A scene I've wanted to write for ages...and finally got around to doing.
Yay. It's almost soap opera, and I had far too much fun letting Daniel's
sarcastic tendencies run free. Whee. :D Own no characters, make no
profit.yadda. (Jack = bad influence. *sunny smile*)
PRIMOGENITOR
There was yelling.
But then, there was *always* yelling when he visited.
Dr Daniel Jackson (and he *was* a doctor, a PhD, no matter what cracks people muttered at the university and no matter how old--or young--people thought he looked and sometimes maybe even acted) marveled once again at the phenomenom of being reduced to a six-year-old in the presence of his grandfather. Every time. Every time he saw the man. It was hopeless. And highly irritating.
"You are an idiot!" Nicholas Ballard's words were caught in his throat, tangled in his thick accent. Daniel considered offering to switch languages to make it easier for the older man but spitefully decided to let his grandfather carry on the--'conversation'--in English. "You are destroying your career, Daniel!"
"The way you destroyed yours?" Daniel replied caustically from the corner of the visiting room. He was leaning against the window ledge, his arms crossed in front of him protectively, long hair hanging over his glasses and making him feel like there was something in his eyes. It was purely psychological; he knew this after multiple irritable swipes across his face throughout the past couple days. Maybe it really was time he listened to everyone and cut his bangs. "Like grandfather like grandson, huh?"
"Dammit Daniel, don't be an ass." Nick stopped ranting back and forth across the room and stood in the middle of it, near a chair. He stared at his grandson. "But yes, you are right." Daniel looked up at him in wary surprise. "You *are* destroying your career the way I destroyed mine."
Daniel rolled his eyes and pushed himself away from the window, still with his arms crossed in front of him. "Nick, I know I'm right," he insisted, now pacing the room himself, as if they had to take turns standing still and moving. "I have the evidence to support my theories--"
"I had a crystal skull, Daniel; it still meant nothing! Don't waste yourself on this!"
"I'm not wasting myself!" Daniel shouted back, whipping around to face his grandfather head on. He was a little taller than the older man and yet he always felt so small in Nick Ballard's presence. Small and confused. Definitely six years old. "Dammit, Nick, why can't *you* believe in me?!" He despised the desperation in his voice, knowing Nick would see it as weakness, knowing Nick would see through the desperation to the truth that *no* one believed in Daniel. And Nick would take it to mean he was right, and Daniel would be left exactly where he already was--alone. Daniel felt like his life was falling apart right around him in this plain little empty room.
But he knew he was right.
Nick refused to meet his eye, turning instead to the window. "You need a haircut," the old Dutchman muttered as he stared outside.
Daniel snorted, his eyes following his grandfather's movements. "You want to talk about my *hair* now?" he said in disbelief. "Now you decide to go all paternal on me? Please, Nick, I'm not sure I can handle it."
Nick scowled out the window, an ugly twist to his face that made the inner six-year-old Daniel cringe. The outer thirty-year-old scowled right back, though he did have to wonder how much of his inner rebellious teenager was getting some of its own in. Christ, he needed therapy. Then again, it'd never helped him in the past. "Why won't you listen to me, Daniel?" Nick asked the window. His voice was soft but Daniel remained wary, knowing better than to think Nick had calmed down. "Why won't you learn from my mistakes?"
"I'm right, Nick," Daniel said with quiet conviction. "I don't *need* to learn from your mistakes."
Nick turned and looked at him sadly. "I was right too," he said. "Look where I am now."
Daniel was angry he had no answer for that. "You are distroying your career, Daniel," his grandfather's voice continued inexorably, and he took a few steps toward his grandson to add to the effect. "Even if you are right, no-one will take you seriously. Keep quiet! Write papers, supervise digs, marry that Sarah girl you were telling me about! Don't *do* this, Daniel!"
