Disclaimer: Stargate Sg-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.
Season/Sequel: Season 7
Summary: Daniel's introspection during the team's long vacation.
Author's Notes: Started out as a drabble, and evolved into my first Stargate fic. *cough* Unbetaed. Also, English is not my first language, so pardon some grammar mistakes. Feedback is very much appreciated.
He doesn’t know how he found his way here, especially since he’s supposed to be sleeping deeply, so deeply, for tomorrow is another long day of going through this new country. New to his friends, of course, but not new to him. His thirst for knowing everything, something, anything, has brought him almost everywhere, including here.
Its cold and wet in Yonezawa, and it should be colder, really. The sun is hardly out, and the pond in front of him is still as his breath comes out in a hush, coalescing with the untouchable to become something he could faintly see. His eyes linger on it for a moment, and at the same time, a cherry blossom falls from the tree above him.
He watches its descent to the ground, shocking himself when his hand reaches for it with movement so sudden it shakes the fragile balance of the sitting position he chose tonight. But nothing surprised him more than the softness that greeted his fingers, how unlike anything he’s touched lately could compare to what it was.
Oh, he’s touched something like this before. He held those tightly in his memory, strong bricks keeping him standing after so many years of bitter disappointment, of so many years of trying to make the right choices and wondering if it were ever as cumbersome as its consequences.
One brick: the dark, gossamer curls of the one woman he’d jump through a wormhole for to hold in his arms again.
Another brick: the rich, sandy texture of Ernest’s journals back at the Heliopolis, withered with the age of 50 years, and demanding, so demanding of so much care.
And another and another, until his wistful reminiscing brought him to another one, so poignant, and so clear.
Of course it was clear. It happened just a few minutes ago.
As usual, she’s the lucky one to get a room of her own, being the only girl. Her sleeping form peeking out from underneath the blankets, only a small wrist managed to make its way completely out of the seemingly small and fragile bundle. Yet no one could mistake the strength that hides underneath, so he had to be careful. He debated to himself how to wake her up, and settled onto gently rocking her exposed wrist, instead.
Sleep-ridden eyes looked up at him. “Daniel?”
“You left your watch in my bedroom.”
And that was it. That one lucid brick; that one touch on her skin, so smooth and soft yet underlying so much quiet strength.
Just like the cherry blossom he now has in his palm, still intact and brimming with life in his hand despite his casual rubbing.
He glances at his watch. He’s been staying here long. He looks at the blossom one more time, and with deft fingers, lays it on the water streaming in the pond in front of him. He watches it float, gingerly cradled by the water, and carefully adds another brick into his memory; of that one cherry blossom that calmly intruded into his solitary introspective, reminding him of a previous intrusion that strangely, started making him rethink staying in front of this pond, below the cherry blossom trees for the duration of the early morning. Of that one cherry blossom whose texture reminded him of the velvety skin of that one woman, that friend, with blond hair and caring eyes that belied her strength.
There’s a smile on his face, a smile he hasn’t felt in years.
The sun is rising now, and as Daniel Jackson watches the cherry blossom disappear on the other side of the pond, he slowly gets up to go back to the hotel. And he doesn’t just walk. He runs.