Ficlet: Backyard
Jun. 6th, 2009 02:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lavitanuovaFiclet Prompt: Backyard
Sam/Daniel
Rated PG
This is where his backyard used to be.
Still is, if you want to be technical about it. There's still a house and it's still a yard and it's still in the back and somewhere there is a piece of paper that claims that this bit of land is owned by one Daniel Jackson. At least as much as anyone owns anything these days. Human exist on more of a finders keepers philosophy now. Who is going to stop them? The cops are all dead or dying, the politicians and law makers and judges and prison guards are all nonexistent because no one identifies themselves on what they used to be.
This is the first time he's been out of the mountain in three months without an armed escort. He shrugged them off this time. His house is not a military zone. He's got Sam and she's got a gun and that's as much as he was willing to give on the matter. Without Jack around, there aren't many people willing to give him orders and he does take advantage of that.
Inside, he's packed a couple of bags. Mostly clothes, a few things he has left of his parents, a necklace that Sha're had worn. He put them into a shoebox and shoved it at the bottom of his suitcase with a vaguely sick feeling. He's never been the kind of person that put a lot of weight into material objects. He's not sure why the fact that the world is ending should make a difference with that, but it does.
His back yard looks so plain and boring. He looks to the left at his neighbor's yard. He can't remember what her name was. Something that started with a C. Cathy? Carrie? Daniel would see her from time to time. Toward the end she started collecting his mail for him when he'd be off on missions for more than a week or two. She had a pretty yard once. Bright flowers everywhere, rose bushes by the back doors, vibrant green grass. She was older, retired, and spend almost every day working in that yard.
"Daniel?" Sam walks out into the back yard beside him. He watches her, not sure where his words have gotten to but knowing they've deserted him. She's beautiful, different now. It's horrible to say that it suits her, but it does. She hasn't worn makeup in months and her face is thinner, but not gaunt. Her skin is porcelain pale and her hair is naturally darkening without the aid of highlights to a soft, sandy blonde. He wonders if the twian suns of their new planet will burn her.
She kneels beside him, slightly behind, puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. She's so gentle with him lately. Like she think he's about to break, like he needs her.
Hell. Maybe he does need her.
"How much left?" She asks in a quiet voice. They're always quiet on the outside. It's funny, really. The dead don't get offended. They could probably shout at the tops of their lungs and no one would care, but now all they do is whisper. "What can I do to help?"
"Nothing. None. I'm finished. Let's go."
He stands up, wiping his hands on his pants. He should have planted a flower garden. Maybe next time, he will.
Sam/Daniel
Rated PG
This is where his backyard used to be.
Still is, if you want to be technical about it. There's still a house and it's still a yard and it's still in the back and somewhere there is a piece of paper that claims that this bit of land is owned by one Daniel Jackson. At least as much as anyone owns anything these days. Human exist on more of a finders keepers philosophy now. Who is going to stop them? The cops are all dead or dying, the politicians and law makers and judges and prison guards are all nonexistent because no one identifies themselves on what they used to be.
This is the first time he's been out of the mountain in three months without an armed escort. He shrugged them off this time. His house is not a military zone. He's got Sam and she's got a gun and that's as much as he was willing to give on the matter. Without Jack around, there aren't many people willing to give him orders and he does take advantage of that.
Inside, he's packed a couple of bags. Mostly clothes, a few things he has left of his parents, a necklace that Sha're had worn. He put them into a shoebox and shoved it at the bottom of his suitcase with a vaguely sick feeling. He's never been the kind of person that put a lot of weight into material objects. He's not sure why the fact that the world is ending should make a difference with that, but it does.
His back yard looks so plain and boring. He looks to the left at his neighbor's yard. He can't remember what her name was. Something that started with a C. Cathy? Carrie? Daniel would see her from time to time. Toward the end she started collecting his mail for him when he'd be off on missions for more than a week or two. She had a pretty yard once. Bright flowers everywhere, rose bushes by the back doors, vibrant green grass. She was older, retired, and spend almost every day working in that yard.
"Daniel?" Sam walks out into the back yard beside him. He watches her, not sure where his words have gotten to but knowing they've deserted him. She's beautiful, different now. It's horrible to say that it suits her, but it does. She hasn't worn makeup in months and her face is thinner, but not gaunt. Her skin is porcelain pale and her hair is naturally darkening without the aid of highlights to a soft, sandy blonde. He wonders if the twian suns of their new planet will burn her.
She kneels beside him, slightly behind, puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. She's so gentle with him lately. Like she think he's about to break, like he needs her.
Hell. Maybe he does need her.
"How much left?" She asks in a quiet voice. They're always quiet on the outside. It's funny, really. The dead don't get offended. They could probably shout at the tops of their lungs and no one would care, but now all they do is whisper. "What can I do to help?"
"Nothing. None. I'm finished. Let's go."
He stands up, wiping his hands on his pants. He should have planted a flower garden. Maybe next time, he will.
