Storytime with Rachel F Hundred

Everyone at Stargate Command was giving Jack O’Neill a wide berth. It wasn’t just that the mission with the Russians had gone spectacularly badly or that the Colonel was unhappy with the Russians but that Jack was visibly furious in a way that any living being with an ounce of self-preservation took to mean ‘keep away if you value your life.’

Daniel Jackson wondered whether he didn’t value his life – he didn’t think he’d become that sangfroid about his existence because despite Jack’s teasing he had only come back from the dead two or three times really – or whether his decision to see if the other man wanted to talk about it denoted he had finally lost all notion of sanity. Perhaps the fact that he had chosen to watch from the doorway was the last vestige of it, Daniel mused as he watched Jack punching the bag across the room. Daniel made himself comfortable, leaning on the doorframe with one shoulder flush against the wood, his legs crossed at the ankle, arms crossed over the ubiquitous black t-shirt and unbuttoned blue BDU shirt he wore.

Jack was hitting the punching bag hard enough to produce little puffs of dust with each attack. He was moving around swiftly, bouncing and darting left then right; jabbing with his right then his left; hard, rhythmic punches that had a language all of their own. The military man was covered in sweat and Daniel knew Jack had been in the workout room for almost an hour. He had disappeared into it immediately following a session with the Russian liaison Colonel Chekov. Daniel had a feeling the review of their mission with the Russian team had not gone well, but then as Hammond and Jack had ordered the rest of SG1 to stay away from it, Daniel figured the assumption had always been that it would go spectacularly bad.

Not surprising, Daniel mused. SG1 had made it back with a full team complement but only Lieutenant Tolinev had survived from the Russian team; one man had been crushed in an attempt to escape the ziggurat; the team leader Zukhov had died trying to take out his own man Vallarin who had been taken as a host by the Goa’uld Marduke. SG1 had killed Marduke and by extension Vallarin when they had blown up the ziggurat just as they had ringed out to safety.

The Russians had a right to be angry at the seemingly inequal survival rate yet Daniel couldn’t help but empathise with Jack’s frustration. Jack might have been obvious in his dislike of working with the Russian team but the Russian commander had been equally obvious in his dislike of submitting to a US Colonel. Neither had exactly made it easy; he and Jack had crossed swords and the Russians had chafed against Jack’s commands. More, the Russians had set out for the mission with additional orders to find an ancient artefact – the Eye of Tiamat. It was said to give great power and, after working for so many years with the SGC, after battling the Goa’uld for so long, Daniel could appreciate why the Russians wanted to get their hands on the thing. In fact, the Eye was one of several. Daniel had looked into the legend when they’d gotten back to the SGC. They were fascinating and…and a good way of distracting him from why he was stood waiting for Jack to tire of punching something, he thought wryly.

Daniel scrunched his nose up. In many ways he could appreciate why Jack wanted to punch the hell out of something. Jack hated secret orders screwing up a mission but Daniel knew that wasn’t it. What Jack hated more was losing people in the field; he always took it hard and even though he’d had problems with the Russians, Daniel figured Jack was feeling responsible. Although, he mused as he considered the dark look in Jack’s eyes, the level of the other man’s fury was beginning to worry him.

The last time he had seen Jack as incandescently furious had been on K’Tau when one of the natives had sabotaged Earth’s efforts to help fix the issue SG1 had caused with the K’Tau Sun. The SGC had lost two good men that day and Jack had held a gun to the man responsible, safety off, ready to shoot. In hindsight, Daniel still wasn’t certain what had stopped Jack; his pleas, those of the K’Tau spiritual leader or their team-mate Samantha Carter.

The archaeologist winced. Sam was definitely touchy subject number two. There was no doubt in his mind that his two military team-mates had fallen in love with each other but there was also no doubt that they had seemingly put it behind them and decided to put their mission first as their oaths as officers demanded. Daniel didn’t understand it. He knew if his late wife Sha’re had lived, he would never have been able to lock his feelings away and pretend they didn’t exist. But Daniel couldn’t deny the couple’s decision suited his own agenda; SG1 was his constant. If Jack and Sam had ever officially recognised how they felt about each other or if they had decided to explore what was between them, then it would have been the end of SG1. Daniel could admit in his most selfish moments he was pleased that they continued with the status quo even if he suspected it was making them miserable.

