STATUS: Complete
RATING: PG-13
CATEGORY: Daniel&Janet, Angst
SPOILERS: None
SUMMARY: Janet thinks she's over Daniel...
Disclaimer: "All publicly recognisable characters and
places are the property of MGM, World Gekko Corp and
Double Secret productions. This piece of fan fiction
was created for entertainment not monetary purposes
and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was
intended. Previously unrecognised characters and
places, and this story, are copyrighted to the
author. Any similarity to real persons, living or
dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Music and lyrics to What I Really Meant to Say
by Cyndi Thomson are not claimed by the author."
Author's Notes: Thanks to Kat, the fabulous war-beta
Feedback: Pretty Please? And don't flame me before
you've read the whole thing... ;)
*Dedication*: I know it's two days early but...she
asked, and I buckle easily ;)
*Ahem*
#..Happy Birthday to you,
Happy Birthday to you,
Happy Birthday, dear Kaaa-ren
Happy Birthday to you.....# ;)
*hugs*
I'll never know when I fell in love with him. It could
have been years ago, or it could have been last week.
It wasn't any one moment I could define, any point
where I suddenly realised that I cared for him a
little
more than I should; a little more than a doctor cares
for her patient, a little more than a friend. Perhaps
it was because I saw him nearly every day that it grew
undiscovered... grew until it enveloped me so
completely that it was merely part of me, part of who
I was. Perhaps it was because it was so fundamental,
so basic an emotion that had wrapped around me,
that I didn't notice it any more than I consciously
noticed the air that I breathed. It was just. there.
And when I did discover it, did realise that
I loved him, it wasn't because it was *there*...
>
It was because it had gone.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It took me by surprise
When I saw you standing there
Close enough to touch
Breathing the same air
You asked me how I'd been
I guess that why I smiled, and said "Just fine."
Oh, but baby, I was lyin'
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I looked up at him when he walked into the infirmary
for a check-up, as normal, and I felt...nothing.
Empty.
That's when I realised something was missing. That
tiny flicker of excitement, that almost imperceptible
flutter of my heart, that unregistered and unfulfilled
longing that I had always felt when I saw him. It had
just vanished, leaving me suddenly cold and bereft,
missing something I'd never known I had in the first
place. Some part of me had vanished, as quietly as it
had arrived. Something had stolen away silently,
suddenly... brought to light only when it was too
late. When it was gone. *That's* when I realised.
Realised that I had fallen for him, realised that I
had wasted my chances, realised that I had buried
myself so far into my work that I barely recognised my
own feelings anymore.
A soft cough from the doorway makes me start, and my
head snaps up quickly, ashamed at being caught
wallowing on duty.
It's him.
Standing there, hesitant, shy in a way that would once
have melted my heart without me even noticing. Now.
now, he's just Dr. Jackson, just another familiar
face. I rise to greet him, plastering a false smile on
my face even as my heart aches with loss.
"Daniel. What can I do for you?"
He regards me with those deep, piercing blue eyes that
sear through my skin into my very soul, head tilted to
one side, and for a few seconds I think he can see
through my fa�ade. He suddenly seems unbearably close,
as those eyes search mine. Caught in an endless
moment, I gaze defiantly back at him. Has he noticed,
I wonder? Can he see that something's missing?
Does he know what?
Finally, he breaks the silence, never averting his
eyes.
"I just...came down to check on you."
I laugh, but the sound is hollow even to my ears.
"Isn't it supposed to me who checks you?"
His gaze is still fixed on me; my own eyes have broken
the contact to focus on some paperwork on my desk,
though I barely see it.
"You've been awfully. quiet the past few days. I just
wanted to... to make sure you were OK," he tells me
softly. I look back up at him, feigning confusion.
"Me?"
"Yeah," he replies, and now I know he can tell that
something's wrong. It's already blindingly obvious to
me, and I wonder why he couldn't sense it before: this
cold, empty feeling, like there's a chasm between us.
Or maybe I'm wrong. Maybe doesn't realise...maybe he
can't feel anything at all. Maybe it's just me.
"So...are you? OK, I mean?"
And I smile again.
"Just fine."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
And as you walked away
The echo of my words
Cut just like a knife
Cut so deep it hurts
I held back the tears
Held onto my pride and watched you go
I wonder if you'll ever know
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
He stares at me once again, and the confusion in his
features is almost tangible. He knows that I'm not
being completely honest with him, he knows
that something isn't right. I watch him walk towards
me, opening his mouth to speak: perhaps tell me he
hadn't been fooled, perhaps to ask me what's
really wrong. But he stops, instead coming to stand
before my desk. He picks up a pen and idly taps it on
a fresh sheet of clean, white paper, before those eyes
return to gaze at me once again.
"You'd tell me, wouldn't you?" he asks quietly. "If
there was anything the matter? You know you can talk
to me."
It's more a statement than an invitation, but the
sincerity, the *intensity* of his stare unnerves me a
little.
"I'm just fine," I repeat adamantly, though I wonder
if just the tiniest hint of doubt has crept into my
voice.
He nods then, letting the pen fall from his fingers
back onto the desk, and turns wordlessly towards the
door. I watch him leave, pulling the door to the
office closed behind him, and only when I hear his
footsteps fade away down the hall do I allow myself to
breathe again.
Just fine.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
What I really meant to say
Is that I'm dying here inside
There's not a night I haven't cried
And baby here's the truth
I'm still in love with you, yeah
That's what I really meant to say
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I fight to stop my body from shaking as I feel tears
threaten against my eyelids. I will not cry over this
man... not anymore. But even as I issue
the commands to my body, a sob escapes from my throat
and I swipe angrily at the moisture blurring my
vision. I reach down to the box on my desk to
pull a tissue viciously from its holder, and it's only
then that I see it. The black ink scribbled across the
once-blank canvas of the paper.
A number.
Picking it up in trembling hands, I regard it in
surprise for a few moments. Written underneath the
digits is merely the name 'Daniel.'
*His* number.
Still tearful, I glance towards my own phone, feeling
slightly dazed. His final words echo back to me: 'You
know you can talk to me.' And maybe...maybe it *was*
an invitation after all. For a brief moment, I
entertain the thought of calling him, sometime later.
But what would I say? How could I even begin to
explain? What would he think...
And suddenly... ever-so-suddenly I realise that my
heart is beating faster with nervous excitement. My
hands are itching to pick up the phone, though
I know he won't even have left the mountain yet. I'm
filled with an almost irresistible desire to go haring
after him along the corridor, stop him before he
leaves. Looking around, it's as if the light and
warmth have seeped back into the room, slowly and
slightly sheepishly as though embarrassed to have been
caught missing on the job. With a smile, I bask
in the sensations creeping back through my body, and I
realise something else. I'm a damn liar. And I'm such
a *good* damn liar that I even started to believe
myself. Four years of denying, ignoring, suppressing
hidden feelings to the point that I was unaware of
them, that I genuinely began to think that they
weren't there at all. I was afraid. I couldn't tell
him, couldn't say what I'd been meaning to all these
years. Now, with this small, infinitely important
gesture, he's rekindled those feelings...and
this time I'm determined not to waste my chance.
And next time, when I call him, I won't tell him I'm
"Just fine."
I'll tell him what I should have said.
That I care about him. That I think about him. That
I'm still in love with him.
After all...
...that's what I really meant to say.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
What I really meant to say is
I'm really not that strong
No matter how I try I'm still holding on
And here's the honest truth
I'm still in love with you
That's what I really meant to say
That's what I really meant to say
That's what I really meant to say
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Copyright (c) May 2001 Nike A. Johnston
E-MAIL: [email protected]
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