All I never said

TITLE: All I never said

AUTHOR: Demon Faith

SPOILERS: The Movie, COTG, FIAD, Meridian

RATING: PG

WARNINGS: Melancholy, angst: as Suzie would say, a brood worthy of Angel

FEEDBACK: That would be nice. It takes 1 minute to make me happy for the rest of the week. I’d do it for you. <guilting Daniel eyes>

DISCLAIMER: Stargate belongs to MGM/SciFi, the song basis belongs to Whitney Houston IMO, but I suppose Rik Waller too

AUTHOR’S NOTES: This fic is being written for the wonderful Mel and the equally wonderful Chris, who are both celebrating birthdays in June. I love you both very much, and wish you all the best.

And I’m sorry, Mel – I can’t do much besides melancholy right now! This is, however, from a little-used post-Meridian POV – and that’s the POV of the Ascended. What is he feeling, I mused? And here are my musings. (I don’t care if it’s not a noun! It’s like a wondering! <vibes to TWW people>)

I’m free and gliding among stars, galaxies and universes.

And all I want is to go back.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Did it end? Will it end? Is this ‘eternal rest’? Is this freedom? I don’t think I’m supposed to ask these questions. I think I’m supposed to just sit down (metaphorically, of course. I don’t think they’ve yet designed chairs for mystical floaty light beings) and learn about my new celestial ‘power’ and ‘wisdom’. Oh, Oma Desala is a good teacher, but I miss being…whole.

That’s not entirely true. I can do without the endless weariness, the pain from old battle scars (funny, I thought I was an archaeologist…) and the aching muscles after an all-out sprint to save your life from the Danger of the Day. Guess I don’t have to worry about that one anymore – dying, I mean. Why worry about death when you’re already, y’know, dead.

I do miss sense though. I don’t mean sensing pain or danger, or any other abstract noun you care to name. I mean sight, hearing, smell, taste and touch.

I can still ‘see’ in a strange slideshow-of-the-universe way, in four dimensions and on telescopic and microscopic levels simultaneously. I’d like to say that this is all enthralling and fascinating but really it just gives me a headache (or it would, if I had an actual head).

Sound is vibrations – anyone who sat through junior high knows that. Of course, when you can sail through the object that is vibrating and you can pick up the quietest whisper or an explosion millions of light years away in the same monotonous key, it loses some of the thrill.

Smell is not important, Oma says. It was just a perception anyway. What smells good to one person is disgusting to another. I miss it though; I’m forgetting what it was like to smell – though I’ll always remember apple shampoo and freshly brewed coffee. They’re part of who I am – who we were – and always will be.

Taste is another sense that ‘higher beings’ don’t need. I want taste, I need taste, I wish I could taste coffee and chocolate on her sweet lips and taste the honey in her skin. I want to eat pie, I want ice cream sundaes and I want cappuccinos all day long. It seems higher existence is not higher satisfaction. I suppose it’s better than being underground in a box though. Or under a mound of sand, like Sha’re.

And of course, the last but not least, touch. You underestimate the value of a caress, a kiss and the feel of your lover lying in your arms until you know you can never feel it again. At least, not whilst floating around the known universe, learning anything and everything death has to offer. Oma says it is foolish to go back, I have moved on, I am privileged.

Why don’t I feel privileged?

I had to do this, though, I knew when I started to die, that this was an opportunity to let go gently. She couldn’t have me, I was bad for her – we both knew that. She’d be happier with him, we knew that too. Yet, she stayed, and we talked and we found that love was all about just being tough enough to hold on.

Guess I wasn’t tough enough.

I should’ve said all this to her, given her reasons about why I decided to leave. But, I talked to Jack instead, leaving everything unsaid and just slipping quietly away.

I know what I would’ve said; I have all this time (relatively, I’m sure) to think about it, and I know exactly what words to use. It’s a shame I didn’t think enough back then, to say all this to her. Maybe, somehow, she’ll know. I can hope.

