Disclaimer :: The characters herein are the property of their creators. I make no profit from their use.
:: White Dove ::
written by Starlet2367 { e-mail // livejournal }
Daniel
Jackson dropped his green, military-issue duffel bag onto the floor of the entry
hall. Its thud was the only sound in the cabin. When he inhaled, he smelled dust
and the faded scent of lemon cleaner.
Scratching
his leg where the skin itched like fire ants, he thought about
He
limped down the three little steps and into the living room. Jack was a tidy
housekeeper for a bachelor. Gun and fishing magazines, corners aligned like
soldiers, lay on the big, wooden coffee table. But it was the window that drew
him.
Out
here, night was cold and clear. No light pollution or smog to block the stars.
He put his hand on the glass and remembered what it was like to be out there,
floating. Nothing but energy.
Shaking
it off, he went back for his duffel. Jack had told him to take any of the
bedrooms, so he chose the front one with a view of the lake. It glistened like a
black mirror, reflecting the sky back to itself. He knew what it meant to see
his reflection in the universe. To feel its smile, that unending sense of
connection.
The
lack of that connection drove him these days, making him reckless, restless. He
dropped his bag on the king-sized bed, unzipped it, and pulled out his heavy
sweater. He tugged it over his head and it caught on his glasses. With a
frustrated grunt, he reached under and took them off. He got the sweater on and
returned his glasses to their perpetual position on his nose. The thick wool
warmed him, reminded him that he’d tended to forget little things, like how to
put on clothes or how cold it got here in winter, since he’d been back.
Grabbing
his black watch cap, he left the bedroom. He didn’t bother to lock the front
door behind him.
***
His
feet crunched and slipped on the pine needles. High up, the wind moved like an
ocean wave but down here, he felt heavy, weighed down by his body.
His
hands found the pockets of his jeans. Probably he should have worn a coat and
gloves. His leg throbbed, but it was a dull, distant pain.
Moping
around. Was that what this was? Returning from death, then getting taken
hostage…. He shrugged. Whatever. None of it made any difference. Life was just
one long, dull road, and he was walking it only until he could leave.
A
shuffling ahead drew his attention. His brow wrinkled as the sound came again.
What was out here that was big enough to make that much noise? Deer? Bobcat?
His
shoulders tensed. Human?
The
jungle flashed, green and humid. Sweat-soaked skin, the enlivening, excruciating
pain of electric shock as the battery cables found his flesh.
Endless
thirst. Their final dash for safety. The hot flare of a bullet ripping….
He
shook his head and forced himself onward, surprised at the depth of feeling
he’d maintained for those few seconds. It was almost like being alive.
Parting
the branches with his hands, he peeked into a small clearing. Moonlight silvered
it, turned it into an upside-down bowl of branches and shadows. Just as he was
about to walk through it, a movement stopped him.
He
blinked, not sure that his eyes were registering the scene correctly.
On
the other side, a woman, slim and dark-haired, holding a long sword—a
katana?—above her head. She stared at the moon, chin raised in graceful
defiance. Then, with some inner beat, she pulled the sword down in a long arc
and started dancing with it.
As
the moves took shape, he could see it was a routine. A warrior’s dance. He
watched, intrigued, as she moved, furling her body into a tight knot, then
swirling out, arm extended, sword lengthening her reach by a good three feet.
She
stopped, held the sword, arm trembling. Even from here, he could see that she
was breathing hard. The workout hadn’t been that tough, but it looked like she
was going to drown without air.
Her
arm shook and she squared her chin and held it. One minute, two. Her breath
sobbed and when she looked up, the moonlight silvered tear tracks on her cheeks.
His
heart raced, and he stepped forward, pulled by her anguish.
She
stiffened, turned at the sound.
He
went still, something warning him that he really didn’t want to disturb her.
Not with that sword in her hand. Not with that look in her eyes.
So
he held his breath, and finally she relaxed. With one more glance at the moon,
she sheathed the sword and disappeared into the darkness on the other side of
the clearing.
He
waited until he couldn’t hear her footsteps, then turned and walked back to
the cabin.
***
The
bell over the door rang when he pulled it open, a shrill tinkle against the
truck engines in the parking lot. The town store carried everything, from milk
to gossip to fishing lures. It was a cultural anachronism, a lost species in a
world of convenience stores and fast food restaurants.
It
smelled like butcher paper and bubble gum, the kind that came with the cartoon
wrapped around it. Bazooka? He scratched his leg through the heavy corduroy of
his pants, realized what he was doing, and stopped.
Someone
bumped him. “Sorry,” he said, scooting aside.
You’d
think with all the gate-hopping he did, that moving through time wouldn’t seem
so disorienting. But this was his planet, his time, and except for the cell
phones several customers spoke on, and the TV playing an all-news channel in the
corner, he could have been in a pioneer town a hundred years before.
Wide,
wooden floors, high shelves with jars of preserves and garlic pickles. Plaid
jackets, wide-brimmed hats, plain brown work boots marching on display down the
shelves.
He
stood for a minute, absorbing the sense of safety, the feeling of connection
with humanity through time. It gave him a momentary rush, sent blood pounding to
his cold skin. For another, brief second, he felt alive. And then it was gone.
Dull,
pale, removed. He stripped off the gloves and put them in the coat pockets. His
boots echoed on the wood floor and he made his way around to the right, where he
spotted a small grocery section.
Jack’s
cabinets were well-stocked with staples like canned chili and boxes of macaroni
and cheese. He’d unearthed a couple of bottles of beer in the fridge and an
open carton of baking soda this morning. Luckily he hadn’t been hungry, though
he was starving now.
Maybe he’d get a cup of coffee and a muffin. Eat a snack here, then go back and cook breakfast. He walked around the corner toward the refrigerator cases then stopped, staring.
It
was her tattoo that caught his eye first. A blazing sun, set low on her back.
Intense colors: red, yellow, blue. Its face smiled at him from above the
waistband of her low-cut jeans. If he closed his eyes he could almost see her,
in the artist’s chair, her face in a grimace as the needle went deep….
She
pulled a box of microwave popcorn off the shelf and dropped it in her basket.
When she stood the edge of her waist-length sweater hid the ink at her back. He
wanted to brush the fabric out of the way and trace it, just to see what it felt
like. Smooth? Rough?
