Chapter Text
“When you live in a city with no stars to wish on, you have to wish on each other.”
― Francesca Lia Block, Love Magick
Chapter 1
“ … Petrie who made the initial discovery surrounding the hieroglyphic language. But, until 1994, there was no understanding of the vowel sounds, of how the words of Ancient Egypt could be put together into a living language. Our initial conversations with the then slaves on Abydos was slow and awkward, but, through the patience of the native speakers, and a lot of courage in the face of Ra’s total domination and his prohibition of written language, we came to understand –"
The faint buzzing of the alarm on Daniel’s watch barely slowed him down. He touched the stud with his right hand and continued the somewhat edited version of the SGC’s knowledge of Goa’uld language, before clicking one last time on the remote that would advance the PowerPoint slide to the last page.
“By Monday,” he began, waiting through the expected groans and moans from the 19 students who were expecting a weekend off, “you will send me an audio file that includes your pronunciation of the Goa’uld words and phrases listed here. I’ve also sent them to your email addresses. You’ll note that twenty have been transliterated into phonetic English, while I’ve left ten in hieroglyphic form for you to puzzle out for yourselves.” Daniel nudged his glasses higher up on his nose. “Just don’t try to use Budge for your translation. You wouldn’t want to send your teacher any suggestions for anatomically impossible body postures this close to your final evaluations.”
A few chuckles and muttered complaints drifted towards Daniel as he shut the laptop, unhooked it from the power supply and the projector, and slipped it into his bag along with a thick notebook bound in stiff leather. The messenger bag’s strap fit snugly against his chest, the weight evenly distributed so that both of his hands were free. The headache he’d woken up with wasn’t getting any better and he closed his eyes for a moment, dredging up the words of the ancient meditation ritual that Teal’c had taught him. Tension drained from his muscles, swept down from his neck, across his shoulders, until he could almost feel it drip from the ends of his fingers. Who knew that new age – or old Jaffa, if you preferred - ‘visualizing’ would really help? All those years of exhaustion and tension headaches while he was in school, or racing to figure out some alien text, or dealing with political or military bureaucracy when he would pound aspirin and squeeze the bridge of his nose as if he could chase the pain away with more pain. He snorted. At least now, at the end of his career, when real pain had come to stay, he’d finally found some relief.
The familiar sound of boots against the concrete floor as the students made their way out had changed. Less scuffling, fewer good-natured pushes and shoves, the Airmen and Marines were filing out in something like an orderly line with a few murmured greetings where the usual shouts should have been. Daniel must have a visitor. Someone was standing just inside the door. Someone who commanded respect. Head still bowed, Daniel let his mind slip over the most likely choices. General Hammond. Probably not. Not unless something … Daniel’s stomach tightened, the headache flaring back to life as his thoughts tangled, all of the relaxation techniques he’d learned draining away in the maelstrom. No. SG-1 was on base. Safe. He unclenched his fists and laid them flat on the podium.
Probably not Hammond, then. It could be Teal’c. But he was supposed to be training the new SG-15 in hand-to-hand today. He’d stopped in on Monday and apologized for missing their standard lunch date – unless off-world - two weeks in a row. So, not Teal’c. And not Janet. Even her weird medical sixth sense that seemed to draw her to Daniel whenever the headaches built up enough to leave Daniel panting and nauseated couldn’t be working that fast. At least, he hoped not. More solicitous poking and prodding, even in her hands that held just the right combination of gentleness and stop-complaining-mister to keep him from screaming was not something he could handle today.
It was Thursday. Escape day. Long weekend ahead, Daniel was looking forward to spending three days in his own home, touching his own things, sitting around in his underwear and eating cereal straight from the box if he wanted to. Or drinking pot after pot of coffee and staying up all night. Or sitting out on the deck, head tilted back, eyes staring up at the sun.
Light footsteps gave it away just as his head lifted and the corners of his mouth quirked up in a smile. “Hi, Sam.”
“Hey.” She laid one hand on his right arm. “How are the knuckleheads treating you?”
