Sodade (SG-1 vignette, Jack/Daniel, gen)
Oct. 29th, 2003 10:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
applecameronTitle: Sodade
Author: Apple Cameron, Oct 2003.
Fandom: SG-1
Who: Jack, Daniel, mostly.
What: Vignette, introspection.
Rating: All ages. Oh, wait, R for language.
Spoilers: No.
Sodade, by Apple Cameron
Jack had the little player right by Daniel's pillow, and the woman's voice was round and somehow big, like you could tell she was someone from half the world away who didn't give a shit about your little rules and regulations, who'd smoke cigarettes in the middle of her concert at the Wiltern, and just grin at the management and say 'obrigado' when they got that mortified look on their faces. Woulda fit in great around SGC, wandering around barefoot with embarrassed airmen running after her holding ashtrays.
Quem mostra'bo ess caminho longe ?
Quem mostra'bo ess caminho longe ?
Ess caminho pa Sâo Tomé
He just sat there, afraid to pick up Daniel's hand. Teal'c was off-world doing some seriously questionable shit with Bra'tac for the rebellion. No one had been able to contact him yet. Cass was curled up in Sam's bed, having tuckered her out with a long and deeply complex conversation about Buffy and Angel and Spike and the last episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Deeply complex for a teenager and a concussed physicist, at least. He'd only eavesdropped shamelessly for most of it. Fraiser was snoring at her desk, he could hear her around the corner. It was always the middle of the night, somewhere.
Who showed you that far away path? Who showed you the path to Sâo Tomé?
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity-fuck. Fuck, and 'fuck' again. He'd known an SF once, this mouthy beanpole woman who liked to say shit like 'Christ on a pogo stick' and 'Fuck me with a running chainsaw', but Jack was a pottymouth purist.
Shit, fuck, damn, bitch, hell, goddammit Daniel duck!
Too late. He hit a button with his thumb to put the CD on infinite repeat.
Sodade, sodade, sodade dess nha terra Sâo Nicolau.
No broken bones, thank God and Sam Carter. It was supposed to be a cheesewhiz assignment, putzing around with SG-11, help break in a new kid, this tall black guy named Seku. Lieutenant. Geologist whose dad had been a SeaBee in the Pacific, back when. Spent his childhood on Guam. Funny guy.
Except he was dead, now.
Sodade, sodade, sodade, for my land Sâo Nicolau.
Daniel looked so incredibly pale. Face slack. So not-in-there it was scary. How many times had Jack been that scared before? About three million too many.
Heart in his mouth thinking Daniel was about to bite the big one, for real this time, courtesy of some fucking huge-ass pterodactyl that thought the UAV was a snack and SG teams were just the right size to feed the kids. Yummy, yummy.
Si bô 'screvê' me 'M ta 'screvê' be
Si bô 'squecê' me 'M ta 'squecê' be
If you write me, I will write you.
If you forget me, I will forget you.
And now Hammond was upstairs writing The Letter to Seku's family. Fuck. He'd better put a fresh bottle in George's desk drawer. He was bound to need it.
So Daniel was down in the mud on his face, not moving, dropped from what, 40, 50 feet or so, and Jack popped off a few at Big Bird From Hell, and everyone was yelling and Jack looked over his shoulder and then Seku was ripped, ripped to fucking shreds. Blood everywhere, spraying him in a hot shower. Big Bird had a mate. Jack kept it occupied, sort of, popping off bursts with the P90 when it looked to be getting bored, until Carter, God bless her, made it into the armory tent. Big Bird turned into roast chicken, but Daniel was still face down in that fucking mud.
Big Bird's mate hadn't been too happy, buzzed the site and picked up Carter, rocket launcher and all. She'd only dropped about 15 feet, into the stream. Seku had bled out. Bitch bird had gotten his neck good.
And Daniel was still face down in that fucking mud.
Atá dia qui bô voltà.
Sodade, sodade, sodade dess nha terra Sâo Nicolau.
He put his head down, forehead just touching the bundled shape under the blankets.
God. Daniel's hand was so fucking white. He touched it with just his fingertips. Blood loss. Some stitches. Bruised kidneys. Fraiser had been worried about his spleen at first, but took an alphabet soup of tests and decided it was probably OK.
The songs played, one after another, and he counted breaths, his own, Daniel's, listening to Cesaria Evora sing about love and life and country. And loss. You didn't have to know the language to know that last one.
There was a click and the CD started over again, Sodade, so sad, so beautiful, such a big voice coming out of that tiny speaker.
So much loss. For what? For what?
"Until the day we meet again.
Sodade, sodade, sodade
For my land Sâo Nicolau."
Jack looked up.
Daniel was peering shortsightedly at him. "I like that song." He smiled with half his face. "Hi, Jack."
Jack sniffed hard, keeping with the macho. It took a second. Then he tipped his chair back and looked in the direction of Fraiser's office. Lifted his voice so it would carry. "Hey, Doc. Birdfeed Boy's awake."
Daniel smiled, both halves this time.
Jack smiled back.
For everything, that's what.
