Lost in Translation by Roo
THREE MONTHS EARLIER...
Hammond figured it was inevitable that the off world teams would come across something 'unreal' at some point. After all, even the Nox had hidden their abilities right to the very end, and even then only offered them a glimpse. And that glimpse had made Earth's technology look like they'd just climbed out of the trees and were still scratching their hairy butts and wondering what to do next.
This was a whole new ballgame. Game. Wrong word...right word. A virtual game using real people's memories for the satisfaction of a society that were being controlled by one man. A Keeper. The others hadn't realised that the real world had changed for the better outside. That they didn't need the artificial lives of others. And SG1 had become trapped in their net. Thank goodness they'd been able to realise from within the game and get out of it.
Alright they hadn't been physically injured. There was no blood spilled. Not like other entrances back though the Gate. He didn't like those returns, seeing people under his command injured and hurt.
No, this time two members of his team had been made to re-live particular events in their life. Hard, painful memories. It had been cruel and unusual. He could not imagine what it must have been like for Dr Jackson to relive the terrible day his parents had been killed installing an exhibit at the Museum when he was a child. And at least Colonel O'Neill hadn't had to relive the day his son died. Hammond mentally thanked benevolent deities for the near miss. But it was bad anyway you looked at it. A mission gone wrong and Jack's old team-mate Kawalsky must have been one hell of a surprise for the Colonel.
He sighed again and looked at the wall clock, he wished he could do more for them, but the truth was they could pass infirmary checks and do the psych tests and it still wouldn't fix things.
The General put his faith in O'Neill rallying the others to keep an eye on Dr Jackson and vice versa. But O'Neill would cope on his own, and in his own way as usual. He'd say he was fine and have a few beers at home. He had a niggling feeling that with Colonel O'Neill though, nothing would be as it seemed. Something was bound to come back and bite him on the ass.
Looking back on it later it turned out that the General was correct. It just took a little time to reveal itself. Call it coincidence or synchronicity, the end result was the same. A minor meltdown for Colonel O'Neill.
Jack sat in his office on the base. Memory was a tricky thing. You remembered stuff to survive, forgot the bad stuff because it was bad karma or because you'd survived it in the first place. You made new memories to replace old ones, less shiny good ones. And if things didn't turn out the way you hoped, you retold it so it was justified.
And some things were just part of a time you never wanted to remember and you buried them deep and dark and threw the key away. Sometimes they'd try and creep out but mostly they stayed right where you stuffed them in that box. And it worked- for long periods of time so that you 'forgot about them' your mind skated over and right past them. Safe and sound. Move right along, nothing to see here….
God he'd been so young he'd forgotten. 1982, a Captain. How he'd looked up to Colonel Michaels. Kowalski godammit. Bittersweet for him to be there too. He felt real. But seeing Michaels die all over again several times had been all too real too. Nothing he did could change the outcome no matter how hard he tried and he hadn't tried too hard once he realised what was going on. Operation East Fly and good old Boris never did get rescued of course. Complete SNAFU and FUBAR.
Gamekeeper…
Bastards. Sick bastards.
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. That phrase touched a cold sliver of memory crawling up his spine. Where had that come from?
1982
There was something else he should remember about that date but try as he might he couldn't get to it. Leave it for a while- it would come to him eventually.
He got up and shrugged into his leather jacket and went to meet Daniel at the elevators and persuade him to come back to his house, feed him pizza and beer and make him talk about things. If he got Daniel to talk then maybe he wouldn't have to. He had enough demons of his own. It was a Plan. And for that he needed to be on his own turf, so he'd nixed Daniel's apartment.
Daniel accepted the offer of company. Both were wrapped up in their own thoughts on the drive home through the relatively quiet streets of Colorado.
Suddenly Daniel leant forward and turned the radio on. Jack stared at him - guess it was too quiet he thought. Daniel went up and down the dial trying to find something. The truck suddenly filled with the sounds of disjointed music, voices and static.
"Just pick a station and stick with it!" said Jack stiffly.
Daniels eyes flicked towards him. And back again.
"Sorry," Jack relented . Damn thought Jack "No it's okay really," he said as Daniel left the dial alone, a gritty soulful male voice and music filled the truck…
Is it worth it?
A new coat and shoes for the wife?
"Too quiet, thought it would help."
"Yeah I know what you mean," replied Jack.
Soon
we'll be shipbuilding
Well I ask you
The boy said 'Dad
they're going to take me to task. But I'll be back by Christmas"
"How did they know what memory to go for?"
"I don't know Daniel" answered Jack distractedly. Silence except for the music spilling into the truck….
It's
just a rumour that was spread around town
A telegram or a picture
postcard
Within weeks they'll be re-opening the shipyards
And
notifying the next of kin
Once again
It's all we're skilled
in
We will be shipbuilding
The words of the song began to fade in the truck, the DJ's voice drowned out suddenly by the loud squeal of brakes as Jack rocked the truck to a stop.
