The Question
The Question
by Rach L.
The Question
By Rach L.
rach_jiwon@hotmail.com
Rate: PG
Category: Post-Absolute Power. D/S
Summary: Daniel starts along a new path.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended.
'Somewhere I have never traveled, gladly beyond
Any experience, your eyes have their silence:
In your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
Or which I cannot touch because they are too near.' --E. E. Cummings.
"Go ahead."
Sam looks up, her right foot not breaking its steady rhythm of taps on the floor. She's been struggling with the order of the extracted data result sheets for the last thirty minutes now, and half of the sheets are still mingled, out of sequence. In short, she needs coffee. "What was that, Daniel? Sorry, I didn't catch it."
His eyes do not leave one of the thick hardcover books stacked in front of him. They haven't, for at least an hour. A fine picture of a workaholic couple they make. "You can ask, you know."
Her hand, reaching for her coffee mug, stops in the midair. She really hasn't expected this. "Daniel..."
"It's okay, you can ask." He looks up from the book briefly, but soon his eyes wander back to it again. She can't detect anything from his expression, and that unnerves her a little.
His voice is monotonous and flat, tempered only by the courtesy that one should have for his four-year friend and colleague. "Really. Everyone asked me in one way or the other. Janet wanted to know if my abnormal brain chemistry could have anything do to with my 'dream' experience. The General, well, being a general, asked about security issues, if Shifu could pose any threat to us. Jack wasn't so...subtle. Even Teal'c has been just...hovering." The pause is brief, but significant. "So, it's okay to ask."
She knows it is. Of course she can ask him, and of course she'll only get the same polite reply he's given to everyone else that doesn't really answer anything substantial or meaningful. She doesn't need that. She doesn't need to hear an empty answer.
She doesn't want to be the one who has to ask to know the answer.
She plays with the handle of her clay mug. "I didn't think you'd want to be asked."
A small lopsided smile plays around his lips. "But you want to."
Undeniably true. She forces her eyes back to the monstrous paper work again. "It doesn't mean I am going to."
She feels his eyes upon her, before he slowly goes back to reading. She still can't identify his expression. Not that she wants to know what he's thinking right now, really.
Silence. Only the noise of turning papers.
She doesn't terribly mind the silence. Silence, with them, has always been comfortable, reaffirming the fact that they don't necessarily need words to communicate. This tradition, the research sessions, began a long time ago, and even from the beginning they could reside in each other's company, in uncomplicated silence when they submerged into their respective studies. When they talk, the conversation is always animated and lively, the bombardment of ideas on each other, not even a minute of a break in between. When the context is appropriate, or if any situation demands heavy mental therapy session for one of the two, they even share the most difficult of ideas, those that are not confined to the academic disputes, but in their memories and their past.
They share the both ends of the spectrum without any discomfort, and she is smart enough to appreciate this quality of their relationship. She knows him in her own way, and he knows her in his way.
Today is a little different. Their silence is slightly restrained, even suffocating in some sense. They've been both politely ignoring each other until now, she working on her data as always, he doing his research on Mesopotamian cultures for the next week's recon mission.
She knows why, so she understands.
It always has been always like this when it came to Daniel's Sha're. This part of him cannot be disturbed in any way. He rarely talks about her any more, and after her death, it has become a taboo as a conversation topic. This Harsesis child, Shifu, belongs in the same, heavily guarded part of his personal history, a portion of his life that she cannot know for certain, the memories upon which she cannot intrude. It's his Holy Grail of a kind, and he won't talk about it.
She's peripherally aware that he has suddenly put down the book and gone on a search for something on the table. Normally, if he can't find something, he'd enlist her help immediately and she'd gladly comply, but now he doesn't. He's simply overlooking her presence, and she is somewhat disappointed.
"What are you looking for, Daniel?" she finally asks.
"Uh what?" His head snaps up. "Ah, nothing really. There's this...thing..." He pulls out a bunch of clipped papers, flips a few books, and vainly tries to locate his 'thing'. "And seems like it doesn't want to be found," he mumbles more to himself.
He straightens up and sees that she's watching him intently. It seems like he doesn't want to tell her. "Uh, I'm just looking for a..." he gives in. "Sam, pass me a pen?"
A pen. His causal yet weighed request puzzles her. She hands him a black chipped pen as he comes over to her. He takes it without a word.
A pen.
