by Avalon (avalon99@telusplanet.net)
fanfic at http://members.dencity.com/avalon_online
PG-13, S/J, part 4/6
THE LONG AND WINDING ROAD IV
Down the Steep Rough Road
Jack was in Hell. He knew it for a fact. After all, he had been there before.
Oh yeah, he knew what Hell was. Eternal guilt. Pain that
never goes away. Not being able to close his eyes without seeing
her smile. Or worse yet -- knowing he would never see her smile again.
He ducked his head and rubbed at his temples, trying to massage away
the pain stabbing through him. Life had become one long headache.
Literally. The headaches had started the day...the day she had died.
Some distant, logical part of him recognized them for what they were --
stress, grief, and a symptom of the abuse he had been heaping on his body
for the past week. He wasn't eating, had barely slept -- when he
did he was haunted by nightmares -- and he hadn't been outside in days.
No wonder he was getting headaches. Another part of him,
the not-so-logical part, almost welcomed the pain. "The desire to
hurt oneself in order to assuage feelings of guilt and loss," a shrink
would probably say. Whatever. It didn't matter. He had
more important things to worry about right now. Like putting right
what he had done. Trying to fix what he had broken...
Jack ruthlessly shoved the thoughts aside and tried to force his weary
eyes to focus on the notes in front of him. Notes from a mission
over a year ago. Sam's notes. And maybe...just maybe...the
answer.
It had come to him during his first sleepless night after the Goa'uld
attack. Those first few hours after...after Sam's return, after he
had left the Gate Room...were still a blur. Shock, Doc Frasier had
said. He would probably never remember them clearly. Just as
well, he had thought at the time. What he could remember was bad
enough. The raw disbelief that had slammed into him like a blow to
the chest at the sight of her body on the ramp...the way everything around
him had faded, so that he could hear only the rough, uncertain pounding
of his own heart. And the cold. Most of all he remembered the
cold that had torn
through him, as if his blood had turned to ice. No. He
would never forget those things. Just as he would never --
could never -- forget the way the Goa'uld had tortured to death
the woman he...he...
Loved.
He loved her. Why had it taken him so long to realize how he
felt? Why had he only realized now, when it was too late?
Why? He had been asking himself that question a lot lately.
Why had she been the one to die? Why hadn't he been there with her?
Why hadn't he saved her?
He knew what the others would tell him. That there was nothing
anyone could have done. That risk is part of a soldier's life, especially
for those here in the SGC. That it was Fate, her time to die...
Well, time, Fate or whatever god might have done this to her, were
wrong. They were all wrong. "And I'm going to put it right,"
he thought grimly, focusing again on the text before him.
Time travel. He wasn't quite sure where the idea had come from, but it was there now and it wouldn't go away. He had been staring blindly up at the ceiling that first night, with dry eyes and an aching heart, wondering how he could bear the pain. "How can I live in a world where Sam is dead?" he had asked himself. "I can't," had been the answer. "I won't."
"So fix it," a small voice inside him had replied. "Make it better. Fix it."
"How?" He wasn't God. He didn't have those kind of powers, couldn't change what was all too horribly real. And then it came to him. 1969. The Stargate. Time travel.
Sam's words, echoing back through his memory: "If we change our own past we could change our world in ways that we can't possibly imagine. We might even cease to exist along with everything and everyone we know."
Or not. If he could find a way, maybe he could change what
had happened. Save her. Jack steadfastly ignored the memory
of Sam's warning of what could happen if he started messing around with
the timeline. It didn't matter. All that mattered was putting
things right.
Unfortunately, all he managed to accomplish this last week was realize
that he was no Stephen Hawking. Jack sighed and ran his hands through
his hair. He was a smart guy. Really. He wouldn't have
made Colonel otherwise. But his mind just didn't work in this way.
Ask him to plan a covert attack on an enemy stronghold -- no problem.
He could strip down and reassemble most hand weapons in seconds, and he
was great at seeing the big picture and finding options where none existed.
