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Suggested
Rating: for young adult and older
readers
Setting:
Season 7, during Heroes Part 2
Synopsis:
Daniel deals with the death of Janet.
Notes: mijn beste is “my dearest” in Dutch
DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable characters and
places are the property of MGM, World Gekko Corp and Double Secret
Productions. This piece of fan
fiction was created for entertainment only and no infringement on copyrights
or trademarks was intended.
Part 10: AFTERMATH
- by
Michelle Lunsford
Daniel
kept his gaze directed toward the floor as he exited the infirmary. It wasn’t so much that he was
preoccupied – although he’d certainly been guilty of wandering
the SGC halls in that state many times before. He just didn’t want to look at anyone right now. And he didn’t worry about running
into anyone because he knew people would give him a wide berth. He’d never been sure the extent
to which personnel on the base had figured out about his and Janet’s
relationship, but it was obvious that everyone was giving him plenty of space
right now. Even his closest
friends had seen fit to leave him alone, as if knowing that was exactly what
he needed.
He’d
suspected that talking to Simon Wells would be painful, but he’d
genuinely wanted to do it. So,
after drumming up what courage he could, Daniel had visited the airman in the
infirmary. While his confidence
may have been worked up, his words had come naturally. He was
glad the man had survived – that a wife still had her husband and that
her son, expected any day, would have his father.
‘Knowing
that you didn’t die in vain somehow makes this all a little more
bearable,’ he reflected, continuing in the intermittent one-sided
dialogue he’d been having since coming back through the Gate.
Daniel turned
the corner, halted at the elevator, and punched the keypad. As the doors opened and he slipped
inside, the recent conversation with Wells replayed through his mind.
‘No,
nothing about your death was right,’ he silently affirmed. ‘But it wasn’t his fault,
and I’m glad I had the chance to tell him that.’
Recollecting
the many times he’d been on the receiving end of similar assurances,
Daniel couldn’t help but smile a little. An image of Janet’s face came
unbidden to his mind. As he
pictured her friendly countenance and imagined her gentle voice he thought,
‘Of course, you would have been able to convince Wells of that a lot
better than I did.’
The
elevator stopped and the doors slid silently open. Traveling the path to his office was
automatic and as Daniel stepped out of the lift a wealth of memories flashed
in his mind’s eye. How many
times had he and Janet traveled these halls together, chatting lightly or
discussing the latest SGC crisis?
Everywhere he went, it seemed, there were constant reminders of
her. He’d almost expected
that to make him feel worse. But,
he had to admit, it hadn’t.
Of course
the memory of her presence had been the strongest when he’d gone to see
Wells. Walking into the infirmary
he’d been bombarded by a thousand signs of Doctor Janet Frasier. While it had been overwhelming, there
was almost something bittersweet in the pain. A part of what had made Janet so
special was the work she’d done, and in some strange way the activity
that continued in that room would carry out her spark of influence, even
though she was gone.
Daniel
entered his office and sat at the desk in the corner. He tried to work at the computer for a
few minutes, but it was no good.
Concentration was unachievable, at least for the moment. With a heavy sigh of resignation,
Daniel leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.
Bregman
and his crew would have viewed the tape by now. A part of him wondered how the
journalist had reacted to the images that were now a permanent part of his
own memory.
That was
another aspect that had surprised him.
As painful as those images were, Daniel had purposefully rehearsed
them over and over in his mind.
He found himself wanting to remember them, knowing that in some
inexplicable way remembering was less painful than forgetting.
He took a
deep breath and let it out slowly.
Shutting out all outside stimuli, he allowed his mind to repeat the
familiar scenario once again.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The
instant they stepped through the Gate he realized it was much worse than
anyone had anticipated. But there
was no time for clarifications and as the instincts Daniel had developed over
the years kicked in he automatically looked to Jack for direction. The Colonel was already barking out
orders to everyone. Their eyes
met and Daniel caught a glimpse of his friend’s concern despite the
older man’s efforts to shield it.
“Daniel,
go with Fraiser,” O’Neill ordered, his firm voice cutting through
the noise of gunfire and staff blasts.
