Category: Drabble
Spoilers: Smoke and Mirrors
Season: 7
Ironic
This wasn't like any of his recent missions. This one was different.
Special.
He'd been asked for, because of who he was, what he had done and what had been done to him. He didn't tell the others. There was no need for them to know even if he could have told them. And it wasn't like it was the first time that he had left them out. There had been numerous occasions over the past few years – times when he was at the Alpha site or on downtime. Times when he had come back just a bit more tired than when he left. Tired but satisfied.
He was sure that Teal'c noticed, but then he wouldn't have expected anything less.
And he didn't expect him to ask questions either.
He moved his body carefully, adjusting his position so that he was perfectly comfortable. His hand gently grasped the M24, allowing it to rest in his palm, balanced evenly. It was a heavy weapon, exactly what was needed for this type of work, its weight giving it stability. He tucked the stock into his shoulder and lowered his face to the scope. His breathing slowed, evened out until all that he felt were the soft regular movements of perfect calm.
There was no movement from the rifle or the man. They were still and silent.
As the target came into view, he hooked his finger lightly around the trigger, careful not to grip. Automatically he took note of the slight breeze. He had already adjusted his aim to compensate for it, but wanted to be sure that it was still correct.
Everything had to be exactly right.
This was such a perfect moment. One that he always relished. He firmly squashed down the small thrill of excitement that he felt. He would let nothing distract him.
Total control was everything in this game.
Such perfect power. Such exquisite dominance over life.
He knew what it was to be a god. He didn't need any snake to teach him.
These were the defining moments. The ones that taught you what you were. Taught you everything that you needed to know about yourself and left you with no delusions.
It was ironic that they had tried to frame him using exactly the same scenario. They really hadn't known who they were dealing with that day. There had never been any doubt that he would be exonerated. Even if he had done it, he was too valuable to lose. There weren't many with a talent like his and the ruthlessness to use it so willingly.
The target walked from the building, waved to the crowd. His bodyguards were vigilant but there was nothing that they could do to plan for this. And who would have expected this to happen again.
Such a tiny figure framed in the sight.
A head shot. Pity. That meant that it would be all over so soon.
And he didn't want it to be over. He wanted to savour the moment. But orders were orders and he didn't want to jeopardise his chances of more jobs such as this one, so he took the shot.
One clean head shot.
He couldn't hear the screams from where he lay. They were too far away, too distant, but he could see the commotion.
His breathing had never changed, it was still even and controlled. There was no sign of emotion on his face as he carefully packed the rifle into its case and left the room.
He did, however allow himself one small tight smile as he adjusted his sunglasses.
Yes, ironic was the word.
Sometimes Jack O'Neill certainly enjoyed his work.
The End
Spoilers: Smoke and Mirrors
Season: 7
Ironic
This wasn't like any of his recent missions. This one was different.
Special.
He'd been asked for, because of who he was, what he had done and what had been done to him. He didn't tell the others. There was no need for them to know even if he could have told them. And it wasn't like it was the first time that he had left them out. There had been numerous occasions over the past few years – times when he was at the Alpha site or on downtime. Times when he had come back just a bit more tired than when he left. Tired but satisfied.
He was sure that Teal'c noticed, but then he wouldn't have expected anything less.
And he didn't expect him to ask questions either.
He moved his body carefully, adjusting his position so that he was perfectly comfortable. His hand gently grasped the M24, allowing it to rest in his palm, balanced evenly. It was a heavy weapon, exactly what was needed for this type of work, its weight giving it stability. He tucked the stock into his shoulder and lowered his face to the scope. His breathing slowed, evened out until all that he felt were the soft regular movements of perfect calm.
There was no movement from the rifle or the man. They were still and silent.
As the target came into view, he hooked his finger lightly around the trigger, careful not to grip. Automatically he took note of the slight breeze. He had already adjusted his aim to compensate for it, but wanted to be sure that it was still correct.
Everything had to be exactly right.
This was such a perfect moment. One that he always relished. He firmly squashed down the small thrill of excitement that he felt. He would let nothing distract him.
Total control was everything in this game.
Such perfect power. Such exquisite dominance over life.
He knew what it was to be a god. He didn't need any snake to teach him.
These were the defining moments. The ones that taught you what you were. Taught you everything that you needed to know about yourself and left you with no delusions.
It was ironic that they had tried to frame him using exactly the same scenario. They really hadn't known who they were dealing with that day. There had never been any doubt that he would be exonerated. Even if he had done it, he was too valuable to lose. There weren't many with a talent like his and the ruthlessness to use it so willingly.
The target walked from the building, waved to the crowd. His bodyguards were vigilant but there was nothing that they could do to plan for this. And who would have expected this to happen again.
Such a tiny figure framed in the sight.
A head shot. Pity. That meant that it would be all over so soon.
And he didn't want it to be over. He wanted to savour the moment. But orders were orders and he didn't want to jeopardise his chances of more jobs such as this one, so he took the shot.
One clean head shot.
He couldn't hear the screams from where he lay. They were too far away, too distant, but he could see the commotion.
His breathing had never changed, it was still even and controlled. There was no sign of emotion on his face as he carefully packed the rifle into its case and left the room.
He did, however allow himself one small tight smile as he adjusted his sunglasses.
Yes, ironic was the word.
Sometimes Jack O'Neill certainly enjoyed his work.
The End