Title: Butterflies
By: Bran Black
Rating: PG-13 (later chapters may change to R)
Summary: First person fic, from Jack's pov. Vertigo, cold water, and tangoing wildlife. Need I say more?
Disclaimer: they're not mine, but we know this. If they were mine I would be writing the scripts, and not fanfic. Sob, sob.
Chapter One
There are reasons I drink so much, you know. Lots and lots of reasons. Very important, large, and angsty reasons. The fact that I can't remember any of these important reasons right at this moment in no way diminishes the fact that they are there. I sure that as soon as I get over this hangover, and the nausea, and the hallucinations, and the- We won't go there. Anyway, I'm sure that I'll eventually remember all of those important reasons that I know I have for drinking. I am equally sure that, as soon as I remember them, I will promptly get smashed, again.
How many days has it been now?
Let's see, Daniel dropped me off once Janet released us. My truck was in the shop, again. That was, um, who gives a shit? Anyway, I remember that he was looking at me funny the whole way home, like he thought I was a lunatic with a bomb strapped to his chest. So, maybe, he might have had a good reason for looking at me like that. I vaguely seem to recall an episode, off world, where I might have declared myself the Supreme Commander of the Universe, but what can you expect? I was surrounded by trees and grass for two weeks. TWO WEEKS! Hammond figured that we needed a break, what with us saving the world umpteen billion times in the last month. Unfortunately, we didn't have any leave left. We'd used it all up chasing a certain anthropologist/ archaeologist, who shall remain nameless, across the length and breadth of Egypt. That boy cannot stay out of trouble, even on a simple dig.
Anyways, where was I? Oh, yeah, trees and grass. Purple trees and yellow grass. Yellow grass that glowed all night. How the heck do you expect a man to sleep when he's surrounded by neon grass? Damn rude, if you ask me. I'm gonna have to complain to management about that.
Oh management, what's the big idea, huh? Are you trying to turn me into a raving psychotic? Well, if you are, it's working. Except now I'm a drunk raving psychotic. Excuse me.
. . .
Correction, make that nauseas and hung over raving psychotic. What I wouldn't give for a sledgehammer right now. That clock's ticking is killing my head. I lift my head off of the floor and glare at it. It reads: PISSED in large red letters. It's a digital clock. Digital clocks don't tick, but who gives a damn. But, come to think of it, what the hell am I doing on the floor? I don't remember deciding to get to know it this well. 'Course, I'm not remembering a whole hell of a lot at the moment.
Especially not Charlie.
Or Iraq.
Or anything having to do with anyone with a snake in their heads.
Or anything at all.
Really.
I think that it's time for another drink, or two. I try to push myself up off of the floor, but the floor doesn't cooperate, it starts bucking and yawing like a damn bronco at the rodeo. I am not, nor have I ever been, a cowboy. Horses scare me. Only idiots and suicidal nutcases get up on top of a crazy animal like that of their own free will. I am neither an idiot, or suicidal, contrary to popular opinion.
Of course, if the floor doesn't quit dancing, I may be willing to reconsider my stance on the latter.
* * *
I wake up in the bathroom. More accurately, I wake up in the tub. Why do I wake up in the tub? I don't know, but it probably has something to do with the jets of ice-cold water beating into my face and neck. This is not helping my head, which is hurting like hell. Thank you very much. I try to scoot out of the spray, only to discover that someone's holding me under.
I don't like being held down. I never have. Started when I was a kid, my four-month vacation in Iraq probably didn't help me any in that department. I reacted on instinct, ramming myself back against my captor. Whoever it was I couldn't see them, but they shouted, loudly, and let me go.
Trying to stand up was a mistake. Mostly it was a mistake because I succeeded. Once I was upright the floor decided to do a little jig, just for me. I careened forward, over the edge of the tub and heading for the floor. Someone caught me, the same someone who'd been holding me under the water. They caught me, turned me around so that I was face up, and then sat me back in the tub.
More cold water.
I tried to fight, but they, whoever they were, were too strong. Besides, once my body adjusted to the temperature it wasn't that bad. Really. I sat there, being soaked in cold water, fully dressed by the way, and watched the miniature toads and rabbits do the tango between my bare feet.
About then I passed out. Again.
