sg1genrecs | 1970 by Pip (G)

Title: 1970
Author's LJ/DWJ/AO3:

pipisafoat
Categories: AU, character: Daniel, character: Sam, episode related, era: season 1-2, friendship: sam and daniel, theme: time travel
Warnings: None
Author's Webpage/Fic list:

thefoatbook
Link to story: 1970

Why this should be read:

pipisafoat has turned hir writing skills to the Gateverse, and among a flurry of delightful commentfics at the

fic_promptly community posted this heart-wrenchingly sad and beautiful fic set in an AU of the episode '1969.' In this version of events, the team doesn't get to go back to the future within a few days; they continue living in the past for at least a year, which opens them to threats they didn't face in the episode. The stranded-in-time story has a deliciously apocaficcy flavor, and pings interestingly off Continuum (and also C. S. Lewis! but that might just be me), and the portrayal of Sam and Daniel's friendship is strong and lovely, but what blew me away was the powerful reveal and the cri de coeur of the ending.

About 841 words.

Snippet of fic:

"What do people do for fun in 1970?"

He shrugs. "We're having fun today?"

She doesn't answer, just walks faster. Daniel doesn't know why being stuck in the past is so hard for her. Maybe it's because she knows she was alive, but she can't remember it. Maybe it's because Jack so clearly does remember it. Then again, maybe she just misses her computers. He used to know her so well, on alien planets, but their own planet, their own past makes her a mystery.

He follows her into a library, watches as she picks a row seemingly at random, and decides to leave her to own devices. He looks longingly at the back of the library, where his preferred books have always been, but he settles into the children's section where he can at least keep an eye on the door. It's best not to wander around the city alone when you don't technically exist, they've found in their year here.

He flips idly through some picture books and watches Sam finally pick a book and settle into a chair before sliding into the stacks nearby. His fingers graze lightly over the spines of the books, almost as much a relic as the office full of stone tablets he won't have for another 27 years.