SG-1: The Calendar (PG-13), Gen.
Jack lived his life by the deaths of Daniel.
Warning: some may take this as character death (since yeah, lots of Daniel death but hey it's all totally canon), but the ending actually isn't meant that way because by this point, I honestly don't think the man can die.
Some people liked to use calendars. Jack lived his life by the deaths of Daniel.
A decade ago was when it started. Jack had known he was still alive when he stood in the debriefing and said on oath that Dr. Jackson hadn't made it. Jack had known if anyone could survive there, it was Daniel, the one that started the Revolution in the first place and set them all free.
Set Jack free, too. He didn't sit in the dark with his gun anymore, playing Russian Rolette in the back of his mind.
He didn't go back to work, either. He took up astronomy.
That was the first one. There's been far too many since. Staff blasts and cave ins and fire and radiation--Sam wannabes with metal spikes for arms.
People ask him why he left the SGC. He's sick of seeing his friend die, he says. They say, we've all lost people. They don't get he's talking about losing the same one, over and over, like some sick instant replay option that God seems to get kick out of watching.
Daniel had two funerals and a wake before quite reaching thirty. He's had two more since.
The funerals are why he left. The real reason. He's got nothing left to say in eulogy, and he just can't make it through another one.
Distance was supposed to cure him. Politicians didn't seem to die.
There's nowhere that's safe, though, and Jack should have known that going in. He can be cozy in Washington D.C. in a five star hotel, and the phone call still reaches him, four in the morning, Cameron Mitchell's wavering voice telling a story about Ori and crossfire and I'm sorry.
Jack knows better than to believe it.
Warning: some may take this as character death (since yeah, lots of Daniel death but hey it's all totally canon), but the ending actually isn't meant that way because by this point, I honestly don't think the man can die.
Some people liked to use calendars. Jack lived his life by the deaths of Daniel.
A decade ago was when it started. Jack had known he was still alive when he stood in the debriefing and said on oath that Dr. Jackson hadn't made it. Jack had known if anyone could survive there, it was Daniel, the one that started the Revolution in the first place and set them all free.
Set Jack free, too. He didn't sit in the dark with his gun anymore, playing Russian Rolette in the back of his mind.
He didn't go back to work, either. He took up astronomy.
That was the first one. There's been far too many since. Staff blasts and cave ins and fire and radiation--Sam wannabes with metal spikes for arms.
People ask him why he left the SGC. He's sick of seeing his friend die, he says. They say, we've all lost people. They don't get he's talking about losing the same one, over and over, like some sick instant replay option that God seems to get kick out of watching.
Daniel had two funerals and a wake before quite reaching thirty. He's had two more since.
The funerals are why he left. The real reason. He's got nothing left to say in eulogy, and he just can't make it through another one.
Distance was supposed to cure him. Politicians didn't seem to die.
There's nowhere that's safe, though, and Jack should have known that going in. He can be cozy in Washington D.C. in a five star hotel, and the phone call still reaches him, four in the morning, Cameron Mitchell's wavering voice telling a story about Ori and crossfire and I'm sorry.
Jack knows better than to believe it.