Very miserable.

And with Jack, angry.

Very angry.

Daniel figured he knew the exact moment Jack had got angry: that one instant when a computer entity had possessed Sam because she had tried talking with it. The military man had ended up shooting Sam to save the base and had believed that he had killed her. It seemed to have forced something of a final decision about their feelings and Daniel had come to the slow realisation that his two friends had been making an effort to be more professional around each other ever since. He guessed he understood why on some level; Jack had been devastated when he had thought he had killed Sam. Daniel figured the professional barriers they had erected were meant to protect them if a similar situation happened in the future.

He didn’t know when he had noticed that they had become solely Colonel O’Neill and Major Carter around each other; just that he had. They protected each other, cared for each other – that hadn’t changed – but there was hardly any personal interaction; no flirting, no occasional touches and no lingering looks, no Jack or Sam peeking out from behind the uniforms. They were so professional it made Daniel hurt just watching them. It wasn’t just out on missions that it had affected them either. It had led to them, and by consequence the team, not spending as much time together off base as they had in the past. The last time SG1 had spent down-time together was just after Sam had hidden an alien in her house and the subsequent fallout. They had spent an evening trying to distract Sam with dinner and Star Wars, and then they had helped her get her house straight.

Daniel wasn’t sure what had happened with the alien; Sam hadn’t volunteered much beyond the basic details and Daniel hadn’t asked. He knew Sam had been upset at the death of the alien but then the alien had saved her life. Daniel had a feeling that nothing had actually happened happened beyond the weird spirit sharing he had read about in a report. He had a feeling Jack thought the opposite especially as they had all assumed that Sam had found a boyfriend before the revelation it was an alien had come out.

Which brought him full circle to Jack’s anger.

He figured much of Jack’s latent anger was frustration about had happened with Sam; about having to sacrifice his personal happiness to fulfil his professional duty, in believing Sam had quickly found someone else. Incidents with the K’Tau and the Russians just added to it and gave Jack excuses albeit valid excuses to bring the whole writhing angry mess to the surface.

Focus on the Russians, Daniel told himself. Jack was much less likely to punch him if he just focused on the Russians although even that wasn’t guaranteed. He remembered Teal’c’s raised eyebrow when he had gone searching for the Colonel and asked the Jaffa if he knew where Jack was.

‘Are you sure it is wise to approach him at this time, Daniel Jackson?’

Teal’c’s question was echoing in his head as Daniel watched Jack thump the bag in a flurry of quick jabs; sharp and hard. Sam had simply told him to check the gym and that she would alert the infirmary.

‘Funny.’ Daniel had replied.

Jack was slowing down in his punching; his body finally running out of energy and giving way to fatigue. Jack suddenly stopped completely, slumping against the punching bag briefly as though he was hugging it before he pushed himself off the battered leather and made his way to the bench. Daniel took it as his cue to move from the doorway.

Jack looked up in bemusement as he undid the strap on a glove with his teeth. He regarded Daniel warily. ‘How long have you been there?’

‘A while.’ Daniel noted dryly. ‘You feel better now?’ He undid the top on the bottle of water Jack had placed ready before his workout and passed it to the other man.

Jack downed a third of it before he set it aside and undid the other glove. ‘I’m fine, Daniel.’

Daniel handed him a towel. ‘I haven’t said anything.’

‘Yet.’ Jack towelled his hair and rubbed the towel over his face before he wrapped it around his neck.

Maybe this hadn’t been a good idea, Daniel mused. He had tried to raise the subject of anger with Jack after the K’Tau mess and had been most definitely dismissed. Maybe he was an idiot for trying again.

‘You want to talk about it?’ Daniel tried for a vague opening.

‘No.’ Jack shot back.

Daniel sighed heavily and Jack shot him a look.

‘What do you want me to say, Daniel?’ Jack asked angrily. ‘That the Russian guy isn’t interested in the truth? That all he wants is to be able to blame someone, anyone, for what happened to his guys without taking any of the responsibility?’ He gestured with the water bottle. ‘You know what screw him.’ He grabbed the end of the towel and scrubbed his hair again. ‘It’s not my fault his guys died.’

