marzipan77 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
marzipan77) wrote2011-09-26 11:13 am
marzipan77) wrote2011-09-26 11:13 am
Entry tags:
"Renaissance: H is for History"
Title: “Renaissance: H is for History”
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: The past connects with a heavy hand.
The silver-haired man walked out across the plain, eyes scanning the darkening horizon, resting for a moment on a scraggly patch of growth, a heap of broken stones, or turning towards the slightest sigh of wind through empty branches. The woman, a few steps behind as if hesitant to touch the edges of the leader’s long shadow, moved gracefully even though weighed down with a heavy pack and the long metal weapon she held against her chest. They’d begun their journey towards the Stargate on either side of him, close but careful not to touch, but his steps had gradually slowed and, finally, they’d shared a glance and allowed him to fall behind.
Arrom strode next to him for a while, urging Daniel to turn back, to remember the soft touches and wistful good-byes of the villagers, the fierce strength of Iranya’s arms around him and her hastily dried tears, the warmth of Shamda’s hand against his cheek. Arrom pointed out the path to the water hole, the stones worn smooth by the passage of hands and feet, the wealth of crumbling walls that had drawn his eager eyes time and time again. But, as they left the familiar sights and sounds and the flashes of memory dredged up a rush of emotion, Arrom had faded, face creased with loss, his cry echoing in the cusp of evening that Daniel would regret this step along his journey.
… “Doctor Jackson” … pointed, strident, amiable … “Daniel” … angry, fearful, gentle … “Danyel” ... passionate, worried, screaming in pain …
“Daniel Jackson.”
He didn’t know why, but the bulk of the tattooed warrior drew him, and he’d found himself walking at his side, comforted by his quiet strength, warmed by the man’s dignified presence. He turned at the questioning tone to meet the dark eyes.
“Do you require assistance?”
Daniel felt his lips curve into a smile. “Thank you. I just –” he shook his head, unable to give words to these feelings. “I hope you don’t mind, I just feel – unrushed – with you.” He shrugged. “Calm, I guess. Safe.” None of those words were quite right and Daniel sighed, searching for understanding in the broad face. He caught his breath at the profound gratitude he found there.
The large man tipped his head and Daniel felt his own forehead wrinkling in confusion at the clenched jaw and the eyes that blinked so quickly before they focused again on their surroundings. This man – Jaffa, he reminded himself – communicated so easily without uttering one single word.
“Yeah, once I got over my initial terror of Teal’c, here,” the thin voice of the fourth figure drew Daniel’s gaze, “I realized I never felt safer than when he was watching out for me.” An easy grin and bright eyes shone in the young face.
Daniel stumbled, dizzying visions crowding his mind – fear, dread, a screeching alarm…
… “Call your medics – do it! Don’t touch anything!” … seething with impatience at the delay, pain exploding in his hand … “No, it was his fault! He interfered!” … denial, disbelief, silence, resignation …
“Doctor Jackson?”
“What?” he barked.
A large hand held his shoulder in a strong grip, steadying his balance. Daniel looked up at the concerned face above him and nodded his thanks. As the hand dropped away, almost reluctantly, Daniel turned to the young man, surprised by his sudden paleness, fear stalking in the widened eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, frown knotting his sweat-soaked skin. He drew one sleeve across his forehead and tried to curb his sudden trembling.
“Do you remember, Daniel Jackson?”
He shook his head. “No. It’s not memory,” Daniel tried to explain, “Just flashes – feelings, mostly. Sometimes words, sounds, smells.”
… glass cracked, the air burned his throat, his nose … sweat dripped down his back … waves of heat and energy danced across his vision … the coppery taste of blood … the gagging smell of scorched flesh … “No!” …
Daniel’s gaze snapped to the thin figure now keeping a careful distance to his right. “Voices.”
The young man jerked a nod in his direction and quickened his pace to walk beside the woman – Samantha Carter. Sam.
