TITLE: The End of Despair
AUTHOR: Flora
EMAIL: florastuart@yahoo.com
DATE: March 15, 2002
ARCHIVE: Will be archived at FanFiction.net,
Stargatefan.com, Heliopolis, anyone else just ask
CATEGORY: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene
SPOILERS: major for Stargate the Movie, minor for A
Matter of Time, Solitudes
RATING: R for language, canon death of minor
character
SUMMARY:
"I won't be coming back.
There is a liberation in that thought, not hope
exactly. There is no hope left for me, not anymore.
More like a shadow of hope . . . or at least the end
of despair."
At the beginning of the movie, Jack is offered a way
to end his life with honor. What happens when he
changes his mind?
DISCLAIMER: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the
property of Showtime/ Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret
Productions, and Gekko Productions. I have written
this story for entertainment purposes only and no
money whatsoever has exchanged hands. No copyright
infringement is intended. The original characters,
situations, and story are the property of the
author. Not to be archived without permission of the
author.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Here is part three...Jack discovers he's got a problem...
Feedback eagerly accepted! :):)
Much as I dislike West, I would've loved to be able to say that he was right and I was wrong. Really I would.
But it didn't work out that way.
When he said he needed to look around some more, I thought he meant he wanted to go sightseeing, explore the pyramid, look for more weird pictures.
*I mean . . . this is a replica of the Great Pyramid of Giza.* That's great, Jackson. And you think I care because . . . ? *We really need to look around some more.*
"Your job," I reminded him, pointed, "is to realign the Stargate. Can you do that or not?"
I didn't come on this mission for scientific exploration, or any crap like that. I wanted to know that my team would be able to go home, and I wanted to know it now. Regardless of what we might find here, hostile aliens or threats to Earth, I wanted to know that this was all going to be as easy as Jackson had so glibly promised West.
At first it looked like he was nodding, looking at me like I was some idiot standing in the way of scientific progress just because I could.
"I . . . I can't."
I can do that . . .
Are you sure?
Positive. Yeah. Right. Way to go, General.
He might not be used to military discipline, but he's on my team now under my command, and that means he will do as I damn well tell him. My voice chilled to absolute zero, a tone that would have made the worst of my old drill sergeants proud. "You can't, or you won't?"
I was right, the guy had no self-preservation instinct whatsoever. He had no fucking clue how close I was to punching his lights out, or how many of his bones I could break with a few well-placed blows if he wasn't very careful. He just squinted at me, like I was the one being unreasonable here.
"I can decipher the symbols on the Stargate, but I need an order of alignment."
There were footsteps behind me, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Kawalsky coming to stand beside me, a wary look on his face. A look that said he'd better not have heard what he thought he'd just heard.
I'm with you, pal.
"Now those coordinates were on tablets back on Earth, and there must be something like that here. I just . . . need to find it."
I stood there, nodding, uh-huh, you're kidding right? And he spread his hands with this nervous little laugh, like he's confessing some kind of minor screw-up, while I'm giving him a look anyone with half an ounce of sense would recognize as you've-got-five-seconds-to-tell-me-you're-not- serious-or-so-help-me-I'll-knock-you-senseless.
Multiple PhD's the man might have, but common sense had never crossed that brilliant mind.
"Find it?" Kawalsky's voice was deceptively calm. "What do you mean, *find* it? You didn't say anything about finding anything."
"Well, I assumed it would be here . . ." He trailed off, seeing I wasn't buying this.
"You *assumed*?" I couldn't believe I was still standing there, calmly, inches away from him, and I hadn't hit him yet. How exactly did I let myself get talked into taking a civilian on this team? Much less trusting him with the lives of all my men? Whatever Jackson had said, whatever he'd assumed, he wasn't military, wasn't trained to the same standards I was, and I'd known that when I'd taken him on the team. And I'd still assumed he knew what he was talking about when he'd said he could get the team home.
