Title: Patrick Sean (Chapter 2)
Series Title: Making Peace

Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate in any way, shape or form. If I did, I would need a lot more closet space for Michael, Ben, Chris, Joe and David. ;-) I am not making any money on this so please don't hunt me down. David, Patrick, Shannon, Kevin, Deidre, Frank and Moira are original characters. Basically I don't own anyone recognizable.

Note: I have only the first three pieces finished at this time. This is only my second foray into SG territory. I'll only post the rest if there's interest as I have many various fics to read from awesome writers already here in the "genre."

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The congregation leaves as quietly as they enter. It's always that way with funerals. I should know; I've said Mass for more than my share. I sigh and steel myself for the trip to the cemetary. No matter how many years I've been doing this I still wonder why God takes these children home. Gina Pinarello was only thirteen. I had her First Communion. I preached at her Baptism. I had the honor to join her parents in Holy Matrimony. Now, I could add another memory to my list and another prayer to my daily count.

I've always despised children's funerals. The coffins appear frightening; their small size is not natural. I think it means something that most come only in white. Isn't that the color of innocence? Gina's father Ted asked me if I thought it should be easier for them because Gina had fought five years against cancer. I was honest and told him that it should never be easy to bury a child. And then I told him that Gina wasn't my first, and that she would be far from my last.

I couldn't bear the grief in Ted's eyes. I'd seen it in the pain so many other families have suffered. So many of them begin to doubt God's love in their lives. And I can understand that. Only once was I that lost. I stop at the cloakroom to take a jacket. It's fitting for the skies to cry on this day. I used to believe that funerals should be happy occasions: a beloved family member was going to be with God. And then it happened to me. I lost the joy of a beautiful soul and the brother I loved with everything I had.

I step out the main entrance and take my place in the hearse with the funeral home driver. He waits for the signal from the other staff and then begins the slow procession to the cemetary where we'll lay Gina's body to rest. I watch the cars around us slow down or stop as we pass. Everyone always respects a funeral procession. Could it be bad luck to turn in front of one? Or will lightening strike the driver who cuts in halfway through? I can remember being in awe as a child whenever I saw one. Then Vietnam hit, and my friends began to be the ones in the hearse.

My best friend in seminary had joined the Army as a chaplain. He died in 1974, and his older brother died six weeks later with only days to go before the evacuation of Saigon. I've buried a brother after a tragic flight accident. And I said the Mass where I watched my family explode.

Children do things they shouldn't everyday. Jimmy, don't toss that ball in the house. Mary, I thought I told you to clean your room. I fumble with the zipper of my jacket and try not to think of anything but Gina. It's hard. He invades my thoughts constantly. Contrary to popular belief within my family, I could see it. I'd seen it before. Ted was a lucky father. He wasn't missing the piece of faith that let him grieve and survive. My younger brother had reached a point in his life where he had no faith left. And his life could have easily ended with his son's.

I've only mentioned it once and only to our father. I stumbled over my words and rubbed the tears from my eyes as I ranted about my fear... my failure. How could I help other parents? What right did I have when I couldn't even save my brother? It was my responsibility. I was the older brother. I was the priest. Why couldn't I find the words?

My father explained it me as best he could. There were no words. There was no comfort. Not for my brother. Not yet. But one day God would speak to him. The words would come. I just had to learn to trust that I might not be the one to say them. It was hard to come to terms with that fact. God didn't intend for me to heal this breach. I had another purpose: to pray for the one who would speak to him.

It's been years now, and I have no idea if that person has come to my brother or not. The only thing I know for sure is that I've not been called to say that particular Mass yet. I pray everyday that I won't have to. The hearse has stopped, and the driver touches my arm to alert me. I must have been caught up in my mind and not noticed our arrival. I open the door and step into the rain. Ted and his family wait up the hill where the coffin will be laid.

As I start the graveside service, I notice that the crowd has grown smaller. I know every member of this small congregation here except for two men in the back. The rain is plentiful enough to keep everyone deep underneath their umbrellas. I see Jane, Gina's mother, begin to shake. I reach out and take her hand. While my words give comfort, my thoughts turn to prayer. She imagines she is not strong enough to send her two young sons off to school next week. I know otherwise. Sara thought the same thing. That she wasn't strong enough to live the next day. She was wrong. She was strong enough to walk away.

I end the short service with a word of prayer. The Memorare has always been a favorite at times like this. An appeal to the Mother of God who has never turned away a soul. She is a woman who watched her own Son die. She, too, buried a child. Jane squeezes my hand as the prayer ends, and Ted thanks me quietly. I will stay for a moment and speak to God myself on Gina's behalf. The family and friends who have come this far go back to their cars.

I close my eyes and hold my hand out over the coffin. A final blessing for the soul of an innocent child gone to God. The voice startles me.

"I hate these things, Pat."

I turn and stare at the man in front of me in disbelief. I see a soul in front of me. It's torn and tarnished, but, for the first time in thirteen years, it's whole. "Jack?"

"Long time no see, huh?" He tries to grin, but I can see it crack around the edges.

"I could say that's true." My lips curve into a smile. "You've found faith again."

Jack rolls his eyes and replies, "I lost the right to faith a long time ago, Pat. You know that."

My words are meant to comfort as well as to remind. "The confessional is sancrosanct, Jack. What's between you and God is safe." When Jack came back from Iraq after months in that prison, I heard his words and his pain. I prayed for him and gave him absolution for the crimes he imagines he's committed.

"Now, there's something wrong with that image. How can it be between me and God if you heard everything?" I look at him and grin. That's the old Jack. The one who baits me for the joy of it.

The second man warns, "Jack. Stop."

I turn around and hold out my hand. "Patrick O'Neill. Two L's."

The smile is wide and the blue eyes dance as he takes my hand in his. "Where have I heard that before?"

A whisper in my mind makes me look this man over closely. He's at ease with me. That's not something I'm used to when it comes to Jack's friends. "And you are?"

Jack touches my arm and motions, "Daniel, Pat. Pat, Daniel Jackson."

Something in his voice startles me. I can't quite place it. Jack cares about this man. It's something deep and solid. I ponder it for a moment and then say, "You must be the one I prayed for."

Daniel's eyes widen, "Prayed for?"

Jack simply watches us both and answers for me. "I came to the house and heard you. I couldn't bear to stay when I was doing that to you."

I see the shock in Daniel's face as he looks at Jack. What he doesn't know is the meaning of Jack's little revelation. I know that it will never be mentioned again after this moment. And it will be enough for me. "That's why you brought him to me, Jack. This is the man God chose to speak to you." I wait for a moment. "What did He have to say?"

Jack looks at me and then at Daniel. "He told me it was a pity I wanted to die so much."

For the first time, I feel as if Daniel has realized what is happening here. He smiles warmly at Jack, "I'll only say this once, Jack. I'm glad He picked me."

Jack nods, "Me, too."