In the settling coolness of the evening air, the swelling darkness of the heavens was punctuated by pinpricks of light; small droplets of luminescence nearly swallowed up by the bold bluish iridescence of the moon. Speckles of glittering brilliance that in some far-flung area of the galaxy had once been described as the length and breadth of the hand of God. These turbulent furnaces of fusion radiated energy around which swung, in a lazy dance, planetoids, only an infinitesimal amount of which contained life as it was currently known. From his vantage point on the rampart of his house, Jonathan "Jack" O’Neill, Colonel in the US Air Force, sat and watched the universe in all its glory. His peephole into the mysteries of the darkness was his telescope. It was a connection to his past, a different time, a time in which he and his son investigated the stars; a time before the Stargate Project. Now, it was a reminder of a life that had died so many years ago, and a child who had to face a mystery that Jack thought he would meet first.
Jack had had several close brushes with death; he knew, eventually, statistically, he would succumb to the scythe of death. Instead, as a cruel twist of fate, a man who spent his life challenging death had done the unthinkable; he had lived to see his son die before him. A tool of his trade, one that Jack had wielded frequently in service to his country, had killed his son. Jack O’Neill had brought home the instrument of his only son ’s tragic destruction. In the space of time in which it took a hammer to strike the explosive primer of the deadly bullet, Jack’s world was shredded of its façade. A façade that he, a career officer in the US Armed Services, sought to maintain, one in which home life was the sanctuary from his real life - his job; a retreat from the pressure, fear, pain and mortality that his career had constantly presented him with.
However, with the loss of his son, he found nowhere to retreat, except within himself. He gave no solace and asked for none; he was now a man damned by his own continued existence. He pulled away emotionally and physically from his family and friends. He raged at himself, a failure of a father; he thought he could see the blame in everyone's eyes. The condemnation he saw in others eyes, whether imagined or real, helped to feed the fires of self-recrimination that burned away at his soul and sapped the life from the very brilliance of his eyes. It left in its place, a dull glow that seemed to grow dimmer as time trickled by, like a rock being slowly worn away by the sea.
His mind focused longingly on ways he could take his son's place. Each thought like a dull coin tossed into a murky wishing well; each coin, a wish to trade places with his dead son; each piece, a sliver of his soul; each splash, an escaped chord of wailing self-destruction that he kept behind the heavy curtain of his steely visage. A pain seemed to throb deeply in his mind and in his soul, emotionally draining the remnants of love into the shattered husk of his humanity.
Sitting alone in the shrine of his son's life, he would look over every item in the child’s room, reliving memories of a life cut short. During a contemplative moment about a possible future, it happened, an unexpected act of government, a call from his past, a reason to serve. The call was a way to temporarily hold the demons that haunted his soul at bay. Reporting to return to duty was a partial rebirth, a return to the life he had left behind, a life that had once been his main reason to exist…before his marriage…before his son. He strode purposefully through the cold time-weathered corridors as he reintegrated his life into the familiar structure of the US Air Force.
A metallic buzzing ripped through the man as if shearing a portion of him with every stroke through his hair. It felt as though the emotions were cleaved from within him as the man in the chair shed a mindset. As tufts of hair drifted down the barber chair, the human aspect also seemed to be discarded on the cold floor. A cold distance in his eyes, silently, stonily watching straight forward as his transformation took place. The electric razor was soon shut off and a pallid atmosphere seemed to settle within the small white room. The barber used a brush to remove the clinging tendrils and memories, a temporary reprieve from his damnation, awaiting another more acceptable way to die - suicide by proxy.
Suicide by proxy, a process in which you forced another to kill you, an unwitting ally to assisted suicide. Jack knew why General West had called him back, not the specifics of course, but his assumed expectation of him. Gone was the Jack of old, a smiling; though, deadly man, a man of wit, cloaking his wisdom behind a curtain of feigned ignorance. Instead, in his place, stood a statute of iron, the humor gone from his eyes along with his need to live. In lieu of wit, in place of a sparring attitude, dwelled hardness, bluntness, and coldness wrapped in the acceptance of self-sacrifice.
He had accepted the mission hoping to finally sacrifice his life to the one thing he loved, the one thing that seemed to need him - the United States of America. When all was said and done, Jack had had the means to his socially acceptable suicide within his grasp. A thermonuclear device, an icon that represented the cold war in which he had served, seemed a fitting end to his life while still serving the security and welfare needs of his country. A shred of humanity had caused him to choose a new path for the moment and, inevitably, for life. A path that would eventually bring him to this cold clear night, alone with the stars and his memories.
That time of complete emotional bleakness existed years ago…a lifetime ago to Jack O’Neill. He sat back, away from the telescope, and gazed at the universe through his own naked eyes. Searching the sparkling darkness, wondering which jewels of starlight had members of Stargate Command wandering in search of knowledge on the worlds circling the stars innumerable. Which worlds had he already stepped foot on, and which would he still venture forth upon? Jack’s eyes narrowed in thought as he chuckled and picked up a bottle of beer. In a way, he remained up there, some particles of light traveling back towards Earth. He imagined that given a powerful enough telescope, he could watch himself, some years later, on a planet, working to look for clues to humanity's survival. He shook his head, with a warm smile, thinking of quantum physics and the woman he associated with it.