Daniel stepped away from the Jaffa and steadied his breathing, forcing down the dimming anger, the flooding despair, the heavy weight of surrender. His eyes focused on the tips of his boots, just visible beneath the billow of his robes. One foot and then the other, safe against the ground, the frozen grasses crinkling, their slender sheaths of ice breaking into brittle pieces.
He was tied down to the earth, tied to these people with invisible bonds that sometimes grew lax, sometimes tightened harshly against his spirit. The man – Jack, not Jim – turned and pierced him with a dark, unreadable stare and Daniel could almost see the connection between them. Strong, turbulent, holding him close, but not too close, even when he’d resumed his steady gait across the plain. Sam’s quick smile, a shade too bright, gripped him and loosed him in one motion. At his side, the Jaffa, Teal’c, stood guard, immovable, over his soul.
The fourth man was a puzzle, their bond sloppy with broken threads and choking knots, chaotic, intense and yet as thin as a shard of glass. It seemed that Daniel could break it with one sideways step, but it held him nonetheless, clutching fingers scrabbling at his skin.
He needed his memories, needed them to buffer him from these naked, crushing links that burned like freezing metal.
Dead and yet alive again. Ascended, the man had said, to a higher plane of existence. A being without form, without body, encased in the skin of the universe. It sounded impossible, like a story told to children of unseen guardians, inhuman creatures who watched and waited, helped and comforted, toting up good and evil on a celestial scoreboard. Perhaps that’s why these connections burned, left bruises, beating him with such cumbersome thoughts and sensations. He clenched his fists, reveling in the sharp prick of his fingernails against his palms. Perhaps he’d forgotten how to feel, how to survive within a human skin, how to live with the demands of family, of friendship, of hate and love and every other human emotion.
He’d fallen from that higher plane: pushed out, thrown down, banished. Such a fall must leave scars. Daniel breathed deeply of the air of his adopted world as they reached the stone ring and the device that he knew controlled its twists and turns. He reached out one hand to touch seven symbols, the grind and scrape of metal familiar, comforting, each light along the circle warm and healing. Perhaps even these scars would heal.
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 past connects with a heavy hand.
The silver-haired man walked out across the plain, eyes scanning the darkening horizon, resting for a moment on a scraggly patch of growth, a heap of broken stones, or turning towards the slightest sigh of wind through empty branches. The woman, a few steps behind as if hesitant to touch the edges of the leader’s long shadow, moved gracefully even though weighed down with a heavy pack and the long metal weapon she held against her chest. They’d begun their journey towards the Stargate on either side of him, close but careful not to touch, but his steps had gradually slowed and, finally, they’d shared a glance and allowed him to fall behind.
Arrom strode next to him for a while, urging Daniel to turn back, to remember the soft touches and wistful good-byes of the villagers, the fierce strength of Iranya’s arms around him and her hastily dried tears, the warmth of Shamda’s hand against his cheek. Arrom pointed out the path to the water hole, the stones worn smooth by the passage of hands and feet, the wealth of crumbling walls that had drawn his eager eyes time and time again. But, as they left the familiar sights and sounds and the flashes of memory dredged up a rush of emotion, Arrom had faded, face creased with loss, his cry echoing in the cusp of evening that Daniel would regret this step along his journey.
… “Doctor Jackson” … pointed, strident, amiable … “Daniel” … angry, fearful, gentle … “Danyel” ... passionate, worried, screaming in pain …
“Daniel Jackson.”
He didn’t know why, but the bulk of the tattooed warrior drew him, and he’d found himself walking at his side, comforted by his quiet strength, warmed by the man’s dignified presence. He turned at the questioning tone to meet the dark eyes.
“Do you require assistance?”
Daniel felt his lips curve into a smile. “Thank you. I just –” he shook his head, unable to give words to these feelings. “I hope you don’t mind, I just feel – unrushed – with you.” He shrugged. “Calm, I guess. Safe.” None of those words were quite right and Daniel sighed, searching for understanding in the broad face. He caught his breath at the profound gratitude he found there.