Stupid, *stupid* . . . the voice of my old drill sergeant came back to me. You never, EVER *assume* anything, when it comes to a mission. Do you have any *idea* how many men have *died* because of dumbass mistakes like you just made? *Do you, soldier??*
"You're a lyin' son of a bitch!" Kawalsky's shout cut across the memories, so calm a minute ago, now rigid, sparking fury as he shoved Jackson hard. The guy fell over, sitting on the sand blinking up at us like he had no idea what Kawalsky was so worked up about. "You didn't say a *word* about *finding* anything!"
As tempting as it was, if we beat the crap out of Jackson now we'd never get back. And the rest of the guys were starting to drift in this direction, and from the look on Ferretti's face it was clear they'd overheard, and they'd all be *more* than willing to give Kawalsky a hand. Time for me to take charge. Salvage the situation, or whatever there was left of it to salvage.
I moved deliberately between Kawalsky and Jackson, who was still sitting on the ground looking hurt. Kawalsky was beyond furious, and while I could sympathize I needed him to cool off and think rationally, or I was never gonna get the rest of them out of here. The younger guys were all gathering behind him, anger masking their very real fear, and I needed my 2IC to help me keep order and discipline, or we were all dead.
"Kawalsky." I met his livid glare with one of my own, no less angry but cold. Controlled. We locked stares for interminable seconds. "Set up a camp down here, organize our supplies."
"Sir--" He stopped at the look I gave him, but he didn't back down.
"You've got your orders." I hear you, but we don't have time for this right now. I'm pissed, you're pissed, we're all pissed, but killing Jackson's not gonna help us, and the sooner we all realize that the sooner we can figure out a way to get the hell out of here. I need you with me. I need you to be part of the solution, soldier, not part of the problem.
He stared at me for a while, and I watched as the professional mask gradually came back, slid into place, but now it was just that, a mask. He didn't look at Jackson, scrambling to his feet. Turning, he walked stiffly back toward the pyramid, snapping orders at the others, leaving me to deal with our errant scientist.
Kawalsky might never know it, but his reaction was the only thing that kept me from doing something very violent and very unpleasant to Dr. Daniel Jackson right then. I didn't feel like dealing with him right now. So I just watched as he started walking around the pyramid, absolutely fascinated and totally in his own little world. I should probably have assigned one of the guys to keep an eye on him, make sure he didn't run into any nasty locals while he wasn't watching where he was going, but right now I figured he was in more danger from my men than anything else we'd seen so far. Hopefully he'd have the sense to stick near base camp and not get lost in the desert. Hopefully.
With a silent prayer to whatever God watches over drunks, fools, and archaeologists, I turned around and walked slowly back into the pyramid. We hadn't seen any signs of hostiles yet, but that bomb took a couple minutes to set up, and if I waited till I found an enemy I might not have that much time.
It was the kind of switch you would never notice if you didn't know where to look. A touch, and I could lift up the lid to the secret compartment in the sled, that section of its innards the rest of them probably assumed was part of the engine.
All set up, it wouldn't even stand as high as my waist. Such a small bomb, to hold so much power. To blow this pyramid sky-high, and melt the Stargate down so it could never be used again. To destroy half a world, and whatever fascinating cultural artifacts Jackson was so excited about.
To take away the pain, and despair, Charlie's eyes wide and his blood soaking the carpet, Sara's tears and her silence. To take away the memories.
It's not hard to put together. I'd done it before, assembled a tactical nuclear warhead from its component parts, pushing this piece in, pulling this out, pressing a few buttons, watching lights blink and readouts scroll across the little screen in my hand. I'd practiced over and over, in that deserted briefing room next door to West's office, until I could put this thing together and take it apart faster than I could reassemble my M-16 in basic training.
Only thing I hadn't done yet was lift that red cover, and push the switch.
Part of me watched my hands move, remembering. Remembering a time when I would've looked at a man like myself, uncomprehending, seeing only such a waste of life and hope. What kind of man could do such a thing, could put together a nuclear bomb so calmly my hands don't even shake as I construct my own death? What kind of man could flip that switch without thinking twice or looking back, leaving everything behind, throwing everything away? I'd seen men like this before--you meet a fair number of psychos in Special Ops, if you stay in long enough--but they'd stayed apart from the rest of us, and they hadn't stayed long. Guys who went looking for death in Special Ops usually found it pretty quick, and I'd watched them go, sad but never quite understanding.
