Disclaimer: They're not mine. I forget who owns them, but it's definitely not me. Something to do with some kind of Reptile, I think...
Into That Good Night
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
(Dylan Thomas)
---------------------------------------------------------
Chapter Five: Blind Eyes
A sob escaped my throat as I reached out and tentatively touched his cheek with my fingertips. He, in turn, muttered an expletive unfit to repeat and pulled me hard into his warm, comforting embrace.
After a long moment, he pulled away from me slightly and rubbed his hands soothingly up and down my arms.
"Carter, listen. This is really important."
But I wasn't paying attention. Without warning, the overwhelming gratitude for his presence had disappeared and been replaced by confusion and some measure of outrage. My relief at discovering I was safe, combined with being mighty pissed off at his intrusion is all I have in defence for the actions that followed.
I punched him. Hard.
Even the fleeting realisation that I could be court-marshalled for hitting a superior officer did not stop my right fist from taking a swing and connecting with his cheekbone as I (incoherently) yelled; "What the hell are you doing here? You scared the hell out of me, you son of a bitch!"
Despite the pain I must have inflicted on the poor man, his reactions were still quick enough to grab my hand and pin it behind my back, whilst simultaneously pushing me back up against the wall.
I'm ashamed to say that despite the urgency of the situation, not to mention the fact that there was *another* intruder in my house, my body seemed, on the whole, to be rather busy enjoying the feeling of his entire six-foot-odd frame pressed intimately against mine. Not to mention what the close proximity of his face to mine was doing to my libido.
The Carter/O'Neill history has dictated for the last six years that our timing always be *way* off. And it seemed on this night that nothing had changed. My free hand...the one *not* uncomfortably pinned behind me... was placed in defence against his chest, and I could feel his heart beating hard and fast against my palm. His breathing had shallowed - as had mine, and I could see his shadowed image becoming more and more blurry as our faces inched closer together. My pulse quickened, and I could feel nervous excitement build up low in my stomach as his breath washed over my face.
Closer...
And closer together...
Until...
Everything went black. The power in my entire house had gone out. Shaken from our untimely moment of intimacy, the Colonel released my arm and looked quickly behind him.
"Bastard's cut the power." He muttered, reaching behind him and pulling out a gun.
Unable to take the suspense any longer, I grabbed his sleeve, forcing him to face me again as I hissed "What the hell is going on Sir? Who's in my house?"
I listened attentively as Colonel O'Neill switched back into full military mode and explained briefly our situation.
Apparently, he had become concerned about me after I had called him earlier that evening (understandable seeing as I very rarely phoned my CO just to have a chat) and had decided to come over and make sure I was okay.
The lights had been out when he arrived - which must have meant I was already in bed - but just as he was about to turn around and go back home, he saw someone climbing through my bedroom window.
My heart stopped beating for a moment when he said this. I'd been right after all. Someone *was* in my bedroom when I woke up, and the scratching noise I heard must have been them opening and closing my bedroom door.
Luckily for me, my entire house was now pitch black and therefore he couldn't see my face as I paled at the thought of someone being in my room. So, uninterrupted, he continued.
"I decided that instead of calling the cops, it was best if I went in myself and captured him. After all," he continued, the light-hearted teasing evident in his voice, "last time you had a stranger in your house, he turned out to be an alien and I figured maybe he'd started a trend."
I laughed wryly, despite myself, and accepted the proffered gun he had placed in my hand. "You good to go?" he muttered as I heard him pull the clip back on his own weapon.
"Can't see a damn thing, Sir." I whispered in reply, grabbing my torch with my free hand "But yeah, lets go."
Seeing as I knew the layout of my house better than my CO, he allowed me to take point as we headed the short distance to the Electric mains. I shone the torch light onto the power grid. The cable leading from mains had, indeed, been severed and there was no way in hell even *I* could fix it quickly enough.
The Colonel tapped me briefly on the shoulder and indicated towards the basement. I nodded in reply and headed off back towards my bedroom. Despite my professional demeanour, I couldn't help but feel more than a little frightened. I'd lost count of the number of times we'd been in situations like these, always lead by the weapon in my hands, but never certain of what could be around the next corner. The thing is, under normal circumstances, I thrived on this type of scenario, revelling in the buzz the rush of adrenaline gave me. But this was different. We weren't off world, trying desperately to save some doomed civilisation, or fighting the Goa'uld on some ship in outer space. No, we were in my own home, my sanctuary. And this reason alone ceased any attempts at professionalism. This was a purely personal situation and it made me really, really mad that some bastard had the all out nerve to force me into bringing my work home with me.
