Tok'ra Flats Table Fic: The Schoolhouse

by babs

I am a table. I am a rectangular four-foot wide by eight-foot long, golden oak table with lots of grain, a leg on each corner, and a good deep rubbing of tong oil. This is important, because it adds to my versatility, my waterproofing and my longevity. I was created by a New England Craftsman, purchased in the early 1850's by a German family to be taken to their new home in the west. However, when they got to the little town of Tok'ra Flats, they decided that I was too heavy for the team to cart over the high mountains.

I am currently residing in the schoolyard. Small Teacher Babs, the school marm has decided that since it is spring, it is time for the school house to have a new coat of paint. So, I was brought out from the sheriff's office to the school yard amongst much hilarity between the Sheriff and his Riders. I heard many comments about my weight, most of them not very complimentary. The sheriff was not complaining about my sturdiness when I served as his operating table. He should remember that.

My sturdiness is evident now. I hold many containers of paint; bright red paint that Small Teacher Babs has declared is the only color that will do for the school house of Tok'ra Flats. She and the other ladies of the town have provided many sheets to cover my surface. I am glad, for I would not want my finish to be marred. The ladies have been sent away, although I notice that many of them are sipping iced tea and eating cakes on Lady Veterinarian Devra's porch with not a few glances this way.

The job is nearly finished; the work of a long, hot day. Tall Blacksmith Siler and most of the other Riders have been sent to the bathhouse to clean up and only Tall Sheriff Jack, Tall Deputy Daniel, and Tall Deputy Teal'c remain to finish the last few boards. Tall Deputy Daniel is laughing as he comes to the table with his paintbrush. Tall Sheriff Jack follows, his laughter booming. Some of the children come running over. They have been begging to help the men all day. Tall Sheriff Jack exchanges a look with Tall Deputy Daniel and they both nod. Some of the nearly empty cans of paint are handed off to the children and they are sent to the back of the school house with admonitions to be careful.

"You want to supervise them or should I?" The sheriff asks his deputies.

Deputy Daniel shakes his head. "They will do a good job, Jack. This is their school after all. They will show their pride in it."

Sheriff Jack nods and turns, his hip catching one of my corners. I am a sturdy table, very sturdy. I am certainly not going to tip over when someone bumps into me. But the surface of the school yard is bumpy with the roots of one of the only trees in town and my legs have not been planted firmly. I regret this deeply as the next events unfold.

An open can of paint is on my opposite corner near Deputy Daniel's position. Sheriff Jack's bump is enough to cause me to wobble slightly. The paint can has not been placed back from the edge and it begins to tip. Deputy Daniel reaches for it, but it slips from his hands, some paint beginning to soak through the sheets on my surface but more falling on him, staining his hands, his buckskins and his moccasins.

"Daniel?" Sheriff Jack says. "I'm sorry." He is smiling and I can hear laughter behind his words. But he is aware, as am I, that something is wrong. Deputy Daniel is not laughing or smiling. The very air around him seems to grow heavy with his silence.

"Daniel?" The sheriff's voice is very soft and gentle, the voice that I heard from those long nights when Deputy Daniel lay ill upon my surface.

There is no response, and Tall Sheriff Jack turns to Tall Deputy Teal'c.

"O'Neill?" Deputy Teal'c stands ready to do what the sheriff orders.

"Go to the back and get the children. Take them to the womenfolk." He looks over to Small Veterinarian Devra's porch, "And tell the women to stay away."

"Understood, O'Neill." Deputy Tea'c nods and disappears behind the schoolhouse. He reappears moments later, the children trailing after him like chicks after a mother hen.

"Come along, children. We will indulge in some ice cream after our hard work."

The children give nervous glances towards the sheriff, but he smiles in reassurance and they follow Deputy Teal'c obediently, the promise of ice cream overcoming their concern.

"Gi-gv, gi-gv." Deputy Daniel stares at his hands, his buckskins, his voice an anguished whisper. "Gi-gv."

"No," The sheriff approaches, but stops as Daniel backs up, bumping against me. "No, Danny. Not blood. Just paint. It's just paint."

But I fear the deputy does not understand the sheriff's words, caught as he is in past memories.

The deputy's body is trembling, his muscles tight as if he is ready to flee.

"Gi-gv." He whispers again and then falls to his knees, his arms coming up to his chest as if he is rocking a child. One hand makes a petting motion. "The di-no-yo-li. All dead. No. Please. Not the di-no-yo-li." Tears fall down his cheeks unheeded. I wish at this moment that I had arms instead of legs so that I could wrap him and shelter him from whatever has hurt him so. "All the u-wo-du-hi di-no-yo-li."

