Lotsa angst in this one folks! Set after the scene in Seth whare Sam kills... Seth. Sams POV.
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The blast that came from my hand drove Seth six inches into the ground.
"Hail Dorothy."
I ran from the room. He didn't understand. None of them did.
Goa'uld technology works by interfacing the human mind with the weapon through the Naquadah in the weapon and the persons blood. The Naquadah in my blood.
The only way to use the weapon is to want it to do it's deadly job. I felt hate for Seth when I killed him.
Is that what I've become? A cold blooded murderer? I didn't even think about the hosts life as I blasted him into oblivion.
I don't speak much for the rest of the day. General Hammond says we'll debrief tomorrow.
It's already 0100. Tomorrow has become today. I think I'll just stay on base tonight, no sense driving home to sleep for 3 hours just to have to come back. I rise to head for my quarters on base.
Colonel O'Neill is standing in the door. When did he get here?
"Sir?"
"Hey Carter... You don't look good."
"I'm fine sir, I was just going to head for my quarters."
"Oh, I don't think so, Carter. You've barely talked all day. You didn't even look twice at that doohickey SG-12 dropped off. Something's eating you, and I think I know what it is."
"I'm fine, sir." You have no idea what's 'eating me' sir. Nobody does. Nobody can. I killed Seth, not because he was going to hurt me, not because he was going to hurt my friends, but because I wanted too. They call it premeditated murder. That's me.
"Good, if your fine then, you won't mind coming with me to the armoury." I sigh. The armoury? He's not going to give up. So I follow.
Down the empty halls we go. The only people here at this time every night is the night shift. And us.
The Colonel unlocks the door to the armoury and leads me inside. Instinctively, I head for the rack of P-90's against the left wall, but it seems Colonel O'Neill has other intentions. He pulls a long black case from a shelf at the back of the room.
I move over as he pulls out the weapon. It's one I've seen a few times before. What would the Colonel want with a Berretta .50 caliber Sniper Rifle?
"Ever used one of these before, Carter?"
"Uh, no." Where is he going with this?
"Well I have." He let's that hang for a moment.
Am I supposed to say something?
He continues. "Back in the late '80's, I was ordered to infiltrate a terrorist-friendly area and take out the leader of the terrorist group. Who or where he was isn't important. The point is, I did it. I snuck in to about a half mile away from his camp. And I waited for hours. He came out of his hut. It was an easy shot."
I'm beginning to see what he's talking about, but why is he telling me this now?
"That man had no chance. I had his life in my hands, and he didn't even know it. He couldn't touch me, I was half a mile away, invisible and invincible. There was no heat-of-the moment decision to take him out, no him-or-me thing. Just my cold harsh judgement that I was better than him and more worthy of life. I decided that he didn't deserve his life, so I took it away."
Wow, the Colonel has never talked about his past like this before.
"Back here, in the States, we call that murder."
His words stop me cold. I had just been telling myself the same thing five minutes ago.
I must have gasped, because he moves over and grabs my shoulders in his hands, forcing me to look at him. "What happened today, Sam, will stay with you forever. Ten years from now, you'll see his face in a dream. You know, that man I killed, he had a mole on his left cheek, and a scratch across his right eye. His eyes were brown, his hair was black and curly. I can still see the expression on his face when the bullet hit his neck."
I'm crying. No, I can't cry! Not here! But he doesn't seem to mind. He pulls me into a hug and I cry on his shoulder. "Don't let it eat you up inside, Sam. 'Cuz it will, if you let it. You have to recognize what you did and why you did it, and move on. It can be done, trust me."
Suddenly, I get it. That's what he's been driving at this whole time. He does understand, and he's helping me.
I killed Seth in cold blood. I made that decision, that he needed to die. Was I right? I'll never know for sure, but I made my decision, and it's done. Hopefully God can figure out the other parts.
It will be hard, but I can move on. I can heal.
XXXXXXXXXXX
The blast that came from my hand drove Seth six inches into the ground.
"Hail Dorothy."
I ran from the room. He didn't understand. None of them did.
Goa'uld technology works by interfacing the human mind with the weapon through the Naquadah in the weapon and the persons blood. The Naquadah in my blood.
The only way to use the weapon is to want it to do it's deadly job. I felt hate for Seth when I killed him.
Is that what I've become? A cold blooded murderer? I didn't even think about the hosts life as I blasted him into oblivion.
I don't speak much for the rest of the day. General Hammond says we'll debrief tomorrow.
It's already 0100. Tomorrow has become today. I think I'll just stay on base tonight, no sense driving home to sleep for 3 hours just to have to come back. I rise to head for my quarters on base.
Colonel O'Neill is standing in the door. When did he get here?
"Sir?"
"Hey Carter... You don't look good."
"I'm fine sir, I was just going to head for my quarters."
"Oh, I don't think so, Carter. You've barely talked all day. You didn't even look twice at that doohickey SG-12 dropped off. Something's eating you, and I think I know what it is."
"I'm fine, sir." You have no idea what's 'eating me' sir. Nobody does. Nobody can. I killed Seth, not because he was going to hurt me, not because he was going to hurt my friends, but because I wanted too. They call it premeditated murder. That's me.
"Good, if your fine then, you won't mind coming with me to the armoury." I sigh. The armoury? He's not going to give up. So I follow.
Down the empty halls we go. The only people here at this time every night is the night shift. And us.
The Colonel unlocks the door to the armoury and leads me inside. Instinctively, I head for the rack of P-90's against the left wall, but it seems Colonel O'Neill has other intentions. He pulls a long black case from a shelf at the back of the room.
I move over as he pulls out the weapon. It's one I've seen a few times before. What would the Colonel want with a Berretta .50 caliber Sniper Rifle?
"Ever used one of these before, Carter?"
"Uh, no." Where is he going with this?
"Well I have." He let's that hang for a moment.
Am I supposed to say something?
He continues. "Back in the late '80's, I was ordered to infiltrate a terrorist-friendly area and take out the leader of the terrorist group. Who or where he was isn't important. The point is, I did it. I snuck in to about a half mile away from his camp. And I waited for hours. He came out of his hut. It was an easy shot."
I'm beginning to see what he's talking about, but why is he telling me this now?
"That man had no chance. I had his life in my hands, and he didn't even know it. He couldn't touch me, I was half a mile away, invisible and invincible. There was no heat-of-the moment decision to take him out, no him-or-me thing. Just my cold harsh judgement that I was better than him and more worthy of life. I decided that he didn't deserve his life, so I took it away."
Wow, the Colonel has never talked about his past like this before.
"Back here, in the States, we call that murder."
His words stop me cold. I had just been telling myself the same thing five minutes ago.
I must have gasped, because he moves over and grabs my shoulders in his hands, forcing me to look at him. "What happened today, Sam, will stay with you forever. Ten years from now, you'll see his face in a dream. You know, that man I killed, he had a mole on his left cheek, and a scratch across his right eye. His eyes were brown, his hair was black and curly. I can still see the expression on his face when the bullet hit his neck."
I'm crying. No, I can't cry! Not here! But he doesn't seem to mind. He pulls me into a hug and I cry on his shoulder. "Don't let it eat you up inside, Sam. 'Cuz it will, if you let it. You have to recognize what you did and why you did it, and move on. It can be done, trust me."
Suddenly, I get it. That's what he's been driving at this whole time. He does understand, and he's helping me.
I killed Seth in cold blood. I made that decision, that he needed to die. Was I right? I'll never know for sure, but I made my decision, and it's done. Hopefully God can figure out the other parts.
It will be hard, but I can move on. I can heal.