Just as I reached my bedroom I heard two shots fired from behind me. Without thinking I turned and raced blindly back towards the basement, resolutely ignoring the pain that lanced through my hip as it connected with the kitchen table.
I ran as fast as I could down the stairs and into the cold basement where my torch found Colonel O'Neill laying face down on the floor, a pool of blood spreading onto the concrete next to his prone body.
I went through the motions of securing the immediate area before rushing over to my Commanding Officer and kneeling down next to him. Carefully, so as not to injure him any further, I placed my hands on his shoulders and turned him over, resting his head on my lap.
His pulse was weak and thready and I knew without a doubt that he wasn't going to make it. Tears began streaming down my face as I stroked his cheek gently with my hand, wishing fervently for a Goa'uld healing device.
The Colonel stirred slightly under my touch and opened his eyes. "Carter?" he murmured, wincing as more pain invaded his weak body.
"Hey, Sir." Despite my inner agony, I attempted a smile. "You're gonna be fine. Just lay still." The lie tripped easily off my tongue, but I knew as soon as I had said it that he would know I was lying, but still he kept his council.
He grasped my hand in his and held on to me as if his life depended on it. Fighting back more tears in a futile attempt to be strong, I stroked his face with my free hand and asked, "Did you see who did this?"
"*I* did."
Grabbing my torch I waved it frantically around me, trying desperately to find the owner of the voice. I knew immediately from the tinny sound of the voice that I was dealing with a Goa'uld, and for a fleeting moment I wondered why they had used such a 'primitive' weapon to harm Colonel O'Neill, when their weaponry was so much more effective.
Colonel O'Neill exhaled one last time, his grip on my hand loosened and he died just as the Goa'uld stepped out of the shadows and into my torchlight.
Oh God no.
The words sprung into my mind as tears fell freely down my face. My Colonel, the one man I loved more than anything else in the world was dead, and my worst nightmare was standing in front of me, pointing a gun at my head.
Mark, my own brother.
He pulled the trigger and fired.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Bet you weren't expecting that!
Final chapter coming soon. But only if you send feedback!
Into That Good Night
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
(Dylan Thomas)
---------------------------------------------------------
Chapter Five: Blind Eyes
A sob escaped my throat as I reached out and tentatively touched his cheek with my fingertips. He, in turn, muttered an expletive unfit to repeat and pulled me hard into his warm, comforting embrace.
After a long moment, he pulled away from me slightly and rubbed his hands soothingly up and down my arms.
"Carter, listen. This is really important."
But I wasn't paying attention. Without warning, the overwhelming gratitude for his presence had disappeared and been replaced by confusion and some measure of outrage. My relief at discovering I was safe, combined with being mighty pissed off at his intrusion is all I have in defence for the actions that followed.
I punched him. Hard.
Even the fleeting realisation that I could be court-marshalled for hitting a superior officer did not stop my right fist from taking a swing and connecting with his cheekbone as I (incoherently) yelled; "What the hell are you doing here? You scared the hell out of me, you son of a bitch!"
Despite the pain I must have inflicted on the poor man, his reactions were still quick enough to grab my hand and pin it behind my back, whilst simultaneously pushing me back up against the wall.
I'm ashamed to say that despite the urgency of the situation, not to mention the fact that there was *another* intruder in my house, my body seemed, on the whole, to be rather busy enjoying the feeling of his entire six-foot-odd frame pressed intimately against mine. Not to mention what the close proximity of his face to mine was doing to my libido.
The Carter/O'Neill history has dictated for the last six years that our timing always be *way* off. And it seemed on this night that nothing had changed. My free hand...the one *not* uncomfortably pinned behind me... was placed in defence against his chest, and I could feel his heart beating hard and fast against my palm. His breathing had shallowed - as had mine, and I could see his shadowed image becoming more and more blurry as our faces inched closer together. My pulse quickened, and I could feel nervous excitement build up low in my stomach as his breath washed over my face.
Closer...
And closer together...
Until...
Everything went black. The power in my entire house had gone out. Shaken from our untimely moment of intimacy, the Colonel released my arm and looked quickly behind him.
"Bastard's cut the power." He muttered, reaching behind him and pulling out a gun.
