My Life In Moments
Summary: To you the Stargate represented Janet, Sha're and hundreds of soldiers that had lost their lives. It wasn't neither new nor exciting but inexplicably painful.
A/N: Follow-up/prequel to Brave Little Girl. I hope you like it. Let me know either way.
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When you were ten, you had a worrying obsession of collecting soft toys. Your bedroom, located at the back of the house your parents bought in a sleepy mid-Western town, seemed to be a magnet for stuffed animals in the area. Or at least your mother seemed to think that. Every day it seemed as if your collection grew, and it wasn't long until you had to curl into a ball on your bed so you didn't squash any of your fluffy friends. Thankfully your brother who, at the age of six was still caught up in his "big-sister adoration phase", had no qualms about storing them in his bedroom despite clashing with its obvious boyish-ness. Many years later, your dad would tease him about his willingness to do anything for you. John would toddle backwards and fowards to your bedroom, cuddly toys in his arms and would store them everywhere he could, just so you could buy more with your weekly allowance. All that mattered in your life was making your family smile and your soft toys.
When you were twelve, you were promoted to the Captain of the swimming squad at your quiet Junior High School at the edge of town. You devotedly swam the prescribed lengths and had impressed the coach who had been less than enthused by the other members. You'd won your place deservedly. Or at least you had thought so until overhearing Nancy Moore in the changing rooms after practice, trying to frantically towel dry your hair; "Coach Mann only wanted Alice to be Captain because he wants to suck up to her parents. I could beat her any day" It didn't matter to you that you had beaten Nancy by ten seconds, or that in the bottom of your heart you knew you were better than her, it still hurt to think that people would only like you because of your parents, and what they had done.You ran home from the swimming pool, and straight into your mother's comforting arms, as she soothed you with sensible words and hot chocolate with marshmallows. For once your dad offered you control of the television that night and Johnny let you win on one of his computer games that you were notoriously terrible at.
At the age of fifteen, full of adolescent worries and hormonal overdrives, you veered in the opposite direction and sent yourself straight to Church. Whilst your brother at the age of eleven began to notice that girls didn't really smell all that bad, you sat in the pews of Saint Augustine's and prayed. You had developed a piety that seemingly set you apart from your friends. There was something about God that was safe and dependable. All your friends wanted to sit and worship the Stargate, dream of the places they could go and the people they could meet, but you would spend your hours in the stuffy Church by the small lake, and think of everything that had passed. A worried teacher had contacted your parents, communicating that "such behaviour isn't seen very often nowadays" but you heard your parents, from your vantage point pressing your ear against the door, dismiss such worries. The Stargate to you, after hearing devastating stories of loss and pain, was not exciting and harmless. Your parents had found each other, but had so much ripped from them. The newspapers glossed over deaths with inconsequential words and meaningless sympathies to people long gone, and no-one seemed to understand that yes, you were alive and yes, so were they, but that many others were not.
When you were sixteen you dated Chad Martin who played football and was applying to an Ivy League College. In your naivety, you had seen him as "The One" and wrote long love sick poems about him that you hid in a drawer, hiding from your brother's prying eyes. You spent hours of classtime daydreaming about him, and consequently your grades had fallen. Unfortunately you did not inherit your mom's intellect. And after your marks had suffered, and your diary was inscribed with his name, you were dumped. By email. He didn't even spell your name right, leaving the "e" from the end as though he couldn't be bothered to award you with your correct name. You brushed through the kitchen, muttering a rude reply at your dad's innocent question of whether you'd prefer carrots or peas and ran upstairs to cry.
"Can I come in?" She had asked, poking her head round the door. Her greying hair glistened in the beginnings of the moonlight that streamed through your windows. You shrugged in response, and she moved forward into your cluttered bedroom, stepping over a discarded Biology textbook and came to sit next to you on the bed, wrapping her arm around your shoulder, "Is it Chad?"
Your words were muffled as you sniffled into her cardigan, coughing slightly as you tried to explain in detail what had happened and why you were so destroyed by the news, "I thought..." You told her, pulling away slightly so she could hear your voice clearly, "I thought he was...I thought we were....real."
"Oh sweetie..." The comforting hand on your back increased, rubbing your spine like she had done when you were younger, and bad dreams plagued your sleep, "I know it seems like it means everything in the world at the moment, but trust me, it gets better," She paused to hand you another tissue which you gratefully took, blowing your nose loudly, "I remember Cassie being just like this."