He
stepped forward, curious, his hand out.
Across
the store someone laughed, a raucous burst, and she looked up, shoulders
tensing. He saw it then, the gracefully defiant tilt, and the flash of her face
in the moonlight. He froze.
Then
she turned, only to stop when she saw him. “Sorry,” she said. “Didn’t
see you there.” Her voice was well-pitched, friendly. Nothing to indicate that
she’d been outside last night cutting moonlight to shreds.
“Uh,
that’s okay,” he said, stepping back, giving her room.
Her
smile was amazing, like the sun on her back. But he felt a shock of recognition
at the emptiness in her eyes—
When
he focused again, she was walking away. He watched her, craning his head around
the corner till the wall blocked his vision completely. Finally,
he started walking, trying to force his thoughts back on his mission.
What
had he come in here for? Oh, right. Milk, beer…. He looked over his shoulder
again, in the direction she’d gone.
“Excuse
me.” It was another customer, smiling politely, her small shopping cart
bumping into his legs.
The
voice and the press of metal jarred him into action. “Yeah, sorry.” He
cradled the basket on his arm and made his way to the frozen foods.
By
the time he got to the register, she was gone. “Um, there was a customer here
earlier…? Young woman. Dark hair, great smile?”
The
cashier, brown hair streaked with gray, smiled up at him. “Sorry, honey. I
just came on shift.” Her eyes were friendly, warmer than the other woman's.
Like she’d never experienced loss or if she had it had worn a smooth place in
her heart. “Can I help you with something?”
Behind
him five people waited to check out, patiently compared to most check-out lines
he knew, but still, he didn’t want to risk holding them up. “A cup of coffee
and a muffin, to go.” He paid, collected his groceries, and walked out the
door.
The
sun smacked him in the face when he got back outside, but the wind was still
cold enough to freeze the tip of his nose. Off to the east a cloud bank massed,
turning the sun-soaked clouds bright red. “Red sky at morning,” he
whispered.
He
opened the door to the Jeep and threw the bags on the passenger seat, and then
put the coffee in the cup holder. The lid held the smell in, and only the harsh
bite of the wind permeated his senses. With one, last look through the windows,
he drove back to the cabin.
***
The
ringing phone jarred him awake. He fumbled for the receiver. “Hello.”
“Daniel?”
“Sam.
Hey.” He rubbed his eyes. “Time’sit?”
“About
one. You sleeping?” There was a laugh in her voice. Sam had more energy than
one person should be allowed. She mocked people who napped.
“Yeah.
Musta fallen asleep while I was reading.”
“How
ya doing?” The humor was paired with a warm thread of concern.
“Fine.
Tired, I guess, considering I’ve been asleep nearly three hours.” He
stretched and sat up. “How’s work?”
“Oh,
the usual. We’re all kind of taking a break while you’re out.”
“Which
means you’re working on the particle generator, right?” He smiled. She was
so predictable.
“My
bike, actually. I wanted to up the torque out of third gear. Some kid on an
Interceptor beat me on the mountain loop the other day.”
Daniel
laughed. “Beaten by a teenager, huh? How embarrassing.”
“Tell
me about it. But once I get this gear shift figured out, I’ll leave him in the
dust.”
He
shook his head. “Be careful.”
“Yeah,
yeah. I’m a safe driver. I just like to go fast.”
“Adrenaline
junkie.”
She
snorted. “Pot, meet kettle. So, what have you been up to?”
“In
the twelve whole hours since I got here?”
“Shut
up, Daniel.”
He
could almost hear her roll her eyes. “Well, let’s see. Last night, I took a
walk in the woods. This morning I went to the store, got some breakfast, and
crashed. Then you called. Pretty boring, actually.”
“Bet
it’s nice, though.”
“You
wouldn’t know what to do with quiet if it bit you in the ass.”
She
laughed. “You’re right. I’m all about the work. Hey, did you decide how
long you’re staying?”
He
glanced out the window; saw that this morning’s red clouds had covered the sky
with a thick, gray blanket. Snow was just starting to fall, already collecting
in a thin layer on the grass. “A day or two more, anyway. Looks like we’re
gonna get some good snow in the next few hours.”
She
grunted. “Great,” she said, like a sullen kid. “Guess that means I won’t
be able to ride this afternoon.”
“Uh, you did know it was supposed to snow, right?”
“I
guess.”
He
heard her tinkering in the background. “Sam, how long’s it been since you
left the SGC?”
There
was a pause, as if she was thinking it over. “Um, I’m not sure. I slept here
last night, so…two days? Three?”
“Go
home. Watch the weather. Catch up on life.” He paused. “Make Jack come over
and buy you a pizza.”
“What
about Teal’c?” she asked, absently.
Daniel
rolled his eyes. She was so clueless sometimes. “What about him?”
“Oh,
hang on. Colonel O’Neill just walked in.”
He
heard a shuffle as the phone passed hands. “Danny-boy.”
“Jack.”
“How’s
it hangin’?”
Sam
said something in the background that Daniel was glad he couldn’t hear.
“Going well, thanks. It was good of you to let me use the cabin.”
“Yeah,
sure, you betcha,” he said in an exaggerated accent. “Kinda hard to do any
fishing up there at this time of year. Freeze your ass off. Just ask
Carter—no, wait. Don’t.”
In
the background, Carter said, “You never said anything about ice fishing.”
God,
they were like clueless peas in a pod. “Getting some good snow,” Daniel
said. “You could always come up and ski.”
“Nah.
Got some guys coming over to watch the playoffs. So, when you coming back?”
“Couple
days, I guess.
“Well,
hurry on back. Major Carter misses you.”
There
was a thump, then Sam on the line again. “Okay, Daniel, we’ll see you when
you get back.”
“Except
for the part where you’ll call me in another twelve hours to make sure I
haven’t starved to death, right?”
She
huffed. “See if I act like I care, any more.”
He
knew his loss had hurt her. He’d seen it in her eyes after he’d returned. It
made him want to be gentle with her. “Thanks, Sam,” he said, letting the
words tell her what he couldn’t.
“Welcome,”
she said, quietly.
He
hung up and stared out at the falling snow, thinking of family and connections.
