “No,” Daniel smiled tightly. “He’s not getting it.”
It was the general’s turn to sit, tongue-tied, obviously unsure how to go on. His gaze was steady, weighing, but didn’t stab or pierce as others’ had. A moment later a shadow of distress swept across the pale skin, aging him. And then, as smoke before a strong wind it cleared, leaving a resolute commander behind.
“I find myself amazed and appalled about what I’m going to say, what I’m going to demand of you – again – Doctor Jackson.”
Daniel felt his eyebrows climb. “General?”
Hammond shook his head. “Here you are, miraculously returned to us, your memories stripped away and yet -” He huffed a wry laugh and placed both hands on his knees. “I need you, son. We need you.”
“Of course.” Daniel’s answer was automatic, instinctive. Whatever this man asked of him, however he could help.
A real laugh bubbled up now, and the general’s smile was bright and blazing. “You haven’t really changed, have you? Colonel O’Neill said as much.” Serenity slipped over them like a cloak and Hammond’s humor sank into a quiet camaraderie. “We’ve always expected too much of you, young man, and you’ve never failed to deliver.”
Scenes of carnage, lifeless eyes, and broken bodies rose up to scour Daniel’s senses, but a firm grip on his shoulder sped his gaze outward again.
“Never,” the general repeated confidently.
They needed him. And, above Jack’s furious, scathing arguments against it, the general had called his superiors in Washington and had admitted to Daniel Jackson’s return to the land of the corporeal. And, this morning, had announced it to the entire base.
And now the piercing stares weren’t only from the Tok’ra. Every meeting, every briefing, he sensed it, felt their gazes, their questions and expectations as heavy weights against his spirit.
What was he to them now? Ghost? Phantom? Savior? Reminder of things better left buried? Or, even worse, one who had stormed heaven and had been found … wanting.
Daniel side-stepped the soldier who had stumbled to a halt in the corridor in front of him. He lowered his eyes, shaking hands deep in his pockets. He moved quickly, looking for safety, for a place beyond the scrutiny, away from whispered conversations and narrowed eyes and awkward avoidance of an accidental touch. ‘Unclean, unclean,’ his memory provided images of bandaged lepers warning the multitude of their approach.
“Doc! Hey, Daniel!”
The touch on his arm surprised him, turned him with startled eyes and hands raised to ward off the expected attack, but, instead, he stumbled forward into a warm embrace that crushed the air from his lungs.
“My God! I couldn’t believe it when Siler caught us in the ‘gate room and told us. It’s – you’re –” One hand ruffled through his short hair. “You’re really back!”
Other hands slapped warmly against his shoulders, voices and laughter crowding around him, holding him tightly in their midst. Names leapt to his mind, faces grim beneath an alien sun, streaked with dirt, weapons held tightly in wary readiness. Ferretti surrounded by the laughing boys of Abydos. Coburn silent and steady at their back as they sought the Harcesis child. Griff, as gruff as his name, deadly in battle, unsmiling even as his eyes gleamed with something approaching relief. Penhall – wide-eyed and still wandering through the galaxy with the innocence of youth. The scent of another world hovering around them, SG-2 closed on him as comrades would greet a long lost friend.
“What the hell, Doc, did you piss off the glowy types like you used to do the colonel?”
“Or were you too skinny and they had to throw you back?”
“Hell, Major, now that the great Doctor Jackson is back, Anubis is toast!”
Daniel smiled and shook extended hands, shrugged off idle questions, and left the group outside the infirmary with easy promises of coffee or beer or time. Ferretti was the last to let go.
Their nudges and bumps, friendly teasing and taunting, their willingness to touch and crowd him close returned memories of other men and women, stalwart, strong, those who had fallen and those who still remained. A base full of comrades, a world full of strangers, all at risk now from one powerful enemy. Jack’s worried scowl. Teal’c’s hovering guardianship. Sam’s intense focus. And the general’s readily offered confidence.
Daniel raised his head. The holes in his memory, the fleeting fears of others as they regarded his resurrected form, the questions behind the Tok’ra’s eyes – he could bear that weight. To take his place among them, to add in his humble contributions, to help save these people, to keep them from harm, well, he’d gladly bear the weight of the world.