Hard Ground
By Tracy
Summary: Jack goes to see Sara
Category: Angst
Season: Seven
Spoilers: Cold Lazarus
Pairing: None, really, although some Sam/Jack, Jack/Sara, Sam/other (can I just call Pete, 'other'?), Sara/other
Rating: PG
Warning: Pretty sad stuff
Archive: Yes, please
Author's note: This started out as one thing, and then morphed itself into another without my knowing it. Please forgive me for the sadness of this piece, I sort of have a sequel planned if anyone's interested. Hope you like this for what it is, though.
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Sara O'Neill, soon-to-be Clark, jabbed at the ground with a spade, grunting a little at her efforts. She had been trying for years to get this patch of land next to the house to grow something, but it was apparently as stubborn as she was. It consisted mostly of rocks clay and some sad looking soil. Nothing ever grew here no matter what she did. She'd dubbed it "the Dead Zone."
She remembered digging away at it while Charlie sat next to her in his stroller, so she had done battle here for a very long time.
She wasn't certain what had made her come out here today and give it another try, but she felt compelled to bend it to her will. In the past she'd threatened to just cover it with flower pots, but that would be conceding defeat, something she refused to do.
She held the spade like a dagger and jammed it into the ground. It didn't go very far. "Dammit!" she muttered under her breath.
In the horrible aftermath of Charlie's death, after Jack had left, she had hidden in the house like a hermit, wearing only her bathrobe and slippers, unwilling to do much of anything. She remembered feeling that life was over for her, there was nothing left.
Then one day she'd made herself get dressed and come out here in the yard and give it another go. That had been something of a miracle. Working in the soil, wearing herself out with the effort had actually made her feel...sort of alive again. She felt both tired and invigorated when she was done. She had spent hours out in the yard planting and digging and weeding. Gardening became her therapy.
The yard now looked spectacular in the warm months. All except for the 'Dead Zone', that is. She was determined to change all that if it was the last thing she did. Jack, when he was here, and now Dave, always laughed at her and asked her why she bothered with it. Jack had jokingly offered to smuggle some C-4 home for her, and Dave had threatened to cement over it, but she noticed whenever something was bothering her, she'd find herself out here, digging away at it. The thought crossed her mind that if she ever succeeded in growing things here her outlet for frustration would be gone, but she brushed that aside as she unearthed yet another rock and threw it aside.
A shadow crossed over her and an amused voice said: "Still at it, huh?"
She turned on her knees and shaded her eyes with her hand. "Jack! What are you doing here?" She held out a hand and he helped her to her feet.
He turned to survey the yard, his hands in his pockets, and shrugged. "I, uh, I went to see Charlie today. The flowers you planted out there are really nice." His voice was low.
She pushed aside the little squeeze her heart gave at the mention of their son. "Thanks. I thought the colors were pretty. Red was always his favorite."
He nodded and looked away. Okay, she thought. Something was definitely off here. After all her years living with this man she was an expert at reading him when he'd clam up, shut down and shut her out, and something was definitely not right.
He'd gone over to sit down on the stone bench at the edge of the flower garden, and she followed, sinking down beside him.
"So," he turned to her with a little smile. "Two weeks until the wedding, right? Are you excited?"
She sighed heavily and put a hand on his arm. "Thank you for saying 'excited' and not 'nervous.' Everyone keeps asking me if I'm nervous."
"So, are you? Excited?"
She grinned and admitted, "I'm nervous."
He patted her knee. "That's to be expected, I guess."
"Yeah. Guess it's just cold feet." They both knew it was more than that, but he let it pass.
"Where's Dave?"
"He had to work late. He's showing a house." Dave had been her realtor when she'd had the bright idea of selling this place. After she'd put it on the market, she'd panicked and gone to him to back out and ended up breaking down in tears in front of him. Dave Clark had turned out to be one of the kindest, most compassionate people she'd ever met, and soon she was seeing him as often as she could.
"Ah." Jack responded and then fell silent, looking at the ground.
She took a deep breath. "So...Jack, what's new?" There. That sounded all nice and casual, didn't it?
He shook his head, but didn't say anything. She glanced at his face and felt something cold clutch at her heart. She hadn't seen that white, drawn, pinched look about his mouth since...God, something was really wrong.
"Jack," She put an arm around him. "What's wrong?" He just shook his head. Tell me, what's the matter?" She thought furiously for a moment. "It's not the wedding is it? I mean, you knew Dave and I..."
"No," he shook his head vehemently. "No, you know you have my blessing, and I think Dave's a great guy. It's not that."
"So, tell me, what is it?"
He was silent so long she didn't think he would answer, then he began quietly, his voice husky, "You know, after Charlie died and everything that happened afterward...after I came back from that mission and decided I wasn't going to eat my gun," Sara's hand clamped down on his arm, hard. "I didn't expect anything. I didn't want anything, didn't hope for anything. I was just here, you know?" She nodded, knowing exactly what he meant.
"I came out of retirement, and started going on missions," Sara knew he was working in something classified, and he traveled a lot. "And that was fine, I had the work, it kept me busy, but I still had no aspirations for anything. I had my work and that was it."
