Fic: The Legend of Daniel Jackson (3/3)

[galaxysoup]

Part One
Part Two

Daniel looked down at the chalk in his hand. The white dust smudged on his fingers and he resisted the urge to wipe his hand on his pants. He looked at the board, looming in front of him, big and blank and dark, like the night sky with clouds. He traced the swirls of leftover chalk dust with his eyes, and thought about sitting on the fire escape with Jack watching the stars. He wished he was there now.

A hand closed on his shoulder and Mrs. Kirkbright thrust a piece of paper at him impatiently. "Here, Daniel, just copy this onto the board, okay? Just copy the letters."

He stared at the scrap of paper for a long moment. Mrs. Kirkbright, fed up with waiting for him to take it, sighed irritably and propped it up against the chalk board. She reached down and grabbed Daniel's chin with too-strong fingers, forcing his head up to meet her gaze.

"Copy what's on the paper twenty times onto the board, Daniel, and you can sit down again, okay?"

She let go of his chin and bustled back to her desk, not waiting to see if he followed her instructions.

Daniel picked up the piece of paper, smoothing it absently between his fingers even though it wasn't creased. Mrs. Kirkbright had nice handwriting, he noticed distantly.

He looked back over his shoulder at her. She had Spencer by the arm and was lecturing him heatedly. He looked back at the scrap of paper.

I will do my homework it said.

Daniel rolled the chalk between his fingers, then reached up as high as he could. He copied her message out neatly, careful to reproduce her handwriting exactly. He surveyed his work critically, and copied the line out a second time. It looked pretty good.

Something hit him on the back of the head. He turned to see Tommy smirking at him. "Re-tard," Tommy sang. "Four eyed reee-taaaard..."

Daniel frowned and turned back to the board. He copied out the line a third time, and stared at it.

Three lines of neat cursive writing. I will do my homework. I will do my homework. I will do my homework.

He reached up again and copied out the line in his own handwriting; round where Mrs. Kirkbright's was angular, straight up and down where hers was slanty, printed where hers was script. And then he copied it again in his best Arabic, and below that in French, Spanish, German, Italian, Latin, Greek, and finally heiratic and heiroglyphics. He thought about making a stab at Coptic or Aramaic, but he wasn't certain enough of his vocabulary, so he let it slide.

Thirteen lines. He still had seven to do, so he added one in Dutch and rewrote the Arabic, Greek, heiratic and heiroglyphics a few times because he liked the different alphabets. He should really learn Russian someday, he thought. That would be another alphabet to play with. Maybe Norse runes, too. Or Hebrew. That would be fun.

It occurred to him suddenly that the room behind him was very quiet. He turned to find everyone staring at him.

His face burned. American kids didn't know different alphabets. He'd done it again. He'd lost track of himself and gotten carried away. He turned quickly back to the board and erased his neat lines of writing with sharp, angry strokes, and scribbled it all over in English, not bothering to make sure the lines went straight and didn't slant down to the right, then hurried quickly back to his desk and sat down, wedging his hands between his knees. Stupid hands. Never did what he told them to.

The chalk dust from his fingers left white smudges on his pant legs. He rubbed the fabric with his thumb, but the dust just smeared more.

An awkward hand touched his shoulder. "Daniel?" Mrs. Kirkbright's voice was very soft.

Daniel stared resolutely at the scarred top of his desk. That swirl towards the top looked a little like the heiroglyph for dishonor. He wondered if it was deliberate.

"Daniel, I want you to stay after class, okay? I'd like to talk to you."

And that scribble a little lower down reminded him strongly of Cygnus the swan. He'd have to tell Jack he'd started seeing constellations on his desktop. Jack would like that.

There was a rustle of cloth at his side as Mrs. Kirkbright knelt down beside him. "Daniel, look at me."

His eyes slid towards her of their own accord, finally coming to rest somewhere near her collarbone. She gave his shoulder a little squeeze. "You're not in trouble, Daniel. I just want to talk."

Reluctantly, he nodded, and she got up and vanished towards the front of the class. Daniel stared back at his desk.

Maybe not Cygnus. Maybe it was more like the Southern Cross. Different angle, a little larger.

He sneaked a look at Mrs. Kirkbright. She was lecturing again, all traces of the soft-spoken woman of a few minutes before completely gone.

Stay after class. Daniel swallowed hard and looked down. Definitely the Southern Cross. He couldn't imagine what he'd been thinking when he said it was Cygnus.