Wondering what it meant that his heart ached. He rubbed it and then dropped his
hand to scratch his itchy, healing leg.
Then
he got up and went to the kitchen to make lunch.
***
Remembering
how chilled he’d been the night before, Daniel pulled on his coat and gloves
in addition to his hat. The snow had stopped sometime earlier but he’d been
too caught up in dinner preparations to actually notice when.
Maybe
she’d be there, but probably not, considering the foot of new snow that
crunched under his feet. It was light and dry, and compacted as he made his way
into the woods. The forest floor was dark, fallen branches making bumps in the
snow, and up high, the trees were quiet. That hush lay everywhere and his
stomach constricted.
He
wasn’t used to being alone. It made him nervous, jumpy, especially when he
realized that, if the girl had been out here, anyone could have been.
“Don’t
be such a baby,” he whispered. He could defend himself. Better than he’d
been able to a few years ago, anyway.
His
footfalls echoed in the silent night and he slowed down, a little out of breath
with the exertion of breaking a trail.
As
he got closer to the clearing, he stopped, listening. Nothing.
Frowning,
he moved closer, breath fanning out in front of him in white waves. He stepped
nearer, peering around the black tree trunks and thin-limbed brush, trying to
hide in the shadows, in case she was there.
The
clearing had been trampled; the snow compacted with footprints that marred the
surface into a series of ruts. The now-clear sky showed a naked moon, her thin,
white skin lighting the clearing.
She
was gone. He’d missed her. The idea hadn’t even occurred to him. He felt
like he was sinking inside, the disappointment as strong a sting as anything
he’d felt since the jungle. He closed his eyes and imagined her dancing,
dressed all in black, the silver sword cutting the air with its deadly edge.
When
he turned she was there, only feet away, the sword point aimed at his heart.
“Shit!”
His blood thrummed through his chest, echoed in his ears.
She
arched an eyebrow. “Good thing I saw you in the daylight, or I’d be
decapitating first and asking questions later.” Her arm trembled, but the
point stayed focused. “Still might if you don’t tell me what I want to
hear.”
“Daylight?
What’s that got to--”
The
sweat at her temples curled her hair, the ends of which were just visible under
the black knit cap she wore. The trembling in her arm spread to her shoulders
and he watched herself force her body into rigidity.
He
narrowed his focus on her unflinching gaze. “What do you want?” he asked, in
the voice he used for hostage negotiations.
“Why
are you following me?”
“What?
I’m not—That’s crazy. Why would I follow you?”
She
stepped back, out of his reach, and the sword dropped to her side. Her eyes were
smudged beneath with shadows, like someone who hadn’t slept well for too long.
“You tell me.” She was wary, watchful.
Secrets.
She had them.
He
stepped toward her and the sword came up, its sharp point grazing his throat.
“Ow! Hey!” He jerked back. “Put that thing down!” He nudged it aside
with his forearm, the blade glancing off his sleeve.
He
heard a “whoosh,” and felt the sword on the other side of his throat,
stopping just short of cutting him. He swallowed, hard. “Uh, you’re, uh,
very good with that thing.”
She
smiled. “Thanks. You wanna tell me why you’re here?” The sword didn’t
move, despite the conversational tone in her voice.
“Using
a friend’s cabin. I, uh, was injured at work. Needed a rest.” He nearly
shrugged but stopped himself at the last second. No telling where that blade
would end up if he moved again.
“Uh
huh. Why’d you come looking for me tonight?”
He
blinked. “What? I—“ Oh, give it up,
She
shrugged. “Probably not. But I had my fill of women with weapons a long time
ago.” The sword arced away and came to rest at her side. She considered him
for a minute, and then the wary set of her shoulders eased. She switched the
sword to her left hand and stuck out her right. “Cordelia Chase.”
He
took it, his big, padded gloves meeting the thin leather of hers in an awkward
shake. “Daniel Jackson. Mind if I ask what you’re doing here?”
She
dropped his hand and stepped back. “Ask all you want. Not that I’ll
answer.”
She
was tough. He liked tough. “That sounds like a
“Probably
closer than you really want to be.” With that, she backed up, her trim, black
ski suit blending into the shadows.
“Cordelia!
Wait!”
When
she turned, her face was a smudge of white in the filtered light. “What?”
“It’s
not good to keep secrets to yourself for too long. They fester.” He gestured
at himself. “Believe me, I know.”
She
laughed, a funny, strangled sound in the back of her throat, and evaporated into
the forest.
***
He
stared at the pound of coffee, unopened, sitting on the white counter. He could
smell it through the foil-lined bag and the rich aroma made his mouth water.
Even though he was hungry, the thought of eating breakfast alone just didn’t
appeal to him.
The
snow silenced the world until he felt like he was the only person in it. He
could call Sam, shoot the shit with her. But, then what? He’d just hang up and
be alone again.
Before
he could think, he slipped his coat on, grabbed his keys and started toward the
Jeep. It started easily, well-stocked in anti-freeze and used to the cold. The
tire chains kept it on the driveway, and by the time he got to the main road,
which had already been plowed, the car was warm.
Local
radio stations were sparse, but one played NPR, and he kept it on low volume
more for the company than the news. When he pulled into the store’s parking
lot, his stomach was growling.
The
same woman was working behind the cash register. “Help you?” she asked,
smiling.
“Could
I get a cup of coffee?” He wanted to ask about Cordelia again, but figured the
cashier probably didn’t know anything more today than she did yesterday.
She
pointed behind him. “Help yourself.”
He
turned and found himself looking at a shiny, new self-service station with
several air pots, labeled by coffee type. “Hey, that looks great.”
“Yeah.
It’s the honor system. Easier on everyone.”
“Wonderful,”
he said, digging in his pocket for change for the Mason jar, then picking up a
Styrofoam cup.
Just
as he pumped the first draught into the cup, someone jostled him, and Daniel’s
hand wound up under the steaming flow. “Ow! Shit!” Daniel dropped the cup,
spilling more coffee in the process.
“You
okay?” called the cashier.
“Fine,
fine!” Daniel said, mopping up coffee.
There
was a movement at his shoulder and he glanced up to find himself face to face
with Cordelia. Her hair was pulled back from her face, and she had on a
turtleneck and a down vest.