* * *
The next time that I woke up I was in a car, wrapped in one of the blankets from my couch. I was lying on the back seat. I could see an empty road through the front windshield. When I tried to raise my head to get a better view the person in the passenger seat turned around. He was very large, wearing military issue clothes, with dark skin, and the edge of a gold oval peeking out from below a baseball cap.
I know I know him. Really. I just, can't put the name with the face.
"A cah orlight, ahnveal?" he asked, his voice deep and resonating. I felt my eyebrows snap together as I tried to puzzle out the meanings behind those sounds. This wasn't my kind of thing, you know. There was someone else who was supposed to do this. You know, figure out what people are saying. For the life of me I can't remember who they are, though.
The driver turned around and glanced at me. He was wearing glasses. I knew him too, big surprise there. Couldn't remember who he was, though. Not a big surprise, either.
"A cah, hahnoo sheremie?" he sounded concerned, but I couldn't understand what he was saying, it wasn't a language that I knew, that was for certain. Contrary to popular belief, I do know more than one language. More than two, even. The fact that I can't remember any of them at the moment has absolutely no sway over the fact that I know them. I do.
I closed my eyes and tried to puzzle through the sounds. I knew that they had meanings, just like I knew that I knew those meanings, I just had to think! But, it was like my brain was full of fog, or someone had gone and snipped out my memory. I couldn't get the sounds to go together. I couldn't understand.
The driver turned to the big black guy. "Keys owhahtet," the driver said, then turned back to the road.
"Oodee telve seauwa ingrom tiefaco zeeal kohahel?" the black guy asked. The other man shrugged, shaking his head.
"Rayz ersay edthea tuhehahed unanooz hauelk empahn et aemhith bvod," the driver replied. "Klin guhn handahak," he said, turning around to glance at me again. I tried to tell him with my eyes that I couldn't understand, and that my not understanding scared me, but he turned away, and then everything got black.
A/N: the 'gibberish' is an actual dialogue; you just have to concentrate a little to understand it. Argh! I actually asked fanfic readers to think! Please read and review, if I get really nice ones I might be motivated to finish the next chapter.
P.S: yes, this is procrastination. But I can't get the next installment of my series to crawl out of the recesses of my sub consciousness, yet, so I'm trying to work up to it. Don't loose hope, I'll do it, eventually (
By: Bran Black
Rating: PG-13 (later chapters may change to R)
Summary: First person fic, from Jack's pov. Vertigo, cold water, and tangoing wildlife. Need I say more?
Disclaimer: they're not mine, but we know this. If they were mine I would be writing the scripts, and not fanfic. Sob, sob.
Chapter One
There are reasons I drink so much, you know. Lots and lots of reasons. Very important, large, and angsty reasons. The fact that I can't remember any of these important reasons right at this moment in no way diminishes the fact that they are there. I sure that as soon as I get over this hangover, and the nausea, and the hallucinations, and the- We won't go there. Anyway, I'm sure that I'll eventually remember all of those important reasons that I know I have for drinking. I am equally sure that, as soon as I remember them, I will promptly get smashed, again.
How many days has it been now?
Let's see, Daniel dropped me off once Janet released us. My truck was in the shop, again. That was, um, who gives a shit? Anyway, I remember that he was looking at me funny the whole way home, like he thought I was a lunatic with a bomb strapped to his chest. So, maybe, he might have had a good reason for looking at me like that. I vaguely seem to recall an episode, off world, where I might have declared myself the Supreme Commander of the Universe, but what can you expect? I was surrounded by trees and grass for two weeks. TWO WEEKS! Hammond figured that we needed a break, what with us saving the world umpteen billion times in the last month. Unfortunately, we didn't have any leave left. We'd used it all up chasing a certain anthropologist/ archaeologist, who shall remain nameless, across the length and breadth of Egypt. That boy cannot stay out of trouble, even on a simple dig.
Anyways, where was I? Oh, yeah, trees and grass. Purple trees and yellow grass. Yellow grass that glowed all night. How the heck do you expect a man to sleep when he's surrounded by neon grass? Damn rude, if you ask me. I'm gonna have to complain to management about that.
Oh management, what's the big idea, huh? Are you trying to turn me into a raving psychotic? Well, if you are, it's working. Except now I'm a drunk raving psychotic. Excuse me.
. . .
