Title: Stories from the Table: Archive Room. Or 'What The Fook?';)
Date: 14th March '03
Rating; PG I think, for a bad word or two and some mild slash.
Category: Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort.
Archive ; Anyone wants it, they just gotta ask.
Synopsis: The table's been moved again....and Daniel has to try and reconcile the actions of a man after a mission turns sour.
Notes: Well, this one came about after a chat......anyone who is interested should know, that during a chat, DebA I think, accidently typed 'fooked' instead of 'fooled'.....well, challenges were issued to people to see who could get it into a story....I tried, guys.......credit for FOOKED goes to DebA (I just hope she's the lady who did it....my mind's not what it used to be ;) Although you're warned.....the insertion is kinda lame.....it's not easy to put fooked into a story, ya know. It WAS intended to be a humour fic, but the muses rebelled. Not Beta'd. All mistakes my own, including any UK spelling that may have crept in.
Warnings: Descriptions of mild injury, minor character death (sorta) and some mild slash. Yep, that's right folks.....my first slash fic.<G> And UK spellings.
Disclaimer; The characters of Stargate SG1 are not mine, nor do I lay any claims on them. This is for entertainment purposes only.
I am a table. I am a rectangular four-foot wide by eight-foot long, golden oak table with lots of grain, a leg on each corner, and a polyurethane sealant. This is important, because though it removes me from the level of `fine' furniture, it adds to my versatility and my longevity. I was purchased in the early 90's by the U.S. Air Force Quartermaster in a spasm of upgrades for the offices of NORAD. After I was delivered I was reassigned to a priority slot in a new command under the mountain cryptically referred to as SGC. I can seat eight formally, ten comfortably, and twelve friendly. Because I was purchased without chairs, I knew that my life would be one of utilitarianism not formal dining. In other words, I'll see a lot of service of all kinds.
I think back on those words. I am now stood in a room, far, far below the ground. I have heard it referred to as an 'archive'......one more place the mobiles use to store knowledge and objects.
Soon, there is a swishing noise, followed by a beep and then the door is opened. No light is switched on, the only illumination the shaft of brightness that spills in from the corridor, the only noise a strange shuffling sound as the lone mobile moves.
The mobile approaches.....it is Tall Civilian Daniel. His gait is stilted....I believe he is 'limping.' I do not know the cause.......locked in this room for a time, I have been absent from most mobile contact. Except for Tall Daniel. He often visits, using my top for many things. To hold artefacts, coffee cups and plates of sustenance. To lean on as he writes. And even to rest. I fulfill my duty.
Tall Daniel pulls out a chair from under me, sitting heavily. He rests his elbows on me, leaning his face into his hands and sighing deeply. I am.....concerned. In my many and varied experiences with the mobiles, I have only heard sounds that match the one just produced in times of stress. He makes no move movements until sometime later, when a repeat of the swish/beep/opening noises occur, startling him. He jumps, turning towards the doorway and wincing slightly as the light hits his eyes.
"Jack." His voice sounds slightly muffled, some of the letters blurring together and creating new sounds.
"Hey....thought you'd be down here." Tall Military Jack scans the corridor behind him, before closing the door.
"Yeah.....but I'll bet you checked my office first." Daniel sounds slightly amused.
Jack rolls his eyes, then buries his hands in his pockets. "Alright.....*Carter* thought you'd be down here....I would have come up with it eventually, though."
Daniel doesn't answer, turning and resuming his former position. Tall Military Jack makes a huffing noise -- so vocally versatile, these mobiles -- and strides forward, hopping up when he reaches me and using my top as a seat. I do not mind. I am strong.
Jack indicates Daniel's face. "Wow, that looks sore."
"Really?" I recognise the sarcasm present in Daniel's tone. "You coulda fooked me."
"Excuse me?" Tall Military Jack wobbles on my top precariously, before regaining his balance.
"For God's sake....fook...fooked....oh, you know very well what I mean!"
Tall Military Jack shakes with laughter. "I'm sorry....I know it's not funny but.....I'm just imagining you giving a power point presentation with a thick lip, a broken tooth and a sore tongue from where -- I presume -- you bit it. God knows what it would sound like......can a civilian be brought up on charges for propositioning a General?"
