STATUS: Complete
RATING: PG-13
CATEGORY: Daniel&Janet
SPOILERS: None
SEASON/SEQUEL: Roughly, Season 4/5...2001, anyway. I'm
assuming in this, since the discovery of Sam's
birthday (1965) in 'Entity', that Janet was
born around relatively the same time, give or....so
she's *about* 36.
SUMMARY: After a long day, Janet is left alone with her thoughts of the past...
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.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: *g*: Right...I'm pretty sure this
makes me caught up now,Bryn ;) My first fic since 'The
Prophet' hoisted its flag and declared its
independence :) Because the next month or so is gonna
be vastly taken up by imminent Higher exams (stupid
SQA) I've decided not to start another
series yet (plus I don't have series-potential ideas
at the mo ;)) Fics may also come fewer and further
between until some time in June ;) So, instead
of the battalion of a series, I'll be sending poor
little stand-alone-fic soldiers out onto the
battlefield to face the might of the Stranded army.
*Fixes green, Jack-O'Neill style cap firmly on head*
This war ain't over yet, boys....*marches off
whistling #Pack up your Troubles#....*
Feedback: Don't make me come up there...
Janet sighed as she sank gratefully onto the welcoming
cushions of her sofa. She wrapped her hands tightly
around her rapidly cooling coffee-mug, thankful for
the warmth it spread, and stretched tired muscles,
curling up in the corner and letting her head fall to
rest against the arm sleepily. For a few moments she
sat, unmoving, allowing herself to finally relax,
before she forced her heavy eyelids grudgingly open
and took a sip from her mug.
She sighed again, letting her lips curl into a soft
smile as the liquid warmed her briefly. Her eyes
traveled to the open fireplace before her, in
which tall flames danced, casting eerie, flickering
shadows across the darkened room; the only source of
light besides the dim glow from the table lamp, and
the faint, silvery moonlight creeping through the
curtains from the night sky outside.
For a while she gazed at them, lost in thought. Her
day had been long, hard... the number of injured
personnel trooping through the Stargate early in
search of her assistance had almost led her to believe
the universe was carrying out some sort of personal
vendetta against the SGC forces, or maybe just her in
particular. Daniel Jackson was, of course, spending
the night in the infirmary with a strapped-up ankle,
after a particularly bad fall while out with SG-1.
After four years, that man's medical file took up a
whole drawer of her filing cabinet to itself. She
smiled to herself. Not that she *minded*. He was
always good company - genuinely abashed at the amount
of time he spent in her care - and had no
qualms in chattering to her while she bandaged him up,
as opposed to the usual quick grunt of thanks she got
from most soldiers. And today...
Janet shook her head, as though trying to dislodge her
thoughts. She drew her eyes away from the flames,
glancing instead into her empty cup. She barely
remembered draining it as she got up reluctantly to
re-fill it. Returning from the dark kitchen, she moved
over to a drawer in her cabinet, pausing hesitantly
before grasping the handle firmly and rifling
through the contents. She found what she was searching
for at the bottom, hidden away under a pile of old
papers and various odds and ends, as though throwing a
cover over it would make it disappear forever.
Hands trembling almost imperceptibly, she withdrew an
old photograph: slightly faded, and crinkled around
the edges where it had been torn from its album and
forced out of sight. Walking back to the sofa, she
drew herself into its open arms once again, then
allowed herself to finally study the picture for the
first time in years.
There, in the middle, she stood, grinning happily -
innocently - at the camera. She was barley into her
twenties then, excited at her medical studies, ready
for facing the world. Janet spared her younger self an
older, wiser smile, before letting her attention fall
on the man who stood beside her.
Tall, broad shouldered and dark haired, he towered
almost a head above her, trying to smile for the
photographer, but looking distinctly uncomfortable in
his 'monkey suit' all the same. His eyes bored into
her as she watched him, and she noticed again in them
a grim determination that she had seen so many times
after that day. He stared intently at her from the
photograph, from 13 years past, gazing at her through
the years gone by. Even now, even after everything
she'd gone through as a result of this man... she
could still remember why she had fallen for him.
He had been a strong, passionate man, always striving
to achieve his goals. His intensity had attracted her
to him immediately, as though she could absorb some of
that feeling, some of that determination. Perhaps she
had. Perhaps it had been he who had influenced her to
fight so hard to gain her current position at the SGC,
to adopt her daughter and take on life as a single
parent, to prove that she was just as capable as he'd
ever been, that he hadn't destroyed her. She had been
flattered, when he'd asked her on their first date...
it wasn't as if he had a shortage of female admirers:
his chiseled features and soft southern accent had an
immediate effect on any woman, an irresistible pull.
And, back then, she'd never been very confident; she
was always the shy one, always small enough
to be overlooked and with no desire to bring herself
to the fore. So different from the way she was now;
her confident, outgoing nature, her...brazenness.
When he'd asked her to marry him, she had been
ecstatic. Her life had suddenly become perfect. She
was young, with a promising career and a handsome,
successful husband. And, for a while, it was perfect.
