Death Watch
February Word A Month: Retribution
Author: BadgerGater
Email: [email protected]
Category: Angst, H/C, Word a Month: February 2001: Retribution
Rating: PG, adult subject matter
Season: Three
Summary: Someone from SG-1 must be the price for a misdeed on the planet of the Adara
Warnings: ***Severe, Heavy Duty, Extra-ordinary Angst** You have been warned. Do not read while depressed. Keep Kleenex on hand.
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 without the author's consent.
Authors Notes: Another one of those diabolical words Chrisbod and Tanya come up with for their marvelous word a month writing exercise. (Special thanks to Corine for her great suggestions)
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It's only fitting that I should be the one to die. Maybe I'm not guilty of this crime, but there's been more than enough death and destruction that could be justly laid at my door. My soul is far from clean, my spirit far from innocent. If someone has to die, it's okay that it's me.
It's not that I want to die. I haven't felt that way for a very long time. But better me than any of the others. They all have so much more to live for. Carter and Daniel, they're both young, have so much to achieve in their work and in their lives. Teal'c, he has a family, a wife and a son, plus a whole world that needs him.
Me, I've already had the best things I'll ever have in my life. My son is gone forever, due to my own thoughtless, dreadful mistake. I have lived with the guilt of that for so long, I don't remember what's it like to be whole. And then there's Sara, I'm sorry I hurt her, and I hope she's over me enough not to be hurt when I don't come back. I don't know if she even cares anymore. I wouldn't blame her if she didn't. She deserved so much more, so much better than she ever got from me.
Career-wise, I'll never go any further. I've made far too many enemies to ever get a star. This mouth of mine has always caused me trouble. I used to be better at keeping it in check, but I guess once I'd retired and then returned, I figured it didn't matter. Hey, it was a wonder I made it to the rank of Colonel, far more than this mis-fit, chip on his shoulder, sorry SOB, ever thought he would achieve. If someone had told me way back when that I'd end up a Colonel, I'd have laughed in his face. I probably set the record for punishment details, but I managed to overcome my failings with sheer stubborn nerve.
The Adara have already given me the drug, the poison. Ironically, they do this just the opposite of executions in the USA. I'm not strapped down to a gurney, with spectators to watch. My team is out there, strapped to chairs, hostages to my behavior. I'm free, they're confined. If I flee or fight, they die, that was made plain to me but they don't know that. They didn't understand why I stood here, and let the Adara give me the drug, why I didn't protest when it was injected.
Funny, it didn't hurt. Not then.
I'm pacing this small space, a small room with a window to a row of chairs where Daniel, Sam and Teal'c sit, forced to watch. Behind them, Adarans, dozens of them, are watching.
What better way to die than to give your life to save your friends, your team, your surrogate family? It's my job to take care of them, protect them and watch over them. If I have to die to do that, well, that's a possibility I've lived with for a very long time. It was different, when I had someone to go home to, when I had Sara and Charlie, people who needed me. No one needs me now, no one out there will care if I don't come home.
It's not that I don't have people who I care about now, though they're all the people there at the SGC. It's fitting that my death can save them all from the wrath of the Adarans. That's what a man does for his family, and they are the only family I have left, every one of them, from my team, the General, Doc, the gateroom staff, everybody right on down to the security guards and the janitors, people who don't even know what it is that we do here, but are a part of it.
I'm sorry my life is going to end, I'm sorry I won't get to finish what we started. But I know they will carry on without me. Carter will get her own command now. She and Teal'c will look after Daniel, and the General, I trust him to look after them all.
My death is in retribution for the crimes they say were committed by my team. We killed those people in self defense, fair and square, and we had no choice. But the Adara don't see it that way. Dead is dead. Guilty is guilty. An eye for an eye.
I always thought I would meet my end in battle, on my feet, suddenly. I figured it would be over so quickly I wouldn't even know what happened. No time to think, no time for regrets, just the end.
Oh God, it really is happening. I feel strange, the room is spinning and despite my determination, I can't stay on my feet any longer. I slump against the wall and slide gracelessly to the floor, hearing a gasp from one of you, Daniel I think, maybe all of you. Sitting, propped up against the wall, I look out at you and silently beg, 'please, please don't, don't hurt for me. Don't.'
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I have things I need to tell you, my friends. Quickly, before it's too late.
"Daniel, there's, there's a baseball glove and pictures on my dresser. Give them to Sara for me," I whisper, "and tell her..." I look at him helplessly, suddenly not knowing what to say.
His voice is shaking as he says, "I'll tell her you loved her."
I nod. "Thank you, Daniel. Thank you for being my friend, for being there for me." I try to grin. "You get my hockey stick and skates. Try not to hurt yourself."