Oh, for crying out loud.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The last of the students filed out of the room, one or two of them glancing back at him with an odd mix of glee and sympathy. Daniel ignored them, still staring at his desktop. He felt awful. There was a sort of roiling, churning feeling in his stomach and he wondered if he was going to be sick. Maybe if he got sick, they'd let him go back to the apartment. He risked a glance up at the clock. Sara would be home now. They could make cookies. The last time they had tried to make cookies, after the disastrous flour-fight attempt, they'd eaten so much of the dough there hadn't been enough left to bake. Although, if he came home sick Sara probably wouldn't let him eat cookie dough. Maybe she would make him tea.

He swallowed hard. His throat felt swollen.

Mrs. Kirkbright's high heels clicked down the rows of desks and stopped next to him. "I'm going to go talk to somebody for a minute, Daniel, and I'll be back. Stay here, please." The high heels clicked away. Mrs. Kirkbright was back to being cold and professional.

The silence in the classroom grew. Dimly, Daniel could hear people talking out in the hallway, but there seemed to be a bubble of silence growing around him, sucking away his words. It felt a little like not being able to breathe any more.

Translating those lines on the board had felt so good. The classroom had faded away until it was just him and his words and his memories. He remembered his mother showing him the shapes of the heiroglyphs, drawing them in the sand so he could copy them over and over until he got them right. He remembered his father's hand, large and warm around his, showing him how to hold one of the little camel hair brushes used for clearing sand off delicate artifacts. All of a sudden, the world had made sense again. Maybe his parents were gone and he might as well be living on the moon for all the sense American culture made to him, but words he knew. Words were always the same.

Far down the hall, he could hear a pair of high heels clicking on linoleum. The sound got louder, breaking his silent, wordless bubble, echoing around him until he wanted to climb under the desk and put his arms over his head the way they did in old movies when they thought someone was going to drop a bomb. Jack always laughed at those parts.

He heard the door creak open, felt it in every fiber of his being as Mrs. Kirkbright came towards him. He could feel her like a fire against his skin, getting closer and closer, burning him. She touched his shoulder and he flinched. He should have run away while he had the chance. 'Stay here, please,' she had said, and he had. Jack wouldn't have stayed. Jack would have run down the stairs or climbed out the window. Jack wouldn't have been stupid enough to write on the board with different languages. Daniel wasn't sure why that had made everybody so upset, but it had. Maybe there was some sort of law about not writing in other languages. Jack had told him about history - recent history, he always joked - on those nights on the fire escape. Things like the Holocaust and Communists. Maybe they thought he was a Communist. Maybe Communists wrote in other languages and they were going to drag him out and shoot him. Daniel had never seen anyone get shot. He'd seen someone get his hand cut off, though. That's what they did to thieves in Egypt. Maybe they were going to cut off his hands for writing with other alphabets. Oh god. They couldn't cut off his hands. He needed his hands. He needed his hands to write. He hadn't meant any harm. He just wanted to show Tommy Simpson he wasn't a re-tard. Four eyes, maybe, but not a re-tard.

Mrs. Kirkbright's hand closed around his arm and hauled him to his feet. For a moment he was afraid his legs wouldn't hold him, but somehow they did. He tucked his hands up into his armpits. It wouldn't keep them safe, really - adults were so big and he was so small. But it made him feel better.

Mrs. Kirkbright was saying something. She'd been saying something for several minutes now, he realized, but he hadn't been listening. His brain seemed to be shorting out. There was a buzzing in his ears and he wanted to explain to Mrs. Kirkbright that he hadn't meant to offend anybody, but he was too scared to try. He wanted to beg her to let him go, but had a feeling he would probably only manage to make it worse somehow.

She was propelling him out of the classroom now and down the hallway. There had been an interesting moment back at the desk when she had realized he wasn't going to be able to move forward on his own and she'd had to give him a push. Now she kept one hand on his back, her thumb and forefinger looped around the collar of his shirt, afraid maybe that if she let go of him for a moment he'd stop walking or just run away.

He wanted to run. He wanted to run away. He wanted to be gone from here. He hated this place. Hated it. Miserable. He wanted home. He wanted sand. He wanted heat and sun and old things and mom and dad. He wanted to have never heard of New York or seen the Museum of Art.

They stopped at a door and Mrs. Kirkbright knocked. There were words written on the glass panel in the door, smeared on in black painted block letters. Principal. A voice inside shouted for them to enter.

Mrs. Kirkbright reached for the doorknob and Daniel made an inarticulate strangled noise of fear. Her hand tightened on the collar of his shirt before he'd even managed to sort out where his legs were and how they worked. He made one stumbling step backwards before the collar got too tight and he had to stop. The door swung open and he held on to his ribcage with both hands, digging in his fingers as if that would save his hands when the time came.

