Wayward Son: Reflectionsby devra
Authors' Notes:This is a Teen Daniel story. If this isn't your cup of tea, you may leave now and not say that you weren't warned.
Also, yes, it's AU, so don't rely on canon to keep you on the straight and narrow :) Characters may make cameo appearances in odd places where they didn't normally belong.
Daniel dropped the carton on the floor of the garage, coughing into the crook of his arm. The punishment didn't fit the fuckin' crime. The first nice Saturday in months, and he was stuck cleaning out the garage as per the orders of his megalomaniac, power-hungry father.
It had been building. The tension between him and his father had become a tangible entity in the house. He strove for independence, autonomy. His dad was sitting on the fence in his desire to allow Daniel to grow, and it showed in his inconsistencies. Too young to do this. Too old to do this. This bungee cord of parental rules had stretched and had finally snapped last night.
Out past curfew.
He hadn't answered his cell.
His breath smelled strongly of beer.
Three strikes and he was out without even seeing the instant replay. Daniel had managed to push his father off the fence.
His father had been angry. And silent. Daniel had been angrier. And had done all the talking. He'd said things last night. Hurtful things. Words that, even now, still hung in the air. Echoes bouncing around his head, snaking in and around his headache.
Daniel wished he'd had the chance to talk this morning without the anger, but his father had been gone by the time he'd gotten out of bed. Gone to the mountain, leaving a tersely worded note in his wake. What to do. What not to do. What was expected.
Do the laundry - sort and put away. Toss the trash. Clean the garage.
Do not leave the house. Do not go on the computer. Do not use his cell phone.
Be home when his father returned from the mountain. Around six. Table set. Chicken in the oven by four.
Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.
Daniel got the message loud and clear.
The garage. Daniel had started with the most hated chore, intending to work backwards. He was almost done; actually, the pile of garbage was damn impressive, and he'd even gone the extra mile by tying up the heaps of newspapers that had accumulated since the beginning of time.
Sweeping was next, and Daniel began, coughing as he stirred up months of dust and dirt. "Damn." The broom hit the cardboard box he'd dropped on the floor. Aggravated, he flung the broom then bent to pick up the box, letting out a string of curses when the bottom gave way and a pile of old magazines, toys and VHS tapes scattered at his feet.
The magazines were non-descript and Daniel tied them up, shoving them in the corner with the newspapers.
One by one, Daniel began to pluck the tapes off the floor. Some were old Disney movies. Barney. Thomas the Tank. He brought a trash bag into the garage and began tossing out the tapes, until his formative years filled a good portion of the bag. Lifting up his glasses, he wiped at his eyes, the dusty garage making them burn and itch.
The next two tapes were Magic School Bus and Daniel hesitated before throwing them in the garbage. He'd loved them. Growing up, he would've sold his soul to be in Ms. Frizzle's class. Now? With a snort, Daniel put the two orange VHS tapes on the shelf, feeling oddly sentimental and unwilling to part with them.
The toys were a myriad of pieces. A Lincoln log. A connect the dot book, which he took a moment to look through. A small box of crayons. A handful of Legos. Miniature animals. Green plastic trees. Each item got its fifteen seconds of fame before joining the tapes in the bag.
Except the Matchbox car. Or cars. One green. One blue. He placed them on top of the Magic School Bus tapes for safe keeping. There was a Sponge Bob tape he added to his collection, but everything else was trashed. Except the last tape. The last tape wasn't prerecorded. There was writing on the label that had smudged with time. Daniel's curiosity saved this one's life.
He finished with the garage, dragged out the trash then treated himself to a nice, long shower, blowing and sneezing under the water, trying to clear his clogged nasal passages. Spring was bad enough with his allergies. Springtime mixed with dust and dirt was lethal.
A load of towels were drying, a load of whites were washing and Daniel's stomach was growling, giving him a painful reminder that he'd skipped breakfast.
The fridge was full, and he contemplated his choices. He treated himself well. Turkey, a more than generous helping of pesto mayo, a slice of tomato, and lettuce. He squished the sandwich closed, then used a chip to capture the teardrop of escaping mayo. A Snapple, a side of antihistamine and he was good to go. The medication had been an afterthought - Survival 101 taught by Doctor Fraiser. No way did he want to tempt Janet's wrath by ignoring his allergy symptoms. Been there. Done that. And it hadn't been pretty.