“Oh!
Did I do that? I’m
so sorry!” She took his hand and examined the red, stinging skin. “That
looks awful.” Her brow wrinkled. “You should put some cold water on that.
I’ll bet they have burn cream here, too.”
Her
skin was warm, soft. It had been a long time since any woman but Sam or Dr.
Fraiser had touched him. “No, it’s fine.” He pulled away slowly. “I’ve
had worse, believe me.”
“I
really am sorry.” She smiled cautiously. “Can I get you some coffee to make
up for it, Mr. Jackson?” She dropped a few quarters in the jar, grabbed two
cups from the stack and started filling them.
“Doctor,”
he said, out of habit. “It’s Dr. Jackson.”
Her
smile turned wistful. “My mother always told me I should marry a doctor.”
Something
about that look, so full of longing, made his heart ache. He swallowed his
instinctive need to comfort. “Would you like a muffin?”
She
shook her head. “I’m not hungry. Thanks, though.”
He took a blueberry muffin for himself then started toward the rocking chairs by the front window. A fire burned in the freestanding fireplace and the smell of wood smoke permeated the cushion when Daniel sat down.
He
glanced up to find her staring at him. "What?"
She
shrugged.
His
forehead wrinkled. He thought about the silent way she'd slipped up on him in
the woods. “Maybe I should ask if *you're* following me?”
Cordelia
laughed. “Cordelia Chase, a sheep? As if.” She sipped her coffee, eyes warm
over the white rim. “Well, it was nice to see you again, Doctor Jackson.
Don’t sit and brood for too long.”
Daniel
wanted to ask how she knew about his brooding, but she was already gone.
Instead,
he sipped his coffee, ate the muffin and watched the lazy ebb and flow of people
through the store. When he looked down at his watch, he realized it was nearly
He
couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to just sit and think,
especially about someone besides himself. He tended to get mired in research
or—as Cordelia had guessed—sit and brood about his problems.
“You’re
still here? That’s a good omen.” And there she stood, staring down at him,
an expectant look on her face.
She
was far too good at this sneaking-up thing. Maybe she could teach him how she
did it and he could freak out Jack on their next mission. “An omen?”
“Yeah.”
She flashed that smile. “That you’re supposed to buy me lunch.” She
started for the door, like a princess with an entourage. He rushed out of his
chair to catch up.
“—hear
they have a good burger, but I haven’t tried it-- Hey, are
you even listening?”
“Sorry.
I was just—“ He shook his head. “Anyway, who has a good burger?” He led
her to the Jeep and opened the passenger door for her.
“
His
brow wrinkled. “There’s a mall?”
She
snorted. “If you can call it that. Just turn right and I’ll show you from
there.”
He
started the engine, then looked at her. With her hair pulled back, the perfect
bones of her face were exposed. She looked vulnerable, young. “You often get
in the car with strange men?”
Instead
of answering, she shot a question back. “Who says you’re strange?”
“Well,
last night you accused me of stalking you.”
Her
laugh was the first genuine one she’d given. “Oh, please.”
“Why’d
you suddenly start trusting me?”
“Maybe
I just wanted a free burger.”
He
glanced at her and noticed that, despite the teasing tone, her body still
carried a habitual tension. He knew it well—the feeling that he was running
late and always trying to catch up. “Maybe. So, you’re from SoCal?”
She
rolled her eyes. “Dead giveaway that you’re not from there.”
“What?”
“SoCal?”
He
turned his gaze back to the road. “So? You didn’t answer my question.”
“I
grew up there. Now I’m here. You?”
“I
grew up all over the place. My parents were killed when I was a kid.”
“I’m
sorry.” She sounded genuinely sympathetic.
“It
was a long time ago.” He’d lost a lot of his grief when he’d relived the
day, over and over, through the Gamekeeper’s software. Now it was just a dull
ache.
“Now?”
“Now
I’m an archeologist. I specialize in Egyptian mythology.”
He
felt, more than saw her immediate withdrawal. “So, Sun God Ra, that sort of
thing,” she said flippantly.
“That
bother you?” When he glanced at her now, he could practically see the walls
around her.
“No.
Why should it?”
“You
turned chilly all of a sudden.” Something about her directness made it
possible for him to say things he wouldn’t ordinarily say to a stranger.
“It’s
chilly everywhere, Dr. Jay. We’re in
He
let that slide. “Where now?”
“Just
follow this road till you get to the old millhouse. Turn right there and
you’ll see it about a mile down.”
“How
do you know so much about this place?”
She
shrugged. “It’s small. Not much to learn.”
He
got the feeling it was more than that, but he didn’t know how to pursue it.
“How long have you been here?”
She
stared out the window. “Not long.”
“Do
you like
“It’s
all right.”
His
mind started ticking, like he was solving a puzzle. He’d keep playing 20
questions till he got a real answer. “What did you do before?” he asked,
thinking ahead to what he’d ask next.
“I
hunted vampires.”
“That’s
interesting. You—“ His brain stuttered to a halt. “You what?”
She
held his gaze. “I hunted vampires.” She shrugged. “Well, demons, too. But
mostly vamps.”
The
matter-of-fact way she said it had his archeologist’s antennae snapping to
attention. “Vampires.”
“You
think I’m crazy.”
He
thought of zombies, reanimated by boxes that earned their reputation as the
fountain of youth by dark means. “No. No, I….” He ran his hand over his
head, rubbing the knit cap back and forth. “It’s just…. Not
the kind of thing you hear everyday.”
She
glanced out the window. “I guess in your world it isn’t."
On
the right a mill house with its big wheel came into view. The building was old,
falling down around itself, the creek that used to run it long dry.
“Here’s
where you turn,” she said.
“Thanks.”
Now he’d gone from wanting information to wondering if he’d gotten too much.
But, as his grandfather used to say, in for a penny, in for a pound. “Have you
ever been bitten?”
She
shot him a look that clearly said he’d better not be making fun of her.
He
felt the need to explain. “Let’s just say that if vampires do exist—“ A
tingle shot through him. “If they exist, it won’t be the craziest thing
I’ve ever seen.”
She
considered him silently for a few moments. He kept glancing back and forth from
the road to her face, trying to suss her out.
