Title: Not Alone
Author: Mo
Pairing: Secret
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: They aren't mine. But if they were, I'd have them hanging from marionette strings while I yelled, "Dance, puppets, DANCE".
Author's Note: For the Phil Collins Challenge in September 2004 at SG1-Creativity on Livejournal.
He took out the photograph that had been taken at last year's Christmas party. Neither of them had known the photo was being taken and whoever had taken it -– he thought it might have been Siler -— had captured them gazing at each other and laughing. Seconds before, she'd placed her hand on his bare arm in response to his joke. He could still feel how her cool hand had made his body warm all over.
He wasn't one to cry, really, but for some reason he'd felt no shame or weakness in crying at her memorial. He knew people had been staring at him, but still the tears fell. Later, in his office, he had remembered something she had always said: "There's a better place somewhere out
there."
It was as clear to him as if she'd whispered the words right into his ear. He thought back on a conversation they'd had several days before her death; she'd told him that there was meaning in everything and she'd finished with a sentence that he would never forget.
"You'll see, trust me… if something were to happen, just remember, I'll be there, watching over you."
He looked at the photo once more. He knew where his feelings had ended up. More than love, more than respect. But it felt clichéd to say it to anyone, so he kept them in. He was less certain of her feelings but he liked to believe that she'd felt the same way. They had been through so much together. No one who knew that could deny it.
She had been his rock and he had depended on her far more than anyone could have known. He had consulted her on practically every aspect during every mission.
He took a swig of the Scotch he kept hidden from the gang. More tears threatened to fall. For some reason, he was more hesitant to shed them alone. As if, when combined with everyone else's despair, his feelings were validated. To cry alone meant that you were alone.
And he was alone.
He squeezed his eyes shut against the happy image in front of him, praying desperately to have her come back to him.
"Why?" he moaned softly. "You said you'd always be there for me. With me. I can't do this without you."
It had been her dedication to others that had kept her going. She couldn't stand by when there was suffering. It went violently against everything that mattered to her. Everything she had ever stood for.
Slamming the bottle down, he felt the urge to give a primitive yell, when, without warning, her voice came to him again.
"You'll be amazed at what you'll find … 'cause out there somewhere, it's all waiting."
A peace washed over him and he gasped. Clear as day, he'd just heard her voice. He just knew she was in the room.
"Janet?" he whispered.
"I'll be watching over you," came her soft reply.
Opening a desk drawer, George Hammond placed the photograph of two happy people gently inside.