Correction, make that nauseas and hung over raving psychotic. What I wouldn't give for a sledgehammer right now. That clock's ticking is killing my head. I lift my head off of the floor and glare at it. It reads: PISSED in large red letters. It's a digital clock. Digital clocks don't tick, but who gives a damn. But, come to think of it, what the hell am I doing on the floor? I don't remember deciding to get to know it this well. 'Course, I'm not remembering a whole hell of a lot at the moment.
Especially not Charlie.
Or Iraq.
Or anything having to do with anyone with a snake in their heads.
Or anything at all.
Really.
I think that it's time for another drink, or two. I try to push myself up off of the floor, but the floor doesn't cooperate, it starts bucking and yawing like a damn bronco at the rodeo. I am not, nor have I ever been, a cowboy. Horses scare me. Only idiots and suicidal nutcases get up on top of a crazy animal like that of their own free will. I am neither an idiot, or suicidal, contrary to popular opinion.
Of course, if the floor doesn't quit dancing, I may be willing to reconsider my stance on the latter.
* * *
I wake up in the bathroom. More accurately, I wake up in the tub. Why do I wake up in the tub? I don't know, but it probably has something to do with the jets of ice-cold water beating into my face and neck. This is not helping my head, which is hurting like hell. Thank you very much. I try to scoot out of the spray, only to discover that someone's holding me under.
I don't like being held down. I never have. Started when I was a kid, my four-month vacation in Iraq probably didn't help me any in that department. I reacted on instinct, ramming myself back against my captor. Whoever it was I couldn't see them, but they shouted, loudly, and let me go.
Trying to stand up was a mistake. Mostly it was a mistake because I succeeded. Once I was upright the floor decided to do a little jig, just for me. I careened forward, over the edge of the tub and heading for the floor. Someone caught me, the same someone who'd been holding me under the water. They caught me, turned me around so that I was face up, and then sat me back in the tub.
More cold water.
I tried to fight, but they, whoever they were, were too strong. Besides, once my body adjusted to the temperature it wasn't that bad. Really. I sat there, being soaked in cold water, fully dressed by the way, and watched the miniature toads and rabbits do the tango between my bare feet.
About then I passed out. Again.
* * *
The next time that I woke up I was in a car, wrapped in one of the blankets from my couch. I was lying on the back seat. I could see an empty road through the front windshield. When I tried to raise my head to get a better view the person in the passenger seat turned around. He was very large, wearing military issue clothes, with dark skin, and the edge of a gold oval peeking out from below a baseball cap.
I know I know him. Really. I just, can't put the name with the face.
"A cah orlight, ahnveal?" he asked, his voice deep and resonating. I felt my eyebrows snap together as I tried to puzzle out the meanings behind those sounds. This wasn't my kind of thing, you know. There was someone else who was supposed to do this. You know, figure out what people are saying. For the life of me I can't remember who they are, though.
The driver turned around and glanced at me. He was wearing glasses. I knew him too, big surprise there. Couldn't remember who he was, though. Not a big surprise, either.
"A cah, hahnoo sheremie?" he sounded concerned, but I couldn't understand what he was saying, it wasn't a language that I knew, that was for certain. Contrary to popular belief, I do know more than one language. More than two, even. The fact that I can't remember any of them at the moment has absolutely no sway over the fact that I know them. I do.
I closed my eyes and tried to puzzle through the sounds. I knew that they had meanings, just like I knew that I knew those meanings, I just had to think! But, it was like my brain was full of fog, or someone had gone and snipped out my memory. I couldn't get the sounds to go together. I couldn't understand.
The driver turned to the big black guy. "Keys owhahtet," the driver said, then turned back to the road.
"Oodee telve seauwa ingrom tiefaco zeeal kohahel?" the black guy asked. The other man shrugged, shaking his head.
"Rayz ersay edthea tuhehahed unanooz hauelk empahn et aemhith bvod," the driver replied. "Klin guhn handahak," he said, turning around to glance at me again. I tried to tell him with my eyes that I couldn't understand, and that my not understanding scared me, but he turned away, and then everything got black.
A/N: the 'gibberish' is an actual dialogue; you just have to concentrate a little to understand it. Argh! I actually asked fanfic readers to think! Please read and review, if I get really nice ones I might be motivated to finish the next chapter.
P.S: yes, this is procrastination. But I can't get the next installment of my series to crawl out of the recesses of my sub consciousness, yet, so I'm trying to work up to it. Don't loose hope, I'll do it, eventually (