But he still hadn't made it past page three of Sam's report. It was
thick with phrases like warped space-time and quantum fluctuations, and
he didn't understand one-tenth of it. With the help of the reference
books he had gathered he had gotten through the first couple of pages but
by the time he got to page four, all the information he had managed to
assimilate so far seemed to dribble out the back of his mind like grains
of sand. It was like trying to hold onto a fistful of marbles while
someone else kept pouring more in.
"Yeah, Jack," he thought bitterly, leaning back in Sam's chair and
closing his eyes. "You're losing your marbles in more ways than one."
Time to accept reality. He was never going to figure this out.
He could spend a lifetime trying to understand it and it would still elude
him. He needed Sam to work it out for him... A shaft
of pain went through him at the thought. "God, I miss her."
No, there was no one he could ask for help, no one he could even tell
what he was doing. And besides, anyone smart
enough to figure all this out would probably tell him the same thing
Sam had said -- that it was dangerous to play around with time. There
was no-one, except maybe...
A footstep at the door alerted him and Jack straightened in the chair,
absently rubbing his lower back which was throbbing unmercifully.
The door opened, and a pair of tired grey eyes met his. Jack stood,
wincing at the aches and pains which shot through him. "General,"
he said. "Did you get it?" He held his breath, not really daring
to hope.
The man in front of him frowned. I do not approve of this,
Colonel O'Neill>
"Great," thought Jack. He had been hoping to deal with Jacob
rather than Selmac. The thought of the Goa'uld -- sorry -- Tok'ra
in there still made him more than a little uncomfortable. Still,
he could deal with her...couldn't he? Unconsciously he straightened
his shoulders. "Tough," he said flatly. May as well get off
on the wrong foot right from the beginning, he thought. It would
save so much time later. "I don't care if you approve or not.
This is me not caring."
The Tok'ra's eyes narrowed. Jacob only agreed to do this
because he was motivated by grief. As are you. I respect your
feelings, but you must not do this. The dangers are...>
"I don't give a damn about the dangers. And, no offence lady,
but it's the General's call. She was his daughter, not yours."
And you think this does not affect me as well?> There
was a note of real anger in Selmac's voice. It is Tok'ra
technology that you have asked Jacob to steal>
"Borrow. I never asked him to steal anything. We're just
borrowing it. And speaking of...I want to talk to General Carter.
Now please." Jack was quite pleased at the tone of politeness he
had managed to inject into his voice. Just two...er...three people
having a civilized conversation. Right.
"She's pretty mad." It was Jacob, the reverberation in his voice
gone now.
"Yes, sir. Did you bring it?"
Jacob nodded and crossed the room, putting a small device on top of
one of the books on the worktable. Jack moved around to peer at it
more closely.
It was small, mostly round in shape, and covered with little bits and
pieces of something, making it look somewhat like a silvery doughnut
with metallic sprinkles on top. Jack felt mildly disappointed.
He had expected something a little more...imposing. "Is that it?"
he asked, poking a cautious finger at the device.
"Yes. And don't poke it."
Jack snatched his hand back and glanced over his shoulder at the older
man. "Will it work? And will she..." he waved his hand
vaguely in the direction of Jacob's head "let us use it?" He held
his breath, half fearing the answer.
Jacob shifted uncomfortably. "It will work," he said finally,
"and Selmac won't stop us..."
"But?"
"But she's pretty unhappy with both of us. Well, me mostly.
She's not talking to me right now. It's very disconcerting to have
someone furious with you when they're living in your head. Like having
an argument with yourself."
Jack met his eyes. "I appreciate what you're doing, Sir," he
said simply. "I know it's not easy for you."
Jacob smiled and for an instant Jack was reminded of Sam. "This
is going to work," he thought desperately. "It has
to." The General reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.
"Selmac will get over in time. And besides, it will be worth
it to get Sam back."
Jack nodded slowly. "Yes, Sir. It will."