A stone block. There would be a stone block, stained reddish, and a big knife or a sword. Or maybe in America they used those butcher's cleavers he'd seen when he'd gone shopping with Mrs. Crispe. Big. Heavy. Sharp.

Mrs. Kirkbright's grip was digging into his shoulder blades and her face was down near his. His breath was coming in harsh pants, quick but not fast enough because there wasn't enough air, never enough air and there was another face next to Mrs. Kirkbright's now, an older man who might have looked kind if he wasn't the one who would be holding the butcher knife and he couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe, he had to get away, this was wrong, so wrong, he hadn't meant any harm and with a wrench he was suddenly free and running down the hall, running for all he was worth away from punishment and re-tard and butcher's knives and clicking high heels on linoleum and cloudy night blackboards.

Daniel burst through the double doors and out into the afternoon. He ran flat out, as if by running as fast and as hard as he could he would somehow take flight and soar all the way back home to Egypt. He didn't care where he was going, as long as he never had to go back.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Jack was just opening his front door, arms laden with groceries, when he was stopped by Mrs. Weaver.

"Mr. O'Neill? Have you seen Daniel lately?"

Jack frowned. "No, not since last night. Why?"

She looked worried. "I just got off the phone with his teacher. She said she was taking him to talk to the principal and he ran away. She wanted to make sure he'd gotten home all right, and to tell me that Mr. Ridley still wanted to talk to him."

Jack put down the groceries. "Did she say why the principal wanted to talk to him?"

Mrs. Weaver looked startled. "No, actually. I didn't think to ask. That was silly of me."

Jack smiled reassuringly. "That's okay, you were worried about Daniel. How long ago did he leave the school?"

Mrs. Weaver blinked at him. "I didn't ask that either. Oh dear, I'm not handling this at all well, am I?"

Jack smiled again, and hoped she couldn't see through his expression to the worry underneath. Daniel had never struck him as the type to run away. He was more courageous than that, and more stubborn. He must have been badly scared by something to just take off. "No, no, you're doing fine. What time does he usually get home from school?"

Her expression cleared immediately. "Oh, about three thirty. So I'd guess he left the school about a half hour ago."

Jack nodded thoughtfully. "Okay, that's not too bad. I'll go out and scout around for him, just in case, but I bet he's fine. I'll let you know if I find him."

Mrs. Weaver smiled, relieved. "That would be wonderful. Thank you, Mr. O'Neill."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Daniel stopped running when he got to the Museum of Art. He stood for a long time just staring up at it, tracing the marble blocks with his eyes. He remembered the first time he'd seen the museum. He'd been so surprised to find Greek architecture in America that he'd spent the next week expecting to find pyramids lurking around street corners.

Daniel took the steps one at time, coming to a halt about halfway up. He couldn't go any further. He could hear the echoes of his parents voices in his ears, telling him to go outside, they'd be along in a minute, it's swinging, that's okay, just a little lower on your left, Jake... and then the snap of the chain, and the screams, and the sounds of those heavy stone blocks hitting the ground. Time had done strange things to Daniel that day. The accident itself had seemed to take years, each individual instant of it slamming into his brain, implanting itself in his memory. He doubted he'd ever be able to forget even a split second of it as long as he lived. The rest of the day had gone by in huge leaps. Hours took seconds, and then for no reason at all a single minute would take an eon.

Most of the day was fuzzy in his memory. He could remember little snippets of time with perfect clarity; sitting outside somebody's office rubbing the hem of his sweater through his fingers again and again, mesmerized by the feel of the wool. Lying in his bed in the orphanage that night when the realization that he was really truly alone now finally hit him. Seeing the bodies of his parents pulled out of the rubble and thinking with a sort of detached affrontery that they didn't look at all like mummies.

Daniel stopped and sat down hard, jarring his spine against the cold granite of the steps. He wrapped his arms around his torso and leaned forward, resting his chin on his knees. He was kind of cold. He'd left his jacket behind when he ran from the school.

Daniel stared out across the traffic below, feeling the weight of the past at his back and the emptiness of the future yawning beneath his feet. He felt like he could sit there forever, a small figure in limbo between the past and the present; afraid to go back, afraid to go forward, and afraid to stay.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Jack started at the apartment and moved towards the school, keeping his eye out for Daniel's red jacket since he figured it would probably be the easiest thing to spot. He went on foot, unsure of how fast or for how long Daniel could run but confident it wouldn't be too far.

