Daniel Jackson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
peacefulexplorer) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
applesaucedream2014-11-11 02:52 pm
peacefulexplorer) wrote in applesaucedream2014-11-11 02:52 pm
Entry tags:
Blessed are the vagrant, lonely are the static ones [closed]
Loose change can only take one so far in terms of public transport and it's well past noon and Daniel hasn't even eaten today, so he elects to walk even if it is, as his luck would have it, raining very heavily. The present downpour is a great deal more copious than is fair considering the streak of abysmal events that have led him along to this unremarkable moment in his life.
In an effort to avoid the downpour he ducks into the closest establishment he can find, a cramped-looking café or deli sort of place that probably doesn't appreciate him dripping all over the faded blue tile floors and maneuvering awkwardly around the tables so he can get to the farthest, most out-of-the-way corner booth he can find. Shaking wet hair from his eyes, he shoves his two bags beneath it with less care than is really warranted. Both bags are already battered and falling apart at the corners enough, and they hold every possession Daniel has left in the world.
The sole barista at the counter doesn't look happy to (a) be maintaining an almost empty establishment on a spectacularly rainy late afternoon or (b) have to deal with the colony of puddles steadily collecting beneath Daniel's table as he hunches his shoulders and tries to count out his change to see if he has enough to avoid being thrown out for loitering. It's not looking optimistic. He wilts a little at the realization and shoots a nervous glance at the barista who has ceased her mechanical wiping of the countertop to level a simmering glower at him, fingers drumming, silently daring Daniel to think of a reason for why he should be the least bit welcome here. At the present moment, he's coming up empty. He swallows hard and returns to recounting his change in the blind hope that he's miscalculated.
Five minutes and seven recounts later, Daniel deposits the change onto the booth table with a shower of wet clinks and stares at the little pile of coins miserably. Ladies and gentlemen, we present to the board Dr. Daniel Jackson, thirty-one and already the archaeological hack of the decade, homeless and in debt and probably about to get thrown back out into the rain very soon on account of him being unable to afford even a cup of coffee to alleviate the pounding headache drilling itself into the center of his forehead.
In an effort to avoid the downpour he ducks into the closest establishment he can find, a cramped-looking café or deli sort of place that probably doesn't appreciate him dripping all over the faded blue tile floors and maneuvering awkwardly around the tables so he can get to the farthest, most out-of-the-way corner booth he can find. Shaking wet hair from his eyes, he shoves his two bags beneath it with less care than is really warranted. Both bags are already battered and falling apart at the corners enough, and they hold every possession Daniel has left in the world.
The sole barista at the counter doesn't look happy to (a) be maintaining an almost empty establishment on a spectacularly rainy late afternoon or (b) have to deal with the colony of puddles steadily collecting beneath Daniel's table as he hunches his shoulders and tries to count out his change to see if he has enough to avoid being thrown out for loitering. It's not looking optimistic. He wilts a little at the realization and shoots a nervous glance at the barista who has ceased her mechanical wiping of the countertop to level a simmering glower at him, fingers drumming, silently daring Daniel to think of a reason for why he should be the least bit welcome here. At the present moment, he's coming up empty. He swallows hard and returns to recounting his change in the blind hope that he's miscalculated.
Five minutes and seven recounts later, Daniel deposits the change onto the booth table with a shower of wet clinks and stares at the little pile of coins miserably. Ladies and gentlemen, we present to the board Dr. Daniel Jackson, thirty-one and already the archaeological hack of the decade, homeless and in debt and probably about to get thrown back out into the rain very soon on account of him being unable to afford even a cup of coffee to alleviate the pounding headache drilling itself into the center of his forehead.
no subject
It occurs to him that they seem to have finished their food. And, well, it's not like they're currently being overly good at riveting conversation, and with that look on his face and his now rather noticeable blush, Seth wants to kiss him now more than ever.
So he sets down his almost-empty box, and takes Daniel's empty box and sets that down too, and leans over to do exactly that.
no subject
Oh, okay.
There's less warning this time but now Daniel has a bit of a better grasp on the logistics, having just gotten something of a refresher course. Which means, of course, that he doesn't have to be hesitant and he doesn't have to flutter indecisively. He knows that Seth - understands, and gets all of it. The lingering, clenching fear in his gut has all but dissipated. He reaches up to the back of Seth's neck again but now the other hand crawls over to his shoulder, and he doesn't even care if there was really next to no conversational segues to this because it's nice, it's incredibly nice, and Seth smells a bit like rain and coffee and probably Thai chicken curry and Daniel cannot keep a stable train of thought to save his life but he is just fine with that because of lips and all the associations besides.
no subject
One hand ends up rested against Daniel's chest, the other at his side, and they're just comfortably leaned against each other, and Seth can break apart to breathe and smile sometimes without it feeling awkward.