‘It isn’t.’ Daniel agreed.

He surprised Jack into pausing momentarily with the towelling. Jack began again slowly.

Daniel sat down on the bench. ‘It wasn’t your fault, Jack.’

Jack stopped towelling and hunched over.

‘It was the Russians who set off the trap that sealed us in the ziggurat.’ Daniel pointed out logically. ‘It was sheer chance that Tolinev got injured and not Sam, and seriously, any one of us could have been taken as a host; Vallarin was just unlucky. Zukhov made his own decision.’ He gave a slight shudder. ‘More importantly, we had no idea there was going to a Goa’uld trapped in some…monster creature thing.’

Jack looked at Daniel with an arched eyebrow. ‘Monster creature thing?’

Daniel shrugged. He didn’t think there was a better description for a spider-like cockroach that could tear the flesh from bones.

Jack made a face. ‘Teal’c called it a giant scarab.’

‘As in the beetle?’ Daniel thought about it. It was fairly accurate. ‘Anyway, you and I both know, if you could have, you would have brought everyone back alive from that mission.’

He saw the last of Jack’s anger drain out of his tense face, leaving behind nothing but an ingrained physical tiredness that deepened the lines that furrowed his face, and a deeper weariness that gleamed briefly from his brown eyes.

‘Well, maybe not the monster creature thing.’ Jack allowed.

‘Or the Goa’uld.’ Daniel added.

Jack smiled unwillingly. He sighed suddenly. ‘I should shower.’ He pushed off the bench and stretched. He winced as his muscles protested.

‘You know Teal’c’s discovered the Bond movies.’ Daniel began lightly as he got to his feet. ‘I was thinking of introducing him to From Russia With Love?’

Jack pointed at him. ‘Funny.’

‘We can come over to your place; get a pizza.’ Daniel continued.

The older man immediately shook his head. ‘I’m beat. I’m going to shower and crash. You guys should go ahead though.’

Daniel frowned. ‘Jack.’

‘Daniel.’ Jack’s voice took on a warning note. ‘Just,’ he held up a finger, ‘don’t start.’ He held Daniel’s gaze for a long moment until Daniel finally gave a nod of surrender.

Daniel dropped his gaze to the floor as Jack turned toward the door. He didn’t notice the other man had stopped and looked back over his shoulder until he spoke.

‘Daniel.’

‘Hmmm?’ Daniel looked up in surprise.

Jack waved his towel at him. ‘Thanks.’

He exited without saying another word and Daniel was left gaping at the empty doorway. Daniel snapped his mouth shut and thrust a hand through his hair. Well, it could have gone worse, he mused. Jack had allowed him to talk about the mission. But they hadn’t spoken a word of the real problem and Daniel had a feeling they probably never would. He sighed.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Jack was just angry about what had happened with the Russians. Maybe Jack’s mood had nothing to do with a certain blonde Air Force Major. And it was probably not his place to say anything to Jack anyway, Daniel mused. The couple had evidently made a decision to adhere to their professional relationship, and while it was clearly hurting them both, maybe they just needed space to come to terms with it. It was probably difficult enough without others pushing their noses into it. Daniel sighed and stared at the punching bag, feeling useless.

Useless.

That was a good word to describe him, Daniel thought, frustration beginning to stir in his own gut. He wasn’t making any kind of difference; Sha’re had been dead for two years, her son lived on a different plane of existence and didn’t need him – who did? Daniel got to his feet restlessly. He walked over to the bag and gave it a push. Maybe Jack wasn’t the only one who needed something to pound on, Daniel mused wearily.

o-O-o

Jack ached all over as he climbed into his truck. He sat stiffly in the driver’s seat. He had overdone it in his workout; he could feel it in the tiny tremors running through his muscles and the bone-ache in his joints. He’d known he was doing too much but he’d just been so mad…he had continued long past the time he knew he should have stopped. He was tired; he was grumpy and all he wanted to do was go home – which was not where he was supposed to be headed.