The route from the apartment to the school took him only a few minutes, and was distressingly devoid of fair-haired boys with glasses and red jackets. Somewhat at a loss, Jack stood for a few minutes outside the building before heading in the direction of Central Park. Daniel had liked going there to watch the skaters with Sara, and Jack hoped he'd instinctively head for somewhere familiar. After Central Park he could check the library and the museums.

The skating rink was a bust. It was starting to get dark now and Jack was definitely getting worried. He stopped at a phone booth to call Sara at the restaurant and let her know what was going on, then headed for the Museum of Art.

Despite Jack's growing panic, he really, really hoped he didn't find Daniel there. The Museum of Art would forever be associated with the death of Daniel's parents for Jack, and he would bet his last hockey puck it was the same for Daniel. If Daniel was returning there it meant whatever had happened at the school was upsetting enough he didn't feel he could go to Jack or Sara for help. The kind of comfort Daniel needed could only come from two living parents and a lot of Egyptian sand, which as much as he might want to, Jack just couldn't give him.

He walked faster.

When he got there, he almost didn't see Daniel sitting on the steps. The gathering dusk, Daniel's small size, and the absence of the red jacket Jack had been specifically looking for combined to help Daniel blend into the surrounding stonework with disquieting ease. If Jack hadn't been used to finding Daniel through all the noise and bustle of the world he might have missed him entirely.

He sat down next to Daniel, moving slowly.

"Hi," he said. Daniel continued staring out across the busy street.

"They were so happy," Daniel said softly. "It was such an honor. They were so happy to be asked to make an exhibit at the New York Museum of Art." He pronounced the name slowly, tasting each letter as it came out. "They spent weeks telling me about everything in the museum, everything in New York, all the American stuff I'd get to see for the first time. 'You'll love it,' they said. 'There's so much to see.' And I did. We went to the movies, and we had ice cream and hamburgers. We went to Ellis Island and climbed to the top of the Statue of Liberty. It was like being in some sort of fairy land, I could hardly believe it was all real. It was so different."

"You'd never been to America?" Jack asked.

Daniel shook his head, still staring out at the traffic. "No. I was born on one of my parents' digs. My dad always used to joke that I was a born archaeologist, and my mom always told him no, I'd come for the languages. It was a standard joke, that dad wanted me to be an archaeologist and mom wanted me to be a linguist. I always told them I wanted to be a camel trader. It used to make them laugh." He smiled a little, turning to look at Jack for the first time. "It was so weird, Jack. There was no sand, tons of trees. Everybody spoke the same language." He gave Jack a wry look. "And you couldn't see as many stars. It was like we'd gone to another planet."

Jack smiled back. "Planet New York. I like it."

Daniel turned back to the traffic. "Of course, Mom and Dad were working a lot, putting the exhibit together, but I didn't mind. I just went through the exhibits in the museum, read all the little cards under the cases, made pictures of the most interesting ones in my notebook." He grinned. "I think I made the museum people nervous, actually. When I wasn't exploring I sat in Mom and Dad's exhibit room and watched them work. I was a little homesick for Egypt, but that was okay, because we were going back."

He tucked his hands up under his arms, shivering a little, so Jack took off his sweatshirt and made Daniel put it on. The sleeves hung down past Daniel's hands, but he refused to let Jack roll them up.

"The biggest part of the exhibit, the part everyone was most excited about, was a stone temple that we'd taken apart in Egypt and shipped to the States. We were rebuilding it right there in the museum, in the middle of the other exhibits. I wasn't supposed to get too close, because they didn't want me to trip someone up and cause an accident. Most of the people there had worked with Mom and Dad before, and knew to look out for me, but accidents happen." He sighed. "Accidents always happen."

He was quiet for a few minutes, but Jack didn't want to say anything. The air around them felt fragile and solid, hard to breathe but easy to break. He was afraid to move, and was relieved when Daniel went on.

"I was standing by one of the other exhibits. It was a recreation of a bust of Nefertiti. Quite beautiful, even if it wasn't the real thing. I loved to look at it because even this long after it had been made, the colors are still bright. I used to imagine the person who made it: what they looked like, what they thought of while they were making it. It was fun." He tucked his hands into the sleeves of Jack's sweatshirt, right hand in the left sleeve and left hand in the right sleeve until he looked like he didn't have any hands at all, just one continual arm running in a loop from shoulder to shoulder.

"They were putting the roof on the temple. It was a tricky thing to do, so I was being extra quiet because I didn't want to be noticed and sent out. Mom and Dad were standing in the temple itself, so they could make sure the coverstone fit right on the walls and the pillars. I can still remember exactly what they looked like. Mom was wearing a blue bandanna over her hair because Dad said it made her eyes stand out, and Dad was wearing a tie-dyed T-shirt because Mom said he wouldn't. Dad was standing a little behind Mom, looking over her shoulder at the plans for the temple. Mom was nervous, because the coverstone was swinging a little, but Dad told her it would be okay. I mean, it was all chained up, right? If it landed off-center, all they had to do was pick it up again."

