Light Me Up
By: officersun524
CATEGORY: Romance
SEASON/SPOILERS: Season 10
WARNINGS: None
AUTHOR’S NOTES: Thanks to Sunshine and sarahjane for their beta and input. For anyone interested, the title is taken from a lovely song by Tom Baxter; as much as I think the Snow Patrol lyrics fit here, I really love this song.
AUTHOR’S WEBSITE:
http://officersun524.livejournal.com/
I've got this feeling, there's something that I missed
(I could do most anything to you)
Don't you breathe, don't you breathe
(I could do most anything to you)
Something happened that I never understood
(I could do most anything to you)
You can't leave, you can't leave
-Snow Patrol, “Somewhere a Clock is Ticking”
“You’re not the least bit curious?”
She bumps his hip with hers, her arm brushing the sleeve of his BDUs as he stands with his elbows on the table in front of him, ancient writings covering its surface. It’s not over, not the threat of the Ori. They’d gotten the news, not too long after returning from the Odyssey; another Prior had appeared in one of the universe’s distant outposts.
Adria may have ascended but the Ori’s good works were still well in play.
Yet…there’s been something niggling at him, something he thinks he can reach out and touch but it’s like wisp of smoke, eluding his grasp every single time.
He knows exactly what she’s talking about without having to ask.
“Daniel?” She’s very close to him now, her hair loose and tickling his face as she peers over his shoulder at the work in front of him
He turns to her, finds that she’s staring back at him; blue eyes wide, one eyebrow raised in a question, lips in a half smile like she knows something he doesn’t.
Does she? Has Teal’c broken his self imposed silence and actually told her the details of those fifty years?
“What.” He tries to sound curt but the word is drawn out instead. He feels like he’s waiting to hear the end of the joke.
“You know what.” Her eyes search out a clear spot on the table; she’s careful not to disturb its surface as she maneuvers herself onto it, sitting so that her breasts are right at his eye level.
He takes off his glasses and rubs at the bridge of his nose. “No, I don’t. And as you can see, I’m a little busy right now…”
There it is
again--flash of skin, pale and smooth under your fingertips, but the woman’s
face is lost before you can find it.
“Vala, I really, really don’t have time for this.” Writings and tablets and scrolls, all of it rendered meaningless by the ticking in his head.
“Mmm,” she answers. She folds her arms over her chest, legs swinging slightly as she studies him. “Well…I’ve been having this feeling…” She sighs.
This feeling… He doesn’t want to ask, he’s afraid of the answer. He’s afraid that life’s too short and that it’s passing by him like a clock set ahead too fast. Fifty years is a long time to lose; he’s lost before and he’s tried to not look back. It’s never gotten him anywhere.
But this…this is a puzzle like the words in front of him, but with no significance to anyone but him.
And her.
He sets his glasses down and allows himself a look at her, feels an itch in his fingers. Part of him believes that he’s explored every inch of her; the other part knows that this is out and out ridiculous.
“Fifty years,” she says. “I…” She smiles and looks down, shaking her head, arms still crossed. “I keep thinking it over. Muscles—Teal’c—won’t tell me anything but…” She reaches out and touches his hair. “But…Is it so impossible?” Her hand drops to her lap. “You and I…”
It is impossible. They’re too different. He has no idea what she wants from him—Respect? Love? Friendship? Credibility?
He has no idea when she’ll just pack up and go, has barely begun to realize that maybe he’s healed; maybe he can look beyond tablets and dirt.
He just doesn’t think she’d ever understand that.
And he doesn’t want to be the punch line of whatever joke she’s playing on him.
“It is,” he says finally. He puts his glasses back on, picks up a magnifying glass and leans in toward his work.
“Why?” One foot hits the work table in a steady rhythm.
“Why?”
“You heard me the first time.” Her mouth is set in a straight line. She’s studying him the way he’d been studying the work in front of him.
Is it a memory or a dream or his mind filling in fifty years of lost time? Either way, how would it possibly involve her?
Hands cupping her
face, drawing her forward. Falling backward onto the mattress, pulling off
clothes as she laughs like a kid. Her hair tickling your face. Your bare chest
pressed into hers. Hands running over her body. The longing to hear her laugh,
to hear yourself laugh with something other than disdain. It was freedom.
