What Dreams May Come
by Isabelle Ashe
E-MAIL: thaliamuse2000@yahoo.com
STATUS: Complete
RATING: PG
SEASON: 7
SPOILERS: Heroes 2, and anything leading up to it
CATEGORY: Daniel/Janet, angst, character death
SUMMARY: A special gift helps Daniel to grieve for Janet.
DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognisable characters and places are the
property of MGM, World Gekko Corp and Double Secret Productions. This
piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary
purposes and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was
intended. Previously unrecognised characters and places, and this
story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons,
living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the
author.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a missing scene from Heroes 2, probably
before the scene were Daniel is sitting in the dark in the
infirmary. My muse has to deal with the grief before I can move on
to happier thoughts, so major hanky warning here: lots of angst and
I'm afraid she's still dead at the end.
//"Janet!" He saw her fall, and he flung aside the camera and raced
to her side, heedless of the firefight all around. There was blood
all over her chest—way too much blood. He plunged one hand into her
vest, trying to quell the fluid that welled around his fingers. "I
need a medic!" he screamed into the radio. "Dr. Fraiser's been hit!
I need a medic!!!" No, no, no, please God, don't let her die. "I
need a medic!"
"Daniel?" Her voice was weak and faint.
"Janet!" He released the button of his radio and reached up to
remove her hat and smooth her hair. "Hang on, Jan, we're going to
get you out of here. Hang on!" He knew his voice was panicked.
"Hurts."
"I know. We'll get the bleeding stopped, and then we'll get you back
to the SGC in no time," he assured her, repeating the words she had
recently told Wells. He thought fleetingly about Wells and glanced
over his shoulder to see the airman lying on the ground just behind
him, still conscious with his wide, panic-stricken eyes fixed on the
fallen doctor. Daniel yelled into his radio once more and turned
back to Janet. Her eyes were glazed with pain. Daniel caressed her
cheek to draw her attention back to himself. "Janet, honey, you need
to hang on; you're going to be fine, okay?"
"Too late," she whispered. She managed to draw one hand up to her
chest to cover the hand he held there over her wound. "I'm sorry,
Daniel," she said as she rubbed one shaking finger almost
imperceptibly across his knuckle.
"No, no, no, it's not too late," he insisted. He felt like he had
been sucker-punched, and the world was spinning out of control all
around him. "Janet, listen to me, please!" He leaned close to her
face so that she wouldn't have to struggle to see him. "I need you
to hang on, Janet. I need you to stay with me. I need you to— I
need you—I need you—" he finished helplessly.
"Daniel? Hold me?" She gasped once in pain as he slid an arm
underneath her and gently lifted her torso into his lap, but once in
his arms, she managed a weak smile. She opened her mouth again, but
no sound came. Daniel leaned over to kiss her forehead as her
eyelids slid closed. //
Daniel was startled out of what had become a near-constant flashback
by the knock on his office door. He looked up to see Sam leaning
against the doorjamb; her haggard and grieved expression told every
moment of the unbelievable stress of the past couple of days.
"Hey," she said listlessly.
"Have you slept?" he asked, noting the dark circles under her
eyes. "You're looking kind of rough." She laughed bitterly.
"Have you looked in a mirror? You're not so hot yourself."
"I tried to sleep," Daniel confessed. "Every time I close my eyes, I
see her lying there." He took a deep breath, pulled off his glasses,
and rubbed his eyes. "I don't want to remember her like that," he
whispered.
Sam crossed the room and pulled her friend into an embrace. "It's
okay to grieve, Daniel," she said after a long silence. "I've cried
more in the past day than I have in years. The release is the only
thing that helps." Daniel only sighed in response.
"You know, it sounds crazy, but I can't grieve because she isn't here
to hold me up, to get me through it. Hathor, Machello, Sha're, my
ascension—she's been there for every important and grievous event of
my life for the past seven years, holding my hand, taking care of
me. As long as Janet is there, I know that somehow it will be okay.
I held her, Sam. I held her and kissed her tears and tried to stop
her blood, but I couldn't make it okay. I couldn't save her like she
always saved me."
Because she knew him so well, Sam recognized the deep emotion and
despair underlying Daniel's deceptively calm voice. He needed to
grieve, but the pain was still too acute. Teal'c had told her, very
briefly, of finding Daniel in a state of utter panic, calling
desperately for medical backup to assist the dead woman he cradled in
his arms. The backup came in time for Wells, but it was too late for
Janet. Daniel insisted on carrying her body back himself.
"So how's Cassie holding up?" Daniel inquired, prompting Sam to
release him from her hug and to remember the main purpose of her
visit.
"I think she's stronger than the rest of us," Sam admitted. "But you
can imagine how she must feel, losing her parent for the second
time." Daniel nodded mutely.
"I should go over to see her."
"Yeah, I think she'd appreciate it," agreed Sam. "Listen, that's
actually kind of why I stopped by," she said, pulling a package out
of the pocket of her jacket and laying it on the table in front of
Daniel. "After I explained to her how it happened and that you were
there with Janet as she died, Cassie disappeared for a while and came
back with this. She asked me to give it to you." Daniel looked at
the package and then at Sam inquisitively, but Sam merely
shrugged. "I'll see you later, Daniel."