He tapped the steering wheel and checked his watch. He had an hour before he was supposed to be…where he was supposed to be. He could cancel. He winced as he inwardly acknowledged that maybe he’d been looking for an excuse to cancel, to put it off for a while longer, avoid it. He’d been hoping for an intergalactic emergency – hell, he’d even have taken the Tok’ra turning up but no…they never did show up when they were actually needed.

He scrubbed his face with one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose. He really, really wanted to do what he’d told Daniel he was going to do: crash. Head straight home, grab a beer and curl up on his sofa with the game. Or maybe some Simpsons. Anything to take his mind off the disaster that had been their last mission.

The strange mix of anger, resentment and responsibility rose up and choked him again. He had been in charge of the mission. He was responsible for the fact that three of the Russians hadn’t made it home. If they had just followed orders…if they had just…not been Russian. Jack sighed. He knew he and Zukhov had been more alike than either of them had wanted to admit. They had similar backgrounds and Jack had no doubt they had probably been on opposite sides of the same skirmishes during some of black ops he had run back when the Cold War had been more than a historical footnote. It wasn’t easy for his and Zukhov’s generation to forget or forgive some of the stuff that had happened out in the field. Stuff that the public never knew about; never heard about. Stuff that got buried because no one wanted to admit the truth because then there would have been consequences and mutual self-destruction.

Jack sighed. Just like they would bury the truth about what had happened in the ziggurat just as effectively as SG1 had buried it literally in rubble. The Russians would claim there had been no orders for Zukhov to obtain the Eye thing; they would blame Jack and his team for everything. The US would staunchly maintain that they had followed protocols and the Russians were the unlucky harbingers of their own doom. And the truth would be buried somewhere in the middle.

He checked his watch and started the engine. There was still time to cancel but if he was going to go then he should get going especially as he needed to stop for gas and possibly some kind of present thing on the way. He closed his eyes, his head falling back to land on the cushiony head of the seat with a small bump. He really wanted to go home. He’d had a bad day – a bad week. Didn’t he deserve to go home rather than put himself through what he figured was going to be a difficult experience? He should cancel.

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of his truck. His fingers tapped the steering wheel. Damn it. He should just go and get it over with. He was a man, for crying out loud – a soldier. He had faced Goa’uld and monster creature things…he could face this. He could. It wouldn’t be easy but it wasn’t fair to cancel even if she was probably expecting it; he had warned her he didn’t know if he’d make it.

His mind made up, he slammed the truck into gear and backed out of the parking space. His eyes caught on Carter’s car. He sighed as he headed for the exit. She was practically living at the base. Probably he should say something as her CO. Of course, it had gone so well the last time he had told her to get a life and take it easy. His mouth tightened as he considered the whole debacle with Carter’s glowy alien friend. She had come close to ruining her career over it. She must have cared for him a great deal, Jack mused. He refused to acknowledge the twinge of jealousy that knotted his stomach at the thought.

He was her CO; she was an officer under his command. They were team-mates, friends. That was it. That was all they could be to each other. They couldn’t feel feelings and serve together; it wasn’t safe for either of them. It was better that they remained professional. And if there had been a time when they had both considered they could be more, one day, in some vague undetermined future, well…they had put that behind them. Moved on.

Bullshit.

Jack grimaced. Maybe Carter had moved on; God knew she was nothing but professional with him. He, on the other hand…he was trying to be just as professional as she was. In fact, their professionalism seemed to be the only thing they had. He had stopped calling by her lab and dragging her away for jello; they never worked out in the gym together anymore or visited the firing range. If they were alone on a mission, they spoke about work as though any personal query was banned. It was like they were in their own Cold War, with any mention of their previous feelings buried because to uncover them or acknowledge them would lead to mutual self-destruction.

His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. He had half-expected Daniel or Teal’c to call them on it given it had impacted the time the team spent off base together but it looked as though their team-mates were either ignoring it or respecting it. He wondered if he was semi-crazy to hope that one of them would raise it because if they did, then officially they would need to handle it and…he sighed. Officially it would be the end of SG1 and Jack still believed the team needed to stick together to have the best chance of succeeding in their mission. Not to mention that even if it was raised then he doubted Carter would be interested in anything any way, so the mission would be jeopardised for no reason.