Daniel pushed his hands further up his sleeves until he could grab his shoulders, a perverted version of his usual self-hug that made the sleeves bunch up strangely. "And the next thing I knew, the chain had snapped and the coverstone was falling. It fell to one side more than the other and hit one of the temple walls, so Mom had time to scream and Dad had time to try and push her out of the way. And then the wall fell, and the pillars fell, and the coverstone fell. Like dominoes. One on the other on the other and then on my parents."

He turned and gave Jack a serious look. "Big stones, Jack. Heavy. There was no way. I knew that as soon as they fell. I'd seen accidents on digs before - nothing that bad, but I had a good idea of what that kind of weight does to a body. I stayed anyway, out of the way, just watching, because I knew if anyone could survive something like that it would be them. They always made it. It didn't seem right that they wouldn't make it this time." He smiled, a little bitter smile. "Not in America. America was a fairy land."

"You saw them taken out," Jack said. It wasn't a question. He knew.

Daniel looked down, taking his hands out of his sleeves and wrapping them around his chest. "Yeah."

Jack reached over and pulled Daniel into his lap, wrapping his arms around Daniel's small body as if both of their arms together could keep all the bad things out. "I'm sorry, Danny."

Daniel leaned his head against Jack's shoulder. "Me too."

Jack kissed the top of Daniel's head. "You want to tell me what happened at school today?"

Daniel sighed again, unsurprised by the change in conversation. "It was stupid. I panicked."

"That why you left?"

"Yeah. I was supposed to write some lines on the board, you know, 'I will do my homework'? That sort of thing. So I was standing there and I guess I spaced out a little, because Mrs. Kirkbright handed me a piece of paper with the words on it and told me just to write out what I saw. And I realized she didn't even think I knew how to read."

"What did you do?"

"I wrote it out a few times like she had - I mean exactly. I copied her writing and everything. And then Tommy Simpson - you remember Tommy Simpson?"

"The moron with the Coliseum Dodgeball obsession?"

Daniel gave a tiny huff of laughter. "Yeah. He started calling me a re-tard. I got so angry. I knew he had no reason to think anything else of me, but all of a sudden I was just furious. So I started copying the lines out in other languages. I made it all the way through and then realized everyone was staring at me. American kids don't know that kind of stuff, do they?"

Jack gave Daniel a reassuring squeeze. "Not many kids do, American or otherwise."

Daniel gave a minute shrug. "I didn't know."

"Is that when you left?"

"No. Mrs. Kirkbright said she was taking me to the principal's office. I thought I was in trouble and I couldn't figure out why. I thought I must have broken some sort of rule, and they were going to punish me... and, well, one thing led to another and I kind of freaked myself out. Silly."

Jack shifted a little so he could see Daniel's face. "What did you think they were going to do?"

Daniel gave him an embarrassed grimace of a smile. "Cut my hands off."

Jack's jaw dropped. "Yeah, that would be scary. You do know that's not what they were going to do though, right?"

"Of course," Daniel answered a little too quickly. "Um, what were they going to do, do you know?"

Jack shrugged. "Probably just see how much you knew, figure out why you were in that class in the first place, decide where else to put you instead. That sort of thing."

"I don't want to go back, Jack."

Jack thought for a minute. "If you could have anything in the world, no matter how unreasonable, what would it be?"

Daniel twisted to look up at him, puzzled. "No matter how unreasonable?" Jack nodded. "I want my parents back. And I want to go home."

"To Egypt?"

"Yeah."

"What do you need to get there?"

Daniel blinked at him, still confused. "Money. And a plane ticket."

"How are you going to get it?"

"The money? I don't know. If I knew I'd leave now," Daniel pointed out a little testily.

Jack refused to be daunted. "How did your parents get it?"

"They got funding for a dig."

"So they were hired to be archaeologists?"

"Yeah, I guess you could put it that way."

"How do you get to be an archaeologist?"

Daniel frowned, finally understanding what Jack was getting at. "You go to school."

"Yes. And you do your homework, and pay attention, and Daniel... you have to talk."

Daniel sighed, caught partway between admitting Jack was right and feeling resentment at having been tricked into admitting Jack was right. "I know. It's just because I don't understand how to act yet, Jack. I'll figure it out."