He shakes his head—no, that was a dream, a crazy fantasy that had taken over his sleep lately, the two of them, making love, talking, laughing, playful; the feeling of being fully alive again. It’s no coincidence that she’s made an appearance in his dreams, as much as she’s made herself a fixture in his days.
“Why.” He turns and leans his back against the table, hands in his pockets, his back to her. He can feel her stillness behind him like he’s an animal she’s afraid to frighten away.
“We are so completely different.” He stares at the grey walls in front of him. “You…” He shakes his head, clenching his hands inside his pockets as he tries to dismiss the sensation flowing through him, a sort of déjà vu.
You said something
ugly, something hurtful, the kind of things you’d never said to anyone in your
life. Words like knives, hitting their intended target to keep it from getting
too close, from hurting you.
Emotion bubbling up
through you, spewing out in hateful words; she will only understand the
clearest, most unveiled of them. Subtlety is lost on her always; you have to be
blunt, forceful…
Did you have to hurt
her?
Not possible. He shakes his head again; two worlds seem to be fighting for the space in his brain, for the real now and the unreal of something else. It couldn’t be time, there was no way they’d remember anything. Sam was sure of it; they’d even discussed it and both she and Mitchell had agreed they remembered nothing from those fifty years.
Why would he?
“Not so much,” she says. Her voice is low, nearly a whisper, and he finds himself straining back to catch it. “Not so much as to not want the same thing.”
“And what is that, exactly?” He pulls his hands out of his pockets and turns, bracketing her between his arms without touching her, hands braced on either side of where she sits on the table. She recoils a little and that’s unexpected. There’s a sense of power washing over him.
She twists the fingers of her right hand into her left, fidgeting like a child, head down. “I…
“What is it that you think we both want?” His voice is getting louder and he glances to his left, realizing the door is open, realizing that he doesn’t care.
“Fifty years.” She lets her hands rest in her lap, her eyes lifted under her lashes to meet his. Her hair falls forward and she shakes it back, lifting her head in defiance. “You said it yourself: Life is too short.”
“Huh…” He pushes away from her. “When—I didn’t say that—“
“I’ve had these dreams. I’m not going into the details.” She’s smiling again, full on; he’s not sure if she’s laughing at him somewhere inside, indulging in a private joke. “Suffice to say it involves you and it involves me and it involves no clothing whatsoever.”
She’s in your arms and
you’re sitting at the foot of your bed, the silk of her robe soft in your hands
as you wrap yourself around her, trying to still her weeping. Running your
hands over her hair, murmuring in her ear “…it’s all right, it’s all right;
we’ll be all right…”
You’re mourning
something —time, memories, a life, a lifetime…you don’t know what.
“Vala.” He grasps her arms, can see a quip forming behind her lips and he shakes her, just once, softly. “No,” he says. “Don’t say anything.” He puts two fingers over her lips. “Just…Just hear me out.”
Her lips tease his fingers, her eyes meeting his. There’s a heaviness there, a certain air of inevitability; eyes rimmed with sleeplessness, he realizes, shrouded and dark.
She pushes off the table, twisting away from him. “No, Daniel. It was a dream. That simple. I mean…” She laughs, but the sound is like glass shattering. “Daniel. Of course you’d be the subject of my fantasies. Who else would be?”
Your foreheads
inclined toward each other, touching, her hands small and frail in yours.
You never said “I love
you.” You never had to. She knew.
“Wait.” He reaches out to her, just outside his grasp, a wisp of smoke.
Gone.
* * * *
It’s late when Teal’c hears the knock at his door. It’s tentative, one rap, a pause, then one more sharp, staccato burst. He rises from his bed, putting his book aside, and opens the door to find Daniel Jackson pacing a circle in front of the doorway, head down and muttering something.
Teal’c clasps his hands behind his back, trying to hide his amusement behind a slight smile. Daniel Jackson isn’t the first of the team to approach him about their time on the Odyssey; he’s actually the last. He’s been the least curious, the least persistent.
It had started with Vala Mal Doran, of course. “Fifty or sixty years? Something interesting must have happened. Obviously I hooked up with someone.” It hadn’t escaped him that she had left Daniel Jackson out of the mix.
