Thank you as always for the wonderful reviews! This is for those of you who thought I let Sam give up too easily!
"I'm heading out now", Jack called, as loudly as he could, as he put on his jacket. It was getting chilly out as the days got shorter. Soon it would be winter and he wasn't looking forward to that at all. Getting around in the snow was going to be more difficult for him now.
"Okay. I'm over at Eric's studying tonight", Kurt answered, wheeling his way into the living room.
"Need a ride home?"
"Nah – Eric has a van – says he'll drive me."
"Okay, have fun." Jack limped out of the condo and towards his car. He had a full-day shift today and wanted to get in a bit early. It still took him longer than most people to walk from where he could park to the youth center.
He'd been working there for almost a month now and found it difficult but rewarding. He was starting to connect with some of the street youth and that made it more enjoyable. But it had taken time – they didn't trust easily – and at first had done everything they could to send him away.
Barry Gold, the Center Director, had warned him that they'd test him and try to get him to leave. "They need to know that the adults around them will stay regardless of what they pull – they're used to being deserted or kicked out of places when the adults around them get tired of them. It takes them a while to trust and you have to prove that you're not just here for the short term or to make yourself feel good. They need stability and people then can count on."
Jack nodded, understanding that. He knew what it was to have to learn to trust again and how hard it could be. He'd also dealt with enough recruits who'd been foster kids or from dysfunctional families to understand where many of these kids were coming from.
Well, no one would ever accuse him of being anything other than obstinate. And anyway, there wasn't anything these kids could throw at him that even came close to what he'd experienced in his life. A few sarcastic comments, a few swear words – hell, even the ones who told him point blank to leave them alone didn't faze him. He was here to stay.
And things had gotten better with at least some of the kids. They were still leery of him, but were beginning to trust that he wasn't going anywhere. The first sign of it had been when one of them had come out and asked him what had happened to him. He'd debated making something up, or making light of his injuries, but in the end figured if anyone needed the truth, it was these kids. So he'd told them.
"I was a soldier", he said, "and I was captured by the enemy and held for months. I was tortured and almost died but my team finally got me out."
The expressions on some of the young people's faces were priceless. A number of them looked shocked, a couple worked hard to appear as if they didn't care and a few of them looked totally skeptical.
"Yeah right", Denny Johnson, one of the toughest of the kids, said, and then spit onto he ground to show his contempt. "And who was this enemy?" he asked. "
"It was a top secret mission", Jack answered calmly, "so I can't give any details."
"Right!" Denny laughed. "Top secret! I bet you got drunk and smashed your car and that's how you got to be a cripple. Either that or you caught your old lady sleepin' around and tried to kill the guy – but he fought back!"
A couple of the kids laughed and Jack just looked at them. He could let this go, and the rumors would start, or he could deal with it now. He sighed. He really didn't want to do that.
He began to unbutton his shirt, and some of the kids started to look a bit scared. He gave a brief smile and then pulled his shirt away. "This here", he pointed down, "is the brand they gave me with a hot iron", he said calmly, although inside he felt sick. It was something he hadn't even talked about to the Doc yet – he felt humiliated by it. By the looks the kids were giving him, however, he was getting through to them.
Next he held up his hands. "See these scars? These are where they nailed my hands to a board – that was because I tried to kill myself when I couldn't take the pain anymore. They left me there for a couple of days so I'd get the message. I did. Unfortunately, as you've seen, it's damaged my hands so yes, I'm a cripple. And the reason I talk softly is they stuck something down my throat and injured my vocal chords." He looked around at the very white faces of most of the kids – kids who had just about seen everything on the streets. "I don't think I need to show you any more, do I?" he asked gently. The shakes of the heads told him he'd done enough. He rebuttoned his shirt.
"So no, I didn't get into a car accident, and I didn't get beaten up by some fictional lover of a wife I don't have. I told you the truth. I was on a top-secret mission and got captured. Because of that I had to retire from the Air Force. And rather than sit around home and feel sorry for myself, I decided to do something."
"So you thought you'd come and show off to a bunch of stupid kids, is that it?" It was Denny, again, obviously trying to save face after his comments earlier.
"Show off? How have I shown off? Someone asked me what happened and I told the truth. You were the one who basically called me a liar. The only reason I'm here is because I spent years training recruits and thought that some of my experience might be useful for you guys."
"We're not recruits", Manolo said belligerently. He was a young man who'd already been in trouble with the law and, as far as Jack could see, was headed towards a bad end – unless someone could turn him around. His father had been killed in a gang fight and his mother was on her fourth or fifth man. The latest "step-father" had beaten him up a couple of times and he'd left and was now living on the streets.
"No, you're not", Jack agreed. "But you are young men and women on the verge of adulthood and it helps to have someone who can be there to offer help and support. It's up to you if you'll accept it. I'm not forcing anything on you."
"What did you do in the Air Force?" someone asked.
"I was a Colonel before I retired."
"No shit! A Colonel. Wow – that's pretty high up there ain't it?" Marco Ramirez was one of the newer kids to come to the Center. He tried to pretend he was tough, but Jack could see the fear in the poor kid's eyes. "Did you get to tell a lot of people what to do?"
Jack smiled. "I tried. I had a small team – although I was also second in command of the base where I served."
"But what did you do? Did you go off to Iraq and places like that to fight the bad guys?"
"I was in Iraq, but that was a long time ago. Lately I've been based here – and worked on deep space radio telemetry", he held up his hand. "And before you ask, that's basically watching to make sure there aren't any aliens trying to sneak up on us."
There were a lot of oohs and aahs at that – the kids all thought the idea of fighting aliens was pretty cool. Jack had to laugh. Most people he told that line to thought his job must have been incredibly boring.
"But if you were stationed here, how did you get hurt?" It was Stella who asked. She was a young girl of 17 with bleach blond hair and a variety of piercings and tattoos. She also liked to pretend to be tough, but Jack was pretty sure she was just a scared young woman who didn't yet know her place in the world.
"I was sent on a special mission", he told her. "Sorry I can't give any details."
"How long were you a prisoner?" someone else asked.
He sighed and looked down. After a moment he lifted his head. "Way too long – months. I almost didn't make it."
"How did you?" It was Mali who asked. She was a quiet girl – shy and sweet. Her mother had remarried and she had been abused by the new husband. Rather than believe her daughter, the mother had accused her of seducing him and had kicked her out. She was staying with friends although Barry was trying to find her a family. Jack hated the thought that she'd end up in the system because she was a person he thought had huge potential. She was smart and talented and had been given a terrible deal in life.
"How did I make it?" he asked. "Sometimes I don't know", he admitted. "There were lots of times I didn't want to because of the pain and the injuries – but mostly because of the memories." He stopped and looked at all the faces staring at him and wondered if he'd made a mistake in telling them his story. "But – then I realize what a gift life is and that there is so much out there yet for me to discover. And my friends stayed with me and wouldn't let me give up." He grinned slightly. "They loved me and bullied me and got mad at me – but they kept me going."
"Are they still around?" one young boy asked.
"Oh yeah – they're still around. Most of them live in Colorado Springs – that's where I was based – but they come and visit me and sometimes I go down and see them."
"You're not married?" Sanchia, the youngest of their troop asked. She was the romantic of the group – convinced that one day her Romeo would come and take her away from the streets.
"No – I was once, long time ago, but we got divorced."
"And you don't have a girlfriend?" she asked, sounding sad.
"Afraid not", he shook his head, refusing to acknowledge the pang and the realization that he could have had someone in his life.
"That's too bad", Sanchia told him. "She would help you get better. It's good to have someone love you, especially when you're hurt."
God – out of the mouths of babes! "Yes, well I rely on my friends and that works", he smiled.
"And he's too old anyway", Jorge shouted. Everyone laughed and Jack raised his eyebrow.
"One day you will realize how utterly ridiculous that is", he told the cheeky young man. "No one is ever too old for love."
"Oooh", Tyrone made a gagging sound. "Old people's sex – yuch!"
Jack snorted. "Oh, how little you know Tyrone." He looked around at the group who were now laughing and talking. He went to stand up, but his legs had grown stiff from sitting so long and he stumbled. And arm came out and steadied him and he looked up into the eyes of Marco, who had helped him.
"Thanks", he smiled.
Marco looked down and then up quickly. "Uh – did you fly planes?" he asked softly.
"I did. It's the reason I went into the Air Force."
"Was it fun?"
Jack grinned. "It was a lot of work – but yes, it was amazing. One of the most fun things in the world." He regarded the young man carefully. "Would you like to learn how to fly planes?"
Marco shrugged. "Sure, but ain't never gonna happen. You have to be smart and rich."
"Well, you do have to be smart – certainly to learn to fly jets – but rich – not so much. I wasn't rich and I got to do it."
"Yeah, they wouldn't take me", he scoffed, although Jack could see the look in his eyes, which said he really was interested in flying planes.
"Do you have your diploma?" he asked.
"Nah – didn't finish school. It was a waste of time."
That was the line a lot of them used – and in their lives it probably seemed that way. But it was one of the most important things they could so – finish school and get an education. Jack looked closely at the young man. "If you do – if you go back and get your GED – I could help you get into the Academy and learn to fly."
For a moment Marco looked interested, but then his face fell. He'd been given promises too many times by the adults in his life and usually they didn't happen. "Nah – I've got better things to do."
"Such as?" Jack asked seriously. He worked hard to appear respectful and like he wasn't' discounting the young man – he didn't want Marco to write him off as another do-gooder who wasn't going to follow through.
"Hangin' around", he answered.
"Hanging around? And you think that's more fun than learning to fly jets?"
"I guess", Marco shrugged.
"Okay – well, if you ever change your mind, let me know – or let Barry know. Either one of us can help you get your GED. And like I said, once you have that I can help you apply." He grinned at the young man and leaned forward. "I have connections!"
Marco looked torn, and Jack was determined to help this man in whatever way he could. But he knew he couldn't push. These kids were scared and he was going to have to be subtle if he wanted to help them.
As he left for home he thought again about Marco and the other kids. He hated what had been done to them, and what they'd experienced and just wished there was more he could do.
He suddenly had an idea, but he'd have to run it by George first and then Barry. He wondered which of the kids would like to try flying in a jet.
He got home after 6 o'clock, exhausted after the long day. His therapist told him not to push things as he was still recuperating, but he hated being stuck at home. When he was alone all he did was get depressed – thinking about all he'd lost, especially whom he'd lost.
"You didn't lose her Jack", he told himself, "you pushed her away."
Every once in a while he wondered if he'd made a huge mistake, but then he'd have a nightmare, or he'd be faced with the reality of his physical condition, and he'd know he had no other choice. Sam did not need half a man.
He grabbed his mail from the box outside his door and slowly made his way inside. He was hungry but didn't really feel up to cooking. He didn't want to order in either, so decided to see if there were any leftovers.
"Yeah right", he muttered. With Kurt around it was hard to keep anything in the fridge. He'd forgotten the appetites of young men.
In the end he opted for a simple sandwich and a few raw carrots. He poured himself a glass of juice and made his way to the living room, glass balanced precariously on his plate. Maybe he'd see what was on TV.
As he passed the hall table he remembered his mail and grabbed it and took it with him. Sitting down he flipped through the envelopes – bills and advertisements mostly.
The very last envelope was different. It was addressed to him in handwriting and at first he wondered who it could be from. But then he recognized the writing.
He could feel his heart start to speed up and felt strangely weak. Why would Sam be writing him a letter?
He had a horrible feeling that it was something bad. He closed his eyes, praying that she wasn't going to tell him she'd found someone else and had moved on. The unselfish part of him knew that that would be the best thing for her – the rest of him admitted it would kill him.
He sat staring at it for a long time, his appetite disappearing and the sandwich sitting uneaten. Finally, knowing he couldn't leave it, he ripped it open and took out the letter.
His eyes closed and he took a number of breaths – the Doc kept telling him to do that to deal with his ongoing stress. After a few seconds he opened his eyes – it hadn't helped. He still felt like running away, or passing out, he wasn't quite sure which.
"Move your ass O'Neill", he finally muttered. He opened the letter and with another big breath and a small prayer, began to read.
Dear Jack,
You are probably wondering why I am writing to you. Don't worry, it's nothing bad, at least I hope you don't think so, although feel free to tear this up now if you'd rather not read it.
Since that day we said goodbye I've done nothing but think about you. I miss you more than you can know, but I also respect your decision to walk away from the possibility of us, even if I don't agree with it. I know what you've been through and that you feel you need time to focus on yourself and to heal.
I will always believe that healing is better done with the support of someone who loves you, but again, I respect your decision and won't try and contact you. However, the more I've thought about it, the more I believe it is wrong for us to cut ourselves off completely from one another. Whatever has happened, or in our case not happened, we have been friends and comrades for many years. You are a very important part of my life and have helped me become the person I am today. I don't want to lose you – even if all we can be to each other are friends from a distance.
So, I have decided that I refuse to stay cut off from you. Of course you can decide not to read my letters and toss them in the garbage, but I will continue to write and tell you about my life. I would love to have you do the same, but will understand if you choose not to do so. Regardless of whether I hear from you, I will send you these letters – unless, of course, you tell me to stop.
So, I thought I'd start by telling you about how things are going here on base. General Hammond decided to put me in charge of my own team. I am now officially the leader of Sg11. My 2IC is Captain Emma Vasquez and she is young (at least younger than me), very smart and very capable. At first she was rather stiff, but I think that was because she was worried about proving herself. All of us have something of a reputation you know – since we were the first team through the Gate. I didn't realize how intimidating that could be but Vasquez is getting over that and is becoming invaluable to me and to the team. She'll make a great leader one day.