Spinning
around, Daniel saw her, immediately recognizing the petite figure although
disguised by fatigues and a huge pack of medical gear. She too was issuing commands, giving
direction to her medical techs.
As he ran up to her he picked up the tail end of the hasty exchange
she was sharing with one of the airmen.
“We’re
uncertain of his condition, but believe it to be serious,” the young
man was saying. “They have
minimal cover at the ridgeline, but Bosworth seems to be holding them
off.”
Janet gave
a single sharp nod before heading off at a dead run.
They
covered ground fairly quickly, considering they had to constantly duck for
cover. As they approached the
location Daniel felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. One man was lying face down on the
ground, another – probably Bosworth – hovered close by, his gaze
attempting to look everywhere at once in an effort to provide protection for
his comrade.
As they
knelt on opposite sides of the downed airman Daniel noted how Janet instantly
began to assess the situation and take control. He did his best to follow her lead,
wanting to offer assistance in whatever way she needed.
“What’s
your name,” Daniel asked the man as Janet pulled supplies from her
pack.
“I’m
Senior Airman Wells,” came the muffled
reply. “Simon
Wells.” Several heavy,
pained breaths passed his lips before he finally asked, “Am I going to
die?”
“Not
if I have anything to do with it,” Janet responded with clear
determination. To Daniel she
added, “Okay, we need to roll him over and stop the bleeding.”
As they
turned the airman over it became even more obvious how seriously he was
injured. Daniel realized the man
probably wasn’t going to make it.
At the same time he knew Janet would fight with everything she had against
that eventuality. As if by
instinct he became aware the best way to help her was to create an atmosphere
where she could just do her job.
He tried to engage Wells in minimal conversation, assuring the man
that he was going to be fine, but Wells continued to complain about his
injury.
“Let’s
just talk about something else right now, Simon,” Daniel said. Wanting to keep the man focused on
fighting for life rather than worrying about his life ending, he latched onto
the first thing that popped in his head.
“What’s going on at home right now?”
As Wells
choked out words about his wife and their expected baby, Janet worked
hastily. Daniel continually
glanced back and forth between her and the airman. Even in the middle of all that was
going on, a part of his mind remained focused on everything Janet was doing
– her skilled movements, her communicative glances, her
unyielding reassurances to Wells.
In those moments there was no denying that he was so very proud of
her.
The
airman screamed in pain as Janet clamped something in his stomach.
“That’s
good – at least you felt that,” she encouraged, her tone
surprisingly steady.
A voice
sounded over their radios, informing O’Neill that the team wasn’t
going to be able to hold the Gate for long. Janet quickly sent a reply that she
needed more time to stabilize the patient.
“Go
without me,” Wells insisted.
“Leave me.”
“Nobody
is going anywhere,” Janet answered, her tone indicating there was no
room for argument.
“I
can’t believe I’m not gonna see my son,” Wells cried.
Daniel caught Janet’s eye and quickly instructed to Wells, “Okay,
just stay focused, stay focused – you-you know this a boy you’re
going to have, right?”
“Tell
me the truth,” Wells persisted.
“I’m not gonna make it, right?”
“You’re
going to be fine,” Daniel insisted, wishing his words could will it to
happen.
Wells
seemed to ignore the comment, instead pleading that he be allowed to give a
message to his wife.
Daniel
looked to Janet, silently asking what to do. Something in her expression cut
straight to his heart and he knew there was no way to deny this
soldier’s dying wish.
Passing
off the drip bag to Janet, he hastily dug in his pack for the video recorder
he always carried. He heard
Janet’s calming voice, urging Wells to breathe. Then he had the camera in his hands,
open and focused on the airman.
“Okay,”
he said, trying to keep his voice even, like Janet’s had been. “You tell her yourself.”
Listening
to Wells’ sobbing apology to his wife felt like a punch in the
gut. But Daniel remained focused,
keeping the camera steady.
Suddenly Wells broke off with an agonized scream.
“Shut
it off, shut it off,” he cried desperately. “I don’t want her to see
me die.”
Daniel
felt caught in a split second of indecision. But then Janet was suddenly there, her
face mere inches from Wells.