Kicking the kitchen chair out with his foot, he was just about to sit when his pile of rescued treasures that he'd left on the table caught his eye. For a second he contemplated which tape to grab, then settled on the mystery one.
He adjusted a few wires, exchanging the DVD for the VHS player and held his breath until the lights of the older machine blinked on. The remote was nowhere to be found and the volume control didn't seem to be working, so Daniel scrounged around until he found his dad's headphones. They were huge compared to his ear buds and felt strange as he settled them into place, but hopefully they'd pick up whatever sound was on the tape.
Cross-legged, Daniel dropped down onto the floor in front of the TV, the shortness of the headphone wire prohibiting him from relaxing on the couch. Picking up his sandwich with his left hand, he hit the play button with his right.
There was static. Voices at first. His dad. Janet. Sam. Teal'c sounded—stiffer. Sorta like the Terminator from those movies that his dad loved to watch. Inflection. That was it. There was almost no inflection in his voice. He snorted at the sound of a little girl's voice then jumped when the static disappeared and larger than life images filled the screen.
"My god, Daniel, how hard could this—" The beer in his father's grip was transferred to his fingers and he stepped close to the viewfinder, his face filling up the entire screen.
Instinctively, Daniel leaned back, then forward, studying his father's features. No grey. No lines around his eyes. His dad's dopey, cross-eyed grin blocked out everything in the viewfinder's path.
"Stop touching, I'm just trying..." The camera moved in sync with a head shake of exasperation. "How old are you, Jack?"
Him. That was his voice. Not the voice of the other Daniel from the other universe, this was him. The person holding the camera. Suddenly no longer hungry, Daniel put the sandwich back onto the plate and pushed it to the side.
"It's a barbeque, which means time for you to put away your toys and come..." The face was exchanged for a hand which covered the viewfinder.
"I'm busy." The camera shook. "Don't do that—ah, jeeze, Jack, I can't see—"
"Put the camera down, Daniel."
Daniel knew that voice. Filled with gentle insistence. One that Daniel usually obeyed quicker than a shout or an argument. So there was no surprise when the camera was lowered.
"I just wanted to—" Said with quiet resignation. A battle lost.
"I know you do." Said with supportive understanding.
The camera centered on the toes of two pairs of shoes. His dad's white Puma's... even after all these years, same brand. Same pristine whiteness no matter how many times they were worn. And the other shoes? Sneakers. Nondescript. The toe of the right one worn thin in an eerily familiar way. Rubbing against the left sneaker. Just like his were. Daniel gave a little snort of laughter. Guess there was some truth to the saying that 'old habits were hard to break'.
"Here, give me this. I have an idea." The camera gave a sickeningly speedy loop upwards.
"Hey." Hands reached out in a futile gesture, trying to grab the video camera.
The camera settled on the railing around the deck and a quick slap was rendered to the hands that were trying to unsettle the camera from its post. "Don't touch."
"I'm not touching." A hesitation, then a little throat clearing. "What are you doing?"
"Cooking. Go sit. Bring your appetite. Enjoy, Daniel. Haven't you ever heard the saying eat, drink and be merry because tomorrow you might—"
"Colonel! Please don't even tempt fate." Janet walked past them on her way into the house, leaving a sneer in her wake.
A smile lit up Daniel's face at Janet's voice. Time hadn't changed how she handled her friends.
"Just ignore her. Let's sit down–"
"The camera, Jack. Let me go put it—"
There was a shuffle of protesting feet being maneuvered along the deck. Mutterings faded then returned.
"Nope. Sit. The camera's gonna stay right there and you're going to—there, was that so hard?"
He sat at the table, shook his head and smiled at Jack.
"Why don't you wave to the camera, Daniel?"
Daniel wasn't sure what the correct wording would be. Should be. Sitting at the picnic table, where his father had directed him. Daniel came into view. The man. A man. Him? He? He came into view? He was younger than Daniel expected, but as he inched forward and touched the screen, he realized he truly hadn't known what to expect.
