Random stuff/Stargate SG-1 snippet: the winter of a long night
+ vinylroad is polling on Supernatural rare pairings for a fic challenge: here.
+ evelynlele did a fantastic DVD commentary on one of my Narnia stories, Knock on All Doors and Enter Nowhere! \o/
+ I have a lazy-daze back, so I'm writing again! Something longish and plotty though, so there won't be much sign of it for a while. In the meantime, here's a little snippet I wrote after watching Continuum. I admit, I dithered between sending this to the recycle bin or posting...
the winter of a long night [Stargate SG-1, Daniel, PG, 418 words, major spoilers for Continuum. Title from Farewell and Goodnight by The Smashing Pumpkins.]
He misses his leg.
Of course he does.
Middle of the night. He needs a piss, half asleep, and it's easy to forget, fall flat on his face, center of gravity all wrong.
Some nights he keeps rereading the same page, not remembering a word between one reading and the next. He can't ignore the flat bedcovers, and Barnes & Noble don't sell any book interesting enough to distract him.
It hurts sometimes, the empty space, aches and itches. Funny thing is, real painkillers work just fine on phantom pain. Sam'd probably know why.
He misses them. More.
More than part of his own body. Being without his team, not being allowed to talk with Sam or Cameron-that ache hasn't eased in six months.
He makes notes. All the things he needs to say to them, theories and suggestions. Some random observations, ways this world is better or worse or just different and what might have caused that. Ideas he wants to run past Sam. Questions for Cam.
He's considered ways of getting in touch, naturally. He's come close to trying a few times, when missing them hurts too bad and slamming his fist in the wall doesn't even begin to override it. But he never does.
Every time he opens his laptop it mocks him. He has the entire world at his fingertips. He can communicate with anyone. Except the only two people who really matter.
He finds out Colonel O'Neill's number. He doesn't dial it.
He doesn't make friends.
It's always come easily to him, making friends. People gravitate towards him. He's good with children, and maybe that makes people feel comfortable with him. But here he doesn't know his neighbors' names, doesn't speak to them unless they speak first and they soon give up on that.
There's just no point. Not when the world's going to end.
He hooks up occasionally, but he always sleeps alone. Makes sure there's nothing to tie him to this timeline, nothing - no one - to make him regret leaving it.
He gets up early each morning and works out.
He finds a local shooting range and signs up with his real name - no point doing otherwise, he knows he's being watched. He limps up, leans his cane against the low wall, and hits dead center first time. He hears the surprised murmurs - he doesn't look like an SG-1 team member these days.
He leads the life he must and never wavers.
It's a long night, but Ba'al is coming. Daniel will be ready.
//
+ evelynlele did a fantastic DVD commentary on one of my Narnia stories, Knock on All Doors and Enter Nowhere! \o/
+ I have a lazy-daze back, so I'm writing again! Something longish and plotty though, so there won't be much sign of it for a while. In the meantime, here's a little snippet I wrote after watching Continuum. I admit, I dithered between sending this to the recycle bin or posting...
the winter of a long night [Stargate SG-1, Daniel, PG, 418 words, major spoilers for Continuum. Title from Farewell and Goodnight by The Smashing Pumpkins.]
He misses his leg.
Of course he does.
Middle of the night. He needs a piss, half asleep, and it's easy to forget, fall flat on his face, center of gravity all wrong.
Some nights he keeps rereading the same page, not remembering a word between one reading and the next. He can't ignore the flat bedcovers, and Barnes & Noble don't sell any book interesting enough to distract him.
It hurts sometimes, the empty space, aches and itches. Funny thing is, real painkillers work just fine on phantom pain. Sam'd probably know why.
He misses them. More.
More than part of his own body. Being without his team, not being allowed to talk with Sam or Cameron-that ache hasn't eased in six months.
He makes notes. All the things he needs to say to them, theories and suggestions. Some random observations, ways this world is better or worse or just different and what might have caused that. Ideas he wants to run past Sam. Questions for Cam.
He's considered ways of getting in touch, naturally. He's come close to trying a few times, when missing them hurts too bad and slamming his fist in the wall doesn't even begin to override it. But he never does.
Every time he opens his laptop it mocks him. He has the entire world at his fingertips. He can communicate with anyone. Except the only two people who really matter.
He finds out Colonel O'Neill's number. He doesn't dial it.
He doesn't make friends.
It's always come easily to him, making friends. People gravitate towards him. He's good with children, and maybe that makes people feel comfortable with him. But here he doesn't know his neighbors' names, doesn't speak to them unless they speak first and they soon give up on that.
There's just no point. Not when the world's going to end.
He hooks up occasionally, but he always sleeps alone. Makes sure there's nothing to tie him to this timeline, nothing - no one - to make him regret leaving it.
He gets up early each morning and works out.
He finds a local shooting range and signs up with his real name - no point doing otherwise, he knows he's being watched. He limps up, leans his cane against the low wall, and hits dead center first time. He hears the surprised murmurs - he doesn't look like an SG-1 team member these days.
He leads the life he must and never wavers.
It's a long night, but Ba'al is coming. Daniel will be ready.
//