No one smiles. Guess my humor is failing me as badly as my body.
I turn to Carter. "Major, don't let Hammond give the team to anyone else," I tell her. "Tell him I said you're ready to lead SG-1. You. No one else."
"Yes, Sir. Thank you," she nods, eyes huge as she chokes out the words. "Sir...."
"You'll do fine, Carter," I slur the words.
Finally, I look to the Jaffa, this man who trusted me, who left his home and his people to follow me. I've let him down. "Teal'c, my friend, I'm sorry we didn't finish it," the words are harder and harder to force through unwilling lips, "freeing your people. Sorry..."
Teal'c nods, stately as ever. "I will tell Bra'tak you died a warrior."
I smile my thanks, unable to say more.
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It's a fair bargain, my life in exchange for the lives of those I care about... It wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't so painful. Dying hurts, let me tell you, at least the way the Adara execute their captives-- slow. They want to watch, they want the criminals' family and friends to watch. Maybe they get off on all the suffering. Do they know what this drug does, do they know the way it burns through your veins, like fire eating through the tissues and muscles and bones? Oh God, I close my eyes, fighting for control, fighting to contain the pain, using what little strength that remains to me to keep the agony from showing.
Punishment for my crimes, fitting, for all I've done, for all the deaths I've caused-- Charlie, Kawalsky, Henry Boyd, Sha're, Frank Cromwell, and more, so many more, Oh God.
Sorry, guys, I didn't mean to moan so you would hear it. It's just that this hurts, this dying a bit at a time. I can see your faces, see the pain there, and I don't want that. I don't want my last sight of you to be like this. I want to remember good things, I want *you* to remember good things.
I begged these people not to make you watch, not to make me watch you. Not just for the sake of my own privacy, I've never liked having anyone see me hurt. I don't want you hurt anymore, I don't want you to carry this ugly memory with you. I know how hard it is to watch someone you care about die, I know what it's like to wake up screaming in the night with the image of death and dying right there in technicolor in your dreams.
God, I don't know if I can hold in this pain. It's excruciating. I never thought I'd feel anything more painful than that damn snake burrowing its way into my neck, but I was wrong. This is like a dozen snakes, all over my body, like my nerves are being eaten away from inside.
Oh damn, it hurts. Don't, Jack, don't make a sound, don't make them witness to your pain. Let them think it's peaceful and quiet and painless. Be strong and tough and silent. That's what you've stood for all your life, strength and toughness and character. John Wayne wouldn't utter a sound.
Unable to speak, my vision blurring, I stare one last time at each of you, trying to say thank you, trying not to see the agony on your faces. I see your mouths moving, but thankfully I can no longer hear your cries of protest.
I feel my body trembling, out of control, I no longer can stop the shuddering. I guess this is the end, oh Lord, forgive me, for all that I've done..... Sara, I'm sorry.... Charlie, son, oh God, Charlie...
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Daniel Jackson:
This can't be happening, Jack is dying right here in front of us and we can't do a thing. These people won't listen to us, wouldn't listen to reason or logic. I know this is what their culture says is right but it's not right, not in ours, not in the greater scheme of things.
Oh, God. We've been through so much together, as a team, as friends. Jack is trying so hard not to let us know what's happening, trying as always to hide the hurt and the fear. But I can tell it hurts, I know him too well, but I have to keep that knowledge off my face. I can't let him see that I know, because that would make the hurt worse for him.
My wrists are raw from fighting the restraints, my voice hoarse from shouting.
Jack is dying.
I can't breathe, and a sob escapes me as I watch him sink to the floor.
He's asking me to talk to Sara, to take to her those few treasured momentos he has of his son, the ones he lets no one see.
Oh God, this isn't fair. Jack doesn't deserve this. He's stubborn and bullheaded and annoying but he cares. He's the bravest man I know and even if he puts on that dumb as a post act, it's his street smarts that have kept us alive for all these years.
He can't die. He's invincible. Of all of us, he's the one we need to hold this team together, he's the glue that keeps us together, his will demands that we're all for one and one for all.
He can't die for us.
He's fading, I can see the light in his eyes fading away. No, Jack, not you too. Everyone who's ever been important in my life has died. He's looking at me, one last longing look, and I try to be brave, for him, to hide the tears that fill my eyes, because he's Jack, he's my best friend and my brother, and the man who believed in me, who made me part of SG-1. We can't be SG-1 without him.
Find peace, my friend, and forgiveness. Charlie is waiting for you, if there's any justice in this universe, he must be.