Finally,
she leaned close and tugged her turtleneck down. He glanced over, eyes drawn to
the silver bite on the olive skin of her neck.
Teethmarks.
The size of a human mouth. He swallowed, suddenly feeling queasy. “Oh. Uh.
Wow.”
He
must have looked poleaxed because she patted his arm and said, “It’s okay.
She’s dead. I’m not.”
His
heart raced. “How? I mean—“ His mind was moving so fast he couldn’t keep
up with the questions.
Cordelia’s
arm rose and she pointed toward a strip mall on a flat stretch of land about a
quarter mile ahead. “
“Thanks.”
He hadn’t been paying attention to the road. Grateful for her presence of
mind, he pulled into the parking lot, got in line behind the cars at the order
window, and turned to her. “Show me again.” His fingers itched, the way
they’d itched to touch her tattoo.
“Buy
me lunch first. I don’t put out a second time unless I’ve been fed.”
He
couldn’t figure out whether the sound that came out of his mouth was
frustration or laughter. “Do you have this effect on everyone?” He pulled up
as a car drove away.
“Just
a select few.”
Something
about her tone had him stopping. “You okay?”
She
paused, thought about it. “No.” She shrugged. “You?” Her eyes looked
like the sky, vast, dark, and cold.
He
felt like he was falling into the Stargate when he saw her. “No.” It was a
relief to tell the truth to someone who seemed to understand. Maybe that’s all
this was. A mirror. Someone who understood.
“Well, aren’t we just the gloomy Guses?” she asked.
He
laughed, startled by her change in tone. “Yeah, I guess we are.” He rolled
down the window and stared at the big, plastic menu posted on the side of the
building. “Maybe a burger and fries will help us take ourselves less
seriously.”
“Doubt
it.” But her smile was lighter, and that made him feel better.
***
Daniel
dropped her off at the store, where she said her car was parked. “You heading
home?”
“Soon.
I forgot to get milk, so I’m stopping in the store, first.” She smiled.
“Thanks for lunch. It was nice.”
He
nodded. “It was. See you soon?”
She
shrugged. “Probably. Kinda hard to get lost in a town this size.”
Daniel
waved and waited until she got safely into the building. He drove back to the
cabin, thinking about their conversation. She steered it carefully away from
herself, but he’d learned enough to pick up some clues.
She’d
lived in
She
was probably crazier than he’d been when Machello had gotten his hooks in him.
Batshit crazy. Straightjacket crazy. One fry short of a Happy Meal crazy.
But
for some reason, he didn’t think so. He’d met crazy people. He’d *been*
crazy on more than one occasion. Cordelia didn’t strike him as crazy, he
thought, as he pulled into the driveway. She struck him as…incredibly sad.
He
locked the Jeep out of habit. When he got to the front door, the phone was
ringing. “Crap!” Just as he got in, it stopped. Hitting redial netted him an
operator’s voice. “This number cannot be redialed.”
“Sam,”
he said, knowing the SGC would never show up on the redial system. He stripped
off his coat and gloves and dialed her number.
“Samantha
Carter.”
“Did
you ever go home?” he asked.
“Daniel!
I just tried to call you. Were you out on a hot date?”
Startled,
he paused.
“You
weren’t.” She paused, as if taking it in. “Were you?”
“No,
not really. Just a girl I met, uh, yesterday at the store.”
“Cute?”
He
fingered the cut on his throat from the sword. “I’m not sure I’d define
her as cute.”
“Huh.
Smart?”
That
wasn’t so straightforward, either. “Um, I’m gonna have to go with yes.”
“Single?”
He
thought about her ringless hands. That haunted look in her eyes. “Don’t
know.”
“Daniel….”
She may as well have shouted a warning.
“Hey,”
he said, trying not to feel defensive. “I’m on vacation.”
“I
worry about you. You just…got back and—“
“Sam,
it’s okay. We just had lunch. We’re not getting married.”
She
laughed, sounding embarrassed. “You’re right. Sorry.”
“Speaking
of hot dates, did you get Jack to come over for pizza?”
“Colonel
O’Neill?”
He
rolled his eyes. “Yes, Colonel O’Neill.”
“Ha
ha. You think Colonel O’Neill would be a hot date?”
“No,
but I think you do.” There was a long pause. “Sam?”
She
huffed. “Did you just call me to tell me how much my love life sucks?”
“I
didn’t call you. You called me. Remember?”
“Oh,
right. You know, I should come up there and meet this girl. I’ve got lots of
leave coming. I could take a couple of days off and be up there by tomorrow.”
He
knew she was kidding. But the idea of sharing Cordelia with anyone made him
really uncomfortable. “Yeah, that’d be a blast.”
“Don’t
sound so excited. I was just kidding.”
“I
know.”
“This
sounds serious. Is it? It can’t be. You just met her.”
“It’s
not serious. It’s just…nice to make a connection.” He ran his hand through
his hair. “Look, I just got back and I’ve got groceries in the car.” It
was a weak lie, but he grabbed it with both hands.
“Cool.
Call me tomorrow if you get a chance. Let me know you’re okay.”
“Yes,
mom.”
“Shut
up, Daniel.”
“Bye,
Sam.”
***
He
brewed a pot of coffee. Stared at his laptop, still in its case by the bed.
Turned away, refusing to invade her privacy. If she’d wanted to tell him, she
would have.
Steam
climbed up the window, blocking the white glare of snow.
A
world away from here.
The
next thing he knew, he was unzipping his computer case and plugging in the phone
line. The beeping sound of the connecting modem kept his tapping toe company.
He
booted up and loaded Google. “Cordelia Chase,” he whispered, as he typed. It
was easiest to start with the basics.
Lots
of entries popped up with “Cordelia” and “Chase,” but only two had the
complete name.
One
was a review of a play from several years before, and he skimmed it quickly. It
was for a small theater in
“Throwing
her voice, pulling faces like she was made of Play-Doh, and the best part of the
night? Calling for a line, mid-scene. This is community theater at its worst.
But at least she’s gorgeous.”
Daniel
winced. “Ouch.” He clicked back and scrolled down to the next entry.
“Angel Investigations.” His breath caught. Was this Angel?