"That's an excuse and you know it." Jack's arms tightened around him. "Daniel, you're one of the bravest people I know. I don't think I would have made it this far on my own if I were in your place, that's for damn sure. But if you want to be an archaeologist and a linguist and go back to Egypt, you're going to have to work hard for it."

Daniel tucked his head under Jack's chin. "I miss being a kid, Jack."

Jack rubbed his shoulder with one hand. "I know."

"You're going to make a good dad someday."

Jack smiled and kissed the top of Daniel's head again. "Thanks."

"Do you think they'll still be at school if we go back now?"

"You sure?"

"No. But I don't suppose it really matters."

Jack checked his watch. "They might be."

Daniel got to his feet. "Let's go then."

* * * * * * * * * * *

"So we walked back to the school," Jack told Sara. "The principal was still there. I walked Daniel to the door and he just looked at me and said 'I'm okay, Jack,' and walked in by himself. I sat out in the hallway the whole time."

Sara put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "He knew you were there for him, Jack. That's the important thing."

"I know." Jack picked at a spot on the table. "I just... you shouldn't be that old when you're nine, Sara. Nine year old boys should be outside playing. They should believe in Superman and Santa Claus and they shouldn't have to know their parents aren't immortal."

Sara folded her hands in front of her. "He's not a normal kid. We knew that from the beginning," she said, knowing that it wouldn't help.

"I still feel like I'm killing his childhood," Jack said roughly, and got up from the table.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Daniel stopped at the entrance to the living room and stood for a moment, just watching Mrs. Weaver. She was sitting in her armchair, staring blankly at the powerless television. The dim light filtering in through the living room window did little to alleviate the feeling of dull loneliness that seemed to have seeped into the very walls.

"Mrs. Weaver?"

She jumped, startled more by the presence of another person in such close proximity than by the shattering of Daniel's customary silence.

"Oh, my, you startled me!" She pasted on a smile. "What's on your mind, dear?"

Daniel licked his lips. "I want to show you something."

She shifted in the chair until she was facing him fully, her smile becoming a little more real. "Sure, sweetheart. What is it?"

Daniel fidgeted. "It's...outside. We have to... have to go somewhere. It'll be fun," he added hastily, taking a nervous step into the room. "Really. I think you'll like it. I mean, I hope you'll like it."

"I'd love to, honey." She stood up, smoothing the front of her dress self-consciously. "How do I look? Is this okay? Should I change?"

Daniel smiled. "You look great. That's perfect."

She gave him a relieved smile. "Let's go, then."

* * * * * * * * * * *

"The Museum of Art?" Mrs. Weaver asked, turning to him with a smile. "I didn't know you liked museums."

"It has the largest Egyptian collection in the country," Daniel told her solemnly. "Want to see it?"

"I'd love to," Mrs. Weaver said, and he tucked his hand through her elbow and led her into the museum.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The yo-yo spun at the bottom of the string as Daniel walked the dog. He hooked the string with one finger, doubled it, and hooked it again. If he'd gotten it right, it would make the yo-yo into a pendulum in a clock-like box...

Before he could finish his trick, the yo-yo snapped back on its string and hit his fingers. Daniel dropped it with a yelp.

So close. He'd been so close... oh well. He picked up the yo-yo and got ready to try again.

A knock at his bedroom door interrupted his concentration. Before he could answer, the door eased open and Mrs. Weaver's face appeared in the crack.

"Daniel? Miss Elliot's here to see you." She smiled and retreated, leaving Miss Elliot standing in the hallway smiling benignly down at him.

"Hello, Daniel. Are you all packed?"

Daniel gaped at her. "Packed? No, no, why would I pack?"

Miss Elliot's smile faltered and she looked uncertain. "Because you're moving? To a new home?"

A cold feeling lodged in Daniel's stomach. "But I'm not leaving. Nobody told me I had to leave."

Miss Elliot's expression firmed. "Don't be silly, the child is always notified. Now get your things and we'll be going."

With quick movements Daniel wrapped the string around his yo-yo and tucked it into his pocket. "I have some things to take care of first," he said firmly. "Excuse me, please." He pushed his way past her and down the hall to the kitchen. He picked up Mrs. Weaver's heavy white phone and dialed zero like they did on the movies. He was aware of Mrs. Weaver and Miss Elliot watching him and conversing quietly behind his back, but he didn't care.

"I'd like the number for Dottie's Restaurant, please," he said, and waited as the operator connected him. "Hello, Dottie? It's Daniel. I need to speak to Sara, please. Thanks." There was a pause and he could hear the sounds of the restaurant in the background, then Sara's voice on the phone.

"Daniel? Are you all right?"