“Simon
– Simon, look at me! You
are not going to die, okay,”
she said resolutely. “We
did not come all the way out here for nothing. Now we’ve stemmed the bleeding,
we’re going to get you on a stretcher, and we’re going to get you
home with your family in no time, okay?
Now you hang in there, airman!”
Her words
were so sincere, her manner so determined, that even Daniel found himself
clinging to hope once more. He
momentarily shifted the camera’s focus to Janet, unable to make himself
pull away. Her intense fortitude
in that moment was simply too powerful.
And then
it all spiraled into chaos.
The shot
came out of nowhere, and for a moment Daniel didn’t realize what had
happened. He looked over, saw her lying on the ground, heard Well’s
voice asking what had happened and if she’d been shot. The implication of the question
finally registered with what his eyes were seeing, and Daniel felt as if
every fiber of his being was suddenly wrenched apart.
“Janet?”
The cry tore from Daniel’s throat, the desperate questioning tone
revealing what his mind was already beginning to comprehend. ‘No, no, NO – this can’t be happening!’ The camera fell from his hands,
completely forgotten. He attempted
to communicate what had happened over the radio, but eventually fell into
harsh strangled cries, begging for a medic.
Everything
receded into the background as he managed to crawl over to her. Her face was frozen in an expression
of shock. Grabbing her hand, he
tried to find a pulse, and then checked again at her neck. But there was nothing. ‘No!’ his mind pleaded
again. ‘Please no!’
For one
brief moment Daniel thought he saw Janet blink, and then a sharp intake of
air racked her body. There was an
unmistakable look of panic in her eyes before she was finally able to lock
onto Daniel’s gaze.
“Hurts,”
she gasped, the word squeezing out between clinched teeth.
“Shhh,”
he soothed, his voice quieter now but still raw with pain. His trembling hand moved to her face,
gently stroked her cheek.
“Don’t talk.”
Janet
shook her head a fraction as another grimace of pain passed across her
features. “Sorry,”
she bit out, echoing Well’s words from before. “So sorry.”
“You’re
going to be okay,” Daniel said softly, knowing it was a lie.
It seemed
as if a sense of peace fell across her face then, and a tiny smiled pulled at
her lips as she looked directly into his eyes. “Worth it,” she whispered, her voice growing fainter with every word. “It was… all… worth
it.”
Daniel
nodded. Something wet splashed
across his hand where it still cradled her face and he realized he was
crying. “I love you,
Janet,” he said. “I
love you so very much.”
She
struggled for breath. “I
lo-- love--”
The
declaration ended abruptly and Daniel watched in horror as the warmth of her
loving gaze slowly faded into the unmistakable vacant stare of death.
Suddenly
there appeared another person, kneeling beside them, and the activity of his
surroundings immediately crashed into his awareness again. There was the vague sense of other
people arriving – medics, a stretcher for Wells, someone gathering up
his gear.
“We
need a stretcher for Frasier,” the man beside him yelled over his
shoulder.
“Don’t
have any more,” a voice from somewhere behind Daniel replied.
“I’ll
take her,” Daniel murmured, still unable to tear his gaze away from
Janet’s face.
The medic
beside him didn’t answer, but Daniel felt the supportive squeeze of a
hand on his shoulder.
Someone’s
voice cut through then, blaring from his radio. “All teams, we’re pulling
out – everyone to the Gate now!”
With a
shuddering breath, Daniel forced himself to focus on the task at hand. Glancing around he noticed his camera
and pack were gone. Whoever had
been gathering his gear had already taken it and headed off. Carefully gathering Janet into his
arms, he stood, and began the dangerous trek back to the Gate.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Slowly,
Daniel opened his eyes. His
office was quiet. Tiny Egyptians
danced across his computer monitor, the work he’d been attempting to do
earlier long forgotten now behind the familiar screensaver. He had no idea how long he’d
been sitting there.
Sighing,
he pulled of his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Grief was a long process –
he’d been through it enough to know. But it was also always different, and
he wondered just how it was going to play out in this particular
instance. In a sense, Daniel
already felt as if he’d settled into acceptance. Anger and denial seemed not to have
tortured him – unless one wanted to count the brief, albeit extremely
intense, sensations of anger and denial that had coursed through him when the
whole thing had happened back on P3X-666. Now everything appeared to have
settled into a distinctive dull ache.