"What's the matter, Nick?" Daniel asked, soft voice harsh. He wasn't about to tell Nick about the arguments he'd been having with Sarah lately. "Afraid I'll blacken your name even more than you've already done yourself? Don't worry; no-one will associate Jackson with Ballard."
Nick's scowl returned with a vengeance. "Why do you always turn every discussion back to that? Why?! I've told you a hundred times, Daniel, I couldn't--"
"I know!" Daniel yelled back, overriding him. He didn't want to hear it again. But somehow his inner six-year-old just wouldn't let it go, wouldn't let him leave any visit with his grandfather without bringing it up. The eternal wail of *why?!* was too insistent, too much a part of him. He never yelled when he argued with colleagues at the Institute. He never yelled when he argued with Stephen, or Sarah, or Dr Jordan. Only his grandfather brought it out of him. Figured, really. Turn to your only family for affection and support and instead you get shouting matches. He wondered if he would have yelled this much with his parents, had they lived to seen him all grown up and following grandpa's crazy foosteps. Daniel was suddenly very, very tired. "It doesn't matter," he said more quietly. "Never mind, Nick; it doesn't matter."
Nick stepped up to him, put an awkward hand on Daniel's sleeve. "Let it go, Daniel," he said, looking up earnestly into his grandson's face. "Let it go."
Daniel looked down at him. "No," he said simply.
Nick's face darkened once again and he stomped away, looking nothing so much like a sulky six-year-old not getting his way. "Then you are a fool," he said thickly.
"Just as much as you are," Daniel retorted. "Hey, whaddya know, we *are* family. Mom would be so proud."
"Get out," Nick said, old face pale. "Go and tell the world your idiotic theories, you fool!"
"Gladly," Daniel replied. He tried to sneer but he had very little practice in that particular facial expression and he was feeling a little shaky. His inner six-year-old was scrambling frantically to stammer out an apology--or alternatively start crying at another rejection. His outer thirty-year-old was having nothing to do with it. He turned around and stalked out the door, slamming it shut behind him.
Nicholas Ballard slumped as soon as his grandson left, collapsing in on himself. He sat down heavily, staring at the door through which Daniel had left. "Oh, my child," he whispered into the sudden silence.
PRIMOGENITOR
There was yelling.
But then, there was *always* yelling when he visited.
Dr Daniel Jackson (and he *was* a doctor, a PhD, no matter what cracks people muttered at the university and no matter how old--or young--people thought he looked and sometimes maybe even acted) marveled once again at the phenomenom of being reduced to a six-year-old in the presence of his grandfather. Every time. Every time he saw the man. It was hopeless. And highly irritating.
"You are an idiot!" Nicholas Ballard's words were caught in his throat, tangled in his thick accent. Daniel considered offering to switch languages to make it easier for the older man but spitefully decided to let his grandfather carry on the--'conversation'--in English. "You are destroying your career, Daniel!"
"The way you destroyed yours?" Daniel replied caustically from the corner of the visiting room. He was leaning against the window ledge, his arms crossed in front of him protectively, long hair hanging over his glasses and making him feel like there was something in his eyes. It was purely psychological; he knew this after multiple irritable swipes across his face throughout the past couple days. Maybe it really was time he listened to everyone and cut his bangs. "Like grandfather like grandson, huh?"
"Dammit Daniel, don't be an ass." Nick stopped ranting back and forth across the room and stood in the middle of it, near a chair. He stared at his grandson. "But yes, you are right." Daniel looked up at him in wary surprise. "You *are* destroying your career the way I destroyed mine."
Daniel rolled his eyes and pushed himself away from the window, still with his arms crossed in front of him. "Nick, I know I'm right," he insisted, now pacing the room himself, as if they had to take turns standing still and moving. "I have the evidence to support my theories--"
"I had a crystal skull, Daniel; it still meant nothing! Don't waste yourself on this!"
