Title: Je Vais à la Maison. (Pt. 1 of the Quelle Heure Est-il? drabble set.)

Fandoms: Stargate SG-1/ Doctor Who 2005

Characters/Pairing: Daniel Jackson

Warnings: Crossover-AU, future mentions of Child Abuse

Word Count: 461

Rating: G or K. (ratings are subject to change especially when Daniel gets older and meets Capt. Harkness.)

Summary: A nine year old runs away.

Author's Notes: Fix-It-ish. Any questions can be directed to my livejournal (go to my profile & click on homepage) or via review.


Everyone in the room was asleep. He made sure of it.

He hated America. It was supposed to be some magic land with hot dogs and rain and green plants everywhere. It wasn't. It was cold and gray and the city felt dead even though it was younger than Cairo. Cairo was alive, he remembered the feelings of walking in the bazaar with his mom, dad, or ayah. He longed for the music, the warmth, the heartbeat of the ancient capital that had comforted him when he realized he was lost. Here, this New York, it was dead. No music, rather it was filled with mechanical noise and chilling news reports. No warmth, instead it was cold like a corpse, no sun, no rain, just gray and cold and biting winds that hated him. No life in this world.

It was the city that killed his mom and dad.

So he was going home, running away from the people who wanted him to forget Cairo and how to talk in anything but English. He wanted to go home, so he eased the window open, and crawled out unto the fire escape. He had nothing in his hands, he wanted nothing of theirs. They had taken his books, his artifacts, his comforts because they thought he was like the American children with no respect for the past and no idea of how valuable his treasures were.

He was going home. He kept that in mind as he wiggled down a drain pipe rather than going down the noisy clanking ladder of the fire escape. Silently he vanished into the shadows, vowing that he'd die before setting foot in that hell again.

The adults all ignored him or tried to make him talk about what he saw when the chains snapped. The kids, the bigger kids called him names, beat him up, took the few things he had kept and destroyed his last links to his parents. The littler kids refused to talk to him, wouldn't play games around him, called him names right next to the bigger kids, took all the good things and left him with what they wouldn't touch.

He didn't care if he had to live like a thief, he would not be taken back to the shelter. He knew how to survive on the streets of a city. He had made friends with enough of the street kids in Cairo to know how to pickpockets, to observe shops, and to steal and not get caught. He'd live on the streets until he found a way to get home, then he'd go find his ayah or his friends. If he couldn't have his mom and dad, they were the people that he knew loved him and wanted him around.