She suddenly remembers. She recalls his report on his 'ribbon device induced hallucination', and a part where he talks to her counterpart in his dream about Sha're's awe over a pen. (Daniel's family, it seems, is very particular about giving him messages through dreams. 'Gee, can't they just *talk* to him?' says the Colonel, who neglects the fact that dream is probably their only way to communicate with him. But, really, why dreams? Why in some place where his real friends cannot help him? Why does he have to endure the revelations by himself? It really isn't fair.) For Daniel, even an insignificant, easily forgettable object like a pen is a devise that brings him back the memory of his forever-lost wife, a reason for another unhealthy dose of grief and agony. He didn't talk about it, and only informed them through his report. This is another reminder for her that she cannot share everything with him, a part of him on which she cannot intrude.
She will not ask.
"He's still just a child."
At first she isn't sure if he spoke, because his eyes are still on the text with the pen tapping on its cover, but he must have.
"It doesn't matter how wise, or how powerful he is," he speaks absently, the pen continuing to tap the book. "He's just a child who wants to know about his mother."
She chews her lower lip. As far as the SG-1 therapy grapevine--in this case, the Colonel--has informed her, Daniel hasn't really talked to anyone about this yet. She certainly hasn't expected him to open up to her this time, and although she's glad that he chose her to be the person to confide in, she's not sure she's ready with the right answer that can soothe his pain. Daniel didn't want Sha're child to go; it was plainly written on his face when they said their good-byes. Shifu is all he has left of her, the evidence of her existence. And he wishes to hang onto the memory as long as possible. Sam understands.
"You told him what he needed," she speaks in the gentlest voice possible. "Now he knows her though you. You made things...better for him, Daniel."
She cannot say anything more. Was it good enough? She's almost afraid to look at him. She immediately fumbles with her papers, lowering her eyes just like he did.
"Yes," his answer is quiet and measured, "and he told me what I needed."
Which is...? She stops the question that's about to come out from her lips. No, she will not ask.
He taps the book with the pen again. Tick. Tick. "You must unleash your burden before you find your own way again."
That is a very dangerous advice, depending on to whom you're providing it. She again has to suppress the question; just how much of the unleashing has he done, really?
As he flips through a notebook, a journal of sorts, an envelope falls from it. He stares at it for a brief moment before picking it up. His face expression is, again, quite undecipherable.
She can't help but stare at the envelope herself. It is obvious that this is something he's been looking for, not the pen.
He isn't going to...is he?
'It's time for me to choose a new path.' That's what he's said. A new path for him. She agrees partially, because he has come to this far in this exhausting journey to find his wife and her son, and his eyes haven't averted from his goal, not even once. He may need another goal, another path. She doesn't have any problem with it as long as his new path doesn't exclude his friends. Or her.
She doesn't have to ask the question. If her guess is right--oh, god, she hopes not--then she'll know the answer soon enough.
He pushes up his glasses, hanging on the edge of his nose, and contemplates. Then he slides the envelope to her side in one movement. His eyes do not meet hers, but they're intent on the envelope. "Here."
She hesitantly puts her hand over it. It's smooth and cool, and she doesn't want to open it. "Daniel..."
There's an interesting smile on his face, glistening with reminiscence. "True nature of a man is determined in the battle between his conscious mind and the desire of the subconscious. If evilness of the subconscious is too strong to resist--"
"--the only way to win is to deny its battle." She remembers the line. How can she forget?
He gives her a small smile, as if to compliment her memory. "Sam," his voice is drawn. It is hard for him to say whatever he needs to say. "Some battles don't necessarily have to be denied."
A nebulous answer, a kind that Daniel doesn't give out much. With him, it is always a very long elaborated answer or a short, cutting-off reply. He's obviously picked up this mysterious and vague reply habit from the child.
She fingers the envelope with a dread. "What is...this?"
"It's, um, a thank-you gesture." He gazes up at the ceiling as if he cannot face her. "I guess it can be also interpreted as an...apology too."
A clean, white, rectangular envelope. She's seen it before, when they found the Harsesis child for the first time. When she went to his office after the mission, hoping that she could provide even just a bit of consolation for him, she saw him writing a letter, folding it, and putting it inside the white envelope. She remembers his hesitance, the long solitary silence, before he ripped it into pieces. She remembers hoping to never see it again.
But here it is now. She closes her eyes briefly, but opens them again with a renewed strength. If he wants to show this to her, if he needs her to take it to General Hammond, then she will. It's the least thing she can do for him. She opens the envelope with one quick motion, then after peeking through it, closes it instantly.
He speaks quickly, too quickly, "I...overheard you speaking to Sgt. Siler."
"Daniel..."
"It's for tomorrow," his voice speeds up, if that's even possible, "I hope you don't have anything planned."
"Daniel..."
"It *is* what you wanted, isn't it?" A hint of panic crosses his face. "Did I get the wrong ticket?"
She looks down at the envelope, numb.