Colonel Mitchell had found time to ask a hesitant question over lunch—“So, Teal’c, when you decide to break your vow of silence, will you break it to me first?”
Even General Landry and Colonel Carter had thrown out the random question.
But Daniel had yet to make a path to his door. Until now.
“Daniel Jackson?” He cocks his head to the side, waiting.
Daniel stops his pacing and looks up, distracted, his mouth pursed in thought, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.
“Hey, Teal’c. Uh…you have a minute?” He takes off his glasses, swipes the sleeve of his black shirt over his eyes, then puts the glasses back on.
He looks as though he’s been pacing a lot.
Teal’c nods and stands aside, opening the door further and granting him entrance. He walks in, his head moving side to side as he takes in the burning meditation candles, the unmade bed and the book that Teal’c had laid aside on the night table.
“Oh. Geez, I’m sorry to interrupt—“
“Something is troubling you, Daniel Jackson.” It’s not a question.
Daniel nods and shrugs, smiling in a manner that makes him appear embarrassed. “Yeah. Yeah.” He stands still, rocks back on his heels a bit. “Have you…have you been talking to Vala?”
Teal’c raises an eyebrow. “About…?”
“Fifty years.” He says it like he’s been holding his breath and is now exhaling. There’s some measure of relief in his eyes, but also a degree of pleading. He’s looking for answers, it’s apparent, but Teal’c has nothing to give.
“I have not.”
“No. No…I mean.” Daniel shakes his head and turns towards a bookcase on the other end of the room. He leans his arm over the top shelf, his back to Teal’c, chin resting in the crook of his elbow.
“Do you suppose it’s possible she’d remember anything about those years?” he asks without turning around.
“Daniel Jackson. Did you suppose it was possible you’d ascend then return?”
Daniel turns to him. “This isn’t ascension.”
“Indeed, it is not. Yet, is it not possible that there are realms in which we’ve traveled that may live within us? And, in this instance, we are certain that we lived those fifty years. I know it.”
“No mirrors or alternate universes or ripple effects—“
“Vala Mal Doran may have found enough calming of her spirit to reclaim those fifty years.” He moves towards one of the candles and blows it out.
“Wait—we’re talking Vala here, Teal’c. ‘Calming of her spirit’ isn’t in her vocabulary.”
“Perhaps you underestimate her curiosity, if nothing else.” Teal’c pulls out a chair from his desk and sits down, looking up at the smaller man.
“Well…if you haven’t talked to her about it…would you talk to me?” Daniel’s eyebrows rise hopefully.
“No.”
He shakes his head. “No. I thought not.”
“Perhaps you would be best served to talk to her yourself.”
“Oh…uh. No.” He pushes away from the bookcase and starts pacing again. “There are a lot of things she wants to do, but talking isn’t one of them.”
“Then those are options as well.” He bites his lip to keep from smiling when Daniel comes to a dead stop over him.
“What? No! No. We…” He gives a short laugh. “She and I—No.”
Teal’c picks up his book, recalling a phrase he’d heard before, or perhaps had read. “’methinks thou doth protest too much.’” He stands up and lays a hand on Daniel’s shoulder, turns him and ushers him to the door. “If she is troubling you, then you should speak to her. I cannot help you.”
“No. Of course not. And thanks for throwing Shakespeare at me, by the way. I really think you need to watch more TV, you know?” He pauses before he steps over the threshold and turns to Teal’c. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you.”
“You’re welcome, Daniel Jackson.” He gives Daniel a slight push on the back and closes the door behind him.
* * * *
Vala licks the remnants of cherry pie from the fork that she’s holding in front of her face. From the doorway, Daniel can see her at the near end of the commissary, an empty plate in front of her, and Sam and Mitchell sitting across from her. It looks like they’re all having pie and coffee; he turns to leave when he hears Mitchell’s voice ring out.
“
Daniel musters up a smile and walks over to where they’re sitting. “Hi. Kind of late for pie, isn’t it?”
“It’s never too late for pie.” Vala raises an eyebrow at him.
“Yeah, Daniel.” Sam stabs her fork into a slice of apple and raises it towards him. “Bite?”
“Oh, Sam, don’t bother. He’s not one for biting. Believe me, I would know.” Vala licks her lips and smiles at him, but her expression has a strange vibe to it—she’s messing with him, clearly. The smile doesn’t touch her eyes.
