Blind Choices

By BadgerGater

E-mail: [email protected]

Category: Word a Month for March: Choices

Season: three or later

Spoilers: tiny bits and pieces for eps season 3 and before

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Summary: We all face difficult choices.

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: Another installment in Chrisbod and Tanya's wonderful word a

month challenge.

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Choices. Options. Decisions. Did you ever stop to think how many choices you

make in a day, a week a month a lifetime? Big choices, little choices,

mundane choices, life and death choices? Many times, you don't know which is

which, the mundane or the life and death.

Some days, there are just way too many choices, I think, exhaustedly.

Sometimes, those choices weigh a man down until it seems there's way too much

for one tired soul to bear.

This was one of those days. Too many choices. Too many consequences.

Choices. They started the moment I got out of bed in the morning, before

actually, because it's a choice just to get out of bed or not. Then once you

do decide to get up, then it's which side of the bed to get up on?

This day had been one that started with a bad choice, because I'd decided to

get out of bed and my team would have been better off if I'd called in sick

and they'd cancelled that mission and gone nowhere.

Choices. Once made, they're made. Can't be changed, not in this lifetime.

Damn.

Hard decisions, all day. What to wear (the green BDUs, the blue, the camo?)

Shave or not shave? Breakfast sausage or bacon? Coffee or juice? Drive the

freeway or the backroads?

Too many choices for one man.

By making one choice decades ago, I realized, I'd given up the right to make

a lot of life choices for a lot of years. It was my choice to join the Air

Force, which meant for most of my adult life I didn't have a choice about

when to get up, what to wear, whether or not to shave, what to eat, or what I

was going to do that day.

One choice took away a lot of other choices. But not all, never all.

I wore what I was told to wear, ate what I was told to eat, went where I was

told to go, and did the work I was told to do. Not a lot of choices there.

Sure, I could have said 'hell no' and walked away. But I couldn't, you know,

that's part of my personality. Start something, you finish it. Loyalty

matters. And I always knew that if I didn't do it, someone else would.

Of course, in the military, when you get good enough at letting other people

make your choices for you, then they promote you to a rank where you get to

make choices again. Now it's not only your own choices but also life and

death choices for others. Hard choices, those: which men you assign to a

mission, which weapons you take on a mission, which escape route, what

tactics.... the choices are endless.

You make choices that save lives or take lives, and you never know if there

was a better choice, a bloodless choice. You make the choice and do the best

you can.

Blind choices.

Like today. Made a blind choice, bad choice. We stood at a crossroads,

literally, a fork in the trail and I chose the right fork and that very

nearly led to disaster. Damn. How could I have known there'd be booby traps

there? Hell, for all I know, there were more booby traps and worse, on that

other fork of the trail. (I'll never know because I am *not* going back

there. Nope. No way. That's one choice I've made. ) So, I pointed that way,

and we ran down that right hand trail, back toward the Stargate, with a trio

of peeved natives hot on our tails. (Why were they peeved? You'd have to ask

Daniel. Don't know what it was they said, or he said, but nobody was happy,

that was for sure.) Hopefully, the natives would take the other trail, buying

us time to go home.

Huh. Fat chance. Not with my luck.

Daniel'd been the first one caught in the trap, because he was running out in

front. Stupid, really, catching the smartest one of us in such a primitive

trap, the oldest one in the book, the dig a hole in the trail trap, and he

stumbled right in. Carter was right behind him, couldn't stop, and crashed

into the hole with him. I came around the bend in the trail, saw that big

honkin' pit, tried to stop, skidding in the dirt, arms windmilling like some

cartoon character. Fortunately, Teal'c was far enough behind not to crash

into me, but close enough behind to grab me just as I was sliding over the

edge of that hole. Think he pulled something loose in my shoulder when he

pulled me out. Then he pulled them out while I covered our sixes, and we made

it back to the gate in the end. Daniel's got sprains and strains and Carter's

got a lifetime collection of bruises, and me, I've got one severely bruised

ego.

Blind choice, bad choice, O'Neill.

Maybe I should carry a Ouija board, a cell phone to call one of those psychic

hotlines, or one of those little magic eight-ball thingies.

We'd all survived it, thank God, a little worse for wear but we got out with

our skins mostly intact. Noses bloodied, we'd retreated, come home with our

tail between our legs like a whipped pup. I hate that.

So I'd made a bad choice. Or maybe a good one. I'll never knew, for sure.

It's only one of many, I think honestly. I've made some spectacularly bad

choices over the years: Keeping a gun in my home. Taking that assignment in

Iraq.

Holding a grudge against Frank Cromwell. Asking Daniel to re-open the Abydos

gate.

Bringing that Orb thing back from PX- whatever. Eating Kinthia's cake (so,

okay, no one explained it was a marriage cake, until later.) Going to that

PX- something which ended up with me and Carter taking that nearly fatal

sidetrip to Antarctica. Too slow shooting that damn oversized giant mosquito

critter that bit Teal'c. Talking to and about Armin Zelig. Not shooting

Hathor the first time I laid eyes on her. Ditto for Kinsey. Not believing

Daniel about the Linvris/Machello devices thing, and letting MacKenzie gets

his hands on him. Recruiting Henry Boyd into the SGC and sending him on a

mission that got him killed. Looking into that alien knowledge transfer

thingy left by the Ancients. Retiring after the Abydos mission. Talking back

to that Kintac fellah back on Natu. Letting Sara walk away without a fight.

Hard choices I've made, too: Killing Kawalsky's body. Letting Merrin go back

to Orban. Sending the reetu engineered child Charlie to the Tokra with Jacob.

Walking away from another life on Edora.

But to be fair, here and there I've made good choices too: To join the Air

Force. To marry Sara. To re-up under General Hammond and join the SGC. To

accept Carter onto my team. To follow a hunch and put Daniel on my team, too.

To take that very first step through the Stargate. To trust Teal'c, and

invite him to join us. To give life another chance, after Abydos. To believe

Daniel after his trip through the mirror thing convinced him that Earth was

about to be attacked. To stand up for Tonani's people. To go through the gate

to what turned out to be the home planet of Thor's people. To take Merrin to

school.

Today, though, it just seems like there's been too many choices, too many

decisions, too many people asking me to tell them what to do. A man gets sick

and tired of it. I am weary and sore all over, my shoulder aching, and I just

want to get home in one piece, have some dinner and fall asleep.

But no, life is demanding I make another choice before I can get out of here.

All around me, people are watching, waiting, staring, demanding I make

another choice so we can all get moving. I'm surrounded by expectant faces,

silent, staring, impatient, imploring. A decision, O'Neill, make a decision.

It's not that hard, you've made hundreds today, thousands this week, millions

over a lifetime. What's one more?

I took a deep breath, turned again to the earnest young man in front of me

who repeated his question.

"Sir, paper or plastic?"

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