The end of the battle is herald by silence … and a tinge of fear. But the fear always evaporates when rational thought catches up. Carter will figure it out. It doesn’t matter if her face scrunches up in concern—her eyes turning to you in apology—or that Mitchell is close to an explosive outburst. He’s like you, you remind yourself, Mitchell needs action to remain calm.
Patience is the key; just wait it out. Find a hobby; eat some cake.
Walk the ship and make sure you don’t run into Mitchell—a man possessed by the demon that cases him—then stand guard on the bridge and watch the Ori beam looming ominously: suspended in the dark void of space, a constant reminder that our fates may all ready be sealed; contemplate why you didn’t listen to the President, or to Landry, when they told you to stay put, wait and see.
But waiting isn’t in your vocabulary: action is, along with curiosity. The Asguard don’t invite you to their home planet in another galaxy for no reason and this was a good reason. Too bad that reason now requires patience and an almost empty ship.
You try to offer support but your questions and sarcasm start to annoy and wear thin the tiny strand of sanity that remains. So you stop dropping by every morning to get an update because the update is just a repeat of the day before with the lengthy sigh added on for good measure.
And soon the patience starts to wear thin, then disappear. The blue eyes that turn to you—looking for support or some kind of leadership—no longer look up from the table. You don’t notice though, you’re too busy suffering in your own dark misery. And the waiting.
The ship dims; you don’t know if it is your eyesight finally giving up on you, or the lights slowly losing power and diminishing back into the ship. Or maybe the universe—if the universe can still be conjured in a time dilation bubble—granting your last request: not to see the end when it comes. It could be the darkness only exists in your head; the ship is bright but the mind refuses to believe in brightness anymore.
So you continue the honour guard duty on the bridge—you never know when an emergency might arise—and stare at the bright energy weapon that also has lost its lustre in the void between ships. It’s your death, you keep reminding yourself, that beam will kill you. And there is always that soft voice in the back trying to convince you to let it.
But you sit at the table like a good solider and eat your meal with the others in semi-quiet. After so many months there’s little to say. As long as you avoid sad blue eyes, staring lifelessly at her food, you can make it through another day. Eventually that becomes difficult.
Find a nice place to hide for awhile: avoid Mitchell with his constant glares and demands that something should be done to escape, keep waiting for Carter to impress and confuse you, it won’t be long now, just wait.
The waiting is taking its toll, your hiding for hours becomes days and then a week. No one notices and they don’t notice you have started stock-piling food into your cosy getaway. You hear the waiting take its toll on Mitchell but you leave him to destroy his room and remind yourself to talk him. But only after you have spent awhile in your hiding place—the one with the window and front row seats to Armageddon—where the Ori weapon casts shadows across the floor, or is it once again the imagination?
Somehow, somewhere, there is a horrible voice in your head that tells you this is a perfect place to wait out eternity, but eternity takes to long. Painful boredom grips you in an unrelenting strangle hold: you are given too much time to contemplate the past, the unending present that stretches into infinity, and what you’re now letting go of.
And you become suspicious of Vala and Daniel. So you spend your days following one then the other and once your suspicions are confirmed, you lose interest and anger starts to bubble.
In the mist of darkness they find happiness with each other: they don’t suffer the blind panic of inaction or the helplessness of waiting around doing nothing or the gut wrenching guilt that follows you because you failed. Damn them and their happiness.
Failure and guilt are your sole companions and you don’t dismiss them. You failed your team and trapped them in a slow dilated death. You failed Earth—but they will never know you held their salvation because they never knew it was needed—and the people back home waiting for them and the technology preserved on this ship. You’ve failed her.
That’s when you take to stalking the corridors and blending with the shadows; watch her while she works still with faith that the answers will one day come. She looks for you in the darkness and around corners because she senses you. Your body attracts her but you’re quicker and able to disappear into nothing.
One morning you’re hungry and go in search of food but the secret stash is empty. You have no choice: it’s breakfast with the team, or hours of wondering the ship with an empty stomach. And when you walk in and blue eyes meet yours—for a fraction of a second—that painful empty stomach doesn’t hurt so much after all.
Instead it’s the anger and frustration bottled up deep within that you finally recognise what it truly is: it’s the loss of faith that consumes you in the wake of lifeless blue tearing you apart; it’s the loss of faith in never being able to escape the metal tomb of the motionless ship that has devoured every inch of you. And if you have lost faith in escape then you have lost faith in her.
No longer do you feel hungry, anger drives you away to find that secluded hiding spot—the one with death written all over it—and continue the wait for the end of eternity. While outside the dark void between ship and energy weapon is too far apart and it doesn’t matter how hard you try the distance is never shortened.
Darkness presses in on all sides—fills you—consumes you. It takes a piece of you then comes back for more. And that void, just outside the ship, laughs at you—mocks and taunts you—to take a step outside and see who’s tougher. But all you can do is sit in the darkness and throw muttered curses at it.
Days or maybe weeks pass: hope has long diminished with your faith, floated out to space and taken up sides with the void. You curse it. Then you start cursing everything that led to this moment: the Asguard—how dare they lead you into this trap—the Ori and their followers, Earth and the people who live there, Daniel and his ideas of preservation, Mitchell and his constant mood swings, Teal’c and his silence. And finally you curse her.
You see her outside—between the empty void and the glowing weapon—holding back the final blow that will once and for all see an end to this madness. She’s holding back death; she has no right! You decide there’s no use muttering into the vacant vacuum, no one can hear you, and the screaming inside your head has built to an explosive level. So you head straight to the perpetrator of your insanity.
Head up; eyes hard. Surprisingly there’s no need to rehearse what you’re going to say, you all ready know, have known for too long. She has to be told—explained to with force if necessary—until the truth is understood. The end has been held back for too long and you cannot take the waiting anymore. Constantly surrounded by darkness and being eaten alive by hopelessness. Enough is enough. If the answers had not come by now they never would.
Taking the corner fast you stalk into the engine room—her back’s turned but that only fuels the fire—you open your month and hear a sniffle. Confusion makes you hesitate and look around. The sniffle repeats, softer, but still there. Your anger melts and pools at your feet on the cold metal floor.
This time she senses your presences but you don’t fade into nothingness. This time you fold her gently into your arms and let her cry against your shoulder.
The darkness outside expanse and contracts; it liquefies and dissipates into nothing. Dimness folds then fades into nothing and is replaced by bright lights and the hum of the engine room. A warmth envelops you and no longer does the Ori energy weapon represent death, and a means of escape, but instead a way back to hope and faith. A way back to Sam.
Story Notes: This was originally posted at Heliopolis in response to the December 2007 Fic Challenge (what if Jack had been stuck on the Odyssey instead of Landry) under the penname Nez.
Spoiler for Unending
Spoiler for Unending
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 ]