More than anything, he just wanted to have one really good cry about
it all. But such tears
hadn’t been forthcoming.
Leaning
forward in his chair, Daniel rested his elbows on his knees and sighed
again. “I miss you so much,
Janet,” he admitted aloud.
Suddenly
he felt compelled to be near more distinct reminders of the woman he
loved. An idea occurred to him,
and on impulse he decided to follow it.
Repositioning his spectacles, he rose from the chair and headed out of
his office toward one very specific medical observation room.
~ *
~ * ~
* ~ *
~ * ~
* ~ *
~ * ~
Daniel
didn’t know how long he’d been there. There was no sense of time –
only the peace and familiarity of his surroundings. If he closed his eyes and listened
hard enough, he could almost hear her voice, echoing in whispers around the
room. And if he was very still,
he could almost feel her presence – as if some trace of her lingered
here, brushing past him in vague intimations of the touch he’d come to
treasure.
He knew
it wasn’t real, of course.
She wasn’t truly there.
And he would never feel her warmth or hear her voice again. But the imaginings were comforting
– at least somewhat.
A figure
suddenly appeared in the doorway.
Daniel knew he was hidden from the man’s view, seated as he was
in the small dark nook. A part of
him wanted to just ignore the irksome journalist, and he watched in silence
as the man glanced around the room.
But then he heard Janet’s voice, in her typical no-nonsense
tone, gently chiding inside his head.
‘You
know it’s best if you just buck up and get it over with.’
Waiting
until the last possible second, Daniel called out, “Over here.”
Bregman
started slightly. “Oh
– I didn’t…” he said before taking a couple of
hesitant steps inside the room.
“I was told you might be in here, Doctor Jackson.”
“Yep,”
Daniel replied simply.
His voice
sounded hollow in his own ears, an audible mimicry of the emptiness he felt
inside. Then it registered what
the reporter had actually said, and he suddenly wondered who it was that had
clued Bregman to his whereabouts.
The idea that someone had known this
is where he could be found struck him as a fitting condolence.
Bregman’s
voice interrupted Daniel’s thoughts as the man stepped farther into the
room. “I just, uh…
came by to, uh… give this back to you.” He held up the infamous video
tape. Dropping it onto the
infirmary bed he added, “I’m not gonna use it.”
Daniel
watched as Bregman turned to leave, holding back until the man was almost to
the doorway. “Wait,”
he finally called. Standing, he
slowly stepped out of the shadows.
“I want you to.”
Bregman
paused, as if waiting for some sort of explanation. Daniel wasn’t sure he had one,
but as he looked at the tape, lying so innocuously on top of that perfectly
made up mattress, he decided to share some of what had been running through
his mind while he’d sat there in contemplation.
Slipping
his hands into his pockets, Daniel began, his words coming out slow and
deliberate. “You know I
died in this room…?
Ascended?” He
turned, re-traced his steps alongside the bed before continuing. “Doctor Frasier did everything
she could – I think she went three days without sleep.”
He’d
used her medical title, and although it was out of the ordinary for him it
had still felt right – as if speaking her given name in the presence of
this outsider was somehow too personal.
But as the recollections of the events that led to his ascension
played in his mind, Daniel found he simply could not hide how much this woman
meant to him. Or, more
importantly, he found he didn’t want to.
Meeting
Bregman’s stare he said, “Even in the end she didn’t want
to let me go.” A flood of
memories washed over him and he had to look away.
“I
owed her,” he conceded. And
although he knew that he’d given Janet everything he could in the short
time they’d shared, he still felt compelled to acknowledge what was in
his heart. “A lot more than
I ever gave back.”
Reaching
for the tape, he distractedly turned it round and round between his fingers
as he considered what to say next.
“I thought a lot about what you said about, uh,
Kristophsky...” he went on.
Daniel stared at the small item in his hand, the final testament to
the woman he loved. “I
think this shows what Janet Fraiser was all about.”
