Jack O'Neill, Fearless Leader
Rated: R (language)
Category: S/J UST, Jack Angst, Episode Tag
Season: Four
Spoilers: Beneath the Surface
Summary: Jack POV Vignette Immediately Post-Episode
Note: This is my first story, so please be kind. Just wouldn't go away, and I had to do it.
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Panic. Resignation. Disappointment. Relief. Anger. That is what I felt. Oh, sure, I didn't show it. After all, I am a big, bad, super tough guy. A leader. A hero. An icon. Yeah, right.
We saved the day. Again. We prevailed over impossible odds. Again. We freed an entire race of people from certain slavery and oppression. Again. But all I feel is panic. Overwhelming all other emotions is panic. What have I done? What do I do now? Will I finally have to do something about this?
As usual, I am too much of a chickenshit to even decide for myself. I am supposed to make decisions. It's my job. Fearless leader who decides the fate of those in my command. Bullshit.
So, I lay it on her. As I have done I don't know how many times. I let her decide. It's not fair, I know, but I simply don't care. I can't do it. And I won't.
She calls me back after Daniel and that bitch who ran the plant have left. That's when the panic really sets in. Before that, it was no nonsense, get the job done Jack. Give me a good guy, a bad guy, and a gun, and life is comfortable and easy. This, not so much. I know what is coming. A conversation that in any normal circumstances would begin with something like 'we need to talk' or some other cliché line. For us, it begins with a single word. The use of a title instead of a name. It progresses from there in some sort of code. Something that requires no translation. Something that rings out loud and clear, despite the fact that all of about 20 words are said.
We avoid the topic at hand for a bit, making one-line conversation about returning memories and things we know we should know. Then she drops the bombshell on me.
"Yes, sir."
Two words that should mean nothing, but speak volumes. Two words that make me wish we were back in that damn plant, where none of this mattered, and we could just BE. Just be two humans who were exploring each other. Finding our way in the darkness. Doing an uncomplicated job. But no, we have to save the fucking universe. When is someone going to save me? When is it my turn? When do I get to give everyone else a big fuck you and take care of myself? Because that is what I feel like doing now. I feel like going back in time and not saying anything. Keeping quiet and letting those poor bastards stay slaves. Just so I can selfishly do what I want to do. (Like I even know what that is…) Not that my damn team wouldn't have screwed up that plan anyway. Someone would have figured it out and saved the day, with or without my involvement.
Bastards. Always have to do the right thing, don't they?
I try not to look pathetic, but fail to do so, I think. I try not to ask for confirmation. But I just can't resist. I need to hear it again. Some sort of masochistic need to know for sure. Hurt me again, Carter, I like it. So, I ask. In a way only I can.
"Sir."
The word comes out of my soul, and after a momentary weakness where I cannot look at her, I settle my gaze on her face. I want to see every nuance, every clue. I want to know for sure what she wants. But I don't want to make it easy. Say it right to my face, Carter. She doesn't disappoint. God damn responsible Carter. Everyone else is more important Carter. Have to save the fucking universe Carter. Lord knows without her I would have stopped long ago. Her and Daniel and T keep me in line. Oh, sure, Jack O'Neill is the leader of SG-1. Jack O'Neill is a warrior hero. Fearless, selfless, giving of himself to do what is right. Bullshit. Without those guys, and especially Carter, I would have given up long ago. There will always be another evil to fight. It will never end. I don't really care most days. But, I can't let them down. Especially her. God damn her. I wish I could just tell her to go piss up a rope and walk away, but I can't. Her hold on me is like some kind of exquisite torture. It hurts, but I can't stop it. I like it too much. I like the punishment. Lord knows I deserve it. So, when she answers, in her own bullshit way, I feel it like a punch in the gut. I savor it. I want more. So, I will continue to play this game. Two steps forward, two steps back. We stay in the same place. Hurt and counter hurt. Give me another small but decisive head nod, please, Carter. Let me know where you really stand.
I recover enough to suggest going home. I give her a nonchalant eyebrow raise and act like I am blowing her off. Fuck you, Carter. I don't care about it anyway. Let's get out of here. If that's how you want it, fine. Whatever. I have good liquor at home, and it has missed me.
But Carter, in her ever so consistent way, isn't done yet. She tightens the noose a little more and twists the knife sticking somewhere near my spleen a little more. Gentle as a sledge hammer, this one.
"Yes, sir."
Damn, I hate her. I hate that she can just blow me off like that. That she can just put everything away like dirty laundry. That she can so easily slip back into her role of subordinate and superior. Like I am superior to Samantha Carter in any way, shape, or form. If you believe that, let me get my real estate book for you.
Damn, I love her. I love that she lets me off easy. That I don't have to make the really hard choices. Send a dozen men to their deaths? Sure, fine, you betcha. Make a decision that will actually do something about this 'thing' with my 2IC? No fucking way. I lay it on her. And she just does it for me. She knows I can't. I am so pathetic and weak and selfish. So, she does it for me. Too bad she always picks the safe option. The option that continues things as the status quo. The option that makes me want to strangle her where she stands out of frustration and hurt at not being wanted. But I am so weak I can't even respond. I merely accept her decision like the beaten pup that I am. Whatever you say, bitch.
Jack O'Neill, fearless leader.
Bullshit.