fic: Domino Motion (PG-13)
Title: Domino Motion
'Verse: Heart-Shaped Box (SG-1)
She stands in the open doorway, leaning against the frame, a fondly amused smile quirking her lips. The rumpled form of one Daniel Jackson lies within the office, curled up on the battered loveseat kept there for times such as these. Riley laughs softly, straightening up and stepping away quickly to retrieve a few items from her own office down the hall. Daniel hasn’t woken when she returns, so she continues on into the office and stops in front of the couch, just watching him breathe in and out for a moment. He’s been through a lot these past few years, more than she could ever even begin to comprehend. Sure, she’d gone through Hell and back a few times when she worked at Torchwood; it came with the territory of being part of a top-secret organisation that dealt with aliens and their tech, though they’d never really come across much mention of the Goa’uld or any of the other numerous Big Bads that the ‘Gate program had. But Daniel- She shivers, and then continues on with what she had retrieved, carefully tucking a hand-knitted blanket around Daniel’s slumbering body, making sure to get his feet covered, ‘cause two years experience of being his flatmate in a two-bedroom apartment during college means she knows that he sleeps better with his feet warm. He’d fallen asleep too many times on the couch after studying for her not to know what to do.
Once she’s satisfied with her handiwork, Riley putters around the office, keeping as quiet as possible while tidying up. The pile of recent mission reports that Daniel hasn’t gotten around to filing catches her eye, so she sorts through them, noting with satisfaction that there aren’t any black or red tabbed folders in this batch. Daniel-or more often, Riley- sorts mission reports by color-coding them, red being hostile and/or Goa’uld controlled planets, while black signifies planets that have been locked out of the dialling computer for various reasons. Luckily, there’s only a small lockbox where the black folders go, kept in the back of one of Daniel’s closets. The rest of the folders are categorised by interest: blue for allies, tan for ruins on uninhabited planets, green for trading partners, yellow for ruins on inhabited planets, and white for possible energy sources and/or Ancient tech. There are a few tan tabs, intermixed with green and some white. Riley puts them in their corresponding drawers, occasionally sneaking glances over at Daniel.
He’s still sleeping when she finishes, a testament to his exhaustion. She cleans up the rest of his desk, and then sits down to write a short note. Daniel hasn’t spoken much to anyone, save for his team, the past few weeks, which worries her to no end. She’s never really seen him like this, though considering what he’s recently been through- finding and then losing Sha’re in the space of about six months- it’s a testament to the strength of his will that he’s lasted this long. There are words that she wants to say, but can’t; God, how can she even presume to know what he’s feeling at the moment? She wants to comfort him, make him feel better, but how can she? There’s not much she can say, and then she realises there is something she can do. The words flow, a short message laid down in pen and ink that lay in stark beauty against the white of the paper. She leaves it on his desk, propped up against the thermos of hot coffee she has brought with her from her office. It’s comprised of two sentences, but they say all she wants - and needs - them to. She leaves, pausing for a moment and gently removing Daniel’s glasses from his face, where they have been precariously hanging from one ear, and sets them on the small table next to the couch. Riley sighs, knowing that this, for now, is the best that she can do for her friend. She turns at the door, taking one last glance back at the desk where her message sits. The words, written in her neat and flowing script, stare back at her. She closes her eyes briefly, murmurs a short prayer to any higher being who might be listening to watch over the soul of Sha’re, and then leaves, closing the door behind her.
---
The message sits in the pool of light cast by the lamp behind it, black against white. Daniel picks it up, recognising the handwriting immediately. The words are simple, concise; so much like their writer it’s almost funny.
Daniel-
If you need to talk, I’ll listen. Don’t worry about when or where.
-R.
He smiles slightly, and then sips at the still-warm coffee, feeling his spirit lift just that little bit more.
And perhaps, if he goes to her office sometime later that week, bearing coffee and her favorite double-fudge chocolate brownies- well, maybe they’ll do some talking. Who knows.
