A Bike for Christmas
By BadgerGater
E-mail: [email protected]
Summary: Christmas season comfort for Jack
Category: Drama
Season: any, actually
Spoilers: A couple of very brief references to happenings over previous seasons
Rating: PG
Warnings: None, well, but maybe you’ll need the Kleenex.
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions; all the powers that be, not me; This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement intended. The story is the property of the author and may not be posted elsewhere without the author's consent.
Author’s note: Merry Christmas
----------------------------------------
It was the end of another long, exhausting mission, capped by the same bothersome medical checks and ending with a briefing that had seemed to go on forever.
He was damn glad to be on his way out of the mountain.
Once in the elevator, Colonel Jack O'Neill pressed the button for the ground floor, then slumped tiredly against the smooth wall. Lord, he was exhausted, sore, wore out, in need of a good night's sleep and about 72 hours of nothing to do but play couch potato.
He couldn't wait to get home.
Jack rubbed his eyes with one hand, felt the elevator jerk to a halt and heard the doors slide open. Wearily pushing himself away from the wall, he limped out across the lobby, past the security point, and out into the early evening darkness.
Sunset came early in Colorado in the winter. In fact, this was one of the shortest days of the year, the winter solstice was what, today? Yesterday? Tomorrow?
Shit.
As he walked slowly out to his truck, one of the few vehicles remaining in the lot, he counted the days since SG-1 had left on this last mission, and with a start realized why the place had been so deserted, and why those who were still there had seemed in such a hurry to get out the door.
They'd left for P4D- something-something on Dec. 19. The days on Quippen had been something like 29 hours each, that was part of why he was so tired and out of sorts and confused about what day it was here. He had to figure a moment, and then he was sure.
It was Dec. 24. Christmas.
Double shit.
No wonder then that Carter hadn't been surprised to see her Dad, or that Hammond had so quickly agreed to send Teal'c off to the Land of Light to see his family. Even Daniel had said something about going somewhere. He'd only half been paying attention, he'd been so anxious to get the hell out of the mountain.
Some special ops smart guy you are, O'Neill, he chided himself.
And then Fraiser had given him that odd look when he'd declined her offer of dinner with her and her daughter the next day. Triple shit.
Reaching his truck, O'Neill hurriedly unlocked the door and climbed in, slamming it shut behind him.
Christmas.
Crap.
He hated Christmas, had ever since, well, ever since the holiday had come to mean only sad memories, useless regrets, and dreams of all he'd lost.
The truck started with a throaty roar and he wheeled out of the parking lot, stopping at the checkpoint, answering the SF's "Merry Christmas, Sir," with only a grunt. Rude, he knew, but he couldn't help it. He didn't want to be reminded of what today was, or should be.
He freakin' hated Christmas. Hated all the phony cheerfulness and foolish, frenzied buying. Didn't people know you couldn't buy the important things, anyway, like love or happiness or the life of your child?
He'd almost reached town. Tired as he was, he nearly drove right on past the bank, though he'd reminded himself over and over that he needed to stop. There was a huge line at the drive-up, so, impatiently, he pulled the truck into a parking space and got out. His knee protested at every step. Guess it hadn't like that slightly heavier than normal gravity on Quippen. His back hadn't much liked it either, come to think of it. Doc had warned him it would ache for a few days.
Feeling way older than his 44 years, he limped into the bank, paid his mortgage and credit card bills, and then turned to go.
In his hurry to leave, he nearly collided with a middle aged woman standing beside a Christmas tree in the lobby. He remembered seeing the tree the last time he'd been here, a few weeks ago. Then, it had been covered with little handmade paper ornaments, or rather, request cards. A gift tree, that's what they'd called it. Each little paper tag, shaped like an ornament, listed the name of a child and his/her Christmas wish. They were homeless kids, or poor kids, kids whose families were having a bad year or a bad life, kids who wanted one special thing on this one special day.
He'd meant to pick up one of those gift tags and buy the gift and drop it off. He'd done that other Christmases, a way to mark the holiday he didn't want to think about, a way to do something for someone else and hope it would make him feel better. It did, usually, though not enough. He knew nothing would ever be enough to end the ache in his heart over what this day should mean, and didn't.
He'd just been so damn busy lately, he'd never got around to doing it.