I wasn't throwing everything away, not now. I'd already done that, many times over. I didn't have anything left to throw away, nothing to lose by flipping that little switch. Just a few weeks ago I'd been building a life, taking care of a family, trying to make up for all the years I'd been overseas. I'd thought I was done with blood and guns and war.
Such a little thing, such a little strength needed to pull the trigger of a gun. To push the arming switch of a bomb. The lightest touch, and nothing was the same.
But there was a light coming from the entrance, a flashlight and footsteps, and I quickly let the lid shut again.
"Sir?"
Kawalsky. If he was still mad I couldn't tell. I lowered my hand behind the sled, casual, hiding a small piece of electronics that my 2IC might or might not be able to identify as part of a bomb.
"Base camp's up, sir," he said. I didn't say anything, just nodded, and for a minute we looked at each other. He was giving me a curious look, eyebrows up--the same look he'd given me half an hour ago when I'd told him he'd be going back through the Stargate within the hour.
You're coming with us, aren't you, Colonel?
I hadn't answered him. What would I have said? No, Kawalsky, I'm not going back to Earth. I'm staying behind on Planet X and blowing up this pyramid with that little nuclear warhead I brought with me. Oh dear, did I forget to tell you about that one?
I'd hoped he wouldn't think anything of it, that he'd think I hadn't heard him. But from the look on his face he knew I'd heard him, and he knew I'd deliberately chosen not to answer.
But unlike Jackson, Kawalsky seemed to value his own skin, and didn't push it. He rested one hand on the sled, with a searching look that told me in no uncertain terms I wasn't hiding anything from him. Then he turned and walked outside without a word.
I felt bad as I watched him go, but also relieved that he'd decided to let it lie. Kawalsky was a soldier, and he wasn't about to bother his CO with unwelcome personal questions, even if he might suspect I had a death wish. Not yet. He trusted me to put the safety of the team ahead of my own life or death, whichever I was after, and that was enough for him, for now. Thank God for military discipline.
I supposed I should be glad he'd calmed down enough to wonder about my strange behavior, if that meant he'd forgotten how much he'd wanted to strangle Jackson half an hour ago. I needed him to keep the team together, needed his steady presence to help me remind the younger guys that they were still soldiers, we'd been trained for missions that were supposed to be impossible, and that they were gonna make it home. It was just gonna take a little longer, that was all.
Our archaeologist was gone when I got back.
Dammit, this was *not* the way these things were supposed to work! I fumed silently. Civilian consultants do *not* wander away from base camp in a hostile environment, no matter what they're looking for or how important it might be. What would have been so hard about telling Kawalsky or Ferretti what he'd found? Then one of the guys could have told me, and we'd have a nice reasonable discussion about the strategic merits of following those tracks, and if and how we should split the team up to investigate. Instead I had a team member, the most important and least able to defend himself, off God knew where, in possibly hostile territory that wasn't as deserted as we'd originally thought.
Shit.
To be perfectly fair, he *had* managed to find the signs of civilization we'd been looking for, if that tent city down there wasn't a mirage. And while that thing licking his face didn't look like it was about to have him for lunch, he could very easily have been killed if it had dragged him at that kind of pace over rougher terrain. I wonder if he even realized that.
Well, there are people down there. And they've seen us.
This kid might be thirteen, fourteen, and I can't hear from here but he's pointing at us, saying something. The way he's dressed reminds me of tribesmen in Afghanistan in the '70's, or Iran in the '80's. Or . . .
*Don't* go there.
More people are starting to gather, watching us. I can't see any weapons, but that doesn't mean they're not there. Or that alien weapons would look anything like ours. But these people look human . . .
Hell. We're not gonna get anywhere if we sit up here all day. Time to rock'n'roll.
