Leaving, SG-1 General
Jul. 20th, 2006 01:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phantismaTitle: Leaving
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Characters: General: Daniel, brief mention of others
Prompt: table 2, # 034 Leave
Word Count: 574
Rating: PG
Summary: Far-future fic, in which Daniel is leaving the SGC
WARNING: Mention of multiple character deaths
My eleventh ficlet for my![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
100_situations Table
Scarred hands, once agile fingers cradled the remains of a scroll covered in faint symbols. Moving gingerly, those hands lifted the scroll into a leather case. The table around the case was stacked with boxes and books and artifacts that looked like they belonged in a museum, not some hidden room hundreds of feet below a mountain.
Tenderly, those hands closed the case and settled it into a labeled box that already held memories he could no longer bear to leave out in the open. It hurt too damn much. He wasn’t sure who he was packing all this stuff for…there was no one left to leave it too.
Blue eyes closed against the thought, against the memory of the early days, of friends he’d somehow lost in time. He’d never believed a day like this one would come. He was the one who died, the others…waited for him to come back. That was how it was meant to be, or so he’d convinced himself somewhere along the line.
Hammond’s death had been meaningless, stupid. Dr. Lee had wasted away to nothing, eaten up from the inside out by some alien disease they never did figure out. Sha’re, Janet, Jacob…they piled up in the shadows of the room, reminders, ghosts… Rya’c, Bra’tac, Mitchell. He looked down at the backs of his hands, scars and marks of battles he barely remembered…and others he’d never forget.
His hands ached as he lifted the picture he’d left beside the open box. He couldn’t put it away just yet. It would be like burying them all over again. Long fingers brushed over smiling faces, sun burnt, but happy, alive,…together. Sam had gone after Mitchell, lost in the battle against the Ori…lost…so much was lost then…she saved them, always…somehow…and she couldn’t save herself.
His thumb traced over the other face, Jack…breath caught in his throat and for a moment nothing else in the world mattered. He’d never said goodbye…couldn’t say it…but Jack left anyway…with Daniel clutching his hand and blood staining the ground…He’d said it was time to leave.
His hands shook as he put the picture in the box, face down so he could dull the sharp sting in his chest, swallowing down the guilt and grief.
“Are you ready to go, Old Man?”
He looked up, calmed by the familiar comfort of the voice of his friend. Teal’c bore little signs of the years, though a little gray had begun to creep into his hair. His presence pushed the ghosts away a little. He put a lid on the box and nodded, taking a last look around.
For more years than he could count, this office had been more of a home to him than any apartment or house. Countless nights spent lost in books and translations and alien cultures. More nights waiting…waiting to go off world…waiting to know friends were safe…waiting for the pain to pass…for the world to end…for the next mission…the next funeral.
His waiting was at an end. Like Jack, it was his time to leave. His steps were slow, his hands in the pockets of a uniform he would never wear again, and only wore now out of habit. At the door he paused. Behind him…in those boxes and books and office…twenty years lay silent…and the ghosts gathered to say farewell.
Without looking, Daniel Jackson turned off the light and shut the door, leaving the man he once was in their care.
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Characters: General: Daniel, brief mention of others
Prompt: table 2, # 034 Leave
Word Count: 574
Rating: PG
Summary: Far-future fic, in which Daniel is leaving the SGC
WARNING: Mention of multiple character deaths
My eleventh ficlet for my
100_situations TableScarred hands, once agile fingers cradled the remains of a scroll covered in faint symbols. Moving gingerly, those hands lifted the scroll into a leather case. The table around the case was stacked with boxes and books and artifacts that looked like they belonged in a museum, not some hidden room hundreds of feet below a mountain.
Tenderly, those hands closed the case and settled it into a labeled box that already held memories he could no longer bear to leave out in the open. It hurt too damn much. He wasn’t sure who he was packing all this stuff for…there was no one left to leave it too.
Blue eyes closed against the thought, against the memory of the early days, of friends he’d somehow lost in time. He’d never believed a day like this one would come. He was the one who died, the others…waited for him to come back. That was how it was meant to be, or so he’d convinced himself somewhere along the line.
Hammond’s death had been meaningless, stupid. Dr. Lee had wasted away to nothing, eaten up from the inside out by some alien disease they never did figure out. Sha’re, Janet, Jacob…they piled up in the shadows of the room, reminders, ghosts… Rya’c, Bra’tac, Mitchell. He looked down at the backs of his hands, scars and marks of battles he barely remembered…and others he’d never forget.
His hands ached as he lifted the picture he’d left beside the open box. He couldn’t put it away just yet. It would be like burying them all over again. Long fingers brushed over smiling faces, sun burnt, but happy, alive,…together. Sam had gone after Mitchell, lost in the battle against the Ori…lost…so much was lost then…she saved them, always…somehow…and she couldn’t save herself.
His thumb traced over the other face, Jack…breath caught in his throat and for a moment nothing else in the world mattered. He’d never said goodbye…couldn’t say it…but Jack left anyway…with Daniel clutching his hand and blood staining the ground…He’d said it was time to leave.
His hands shook as he put the picture in the box, face down so he could dull the sharp sting in his chest, swallowing down the guilt and grief.
“Are you ready to go, Old Man?”
He looked up, calmed by the familiar comfort of the voice of his friend. Teal’c bore little signs of the years, though a little gray had begun to creep into his hair. His presence pushed the ghosts away a little. He put a lid on the box and nodded, taking a last look around.
For more years than he could count, this office had been more of a home to him than any apartment or house. Countless nights spent lost in books and translations and alien cultures. More nights waiting…waiting to go off world…waiting to know friends were safe…waiting for the pain to pass…for the world to end…for the next mission…the next funeral.
His waiting was at an end. Like Jack, it was his time to leave. His steps were slow, his hands in the pockets of a uniform he would never wear again, and only wore now out of habit. At the door he paused. Behind him…in those boxes and books and office…twenty years lay silent…and the ghosts gathered to say farewell.
Without looking, Daniel Jackson turned off the light and shut the door, leaving the man he once was in their care.