"No," Daniel told her honestly. "They're making me leave." He gripped the phone cord in his left hand as if it were a rope holding him to the face of a cliff.

"What?" Sara's voice was shocked. "Move like to a new foster home? Now?"

"Yeah."

"Aren't you supposed to have some kind of warning?"

"I don't know. I guess." Daniel swallowed hard. "I... I wanted to say goodbye, Sara. Do you... do you know Jack's number? I don't know where he works."

"I'll call him," Sara said, her voice regaining some of it's customary briskness. "You stall them. We'll be there as soon as we can."

"Okay," Daniel said, and hung up.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Sara hung up and dialed again quickly.

"Hello? I need to speak to Lieutenant Jack O'Neill. Tell him it's a family emergency."

* * * * * * * * * * *

"Daniel, are you ready yet?" Miss Elliot's voice had lost a lot of its sweetness. She was most definitely starting to get a little fed up with Daniel's packing tactics.

"No," Daniel said defiantly from the middle of a sudden explosion of belongings in his room. "I can't find my jacket. It's red with blue patches on the elbows. I can't leave without it." The jacket was, in fact, stuffed under Daniel's mattress, and if more of his possessions seemed to end up in piles around his room than folded neatly in his suitcase, well, that wasn't Daniel's fault. He was only a kid, after all. What did he know about packing?

"All right," Miss Elliot said with a sigh. "I'll look for it out here."

Daniel felt a slight twinge of guilt. Miss Elliot was a pretty nice lady, if a little clueless sometimes. She seemed out of her depth, and Daniel felt bad about adding to her confusion. Not bad enough to leave quietly without seeing Jack and Sara, of course, but bad enough to be sympathetic.

There was a firm knock at the apartment door. "Daniel?" Jack's voice called. "You still here?"

"Jack!" Daniel jumped to his feet and bolted for the door, dodging a surprised Mrs. Weaver in the hallway. He jerked open the door and launched himself at Jack.

"You got here," he gasped into the shoulder of Jack's uniform. "Thank you for coming I didn't want to leave first I don't want to go anywhere please don't make me go..."

"I know." Jack rubbed his back soothingly. "It's okay. Sara's right behind me. Is your social worker still here?"

Daniel held on harder. "Miss Elliot," he said, his voice muffled. "She's inside."

"Okay." Jack's arms loosened for a moment, then he seemed to change his mind. "Why don't we stay out here and wait for Sara, huh kiddo?"

"Okay."

Jack eased around until he was leaning against the banister, Daniel in his arms with his face buried in Jack's neck. "Daniel, did you know you had to leave today?"

"No. I think maybe Mrs. Weaver forgot to tell me. She forgets things sometimes."

"Do you know where they're sending you?"

"No," Daniel said, a little sharply. "I didn't ask."

"Okay." Jack turned a little at the sound of Sara pounding up the stairs. "Hey, look who else is here."

Daniel lifted his head from Jack's shoulder and peered at Sara. "Hi, Sara."

Sara smiled and stroked his back. "Hey, kiddo. How you holding up?"

Daniel released his stranglehold of Jack and twisted to look at her. "Okay, I guess."

Jack caught her eye over Daniel's head and jerked his chin in the direction of the apartment. "Hey, Daniel, you want to hang out with Sara for a minute? I'm going to go talk to Miss Elliot."

"Okay." Daniel let go and dropped to the ground, standing as close to Sara as he could get. Sara crouched down next to him and put an arm around his shoulders as he leaned into her, smoothing his hair with her free hand.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Jack found Miss Elliot in Daniel's bedroom, shutting the clasps on a battered blue suitcase.

"Are you Daniel's case worker?"

She turned and smiled brightly at him. "Yes, I am." She offered him her hand. "Julie Elliot."

Jack gave her a curt nod. "Lieutenant Jack O'Neill. I'm a friend of Daniel's."

Miss Elliot let her hand drop, still smiling determinedly. "Nice to meet you, Mr. O'Neill."

"Lieutenant," Jack corrected her. "Why wasn't Daniel told he would have to leave today?"

The smile died. Miss Elliot gave Jack a dismayed look. "I don't know. His family should have been notified."

Jack crossed his arms and stared at her. She fidgeted nervously. "I'll get right to the point. I want to take Daniel in."

Strike dismayed; Miss Elliot looked terrified. "Take... take him in?" she faltered.

"Yes. I'm married, I have a stable job, my wife and I are already friends of Daniel's and we want to take him in."

"Oh," Miss Elliot said faintly. "I... what do you do for a living?"

Jack gazed back at her steadily. "I work for the Air Force. Hence the Lieutenant and the uniform."