AUTHOR: Flora
EMAIL: florastuart@yahoo.com
DATE: March 15, 2002
ARCHIVE: Will be archived at FanFiction.net,
Stargatefan.com, Heliopolis, anyone else just ask
CATEGORY: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene
SPOILERS: major for Stargate the Movie, minor for A
Matter of Time, Solitudes
RATING: R for language, canon death of minor
character
SUMMARY:
"I won't be coming back.
There is a liberation in that thought, not hope
exactly. There is no hope left for me, not anymore.
More like a shadow of hope . . . or at least the end
of despair."
At the beginning of the movie, Jack is offered a way
to end his life with honor. What happens when he
changes his mind?
DISCLAIMER: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the
property of Showtime/ Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret
Productions, and Gekko Productions. I have written
this story for entertainment purposes only and no
money whatsoever has exchanged hands. No copyright
infringement is intended. The original characters,
situations, and story are the property of the
author. Not to be archived without permission of the
author.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Here is part three...Jack discovers he's got a problem...
Feedback eagerly accepted! :):)
Much as I dislike West, I would've loved to be able to say that he was right and I was wrong. Really I would.
But it didn't work out that way.
When he said he needed to look around some more, I thought he meant he wanted to go sightseeing, explore the pyramid, look for more weird pictures.
*I mean . . . this is a replica of the Great Pyramid of Giza.* That's great, Jackson. And you think I care because . . . ? *We really need to look around some more.*
"Your job," I reminded him, pointed, "is to realign the Stargate. Can you do that or not?"
I didn't come on this mission for scientific exploration, or any crap like that. I wanted to know that my team would be able to go home, and I wanted to know it now. Regardless of what we might find here, hostile aliens or threats to Earth, I wanted to know that this was all going to be as easy as Jackson had so glibly promised West.
At first it looked like he was nodding, looking at me like I was some idiot standing in the way of scientific progress just because I could.
"I . . . I can't."
I can do that . . .
Are you sure?
Positive. Yeah. Right. Way to go, General.
He might not be used to military discipline, but he's on my team now under my command, and that means he will do as I damn well tell him. My voice chilled to absolute zero, a tone that would have made the worst of my old drill sergeants proud. "You can't, or you won't?"
I was right, the guy had no self-preservation instinct whatsoever. He had no fucking clue how close I was to punching his lights out, or how many of his bones I could break with a few well-placed blows if he wasn't very careful. He just squinted at me, like I was the one being unreasonable here.
"I can decipher the symbols on the Stargate, but I need an order of alignment."
There were footsteps behind me, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Kawalsky coming to stand beside me, a wary look on his face. A look that said he'd better not have heard what he thought he'd just heard.
I'm with you, pal.
"Now those coordinates were on tablets back on Earth, and there must be something like that here. I just . . . need to find it."
I stood there, nodding, uh-huh, you're kidding right? And he spread his hands with this nervous little laugh, like he's confessing some kind of minor screw-up, while I'm giving him a look anyone with half an ounce of sense would recognize as you've-got-five-seconds-to-tell-me-you're-not- serious-or-so-help-me-I'll-knock-you-senseless.
Multiple PhD's the man might have, but common sense had never crossed that brilliant mind.
"Find it?" Kawalsky's voice was deceptively calm. "What do you mean, *find* it? You didn't say anything about finding anything."
"Well, I assumed it would be here . . ." He trailed off, seeing I wasn't buying this.
"You *assumed*?" I couldn't believe I was still standing there, calmly, inches away from him, and I hadn't hit him yet. How exactly did I let myself get talked into taking a civilian on this team? Much less trusting him with the lives of all my men? Whatever Jackson had said, whatever he'd assumed, he wasn't military, wasn't trained to the same standards I was, and I'd known that when I'd taken him on the team. And I'd still assumed he knew what he was talking about when he'd said he could get the team home.