He didn't look like that other Daniel. That Daniel had been harder. Looked harder. Older. But this Daniel - his long hair was just a few inches shorter than his own. He ran his fingers through his still damp hair, and tugged. Ridiculous, he knew, but just to make sure this was him. And the guy on the screen, just inches from his nose, wasn't.
And there were the glasses. Glasses. Hair. How he held himself. Daniel could see himself in this Daniel and it scared the shit out of him because after all these years it suddenly was real. He'd lived a lifetime once already.
A little hand snaked around Daniel and waved at the camera. A head popped by Daniel's elbow. "I want a cheeseburger, Uncle Jack."
"Me, too," Daniel laughed. "Though I want mine—"
"Children," Janet reprimanded, the camera capturing a hint of a smile as she set a bowl of chips and a bottle of ketchup at the table. "How do you ask?"
"Please," Cassie and Daniel echoed simultaneously. Cassie giggled and Daniel ruffled her hair.
Cassie was young. Funny, to him, she was more of a sister than a friend, but he couldn't ever remember this gap- toothed, freckle-faced little girl and that just felt wrong. And off.
Janet sat across from Daniel and Cassie, the camera catching her profile. Seconds later, Sam appeared, a plate of corn on the cob was her contribution with a tub of butter balanced on the top.
Daniel stood, leaned over the table and took the butter off the top.
"Big help, Daniel," she smirked, putting the corn at the other end of the table, out of his reach.
"You're welcome," Daniel said with an exaggerated bow before sitting down again.
Teal'c was on Sam's tail, bringing up the rear with plates. The utensils were arranged in a little carrier with the napkins sticking out, and the big guy was holding it very gently by the handle.
His dad still used that. Daniel shook his head; the man never threw anything out.
"Uncle Jack, you still have the holder I made for you."
Oh. No wonder his dad had never parted with the gift. Daniel rubbed at his eyes, the antihistamine had done diddly squat in taking care of his burning eyes.
"I really made it for your desk so you could put your pencils and pens in it."
"I know you did, Cassie, but hey, if I put it on my desk, no one would ever see it—"
"You have an office, Jack?"
Daniel chuckled out loud at the very familiar eye roll of Janet's. All of them were still privy to that on more than one occasion.
"I also was unaware you had an office."
"Oy," Jack said, waving at the table with the flipper he held in his hand. "Just finish setting the table, dinner's almost ready."
"I hope you like your food char burned—" Daniel joked loudly, with a glance over his shoulder towards Jack.
"Daniel," Jack hissed.
"Char broiled," Daniel amended, "I meant to say char broiled."
"Here you go, everyone. Hold the applause."
A huge platter of food appeared. Burgers. Franks. Steaks. An overabundance of food.
"Come on," Jack ordered, "everyone dig in." He appeared in front of the camera, blocking the view of the table. He sat on the bench, then elbowed Daniel in the ribs. "Shove over, make room for the cook. "
Damn allergy medication. The screen blurred, distorting the images. Daniel whipped off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the hem of his tee, blinking and wiping until he could see again. Annoyed that he'd missed a few minutes, he rewound the tape back to the rib-poking scene.
"Shove over, make room for the cook. "
Daniel hit the pause button. They were friends. His Dad and that Daniel were friends. It was there in the jibes. The familiarity. The unspoken. He closed his eyes and searched his memory—or rather that Daniel's memory for the images on the screen, and he came up empty. Frustrated, he tried again. Riffling through years past, trying to pinpoint the exact day. Or at least a feeling of friendship, but he came up empty again. He had lost that friendship. His dad was just his dad.
But his dad? Daniel was pretty damn sure his dad hadn’t forgotten that friendship.
Daniel was sandwiched between Cassie and Jack. And there was laughter as the two ganged up on Daniel, refusing to allow him any food.
"Hey," he said with an indignant huff. "Never mind." Daniel settled on drinking his beer instead.
"I hope that's not your second beer?"
Daniel held up three fingers while drinking then put the bottle down with a satisfied, "Ahhh. Three. And on an empty stomach."
"Guest room for you tonight, Daniel." Jack grabbed a hamburger and dropped it on Daniel's plate. "There you go, at least when you puke, they'll be something there."
"You're such a friend, Jack." Daniel's voice was edged in good-natured sarcasm as he lifted the bun and reached for the ketchup.