And the mission had to come first.

If only he could remember why…

He had wondered if Daniel was going to raise it when he’d come to the gym. He had been partly relieved and partly disappointed when the younger man had stuck with the mission with the Russians. Daniel had played a big part in getting them into the ziggurat and out again. They couldn’t have done it without Daniel. Jack frowned. He really should have told him that.

A flicker of guilt ran through him at declining the movie invitation. At least, he’d had the excuse of tiredness to get out of it. Not that it wouldn’t have been fun watching Teal’c watching Bond. Maybe Carter would join them given he wasn’t there; she always liked poking holes in movies. His lips twisted.

He switched the music on and let the opera soothe him for the rest of the journey with its detour to the gas station. He eventually pulled up in front of a house and stared at it for a long time before getting out. He checked his appearance in the side mirror. His silver hair was short enough that it didn’t really need combing; the tan khakis and cream polo neck were casual but smart; the short black leather flight jacket completed the outfit. He pulled out the flowers he’d bought at the gas station. They were simple; pretty. He headed up the driveway and knocked on the door. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so nervous.

The door opened and he turned back with a nervous smile to face the woman standing there. ‘Sara.’

‘Jack.’ Sara stepped back and he entered the house they had once shared with trepidation. He hadn’t been back all the time they had been separated; all the time they had been divorced. He hadn’t wanted to because there were too many memories within the walls. Too many memories of Charlie running from room to room; of laughter and love; and of a gunshot that he could still hear echoing. He stood awkwardly in the hall as Sara closed the door.

His ex-wife looked good; she’d gained an extra bit of weight since he’d last seen her but it looked good on her. Her hair was short again; her make-up non-existent. The jeans and purple top she wore were covered in dust. She looked happy. Envy rolled through him.

‘I didn’t think you would come.’ Sara said as she led the way into the den. It was almost packed up; boxes and bubble-wrap littered the room. ‘Are those for me?’ She waved at the bouquet.

Jack handed her the flowers. ‘I wasn’t sure what to bring. So.’ He gestured at the pink and white flowers.

‘These are great.’ Sara smiled wryly. ‘I’m not sure there is an etiquette rule for this.’ She pushed her nose into the blooms.

‘Yes. This.’ Jack stuffed his hands in his pockets. ‘This’ was clearing out Charlie’s bedroom because Sara had finally sold the house. She and her new husband had moved soon after their marriage a couple of years before but Sara had kept the house, unable in her own words, to let go of the place where Charlie had lived.

But apparently it was time.

‘I’m glad you’re here.’ Sara said sincerely.

Jack nodded sharply. He glanced around; acutely hearing the silence in the rest of the house. ‘Where’s Alan?’ He hadn’t exactly been looking forward to meeting Sara’s new husband.

Sara fingered the delicate petals. ‘He’s at home with Kelly.’

Kelly.

Her new daughter.

‘I needed to pack up the house alone.’ Sara explained. ‘He understood that.’

‘Ah.’ Jack rocked back on his heels and wondered whether he was supposed to have refused her invitation to pack up their late son’s belongings. He and Sara had enjoyed a good marriage until the tragedy but he didn’t miss the moments when he was supposed to have read her mind for the answer to a question he hadn’t realised she’d posed in the first place.

She smiled as though she had read his mind and reached out to clasp his arm. ‘And he understood that I needed to do Charlie’s room with you.’

Jack nodded jerkily. He wasn’t sure she did need him; wasn’t sure why he was even stood there. He searched for safe ground. ‘How is Kelly?’

‘She’s good. Toddling. Into everything.’ Sara smiled happily; a proud mother. ‘How are things with you? Still working with the same team?’

‘Yeah.’ Jack nodded quickly. ‘We’re still together.’

‘You OK?’ Sara asked, her eyes running over him.

‘Fine.’ Jack said succinctly.

Sara looked at him knowingly.

‘We just got back from something.’ He allowed. ‘We lost people. Not ours but…’ he shrugged.

‘I’m sorry.’ Sara said.

