Breakfast Meeting
An easy day, that's what Major General Jack O'Neill—with two 'Ls'—wanted. Nothing stressful – he had enough stress at the moment as it was. He just wanted a day spent relaxing, kicking back a little, or as much as a senior military officer could kick back in Washington DC, and forgetting the job for a few hours.
It felt like weeks since he had a day off. Probably because it was. He'd never had a problem with making the hard decisions – it had been a part of his role for years as he climbed the ladder of the senior ranks. But now he had a completely new staff to train in how he did things and other senior officials to prove himself to. He hadn't been in his new post long enough to feel truly comfortable, but he was getting there. He had a totally different style to George Hammond, but the inevitable teething problems caused by the change in leadership were surmountable and he was actually enjoying the challenge.
Still, the long hours were taking their toll and no one should make the sort of decisions he was now responsible for when at less than one hundred percent. So he had given himself the day off.
It was mid-week and he couldn't remember the last time he had slept in when it wasn't the weekend. Finally driven out of his apartment by the relentless sound of the next-door's cleaning lady and her incessant vacuuming, he decided on a late breakfast at a near-by café.
Brilliant sunshine had him squinting as he left his building, and he quickly grabbed his sunglasses from his shirt pocket and slipped them on. That was one thing he missed about his promotion to general – the chance to go offworld and get out in the fresh air. First he had been stuck underground at the SGC, and now he was in the world's biggest office building. Sure, he had, as befitted his position as head of Homeworld Security, a large window, but it couldn't be opened, and the poor excuse for fresh air that was piped through the enormous building had been breathed by how many people before him? He shuddered to think.
He took an appreciative gulp and coughed, his throat tickling as exhaust fumes flowed down into his lungs.
Oh well, at least it was warm.
The café was reasonably empty, with the office workers already behind their desks and the fashionably early lunch crowd not yet finished shopping. Choosing one of the tables set up on the pavement, O'Neill sat and looked at the menu, frowning a little at the complicated selection. He just wanted something straightforward. Nothing too heavy, but certainly not as pointless as the eggwhite omelette halfway down the page.
The solitary waitress was occupied with taking the order of some customers inside the café. The general could see her through the window, talking to the two women as she adjusted the highchair the café had provided for the wriggling toddler with them. He smiled as one of the women leaned forward to hold the little girl down and placed a fluffy toy elephant on the tray, successfully distracting her, then he turned back to the menu, finally deciding on the easiest option.
The young red-haired waitress smiled pleasantly as she hurried out to him, her pad and pen in hand.
"Are you ready to order, sir?"
Jack nodded, automatically glancing back down at the menu. "I'll have the breakfast special, with an extra egg, and coffee."
Order given, he sat back to watch the passing traffic, both vehicular and pedestrian. The café was on the edge of a small park and the tables were shaded by several large trees, making the umbrellas unnecessary at this time of day, but they would probably be welcome in the afternoon. He toyed with the blue china salt shaker, spinning it as he thought of the numerous meetings on his schedule, running through the agendas for each in his head.
Damn it – this was meant to be his day off. He was supposed to be relaxing.
He gave himself a quick mental talking to – a rather firm one, as he knew he wasn't good at taking orders even when they came from himself – and looked around. Several magazines were scattered on the tables around him, clearly put there for the convenience of the customers, so he stood to look them over. He was pleased to find the most recent edition of Time and settled back down in his chair, already flicking through the articles.
He barely noticed the ice water and glass placed at his right hand, muttering a distracted thanks as he sat, engrossed in an article on the Middle East. By the time his food had arrived he was reading about wind farms in the UK.
His order arrived and he hooked the edge of the magazine under his plate so that the slight breeze couldn't turn the pages while his hands were occupied with the mechanics of eating.