Samantha Carter
I don't want to get my first command this way, by watching my commanding officer die before my eyes, to save the rest of us. He's more than my CO, although he's the best CO I've ever had, a man I would follow anywhere, anytime, because I know, I know, he is a man of honor. My dad couldn't believe it, that I could admire a rebel like Colonel O'Neill, especially considering the way we'd gotten off to such a bad start. I've always had to battle my way in the USAF, and I had to fight to get onto SG-1, but he gave me a chance, a fair chance.
I respect the Colonel, I admire his leadership, and his courage, I have never met a man with more courage. This isn't the first time he has paid the consequences for the actions of others, but this is final.
It truly has been an honor to serve with him. I told him that before, and I try with my gaze to tell him that again.
Damn it, Sam, don't cry, don't let that tear escape, or you won't be able to stop the thousands that will follow, because he is not only your CO but also your friend. He is a good and decent man who makes you laugh, who respects your accomplishments, even if he does tease unmercifully. But that's a blessing, see, because I know he only teases those he likes. The others get the barbed side of his tongue, and that can be nasty, real nasty.
No. No. nonononono. This can't be happening. He is staring at us, willing us to understand, and I do, I know that to him making the ultimate sacrifice for us is what he has to do because that's who he is. But that doesn't make this right or fair.
Colonel, you can't go. You promised us, no one gets left behind. Ever. And that includes you.
Oh, Sir, I fight to hold onto the mask I must display as a soldier, but inside I am crying.
Teal'c
I left behind all that I was before to follow this human, because I trusted his word. In all the universe, there is no one I have trusted more, not even Bra'tac. So very different, O'Neill and Bra'tac, yet so very alike. Warriors of unswerving honor and courage, yet humble, who seek no fame and no reward other than the respect of their compatriots. I read once in a book called Ivanhoe, the story of a human warrior born many generations ago, and when I pictured that courageous knight, it was the visage of O'Neill that I would see. Unbending, unyielding; forgiving of others but not of himself; gentle with children and fierce with those who would harm what he holds dear; a man of his word, and a man of few words; a man with a deep and hidden soul; a man who has carried out the orders of his leaders, because he has pledged to do so, yet keeps true to that place within himself, the place where he holds dear his own code of justice and fairness and what is right.
My teammate. My leader. The man who saw beyond the alien exterior, who saw not just an enemy soldier but a potential ally; a man who trusted me, who invited me to his world, and made me a part of the team that is his family.
My friend.
I salute you, O'Neill. I will carry your courage forever in my heart, that a part of you may live on in me, as you carried the memory of your beloved lost child.
Samantha Carter
The moments of his death seem to drag on forever, and then, so quickly, it is over. The Adara are releasing us, and we all run to the still body. "Oh, God." His face looks so peaceful, now, the lines of pain erased from his face, the worry lines gone from the brow. I smooth the hair back from his face, and feel the warmth still there. I want to pound my fists on the ground in futile rage at what these people have done. "You didn't deserve this, Sir," I whisper, furiously wiping away the tears trailing down my cheek.
Next to me, Daniel is hugging himself, looking lost, and then Teal'c bends over to pick up the lifeless body, cradling it like fragile, precious broken porcelain.
"We are taking him home, now," states the huge Jaffa, and the Adara nod.
"He died well," says one of the aliens.
Daniel turns to glare at the small man, biting back the retort, finally, saying softly, "he shouldn't have died at all."
We walk quickly to the Stargate, wordless now, none of us able to talk, none of us able to even look at one another. Defeated. SG-1, broken at last.
The wormhole forms, and for the first time, I feel no joy or wonder at this astounding alien technology. I send the iris code and Daniel and I follow Teal'c and the Colonel home, one final time.
As my feet hit the ramp, I hear frantic activity, Teal'c calling for the doctor.
"What?"
The Jaffa's sure tones give me hope. "O'Neill lives, barely."
My astonishment lasts only a fraction of a second, then I am starting CPR. Oh God, dear Lord, let it be true. Let Teal'c be right. Let the poison have failed. Maybe it's a hopeless cause, maybe it's only wishful thinking, but if there is any chance, any chance at all, we have to try.
And then Janet is there, and Daniel is answering her questions. I continue counting compressions, and someone is bagging him, and there's noise and movement and then I'm pushed out of the way as the medical staff takes over and Janet is shouting and the Colonel is being hurried away to the infirmary.
Oh Lord, please. I turn to see Daniel looking even more stunned than I, and we look to Teal'c as we follow the medical staff toward the infirmary.
"What..." asks Daniel.
"I felt O'Neill's heart beat, felt him draw a small breath."
"The poison didn't work?"
Daniel's face lights up with that thinking expression, the one where I can all but see the light bulb turning on over his head. "Maybe the poison works differently in us. The Adara aren't entirely human..."
