Title: Remembering
Author: Wendy Parkinson
Email: wendyparkinson@hotmail.com
Category: short vignette/episode tag, S/J
Spoilers: Fallen
Rating: PG
Content Warnings: none
Summary: Daniel can't remember.
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters belong to MGM, Gekko Corp and
Double Secret Productions. This fan fiction was created solely for
entertainment and no money was made from it. Also, no copyright or
trademark infringement was intended. Any similarity to real persons, living
or dead, is coincidental.
Author's Notes: This story has not been betaed, therefore all mistakes are
my own.
All feedback and constructive criticism will be greatly appreciated. No
flames please.
Copyright Wendy Parkinson June 2003
Remembering
I watch her leave and know there was something she isn’t telling me. Did we have a relationship that went sour? If so, did I cheat on her? Did she cheat on me? I dismiss the idea. No, I can’t remember much, but I know I wouldn’t have done that and I don’t think she would have either. But did we? I shake my head. No, that can’t be it. She would have no reason to lie to me.
I want to know what it is she’s hiding. I want to go and ask, insist she tells me, but my feelings for her stop me. I don’t want to hurt her, I feel protective of her, caring, brotherly. The revelation shocks me. She’s right. I know her very well. We were very close friends. And that’s why I know there was something she didn’t mention, something she’s hiding. It’s nagging at my consciousness, like an itch I can’t reach. I know I should know, but I can’t remember. Tantalisingly just out of reach…
I stand up and decide to go and ask Jim… no, *Jack*, I correct myself. He’ll tell me what it is and I won’t have to upset Sam by prying into something she obviously doesn’t want to discuss. I leave the hut and head for the village square.
Jack is standing watching the world go by when I find him. “Hi, Jack,” I say, “Could I have a word?”
He grins. “You have got amnesia, haven’t you?” At my puzzled expression, he continues, “You’ve never asked permission to talk before.”
“Ah, right,” I mumble, not sure what an appropriate response to his remark would be. I clear my throat. “There’s something I wanted to ask you…”
“Fire away.”
“About Sam.”
His expression instantly changes, softens somehow, and the same nagging ‘there’s something I’m not remembering’ feeling comes back in spades. His tone is guarded when he says, “Yeah?”
“I asked her if she and I were…” Face to face with this man, I’m hesitant how to continue, something in his demeanour is warning me to tread very carefully.
“Yeah,” he repeats, slightly impatiently.
“I asked if we were together… a couple.”
“What did she say?” His eyes are boring into me. I can’t ever remember feeling this uncomfortable, but that’s not saying much as I can hardly remember anything at all.
“She said we were just good friends.” Relief washes over his features. Why should he be relieved that Sam and I aren’t…? Unless…
“What did you want to ask me?”
I smile. Things haven’t changed in the last year. I can see that now. “It’s okay,” I say, “I remember now.”