Unable to take the suspense any longer, I grabbed his sleeve, forcing him to face me again as I hissed "What the hell is going on Sir? Who's in my house?"
I listened attentively as Colonel O'Neill switched back into full military mode and explained briefly our situation.
Apparently, he had become concerned about me after I had called him earlier that evening (understandable seeing as I very rarely phoned my CO just to have a chat) and had decided to come over and make sure I was okay.
The lights had been out when he arrived - which must have meant I was already in bed - but just as he was about to turn around and go back home, he saw someone climbing through my bedroom window.
My heart stopped beating for a moment when he said this. I'd been right after all. Someone *was* in my bedroom when I woke up, and the scratching noise I heard must have been them opening and closing my bedroom door.
Luckily for me, my entire house was now pitch black and therefore he couldn't see my face as I paled at the thought of someone being in my room. So, uninterrupted, he continued.
"I decided that instead of calling the cops, it was best if I went in myself and captured him. After all," he continued, the light-hearted teasing evident in his voice, "last time you had a stranger in your house, he turned out to be an alien and I figured maybe he'd started a trend."
I laughed wryly, despite myself, and accepted the proffered gun he had placed in my hand. "You good to go?" he muttered as I heard him pull the clip back on his own weapon.
"Can't see a damn thing, Sir." I whispered in reply, grabbing my torch with my free hand "But yeah, lets go."
Seeing as I knew the layout of my house better than my CO, he allowed me to take point as we headed the short distance to the Electric mains. I shone the torch light onto the power grid. The cable leading from mains had, indeed, been severed and there was no way in hell even *I* could fix it quickly enough.
The Colonel tapped me briefly on the shoulder and indicated towards the basement. I nodded in reply and headed off back towards my bedroom. Despite my professional demeanour, I couldn't help but feel more than a little frightened. I'd lost count of the number of times we'd been in situations like these, always lead by the weapon in my hands, but never certain of what could be around the next corner. The thing is, under normal circumstances, I thrived on this type of scenario, revelling in the buzz the rush of adrenaline gave me. But this was different. We weren't off world, trying desperately to save some doomed civilisation, or fighting the Goa'uld on some ship in outer space. No, we were in my own home, my sanctuary. And this reason alone ceased any attempts at professionalism. This was a purely personal situation and it made me really, really mad that some bastard had the all out nerve to force me into bringing my work home with me.
Just as I reached my bedroom I heard two shots fired from behind me. Without thinking I turned and raced blindly back towards the basement, resolutely ignoring the pain that lanced through my hip as it connected with the kitchen table.
I ran as fast as I could down the stairs and into the cold basement where my torch found Colonel O'Neill laying face down on the floor, a pool of blood spreading onto the concrete next to his prone body.
I went through the motions of securing the immediate area before rushing over to my Commanding Officer and kneeling down next to him. Carefully, so as not to injure him any further, I placed my hands on his shoulders and turned him over, resting his head on my lap.
His pulse was weak and thready and I knew without a doubt that he wasn't going to make it. Tears began streaming down my face as I stroked his cheek gently with my hand, wishing fervently for a Goa'uld healing device.
The Colonel stirred slightly under my touch and opened his eyes. "Carter?" he murmured, wincing as more pain invaded his weak body.
"Hey, Sir." Despite my inner agony, I attempted a smile. "You're gonna be fine. Just lay still." The lie tripped easily off my tongue, but I knew as soon as I had said it that he would know I was lying, but still he kept his council.
He grasped my hand in his and held on to me as if his life depended on it. Fighting back more tears in a futile attempt to be strong, I stroked his face with my free hand and asked, "Did you see who did this?"
"*I* did."
Grabbing my torch I waved it frantically around me, trying desperately to find the owner of the voice. I knew immediately from the tinny sound of the voice that I was dealing with a Goa'uld, and for a fleeting moment I wondered why they had used such a 'primitive' weapon to harm Colonel O'Neill, when their weaponry was so much more effective.
Colonel O'Neill exhaled one last time, his grip on my hand loosened and he died just as the Goa'uld stepped out of the shadows and into my torchlight.
Oh God no.
The words sprung into my mind as tears fell freely down my face. My Colonel, the one man I loved more than anything else in the world was dead, and my worst nightmare was standing in front of me, pointing a gun at my head.
Mark, my own brother.
He pulled the trigger and fired.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Bet you weren't expecting that!
Final chapter coming soon. But only if you send feedback!