Daniel grabbed for the dash in surprise.
"What?" He turned round looking for trouble but only saw the car that had been behind them, its driver leaning on the horn and swerve round them yelling.
"Where did you learn to drive? Asshole!"
Daniel looked at Jack; he had one hand gripping the steering wheel and the other cradling his ribs. His eyes were tight shut.
"Jack? What's wrong? Tell me!" he ordered and he put his hand on Jack's on the steering wheel. Jack's eyes popped open and Daniel suddenly found himself pressed against the back of his seat with Jack pointing his personal weapon at his forehead. A few seconds, that's all it took…
"It's me Jack! Daniel. You're okay. Everything's alright." Daniel's heart pounded. The look on Jack's face was…intense. The radio blared an advert at louder volume and the spell was broken.
Jack blinked. The gun went. Daniel heard the snick as the safety went back on. Jack wiped his face with one hand, breathing heavily and swallowed hard.
"Daniel. So sorry….. I don't know what to say. I'll understand if you want to report it to Hammond or get off the team."
"What? No, No it's okay."
"No it isn't! I just put a gun to your head!" Jack yelled.
"Well better you than someone else right?"
"Jesus Daniel! Don't ever say that!"
"I trust you!"
"You don't know everything about me!"
"So, ah...was that a flashback?"
Jack should have known that Daniel wasn't going to give up on his quest for an explanation. "I guess so." He said quietly fiddling with the steering wheel.
"You guess so? Is that the best you can do?"
"It's been a crappy day, Daniel. Aliens messing around with our heads. Tends to freak me out you know." Jack muttered as they set off in the car again.
"Okay. Not been a barrel full of laughs for me either. But freaky -I'll go for that. Are you alright Jack? Can I do anything?"
"No." said Jack with finality.
"Umm do you know why that just happened?"
"Drop it Daniel!"
"I'm trying to help here…"
Jack sighed. "No idea. Something I was thinking about or heard maybe."
"Well we've both had some bad memories come back to haunt us today and I was looking forward to my pizza …so shall we continue,"
"Yeah.
I guess so." he concentrated on getting home. A little discomforted
that Daniel had to witness a flashback. Wasn't like he'd had one
for years. He'd almost forgotten how they took over in an instant.
No control. Like someone pushing a cosmic button.
They got to Jack's house in one piece; Jack ordered the pizza and got out beer while they waited. Daniel thought that maybe if Jack had a few he'd loosen up and reveal something more about the man and soldier he'd come to admire.
Yeah right.
Like that was going to happen, but a guy could hope…
Like they both didn't have issues from the gamekeeper's sick little game.
He knew that's why Jack had buddied up with him tonight. Was he really that pathetic that he needed his hand holding? Feed the poor little archaeologist and get him drunk and he'd spill the beans…stop agonising and analysing ad finitum. He couldn't help it- that's the way he was. So far he'd kept it in, but he was close to losing it.
Or was it that Jack looked out for his team? Who looked out for Jack though? He wondered
Somewhere along the way Daniel lost track of the conversation, his fourth piece of pizza and exactly how many beers he'd had. Jack didn't seem to be over indulging, he wasn't relaxed, oh no. Daniel was the bug under the microscope.
Daniel realised his view of himself was depressingly correct. He was talking too much. And Jack had only said the same sort of things as at the debrief. Nothing new. No mention of the flashback in the truck.
Daniel talked about having to relive his parent's death over and over. The helplessness he'd felt as a child and today as an adult. The pain of loneliness when his grandfather didn't seem to want him. His grandfather had been too busy to have him as family. That had hurt badly. But in time he had got used to that too, he told Jack.
Time had smoothed the rough sharp edges of that memory and he had remained whole.
He was tellingly reticent about the various foster families. He felt he'd survived, made a name doing what he was good at, to be like his parents, because it was all he knew from his childhood upbringing.
He liked to think his parents would have been proud of his achievements. Didn't Jack agree? he asked drunkenly not waiting for an answer.
That was why the failure of his lecture- the one Catherine had seen him at, had hurt so much. He hit rock bottom academically that day. But it was also the day that led him to the Stargate program and he thanked his lucky stars for the new life and work he now had.
Jack sat opposite Daniel and watched and listened as his team-mate rambled on revealing more than he perhaps meant to due to the beer, but Jack felt the sneaky trick was worth it. Daniel needed to get it out of his system.
Voices nagged at the back of his head. Should he listen to them though that was the thing? He didn't dare relax with Daniel in the house, not after what happened in the truck already.
Jack nudged Daniel's foot, rousing him from his stupor.
"Wha..?"
"Come on, you can't sleep on the couch. You'll regret it in the morning."
"Time izzit?"
"0140."
Jack gave him a helping tug off the couch and made sure he made it up the steps okay to the bathroom and spare room. Jack sat back down. He listened as Daniel turned lights on and off, washed, bathroom noises. Door closed. Silence. Finally.