"Sorry, ma'am," he told the woman he'd nearly run into. She looked up at him with a sad smile.
"No problem. I just came pick up the last of the gifts, and to take down the tree," there was a sad look on her face. "I was hoping we'd get a few more at the last minute."
"More?" he asked, gently.
"Yeah. This year, it's been such a bad year. So many of the military families have people overseas. The economy is down, and people donated so much to the Sept. 11 funds, seems like there was nothing left for local charities." She pointed at the tree, and the tags left. "Three kids didn't get even their small requests, and then there's Jeremy. I told him not to ask for something so big and expensive..." there were tears shining in the woman's eyes. "But he wanted that so much, it was the only thing he wanted. And now his card is still here and I don't know how I'm going to tell his mother..." The woman stopped, looking up into the eyes of the tall, serious man who stood before her. He'd be rather intimidating, actually, if it wasn't for something vulnerable in those deep brown eyes that softened the otherwise stern face. "Look, I'm sorry to be boring you with this. I'm just feeling bad that not all the requests got filled."
"There's still time," O'Neill said, softly.
"No, I'm afraid not. I've got to take down the tree."
Without thinking, he reached out and took the tags from her, glancing quickly at each one. Malinda wanted a Barbie doll. Tanitha asked for a stuffed animal. Darrien wanted a football, and Jeremy asked for a bicycle. Jack sighed. "Look I meant to take one of these earlier," he told her, pulling out his wallet and withdrawing a couple of twenty dollar bills. "Will this cover the things for the girls? If you could still get them somewhere?"
The woman smiled, and her careworn face lit up. "Sure, I think I could manage."
Jack nodded, grinned. "Good. Then I'll get the football and the bike, and meet you at the community center, say, in an hour?"
"That bike, Jeremy wanted a specific one, it's expensive, Mr..."
"O'Neill, Jack O'Neill," he extended a hand.
"Susan Willis," she shook his hand.
"I know. I've seen you down at the center..." Jack remembered.
She nodded. "Of course. I recognize you now. You've taught some of the kids to play hockey."
He smiled, nodded. "Yeah. So..."
"Look, Mr. O'Neill..."
"Jack...
"Jack, I don't know if we can still get this stuff, and then find someone to deliver it..."
"We can try. And I'll deliver 'em. An hour? At the center?" Jack grinned, took the two gift tags, and with a wave, set out on his mission, suddenly feeling less tired and less blue.
Ignoring the ache in his knee, he hurried out to the truck, and headed downtown. It was getting late and he wasn't sure any of the stores would still be open. He knew the big mall on the edge of town had closed at 5, but he hoped Lande's Hardware would still be open. An older couple ran it, sort of an old-fashioned neighborhood store you didn't find much anymore.
He pulled into the parking lot and hurried up to the door. Only dim lights shone inside. No, please don't let me be too late, Jack thought, knocking loudly on the door.
Movement inside, a face looked around the doorway from a back room, a headshake 'no.'
O'Neill kept knocking.
The face reappeared, frowning, the older gentlemen heading toward the door, mouthing the words, "we're closed."
Jack held up the gift tags.
The man stared from the tags to Jack's face and then, shrugging, dug a key out of his pocket and opened the door. "This better be good, Mister," he said.
Jack put on his best 'I'm really a nice guy' smile. "It is. Last two gift tags for the community center gift tree."
"Look, I'm supposed to be home with my family, they're probably having dinner without me."
"I won't take up much of your time. Please. They're kids and it's Christmas."
The man grumbled, but opened the door and waved O'Neill in. "So, what do you need?"
"A football."
"Okay," the man led Jack down a long aisle of sports gear.
Jack picked out an official NFL football, a good one, then, spying other stuff he was sure a sports minded boy would like, he grabbed a baseball glove and a pair of baseballs, and a soccer ball too, for good measure. "That should do for Darrien."
"And the other?"
"A bicycle. A Trek Hillclimber," Jack read off the slip.
"I don't have a lot of bicycles left," said the man, striding down the rows of toy filled shelves and toward the back. There were half a dozen bikes, but no Hillclimber. "Wait," said the man, "I've got a few things that aren't unpacked." He disappeared into a back room while Jack waited impatiently, then returned. "I've got one Hillclimber, in dark blue, but it's still in the box..."
"I'll take it."
"Mister, it's not assembled. It will take hours, even if you know what you're doing."