The second member of my team is Lieutenant James Perry. James is also young but eager and also smart. In some ways he reminds of Daniel when we first started. He sometimes leaps before he looks and is very earnest and has strong ideals. He too is starting to become more comfortable and he will do well, I think.
The final member is Dr. Jeremy Etherington. Yes, I have a scientist on my team (I know you're probably laughing right now) and I hate to say this Jack, but I've found him somewhat hard to take. He can be very narrow minded and arrogant, although I believe he has a good heart. Some of his arrogance lies in his insecurities – at least that's what I think. He's starting to fit in better now, although there are still times I want to scream. I am definitely starting to feel more sympathetic towards your attitude about scientists.
It's very strange, but I must admit to having mixed feelings about getting my own team. On the one hand I was proud that the General thought I was ready – but most of me was just sad. I'd give anything to have our old team back. As good as my teammates are (and they'll soon be even better) there will never be anything like Sg1. And can I tell you how much I miss you? You made going through the Gate meaningful and fun. I guess it's still meaningful, but all the fun is now gone.
But enough depressing stuff. I spent the weekend with Janet and Cassie. We shopped for a dress for Cassie's eighth grade prom (since when did they start doing that?). She is a power shopper and by the end of the day I was more exhausted than I have ever been on a mission. I'd much prefer some of the places we've been to the mall! And Janet is by far worse than any commander I've ever had. She takes no prisoners.
Daniel and T and I make a point of going out whenever T is in town. As you know he's commuting back and forth between his home and us. I think he's enjoying being able to spend more time with his son, although I miss having him around all the time. Daniel is – well Daniel. I don't know what I'd do without him, although there are days I reallywish I could. He's enough to drive a saint to drink and has only gotten worse since you've left. He really misses you, you know. I think in many ways you were both the father and brother he never had.
Okay – so I'm getting maudlin again. I'll try and stop it. Oh, I should tell you that my Dad is coming in a week for a visit. He's taking some time off since he's had a busy few months. He wants to visit you – says he has some new health products that he thinks will be good for you. He got something from our little friend Mr. Gray. I don't know what it is, but Dad says it'll probably do you some good.
I guess I'd better go now – I have an early morning mission. I hope you are well Jack – and that you are enjoying life and feeling better. I'd love to hear from you, but again, I'll understand if you'd rather not write.
Take care. I miss you.
Sam
Jack stared at the piece of paper in his hand for a long time, not noticing when the room grew dark. It was only when the door opened and Kurt rolled in that he started and lifted his head.
"What the - , how come you're sitting in the dark?" the younger man asked, moving over and flicking on the light switch. "Hey – you okay?"
"Uh – yeah, I'm fine", Jack said softly. His throat felt like it had seized up again and he had trouble getting the words out. It still did that during times of stress. He took a deep breath and then coughed. "Really, I'm fine", he repeated to a skeptical looking Kurt.
"Right – fine. That's why you're paper white and are having trouble talking." He then glanced over at the dried sandwich. "And you didn't eat. What's going on Jack?"
The two had become friends over the last few months and could say things to one another that it was difficult for others to say. They each understood the wounds the other carried, whether physical or emotional.
"Just – got a letter", he whispered.
"Bad news?" Kurt frowned and moved his chair closer to where Jack was sitting.
"No – no, nothing like that. It's from – a friend. Someone I didn't think I'd ever hear from again. It kind of – surprised me."
"In a good way?" Kurt pushed. He suddenly had an idea what this was about, although he wasn't going to pry too hard. Jack deserved his privacy, although he wasn't about to let him suffer needlessly.
"I – don't know", Jack admitted. "I was just learning to – deal with not seeing – uh – this person again and now -"
"And now it's brought everything back to the surface again?"
"Yeah", Jack's mouth curled up in a lop-sided smile. "But part of me is – glad."
"Because this person is still your – friend?"
Jack glanced up quickly, his face in a frown, at the way Kurt had said friend. He sighed then, figuring that the kid knew him too well.
"Yeah, she's my friend but -"
"I get it Jack", Kurt said gently, when Jack went silent. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help, okay."
"Okay", Jack nodded. He then glanced over at his sandwich and grimaced. "I think I left it too long."
"Ya think?" Kurt drawled. "How about I order us a pizza?" he said with an expectant grin.
"Sure", Jack laughed. It was a good thing he did most of the cooking otherwise they'd both end up living on a college student diet of pizza and mac and cheese.
As Kurt wheeled away to put his things away, Jack looked down at his letter once more. Suddenly he smiled. He didn't know what the hell he was going to do – whether or not to write back – but he couldn't fool himself into believing he wasn't happy that Sam hadn't forgotten him.
Even though he'd rejected it – it was nice to know he was still loved.