As she pulled the door closed, Daniel turned his attention to the
package. It was the size of a small book, wrapped in brown paper,
with an envelope bearing his name taped to the top. He slid open the
envelope and removed a note.
*Daniel,
I'm making a spur of the moment decision to give this to you, but I
think it's the right choice. I think Mom would have wanted you to
have this—or at least she wouldn't have wanted it to belong to anyone
else. I flipped through it to make sure it contained more or less
what I suspected, but it wasn't my place to read it. I hope it is a
comfort to you. Thank you for being with Mom when she died—I doubt
there was anywhere she would have rather been.
Love,
Cassie*
Daniel gingerly unwrapped the paper cover, revealing a small, leather-
bound notebook. He immediately recognized it as his own birthday
gift to Janet several years ago. Wondering briefly why Cassie would
return this to him, he opened the cover with shaking hands and found
himself reading his own inscription.
*August 2001
Happy Birthday, Janet!
This gift was inspired by our recent conversation about myths and
stories. I thought I would give you, my very scientific and rational
friend, a vehicle for your imagination to run wild. I suspect you
have a touch of the poet in you, but if not, at least it will be a
place for you to record your life, your hopes, and your dreams. And
myths and dreams are really the same thing, anyway.
Best wishes,
Daniel*
He had both a desire to know what she had written as well as a fear
to find out. He knew too well the power of words and the lingering
presence of the writer that remains in them, especially if the words
are heartfelt. What if reading Janet's journal was simply too
private and too painful? At the same time, he desperately wanted to
recapture her spirit and her life. He held his breath as he turned
over the page.
The first entry was dated just after she had received the journal.
Before he could bring himself to read the entry, he ran his fingers
over the page, caressing the familiar scrawl that would be nearly
illegible to anyone but a paleographer like himself.
*August 26, 2001
I haven't kept a diary since I was a child, and I feel a little
foolish writing out my thoughts. As for "a touch of the poet," I'm
afraid Daniel is overly optimistic. Perhaps I could attempt a
story: Once upon a time, there was a physician who had the
unfortunate luck to fall in love with her most frequent patient. He
was a dear friend, but he, of course, was still in love with his dead
wife, not his doctor…
There now, that's a secret no one knows—I never even told Sam on a
night of drunken true confessions. Now that the words are staring
back at me, I wish I hadn't written them. Daniel, darling, I
wouldn't disappoint you for the world, but I fear I am entirely too
self-conscious to keep a journal.*
The entry broke off, and the rest of the page was blank. Daniel re-
read it three times. He had no doubt she was referring to him—she
had loved him all that time ago? "Oh Janet," he whispered to the
book, "why didn't you say something?"
Curiosity led him to turn the page. She said she wasn't a
journalist, but the book seemed well-worn. Perhaps she had changed
her mind. The second entry was not dated, and it was written in
different ink and a shakier hand. As he began to read, he realized
no date was necessary—he knew exactly when she had returned to her
journal.
*You died today. I keep telling myself that you're gone because
maybe if I say it enough I'll believe it, but so far it isn't
working. I'm so confused. Partly because I haven't slept since you
came back from Kelowna, but the emotions running through me are
enough to send anyone off the deep end, I fear. Cassie tucked me in
like I was a little child, but even in my exhaustion, I cannot
sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see you lying there, wrapped in
those terrible, inhuman bandages. Why? Goddammit, it isn't fair!
Let the stupid Kelownans blow themselves to kingdom come—the universe
will doubtless be a better place for it. But of course you would
tell me not to be angry—darling, I would gladly put all the anger
away if you were only here to tell me to do so.
You know, I had finally mustered enough nerve to ask you out to
dinner. I figured I could thank you for your encouragement when
Cassie was sick, and if you thought the date was a total flop, I
wouldn't have laid my heart too bare. Now it's too late, and all I'm
left with is traces of "what if". God, this sounds like a pity
party. If you could read this from wherever you have ascended to,
what would you think of me? Poor Janet, she acts so strong, but
inside she is falling apart because she fell in love with someone who
didn't love her back, and now she's lost him forever. I can be
strong later. Right now it's 4 am, and I reserve the right to
grieve.*
Daniel swallowed hard and wondered if his heart might physically
break. The page of the journal was spotted with discolored, puckered
places, and he realized that they must be the marks from her tears.
He didn't realize he had begun to cry until one of his tears splashed
on the page next to the long-dried mark of one of hers. He cried out
her name hoarsely as he clasped her journal to his chest, finally
allowing himself to succumb to the pain of losing her.
He thought the agonizing tears would never end, but finally the
crying stopped, though the pain remained. His only connection to her
was the book in his trembling hands. He rubbed his bleary eyes,
replaced his glasses, and began to read again. After his ascension,
she had begun keeping the journal with greater regularity. Sometimes
she recorded her grief—most of those entries were addressed directly
to him—but as she became more comfortable with writing, all the rich
aspects of her life found their way into the pages: Cassie, the SGC,
her sister's new baby, a novel she had read or film she had seen. He
was surprised to learn that, prompted by his ascension, she had begun
to study the Latin she hadn't touched since college: she never told
him she was working on it.