"I'll take it anyway." Jack had been scanning the shelves while the hardware man had been gone. "And I'll take a helmet plus a chain and lock, too."
After paying for the purchases with his gold card and ignoring what this was going to do to his budget, Jack wrestled the big box into the back of his truck and tucked the smaller packages into the cab. "Thanks," he told Lande, sincerely.
The man's grumpy frown had slipped. "Well, I never could resist seeing a kid get a bike for Christmas. Best Christmas gift I ever got, when I was 10, so I guess I understand. Tell that kid he's damn lucky."
"I will, Sir," said Jack, and left.
The community center was dark when he arrived. No one answered his knock on the door, either. He didn't believe Susan Willis would have stood him up, or stood up the kids. Maybe she was having trouble finding those other gifts, he thought.
Jack hunched his shoulders against the biting wind, pulling the collar of his leather jacket higher up on his neck, and blew warm breath onto his cold hands. The chill air was encouraging the persistant ache in his knee and stiffening his back.
Finally, just as he was going to go back to his truck to warm up, he saw lights come down the block and a car turned in, parking beside his vehicle. Susan Willis got out, a large shopping bag in hand. "Hope you haven't been waiting long. The store was so busy, but I got the other gifts. How'd you do?"
"Got 'em both, but ah, we've got a problem with the bike."
"Problem?"
"It was the last one they had. It's not assembled." She threw him a worried look but he grinned. "Don't worry. I'll put it together while you wrap this other stuff. Piece of cake."
Quickly, he carried in the bike and other boxes, grabbed the tool box from behind the seat of his truck, and went back indoors. Jack set to work. He glanced over the instructions, pulled out a couple of socket wrenches, screwdrivers and pliers, and got down to business. What could possibly be so hard about putting together something as simple as a bicycle? Within a few minutes, he had the bike parts pulled out of the box and spread out around him on the floor.
It was slow going. After half an hour, he was still on the first page of the four pages of instructions. This was a bigger job than he remembered, but then again, his memory of anything he'd ever done related to Charlie tended to skip the unpleasant parts and focus solely on the pleasant.
Come to think of it, he'd been up all night that Christmas, putting Charlie's bike together. Charlie had been eight, and he'd wanted that bike, the fancy one with the Power Rangers or some other cartoon characters on it. It was all he'd wanted. Jack had barely made it home for Christmas at all that year, he'd been on a mission that had gone sour and run a week longer than anyone had anticipated. He'd gotten home on Christmas eve, long after dark, his son already gone to bed, Sara worried and tired and grumpy, afraid she was going to have to try to explain to the boy, once again, why Daddy wasn't home.
She'd tried to put the bike together, but finally given up in weary frustration, falling asleep on the couch. So there he was, sleepless for three days (unless you counted catnaps on military cargo planes, which weren't really sleep at all) trying to get home to his family.
He'd stayed up all night, barely getting the last decal in place before they heard Charlie's steps on the stairs.
His son's smile, though, that had made it all worthwhile. Nothing could match the sight of a delighted eight year old finding the gift of his dreams under the Christmas tree.
Christmas had meant something special that year.
Jack swiped at his eyes, taking a deep breath, and nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice behind him asked, "want some coffee?"
He turned to Susan Willis. "Ah, sure."
She carried a pair of styrofoam cups, steam rising from each, handing him one, keeping the other. She set hers on the arm of the old sofa in the center's dayroom, curling her legs up on the couch, watching him work.
He sipped the warm brew gratefully, glad for the caffeine. Maybe it would perk him up. "Thanks. Good coffee."
Susan nodded. "You're welcome. Least I could do for someone who'd do this." She nodded at the bike. "So, how's it coming?"
"I'm getting there," he grinned.
"Looks like you've done this before," she said.
His grin faded, his voice going soft. "Yeah, but it's been a few years. Got my son a bike like this one Christmas, when he was little."
"Lucky kid."
"Yes, he was," Jack's throat was tight, his mind picturing that smiling eight year old face on that long ago Christmas morning. Life had been good then, how good he hadn't known or appreciated.
"I suppose he's all grown up now," she said, swirling the last sip of coffee in the cup.
Jack looked away, looked at the bike parts strewn across the floor. Knew it would have been easier to nod, and let it go at that, evade the truth of it, but somehow it didn't seem right. "He died."