He
took a swig of his coffee and double clicked the website. There was a picture of
something that looked like a lobster, or if you squinted and held your tongue
just right, an angel. Over it, in black, the words, “Angel Investigations. We
help the hopeless.”
Breath
catching, he noticed the
He
stared at her name, getting that same feeling he’d had earlier in the store.
Like time was collapsing, or words colliding. He tapped his fingers on the
mouse, popping up a new email message and hit send.
After
a few seconds, the chime told him he had mail. Sure enough, the message had been
undeliverable. He dialed the number. It rang once, twice, and then picked up.
“The number you have reached is no longer in—“
So
he went back to researching. Only one article on the firm, something about
saving the actress who’d played Raven. He shrugged and kept digging.
Frustrated,
he used his military ID to grant him access to the California Department of
Motor Vehicles. Some part of him knew he was beyond invading her privacy and
into downright insanity, now, but he had to know.
The
last address they had was in Silverlake. Her driver’s license had expired over
a year ago. “This is nuts,” he whispered. But he kept going, driven by the
knowledge that there was something about her, something he had to know.
Deeper
and deeper the clues went, until he tracked Angel and the others to a law firm.
A big one, from the looks of it.
So,
Angel had left his own company and gone to work for someone else. Cordelia, for
whatever reason didn’t go. And obviously wasn’t too interested in being
found.
Daniel
ran his hand over his mouth and stared at the screen. She wasn’t running,
though. She hadn’t changed her name, and she didn’t keep what she’d done
in the past a secret. He studied Wolfram & Hart’s website. Thirty branches
listed. She probably couldn’t hide if she wanted to, from a company that big.
The
question was, what happened?
He
rubbed his eyes, then dropped his glasses to the table. Cordelia, determined to
finish a routine that showed she was more than proficient with ancient weaponry.
So gentle when she soothed his burn. Crazy enough to tell a perfect stranger
that she used to hunt vampires.
And
why did he even care?
“Who
are you?” he whispered at the screen.
***
Daniel
looked up from the book he hadn’t been concentrating on. The kitchen clock
said
He’d
been sitting for nearly two hours, staring at the book, forcing his thoughts
away from Cordelia, only to have them circle back. She wasn’t listed in
information. Didn’t have a
He
stared out the window, tapping his fingers on his knee.
He
reached for the phone. “Yes, I’d like the number for Wolfram and Hart in
A
pleasant voice answered, “Wolfram & Hart, how may I direct your call?”
His
stomach tightened. “Angel, please.”
“One
moment, sir.”
He
swallowed and tapped his fingers faster, his mind spinning.
“Wolfram
& Hart, Mr. Angel’s office. Can I help you?”
The
woman oozed
“I’m
sorry, he’s in a meeting. Could I take a message?”
His
brain stuttered. What the hell was he doing? “Uh, no. No thanks. I’ll just
try back later.”
He
dropped the phone into the cradle. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he muttered,
banging his fist against his forehead. “Just go see her. Go ask her.” He
dropped his hand. “Ask her what? Why’d you move to
Rising,
he dropped the book to the couch and went to stare out the window. It was
already twilight, brought on by the advancing clouds and early sunset. The snow
had gone from diamond to pearl, the sky a gray satin cloth.
On
the edge of the woods, something moved.
Drawn,
he opened the sliding door and stepped onto the porch.
Everything
was still, sullen. His shoulders tensed. “Hello?”
Cordelia
materialized out of the forest, a black figure against blacker trees. She stood,
empty-handed, and stared at him from across the pond.
“Cordelia?”
he whispered.
She
smiled, a beautiful, bittersweet lilt. Then she turned and vanished into the
trees.
Daniel
leapt off the deck and sprinted after her. “Cordelia! Wait!” The snow
crunched under his feet, and he stumbled, fell, and caught himself with one
hand. “Cordelia!” Jumping up, he dashed after her.
The
woods were eerily silent. No birds, no breeze. Nothing but trees, shadows and
snow. Her footprints blended with the breaks made in the white drifts by leaf
piles and branches. Finally, nearly blinded by the darkness, he lost her.
“Cordelia?
Cordelia!” His voice echoed back to him. Nothing else stirred. “Shit!”
He’d come out without his coat and it was absolutely freezing. He turned,
barely able to make out the cabin’s lights, and started back. This was totally
stupid. He’d lost his fucking mind.
Trudging
back took a lot longer than coming out did. By the time he got in, his nose and
fingers ached with cold. He pounded up the deck stairs and slammed the cabin
door behind him.
***
Daniel
sat in front of the fire with a beer, staring into the flames. The clock in the
kitchen ticked, its quiet voice keeping him company. He fingered the paper in
his hand, turning the number over and over.
It
was well after
But
he couldn’t get her face out of his head. He had to know. Who she was. What
she was.
He
grabbed the phone and punched the numbers angrily. The automated attendant
picked up. “You’ve reached Wolfram & Hart. We’re closed at this time,
but if you know your party’s extension—“ He hung up, grumbling, “Damn
voice mail.”
Then
it occurred to him that there might be a list of extensions on the phone mail
system. So he dialed again and waited patiently through the message. Sure
enough, the attendant started reading through the list. “For Research, dial
302. For Files and Records, 304.” The voice droned, until finally, “For
Angel, CEO, dial extension 580.”
He
punched in the numbers with trembling fingers. The phone rang tinnily and he
waited impatiently, knowing he was going to get voice mail again.
The
line connected. “Angel.”
Daniel
stopped breathing.
“Hello?”
“Uh—“
“Hello?
Can I help you?”
“I--
Uh—“ Daniel collected his breath and his wits. “Yes. Please. I’m
looking for Cordelia Chase.”
The
silence hummed. Daniel’s shoulders tensed. “Hello?”
“Who is this?” The voice was pure steel, sharp and deadly.
“It’s,
um.” He cleared his throat. “My name is Daniel Jackson. I met Cordelia two
days ago, and she told me she worked in
“Is
this some sort of joke?”
“N-no.
I was just interes—“
“Mr.
Jackson—“
“It’s
Doctor. Doctor Jackson.”
“Doctor
Jackson, I don’t know what you’re playing at. Hang up now and forget you
ever knew this number.”
Daniel
tensed at the implied threat. But the need to know won out. “Wait! Wait!