The large man tipped his head and Daniel felt his own forehead wrinkling in confusion at the clenched jaw and the eyes that blinked so quickly before they focused again on their surroundings. This man – Jaffa, he reminded himself – communicated so easily without uttering one single word.
“Yeah, once I got over my initial terror of Teal’c, here,” the thin voice of the fourth figure drew Daniel’s gaze, “I realized I never felt safer than when he was watching out for me.” An easy grin and bright eyes shone in the young face.
Daniel stumbled, dizzying visions crowding his mind – fear, dread, a screeching alarm…
… “Call your medics – do it! Don’t touch anything!” … seething with impatience at the delay, pain exploding in his hand … “No, it was his fault! He interfered!” … denial, disbelief, silence, resignation …
“Doctor Jackson?”
“What?” he barked.
A large hand held his shoulder in a strong grip, steadying his balance. Daniel looked up at the concerned face above him and nodded his thanks. As the hand dropped away, almost reluctantly, Daniel turned to the young man, surprised by his sudden paleness, fear stalking in the widened eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, frown knotting his sweat-soaked skin. He drew one sleeve across his forehead and tried to curb his sudden trembling.
“Do you remember, Daniel Jackson?”
He shook his head. “No. It’s not memory,” Daniel tried to explain, “Just flashes – feelings, mostly. Sometimes words, sounds, smells.”
… glass cracked, the air burned his throat, his nose … sweat dripped down his back … waves of heat and energy danced across his vision … the coppery taste of blood … the gagging smell of scorched flesh … “No!” …
Daniel’s gaze snapped to the thin figure now keeping a careful distance to his right. “Voices.”
The young man jerked a nod in his direction and quickened his pace to walk beside the woman – Samantha Carter. Sam.
Daniel stepped away from the Jaffa and steadied his breathing, forcing down the dimming anger, the flooding despair, the heavy weight of surrender. His eyes focused on the tips of his boots, just visible beneath the billow of his robes. One foot and then the other, safe against the ground, the frozen grasses crinkling, their slender sheaths of ice breaking into brittle pieces.
He was tied down to the earth, tied to these people with invisible bonds that sometimes grew lax, sometimes tightened harshly against his spirit. The man – Jack, not Jim – turned and pierced him with a dark, unreadable stare and Daniel could almost see the connection between them. Strong, turbulent, holding him close, but not too close, even when he’d resumed his steady gait across the plain. Sam’s quick smile, a shade too bright, gripped him and loosed him in one motion. At his side, the Jaffa, Teal’c, stood guard, immovable, over his soul.
The fourth man was a puzzle, their bond sloppy with broken threads and choking knots, chaotic, intense and yet as thin as a shard of glass. It seemed that Daniel could break it with one sideways step, but it held him nonetheless, clutching fingers scrabbling at his skin.
He needed his memories, needed them to buffer him from these naked, crushing links that burned like freezing metal.
Dead and yet alive again. Ascended, the man had said, to a higher plane of existence. A being without form, without body, encased in the skin of the universe. It sounded impossible, like a story told to children of unseen guardians, inhuman creatures who watched and waited, helped and comforted, toting up good and evil on a celestial scoreboard. Perhaps that’s why these connections burned, left bruises, beating him with such cumbersome thoughts and sensations. He clenched his fists, reveling in the sharp prick of his fingernails against his palms. Perhaps he’d forgotten how to feel, how to survive within a human skin, how to live with the demands of family, of friendship, of hate and love and every other human emotion.
He’d fallen from that higher plane: pushed out, thrown down, banished. Such a fall must leave scars. Daniel breathed deeply of the air of his adopted world as they reached the stone ring and the device that he knew controlled its twists and turns. He reached out one hand to touch seven symbols, the grind and scrape of metal familiar, comforting, each light along the circle warm and healing. Perhaps even these scars would heal.