And that was it. The tape didn't fade. Didn't slow down. It just stopped. Daniel stared unblinking at the screen.
"No," he whispered. There should've been more. Daniel began to pound on the fast forward button. Stopping and starting. But it was only white noise. Static. All the way to the end of the tape.
He rewound the tape and watched it again.
Each time it played, Daniel concentrated on something difference. Janet. Teal'c. Cassie. Sam. His Dad. That Daniel.
He ate the earlier discarded sandwich without tasting it. Finished the chips and the Snapple. Every time Daniel hit the rewind then play button, he promised himself that this would be the last time, but it was emotionally addicting and he couldn't pull himself away. It was nature's call which broke the cycle, and Daniel stood with a groan. Stiff and sore from sitting in one position for too long, he shook out his legs as he walked up the stairs.
It was the Tylenol that did it. Actually the bottle of water Daniel got out of the fridge to wash down the Tylenol was the not so gentle reminder. The chicken, in all its glory and seasonings, lay nestled in the pan on the second shelf with a note taped to the tinfoil. "Cook me."
He prayed as he shot a glance at the clock on the stove. Four fifteen. He'd been so close to forgetting.
Chicken in the oven, Daniel set the table. Knives, forks, napkins, plates. His mind was blank, the chores he'd been ordered to do performed by rote. He opened a bag of pre-made salad, dumped it a bowl, threw on some little carrots and cherry tomatoes then stuck it back into the fridge. A fifteen-minute deviation from his dad's schedule, Daniel could only hope it wouldn't be noticed.
He was going down to fold the laundry. Honest, those were his intentions but the lure of the tape was too tempting. Way too tempting, and he sat down, promising himself he was only going to watch it one more time.
"Folding laundry," Daniel yelled back. He was behind on this but he was hoping his father would be so overwhelmed by how well he'd accomplished all the other chores that he wouldn't say a word.
"Did you clean out the hamper in my room?"
"No." It wasn't worth lying or even making an excuse.
Okay, obviously his dad wasn't in a forgiving, forgetful mood so Daniel shrugged; it was safer than making conversation.
"Not an answer."
"I didn't get to it." It wasn't a lie.
Daniel threw the towel he was folding into the basket. "I cleaned the garage. Swept it out. Tied up papers. Did the majority of laundry. I put up dinner. Set the table. I screwed up last night," Daniel shouted.
"Are you finished?"
"I don't know, am I finished, Dad?" Damn. This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. He'd been going to apologize. Say he was sorry. What happened?
"Take the laundry upstairs."
Daniel slid the basket off the top of the dryer and tucked it under his arm. "Guess I'm not finished."
With a hard grip to his arm, his dad stopped him before he took one step. "I was worried."
Daniel stared at his father. "I knew you would be."
His dad jerked back in surprise. "You knew I would be worried?"
"That's why I didn't answer my phone. Or—"
"I know what you didn't do," his father growled.
In light of the anger clouding his dad's face, maybe honesty wasn't the best policy.
"I've never raised a hand to you before. I'd advise you to get out of my face before that changes."
Daniel released the basket and it fell to the floor with a thud, tilting and spilling the clean laundry on the floor. "Fine."
Jack stared at the fallen basket and the spilled laundry. What the fuck had just happened? He replayed the scenario and found... nothing that should've gotten the reaction he just did from Daniel.
Even from the laundry room, there was no missing the unmistakable sound of a bedroom door being slammed in anger.
Slowly, Jack bent, scooped up the fallen laundry and dropped it on top of the dryer. He could fold it. He should fold it, but right now—no. He picked up the basket and flipped it over, covering the laundry. Right now, he needed a beer.
Jack got the beer. Actually he drank the beer while puttering around the kitchen. The chicken was done. Cooked to perfection. Great. Too bad he had absolutely no appetite. Turning off the oven, he left the chicken in, uncaring as to whether the bird dried out or not.
He put the empty bottle on the counter, reached into the fridge for another cold one, then went back down to the den to watch TV. At least the TV didn't argue back. And right now, just the thought of being able to silence something or someone with a flick of a remote made him damn happy.