“All righty then.” Mitchell stands up and claps him on the shoulder. “That is way too much information for this late at night. I reckon we all need to get some shut eye. We’re leaving tomorrow, right after breakfast.”
He looks at Sam and nods his head towards the door. She lays her fork across the plate and stands up.
“Oh. Yeah, you’re right,
What the hell is going
on here?
“What in the world was that all about?” Vala looks at him, her smile gone as she examines her clean fork.
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“No, I don’t think so.” She moves to stand but he grabs her wrist. “You know, I’ve beaten you up before,” she says.
“I know.” He leans forward and releases her. “We need to talk. We can do it here, or—“
“You’ve made your feelings quite clear on numerous occasions.” She stands up and goes around the table toward the door. He’s up as fast as he can go, and quickly catches up to her, matching her stride for stride.
“Vala, listen. You want to talk. You always want to talk and now there’s something we have to talk about. You know what it is.”
He follows her onto the elevator, which is mercifully free of other personnel, and stabs at the button to her level.
“I told you. It’s a dream, Daniel. You know how I fantasize, make things up. Some have gone so far as to refer to me as a person of questionable mental status.” She crosses her arms over her chest; he notices she’s wearing a black sweater, cut low, and something underneath, grey and black striped…dark pants, standard issue boots…
Her hair is loosely held in place by one small, shiny clip…
Why in the hell would
you notice that?
“What do Sam and Mitchell know? What did you tell them?”
“That I was hungry. Cherry pie seemed quite appealing.”
The elevator stops, the doors sliding open to reveal an empty passageway. Even the usual Marine is on the opposite end of the corridor. Vala steps past Daniel but he follows her out and to her quarters. She opens the door, trying to ignore him, but he can feel the tension radiating from her. She doesn’t stop him when he follows her into the room and closes the door behind him.
He watches as she removes dark blue pillows from her bed and tosses them onto a chair in the corner, then folds down the pale bedcovers and sits at the edge of the bed. The only light in the room is a streak coming from the bathroom.
“Talk,” she says. “You’ve started this. Finish it.”
He takes a deep breath, realizes he’s gambling. This could all be based on nothing, on a dream, on a fantasy, on his own questionable mental stability. Yet it’s as real as any memory; it comes to him in shadow, the way her face appears to him now.
Why is it so important to know? Here she sits, infuriating him again, playing him for certain, but he’s like a battleship; she’s scored a direct hit and he’s doing all he can to keep afloat and fire back.
When had he become the one who needed to know?
He leans against the armoire, not looking at her. His gaze is fixed on the simplicity of her room, the vase of flowers on her dressing table, the smattering of hair clips. Everything neatly placed. It seems to belie everything he thought he knew about her.
“Earlier. You asked me if I was curious.”
“Aren’t you always? Maps and planets and god knows what all spread out in front of you. That piques your curiosity, doesn’t it, Daniel? All that dirt, all those dead things—“
“Dammit, Vala.” He pushes away from the armoire and moves toward her, standing over her, but this time she doesn’t shrink away.
“What do you want to know?” Each word slips from her mouth with precision, like he’s an idiot. “What do you think I can possibly explain?”
“I don’t know! Doesn’t it bother you? Fifty years? Fifty!” He’s waving his arms around like a madman. “Don’t you remember any of it?”
She’s frozen, biting on her bottom lip as she shakes her head. “I…you said it was impossible...earlier…” Her hands cover her face as she shakes her head.
You’ve been here
before. You’d wanted to pull her hands away from her face, toward you. You’d
tried to put the words back in, but it had been too late and you’d spent fifty
years making up for that moment.
And living because of
it.
“You and I…” He approaches and sits beside her, but she turns her body away from him, shoulder raised a little, warding him away.
“Just give me a minute,” she says.
“Just give me a
minute.”
You’d sat there
dumbstruck as the force of your words came to bear on the moment and you’d
realized that your anger, your words had cut through her as if you’d used a
knife, laying her open when she was anything but…like you, veiled and hidden,
playing you, you thought, when she was only trying to keep from being played
herself.
It’s easier to hide
under a façade of sex and innuendo, sarcasm and grief.