“Me
too,” Bregman agreed, his tone betraying a hint of emotion.
Making
his final decision, Daniel looked back to the journalist. “I want other people to
know,” he declared resolutely, holding out the tape.
Bregman
crossed the room and accepted the tape.
They stood there, silently staring at one another, and Daniel felt as
if some sense of understanding passed between them. Eventually Bregman nodded, and then
turned to leave.
Daniel watched
him walk away, feeling the welcome solitude envelop
him again. Longingly he glanced
toward the ceiling. ‘Well, mijn beste,’ he thought
wistfully. ‘I hope I did
the right thing. I hope… I
hope someday others will get to see the sacrifice you made. And – just maybe –
they’ll understand what a wonderful woman you were.’
For an
instant, Daniel was almost certain he caught a glimpse of her face, smiling
at him in open affection and gratitude.
But the vision blurred, fading quickly into indistinct splotches of
color from the small amount of lighting reflected off the ceiling. He took a deep breath and released it
slowly. Silently he shuffled
across the room and dropped heavily into the empty chair. And as the darkness once again
concealed him, the tears finally came.
~ *
~ * ~
* ~ *
~ * ~
* ~ *
~ * ~
Glancing
both ways down the street, Daniel slowly pulled his car into the lane. His short visit to see Wells and the
airman’s new baby hadn’t been an easy one. But he’d felt as compelled to
make the trip as he had when Wells had been in the infirmary.
‘I
know it’s what you would have wanted,’ he thought, the touch of a
smile breaking across his face.
“And I know that you’d be happy that their lives will go
on because of what you did.’
That was
another thing he’d learned about grief – it didn’t make
things better to hold other people’s joy against them simply because it
was a visible reminder of what you had lost. No, you simply had to swallow that
bitter pill, and share in their joy as best you could – allow it to be
a salve to your wound even if it felt more like salt.
As he
reflected on the visit, Daniel had to admit that it had been like a salve to
his aching heart. ‘Looking
at that precious little baby girl,’ he continued, ‘I
couldn’t help but be happy for Wells and his wife. Even though… even though it
reminded me of all those things we would never have.’
A sharp
pain cut through him with the admission and he gripped the steering wheel a
little tighter, waiting for the sting to slowly subside into the cold ache
that had become his constant companion in recent weeks.
Traffic
was light, and the sun shone brightly as he drove along. He rolled down the window, allowing
the air to blow across his face.
There was a slight nip in the air, but it felt good against his skin.
“And
they even named her after you,” Daniel said aloud. He’d found that sometimes it
made him feel better to talk to her like this, even though he knew she would
never answer. Nodding for
emphasis, he added, “Something about that just seems so… right.”
He’d
realized his “that’s nice” comment to Wells had not come
anywhere close to communicating the sense of pride and love that had swelled
in his heart over that small tribute to his beloved, but it was the best
he’d been able to offer at the time.
As he
continued the journey to his house, Daniel’s thoughts drifted once
again to those final moments he and Janet had spent together. Although he longed to hear her voice,
her words to him at the end would always be with him. It was as if Janet had known exactly
what would offer him the most comfort in the days ahead.
‘Yes,
it was worth it,’ he
reflected.
Although
there’d been no time to specify, Daniel was certain he knew what Janet
had meant. The night of their
first date, and that unexpected auto accident, had given them opportunity to
discuss their relationship in very unique terms. They’d spoken about the struggle
of balancing concern for those you care about with the awareness that
you’d never be able to protect them forever. But the struggle was worth it,
he’d told her then, even if in the end you lost that struggle. At the time Daniel had definitely been
speaking with regards to his feelings for her, but he’d only been able
to speculate that her comments on the matter had been along similar lines.
A wistful
smile once again tugged at his mouth.
‘Fortunately,’ he reminisced, ‘it didn’t take
me long to figure out we were talking about the exact same thing.’
Yes,
their time together had been cut cruelly short. Yes, he was going to have to live with
the aching loss of her for the rest of his life. And yes, absolutely nothing about it
was right. But, for what they had
been able to share, it was still worth it.
“It
was,” he affirmed aloud.
“It was all worth it.”
~ END ~
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