"What the fuck?" Frustrated, Jack slammed the beer on the table then walked closer to the TV, pushing a myriad of buttons on the remote, but nothing was happening. He had his mouth opened, ready to scream for Daniel when he saw them, lying right on the floor, waiting for someone to step on. Or trip over. His headphones. Bending down to pick them up, he noticed the VHS machine and the tape. Anger over Daniel touching the headphones turned to curiosity, and even though that had killed a cat or two in its lifetime, Jack slid the tape into the machine, stared at the buttons for a few seconds, trying to remember the secret to making this work, and with a triumphant 'yes', hit the power then the play button.
The first time around he viewed the tape without sound. The second time he viewed it, he slid the headphones on. The third time, Jack actually watched the people on the screen, studying them. The fourth time he listened and remembered.
The fifth time through, he cried. Messy, emotional tears, and even though he was alone in the den, Jack hurriedly sopped up the moisture, using the hem of his tee, his arm, the back of his hand - anything to hide the embarrassing, loss-of-control evidence until it dawned on him, with a punch in the gut suddenness, what an asshole he was being. Had been. Nine years. Nine years that Daniel had been gone, his existence packed neatly away into storage. His memories had faded with time. And what an injustice it was that Jack had barely mourned his friend. Had he felt badly? Damn straight he had. Had he missed him? Yes. But he'd never mourned him in the truest sense of the word. Nine years ago, there'd been no time to even say goodbye to the man who had been his friend. And up until recently, Jack hadn't even had more than a passing thought of him. He deserved more.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to the image frozen on the screen. "But I had a few things on my mind at the time." He rubbed his eyes, "Damn. Definitely have a new respect for your parents. Saints."
Reverently, Jack removed the headphones and placed them on top of the VHS player, keeping them safe, out of harm's way. Walking back to the table, he scooped up his beer, took a long drink, then toasted the screen. Nine years for a eulogy didn't make the words any easier to say. "You were a good friend, Daniel, and I'm pretty damn sure this wasn't how you wanted to spend your life. I'm sorry I couldn't save who you were." Jack took another swig of beer, hoping to dissolve the lump in his throat. "I tried to make it up to you by being the best father I—I'm experiencing a little bumpiness in the fatherhood road right about now." Jack cleared his throat. "God, this is supposed to be about you—you... the you from then, and not who you are now, but see, there's the problem. I can't differentiate any more. I could, in the very beginning, but not anymore.
"The you sitting, sulking in your bedroom is the only you I think of when I think Daniel. He's your essence. Your genius. Your ability to see and think outside the box. Your warped sense of humor. Your goodness. Your soul. But he smiles. This Daniel, my son, is happy. He laughs. He's loved. And believe it or not, he's into sports. I think..." Jack stuttered. "Maybe I should be thanking you, Daniel, for choosing me. As a friend. As your father, 'cause either way, I came out the winner."
He took the stairs two at a time and burst into Daniel's room without knocking, his son's words of protest at the intrusion smothered out of him as Jack threw his arms around him and hugged. Tightly. Tight enough that Daniel whimpered in protest.
"Dad," he croaked. "Can't breathe."
"Sorry." Jack really wasn't, and he released him reluctantly, but gently reached out to cup Daniel's cheek, more than a bit surprised when Daniel moved away. "I wasn't going to hit you."
"Those weren't exactly your parting words. If I remember, you said to—"
"Yeah, about that." Jack gave a few internal hems and haws. "Words spoken in haste."
"Hastily or not, it certainly sounded like you meant it."
There still was anger in Daniel's voice, Jack had been pretty damn stupid to think that a hug would've acted as a band-aid and worked towards patching everything up. "I watched the tape."
Daniel looked everywhere but at Jack.
"It's okay, Daniel. I'm not angry."
"I cleaned the garage, a box broke. A bunch of tapes and other stuff found fell out." Daniel's words began to speed up. "I picked them up. I kept some tapes and cars... silly, I know, I mean, I'm probably going to throw them out, but I—"
"It's okay," Jack repeated, holding onto Daniel's wrists, stilling his arms. "I'm glad you found the tape. I'm glad you watched the—"
"It was strange seeing—" Daniel swallowed. "Me. It was strange watching everyone."
God, the kid had struggled with the visuals on a level completely different than Jack's. "It was a long time ago."
"Yes, before I was your father."