"I'm not wasting myself!" Daniel shouted back, whipping around to face his grandfather head on. He was a little taller than the older man and yet he always felt so small in Nick Ballard's presence. Small and confused. Definitely six years old. "Dammit, Nick, why can't *you* believe in me?!" He despised the desperation in his voice, knowing Nick would see it as weakness, knowing Nick would see through the desperation to the truth that *no* one believed in Daniel. And Nick would take it to mean he was right, and Daniel would be left exactly where he already was--alone. Daniel felt like his life was falling apart right around him in this plain little empty room.
But he knew he was right.
Nick refused to meet his eye, turning instead to the window. "You need a haircut," the old Dutchman muttered as he stared outside.
Daniel snorted, his eyes following his grandfather's movements. "You want to talk about my *hair* now?" he said in disbelief. "Now you decide to go all paternal on me? Please, Nick, I'm not sure I can handle it."
Nick scowled out the window, an ugly twist to his face that made the inner six-year-old Daniel cringe. The outer thirty-year-old scowled right back, though he did have to wonder how much of his inner rebellious teenager was getting some of its own in. Christ, he needed therapy. Then again, it'd never helped him in the past. "Why won't you listen to me, Daniel?" Nick asked the window. His voice was soft but Daniel remained wary, knowing better than to think Nick had calmed down. "Why won't you learn from my mistakes?"
"I'm right, Nick," Daniel said with quiet conviction. "I don't *need* to learn from your mistakes."
Nick turned and looked at him sadly. "I was right too," he said. "Look where I am now."
Daniel was angry he had no answer for that. "You are distroying your career, Daniel," his grandfather's voice continued inexorably, and he took a few steps toward his grandson to add to the effect. "Even if you are right, no-one will take you seriously. Keep quiet! Write papers, supervise digs, marry that Sarah girl you were telling me about! Don't *do* this, Daniel!"
"What's the matter, Nick?" Daniel asked, soft voice harsh. He wasn't about to tell Nick about the arguments he'd been having with Sarah lately. "Afraid I'll blacken your name even more than you've already done yourself? Don't worry; no-one will associate Jackson with Ballard."
Nick's scowl returned with a vengeance. "Why do you always turn every discussion back to that? Why?! I've told you a hundred times, Daniel, I couldn't--"
"I know!" Daniel yelled back, overriding him. He didn't want to hear it again. But somehow his inner six-year-old just wouldn't let it go, wouldn't let him leave any visit with his grandfather without bringing it up. The eternal wail of *why?!* was too insistent, too much a part of him. He never yelled when he argued with colleagues at the Institute. He never yelled when he argued with Stephen, or Sarah, or Dr Jordan. Only his grandfather brought it out of him. Figured, really. Turn to your only family for affection and support and instead you get shouting matches. He wondered if he would have yelled this much with his parents, had they lived to seen him all grown up and following grandpa's crazy foosteps. Daniel was suddenly very, very tired. "It doesn't matter," he said more quietly. "Never mind, Nick; it doesn't matter."
Nick stepped up to him, put an awkward hand on Daniel's sleeve. "Let it go, Daniel," he said, looking up earnestly into his grandson's face. "Let it go."
Daniel looked down at him. "No," he said simply.
Nick's face darkened once again and he stomped away, looking nothing so much like a sulky six-year-old not getting his way. "Then you are a fool," he said thickly.
"Just as much as you are," Daniel retorted. "Hey, whaddya know, we *are* family. Mom would be so proud."
"Get out," Nick said, old face pale. "Go and tell the world your idiotic theories, you fool!"
"Gladly," Daniel replied. He tried to sneer but he had very little practice in that particular facial expression and he was feeling a little shaky. His inner six-year-old was scrambling frantically to stammer out an apology--or alternatively start crying at another rejection. His outer thirty-year-old was having nothing to do with it. He turned around and stalked out the door, slamming it shut behind him.
Nicholas Ballard slumped as soon as his grandson left, collapsing in on himself. He sat down heavily, staring at the door through which Daniel had left. "Oh, my child," he whispered into the sudden silence.