Jack looked away, the sympathy too sharply familiar.

‘Why don’t you head up?’ Sara gave him a gentle nudge. ‘I’ll just put these in water.’

He watched her leave the room and turned on his heel. He walked up the stairs stiffly, remembering the way with ease. The door to Charlie’s room was open. He hovered outside. He rubbed a hand over his hair. He didn’t want to go in; didn’t want to sort through the remnants of his son’s life and box them away. But it wasn’t fair to leave it to Sara, his conscience argued. He had done enough of that after Charlie had died. He hadn’t been there for her. Being there for her this one time; it was the least he could do.

Jack took a deep breath and entered the room. He picked up a photo; it was one of him and Charlie just before…he set it back down. He walked over to the window and stared out; grief tightening his chest, rendering him speechless.

‘Jack?’ Sara’s gentle voice startled him.

He didn’t turn around. ‘How do you want to do this?’ He said finally when he trusted himself to speak.

‘I thought…well, if you take the wardrobe, I’ll start on the dresser.’ Sara said matter-of-factly. ‘We can sort through and put into piles: stuff you want to keep, stuff that you think can go to charity. We’ll both check each other’s piles at the end in case there’s something specific either of us wants. You can keep anything.’

She paused for so long Jack knew she was wrestling with how to say something.

‘You don’t have to do this, if you’re not ready, Jack.’ Sara continued. ‘I can box everything up and put it in storage until you are.’

Jack almost smiled; she knew him too well but he knew if he took the exit she was offering him and left, the stuff would be in storage for eternity. He turned around to look at her and shook his head. He shrugged out of the jacket and rolled up his sleeves. They both worked silently for a while.

‘Oh God.’

‘What?’ Jack glanced at her.

Sara was holding a picture; she showed it to him. ‘He drew this his first day at kindergarten.’

His heart almost stopped as he took in the childish drawing; a green stick figure labelled ‘Daddy’, a pink one with yellow hair labelled ‘Mommy’ and a small blue one labelled ‘me.’ He traced over the images reverently.

Sara’s hand squeezed his arm. ‘Why don’t you keep it?’

‘You don’t want it?’ Jack asked surprised.

Sara held up another one. It was one of the house with ‘Mommy’ and Charlie outside; the ‘Daddy’ figure was nowhere in sight.

Jack held up the one he held. ‘I’ll, uh, take this one then.’ He set it on his small pile of ‘things to keep.’

She gestured at the doggeared soft-toy he’d placed on his pile early on in the sorting. ‘You’re keeping Grump?’

‘You want him?’ Jack hoped she’d say no.

‘No, it’s OK.’ Sara smiled fondly. ‘I remember Charlie wouldn’t go to sleep without it for almost a year. You know Kelly’s the same about this stuffed dog Alan bought. He claims he’s getting her the real thing once she’s old enough.’

Jack smiled as he carefully folded up a jacket and set it aside for charity. ‘Every kid needs a dog.’

‘That’s what he says.’ Sara glanced at Jack as she placed a stack of t-shirts aside. ‘You’d like him you know.’

‘Can we not talk about your husband?’ Jack asked slightly desperately.

Sara shot him a look but she fell silent. They continued on; sorting and stacking. Jack was peripherally aware that Sara had stopped but he still had a drawer to tackle and he kept going.

It was the unmistakable sniff that halted him. He looked over his shoulder. She was sitting on the bed, looking down at something she was turning over in her hands. He walked over hesitantly and sat beside her. It was Charlie’s hospital bracelet from his birth.

‘I was in labour for fourteen hours with him.’ Sara recalled. ‘I didn’t think he wanted to be born but then…he was so beautiful with his little scrunched up face.’

Jack was silent. He had been on a mission. She had begged him not to take a mission so close to her due date but he hadn’t listened; had just smoothly assured her he’d be home for the birth. It was a promise he’d failed to keep.

Sara swiped at her eyes. ‘I miss him so much.’

‘Me too.’ Jack confessed gruffly.

She looked at him surprised by his admission.

Jack jerked his head. ‘C’mere.’ He hugged her as she sobbed; his own grief churning through him, stinging the back of his eyes with tears he refused to shed. He’d never held her while she grieved before and the pain – hers and his – reminded him why.