"You were his friend." Simple words, spoken in an accusatory tone, adding bite and jealousy.
"We were friends. And now I'm your father."
"Do you miss him?"
Honest question. Nine years in the making. "He was a good friend."
Daniel shook his head. "That's not an answer."
Time to bounce the ball back into Daniel's court. "Do you miss being him?"
"Do you miss me being him?"
Touché. This was exactly why Daniel beat him in chess nine times out of ten. "Checkmate." Jack reached out to touch Daniel's cheek, but instead his hand fell to his shoulder, and rested there. "You've been my son longer than Daniel was my friend."
"So I win by longevity?"
"It was never a contest," Jack said sadly. "Ever."
Daniel dropped his head.
Jack's hand moved without thought, lifting Daniel's chin. His face was set, unemotional, only the shimmer in the large, unblinking blue eyes hinted at how much this hurt. "It was never a contest. Please believe me."
"I never had a chance to say goodbye to him. To thank him. To let him know what a good friend he was. A good teammate..."
"He knew," Daniel whispered. A single tear escaped and rolled slowly down his face. "I have it on good authority..." Daniel closed his eyes, deep in thought.
"You were a good friend. That tape... that video was made only days before you traveled to—" Daniel's eyes widened. "P3P-387. The planet where I turned into—"
"Yup. Friday night. We left Sunday morning. He wanted to test out the camera." Jack snorted. "Never took the camera. It wouldn't hold a charge."
"That's why the video—"
"I wish there'd been more."
Jack shook his head then stood. "No, I think there was just enough to say what needed to be said."
The chicken was salvageable. And he carved it. Made some out-of-the-box stuffing. Cooked some carrots and smiled at the salad Daniel had made, placing the bowl in the center of the table.
"I'm sorry about last night."
Jack spooned stuffing onto their plates from the pot he held in his hand. "Any particular reason why you felt the need to..." He fought the urge to run through Daniel's transgressions.
Daniel mumbled, skirting around him, heading to the fridge.
Jack waited until Daniel put two bottles of Snapple on the table and he put the pot of stuffing back onto the stove before he asked again. "Why, Daniel?"
"Because I could."
"Ah, come on, that's really not an answer."
"I'm a teen. Teens break curfew. They stay out late. They drink—"
"And they bullshit. Which is what you're handing me right now."
Daniel turned the chair around and sat, leaning his arms on the back of it. "You're working more."
"You're older. I don't have to be here all..."
Daniel ducked his head, but not before Jack saw the rising heat of blush.
"Being older doesn't mean I don't miss you."
Jack connected the dots pretty damn quick. "Attention? You did this for attention?"
"Sounds stupid when you say it." Daniel gave a little shrug. "Feels stupid even when I think it."
"I was worried."
"I'm sorry." Finally, the words were spoken with truthful remorse. "It was stupid. I was stupid."
"You won't get any argument from me."
Daniel looked at the chicken Jack put on his plate with undisguised disgust. "The beer was half a bottle—" Daniel raised his head. "I'm not going to snitch."
Some arguments weren't worth it. "Was the driver of the car drinking?"
Daniel smiled. "I said I was stupid, not that I was an idiot."
"Fair enough." Jack glanced at this own plate, picking up the leg quarter. "This is pretty damn unappealing."
"Pizza?" Daniel asked hopefully.
"Sausage or pepperoni?"
"Half and half. Extra cheese."
"You got it. Phone, please."
Daniel handed him the cordless, then pulled it back when Jack reached for it. Daniel?"
"There are certain feelings I can access—I was telling the truth before when I said he was glad you were his friend."
"I'm glad you're my son." Jack grabbed the front of Daniel's shirt and pulled him into his arms.
At fourteen, Daniel's response was tentative before he hugged him back, telephone and all. "I don't need to access any memories to know that answer."
Author's Comments: Many thanks to jo for everything. For going above and beyond the call of being my beta. For watching my back. My heart. My commas. For understanding. For loving Icky as much as I do. You are the bestest.
The wonderful picture that inspired this story is from the TV show the Sarah Connor Chronicles. Once again, thanks to jo for working her magic with the manip
to contact devra
Since 16 March 2008
DISCLAIMER:The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp. The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names, titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author.