“Look at me.” He reaches out, hand wavering in midair, afraid to touch her. He doesn’t know this part, doesn’t remember. What was for fifty years is lost to him, shrouded in a swirling desert; he knows there were words, he knows they were harsh and he knows that he could have said them.
They’re so much dust.
She shakes her head. Maybe she doesn’t know either, or maybe she can remember it all. They’ve both had their minds messed with, remembered truths and falsehoods.
The urging is in his body, not his mind now. He takes her hands in his, feels the soft skin under his own and he remembers something else.
He cups her face in his hands and turns her toward him. Her eyes are closed like she’s waiting for a blow. He draws her face to his, his lips brushing over hers.
She pulls away, opening her eyes, granting herself a furtive look at him. There’s no gleam there, only something close to despair.
“What do you remember?” he whispers. His hands are in her hair, his mouth at her throat, lips working their way down as his hands slide under her shirt.
“This,” she breathes out.
It’s remembered skin,
smooth against yours as you’d both shed your clothing; her mouth covering yours,
your hands traveling over her.
You’d looked into her
eyes then, had taken in her smile and her acquiescence to your body, the warmth
as you’d entered her and she had moved beneath you.
A flood of sensation
without words or explanation.
He remembers it all.
* * * *
“We are late and I’m sure it starts with Vala. All that hair and make up…” Mitchell rushes down the hallway, Sam flanking him on his left, Teal’c slightly ahead.
Teal’c had suggested he locate Daniel on his own but Mitchell had already grown weary of waiting for their missing two team members.
“
“Breakfast? We’re late for breakfast, they’re late for breakfast. Come on, Sam. It’s ritual. It’s a good luck charm. We cannot skip breakfast.”
Teal’c glances behind him and notices Colonel Carter rolling her eyes and shaking her head.
They’re within feet of Vala’s door when it opens and Daniel Jackson slides out of her room, hair a rumpled mess, glasses perched on his head, boots under his arm as he tries to buckle his pants. Teal’c catches a glimpse of a smile on his teammate’s face as Daniel turns and walks backward, giving a nod towards the person on the other side of the door.
He walks straight into Teal’c’s bulk.
“Oh!” He jumps a little, startled, and turns to face the three of them
“Well.” Mitchell crosses his arms over his chest while Sam looks away, a hand covering the smile on her face. “Well, well…good morning, sunshine. Now I know why you’re late.” He turns to Sam. “I told you it was Vala’s fault. You owe me your extra pieces of bacon.”
Sam nods. “I guess I do.”
Daniel turns to Teal’c, his eyes asking for help but all he receives in return is a nod of acknowledgement.
“Daniel Jackson. It would appear you took my counsel to heart.”
“Uh…I can…I can explain…” He sucks on his bottom lip and it’s obvious he’s trying to hold something back. He plucks his glasses from his head and knocks on Vala’s door.
She throws the door open, dressed in a kimono knotted tightly around her waist. “Daniel! So soon…” Her face falls as she sees the three of them staring at her
“Oh. Hello.” She gives a quick wave. Daniel reaches out and pulls her into the hallway, his smile lighting up his face. Teal’c hasn’t seen that expression since…
Since the Odyssey
“No explanation necessary,” Mitchell says. He puts a hand up towards them in an effort to block the view. “Way too much information already.” He checks his watch. “You two have thirty minutes to meet us for breakfast. Guys?”
Sam nods and they both turn down the passageway. Teal’c moves away as well but Daniel reaches out and holds him back.
“Uh…thanks. And I think…I think this is exactly what happened.”
Teal’c nods. “Indeed, Daniel Jackson.”
* * * *
“Do you regret this yet?”
The mission had been uneventful, as had the missions after that. The Ori threat still beat throughout the universe but he’s not above allowing himself to live again.
She’s lying in his arms, in her bed, her face turned towards him. He can see the smile forming in her eyes as she runs her finger over his lips. He smoothes her hair back, his thumb caressing her cheek.
“Yeah, I do have one regret.”
She pulls up and rests her elbow into the pillow, her cheek propped against her open palm, eyes holding a benign threat.
“Not enough sex?” she says.
“Well, there’s always that. But, no.” He kisses her hand. “Life’s too short.”
**
The End **
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