Stupid, *stupid* . . . the voice of my old drill sergeant came back to me. You never, EVER *assume* anything, when it comes to a mission. Do you have any *idea* how many men have *died* because of dumbass mistakes like you just made? *Do you, soldier??*
"You're a lyin' son of a bitch!" Kawalsky's shout cut across the memories, so calm a minute ago, now rigid, sparking fury as he shoved Jackson hard. The guy fell over, sitting on the sand blinking up at us like he had no idea what Kawalsky was so worked up about. "You didn't say a *word* about *finding* anything!"
As tempting as it was, if we beat the crap out of Jackson now we'd never get back. And the rest of the guys were starting to drift in this direction, and from the look on Ferretti's face it was clear they'd overheard, and they'd all be *more* than willing to give Kawalsky a hand. Time for me to take charge. Salvage the situation, or whatever there was left of it to salvage.
I moved deliberately between Kawalsky and Jackson, who was still sitting on the ground looking hurt. Kawalsky was beyond furious, and while I could sympathize I needed him to cool off and think rationally, or I was never gonna get the rest of them out of here. The younger guys were all gathering behind him, anger masking their very real fear, and I needed my 2IC to help me keep order and discipline, or we were all dead.
"Kawalsky." I met his livid glare with one of my own, no less angry but cold. Controlled. We locked stares for interminable seconds. "Set up a camp down here, organize our supplies."
"Sir--" He stopped at the look I gave him, but he didn't back down.
"You've got your orders." I hear you, but we don't have time for this right now. I'm pissed, you're pissed, we're all pissed, but killing Jackson's not gonna help us, and the sooner we all realize that the sooner we can figure out a way to get the hell out of here. I need you with me. I need you to be part of the solution, soldier, not part of the problem.
He stared at me for a while, and I watched as the professional mask gradually came back, slid into place, but now it was just that, a mask. He didn't look at Jackson, scrambling to his feet. Turning, he walked stiffly back toward the pyramid, snapping orders at the others, leaving me to deal with our errant scientist.
Kawalsky might never know it, but his reaction was the only thing that kept me from doing something very violent and very unpleasant to Dr. Daniel Jackson right then. I didn't feel like dealing with him right now. So I just watched as he started walking around the pyramid, absolutely fascinated and totally in his own little world. I should probably have assigned one of the guys to keep an eye on him, make sure he didn't run into any nasty locals while he wasn't watching where he was going, but right now I figured he was in more danger from my men than anything else we'd seen so far. Hopefully he'd have the sense to stick near base camp and not get lost in the desert. Hopefully.
With a silent prayer to whatever God watches over drunks, fools, and archaeologists, I turned around and walked slowly back into the pyramid. We hadn't seen any signs of hostiles yet, but that bomb took a couple minutes to set up, and if I waited till I found an enemy I might not have that much time.
It was the kind of switch you would never notice if you didn't know where to look. A touch, and I could lift up the lid to the secret compartment in the sled, that section of its innards the rest of them probably assumed was part of the engine.
All set up, it wouldn't even stand as high as my waist. Such a small bomb, to hold so much power. To blow this pyramid sky-high, and melt the Stargate down so it could never be used again. To destroy half a world, and whatever fascinating cultural artifacts Jackson was so excited about.
To take away the pain, and despair, Charlie's eyes wide and his blood soaking the carpet, Sara's tears and her silence. To take away the memories.
It's not hard to put together. I'd done it before, assembled a tactical nuclear warhead from its component parts, pushing this piece in, pulling this out, pressing a few buttons, watching lights blink and readouts scroll across the little screen in my hand. I'd practiced over and over, in that deserted briefing room next door to West's office, until I could put this thing together and take it apart faster than I could reassemble my M-16 in basic training.
Only thing I hadn't done yet was lift that red cover, and push the switch.
Part of me watched my hands move, remembering. Remembering a time when I would've looked at a man like myself, uncomprehending, seeing only such a waste of life and hope. What kind of man could do such a thing, could put together a nuclear bomb so calmly my hands don't even shake as I construct my own death? What kind of man could flip that switch without thinking twice or looking back, leaving everything behind, throwing everything away? I'd seen men like this before--you meet a fair number of psychos in Special Ops, if you stay in long enough--but they'd stayed apart from the rest of us, and they hadn't stayed long. Guys who went looking for death in Special Ops usually found it pretty quick, and I'd watched them go, sad but never quite understanding.
