The thoughts initially came to him when he was imagining his funeral. Which was something that crossed Daniel’s mind more than once, as one might guess, over the years. One time happened to be when Chaka was dragging him around by his wrists and his death seemed imminent. Again, not that unusual, but somewhat unique in that he had a pretty long time to think about what would happen after SG-1 found his charred and gnawed bones.
Closed casket, obviously.
He had, at that point, attended an unfortunate number of military funerals. And that was the first thing that popped into his head. It took him a few minutes to realize that while most of the attendees at his funeral would be in dress blues, his remains would still be a civilian consultant. He couldn’t be buried in a military cemetery next to other SGC causalities. And as much as he really, really didn’t want to die, that thought kind of hurt.
He lay on the cold cave floor, listening to the snuffling breathing of his captor. Chaka snored. Slowly, Daniel removed his tape recorder and held it up to his lips. Then, so softly he wasn’t sure the machine could even pick up his voice, he whispered his posthumous instructions into it.
Daniel didn’t want a funeral. He told them to have a memorial service at the SGC and a wake afterwards at bar downtown.
“And I want it to be happy,” Daniel said, a little louder than intended. Chaka stirred. Daniel froze, holding the recorder against his neck. After a few seconds of silence, the Unas settled back. “Happy,” he repeated, softer. “Because you’re going to kick the Goa’ulds’ ass and I want some righteous vengeance in my name.”
That sounded kind of dumb, and Daniel thought it was doubly stupid that he was going to die on a planet full of Goa’uld but was definitely going to be killed by the creature beside him. But vengeance and ass-kicking were concepts that would resonate with Jack, Sam, and Teal’c, and were far better than anything maudlin. Daniel wasn’t feeling very poetic; his wrists hurt, his ass was freezing, and he was talking about dying into a tape recorder.
“If there’s anything…uh…left…of me, of my remains,” Daniel continued. “I want it donated to an anthropology program at a university. Unless there’s something classified about my body, of course, like a snake in my skull or something. There’s not, presently, but you never know. But I’m serious; that’s what I want done with my remains.”
He almost started talking about how butchery marks would be okay, because baffling some young anthropologists with alien dentition sounded kind of fun. But he figured that would be the last thing SG-1 wanted to hear, so he kept it to himself. Chaka started moving again and Daniel decided he’d said enough. “Bye, guys,” he said, clicking off the machine.
Daniel didn’t die there, of course. SG-1 did find the tape, but if they listened to that part, no one ever felt the need to talk to him about it. He put his wishes in writing shortly after he got home. Even without the threat of death, it still sounded good to him. Well, not the dying part, but going back to anthropology in that way.
no subject
The thoughts initially came to him when he was imagining his funeral. Which was something that crossed Daniel’s mind more than once, as one might guess, over the years. One time happened to be when Chaka was dragging him around by his wrists and his death seemed imminent. Again, not that unusual, but somewhat unique in that he had a pretty long time to think about what would happen after SG-1 found his charred and gnawed bones.
Closed casket, obviously.
He had, at that point, attended an unfortunate number of military funerals. And that was the first thing that popped into his head. It took him a few minutes to realize that while most of the attendees at his funeral would be in dress blues, his remains would still be a civilian consultant. He couldn’t be buried in a military cemetery next to other SGC causalities. And as much as he really, really didn’t want to die, that thought kind of hurt.
He lay on the cold cave floor, listening to the snuffling breathing of his captor. Chaka snored. Slowly, Daniel removed his tape recorder and held it up to his lips. Then, so softly he wasn’t sure the machine could even pick up his voice, he whispered his posthumous instructions into it.
Daniel didn’t want a funeral. He told them to have a memorial service at the SGC and a wake afterwards at bar downtown.
“And I want it to be happy,” Daniel said, a little louder than intended. Chaka stirred. Daniel froze, holding the recorder against his neck. After a few seconds of silence, the Unas settled back. “Happy,” he repeated, softer. “Because you’re going to kick the Goa’ulds’ ass and I want some righteous vengeance in my name.”
That sounded kind of dumb, and Daniel thought it was doubly stupid that he was going to die on a planet full of Goa’uld but was definitely going to be killed by the creature beside him. But vengeance and ass-kicking were concepts that would resonate with Jack, Sam, and Teal’c, and were far better than anything maudlin. Daniel wasn’t feeling very poetic; his wrists hurt, his ass was freezing, and he was talking about dying into a tape recorder.
“If there’s anything…uh…left…of me, of my remains,” Daniel continued. “I want it donated to an anthropology program at a university. Unless there’s something classified about my body, of course, like a snake in my skull or something. There’s not, presently, but you never know. But I’m serious; that’s what I want done with my remains.”
He almost started talking about how butchery marks would be okay, because baffling some young anthropologists with alien dentition sounded kind of fun. But he figured that would be the last thing SG-1 wanted to hear, so he kept it to himself. Chaka started moving again and Daniel decided he’d said enough. “Bye, guys,” he said, clicking off the machine.
Daniel didn’t die there, of course. SG-1 did find the tape, but if they listened to that part, no one ever felt the need to talk to him about it. He put his wishes in writing shortly after he got home. Even without the threat of death, it still sounded good to him. Well, not the dying part, but going back to anthropology in that way.