Five Years After
Author: BadgerGater
Email: [email protected]
Category: Angst
Pairing: None
Rating: PG, mature subject matter
Season/Sequel: Three; helps if you've read my earlier fic, His Father's Son
Summary: Jack deals with Charlie's death
Warnings: Major Kleenex alert!! Adult words
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: Yes, okay, I'm obsessed with Charlie and Sara.
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They, whoever they are, say time heals all wounds, but they're wrong, thought Jack O'Neill. Some wounds never heal, at least, not on the inside.
He knew why she was calling, but that didn't make it hurt any less, to hear that familiar voice, the one that was there in his memories and his dreams.
"Hello, Jack."
"Hi, Sara." Awkward pause. Even after all this time, they still didn't know what to say to each other, probably because the truth was, they'd never talked about it, about what happened between them, about what they felt, about what they wanted, or needed.
Finally, after what seemed like minutes of listening to the silence of the phone line, Sara resumed. "I went ahead with the plans for the memorial mass. I know you didn't really want me to, but I had to..."
"I told you, whatever you wanted to do was okay with me."
"And I know you'd rather grieve in private, but I can't, Jack, I need to share this. I can't hide anymore. I want other people to remember him too. I need to know that he's remembered."
"I know." He could barely force the words from his throat. What she needed was different from what he needed, that was the way it had always been, for five years now, since..., since that day that changed everything.
"I called Joe."
"Why?"
"Damn it, Jack, because he's your brother, he was Charlie's uncle, because he married us and he baptized our son and he buried our son. He was glad I called, said he never hears from you, and he was glad to come. So he'll be here tomorrow night and he's coming to stay with you."
Silence. "Jack?"
"Yes."
"You'll come, won't you?"
"I'll think about it."
Her voice changed, angry, but then, when wasn't she angry with him, since that day he'd ruined their lives. "Well, fine. Just don't forget to pick up Joe tomorrow night."
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It wasn't hard for Jack O'Neill to find who he was looking for at the airport. All he had to do was look for his mirror image, the barely a year younger brother who'd always looked so much like him people usually thought they were twins. Of course, the giveaway was Joe's collar.
That was just the start of their differences, Joe a man of peace, of God, quiet and compassionate and able to give comfort; Jack, a military man, who'd lived a life of violence, sarcastic and dark, who bottled up his feelings so deeply even he rarely consciously acknowledged them.
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Jack greeted his brother with a quiet hello and a handshake, and then side by side they walked out to Jack's car. "Good flight?"
"Yes."
"How's Chicago?"
"Cold." Joe looked assessingly at his brother. "How are you?"
"Fine," Jack shrugged.
"Right. You shouldn't lie to your priest, Jack."
"You're not my priest."
Joe nodded. "Okay, then you shouldn't lie to your brother."
"Who says I'm lying?"
"I'm a priest, remember. I can smell a lie a mile away."
"Hummmph."
"Jack..."
"Don't go there, Joe. I'm not going to talk about it."
"You should."
"I'm not you, Joe."
"I know that, Jack, and I know you don't like to talk about yourself and I know you don't want to talk about Charlie, but that's why I'm here."
"It was Sara who asked you to come, not me."
"I noticed." There was silence as Jack pulled the car out of the parking garage and drove away from the airport, toward town. "It's been five years, Jack, it's time."
"Do you think that makes any difference? That five years makes it any easier? That I'll ever stop---"
"No, I don't."
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"Nice house," Joe looked around the neat home that he knew Jack had remodeled himself. "Very you," he added.
"Want a beer? You can drink beer, can't you?"
"I'm a priest, Jack, not a monk. Yeah, beer is fine."
Jack disappeared toward the kitchen.
Setting his bag on the sofa, Joe strolled over to the fireplace, looking over the array of medals, commendations and certificates. He was still reading when Jack's quiet footsteps returned to the living room and his brother set a beer in his hands. "Thanks," he said, and waved a hand at the mantle. "Quite an impressive display."
Jack shrugged, settling himself into the armchair across from the sofa.
"Mom always knew you'd make good."
Jack said nothing.
"She was really proud of you."
Jack sipped his beer. "Made up for Dad, I guess."
"He was proud, too, just too damn stubborn to say it. Like someone else I know," