Spoilers: The Gamekeeper (Stargate, S2), The Devil You Know (Stargate, S3)
Warning: language, character death
I Don't Want to Be Jack
Two years later
Jack choked on tears he couldn't shed as he dragged the body of his teammate, his commanding officer Colonel John Michaels, to safety. As John gasped out his final breaths Jack promised he'd take care of Barbara, John's wife. He would keep that promise but he wished there was something he could have done to prevent this whole mess from ever happening. This entire mission was botched from the start, and if he ever got his hands on the guys that gave them the bad intel he was confident he'd be sporting bruised knuckles for weeks afterwards.
He felt Captain Charlie Kawalsky's hand on his back, urging him to start moving since they were in enemy territory and it was by no stretch of the imagination a safe place to be. As the ranking officer, Jack quickly took command of the failed mission, ordering his team to fall back. Between the two of them, he and Kawalsky carried the lifeless body of their commanding officer, unwilling to leave a man behind, no matter his condition.
By the time they returned to the base Jack was trembling with anger, and he was only too glad to voice his disapproval. Refraining from striking his superior officer, he lashed out with cutting words and wasn't all that surprised by the official reprimand on his record and minor count of insubordination. It wasn't that he actually called his superior officer a very dirty word, it was more that he didn't deny it. Shouting in Russian was not exactly appropriate on an American military base. Not that they suspected he was a Russian spy, they knew he had been trained to speak the language so there was no doubt into his credibility as an American, but shouting at a superior officer was very much frowned upon.
So after a short night of isolation, a visit with a psychological counselor, and a certified two months leave of absence, he was out of there. Kawalsky walked out with him without a word, understanding Jack's behavior, as all the other officers did, and offering his support.
As he had promised, Jack immediately went to see Barbara Michaels and helped her out as best he could, knowing he could never actually replace the man she loved. He helped arrange the funeral and escorted her, then spent the next week taking care of her, helping her through her grief. Kawalsky dropped by often and the three of them would reminisce, remembering the life of Colonel John Michaels.
By the end of the week Barbara was back on her feet, reassuring them that she would be okay. They promised they'd keep in touch, and if she ever needed anything she could count on them.
After leaving her house, they went to the nearest bar and got drunk.
"Jack…Jack…Jack." Charlie kept repeating, knowing there was something he wanted to say but not knowing what it was. "Jack?"
Jack tapped on Charlie's shoulder a couple times, pushing him slightly. "What?" He pushed him again. "Charlie. What?"
"Oh, right. Jack."
Jack laughed drunkenly, sloshing the beer out of his mug, and wiping it off the counter with his hand, right onto his pants. "Whoops."
Charlie looked over at him and sniggered. "You're drunk."
"So are you," he slurred defensively. "Funny thing is, I don't even like alcohol. Messes with the…the mind. You know?"
"Uh huh. Look, Jack." He blinked, looking confused. "You don't like alcohol?"
"Nuh-uh." Jack shook his head vigorously, looking down at the table as his vision blurred with the rapid movement. "I don't feel so good."
Charlie patted him sloppily on the back. "You're drunk."
"So are you."
"I don't feel any better. Being drunk. It doesn't really help, does it?"
Jack opened his mouth, disgusted with the fuzzy feeling on his tongue. "Nope. But maybe if we drink enough it'll make us forget."
"Can't forget it. I remember the blood. All that blood."
Jack felt sick to his stomach as a memory from his distant past came up. Another dying body in his arms, another promise made. Don't leave me MacGyver. Jack, take care of Barbara for me.
He fell off the stool and dropped to his hands and knees, fighting the nausea of the memories more than the alcohol. Jesse's blood on his hands, John's blood on his hands. It was all the same, lives he couldn't save. He thought he might be crying but he didn't care. He dropped his forehead down to the floor, uncaring of the other patrons of the bar staring at him, either concerned or disgusted. He just didn't care.
Charlie seemed to sober up quickly seeing the distress of his friend and teammate. He dropped down beside Jack, setting his hand on Jack's back and rubbing it in soothing circles. "It's okay, Jack. You're gonna be okay, Buddy."
"Oh God, I failed, Charlie. I screwed up."
"Hey, it wasn't our fault, Jack. We had bad intel. You didn't give the orders, there was nothing we could have done to save him. It wasn't your fault."
"Why me? Why save my life? What makes me so special?" He lifted his head and shouted up at the ceiling. "Why the Hell would you save me and nobody else? You could save lives, you could put an end to these wars, you're all just a bunch of cowards! You hear me, Father? With your damn superiority complex and your disregard for us lesser beings."
"I thought you weren't religious, Jack. Come on, Buddy."
"I don't want to be Jack, anymore. I don't want to be Jack."
"Who else you gonna be? You'll get through this, Jack, we all do. This was a bad idea. You don't hold your liquor so well. Come on, on your feet. John wouldn't want you beating yourself up over this, you know that, right?"
"There's too much death, Charlie. There's just too much. We're all just children, there shouldn't be so much bloodshed. There are more important things than fighting amongst ourselves," he muttered almost deliriously, his voice low and rough with emotion. He looked up, looking utterly lost and defenseless. "There's so much more at stake than what we're fighting for, Charlie. So much more. We should be out there, making a difference."
"We are making a difference, Jack. We're saving lives, defending this country. We've done a lot of good things. And you and I are going to keep on doing great things, in honor of the Colonel. I don't want to see you giving up, you hear? You're the best soldier I've ever seen, Jack, in the air or on the ground. This country needs you. And I'm pretty sure you need this country as well."
Jack frowned at the floor, fighting his blurry vision. "When did you get all phisiloph…philsiphos…philsical…" he scowled, "…deep?"
Charlie's face split in a huge, amused grin. "Man, Jack, you're totally tanked. For an Irishman you're certainly a lightweight."
"Not an Irishman. Viking," he slurred. "My father is the Norse God of Thunder," he smiled proudly.
"Sure, Jack, that would explain your mighty temper. The way you let loose on the General, it's amazing you weren't dishonorably discharged and thrown in the nuthouse."
"Yeah, well. They like my work. As long as you give results they don't care how nuts you are." He blinked slowly, his mind abruptly clearing and in a moment of lucidity he realized that he had told Charlie the truth about his father. Even through the drunken haze he knew that had been a huge mistake that could have ruined his life, but fortunately Charlie didn't take him seriously.
He knew he wouldn't be drinking in public anymore.
"Hey, Charlie?"
"Yeah, Jack?"
"I'm a little drunk."
"Ya think so?"
"Uh-huh."
"Let's get you home, Buddy. We'll deal with everything in the morning."
--
Jack spent his two months of enforced leave as MacGyver on assignment for the DXS. He had considered contacting his father but decided he needed to work through this thing on his own. He couldn't depend on Thor for everything, and at his age he was a little old to be running to his parents whenever he was upset.
His mother, Ellen MacGyver, had passed away years ago. He had been on assignment in Afghanistan at the time, and he still hadn't forgiven himself for not being there for her. He would drop anything if Thor asked him, but he couldn't even spare the time to visit the woman who raised him, who gave him a home and showed him what it was to be human.
He had thought being alone, having no family, would make him better at his job. He would be the only one at risk, there would be nobody to worry if he made it back or not. He would be free to make his own choices, regardless of those around him.
And yet, the only thing he felt being alone, was lonely. There was something to be said for having a family. He was just relieved that he would always have his father.
His current assignment was a rescue mission. This was his favorite kind of work, it was often the most rewarding. It was why he got into his line of work in the first place, saving lives. His target was an Air Force officer, a Colonel Jacob Carter, and although it was risky for him to show his face to someone he may end up working with sooner or later, he couldn't just leave the man behind.
He made his way into the prison where Colonel Carter was supposedly being held, but given the fiasco of his last mission with the Air Force, he didn't take the intel at face value. He would be extra cautious on this one. His disguise worked perfectly, as he was dressed like the other prison guards, and he managed to sneak in undetected.
As he neared the prison cells he touched the Swiss Army knife in his pocket, and pulled it out slowly, checking both ends of the hall before he stepped up to the first door. There was nobody inside so he moved over to the next cell and was relieved to find a man matching the Colonel's description lying there, curled up on the floor trying to sleep. Hopefully. He didn't appear to be seriously injured, but there was no guarantee the man would be able to move on his own.
"Hey!" he whispered hoarsely through the small window. "Psst. Colonel Carter."
The man jerked upright, spinning around to find the voice that had awoken him, the bruises on his face, the split lip and the grunt of pain revealing that he wasn't in as great condition as Mac had hoped.
He glanced around to make sure nobody was coming before speaking again. "Hey there. My name's MacGyver. I'm here to get you out."
The man was on his feet in an instant. "Who do you work for?" Colonel Carter asked in a low voice.
"The DXS. Can you walk?"
"Yeah. How do you plan to get me out of here?"
Mac grinned as he showed him his knife. "Never leave home without it."
"Oh great. A boy scout." Carter griped good-naturedly. "I wasn't expecting anyone this soon. I guess the information I have must be pretty valuable to my superiors."
Mac scowled as he picked the lock. "I wouldn't know about that, sir. My priority is human life." He pulled out a paper clip, unfolded it and inserted it into the lock. The bolt clicked a moment later and he looked through the window at Carter. Slowly, he eased the door open and waved for Carter to step outside. "This place is under pretty heavy guard, and we're going to have to move fast. There's some bikes outside, but it'll be a rough ride. Are you up to that?"
"I'll do whatever it takes."
"Good. I set up a distraction on the other side of the compound, it's set to go off in about two minutes. We'll have to lay low until then."
"How many others are with you?"
"Just me." He peeked around a corner before leading Carter across the hallway.
"Guess my information wasn't so important after all."
"I work alone. I find it's easier to improvise if I don't have to explain my actions. Don't worry, I'm very good at what I do. You might want to keep it down from here on out."
Carter understood the warning and remained quiet as they crept through the prison. Sure enough, within two minutes, there was a loud explosion that sent the guards to a small shed, in the opposite direction of Mac and Carter. They easily slipped past the remaining guards without a fight, and Mac ran to the nearest motorcycle. Half a minute later Jacob was holding onto Mac as they sped down the road and eventually turned off and disappeared into the neighboring woodlands.
Once they were out of range and Mac knew they weren't being followed he stopped the motorcycle to give Carter a break, helping the older man to the ground and sitting down beside him, resting back comfortably to put the other man at ease. The ride hadn't been easy for either of them, dodging branches and tree trunks and jumping logs, but he didn't know how badly hurt Carter was and he didn't want to take any chances. He handed Carter an energy bar and a water bottle.
"So. MacGyver. I guess I owe you one."
"Ah, don't mention it, sir. Just doing my job. You need anything?"
"Nah, I'm good. Wouldn't mind sleeping for about a day."
Mac smirked. "I can understand that." He checked his watch. "We'll rest for about thirty minutes. I doubt they'll find us out here and we've got a pretty good lead on them."
"Piece of cake, huh?"
"Smooth sailing." He shifted and placed his hands behind his head, leaning back against a tree trunk. "You'll be home by tomorrow evening, Colonel. I give you my word on that."
"Under the circumstances, I think I'll believe you. That was a crazy stunt you pulled. What happened to your weapons?"
"Don't carry any." He swatted a bug away from his face.
"Excuse me? You don't carry a gun?"
"Never felt the need for one. More often than not it just gets in the way. I prefer to use the good sense nature intended. If you rely on a gun you'll never look around for other options."
"Sounds like you've got personal experience."
He flinched internally but managed to keep a straight face. "I've seen a few men die."
Carter sighed heavily. "Haven't we all. They train us to survive the battle, but there's no preparing you for the aftermath."
He could agree with that. He hadn't been prepared to handle Colonel Michael's death. That was why he was out here, taking the most dangerous missions for the DXS.
"What branch are you?" Carter asked him suddenly, drawing his attention back to the conversation.
He had almost responded Air Force but he caught himself in time. "Civilian."
"But you've been trained by the military. Marines?"
"I served in Nam for a while. Explosives specialist. Bomb Disposal Team."
"Hence the distraction."
"Yep."
"So how'd you get into this line of work?"
Mac chuckled, wondering what the Colonel would think if he explained that his alien father had convinced him that he would one day save the human race. "Actually, I was pulled into it by a hired assassin. My boss, Pete Thornton was chasing him down and I got caught in the middle of it. Pete was impressed with my work and practically hired me on the spot."
"Well, I'll have to admit I'm pretty impressed myself. Too bad you didn't join the Air Force. We could've used you."
He shrugged. "I don't use guns. I think your superiors would have a problem with an officer refusing to carry a weapon."
"Yeah, I guess so. But a guy walking unarmed into an enemy fortress with nothing but a Swiss Army knife, they may just let you get away with it."
"I wouldn't know. We try to keep my skills on a need to know basis. I don't care for the publicity."
"I can understand that. I suppose you've made a few enemies doing what you do."
"I suppose."
"Well, anyway, thanks for putting yourself on the line like that. I appreciate you getting me out of there. It'd be nice to get home to my family. They've been through enough."
"You got kids?"
"Yeah." Carter smiled proudly. "Two of 'em." The smile faded and turned to a frown. "My wife died a couple years ago. My son blames me. He barely even speaks to me anymore." A hint of a smile returned. "But my daughter, she's amazing. A certified genius. She'll be joining the Air Force. She wants to be an astronaut, and I have no doubt she'll do it."
Mac smiled, looking up at the sky, realizing for the first time that, technically, he was an astronaut. "I hear it's nice up there." He paused a moment. "Sorry about your wife."
"Yeah. So was I."
They sat in silence for a few moments, resting and working through their own separate issues. Finally, Carter broke the silence. "You married, MacGyver?"
"Nah. Came close once or twice, but never got around to it. Too much of a restless spirit, I've been told. Not the type to settle down."
"That used to be me, too. I never thought I'd be a father, I was always so focused on my career. But I wouldn't give up my kids for anything. They're the greatest thing to ever happen to me."
Mac shifted awkwardly, uncomfortable with the conversation. "My mom used to say the same of me. But then, she didn't have to worry about midnight feedings and crying at all hours of the night. I love kids. It's babies that I'm not so sure about." He grinned slightly, to show he was joking.
"You were adopted?"
"Not exactly," he replied cryptically.
"What does that mean? Did your father have custody?"
"No."
"I suppose that's your way of telling me to mind my own business."
Mac didn't respond immediately and Carter didn't push. After a few moments he admitted, "I was taken when I was a baby. I was returned to my mother when I was eight years old, but my father had died a few months before in a car accident. I never met him."
"Holy Hannah." Carter whispered, staring at Mac. "That's rough, kid."
Mac laughed, thinking it ironic that he just saved the man's life and the Colonel was calling him a kid. "It was a long time ago, Colonel. I never had a problem with it. Mom was the greatest woman I've ever known, I was lucky to have her. I'm sure your kids are lucky to have you, too."
"I wouldn't know about that. Sometimes I think my son would be happier if I just left him alone."
"I can't speak to that, sir. But he is family. I imagine that must mean something to him. And to you."
"Yeah. It does. You can call me Jacob, by the way."
"Mac." He returned the gesture.
Jacob watched him for a moment, trying to figure him out. "So why do you really work alone, Mac?"
He knew a commanding tone when he heard one, but as a civilian he never really paid much attention to it. For some reason he didn't understand, he felt like he could trust Jacob Carter, and he wanted him to know the truth. "I don't want to put anyone else at risk. The way I handle a situation isn't exactly conventional, and I'm entirely unpredictable. I don't want to make a mistake that could get someone else killed."
He shrugged lightly, and smoothed a wrinkle out of his pants, just to give his hands something to do. Jacob was staring down at the ground near his feet but he was obviously thinking hard about something.
"It was my fault." Jacob stated suddenly. "My wife, she died because of me. I was supposed to pick her up from work. I stayed late at work and she had to take a cab. There was an accident." He paused to take a deep breath. "It was a mistake but it's one that will haunt me for the rest of my life. They say you learn from your mistakes. Some days I wish there was just a manual to life, so we wouldn't have to make mistakes. But then, I guess that would take all the fun out of life, wouldn't it?"
Mac's lips curved up in a half-smile. "I guess so." He picked up a nearby twig and bent it between his fingers until it snapped. He tossed it aside. "I killed my best friend. When we were kids. I took my father's gun and we bought some bullets and took it out for target practice. I knocked the gun to the ground and it misfired. It took him a while to bleed out. He kept begging me not to leave him. I can still hear him some nights. He was only eleven years old." He swallowed, clearing the emotion from his throat. "That's why I don't use guns. And I guess it's why I work alone. I don't want anymore blood on my hands."
Jacob wasn't sure what to say, but it was clear that he understood what Mac had been through. "You were just a kid. It was an accident."
"So was your wife's death. We can't control everything that happens to us, or to those we care about. The best we can do is honor their memory. You've got your kids to take care of, and me…I've got lives to save. What else is there?"
Jacob didn't answer.
It took them a few hours to reach the pick-up site, but eventually they made it. They rode in the helicopter in silence and Mac watched Jacob struggle to stay awake. When the helicopter touched down he jumped out the door and assisted Jacob down, holding him around the shoulders as they jogged out from under the propeller. A medical team ran out to meet them.
"This is where you and I part ways, Jacob," Mac said as he reached out to shake the Colonel's hand. "Don't take this the wrong way but I hope I never see you again."
Jacob laughed and surprisingly pulled Mac into a hug. "You take care of yourself, Mac. You know I can't thank you enough for getting me out of there. And about what you said. I think I'll take some leave and spend some time with my kids. I don't want to make any more mistakes with them. I'm sure your friend wouldn't want you to get yourself killed saving other people's lives, so don't overdo it, okay?"
He saluted sloppily with a jaunty grin. "Yes sir, Colonel sir. Don't get myself killed, consider it done. Take care, Jacob." He backed away, letting the medical personnel fuss over the Colonel.
"And don't be such a smartass!" Jacob called out over his shoulder as he was guided away.
Mac grinned as he sauntered away. Some days it was nice just being MacGyver.
TBC