Tickets for the opening night of the special motorcycle exhibition in town, the one she's been talking to Siler in a hushed tone for weeks now, the one that she didn't dare to purchase because...
Because Major Samantha Carter didn't have time for such things like recreational activities.
She could laugh, if it wasn't for the lack of sensation thing she has going on right now. It's a very contrasting emotion from the overwhelming anxiety she felt a moment ago.
"Oh god, it's the wrong one, isn't it?" He sighs. "I wasn't so sure. There were several...things going on, and I was never an expert in that...particular subject matter, and--"
She hurriedly stops him, the two opposing urges--is she supposed to cry in this sort of situation, or laugh?--going through her at once, "No, Daniel. This is right."
"--and, I mean, I can exchange it to the one you want since it's not that hard although it took me quite a while to--" he stops, finally catching up what she said, "Uh, what?"
"This is the right one. This is," she is almost fighting the tears, "way better than right."
"Oh." He looks speechless for a second. "Then, uh, you already have the ticket?"
"No."
"Oh." He thinks. "Um, so just to make it clear," his index finger is drawn to make a point, "This is a good thing, right?"
She doesn't believe she can speak more than one syllable right now. "Yes."
"...ah, right. Good then."
He's obviously confused, probably interpreting her stiffness as something else entirely.
But he *is* adorable when he's puzzled, she admits to herself.
"Thanks, Daniel." She finally grins, her fingers touching the envelope's surface, treasuring it. "You don't know how much this means to me."
He stares at her for a second, and there's a slight touch of embarrassment on his face. "You're welcome. It's really...well, I wanted to thank you."
Now it's her turn to be puzzled. "For what?"
"Well," he swallows, "Knowing me so well, for one. And for trying to stop me when I was, well...bad, I guess is the word. For being my conscience."
It takes a while for her to realize that he's referring to whatever happened in his dream. She's just glad, for whatever her dream counterpart did to help him out. "And you are mine, Daniel." Okay, that sounds... a Freudian slip. "..my conscience."
He hasn't noticed her slip--thank God. He only smiles in his carefully reserved way. "You're not going to ask me?"
Here it is again. *The* question.
What happened in your dream, Daniel?
Did you find your new path?
Will you stay?
"No, I'm not," she tells him. He looks surprised. "I won't ask you, but I *am* going to wait until you want to tell me about it." Sometimes it seems like she's been waiting ever since she saw Doctor Daniel Jackson on Abydos four years ago, but she can take a bit more. "I can wait."
He smiles at her--not a lopsided or one, but a full, genuine smile with an added twinkle in his eyes.
Oh yes. She can definitely wait.
"Daniel," she suddenly remembers something that's been bugging her in a corner of her mind, "There're two tickets inside."
"Ahhh, yes. It was a pair of tickets, a matching...set." He looks a little self-conscious. "Thought you'd probably want to go with someone. Sgt. Siler?" After a second of thought, he adds, "Jack?" At that, the balloon she's been sitting on pops out, as if he just poked it with a sharp needle. "Ah, I don't think so." She tries to hide the bitter disappointment and fakes the enthusiasm she doesn't have. "Siler can't make it, and I don't think the Colonel would be interested."
"Really?" he frowns, "I thought it was a Jack kind of thing."
She shakes her head. "No. I, I'll probably go alone." She quickly adds as he gives her a slightly questioning expression, "I don't mind, really. I'll have a wonderful time. Thanks, Daniel."
"You're welcome," he nods with a small smile. "Have fun."
"I will."
Well, she really is getting better with the notion of self-deception.
And they're back to work. He's immediately immersed in another thick hardcover, making notes as he reads down, and she, with a carefully concealed disappointment, goes back to sorting out the data sheets.
One full minute later, he calls out uncertainly, "Uh, Sam?"
She takes her eyes off from the papers, secretly entertaining the idea of tearing the sheets apart into pieces. "Hmm?"
"Um." Is she seeing something, or is that a blush on his face? "If you ask me tomorrow, I think I will be able to tell you...everything."
She blinks. She doesn't know what to make of it, or whether if she's heard correctly.
But she bravely ventures, "Seven o'clock?" The ticket says the exhibition opens at eight.
"Make it six?" he tentatively suggests, "We can grab something to eat on the way."
"Yes, That'd be...great."
"It's a date then."
It's hard to hide the grin threatening to take control over her face, but she swallows it. "Yes."
"I'll pick you up at your place."
"Good."
"Good."
They look at each other for a while in a little awkward, a little embarrassed, but not at all unpleasant silence.
Then he goes back to his books and printouts again, making underlines with the black pen. He smiles when their eyes meet briefly.
She smiles back.
Tomorrow can't come fast enough.
*end*
03/04/01
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