In The Shadows
By JessMerrick

Notes: This is a story about Clone Jack, in case you didn't read the summary. :-) I have a fan site for him, aka Michael Welch, at michaelwelch.tk.

I was slurping away at one of those fancy iced coffee thingies from Starbucks as I walked down the high street searching for the perfect leather jacket, when I saw her.

Heading straight for me.

I ducked in to a shop entrance and watched as she got closer and closer.

She looked so incredible, so breathtakingly beautiful, clad in her embrioided hipster jeans and a Rock Star tshirt. She had earrings in, and she was nicely tanned.

She had gained some weight, and it definitely suited her. Never was one for sticks.

And the glasses – those trendy purple tinted sunglasses – whoa. She was the hottness of hot, to borrow one of Cassandra's sayings. She looked so young, so stunning, like someone from a fashion magazine. She looked happy.

I almost called out to her as she passed by, but I clamped my hand over my mouth. No good would come from us talking.

Our goodbye had been bizzare, difficult. It had been hard for both of us, especially for her, I think. She told me that we could never work out and that this was au revior. But we both knew it was really goodbye.

She had felt horrible for saying those things, I know.

Fact is she was only telling me what I already knew. She was only telling me the truth and trying to help both of us accept it.

I couldn't have stayed, it would have been too weird. I'm trapped inside of a 15-year-old's body, and she's 34. And, of course, she still has the old me. The original - Colonel O'Neill. I think it's him she's really in love with. I'm a copy of him, and I'm not sure she knows how she feels about me.

She saw how crushed I was that day we said goodbye.

She stops infront of the next store, gazing excitedly through the window at what I later see is a short black dress. A wave of sadness comes over her, and she sighs. Then she shakes her head and laughs at herself and moves on.

She stops again, mere inches from the shop entrance, mere inches from my hiding place, and I wonder if she's seen me.

She has, I realise.

And there 'I' am, walking out of the store exit, grinning. The other me, the original, hands her one of the bags, and they walk off together, laughing, and discussing plans for lunch.

I'll always be in the shadows when I find myself near her. But, I realise, so will he.

We both love her, and neither one of us can have her.

Is it wrong to find some comfort in that?