Daniel's absurdly curious for a moment over which missions would be deemed interesting enough to be fictionalized and broadcast for audiences on a national scale. Perhaps international. Topher did say ten seasons and two spin-offs.
Daniel can't believe he's actually thinking about this.
The mention of Sam warrants a small pang. God, but he misses her, he misses all of them. He misses the rapidfire execution of the polysyllabic words she'd have to explain what the Rift was and how it worked and how they could use it to get home, and he misses her singularly genuine enthusiasm over his explanations for this or that obscure alien culture, and he misses the insomniac camaraderie of late nights with shared coffee mugs and stacks of paperwork and indefinable alien tech to solve the latest world-shattering conundrum in time.
"I'm, uh, glad I made a good impression?" he ventures weakly, once again finding himself more than a little overwhelmed. And...okay, he'll admit it, mildly choked up. He really misses them, all of them, more acutely than ever.
no subject
Daniel can't believe he's actually thinking about this.
The mention of Sam warrants a small pang. God, but he misses her, he misses all of them. He misses the rapidfire execution of the polysyllabic words she'd have to explain what the Rift was and how it worked and how they could use it to get home, and he misses her singularly genuine enthusiasm over his explanations for this or that obscure alien culture, and he misses the insomniac camaraderie of late nights with shared coffee mugs and stacks of paperwork and indefinable alien tech to solve the latest world-shattering conundrum in time.
"I'm, uh, glad I made a good impression?" he ventures weakly, once again finding himself more than a little overwhelmed. And...okay, he'll admit it, mildly choked up. He really misses them, all of them, more acutely than ever.