At last. He let out a breath.
Jack's hadn't wanted to be in his cups and have Daniel wander round his memories. He needed to find out what had triggered the episode in the car. He needed to know so he could deal with it, neutralise it or find some coping mechanism. Again.
Why now? He hadn't had one of those for a good few years. He wasn't that tired. Hadn't even been injured on the planet. Well not physically that is.
His psyche…that was a whole other ballgame. Damn, wrong word to use. He'd been stretched thin and bounced nastily in the past.
Germany. Operation East fly and good old Boris.
Jack hadn't thought about Colonel Michael's and his wife in years.
A mission went wrong and now re-lived. How could they play with people like that? Didn't they understand how painful it was to re-live people dying? And then encourage them to try and change it knowing it couldn't be undone. How long people were stuck doing this? Did they go mad?
He was tired beyond belief but didn't want to go to bed.
Sitting nursing half a bottle of Jack Daniels some time later he heard Daniel yell "Move, it's going to fall!". He rushed to the spare room and opened the door as Daniel yelled "No!" and sat upright.
General Hammond had given them the next day off but they had to report back to Dr Fraiser first thing when they got back on base. Just as well there was day in between; Jack thought the blood alcohol level would snafu some of her tests. But he reckoned he could claim a medical emergency. Besides, she was just worrying over possible side effects of being in the pods.
Captured. Ensnared. Prisoners.
Nope, nothing wrong. No side effects at all, doc. Honest. I'm fine.
Jack did the only thing he knew would work. Went running for hours, lots of bike work in the gym. He badgered Teal'c to spar with him or fight. And when he wasn't doing that he was on the fire arms range. He knew he was ruthless in simulations with the new recruits and managed not to cross any lines. In the boxing ring he gave no quarter either.
"Look- if you wanted to dance pretty, you should have joined the marines! You are not being taught boxing, you're learning to fight!"
He doesn't care if they hate him, just so long as they are still alive after a mission.
Chris "Shit, man you got nothing. Thought you Americans had everything! Was looking forward to half inching your shiny kit. Bloody spoilt my illusions!"
Jack-"What the fuck are you talking about, Geordie?"
Chris-"Nicking your cool gear."
Jack-"Came in dark, just like you must have." He coughed and blood bubbled out of his mouth.
Chris "Trying to save your life here, so I'll let you off explaining about Life the Universe and Everything, the number 42 and what is it with Yanks and peanut butter and jelly? That's just weird disgusting if you ask me."
Jack "Never asked you and you're weird, you know that you bloody Brit? What the hell are you still doing in here?"
Chris "Who the fuck knows what their little game is."
Jack "Tired." Bone tired, blood seeping ,burning pain. Seeking the relief of dark nothingness…
Chris "Oh, no you don't! Come on, stay with me Jack. Don't die on me man…Listen…did I ever tell you about my brother?"
Disjointed images prodded him from desperate asleep. Woke up at 0400, lay there til 0500 and went in to work. Hammond signed in at 0700 and frowned when for the third day in a row O'Neill had signed in already. He did a bit more digging and phoning round and then went looking for his 2IC.
George Hammond acknowledged the surprised but sharp salute from the Sergeant at the range. No surprise the Colonel was there. The General put the ear muffs on. Hammond watched fascinated as Jack readied himself for a long shot, lying on the floor, going limp and relaxed before steadying his aim. The Colonel was much better with firearms than he'd ever been. He fired. He waited until the machine reeled the sheet back to Jack.
"Sir? General Hammond is there a problem?"
"No not unless you do son."
"What?"
"Can I look?" He asked gesturing towards the body sheet.
"Sure," O'Neill wasn't smug, just confident.
Perfect scores. No surprise.
"Looks good Jack."
Jack shrugged as he handed the earmuffs back to the duty sergeant, along with the long rifle.
"Never hurts to practice."
"So I see."
"You checking up on me sir?"
"Not particularly. Tell me, is there some threat I need to be aware of Colonel?"
"Ah..no sir."
"Then why are you here at the crack of dawn for the third day in a row?"
"Just practising."
"And the sparring and punch bag that's practise too?"
"Yes sir. And you are checking up on me General…"
"Bullshit Colonel and you know it"
"Sir?"
"Because I need to know that you and your team are 100. The Doctor and I can keep an eye on you Colonel; I only have to say the word. Is there anything we can do to help? Because if it's serious you know we might have to call on Dr Mackenzie."
"No sir. It won't affect my ability to do my job sir."
"Hmmm."
"It's personal sir. I'll deal with it."
"See that you do."
Jack seethed s he made his way to the locker room and showers. Busted. He should have known George was a wily old bird. Pushing the medical buttons wasn't nice of him. Okay, so he'd been given a warning. He just had to employ different tactics. Straighten up and fly right…
tbc