"She was?" You were genuinely surprised that your poised and graceful "cousin" was ever as teary and moody as yourself.
"Mmm..." Your mother mused, her eyes practically clouding over, "She thought she and Dominic would be together forever. And look where she is now, hmm? Doctor at Washington Memorial Hospital and married to a nice man who dotes on her. Cassie told me that this Dominic boy who dumped her before college was last seen failing law at Harvard."
You giggled throatily, wiping away the tears from your eyes, "I can't believe anyone would ever dump Cassie..."
"Janet and I thought the same, but she recovered well didn't she?" Your mother sighed, "You don't have to meet the love of your life at high school Alice; that only happens in teen movies that you're too intelligent to be watching...I certainly didn't meet the love of my life at high school. I met him when I was thirty five, and long past being a teenager."
You grimaced outwardly at your mom's "mushy words" as you brother would call them, but mentally you were warmed to hear her talk about your dad like that. From your friends conversations you learnt that most parents could barely stand each other, let alone describe their partner as the love of their life. "Do you wish you'd met dad earlier?"
Your mom shook her head defiantly, "I wish a lot of things, but I don't wish that," She smiled fondly, "What your dad's been through is what makes me love him. For the person he is." She paused, leaning closer to you, "And don't tell him this but I don't think I could have coped with a teenaged Jack O'Neill to be quite honest..."
"God help anyone who had to cope with him," You laughed, "Poor Nanna."
"Patience of a saint that woman," She agreed with a contemplative smile.
Silence overtook the pair of you as you sat together, your head leaning on her shoulder and her hand rubbing soothing circles on the small of your back, "What things do you wish you'd changed?" You asked, your voice hesitant and quiet.
She sighed, "I wish Charlie was alive and that your dad had never had to cope with something as awful as losing him." A small gruff laugh emanated from her lips, "But most likely he would have stayed with Sara and would never have come to the SGC, but I'd like to think we'd find each other wherever we were." She paused again, "I wish he'd have been with me when my mom died."
"Do you still miss her?"
"When you and your brother were born, I don't think I've ever missed her more. But with Dad and Selmak there it was like I had two parents in one body which definitely helped." She moved to ruffle your hair tenderly, and you let her, not complaining about ruining the style you'd taken half an hour to perfect, "I wish she'd been around when the Stargate was revealed; in the early days they would run these profiles in the newspapers about our lives, and they said that when she died it emotionally scarred me. Reading those words, having people scrape around my private life to find something tragic, it wasn't easy. I guess I just needed her to tell me everything was going to be fine."
"She'd be proud of you mom..." You told her, forgetting about your own adolescent drama.
"I hope so."
A knock on the door had prevented any further quiet words between the pair of you, as your dad stuck his head round the door wearing a wary expression, "Finished bashing the males of the species yet?"
"Hey!" You exclaimed, "How did you know?"
"John might have mentioned hearing something about Chad at school...But I will say no more."
You rolled your eyes and watched your mom scramble from the bed, following your dad to the door, "You coming down for dinner?"
"In a minute," You replied with a smile, feeling more empowered than five minutes ago. They seemed satisfied with your grin, and left the room, closing the door slightly as they left.
"She alright?" Your dad's voice floated back to your room.
"She's fine. Alice is a strong kid." Your mother replied, "How do you feel about takeout tonight?"
"Thought you'd never ask."
When you were thirty three years old, your father died in his sleep at the house, three weeks after his eighty-first birthday. His death was covered globally, statements released from dignitaries all over the world praising his courage and dedication to the fight against the Goa'uld. The funeral was attended by all the previous SGC employees, and you found yourself in the middle of what seemed to be a family reunion. Crowds gathered outside St Augustine's Church, some held candles in their clasped hands. Many of them avoided being seen by the mourners, not wanting to intrude on private grief. You'd never been so grateful in your entire life. Your mother sat in the Church, a lone tear streaking down her cheek and she let it fall.
Six months later when you were about to turn thirty four, your mother retreated to her bedroom after a Sunday dinner with you and your brother to rest her ageing body. She never woke up again.
Doctors had been baffled about the cause of her death, but Johnny had verbally confirmed your own thoughts; "She died of a broken heart Alice." No-one, not even the newspapers, had disagreed, all confirming it in the gentlest words that they could manage. You miss them everyday, every moment and you doubt the pain will ever dull.
But for all the days you yearn to see them again, you have the moments. You hope they will keep you alive.
The End