“Well,” he latched onto her elbow and steered them towards the door, “I haven’t noticed any ‘Kick Me’ signs on my back, but you’d better take a look.”
She chuckled and leaned behind him, checking a little too carefully.
“Nope. Everything back here looks really, really good.”
“Funny.”
“No, really. Gooood,” Sam purred.
Daniel’s laughter bounced off of the walls and floor and drove the blossoming headache back to its lair. He shoved into her with his shoulder, drawing another chuckle from his friend. “Where to?” Daniel asked as she maneuvered him towards the elevators.
The fractional tightening of her muscles under his hand spoke loud and clear, but Daniel didn’t stop. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull back and insist on his own way.
“I thought you might like to join the colonel and me for lunch. Since Teal’c stood you up again.” She leaned into him. “Can’t have you hiding in your office and existing solely on candy bars and coffee.”
“Don’t forget chocolate walnut cookies. Isn’t that the cliché?” Daniel put on his best mimic of Ferretti, the quintessential joking soldier. “’That Doc J. He doesn’t know enough to come in out of the rain. Couldn’t find his way to a square meal with both hands and a seeing-eye dog.’”
Poor Sam. She didn’t like it. Couldn’t stand it when he told jokes on himself. Especially now. And here she was, forced into the middle again. While Teal’c managed to keep a stoic equilibrium without limiting his friendship with either Jack or Daniel, Sam felt torn in half. Forever the diplomat, the peace-maker. The child in the family who was only trying to knit her broken siblings back together. Daniel could admire her courage and her tenacity while despairing for her at the same time. He sighed and held on a little tighter.
“I’m happy to join you, Sam,” Daniel murmured. “And, who knows? Maybe today Jack will be willing to stay in the same room with me for more than five minutes. Miracles do happen.”
She sighed. “I wish –"
“I know.” Cool air burst against his face in a wave as the elevator doors slid open. “Me, too.”
She ushered him inside, a startled airman moving quickly out of the way as Daniel inadvertently stepped on his foot.
“Sorry, Doctor Jackson.”
Daniel turned his head and smiled. “My fault. Major Carter here,” he jerked his head to the right, “wants to make sure she gets to the blue jello before it’s all gone. It’s all she’s been talking about all day.” He shrugged. “They all taste the same to me.”
“Really? You can’t tell the difference?”
Sam seemed to need the silly banter even more than Daniel did. He blinked at her behind his glasses, face implacable. Blank. “Nope.”
She huffed. “I don’t believe you. Red tastes like cherry. Or strawberry. Yellow tastes decisively like lemon. Green is lime. And blue tastes just like the blue raspberry popsicles I used to love to get from our neighborhood ice cream truck. Honestly, Daniel, a –" she stopped. Caught her breath in a strangled gasp, her arm trembling under his steady grip.
Daniel smiled, wide and wild. Laughed. Laughed hard. Harder and longer than he had in a very long time. He heard it when Sam joined in, snickering, falling against him until they were holding each other up. Even the poor airman trapped in the small elevator car with the two crazy people couldn’t help but add in his own nervous chortling.
Finally, finding enough breath to speak, Daniel flicked the tears from his cheek with one hand and lifted his face toward her. “You’re – you’re telling me – telling me that a – a blind man could tell the difference?”
He felt Sam reach up to adjust his dark sunglasses, letting her fingers linger for a moment on the one scar just visible beneath the oversized, opaque lenses. “Even a blind man, Daniel,” she replied, her voice laced with love and laughter and regret.
“Well, then,” he managed, just as the doors slid open, “I suppose I’ll be the judge of that.”
He let her lead him into the dark corridor, down the dark hallway, past the voices and sounds of men and women who murmured a greeting or an apology and moved out of his way. Daniel could have followed his nose to the cafeteria. Or put his head down, his hands in his pockets, and let his feet walk a pathway that he knew like the back of his hand. But, here, beneath the mountain, he would never fool anyone. They all knew. They all stared. They all would have asked if they could help.
Daniel Jackson was blind. Completely, utterly, permanently blind. And he wasn’t fooling anyone.