Charades by Aelfgyu (PG)

[sg-fignewton.livejournal.com]

Rec Category: Gen

Pairing: none
Category: gen, drama, angst, humor,  team, friendship
Warning: some violence
Author on LJ: unknown
Author's Website: Aelfgyfu's Mead Hall
Link: Charades

Why This Must Be Read:  Most of Aelfgyu's fics are set in S9. This story, though, is set in S5 - and there are so many delightful things it that make it a real keeper.

It's told in Sam's POV; as I've mentioned in previous recs, it's very rare to find a good quality Sam-POV story that isn't shippy. It has everyone in character, in situations that range from humorous to dead serious. And, most wonderfully of all, Aelfgyu does an absolutely perfect job of nailing the push-me/pull-you relationship between Jack and Daniel in S5, when they were both absolutely in sync and absolutely at odds at the same time.

The story leaps quickly into crisis, with Daniel the victim of a murderous attack that leaves him unable to speak and the sole survivor of a massacre. His frantic charades to describe events and the culprits leaves Sam at a loss - not only to understand what Daniel is trying to tell them, but at Jack's uncanny ability to interpret Daniel correctly. Later in the fic, back on Earth, we see Sam's frustration at witnessing how the selfsame colonel who "clicked" so seamlessly with Daniel off-world proceeds to drive Daniel utterly insane during his recuperation. And if that's not Daniel and Jack's friendship in a nutshell, I don't know what is!

"Identifying marks?” asked Teal’c.

“Good one!” the Colonel cheered.

Daniel frowned and shook his head. “None?” the Colonel tried. Daniel frowned but didn’t shake his head. “Couldn’t see any?” Daniel nodded. How did the Colonel know?

“Clothing?” Teal’c asked. “Weapons?”

Daniel tried to stand again. The Colonel joined me in pushing him back down. He made a strangled sound and I tightened my grip on his shoulder, waiting to see if it was frustration, pain, or inability to breathe. He pointed at someone in the crowd.

“You can’t accuse her!” Troyan bellowed, making fists again. I rubbed my ear. God! Maybe he had a hearing problem and didn’t realize how loud he was. His volume more than made up for Daniel’s lack of it. I really wished he wouldn’t spray so much, either, though I knew it was a petty thought.

The strangled sound this time came from the Colonel. “I think he’s trying to indicate what the woman was wearing!”

By this time, of course, the poor, frightened woman had been pushed to the front. Daniel gingerly touched the hem of her skirt with his left hand.

“Her skirt,” the Colonel began. Daniel dropped the hem and made it to his feet this time before we could stop him. He touched Troyan’s fine white shirt. I jumped to my feet and stood by Daniel’s arm, trying to be ready to catch him when he went down—especially if Troyan knocked him down, as seemed likely. The Colonel was on his other side. Daniel’s breathing hadn’t gotten worse, but it hadn’t improved either, and Troyan was continuing to growl. It was sounding like a zoo. With everyone packed so close, it kind of smelled like one, too. . . .

“Shirt? I don’t follow,” the Colonel said. I was perversely relieved at his mystification.

Daniel pointed at Troyan’s shirt and the woman’s skirt again. “The color!” I exclaimed. Daniel shook his head and rubbed Troyan’s shirt material carefully between two fingers on his left hand.

“The material!” Damn. The Colonel beat me to it. Troyan’s shirt was clearly made of a light material. This woman’s skirt, like most others I had seen, was coarse and heavy.

“A skirt of such fine material?” Troyan frowned. He asked more quietly, “What color?” His low tone seemed more threatening than his shouting; did this description ring a bell?

Daniel glanced around, but it was hard to see colors in all that flickering light. He pointed into the shadows, then opened his right hand and pointed to his angry palm. “Red?” I asked in surprise.

Daniel shrugged a little. “Might be red,” the Colonel tried, as Daniel tried to combine a shrug and a nod without actually moving too much, “but too dark to be sure?” Daniel nodded. How the hell did the Colonel get from Daniel’s palm to “might be red; too dark to be sure”?