"And then three of the most extraordinary people were assigned to me. Each one became like family, and each one was an amazing person in their own way. We all cared for each other, took care of each other, and suddenly I had some very good friends."
"Well, that's a good thing." Sara's voice was soft.
"Yeah, it is."
He was quiet again for a few moments, and Sara let him think.
"And then I realized there was someone I began to care for a lot more than I realized, a lot more than I should have."
Sara pushed the sudden, stinging pain aside. "So, you met someone special?"
"Yeah."
"And you started to want things again?"
"Yeah, I did." He looked at her a moment and then a realization came into his eyes. "And I'm talking to my ex-wife about it. Gee, what a sensitive guy I am, huh? Look, I gotta go." He started to rise, but Sara pulled him forcibly back down to the bench.
"Oh, no you don't. Aren't you the one who sat up almost all night with me when I was trying to decide if I was going to marry Dave or not?"
"Well, yeah." She'd turned up at his door one night, crying, and they'd talked nearly the entire night, or rather, he listened while she cried and told him everything that was going through her mind. He'd ended up pulling a chair up to hers, taking her hands and telling her he loved her, he'd always love her and he'd always be there for her, but if this Dave was making her happy, if she loved him, she should do it, and not feel guilty about it. If not for Jack, she'd never have agreed to marry Dave. She wondered now what it had cost him to say that, considering the little ache in her heart right now.
"Well, this is no different, is it?"
He sighed, and squeezed her hand. "I guess not."
"So, spill. You met this woman...?" She prompted.
"You know, a hundred other guys on the base are in love with her, too, but she actually seemed to return my feelings. I mean, what would she want with an old, beat up soldier like me when she could have her pick of just about anyone?"
Sara had her opinion on this 'old, beat up soldier's' effect on women, but kept it to herself.
"So, this is good news, right? You're with someone you care about who cares about you."
Jack sighed. "Not exactly. We, uh, can't really be together without breaking about a hundred different regulations, and neither of us is the type to sneak around, so we've had to wait."
Ah, Sara thought, so it was the woman she suspected. There was a Captain Carter on his team. She'd seen her once. She was very pretty. Once again, she pushed the little pang in her heart aside, as Jack continued.
"I knew it wasn't fair to make her wait all this time, but I sort of thought we had a chance. I should have known better."
Okay, here it was, Sara thought. "She didn't wait?"
"She, uh, started seeing someone a while back. I didn't begrudge her that. We'd never really...I just thought..."
"Jack," Sara's voice was firm. "If you love her, go tell her. Fight for her! You told me I deserve to be happy, so do you. You deserve that, you deserve to be happy."
Jack's voice was very quiet. "Do I?"
"Yes!" She shook his arm as hard as she could. "Yes, you do. At least give her the choice."
Jack shook his head, and stood. "It's too late for that." He started to walk toward his truck.
Sara followed. "It's never too late, Jack."
"This time it is."
"Now, why is that?" Sara stood in his way, her hands on her hips.
"Because she's getting married in two days." With that he skirted around her, got in his truck and with a hand raised in farewell, drove away.
"Oh, Jack." Sara stood and watched his tail lights disappear around the corner. She went back to the Dead Zone and attacked it with a vengeance, but there was so much running through her mind she eventually gave up and ended up going back to the stone bench and sank down on it.
She knew just what had prompted her to come out here today. With her upcoming wedding to Dave she had gone into the attic and pulled out the wedding album of her first marriage to Jack. She hadn't looked at it in a very long time. They both looked so young, and so happy. Their whole lives ahead of them, and so in love. She had thought this was the man she would spend the rest of her life with. The one she would grow old with. She had looked at these two young, happy people, and cried, knowing what life held in store for them, what had really become of them.
Then she'd stood looking at the other book at the bottom of the trunk for a long time before daring to touch it, let alone open it. It had a light blue cover that said in white script "Our Baby." It was Charlie's baby book. She took it out and hugged it to her for a moment before opening it.
Inside the front cover was his birth certificate, with his little foot and hand print on it. John Charles O'Neill the third. Jack's dad was John, Jack, of course, was Jack, and they decided to call their baby Charlie. She thumbed through the pictures of him in the hospital. There was a picture of her holding a tiny blue bundle, looking very tired. The picture of Jack holding him with a delighted smile on his face. Jack had been in the delivery room with her and had been the best coach she could have had. Jack had been a hands-on father from the moment Charlie was born. He'd helped feed and diaper him, had done all sorts of things some fathers would never think of doing. Jack absolutely doted on Charlie.
There were pictures of Jack's parents holding him, and her parents. Both of them. Her mom had been alive then.
There was a picture she'd taken of Jack asleep on the couch with baby Charlie on his chest. Those two were inseparable.
There was an envelope with clippings from Charlie's first hair cut. She ran the silky strands between her fingers, then held it to her nose. It still held a hint of baby shampoo, and her eyes filled with tears.