He had still kept that fiery determination, that
desire to have the world his way. She had been all too
happy to go along with him on his chosen path,
encourage him. There had been a few minor arguments,
but nothing serious, nothing threatening to her
marriage - so she had ignored any problems,
compromised, carried on until she gained her medical
degree, became a doctor. Until she decided that she
wanted more than some little practise somewhere, or a
job in a local hospital. Until she had announced that
she wanted to enlist in the Air Force.
The memory of the ensuing argument still burned
white-hot in her mind when she thought of it. At first
he had just been incredulous, and patronising.
She remembered repeating his words once, to Sam:
"Are you out of your mind, honeybun? There is a reason
they call it 'This Man's Army'."
She gave a bitter laugh. Even after trying patiently
to explain that it was the *Air Force* she wanted to
join, trying to explain the difference, he wouldn't
listen. He had refused to hear her out, and told her,
more or less, that her forbade her to go. There had
been shouting, screaming, tears. She hadn't listened,
of course, and had gone for the interview anyway, and
he had been furious. Janet shuddered, holding her
coffee cup more tightly in her cold hands. It was the
first time she realised that he was so controlling�
that everything would have to be his way, or not at
all. The first time she realised that she was expected
to be the obedient little wife. Maybe that's what he
had seen in her: the quiet one, easy to intimidate,
easy to control. She felt a shudder of anger, her
stomach twisting as her hands shook.
She had been filled with a burning desire to prove him
wrong. She had gotten into the military, completed her
training, became an Air Force medical officer. For a
while he'd seemed to accept it. He was still angry,
she knew... but outwardly he was perfectly cool,
treating her job as if it was a hobby, some fad she'd
eventually get over. Things were strained,
though. She realised that now. Back then, she'd been
too... naive, too full of hope that everything would
turn out all right in the end, too willing to make the
effort to stop their marriage collapsing on her own.
It was inevitable that it would all go wrong, Janet
thought, and, 6 years into their marriage, the final
straw broke.
She had come home early from the air base she was
stationed at, after a quiet duty shift. Closing the
door silently behind her, she had been about
to call out to him when she heard the voices coming
from upstairs. One her husband's, the other female.
Janet sighed ruefully. No... never short of
female admirers. That time, though... that time she
hadn't been willing to stand back and take whatever he
delivered, to shrink back and be the small, quiet
Janet he expected. The divorce had gone through
relatively quickly, despite his pleas for forgiveness,
his apologies and his best efforts to stop her. He had
told her - on the day the divorce was finalised - that
she was nothing, that she could be nothing without
him, that she would live to regret her actions. She
hadn't answered him, merely walked away, his shouts
ringing in her ears. She hadn't seen him or heard
from him since, and she doubted she ever would.
Besides, she had nothing to say to him - everything
she wanted to tell him had been said years ago.
Tearing her gaze away from the photograph, Janet
tilted her head to rest against the back of the couch
to stop the escape of threatening tears.
Even after all these years, the memory was still
painfully fresh. She hadn't wanted it to end up like
that, she really had tried. But when it
had all gone sour, she had put it behind her, built a
new life, focused on her career and risen through the
ranks of the Air Force. She had become more forceful,
more brassy, more outspoken. Sometimes, though, on
nights like these, with only the twisting firelight
for company... sometimes she could hear the echoes of
the old Janet, painfully shy, small and quiet;
never completely gone, but hidden away, as though -
like the old photograph she held in her hands now -
tucking the past away would make her forget.
Janet shook her head, suddenly. It was too late for
this; glancing at the clock she realised the hours had
slipped by till morning without her even realising.
She pushed herself up from the couch, setting her
empty coffee mug down on the table and extinguishing
the lamp. Cast in deeper, fathomless shadows, she
moved across the room to the last writhing embers
of the fire, pausing before the hearth. She raised the
photograph still clutched in her hand, and regarded it
one last time.
Today, Daniel had come into the infirmary, supported
by Jack and Teal'c, in a great deal of pain from his
fall. She had strapped his injury, patched him up as
usual, and turned to leave, when his hand had caught
her wrist, and those piercing blue eyes had gazed
sincerely at her...
"Thank you."
"Hey, no problem."
"No... really. Listen, I was wondering..."
"Yeah?"
"What are you doing Saturday night?"
Janet smiled softly, her face bathed in the rosy glow
of the dying fire. Very slowly, she let the picture
flutter from her fingers, watching it drift gently
downward, before it was caught by the grasping flames.
She watched it blaze for a few moments, the edges
blackening, then curling in on themselves. She saw it
erase the figures standing there, singeing wide
holes into the scene, then crumbling into the fire's
eager grip - its long fingers reducing the photo
effortlessly to nothing. She turned away from
the satisfied hearth, walking towards the doorway,
and, without a backward glance, left the room, pulling
the door closed behind her. Alone in the empty living
room, the fire glowed softly for a few seconds, before
sending up a few, bright sparks, then settled back
down to cast a dim glow over the smouldering coals,
and the few remaining ashes of a memory.
~Fin~
Copyright (c) May 2001 Nike A. Johnston
E-MAIL: [email protected]
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