Angel, right?” There wasn’t an answer, but he didn’t hang up, either.
“Look, I don’t know how to explain this. I met Cordelia, and she….” He
blew out a breath.
“Cordelia’s
been in a coma for months,” Angel said, flatly.
His
heart raced. “What? No! She can’t be. I just saw her!”
The
line went quiet, and then Angel asked, as if the idea had just occurred to him.
“Are you in some kind of trouble, Mr. Jackson?”
Daniel
blinked. “I—“ He started to say no, but then thought of how he’d felt
since he got back. So…blank. “I guess you could say that.
Angel’s
chuckle was painful to hear. “Still helping the hopeless,” he said under his
breath.
“I’m
sorry?”
“Cordelia
died late this afternoon. In the hospital here in
“What?”
Daniel’s head reeled. “But that’s—“
“Good
night, Mr. Jackson.”
The
phone disconnected and Daniel stood, staring, at the receiver.
***
The
plane shuddered through storm clouds as it lifted off the ground. He was used to
traveling fast, light. Shoving his carry-on into the overhead bin, settling
himself in the seat only reminded him how heavy he was now. The burden of this
body he carried.
"Gosh,
weight of the world much?" Cordelia's voice rang in his head and he stared
out the window. The rush of clouds, white and thick, eddied past and he found
himself closing his eyes and pretending he was flying with them.
With
her.
The
captain mumbled something over the PA about flight times and weather. He didn't
even try to tune in, just laid his head back on the too-upright seat and went
back over every time he'd seen her. How clever she'd been, appearing to him in
public, as if she were just a girl. How clever she'd been to flash her sword,
her tattoo, and the shadows in her eyes.
How
could she have known?
The
drone of the plane put him in a stupor and he didn't fight it. Let himself slip
under, under, until he was flying, floating. Out somewhere in the sky.
He
blinked and found himself suspended, nothing but energy. When he looked over,
she flew next to him, a bolt of pure, white light.
"Sir?
Would you like a drink?"
Daniel
opened his eyes and found himself looking into the pleasant face of his cabin
attendant. "Martini. Three olives." The light was nothing more than
the sun's reflection off the clouds outside the window. They'd finally climbed
into open sky.
The
attendant, used to people on different time zones, merely nodded and began
mixing his drink. She unfolded his tray and set it down on the little plastic
shelf.
"Thanks."
Since he was flying first class, the only way he was comfortable flying after
years of instant travel, he didn't have to pay her. Free drinks weren't
something he often took advantage of, he thought, as he sipped the bracing
cocktail, but sometimes alcohol really was the best medicine.
He
stirred the olives absently while the little TVs switched from the picture of
the plane's location over the
So
he turned his gaze downward, and something caught his eye. He chuckled and
pulled the olives out of the drink. Instead of a toothpick, they'd been run
through on a plastic sword. He sucked the first olive off and felt the sword
with the tip with his tongue. Fingered the still-healing prick on his throat
with his free hand.
Probably
no use trying to figure out how a dead person held a real sword. Probably better
just to eat the rest of the olives, swill down the joy juice, and poke the air
with his miniature plastic facsimile. He knew better than anyone that reality
was just a figment of the imagination. Metal sword, plastic sword, none of it
mattered, since they were all nothing more than a collection of space and
infinitesimal particles.
He
finished the drink and dozed, the sword clutched in his hand.
The
pilot's voice woke him, and he stirred, rubbing his hand over his face. His nose
and throat were dry from the drink and the recycled air. The seat felt
uncomfortably stiff, impossibly straight, and his neck had cramped while he
slept.
He
shook it off and, when the plane landed, stood to collect his bag. The sword
fell, bouncing on the floor, and he stared down at it, shiny white against the
dark blue carpet. He nudged it with his shoe, waiting for the attendants to open
the doors, for the plane to burp him out in
Something
tugged at him, so he stooped, picked up the sword and put it in his pocket.
Slowly, the people in front of him collected their bags and moved out the jet
way.
He
bypassed luggage claim and went straight down to the lower level to catch a cab.
The warm, salty breeze made him stop just outside the door and breathe. Warm
air, sunshine.
Palm
trees lined the airport through-road and he stood, staring, trying to get his
mind to shift from mountain snow to sand and tropics. Finally, he raised his
hand and hailed a cab.
According
to the paper, the funeral was at
Out
the corner of his eye, he saw a splash of brightness. “Hold up!”
The
cabby glanced at him in the rearview. “What?”
The
flower stand whooshed by, blocked to him by three lanes of fast-moving traffic.
“Flowers. Where can I get them on the way to the church?”
The
cabbie didn’t answer, but in a few minutes, he pulled over into the loading
zone in front of a row of storefronts. Daniel climbed out. “Wait here.”
When
he got back into the car, he nodded to the cabbie. “Okay, now the church.”
He
hopped out at the curb half a block down from the cathedral. It rose toward the
sky in stone splendor, its curving arches like upraised arms. “Thanks.” He
pressed the fare and a tip into the cabby's hand and shouldered his bag.
The
feeling of time dividing came over him again, and he stood, staring at the
church. He'd just flown halfway across the country to the funeral of a woman
he'd never met. How fucking crazy was he?
"Excuse
me." A mourner pushed past him and into the church. The woman, tall and
slender, wore a black dress with a very short skirt. Her wavy brown hair was
held off her neck with a clip and she held the arm of a man whose piercing blue
eyes were red-rimmed but dry.
It
brought Daniel back to the present, and before he could talk himself out of it,
he strode through the open doors and into a shadowed narthex. Organ music
flowed, lilting, beautiful. The smell of lily of the valley and of roses wrapped
around him like his grandmother's perfume.
The
aisle was long, the pews nearly full. It was
He
felt like a country rube in his gray suit and maroon tie. He wished he had his
boonie and fatigues. In those clothes, he knew who he was.
A
line of people shuffled in, finding seats. Some went to the front, and there was
a knot of people up by the altar. He paused. Was this an open casket ceremony?
The irony hit him. He'd be seeing her for the first time, in real life, as a
corpse.
He
followed the trail to the front of the church, waiting patiently while the crowd
thinned out. They went past him, quiet-faced, and came back, slack-jawed and
glassy-eyed with the shock of seeing death.