I can not understand the words he speaks, a broken tragic mix of English and Cherokee. The sheriff shakes his head.

"No, Danny. Listen to me. The children, they are safe. Look, they are safe. Not dead. Not dead."

Deputy Daniel continues his rocking, moving his arms away from his chest towards the ground. I would almost believe he sees a small broken body before him. I can hear him chanting beneath his breath as he reaches out to the empty air for another ghost.

Sheriff Jack's breath catches and he places one hand on my surface. "Daniel," the name is spoken so softly that no one but I can hear it.

The sound of horses coming down Main Street has the deputy tensing again. His breath comes quickly and he moves swiftly from his knees to a crouching position. He has pulled the knife from the sheath at his hip and holds it before him as a weapon.

"A-ni-yo-wi-s-gi!" He cries. "Come to me. Take me." He pauses and for a moment I believe he actually sees the sheriff. "Jack?"

"I'm here, Daniel. Just me. No soldiers. No soldiers here."

"They killed them. Help me, Jack. Help me hunt them, the a-ni-yo-wi-s-gi." His voice burns with passion, the passion I have heard in his voice when he speaks with the sheriff about a book he has read. But there is something else in his voice, a coldness that chills even me.

"Daniel, listen to me. Put the knife down." Sheriff Jack stands still, hands outstretched to his side. Deputy Daniel is lost once again as he whispers of blood, of children, of loss and pain.

"The ye-la-s-di." The sheriff takes two steps that bring him so close that he could reach out and take the knife, but I know that for some reason it is vital that Daniel hand it to the sheriff himself. If I breathed, I would be holding it in this moment of import. Sheriff Jack's hand is outstretched, his fingers steady, his stance relaxed and alert.

"Give it to me, Danny."

There is a shuddering sigh from the man so close to me. Deputy Daniel hangs his head as if submitting to a great injustice. He places the knife in the sheriff's outstretched hand without raising his eyes to meet his friend's and then wraps his arm around himself as though there is no warmth in the air.

"U-wa-sa." He croons, "U-wa-sa." His voice is broken, defeated as he rocks back and forth.

The sheriff places the knife on my surface, burying it beneath the sheets. I feel his hand shaking as he does so. He kneels by Daniel. I can hear his suppressed grunt as he gets on the ground.

"U-wa-sa," Daniel continues to whisper as he rocks slowly back and forth, "u-wa-sa."

The sheriff reaches out and places one hand on the deputy's shoulder halting the motion. His other hand comes up to cup the back of Daniel's head.

"Not alone, Danny. Not now. Not ever again." Jack says the words over and over again, slowly drawing the younger man closer until he is gathered in the safe shelter of the sheriff's arms. "Not u-wa-sa."

They sit there for a time, the sheriff unconsciously rocking in a soothing rhythm. I hear Deputy Daniel's breath slow, his painful whispers fading until they cease altogether.

"Ha-tlo?" Daniel questions. "Jack, ha-tlo?" He pushes away slightly to look at the sheriff in confusion.

Sheriff Jack gives a shaky laugh. "Home, Daniel. You're home."

The deputy studies his hands, notices the paint and ducks his head in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry."

Sheriff Jack shakes his head. "No need, Daniel." He holds his hand up as Daniel stands. "Give an old man a hand."

Deputy Daniel smiles. It is not his usual smile, not one of light, but one that is rather brittle. He pulls the sheriff up in one clean movement.

"Let's go get cleaned up." The sheriff murmurs. He places one hand over Daniel's shoulders. "Take your time, Danny."

Daniel nods, looking at me. "We should…"

"Someone else will clean it up, Daniel. Don't worry about it. Do this for me. Let me, let us take care of it." Jack gently prods Daniel in the direction of the bath house. "Let me."

It is very still. There is no breeze, no sound, no movement after the sheriff and the deputy disappear down Main Street. The angle of the sun on my surface changes, until there is only a sliver of light left.

The ladies of the town come then in silence. They remove the few remaining containers of paint, the sheets.

"We need to move the table," Seamstress Jo finally says in a hushed whisper.

Teacher Babs looks at the school house. "It won't fit in the school house. We're crowded as it is."

"Mayor Debi?" That voice belongs to Ice Cream Athene. "Could we put it in the Emerald City for now?"

Tall Mayor Debi nods and the women, all the women of the town, gather around me.

There is silence as they carry me to the Emerald City. No one jokes about my weight, no one complains that I am a burden. I feel as though I am a table of worth, although I do not know what I have done this day other than my job-to provide support to those who need me.