There was the picture of Charlie's first birthday. Along with the cake for the guests, they'd bought a small cake for him to mash with his fingers, and in the picture he was grinning with chocolate cake and icing all over his face.
There were pictures of him at different holidays. His first Christmas, Charlie at two holding a basket in one hand and an Easter egg in the other. Charlie at Halloween in different years. As a clown, a cowboy, a little soldier in fatigues, like his dad. His Little League pictures, his school pictures.
A picture of baby Charlie naked in the bath tub, laughing at the camera. Jack had told he she could embarrass Charlie with this picture when he started dating.
When he started dating. That would never happen now.
There were drawings he'd done in school. She held up the turkey he'd made by tracing around his hand, and smiled at the "Charlie O." in the corner because the 'r' was backwards.
Charlie at the beach with a bucket and a shovel, building sand castles.
Charlie and Jack in the bumper cars at the fair, laughing at the camera.
A picture of Jack teaching Charlie how to ride a bike, running along side as Charlie pedaled furiously. She remembered Jack punching the air and shouting "Whoo Hoo!" as he let go and Charlie, after a wobble or two, pedaled off by himself.
A picture of four-year-old Charlie sitting on Jack's shoulders at the Fourth of July, his little hands around Jack's forehead, his little feet in sandals. She'd had to step out into the street to get a picture of them watching the parade. A second after she'd snapped the picture Jack had seen where she was and held a hand out to her. "Sara, get out of the road before you get run over by a Shriner in a funny car or something." She'd laughed as she took his hand.
She always seemed to have her camera in those days, Jack dubbed her the official family photographer. She'd taken a lot of pictures. So many. She remembered one day, not long before... the accident, she'd come through the living room with the camera, and Jack was sitting on the couch reading the paper. He'd folded down one corner to see what she was doing, then yelled out of the corner of his mouth, "Look out Charlie, mom's got the camera again."
Charlie had been in the driveway playing basketball, and since the screen door was open, she could clearly hear him saying plaintively "Oh, mom!" She shook a finger at Jack and said, "You'll thank me for taking all these pictures one day, Jack O'Neill." He'd just grinned and gone back to his paper.
You'll thank me. Well, she was grateful for each and every one of these pictures now. It was all she had left.
Jack couldn't bear to look at any of them.
She held up Charlie's last school picture. He was so much like Jack.
She closed the book, and couldn't help but remember what came after. The sound of the gunshot, finding....God, she couldn't think about it even now without wanting to scream and scream like she did that day.
Jack, on the other hand, had become a silent, withdrawn, angry stranger. He couldn't comfort her, and wouldn't let her comfort him. She remembered the funeral and the devastating realization that she'd never see her baby again, while a silent, stoic Jack had held himself away from everyone. She wondered if it was apparent to everyone or just to her the waves of anguish emanating from him, and it broke her heart that he wouldn't accept any comfort from her, from anyone. She knew he blamed himself and didn't think he deserved any comfort.
As soon as the funeral concluded, while she was accepting condolences, Jack disappeared. She knew he couldn't bear to be there one more second, and she didn't blame him.
Her dad dropped her off at the house sometime later. She didn't want to be around a lot of people, didn't want to discuss this with anyone. She just wanted to go home.
As soon as she got into the house she heard the sounds coming from upstairs. She quietly crept up the stairs and looked into Charlie's room. Jack was sitting on Charlie's bed, Charlie's pillow clutched to him, and terrible, terrible sounds of grief, rage and pain were being torn from him. Even alone in the house, he had his face buried in the pillow as he finally broke down. She wanted to go to him, to hold him, but she knew he'd never accept it, so, shaking, she quietly crept back down the stairs, and let herself out. She went to her car, got in, and cried until her throat hurt.
Eventually she went back into the house and closed the door loudly to announce her presence. She heard Charlie's bedroom door close and let Jack have his privacy.
The days that followed were some of the worst of her life. Still grieving for her son, she was also terribly worried about Jack. He spent a lot of time in Charlie's room with the door closed, and when he wasn't he refused to talk. Something had to give, and she was terrified what that might be. She kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, dreading it, then two Air Force officers had come to tell Jack he'd been ordered on a mission.
He'd packed and come downstairs in his uniform the next morning. He'd looked at her and said quietly, "Sara, I'm not coming back."
She'd nodded and simply said, "I know." And that was it. Her marriage was over, her life was over. That life was over.
That mission had changed him. He came to see her when he got back, and they talked briefly. When he left she felt a sense of relief that he seemed a little more resigned, a little more at peace with things, although he still had a long way to go, but the grief and rage that still surrounded him would not consume him, and she was thankful for that.
Meeting Dave had been a godsend for her. She truly loved him, she really did, but human beings are complex creatures, and she knew she'd always love Jack as well. That Jack had found someone who gave him hope for a future was miraculous, and that would have made her happy, too, but apparently that was not to be. It wasn't fair. He deserved so much, he should have it.
She sat quietly for a long time until Dave came home, asked her why she was sitting out here in the dark, and why was she crying. He gathered her into his arms and held her for a long time, before leading her into the house.
fin