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Stargate SG-1 fic: Bad Timing

This was written for a challenge at writerverse.  My three random words were betray, sadness and radio.  And this is what came to me.  Enjoy.

Bad Timing
by jennickels (aka Jen Connelly)
Stargate SG-1
Daniel/Vala, Cam/Vala mentioned
1097 words
rating: PG

Set sometime after season 10. Daniel is finally ready to move ahead with his life but he’s not expecting the surprise that comes out of Vala’s room late one night. And he’s not sure he’ll ever get over it.

don’t own… wish I did, but I don’t. No infringement intended.

The room’s dark, but Daniel likes it that way. And the song on the radio is depressing and full of sadness. That’s okay with him, too. It fits his mood. He’s on the floor—he thinks in his bedroom—still dressed in the clothes he wore yesterday. He has no idea how long he’s been lying there. Time seems to have little meaning, just blurring together along with his vision. Last thing he remembers is popping open his fifth beer. Things get fuzzy after that.

Daniel’s been accused of a lot of things in his life but self-pitying has never been one of them. So, he’s pretty surprised himself at the extent of his wallowing. This is a new low for him.

But there’s a voice in the back of his head that says he deserves a good wallow. He’s lost so much in his life—his parents, Sha’re, Skaara and Abydos, Sarah. Janet. Every one of those times he rose up, fought back, grew stronger. He really had no other options, and that was just who he was.

Until now. This was just one loss too many for him—the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.

Images from the night before swirl in his head—wispy and ill-formed, seen through the haze of alcohol, the sounds scratchy like an old record.

He’s pacing the hall that bisects the one with her quarters. He’s not sure why his resolve faltered the closer he got, but when he turned the corner his pulse suddenly quickened, beads of sweat popping up all over his body. For a moment he seriously thought he was having a heart attack. Then he realized it was just nerves.

That irritates him, adding another layer of confusing emotions for him to sort out. That’s why he is pacing—up and down, up and down—his stomach gurgling unhappily. His mind trying to understand his racing thoughts.

“For crying out loud,” he mumbles. He’s too old to feel like a teen asking out his first date. Of course, Tina Matthews had laughed in his face. And the fact that he is starting to sound like Jack hasn’t escaped him. No distractions, he tells himself when he realizes he’s spending too much time analyzing the fact. Focus.

After two more passes he finally finds that resolve again. He stops suddenly, taking a deep breath. It’s just Vala, he tells himself. Vala—who’s thrown herself at him every opportunity she could find. And some she just made up for her own entertainment. That thought, though, kind of troubles him because this is more than that—more than longing and lust and sex. At least for him.

And right there—that’s the crux of his problem. Does Vala even want more? Is it still just a game to her? His resolve starts to crack again, doubt welling up.

He’s about to give up and go back to his quarters when he finds himself starting down the hall to her room. It’s late so there’s no one else around. Which suits Daniel just fine. The less witnesses to his attempts, and maybe humiliation, the better. He decides he’s going to go for it because, with their jobs, he really might not get another chance. Besides… it’s just Vala. Just Vala. Those words repeat in his head as he straightens himself, takes a deep breath and wills his legs to move.

He’s about two steps into the corridor when her door squeaks open. Daniel instinctively fades into the shadows of an open store room. Hiding among the cleaning supplies and extra toilet paper, he watches and tries to ignore the uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. Now he’s a stalker. Classy. And yet, he doesn’t expose himself. He just waits and watches.

Vala’s door opens wider. Daniel sucks in a sharp breath because it is not Vala that comes out. He ducks farther into the closet, his lungs suddenly deciding not to work any more. The sweat and pounding heart and knotted stomach are back. But for totally different reasons. He tries to swallow the lump down as his world begins to whirl, his dinner threatening to come up. He thinks he might be more concerned about his abnormally violent reaction if his head wasn’t spinning so bad.

He’s bracing himself against the metal shelving when a barefoot and shirtless Mitchell slinks by. Daniel’s pretty sure he feels his heart hardening, an unfamiliar coldness pumping through his veins. It leaves him numb from the inside out.

He’s had a lot of crappy things happen to him, friends and colleagues turning on him when he finally published his theories, but this… this betrayal is so deep his bones ache. It threatens to consume him with grief.

The world hasn’t stopped spinning since that moment but now he’s pretty sure it’s from the alcohol. He tried to call Sam last night but she didn’t answer. Jack was mysteriously unavailable, too. Figures. The sting of betrayal eats at his soul, and he suddenly feels sick. He barely makes it to the bathroom.

Anger fills his now empty stomach. It’s mostly directed at himself because there’s no logical reason to be mad at Jack and Sam. Someone should be happy, Daniel thinks, and why not his two best friends. They sure as hell deserve it after everything they’ve been through.

If he is honest, though, he’d rather it be him. And there’s that anger again—he’s tired of being looked over, tossed aside, ignored and forgotten. He deserves to be happy, too. Doesn’t he?

Daniel groans, letting his body slide to the cold tile floor. It leaches heat and the anger from him until all that is left is that empty, numb feeling. He remembers it from when Sha’re died. When the only thing that kept him going was an unvoiced promise to avenge her suffering. Not that he ever really satisfied that want. And he’s back to wallowing.

The room’s spinning again, the edges of his vision beginning to fade out. He welcomes the oblivion—at least he won’t feel the crushing weight of his emotions that are about to consume him. He’s not sure how he’ll face them tomorrow—Vala and Cam.

There’s a brief image of his fist connecting with Mitchell’s face, the surprised look he gives before he falls flat on his ass. He really doesn’t think that’s the answer but it leaves him with a satisfied smile on his face as the blackness overcomes him. He’ll worry about dealing with things when he’s not so hungover.

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