This is the story that my drabble Advanced, announced folks! So here it is in all it's glory! I think I have like five chapters or so, so far...
It was cold outside, the snow flakes fluttered gracefully to the ground in the December air. The white landscape was beautiful making the whole park look surreal. The trees were leafless and the bark was turned a frosty white-blue color. There were a few brave souls walking in the foot of snow that had fallen. Children were playing in the park building snowmen and forts. All in all it looked like something out of a post card or fairy tale.
Except for one lone soul sitting on a bench on the out skirts of the park.
He sat, watching over the children and their parents, making sure there was no threat. He knew the land; and had lived in it for sometime now. He was a loner of sorts, with only three really close friends, and several others that were just friends.
The sun was hidden behind gray snow clouds, hiding the watcher's face under the shadow of a tree. It was the biggest tree in the park. The bench was covered in vines that were now just bare wood curled around it like a glove. You would not be able to see it unless you looked hard, but that was the point.
Some knew he was there, but not why. They knew the watcher, quite well; they were his three close friends, the very people that kept him in this life. He was over due to change but he did not wish too. He liked things the way they were. In this moment, change was a bad thing, a very bad thing.
The watcher could hear his friends' footsteps in the soft snow.
"Hey," one said softly, as he got within hearing range. "We've been looking for you."
"Yeah?" The watcher asked, not looking away from the children.
"Cassie was worried when you didn't show for the party." The friend spoke softly. "C'mon, Jack."
"Why, Daniel?" Jack said quietly.
"Because," the woman spoke for the first time, "sir, it would be nice to celebrate Christmas together. We didn't last year."
"Indeed." The big dark skinned one added.
"Fine. Carter, Teal'c." O'Neill levered himself up off the old bench. Casting one more look around the park he turned to his friends. "Lets go."
Three Weeks Later………
The lightening subsided slowly and the air where it had struck smelled charred. There was a man lying on his back on the ground, staring up into the sky but not really looking at it. He gripped a sword in his right hand and could still feel the current running through him. The rush of the other he had killed was racing through him as well. It was overwhelming and it had knocked him for a loop, as it always did.
His grip on the sword tightened. He needed to get up, now. Slowly he levered his aching body into an upright position, most of his weight resting on his arms. With a low groan he slowly got to his feet, staggered for a moment, then his balance returned. Looking around the dark alley, he was only able to make out the brick walls, trash pile and dumpster.
Walking slowly forward he placed his left hand on the wall for support. He stepped into the empty street, his sword held in almost limp fingertips and dragging along the ground. He was getting tired of this. All of the fighting and death, as if he didn't see enough of it for a living. But, technically, this was his living too. If he didn't fight he would be dead, then he wouldn't be able to protect what was dear to him. He'd failed the people close to him before but he didn't intend to fail these mortals that he found himself so attached to.
They were the only reason he hadn't taken his own head by now. He would have if Daniel hadn't shown him he really did have a reason to live. A thought occurred to him and he sheathed his sword before someone caught him dragging it along like a stuffed animal. As he walked he was sure he was the picture of misery, he was full of it anyway. All he wanted was for the fighting to stop. He didn't want to take another head, or another life, but he knew that was impossible.
As long as the rest of the world remained in the dark then he would still have to fight. As long as he was the only one who knew the truth, fighting would go on. There wasn't a way to stop it, not yet.
It sucked at times, he realized. He fought to save them, to keep the world spinning and they tired to kill him. It was unfair, but then, he didn't want fanfare either; he just wanted everyone to stop taking each other's heads. Wanted 'the game' to stop. A heavy sigh escaped his lips. That would never happen, 'the game' would never stop, it couldn't. Every man wants power and there is more than one kind of power.
A lone car drove by, the only one he had seen in the past hour. He had spent the night running from the Immortal that was chasing him. Finally the bar he had left his truck at came into view. It was just sitting there in the parking lot with four other vehicles. Thrusting his right hand into his pocket he fished around for his keys. Finding the right one and stuck it into the lock. The tumblers turned and the door opened. Wearily he climbed into the truck and started the engine.
Pulling out of the parking lot he tried to forget who and what he was. Just for a moment he wanted to pretend that he was an ordinary mortal with no one after his head.
His house was dark, except for the light in his living room. Closing his eyes for a long moment he slowly got out of the black truck, trudged up the gravel path to his front door and opened it as if on autopilot. Walking into the house he pulled off his leather jacket and threw it on the couch. His sword was strapped to his back, the black case a stark contrast to his gray Air Force t-shirt.
Lifting the strap over his head he gently set the sword down by the headboard. Pulling up the loose floorboard under his bed he stashed the sword away from prying eyes. It wouldn't do for anyone to find it, unless it was his team, then he really wouldn't mind because it would give him a way to tell them what he really was. He wanted to, really did, just couldn't figure out how. He didn't want to say it out-right; he wanted them to uncover a piece of evidence for themselves. But it was hard because years and years of practice meant he left nothing in plain sight.
A loud crash from the living room interrupted his musings. Pulling the gun he had from its holster he crept into the living room. He saw a man sitting on his backside on the floor. O'Neill stifled a groan. He knew the man.
"Oh f'cryin' out loud!" he exclaimed instead. He glared at the black haired green-eyed man currently sitting on his living room floor. He was dressed in blue jeans, brown hiking boots and a loose fitting forest green t-shirt. "What are you doing here?"
"Hello, good to see you too!" the man snapped back, getting off the floor. He eyed the gun in O'Neill's hand with a raised eyebrow, "Didn't know you used guns…"
O'Neill gave the man a long-suffering look. "Get to the point."
"Oh, touchy," the man snorted. "Well, I just saw you kick the crap out of Don Andrews…"
"Oh, please!" O'Neill flicked the safety back on and re-holstered the weapon. "Do you always have to come and visit every time I take a head?"
The man looked offended. "Why shouldn't I? C'mon, Jon, you need a good pat on the back after those kinds of-incidents."
O'Neill rolled his eyes. "Look, Rick, I really don't have time," he glanced at his watch, "it's 0346 in the morning and I have to be at the base by 0700. I'm exhausted and really want to sleep."
Rick's shoulders sagged. "Sorry, buddy. But, I wanted to talk to you and…"
O'Neill let a small smile through. "Yeah, alright. You can crash in the guest room across the hall. We'll talk tomorrow after I get back from the base. Make yourself at home, as I'm sure you will…"
Rick's smile was genuine. "Thanks, Jon."
"No problem." Came the slightly muffled reply from down the hallway. Rick smiled and followed his assignment down it. He didn't like renting hotels and he knew that Jon would let him stay the night if he didn't have any money to rent. He traveled a lot sometimes and only got the odd job and it wasn't ever enough to get an apartment so he settled for renting out a hotel room when he could. He did have to follow Jon around the world so the least the man could do was put him up for night!
Yeah, so this is the begining to my SG-1/Highlander Crossover. Oh, be warned my knowledge of the Highlander series is limited so none of the charecters are going to appear, this is centered around O'Neill and SG-1. PLease drop me a line!