I wasn't throwing everything away, not now. I'd already done that, many times over. I didn't have anything left to throw away, nothing to lose by flipping that little switch. Just a few weeks ago I'd been building a life, taking care of a family, trying to make up for all the years I'd been overseas. I'd thought I was done with blood and guns and war.
Such a little thing, such a little strength needed to pull the trigger of a gun. To push the arming switch of a bomb. The lightest touch, and nothing was the same.
But there was a light coming from the entrance, a flashlight and footsteps, and I quickly let the lid shut again.
"Sir?"
Kawalsky. If he was still mad I couldn't tell. I lowered my hand behind the sled, casual, hiding a small piece of electronics that my 2IC might or might not be able to identify as part of a bomb.
"Base camp's up, sir," he said. I didn't say anything, just nodded, and for a minute we looked at each other. He was giving me a curious look, eyebrows up--the same look he'd given me half an hour ago when I'd told him he'd be going back through the Stargate within the hour.
You're coming with us, aren't you, Colonel?
I hadn't answered him. What would I have said? No, Kawalsky, I'm not going back to Earth. I'm staying behind on Planet X and blowing up this pyramid with that little nuclear warhead I brought with me. Oh dear, did I forget to tell you about that one?
I'd hoped he wouldn't think anything of it, that he'd think I hadn't heard him. But from the look on his face he knew I'd heard him, and he knew I'd deliberately chosen not to answer.
But unlike Jackson, Kawalsky seemed to value his own skin, and didn't push it. He rested one hand on the sled, with a searching look that told me in no uncertain terms I wasn't hiding anything from him. Then he turned and walked outside without a word.
I felt bad as I watched him go, but also relieved that he'd decided to let it lie. Kawalsky was a soldier, and he wasn't about to bother his CO with unwelcome personal questions, even if he might suspect I had a death wish. Not yet. He trusted me to put the safety of the team ahead of my own life or death, whichever I was after, and that was enough for him, for now. Thank God for military discipline.
I supposed I should be glad he'd calmed down enough to wonder about my strange behavior, if that meant he'd forgotten how much he'd wanted to strangle Jackson half an hour ago. I needed him to keep the team together, needed his steady presence to help me remind the younger guys that they were still soldiers, we'd been trained for missions that were supposed to be impossible, and that they were gonna make it home. It was just gonna take a little longer, that was all.
Our archaeologist was gone when I got back.
Dammit, this was *not* the way these things were supposed to work! I fumed silently. Civilian consultants do *not* wander away from base camp in a hostile environment, no matter what they're looking for or how important it might be. What would have been so hard about telling Kawalsky or Ferretti what he'd found? Then one of the guys could have told me, and we'd have a nice reasonable discussion about the strategic merits of following those tracks, and if and how we should split the team up to investigate. Instead I had a team member, the most important and least able to defend himself, off God knew where, in possibly hostile territory that wasn't as deserted as we'd originally thought.
Shit.
To be perfectly fair, he *had* managed to find the signs of civilization we'd been looking for, if that tent city down there wasn't a mirage. And while that thing licking his face didn't look like it was about to have him for lunch, he could very easily have been killed if it had dragged him at that kind of pace over rougher terrain. I wonder if he even realized that.
Well, there are people down there. And they've seen us.
This kid might be thirteen, fourteen, and I can't hear from here but he's pointing at us, saying something. The way he's dressed reminds me of tribesmen in Afghanistan in the '70's, or Iran in the '80's. Or . . .
*Don't* go there.
More people are starting to gather, watching us. I can't see any weapons, but that doesn't mean they're not there. Or that alien weapons would look anything like ours. But these people look human . . .
Hell. We're not gonna get anywhere if we sit up here all day. Time to rock'n'roll.