Y’know, for a linguist, I was never very good with words. I could never say exactly what I wanted to say, especially to her. I used to buy flowers and chocolates - that always seemed to work. And, sometimes, I would play the piano (oh, how I miss music!) and she would laugh, and say ‘Ok, I can hear you, Daniel.’

I wish she could hear me now.

But she can’t, and she probably never will. I had to leave, for her, and for him. I can’t let go, though, I’ll think of her through every moment of this existence, every time and every place simultaneously, and with the love brighter than all the stars of this universe. I will always love her, through my eternal (eternity is a long time without her) existence.

I suppose this is a second chance for me. To leave behind all the god-awful things that I’ve been through, that we’ve been through. There was…well, my childhood left a lot to be desired. My teenage years were rebellious and, frankly, I don’t like to go there. I spent much of the rest of my life in university, and getting laughed out of academia. Well, the last one took about 2 minutes, but you get the idea. Then, along came Katherine and Jack. I must say: babysitting a suicidal military guy who was looking to take me with him was not high on my list of priorities. But I liked Jack, he grew on me, and so did Sha’re. Ah, Sha’re. A chapter in my life that could’ve been the most beautiful, and yet fell to ruin the moment I laid eyes on Sam. Interesting, that.

Hell, it isn’t interesting. It means I hurt two amazing women with one foolishly hurled stone. That’s just selfish and kinda self-destructive. I almost destroyed myself after Sha’re’s death, plagued by guilt because I’d given up on her, started a new love that pushed my poor wife away.

That’s what I carry with me, my light ‘n’ floaty luggage, that drags me down to Hell in fire and smoking chariots. I take myself into these clear skies, and my memories, my bittersweet, poignant memories hang around me like some sinister mist. Incidently, sinestere is also Latin for ‘left’

I left her. God, I left her. She’s not alone, but I am. If I could cry, my tears would fill Cheyenne Mountain and then some. I wonder if she cries.

I don’t want my Sam to cry. Not because of me, not because of any heartless jerk who leaves her to hitchhike across the known and unknown universe. I was never what she needed, I couldn’t hold her in my arms and pretend that was enough. I couldn’t be the man she needed – the man she really wanted.

I could see it in her eyes, the silent comparisons she drew to him. I never met the grade. Now, she can get on with her life, with him, with all the people who will never make her cry. Even though I made her life miserable and melancholy, I will love her always and forever. I hope she knows that.

I hope that my memory won’t stop her from moving on. I want her to be free of the pain I’ve brought to her – and this is no arrogance on my part: when you break up with someone, especially when they leave you for better things, especially when you’ve deluded yourself into loving them, it causes pain. Fresh, raw and blinding pain – I know how it feels. People have a habit of dying on me.

I hope life treats Sam better than it’s treated me – I guess I can’t complain. Instead of lying cold in the ground, I’m floating around the universe. Of course, I could be sitting beside Sam right now. Possibly disabled, possibly only aware that she’s there, but still with her. But what would I be inflicting on her? She’d feel it was her duty to look after me – I couldn’t burden her like that. No, it’s better this way. But I feel like I’m crumbling inside.

I hope she’s happy now – even though I’ve caused her all this pain. I hope she can be happy, live her beautiful life: now that she’s left the shadows I hung around her and stepped into the brilliant light…

Above all this, above all those whimsical thoughts, I hope she finds love, the solid and unyielding love I was never fit to give. I can still bestow my passions from above, a flitting wave of fragile love that can sail into her open, bleeding heart. I will always love her.

And so I’m never free. And I never want to be.

I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU – Whitney Houston

If I should stay.
I would only be in your way.
So I'll go but I know.
I'll think of you every step of the way.

Chorus:

I will always love you.
I will always love you.

You, you, my darling you (mm).

Bittersweet Memories.
That is all I'm taking with me.
So goodbye please don't cry.
We both know I'm not what you.
You need.

Repeat Chorus

I hope life treats you kind.
And I hope you have all you dreamed of.
And I wish to you joy and happiness.
But above all this, I wish to you love.

Repeat Chorus (3X)

You, darling I love you.
Oh, I'll always, I'll always love you (oo-oo).