Author: Apple Cameron, Oct 2003.
Fandom: SG-1
Who: Jack, Daniel, mostly.
What: Vignette, introspection.
Rating: All ages. Oh, wait, R for language.
Spoilers: No.
Sodade, by Apple Cameron
Jack had the little player right by Daniel's pillow, and the woman's voice was round and somehow big, like you could tell she was someone from half the world away who didn't give a shit about your little rules and regulations, who'd smoke cigarettes in the middle of her concert at the Wiltern, and just grin at the management and say 'obrigado' when they got that mortified look on their faces. Woulda fit in great around SGC, wandering around barefoot with embarrassed airmen running after her holding ashtrays.
Quem mostra'bo ess caminho longe ?
Quem mostra'bo ess caminho longe ?
Ess caminho pa Sâo Tomé
He just sat there, afraid to pick up Daniel's hand. Teal'c was off-world doing some seriously questionable shit with Bra'tac for the rebellion. No one had been able to contact him yet. Cass was curled up in Sam's bed, having tuckered her out with a long and deeply complex conversation about Buffy and Angel and Spike and the last episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Deeply complex for a teenager and a concussed physicist, at least. He'd only eavesdropped shamelessly for most of it. Fraiser was snoring at her desk, he could hear her around the corner. It was always the middle of the night, somewhere.
Who showed you that far away path? Who showed you the path to Sâo Tomé?
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity-fuck. Fuck, and 'fuck' again. He'd known an SF once, this mouthy beanpole woman who liked to say shit like 'Christ on a pogo stick' and 'Fuck me with a running chainsaw', but Jack was a pottymouth purist.
Shit, fuck, damn, bitch, hell, goddammit Daniel duck!
Too late. He hit a button with his thumb to put the CD on infinite repeat.
Sodade, sodade, sodade dess nha terra Sâo Nicolau.
No broken bones, thank God and Sam Carter. It was supposed to be a cheesewhiz assignment, putzing around with SG-11, help break in a new kid, this tall black guy named Seku. Lieutenant. Geologist whose dad had been a SeaBee in the Pacific, back when. Spent his childhood on Guam. Funny guy.
Except he was dead, now.
Sodade, sodade, sodade, for my land Sâo Nicolau.
Daniel looked so incredibly pale. Face slack. So not-in-there it was scary. How many times had Jack been that scared before? About three million too many.
Heart in his mouth thinking Daniel was about to bite the big one, for real this time, courtesy of some fucking huge-ass pterodactyl that thought the UAV was a snack and SG teams were just the right size to feed the kids. Yummy, yummy.
Si bô 'screvê' me 'M ta 'screvê' be
Si bô 'squecê' me 'M ta 'squecê' be
If you write me, I will write you.
If you forget me, I will forget you.
And now Hammond was upstairs writing The Letter to Seku's family. Fuck. He'd better put a fresh bottle in George's desk drawer. He was bound to need it.
So Daniel was down in the mud on his face, not moving, dropped from what, 40, 50 feet or so, and Jack popped off a few at Big Bird From Hell, and everyone was yelling and Jack looked over his shoulder and then Seku was ripped, ripped to fucking shreds. Blood everywhere, spraying him in a hot shower. Big Bird had a mate. Jack kept it occupied, sort of, popping off bursts with the P90 when it looked to be getting bored, until Carter, God bless her, made it into the armory tent. Big Bird turned into roast chicken, but Daniel was still face down in that fucking mud.
Big Bird's mate hadn't been too happy, buzzed the site and picked up Carter, rocket launcher and all. She'd only dropped about 15 feet, into the stream. Seku had bled out. Bitch bird had gotten his neck good.
And Daniel was still face down in that fucking mud.
Atá dia qui bô voltà.
Sodade, sodade, sodade dess nha terra Sâo Nicolau.
He put his head down, forehead just touching the bundled shape under the blankets.
God. Daniel's hand was so fucking white. He touched it with just his fingertips. Blood loss. Some stitches. Bruised kidneys. Fraiser had been worried about his spleen at first, but took an alphabet soup of tests and decided it was probably OK.
The songs played, one after another, and he counted breaths, his own, Daniel's, listening to Cesaria Evora sing about love and life and country. And loss. You didn't have to know the language to know that last one.
There was a click and the CD started over again, Sodade, so sad, so beautiful, such a big voice coming out of that tiny speaker.
So much loss. For what? For what?
"Until the day we meet again.
Sodade, sodade, sodade
For my land Sâo Nicolau."
Jack looked up.
Daniel was peering shortsightedly at him. "I like that song." He smiled with half his face. "Hi, Jack."
Jack sniffed hard, keeping with the macho. It took a second. Then he tipped his chair back and looked in the direction of Fraiser's office. Lifted his voice so it would carry. "Hey, Doc. Birdfeed Boy's awake."
Daniel smiled, both halves this time.
Jack smiled back.
For everything, that's what.
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no subject
on 2003-10-30 03:31 am (UTC)no subject
on 2003-11-06 11:16 am (UTC)This is nice. Thanks for posting it...