Her eyes flew to his face, understanding now the sadness she'd seen in those dark eyes. "Oh, God, I'm sorry."
"Me, too." Jack shrugged, needing to change the subject. "What about your family?"
"Im divorced. My kids are grown up, moved away. My son's overseas, actually, probably somewhere in Afghanistan. I don't know for sure."
"That's hard. Air Force?"
"Yes. Is that what you do?" she asked. He seemed like the type.
"Yeah. Air Force. Colonel."
Her eyes opened wide, her estimation of this quiet man going up a notch. "It's really nice of you to do this, to buy these gifts and give up your evening..."
"I didn't have anything planned," he answered softly, except maybe to drown my grief in a bottle, he thought.
She couldn't miss the sadness in his voice, and didn't need to pursue it. She understood. "We can make the deliveries anytime before 10 tonight."
He nodded.
--------------------
It was after 9 by the time O'Neill had wrestled the bicycle into shape. Everything else was wrapped. He and Susan carried all the packages out to his truck.
"Here's the list of addresses," she told him, handing Jack a sheet of paper. "All the families are expecting you, except I couldn't get an answer on the last one." Jeremy's.
He climbed into the cab, started the engine, letting it warm up against the Colorado chill, watching as she locked the center's doors and walked back toward her car. At the last minute, he rolled down his window. "Want to ride along?" he invited.
She smiled. "Sure."
They rode in silence through the quiet streets of Colorado Springs. He let her take the boxes to the door, until they came to the final delivery, Jeremy's gift. On a narrow street in an older section of town, filled with small, ramshackle houses, many in need of paint and a facelift, they finally found the address, a tired looking little bungalow. The bike was too big for Susan to carry, so he lifted it out of the bed of the truck and toted it to the door.
Susan rang the doorbell. A frazzled looking woman answered, her face careworn over faded jeans and an oversized sweatshirt. "Yes?"
"Susan Willis. From the Community Center."
The woman looked at the two of them, and a smile lit up her face. "That's for Jeremy? Yesterday someone called and said not to expect anything..."
"No one picked up the tag until tonight."
Suddenly, behind the woman, a boy appeared. "Ma, who is it?"
He didn't look at all like Charlie. He was short for his age, reddish brown hair cropped close to his skull over hazel eyes, but for a moment, it *was* Charlie, in Jack's eyes.
"Hey, what's that?" he pointed at the package Jack was carrying, a lumpy shape in one of those oversized Christmas wrapping bags.
"Special delivery, from Santa," O'Neill explained. "Said it wouldn't fit down your chimney so he asked if I could deliver it..."
The boys eyes lit up. "That's for me?"
"Sure thing, Tiger." The nickname slipped out, one he hadn't uttered for years.
The boy stopped. "Dad used to call me that," he said, softly.
His mother's tired face looked even more weary. "We haven't seen him for two years, since he left..."
Jack nodded, trying not to think of the unfairness of it, not understanding how any father could abandon a son. Clearing his throat, he said, "This is from Santa, young man." He barely got the package in the door before Jeremy was ripping the paper.
"Wow!" The boy turned to his mother. "See, Mom, this is what I told Santa I wanted. I knew I'd get it. I knew it. It's so cool."
The mother ruffled the boy's hair.
"And this goes with it," Jack added, handing him the other packages, the helmet and lock and chain.
As Jeremy unwrapped the gifts, the tired woman looked over his head, meeting Jack's eyes. "Thank you," she said, very softly.
"You're welcome," O'Neill answered.
Jack turned away from the door, walking slowly back to his truck, driving Susan back to pick up her car at the center. They rode in silence, each savoring the satisfaction of a good deed well done.
His night's work over, Jack suddenly realized how tired he was, his exhaustion was finally catching up to him. But it was a good tired, he thought, a good weary tired, the kind that would let him sleep, especially when he thought of that boy with his new bike.
As they parted in the cold parking lot, Susan waved goodbye. "Good night, Jack O'Neill. God bless. And Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Susan."
Maybe Christmas wasn't so bad after all. In fact, when he got home, he'd call Doc and see if that invitation for Christmas dinner with her and Cassie was still open. Maybe he wouldn't be the life of the party, but he wouldn't be Scrooge, either. Not if he tried. And he would, this time.
***FINIS***