"Oh!" Miss Elliot's expression cleared and she smiled at him again, relieved. "Well, I'm afraid that won't do. If you have to travel for your job you aren't really a suitable foster parent. Now, if you'll excuse me - "

Jack raised one eyebrow. "Sort of like Mr. Weaver travels?"

The smile died again. "That's not really the same thing, Mr. - Lieutenant. You have a high risk job."

"How do you know? Maybe I work in the commissary."

Miss Elliot frowned, angry now. "How long have you been married?"

"A little over a year."

"That isn't long enough to demonstrate that you can provide a stable environment for a child. Now excuse me, we have to be leaving." She pushed past him into the hallway.

"Wait just a minute!" Jack called after her, but she had already opened the front door of the apartment and set Daniel's suitcase outside with depressing finality.

Jack made it down the hallway in three giant steps and grabbed her by the arm, hauling her back inside the apartment. "Do you have any idea what that kid has had to deal with?" He hissed. "He saw his parents killed right in front of him, for Christ's sake. He grew up in Egypt. He has no idea what to do in this country. He spent the last year completely silent because he was afraid he would offend somebody. And not to brag or anything, but he trusts me and he trusts my wife and we have given him more stability than he has ever had in his life. I repeat: we want to take him in."

Miss Elliot glared back, jerking her arm out of his hold. "Bring your complaint to the office," she snapped. "I'm not the one you should be talking to." She vanished out into the hallway.

Jack gaped momentarily at the empty space left by her departure, then turned and followed her out.

Daniel looked up at them from where he stood with Sara. His eyes flicked from Miss Elliot's wrinkled sleeve to Jack's angry expression and his face fell. For a moment he closed his eyes, still leaning against Sara, and then he opened them and straightened up.

"I need to say goodbye to Mrs. Weaver," he said calmly, and marched into the apartment.

The hallway was thick with tense silence. Miss Elliot stood stiffly with her back to the wall, staring resolutely straight ahead. Jack crossed his arms and looked daggers at her.

"Did you ask - " Sara began.

"Yes."

"And she said - "

"No."

Sara gave Miss Elliot a hostile look.

Daniel came back out into the hallway, jacket tucked under one arm, and came to an uncertain halt as he took in the atmosphere on the landing. He cleared his throat timidly.

"Say goodbye, Daniel," Miss Elliot said flatly. "We need to be going."

"Right," Daniel said, his eyes a little wide. He shook himself and headed for Sara first, coming to a faltering stop in front of her. He shifted his jacket from one hand to the other, not quite able to look her in the face, but before the moment could get too awkward Sara bent down and grabbed him in a fierce bearhug.

"Call us and let us know where you are, okay?"

Crushed against her, Daniel could only nod. After a moment Sara let go and leaned back, staring into his face. He was pale and his eyes were red but his chin was set determinedly. She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead.

"You're so brave, Daniel," she told him softly, giving him a tremulous smile.

Daniel kissed her on the cheek, and if his face was a little tear-stained when he leaned back, neither one said anything.

Jack didn't wait for Daniel to turn and face him. He swooped down and gathered the boy up, cradling him close. He could feel Daniel trembling faintly, and his fingers clutched hard at Jack's shirt. Jack closed his eyes, memorizing the feel of Daniel's small body against his, Daniel's hair tickling his nose, and then he put Daniel down.

"We'll be here," he said, and ran out of things to say.

Daniel took one step back, and then another, and stood clutching the banister pole at the top of the stairway.

"The Milky Way," he blurted hoarsely. "In lots of stories it's created to keep people apart, like a river, or... or..." his voice broke and he swallowed hard.

Jack nodded. "Watch the stars?"

"Yeah," Daniel whispered, looking down, and then he turned and was gone.

Miss Elliot picked up Daniel's suitcase and followed.

"This isn't over," Jack told her. She ignored him.

THE END

AUTHOR'S NOTE UPON REPOST: Okay, I freely admit this is my bad. I really shouldn't have ended the story with Jack saying it wasn't over, because, of course, as far as I was concerned it was and that was Jack protesting. See, this is the problem with writing stories sometimes - the picture becomes so clear in your own head you lose track of what other people are going to see. In my case, even though I was writing an AU I was trying to keep the characters as close to canon as possible, and Jack and Daniel simply would not have become the characters they needed to be in order to make the Stargate movie the way it was if they had had each other to rely on the whole way though. I gave Jack his problematic line because it was in-character for him to say it, even if it was clear to me as the author that it was indeed over. All of that is to say: there won't be a sequel. This is the end of the story, and I really apologize for the sloppy bit of storytelling at the end there. :-/