Eventually, she stopped crying. They sat quietly holding each other, surrounded by Charlie’s things. Jack could hear her heart beating; feel her breathing. She smelled the same; felt the same.

Sara pulled away suddenly. ‘I, uh…’ she brushed at her wet cheeks and avoided Jack’s eyes, ‘you must be hungry. I’ll go and make us some sandwiches.’ She was gone before he could tell her not to bother.

He fingered the bracelet she had left on the bed. He shouldn’t have come, Jack thought. He should have called and made some excuse. Hell, she had even told him she had expected him to do just that. He placed the bracelet on Sara’s keep pile. Maybe he should leave. He looked around the room, at the tidy piles of Charlie’s things. For a second, the urge to scream, to fly around the room and destroy was strong; how could they do this? Just tidy Charlie’s things into piles? Organise his brief life like it was any old clear out?

Jack fisted his hands, digging his nails into the palms and closed his eyes. He took one deep breath and then another until the anger dissipated. Charlie’s memory didn’t deserve his anger and Sara certainly didn’t. It wasn’t Sara’s fault that Charlie had shot himself with Jack’s gun. It wasn’t Sara’s fault that Jack had built a wall around him afterwards and pushed her away until she’d had no choice to move on. And it wasn’t Sara’s fault that she had found happiness with a new husband and a baby daughter. Just like, he realised with sudden clarity, it wasn’t Carter’s fault that Jack had shot her; that he had pushed her away to better protect her – protect them both; that Carter had moved on and tried to find happiness.

He slowly got to his feet and went back to the drawer. He accepted the sandwich when Sara arrived back and ate it absently as they finished up. An hour later, the room was boxed up. Jack glanced at the small box of items he had decided to keep as he pulled on his jacket.

‘Thank you.’ Sara said, placing Grump softly on top. ‘For doing this.’

Jack shrugged.

‘I know it wasn’t easy for you.’ Sara commented, hooking her hands into the back pockets of her jeans.

‘For either of us.’ Jack noted dryly. He looked around the room and shook his head. It was over; really over. Maybe that thought had gone through his head when they’d separated; when they’d divorced; when she’d told him about her pregnancy and imminent new marriage. He had thought he’d moved on too; that the Stargate programme had helped him find purpose in his life again, that he had somehow believed he was moving forward with his life. It was startling to realise that in some ways his life was standing still. He picked up the box. ‘I should get going.’

Sara nodded and followed him out to the truck. He placed the box on the passenger seat and shut the door, walking round to stand hesitantly in front of Sara.

‘You know Amy Castle called me a couple of weeks ago.’ Sara said crossing her arms.

Jack froze. He’d run into their old neighbour in the grocery store; Amy was newly divorced and she’d given him her number. He hadn’t called her. ‘Oh?’

‘We’re kind of friends of sorts; we exchange Christmas cards that type of thing? She wanted to see if I was OK if you and she started dating.’ Sara explained.

‘Ah.’ Jack fidgeted and he could feel the heat spring up in his cheeks. ‘Sara…’

‘You should call her.’ Sara said bluntly.

Jack stared at her. He raised a scarred eyebrow. ‘I should call her?’ He said in disbelief.

‘Well, unless you’re seeing someone else?’ Sara said amused.

‘No.’ Jack winced as he realised how pathetic he must appear. ‘Not exactly.’

Sara looked at him curiously. ‘Not exactly.’

‘Look,’ Jack said determinedly, gesturing at his ex-wife, ‘this is weird and,’ he pulled a face, ‘well, weird, so…’

‘Butt out?’ Sara finished with a smile. She looked him over fondly. ‘It was good to see you again, Jack.’

‘You too.’

Sara reached forward and they hugged briefly. ‘Call her, Jack.’ She murmured in his ear.

He let go of her without replying. He opened the driver’s door and turned back to her. ‘Goodbye, Sara.’ He climbed inside the truck and gunned the engine. He pulled away and glanced in the rear view mirror. Sara was on the sidewalk, watching him. He turned the corner and she disappeared from view.