'Verse: Heart-Shaped Box (SG-1)
She stands in the open doorway, leaning against the frame, a fondly amused smile quirking her lips. The rumpled form of one Daniel Jackson lies within the office, curled up on the battered loveseat kept there for times such as these. Riley laughs softly, straightening up and stepping away quickly to retrieve a few items from her own office down the hall. Daniel hasn’t woken when she returns, so she continues on into the office and stops in front of the couch, just watching him breathe in and out for a moment. He’s been through a lot these past few years, more than she could ever even begin to comprehend. Sure, she’d gone through Hell and back a few times when she worked at Torchwood; it came with the territory of being part of a top-secret organisation that dealt with aliens and their tech, though they’d never really come across much mention of the Goa’uld or any of the other numerous Big Bads that the ‘Gate program had. But Daniel- She shivers, and then continues on with what she had retrieved, carefully tucking a hand-knitted blanket around Daniel’s slumbering body, making sure to get his feet covered, ‘cause two years experience of being his flatmate in a two-bedroom apartment during college means she knows that he sleeps better with his feet warm. He’d fallen asleep too many times on the couch after studying for her not to know what to do.
Once she’s satisfied with her handiwork, Riley putters around the office, keeping as quiet as possible while tidying up. The pile of recent mission reports that Daniel hasn’t gotten around to filing catches her eye, so she sorts through them, noting with satisfaction that there aren’t any black or red tabbed folders in this batch. Daniel-or more often, Riley- sorts mission reports by color-coding them, red being hostile and/or Goa’uld controlled planets, while black signifies planets that have been locked out of the dialling computer for various reasons. Luckily, there’s only a small lockbox where the black folders go, kept in the back of one of Daniel’s closets. The rest of the folders are categorised by interest: blue for allies, tan for ruins on uninhabited planets, green for trading partners, yellow for ruins on inhabited planets, and white for possible energy sources and/or Ancient tech. There are a few tan tabs, intermixed with green and some white. Riley puts them in their corresponding drawers, occasionally sneaking glances over at Daniel.
He’s still sleeping when she finishes, a testament to his exhaustion. She cleans up the rest of his desk, and then sits down to write a short note. Daniel hasn’t spoken much to anyone, save for his team, the past few weeks, which worries her to no end. She’s never really seen him like this, though considering what he’s recently been through- finding and then losing Sha’re in the space of about six months- it’s a testament to the strength of his will that he’s lasted this long. There are words that she wants to say, but can’t; God, how can she even presume to know what he’s feeling at the moment? She wants to comfort him, make him feel better, but how can she? There’s not much she can say, and then she realises there is something she can do. The words flow, a short message laid down in pen and ink that lay in stark beauty against the white of the paper. She leaves it on his desk, propped up against the thermos of hot coffee she has brought with her from her office. It’s comprised of two sentences, but they say all she wants - and needs - them to. She leaves, pausing for a moment and gently removing Daniel’s glasses from his face, where they have been precariously hanging from one ear, and sets them on the small table next to the couch. Riley sighs, knowing that this, for now, is the best that she can do for her friend. She turns at the door, taking one last glance back at the desk where her message sits. The words, written in her neat and flowing script, stare back at her. She closes her eyes briefly, murmurs a short prayer to any higher being who might be listening to watch over the soul of Sha’re, and then leaves, closing the door behind her.
---
The message sits in the pool of light cast by the lamp behind it, black against white. Daniel picks it up, recognising the handwriting immediately. The words are simple, concise; so much like their writer it’s almost funny.
Daniel-
If you need to talk, I’ll listen. Don’t worry about when or where.
-R.
He smiles slightly, and then sips at the still-warm coffee, feeling his spirit lift just that little bit more.
And perhaps, if he goes to her office sometime later that week, bearing coffee and her favorite double-fudge chocolate brownies- well, maybe they’ll do some talking. Who knows.