Title: Decompression
Author: Minerva9544
Email: tequila_popper@hotmail.com
Category: Angst/POV
Spoilers: "Abyss"
Season/Sequel: post Season 6/ pre Season 7
Rating: PG-13
Content Warning: material regarding POWs
Summary: Jack's thoughts on being a POW and the current state of the world.
Status: Complete
Archive: Please ask.
Disclaimer: Stargate: SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime, Viacom, The SciFi Channel, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story was written for entertainment purposes only and no copyright infringement was intended. The original characters, situations, and story are property of the author. Any similarity to actual events or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Author's Notes: If this offends, sorry, but it just seems like it needed to be written. The technical information was taken from an article written by Susan Schmidt & Vernon Loeb of The Washington Post. Thanks P&S for the beta.
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The flicker of the TV was the only light in the room. Jack was sitting in his ugly, but comfortable recliner blankly starring at the images of CNN. The expensive computer graphics and percussion-based music announced that once again troops were in the deserts of Iraq. He and his team had been off world for almost a week, practically half the duration of the current war. The top story was the rescue of Army Pfc. Jessica Lynch. The reporter called it a "Classic Special Ops Raid" – in and out under the cover of darkness and fire from an AC-130 gunship with a 25mm canon. Some fighting and resistance, but mission accomplished. "Christ!" Jack muttered as they listed the girl's injuries and flashed her photo across the screen. "She's just a baby!" he thought. Joined up to earn money for college, she wanted to be a teacher.
Only ten days had passed since she'd been captured, but Jack remembered how ten days could seem like a lifetime. The next couple of weeks were going to be pretty surreal for the kid. Since Viet Nam, the military had instituted a period of time for POWs to connect with medical professionals who could help them deal with the experience. It was called Decompression Time. In Jack's opinion, it was a PR thing. They did it just to make sure you weren't going to go out there and get all sorts of psychotic and then turn around and blame it on the military. He took a pull from the bottle of JD cradled in his lap. Doc Fraiser had told him to lay off booze and caffeine. It was bad for his health. Hell, so was a Zat gun blast. Jack had made a conscious effort anyway. He had one cup of coffee a day, maybe two at the max, and only the occasional beer. Tonight, though, was different.
A decade had come and gone since he had been in her position. Stuck in a filthy hellhole. Hungry, thirsty and pretty sure he was going to die. Since then, he'd been a prisoner a lot of times. Surprisingly, his recent brush with Baal seemed like a half forgotten nightmare. There was no waking up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, heart pounding. He'd wondered if Daniel had used his mojo to take the edge off. However considering the big no interference policy, Jack decided against that theory. Besides, despite all the wacky things those Goa'uld had tried on him, he'd never really suffered the same after effects that generally came with capture. Not like in '91. "But then," his cynical mind quipped, "you never forget your first." He had to admit there was more to it. When he was "out there" his captors were aliens, literally beings that were not like him.
The Iraqis, on the other hand, were human and that's what had made it difficult. During his time with the Stargate program he'd come to understand that people were the same everywhere, with similar hopes and dreams. It was easy to go up against the foreign, but back then he'd really had no idea what foreign meant. Jack had been prepped by the best. They had taught him all types of things in survival school, from dealing with torture to withstanding mind control. But it wasn't real. It helped, but in the subconscious was always the fact that the man behind the curtain was on your side. The danger was there, but it wasn't real. In the end, your "captors" would do everything they could to prevent your death. He shook his head. It wasn't that he thought this war was pointless. The things he'd heard and seen, even if only half of it were true, something had to be done.
Jack had starred death down dozens of times, but it had made him old and hard. It's not exactly what he would have wanted for his own son. It's not what he wanted for any kid. The story on the TV had changed. This time a city street, reporter in the foreground wearing a flack jacket and helmet, behind a tank rolled passed pushing through burning vehicles whose black smoke obscured the sky. Watching stuff like this sometimes made him wonder for what exactly was he fighting. "Yea, saving the planet is great," he mused. "But what type of planet am I saving?" As much as it sucked, he had to admit the Nox, Tollan and even the damn Tok'ra were right. Given half the chance Earth probably would blow itself up. Hell, even without advanced weapons, the odds were still pretty good. He took another swig from the bottle. He had once told Danny boy that when it came to expecting worse case scenarios, he practiced. He was a realist, but that didn't mean he was without hope. Jack thought he'd lost it when his son died, but a trip through the wormhole had proven him wrong. His hope was reflected in the faces of those he cared for most. And it had been there, on the face of that poor kid they'd extracted. Hope. It was such a simple word. She wanted to be a teacher. Despite her ordeal, maybe she could help teach the next generation how not to hate.