Several articles later, he had finished the food and only had a few sips of coffee left in his cup. The time had passed rather pleasantly and he felt much more relaxed than he had when he woke. Now he just had to decide what to do with the rest of the day. He needed a new pair of shoes, but shopping certainly didn't fit into his definition of relaxing. Perhaps a tour of the White House – that could be interesting. He hadn't seen a lot of the building – just the Oval Office and a few meeting rooms. Or maybe he should take in one of the museums.
Sipping his coffee, O'Neill looked up, his gaze idly taking in the people walking by.
For a second his mind froze, completely unable to process the information it was receiving from his eyes.
Not here.
He blinked.
He was seeing things.
Then the tall figure across the street turned, and their gazes met.
O'Neill saw the shock in the other's face, probably mirrored on his own, and knew he hadn't been mistaken. Still not able to properly comprehend, his body took over from his brain, and he stood, the chair sent tumbling backwards in his haste.
All he could see now was the grey suited back of the man, one hand holding a cell phone to his ear as he hurried away.
Jack took the first step of what was to be a sprint through the traffic in pursuit.
"Omph!"
His body hit something hard, sending it to the ground and resulting in a loud shattering of glass and china.
"Oh, I'm sorry, sir!" The waitress offered the automatic apology, even though it was plainly obvious to everyone who had turned to look who was at fault. Pieces of lettuce, swimming limply in a sea of dressing, lay mixed with coffee, tomatoes, orange juice and very soggy bread around Jack's feet.
The general muttered an equally automatic apology, craning his neck to peer over her head.
He had gone.
Maybe he hadn't been there at all.
It was impossible.
"Could I get you another coffee?"
The adrenaline rush was still racing through him and he had to take a deep, calming breath before he answered. "Thanks, yes." He moved his feet, nearly slipping on the now slimy pavers. "Sorry, that was my fault. I'll pay. . . " He waved his hand vaguely at the mess as bent to right the chair before sitting down again.
"No, no, it's all right, sir. Happens all the time." The girl's smile seemed genuine, perhaps in response to his obvious willingness to take the blame. "I'll get this cleaned up first though. I wouldn't want anyone to fall."
Jack couldn't bring himself to smile back, but he nodded in agreement. "No. Take your time."
He picked up the discarded magazine, turning the pages, but was unable to concentrate as the face of the man he had seen kept flashing through his mind. He was aware of a band of tension tightening its grip around his head and raised his right hand, pressing the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to stop it from getting any worse.
Damn it again – he needed to get a grip.
His water sat unfinished on the table, so he reached for it with a hand that was surprising steady considering the shakiness he felt. Within two gulps it had gone, but it had barely taken the edge off the dryness in his throat and he looked around for more. The waitress was just coming back from inside the café, a broom in one hand, while the other held a bright orange plastic bucket with several large cloths hanging over the top. He stood as she neared him, intending to let her pass before going into the café for a refill. There was no point in bothering the girl – she was right that the priority was to clean up the now large puddle of congealed coffee and juice.
She gave him a quick smile and an enquiring look. He pointed to the empty glass.
"I'll get it for you, sir."
"No, that's okay." He was already almost at the open door, level with the women inside in the seats at the window. "I'll get. . ."
The thump to his shoulder spun him where he stood, sending him careering face forward into the window, and a second blow on his back momentarily pinned him there like a bug on a windscreen. Pain blossomed through his chest, so strong it stopped him from crying out. He could see the women at the table, only a few inches from him but separated by a thin layer of glass. One had her mouth open in a scream he couldn't hear, her eyes wide and staring straight into his, while behind her the other was bending over the toddler.
He tried to stay up, tried his damnedest to stand, but couldn't help sliding slowly down, leaving a red streak on the glass – red horrifyingly echoed by the spreading stain on the little girl.
He ended up kneeling on the hard grey pavers, one hand still raised, the other hanging uselessly at his side. He knew there should be sounds, but there was nothing but silence as his vision greyed and tunnelled down and he slipped sideways and fell into nothingness.
xoxoxoxoxoxo
TBC