Title: Shared Spaces
Spoilers: Through current season (7) and "Lifeboat"
Summary: Just how much of you can remain when your body plays host to so many different people?
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.
Notes: Well, this is my first stab at writing a "Daniel" fic. Yes, it's got some undertones of Dan/Jan (my new fav ship) and might have more pieces, like Janet's thoughts if people are interested. Again, this is a little angsty, and hopefully, somewhat true to what our favorite archaeologist might be thinking every now and then, being that aliens (and other people) love to possess his body. (Not that I wouldn't enjoy it myself... but I digress). So as my first ever contributing fic, I hope you at least give it a try and let me know what you think!!
I wonder sometimes if there's something about SG-1 that sends out a message to every parasitic alien- or human for that matter- we encounter: "Take me! I'd make a great host!" Stupid I know, but all you have to do is look at the, well, things that have taken over our collective minds and bodies in our time with the Stargate Program.
Luckily, we've all ended up okay- well, at least as okay as one can be after having a totally different person living inside of you. Still, the affects linger and there are times when you wonder if you lost a part of yourself while merged with that other person.
At least, I wonder.
You might be asking why, I, Dr. Daniel Jackson, professor of archaeology and linguistics master, the man who made the Stargate work and opened the door to new worlds, am spending one of my few on-world free nights wondering about the various entities that have possessed me at one time or another over the past few years.
The answer? Because it was only a month ago that I had, among others, a scared young boy, an authoritarian ruler and a brilliant engineer fighting to control my body. Janet said I probably wouldn't remember much of what had happened, since my body apparently has learned enough over the years to protect itself- more importantly, my mind, by shutting down.
But my mind cannot shut down and I do remember- at least, some things.
For the past few weeks, I've been getting flashes, even feelings sometimes, of the boy's fear, the engineer's panic and the ruler's fierce desire to make a better life for his people, despite his rather brusque manner. It's like their voices still have something to tell me- like they became a part of me that my mind can't seem to rid itself of.
I still hear Ma'chello's voice in my mind at times, telling me something that I can't quite understand but I know he needs me to. It's an urgency that I can't ignore, not that I try extremely hard, since it usually provides some knowledge we need to defeat the Gou'ald.
Oma Desala's image lingers as well- whether to guide me and my friends, or to remind me of what I gave up to come back to my family here on Earth. Not that I can remember anything of my 'ascension' but the feeling of something all powerful and wonderful lingers, again in a way, like whispers and images in my mind.
And then, as always, there is Sha're. While her image is always at the back of my mind, her soft voice always able to be heard above the clamor of the others, she chooses mostly to remain silent. It's a blessing and a curse at times. Times I so desperately want to talk to her, to hear her words of wisdom, or her simple "Daniel"- spoken as two syllables with the 'el' drawn out, she remains silent. Times when I want to banish her voice and memories and the wonderful, painful pleasure I feel when I remember our too short time together, when her voice will not leave me alone. I don't know if it's a comfort or a blessing really.
Those whispers, words and images mix and intermingle in my conscious- and on nights like these, when I am not exploring new worlds with my SG-1 family or pouring over my 'rocks and research' as Jack likes to call them- their voices ring like a cacophony in my mind.
I know, it sounds as if I am a classic 'schizophrenic' case. Voices in the head, images that only I can see, messages that only I can hear. Funny how no one questions the 'second conscious' of a Gou'ald symbiote. Sam, Jacob, even Teal'c are accepted- while it's always "Dr. Jackson" who is doubted.
Not that I blame them, especially with my history. Heck, if I were a medical doctor, like Janet, I'd probably request to have myself committed. I am not a medical doctor, however- but I am a doctor of the mind in many ways.
I figure out puzzles, minds and collective consciousnesses, patterns and images that might one day save our world and countless others. I've always loved the challenge of finding the missing piece of the puzzle, the satisfaction of solving a mystery that has stumped the greatest detectives in the world. It is more than likely, the reason I chose to leave wherever it was I had "ascended" to- I wanted the challenge of figuring things out myself- even if, a lot of the time, I get them wrong at first.
Or end up getting that information from yet another person who has taken my body and used my mind to convey a message to others.
Janet once told me it is as if I were being abused- "mind raped"- I believe she frankly put it. These voices, these people, take over my mind without my acceptance, without warning. It sounds brutal, but at times, that truly is the only way I can describe it. It's not something I enjoy, even when it appears to be 'for the good' of someone else. While I'm all for doing whatever it takes to preserve a people, to save lives instead of take them, there is only so much one human mind, and one human body can handle.
I wonder sometimes, how much of me, plain ol' Daniel Jackson, is left inside this body and this mind.
I am tired of these voices. Tired of the fears and insecurities and knowledge they try to impart. I hate the fact that there are people, races out there, who have no problems with taking over someone's mind and body- using it to their will, no matter what the cost to Daniel Jackson.
I want my own memories, the memories that make up the life of Daniel Jackson, good and bad, painful and joyous that it has been. While I will be the first to admit, many of my memories are not the most pleasant, there is one important thing about them- they are mine.
Memories of my mother and father, school, my grandfather, and more importantly, now Sha're, Sam, Jack, Teal'c, and the SGC.
Memories now that more often that not, involve Janet. I don't know if it's the fact she's become a trusted friend, after patching me up so many times- or the way I can still hear her impassioned "Daniel!" when I surfaced for a brief moment during that 'occupation' of my body. All I know is that Janet's was the first face I saw- as it is so many times when I awake in the infirmary. It gave me the courage to hold on and hang onto myself while my body was controlled by others.
While those memories are still there, however, it gets harder and hard to separate them from one of the many consciousnesses that still seem to linger.
I hate having to stop and think about whose memories I am remembering- and I hate myself for feeling like that. Look at Sam. She has Jolinar's memories, vague though they can be at times and we've all seen what they do to her. Jacob has Selmac's thoughts and memories and unlike Sam, he has a living, breathing symbiote that reminds him daily.
Sha're- well, I don't like to think of what she went through with Amonet. The image still has the power to make my stomach turn as I remember my wife's goodness and sweetness. Thankfully, that part of her will always be with me- painful as it is to remember.
I know I should feel guilty for pitying myself when so many of those I love have gone through, and are going through worse things daily. I am the lucky one- I've survived every one of my experiences and returned to my body, my mind.
These 'possessions' have provided SG-1 with countless answers to solving potentially deadly problems.
If asked, I would gladly give up my body and my mind- if it would save the people I love. If it would save the planet that we fight so hard to defend. Thankfully, it has not been asked of me yet, just taken without my consent.
But I fear for the day it will be asked.
I fear for the answer I will give.
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