It took Jack a while to get home. He put the box on the coffee table, went to grab a beer and returned to collapse on the sofa with a grateful sigh. His body hurt all over. He took a gulp of his drink. He reached into the box and pulled out Grump to sit beside him. He laid out the rest of the contents of the box reverently, turning over each piece; Charlie’s old baseball glove, a book on fishing that his own father had given to him that he had handed down, the picture, a model airplane they had built together and a chess set Jack had bought Charlie one Christmas. It wasn’t a lot, Jack considered, but each item meant something; each was a buried memory of his son, of his son’s life, of the short space of time they had spent together. He stroked an ear as he picked up the stuffed toy. Tears stung his eyes and he took another long gulp of beer as he clasped Grump to his chest.

He hadn’t moved on.

Not really.

Not from Charlie.

That was the truth.

Maybe he had thought he had because he had lost the death-wish that had sent him to Abydos the first time. Maybe he had thought he had started to move forward because he had a purpose in the Stargate programme; because in SG1 he had built another family – strange and weird, but a family nonetheless. Maybe because he had begun to dare to dream of a future with a woman, he had thought he wanted a future, believed he was moving on toward one.

Yet he couldn’t continue denying he hadn’t moved on at all.

The Stargate programme had given him purpose but its primary mission was a war against an intractable enemy that could last decades – something that Jack had purposefully ignored. He feared he had embraced the programme as a way of hiding from reality.

Not to mention that war brought losses. He cared about SG1; had come to view them as his family in the absence of any other, but when he’d had to kill Carter, when he had seen Teal’c fall in an ambush at the old Tok’ra base, he had been sharply reminded that he could lose them, any one of them, at any time. He had lost Carter.

Maybe she hadn’t died that day he had shot her but he couldn’t be with her – not as a man. So even his dreams of a future with her were unattainable; always had been and he suspected, feared, knew deep down in his gut, always would be. He had focused on Carter, a woman in his chain of command; someone he knew he could never be with, especially if he wanted to protect her career and reputation. He should never have led her to believe they had a future.

She deserved so much more. She was a woman whose heart and soul held a purity of innocence, unlike his own which were smudged and stained with so much blood. She deserved someone who could give her everything she ever wanted, who could make her happy. And deep down, he really didn’t believe he was that man. He had no right to think he could ever be that man as her CO and as damaged as he was. So, he would protect Carter on the battlefield; he would ensure she had every opportunity to excel as an officer and scientific genius; to achieve her potential, and that was it.

He tilted the bottle to his lips and poured a long slug of beer down his throat to dull the pain; drown the truth and the anger at himself for ever believing anything else. His finger clutched at Grump and his shadowed eyes travelled back over each treasured keepsake.

He hadn’t moved on from Charlie. A part of him never would. Maybe, he thought with a bitter bluntness that startled him, the best part of him. All he knew was that he’d loved his son.

And Charlie had loved him.

He could remember that now as he looked over all the different things. He had been Charlie’s beloved ‘Daddy’ who had brought him Grump to protect him from the monsters under his bed; who had played catch, taught him fishing and spent hours building a model airplane with stories of his own dog-fights and escapades with each piece they glued. Each memory was laced with the love his son had bestowed on him; each easy hug and smile.

His son had loved him; Jack lowered the bottle. He hadn’t moved on but maybe he owed it to Charlie’s memory to try and be the man his son had loved. Really try in a way that he was only just admitting to himself that he had avoided in all the days and weeks and years since his son had died. Maybe he should try to build a real future with someone attainable; someone who he would never have to shoot to save the world; someone who had nothing to do with aliens, Stargates and winning what Jack was beginning to acknowledge was potentially an unwinnable war; someone real.

Because the truth was that his son had loved him; had found him worthy of love, so maybe, just maybe, someone else could love him too.

The tense knot of anger that had been in his gut for weeks, and which he had steadfastedly refused to acknowledge, was suddenly gone, leaving nothing but tiredness and an aching body in its place. He set the beer aside and got to his feet. He walked to his bed in the dark and curled up with Grump on top of the covers. He closed his eyes. Tomorrow, he thought tiredly, tomorrow he would move on.

fin.