The last entry was a year old. He wondered if she had begun another
book after finishing this one. Ironically, she had run out of space
in her journal just as he had returned to Earth.
*You're back, alive, and human—perfectly healthy according to every
test I can think to run. Except that your memory is gone. Somehow I
resisted flinging my arms around you as soon as I saw you; such a
gesture probably would have startled even the old you, much less this
man who doesn't remember me. But why should you remember me when you
don't even remember Jack and Sam and Teal'c yet. Wishful thinking,
of course.
But you are back, so I am allowed to wish, and even stronger, to hope
and to dream, just as you once encouraged me to do, whether you
remember it or not. I have finally managed to be courageous with my
feelings on paper—can I do it in person, or will I keep them locked
safely inside? Dare I hope that we've been given a second chance?*
Daniel stared numbly at the words. His soul ached so badly that he
could neither think nor cry. He cursed his own cowardliness—why had
he never told her how he felt? He would do anything to have her
back, even for five minutes, just so he could take her in his arms,
kiss her, and tell her how much he loved her.
"Son, it's after midnight. You should get some rest." Startled,
Daniel stood up from his seat, still clutching the journal, and
blinked uncomprehendingly at General Hammond.
"What? Sir?" he managed to say. He was surprised to find his voice
so rough from crying. The older man came into the room and laid a
hand on his arm.
"I think you should get some rest, Dr. Jackson. Have you slept?"
"N-no, sir." Daniel shook his head. "I tried, but I can't. I-I
keep seeing her, sir."
"I understand. You should go to your quarters and lie down, even if
you can't sleep. Would you like to go to the infirmary for a
sedative?"
"No, not the infirmary!" Daniel protested. "Not without—" The
General nodded sympathetically but guided him out of the office.
"Son, I think I have an idea of how hard this is for you, and God
knows you don't deserve it, with all you've already been through.
God knows she didn't deserve it, either. If there's anything I can
do, son, let me know." Daniel nodded blankly and stumbled towards
his quarters.
He didn't bother turning on the light or changing out of his clothes;
instead, he collapsed onto the bed, hugging Janet's journal to him as
if it were Janet herself. His previous attempts at sleep had been
haunted by the painful flashback of her death, but being awake was no
less agonizing, so he willed himself to slip into unconsciousness,
praying that the pain would go away, at least for a little while.
Instead of in the now-familiar grove of trees with artillery fire all
around, Daniel found himself standing in a peaceful open field. He
looked around and saw a figure walking toward him. As she drew
closer, he ran to meet her.
"Janet!" he cried. She was gorgeous, her hair and the long, red
dress she wore blowing lightly in the wind, her feet bare in the
grass. As approached her, he had a momentary fear that she would
disappear, but he reached out anyway, and she was in his arms,
laughing lightly in his ear.
"Hi," she whispered.
"You're here! Oh, God, Janet, I can't believe you're here." He
wanted to pull back to look at her, but for the moment his arms
refused to release her even a little.
"You know I'm not really here, don't you?"
"Shhh, don't say that, darling."
"Darling? Now I know you're dreaming!" She laughed again. "We
never quite managed to say that while I was alive, did we?" Now he
did pull back to look at her, nevertheless keeping his arms looped
around her.
"I was such a coward, Janet," he confessed. "I was afraid of losing
our friendship, of hurting you, of being hurt myself. I never told
you how much I love you. And I've lost you anyway, and the pain is
more than I can bear."
"You haven't lost me, my love," she said, reaching up to caress his
cheek. "You've had my heart for years, and it belongs to you still.
We had too little time, yes, but we still share many precious
memories. Keep the memories, and you keep my heart. In time, the
pain will heal, but you will always have my love, even when it is
time for you to love again."
"I keep trying to remember, Janet, but I can only see you dying. I
don't want to remember you like that." She smiled a wise and knowing
smile.
"Lie down, my love." He looked at her questioningly but complied,
lying down in the soft grass. She stretched out beside him, resting
her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest. He held her
close, drinking in the feel of her body and the intoxicating scent of
her hair. "Close your eyes and dream," she commanded, reaching up to
plant a tender kiss on his lips.
With the touch of her lips to his, his mind flooded with beautiful
memories—Janet laughing, smiling, healing. Image after image and
scene after scene played through his mind as he remembered their
treasured conversations and shared moments: midnight coffee breaks,
commissary lunches, SG-1 movie nights, a half-joking kiss under the
mistletoe at the SGC Christmas party. These memories—this Janet—were
his forever.
Daniel awoke the next morning in his quarters surprisingly rested.
The dull, empty ache in his heart persisted, but as he closed his
eyes, instead of the scene in the woods, he saw Janet's beautiful
smiling face and heard her laughter as if it were still full of
life. He felt a pressure above his heart and thought for a moment
that her hand still rested there. Instead, it was the light weight
of her journal. He raised it to his lips, kissing it tenderly.
"Thank you, my darling Janet, for your heart."
***
The End
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