"You presume correctly about the cause," Daniel informs him, ignoring his question about the Commanding General and fixing him with a cold stare. "And it's not going to work, Jack. I'm not talking about it."
Tall Military Jack shrugs, the foot he has resting on the floor moving restlessly. "Don't know what you mean."
"Yes you do," Daniel assures him. "You came down here, hoping to get me to spill my guts on what happened during the last mission -- even though you know very well, since you were *there* -- and then everything will be fine and dandy. Well it won't, Jack.....a man is dead."
I can feel Tall Military Jack tense as the humour drains away. "I know that Daniel.....That's why I think you need to talk. It's not healthy to bottle up all that emo --"
"Oh really?" Tall Civilian Daniel cuts in. I can tell that it is not really a question. "Is that right? The world according to Jack O'Neill, huh? Then tell me something, *Jack.* How come you avoid *talking* about these things like the plague? Hmm? I know how many times Janet's tried to hook you up with a psychologist....why haven't you ever taken her up on her offer if it's so good to talk?"
There is anger in Daniel's voice, something I have rarely witnessed directed towards Tall Jack. Tall Daniel uses my top to push out from underneath me, pressing close to Jack's face. His fingers dig painfully into my top -- painfully for him. The air is thick with tension. Tall Military Jack is silent, simply staring at Daniel. After a moment, Daniel's fingers loosen, and the rage drains out of him.
"I'm sorry Jack," he says, resting the heel of one hand on his forehead. "I didn't mean that."
"Yes," Tall Jack says finally, "I think you did. And it's true....I don't like to talk about crap like feelings. But....." He trails off, straightening up and glancing around uncomfortably. "I care about you.....I know what happens when you bottle this shit up...it changes you. I don't want that to happen to you."
Tall Daniel sighs, this time softly. He moves forward, wrapping his mobile arms around O'Neill. "I know," he says quietly. "And thank you. It's just...."
"Hard," Tall Jack finishes for him. " I know. But.....maybe....it'll get easier....if you talk about it." He presses a kiss to Daniel's ear, and Daniel pulls back.
"Fine," the Tall Civilian says. "You saw what happened.....how Holden jumped in front of me."
"Yeah," Jack answers. "That's when you hit your mouth, right?"
Daniel nods. "Well....he took the projectile in the center of his chest...near his...near his heart."
Jack nods, silently urging Daniel to continue. Tall Daniel is once again gripping my top, before Jack reaches down, taking one of Daniel's - bloodstained? - hands in his own. "I....I tried to stop the bleeding......I didn't touch the projectile, though. He was in pain....I gave him something, and he passed out. You gave the order to retreat, and one of SG3 came to help me with Holden. We got through the Wormhole, but....he had no pulse on re-integration. The call went up for Medics.....I tried to do CPR....but they pronounced him dead."
Tall Civilian Daniel looks up, emotion on his face. "I guess....I feel guilty. I mean, I thought the Marines didn't even like me. And Holden....."
Tall Jack just shrugs again. "Of course they like you.......they just don't show it well. They're Jarheads, whaddya expect? But....aside from that fact......SG3 were there to watch our sixes. Holden was just doin' his job when he died. So you don't have to feel guilty."
Daniel seems thoughtful. "Maybe not. Still sucks, though," he says finally.
Jack laughs at this, a little sadly, I think. "Yep, it does....so... you wanna get a shower now, or wait 'til we get home? The General scheduled the briefing for tomorrow, so we can all rest up and the injured can be seen to."
Daniel stretches. It is obvious when he decides to try and put this behind him. "Yeah....I'll wait until we get home.....that way, maybe you can help me. I mean, I do have a sore leg, and all......"
The smile he gives Tall Military Jack is still tinged with sadness, but I think that he will soon feel glad again. Jack gives his hand a final squeeze, before releasing it, then opening the door and leading him out. A shaft of light briefly falls on my surface as the door is once more opened, then cuts off when the door is once more closed.
I am a table. I have many uses. But sometimes, my purpose is simply to *witness* those who hold and support.