Finally
he reached end of the aisle. The red carpet draped three steps and above the
steps was the altar. Candles, an open Bible, communion plates glimmered, silver,
white and gold in the scented air.
At
the base of the steps, a white casket, bathed in golden light.
He
became one of the focused ones, his gaze drawn to the casket, as it had been
drawn to her sword, her smile.
His
steps slowed, like time was expanding as he got closer. The carry-on cut into
his shoulder. The scent of flowers made his nose itch. Music swelled, an old,
barely-remembered hymn. Behind him, someone sniffled into a tissue.
Finally,
he drew a breath and the spell broke. He stepped forward.
And
there she was.
Eyes
closed, perfectly at peace. A secret smile on her face, as if she’d finally
come to the end of the road, and what it held was too marvelous to share.
He
stared at her. At the long, dark fall of hair. The tipped up nose and generous
mouth. At her beauty, rivaled not even by death. Whatever secrets she had, they
were gone with her, now.
She
clutched a single red rose, beautifully pristine against her white dress. Like a
bride, all she needed was a veil.
He
stared, tracing the pale skin with his gaze, the deceptively shadowed eyelids,
and the perfectly manicured nails. The thing that made her who she was, was
gone. "In my end is my meaning," he said, remembering Thomas Merton.
He
took a breath, realizing for the first time since he'd returned that he felt
fully plugged in. The tug of grief, the sting of tears. Music, incense, flowers,
the press of the person at his elbow, weeping. He felt it all.
His
vision blurred as he realized what she’d done for him. Her dance, so fluid, so
beautiful. It had sparked his imagination, drawn him outward just as fluidly, as
gracefully.
As if she’d known exactly what he’d needed to bring him back to life.
He
lay his flowers at the floor next to the casket, not wanting to disturb the
blanket of roses on top. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For everything.” He
touched the silky smooth edge of her casket and turned to leave.
Then
he stopped, his mind tweaked by something. Like he'd left his glasses or his
wallet at home, a forgetful feeling. He patted his jacket pocket, his pants
pocket. Remembered then and pulled out the sword. He turned, smiling, to slip it
under the white silk pillow.
When
he looked up, the church was nearly full and there was a line behind him of
people waiting to pay their respects. He caught the eye of a man on the front
row, the man who’d passed him earlier. Those blue eyes were cold, assessing.
Angel?
Daniel nodded at him anyway, and moved back down the aisle toward the door.
At
the back of the church, in the shadows, something moved. He narrowed his eyes
and caught sight of a face, a pale smudge.
Just
like hers that night in the forest.
He
stopped, something resonating in him. As if time suddenly knit itself back
together. “Angel.”
Angel’s
eyes were haunted, weary. “Yes?”
“I’m
Daniel Jackson.”
Dark
eyes flared, hot, nearly gold.
Daniel
flinched instinctively but it was the wrong kind of flash for a Goa’uld and
probably just a trick of the light. “I just want you to know, I—“ He
stopped, unsure of what he wanted to say.
Angel
stared at him for a long beat, as if reading the book of his soul. Daniel stood,
letting himself be absorbed. After a moment, Angel nodded, and blended back into
the shadows, almost as if he were made of them, himself.
The
sun glowed through stained glass windows, decorating the rug and lighting
peoples' clothes and hair. He looked up, drawn away from the darkness by the
colors, and found himself staring at the soaring arches of the church ceiling.
Awed, the music swirled around him, and as he watched, a white dove appeared,
her feathers catching fire in the light from the Rose window.
He
caught his breath, watching as she dipped and swirled, almost like she was
dancing.
The
music died away, leaving nothing but echoes. The bird drifted down in a long,
perfect arc and flew out the open doors.
He
followed her out.
***
The
surf came in, an endless beat, like a heart. Daniel wiggled his toes in the
sand, soaked in the chilly sea breeze, and listened to the shrieks of children
playing on the Santa Monica Pier.
His
cell phone rang. "Hello."
"Daniel?"
"Sam,
hey." He smiled, thinking of her tinkering with her bike, her hair mussed
and her face smudged. Totally in her element. The urge to hug her was so strong
that he wrapped his arms around himself.
"So,
how's the snow?"
His
laugh effervesced out of him. "You're behind. It's sand, now."
He
heard her stop tinkering, felt her attention turned on him like a spotlight.
"Say, what?'
"I'm
in Los Angeles. Don't ask. It's a long, crazy story. But the beach is
beautiful."
There
was a short pause, and then she laughed. "Daniel, are you sure you're
okay?"
He
didn't even have to think. "Never been better."
Something
in his voice must have convinced her, because her laugh grew alongside his,
until he was throwing back his head and howling at the sky.
When
he caught his breath, he felt light, free, like the wind. "How's the
bike?"
"I
kicked that kid's skinny butt." She still sounded like she could giggle at
any moment. "Really, Daniel, what happened?"
"Maybe
I'll tell you sometime. When we're both really drunk."
She
snorted. "How's Friday night?"
Daniel
sobered. "Do something for me, Sam. Do it right now." He felt the
sense of urgency rising.
"What?
Daniel...?"
"Call
Jack. Invite him over for dinner tonight."
"But, Daniel, it's--"
"Sam."
He paused, not sure how to get his point across. "Just...do it for
me."
She
sucked in a breath, let it out slowly. "Why is this so important to
you?"
He
thought about Cordelia's pure, white light. About Angel, disappearing into the
shadows without her. "Time's so short, Sam."
Sam
laughed, but this time it was strange, uncomfortable. "I know that, Daniel.
I go through the Stargate every day--"
He
shook his head, kicked the sand and sent it streaming into the air. "No,
no. That's not the point. The point is, sometimes God offers us love. We're
crazy if we don't take it."
Silence
vibrated through the lines, and then Sam's voice, quiet, thick. "I'll think
about it."
His
smile bloomed. "Perfect." In the distance he saw a white gull,
floating high over the ocean, and he lifted his hand, imagining that the white
bird would take his hello to Cordelia. "I'll see you tomorrow."
The little phone clicked shut and he stood, staring out at the ocean, smiling.
END
Thanks: To my heavenly beta crew: Littleheaven70, Queen Mab, Psychofilly, Laurie Andrews and Rachel Caine.