Yes! Yes! "Maybe there was enough of a physiological difference." I finish the sentence for him.
Teal'c's expression remains grave. "It was but a tiny movement, perhaps not enough, perhaps too late."
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I must be in Hell because it's hot, I can feel the heat and thirst and pain.
What are you surprised about, Jack, thought you'd go to heaven? Huh!!! Delusions.
Heat. Pain. Thirst.
Something odd. I can hear what sounds like machinery and voices and... if I didn't know better I'd swear I was in the infirmary. Guess this really is Hell.
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Samantha Carter
The waiting seems to last forever. I'm pacing. The General is pacing. Daniel is leaning back against the wall, arms folded across his chest, eyes closed. He's mumbling faintly, a prayer I think, Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Egyptian, one language after another. Teal'c alone seems calm, on the outside at least, but occasionally I can see something flicker across his face, so slight a change of expression one would hardly notice, but it's there. Worry? Fear? Concern? Maybe he's praying, too. I watch the second hand crawl around the face of the clock, long, long minutes, twenty, thirty, sixty, seventy.
Finally, Janet emerges from the curtained area around the Colonel's bed. She smiles. Oh God, she smiled, and that means there's good news. Thank you Lord.
"He's there."
"Yes!" breathes Daniel.
I see all of our expressions, reflected in the glass of the hallway window, and watch the relief flood across our faces. Was that a smile on Teal'c face for just a moment? Daniel is grinning, Hammond is grinning, I'm grinning madly.
"We have the Colonel on a respirator, and the EEG is showing brain activity," Janet reports. "The drug was some sort of paralyzing agent, slowing and eventually stopping all his voluntary muscles and then paralyzing the involuntary muscle functions as well, shutting down his respiratory system. He *would* have been dead in a few more minutes, but I think you got him to us in time. The prognosis looks good, better even than it did an hour ago. He is slowly starting to recover muscle function. We'll need to monitor him closely, and we won't know for sure that he's okay until he wakes up and talks to us, but," she smiles reassuringly, "all indications are he'll recover."
I slump down into a chair, suddenly too weak kneed to stand any longer. I bury my face in my hands to hide the tears that threaten again.
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"Colonel O'Neill?"
I guess the devil even knows my name. I would laugh, but I can't seem to breathe right. But then, if I'm dead I don't need to breathe and I can't be laughing so what the hell is going on?
I open my eyes. Unless the devil has gotten a lot better looking and developed a pretty good bedside manner, I'd swear that is Doc standing above me, looking down, a smile crinkling across her face. I let my eyes drift around the room, ignoring her voice because of course it can't be real because I'm dead, executed for killing five Adara who tried to kill us.
But this ceiling looks familiar. Not even the devil is going to go to this much detail for one sorry old soldier, putting that stain on the ceiling, the spot the painters missed, the place where those two pipes are crooked, where they go through the wall. I've stared up at the infirmary ceiling so many times I have it memorized. This couldn't be?
I try to look around, try to move my head and pain explodes through me and I try to moan, but I can't because my throat is...
Intubated. I've been through this enough times to know that feeling. Yes, this must really be Hell.
And then Doc is back, demanding my attention.
"Colonel, I'm going to take that tube out, breathe out when I pull..."
Just from practice I know this trick. I feel the nasty plastic obstruction sliding out of my throat, cough, clear my throat, and try to look around. Doc gives me some ice chips. I think I must look stunned because she's talking to me now. "Colonel, it's okay. You're alive."
"What?" I croak. Oh Lord, I am alive, I can talk, and I grab Doc's hand, needing to feel real live, warm living flesh. I start to chuckle, fighting to hold back the hysteria. Oh Jack, this is way too weird. You were *dead*, buddy, dead. Sure this isn't some last trick the devil is playing on you?
Doc takes pity on my confusion, explaining, "the poison they gave you, the dose they used, it was too small. It would have killed an Adara, but not a human. You were deeply comatose, everyone thought you were dead, so they let the team bring your body back through the gate. We immediately started CPR, then put you on a respirator until the paralyzing effects of the drug wore off."
"I'm really not dead?" Brilliant question.
"No, not dead yet, Jack," says another voice. I turn my head and Daniel is there, and then I hear footsteps in the hall and Carter and Teal'c hurry through the door, and in a few moments the General arrives.
"Guess I escaped the Grim Reaper again," I say softly.
Daniel grins. "More lives than a cat, Jack."
One bedraggled feeling cat, I thought wearily, my eyes sliding closed, but I force them open again, looking at each one of them, the five people around me, my friends, my family, my reason for hanging on to this life.
Retribution will have to wait.
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