Setting the emptied, beer bottle down, he looked out upon the shadows of the world around him. For the most part, he was as alone in his private life as before. In his real life, work was his home. His house was a sanctuary, but also a reminder of his self-imposed loneliness. For some reason, this realization made him shiver. Standing up, he glanced about, still feeling the emptiness deep within his heart.
It wasn’t so much a void as it was a longing, a missing of something specific, something intangible, something spiritual. His eyes moved away from the sky, toward the empty bottle which seemed to mock his loneliness. Its dark amber color was a reflection of his frame of mind. A slightly warped mirror that showed things weren't as clear as they might have seemed. Grabbing the bottle, Jack swung around quickly, needing to step away from the darkness that now surrounded him. He extracted himself from the cloying atmosphere by climbing down the bolted metal ladder. The coldness of the night air intensified, his hands stung as he grasped the rungs, reminders of his existence. As he entered the house, Jack walked to the trashcan and tossed the empty bottle away. The house was darkened, defined only by a lone light within the kitchen throwing shadows into the adjoining living room, casting an aura into the space. The living room was furnished, but bare of any personality that could define it, unfinished. Jack looked around at the shadows of falsely attempted domesticity and felt a pang of emotion within him. He wished he were back on another world camping with the companions that now filled his life - SG-1.
He shook his head silently in thought; no, it wasn’t the more primitive living arrangement he was missing, it was her, Major Samantha Carter. At the thought of her, he became uneasy. Inside this shell of a house, he sometimes felt trapped. It was as far away from his old house as he could get, and still have a relatively easy commute to work.
He looked around and shook his head; coming home felt like returning to a foreign country. Even though he had lived here for years, it just didn’t seem to be home and it didn't feel like he was meant to be there. He had been haunted by that fact for years while in the US Air Force. Even when he was married, it didn’t seem to be home. He had failed his ex-wife and his son, even before the accident. His son's death solidified the sparse intimacy in their relationship, highlighting that there was little beyond the physical. As his thoughts turned to his failed family life, his hands clenched almost reflexively. Without warning, suppressed memories resurfaced, and it took him several minutes to shove the dark ragged recriminations back down into his subconscious.
Turning to walk upstairs, he stopped at the sight of a lone picture, and walked over to it. Lifting it up, he walked back into the vague light to see the image. It was them…her. He valued this picture more than he could admit. Daniel had given it to him as a reminder of the team he, Jack, commanded, rather the new family he had. It was precious to Jack; it was the only picture he had of her. He couldn’t ask her for one, for if he did, he knew at that moment, his heart would be open and, he feared, ripped apart. It had taken him years to reach this point, a point at which he could try to love someone truly and deeply. The scars were still ragged, and more sensitive than he'd ever admit to anyone, least of all, himself.
Studying the photo, he became aware that her eyes were cool seas of luminescence, glistening with an ethereal quality all their own. In that moment, the world faded into a hazy gray background as her eyes seemed, for a space of time, to block out the existence of all others, save himself. That moment; though, seemed fleeting, and Jack had already resigned himself to never indulging in the richness of love again. Like a man dying of thirst near a quenching river, he held back from her. When he thought no one was watching, his eyes hungered for her. She was caring, intelligent, and a proven soldier in the field. Jack knew he could depend on her to stay by his side through thick and thin; then, again, he knew the same about the rest of his team. However, in her, he found a connection to his heart and soul. Gradually, he had been feeling resurgent reconstruction within himself.
He now looked at the world around him differently as if he was a new man. He was still learning about himself, including the matters of his heart. Samantha...he could never call her Sam...Sam was the guy who drank one too many cups of coffee down in the canteen. He didn't dare call her Samantha, either, because it would be a breach of military protocol. More to the point, he feared that should he address her by Samantha, his feelings would be palpable, highly evident as his voice gently caressed her name. His newly formed world was still being erected over the existing ruins left behind by the old. Samantha Carter was a very important part of his world; he couldn't bring himself to gamble on a 'what if.' Her presence was something he valued, and he didn't take it for granted as much as some people might have thought he did.
Slowly, Jack made his way up the stairs, entering the shadow-strewn corridor leading to his cold empty room. The sparseness seemed to mirror his loneliness. He sat on the bed and fell back against its cool sheets. Jack stared up towards the ceiling, the pitch-black void coaxing him into it. Moments later, his breathing leveled and evened out. The tension lines on his face smoothed, taking years of worry and stress with them. Sleep gave him a few moments of peace, even on nights filled with memories and nightmares. The twilight of consciousness centered on Jack O'Neill's existence as it slowly continued to change.
The End.
Story Notes: Author: Larry Edwards (lde@alaska.net)
Archive: Yes, anywhere just let me know!
Author's Notes: I dedicate this story and those to follow… to my love, to my Alexandra
Archive: Yes, anywhere just let me know!
Author's Notes: I dedicate this story and those to follow… to my love, to my Alexandra
DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc, are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters and plots are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended. ... [ read more ]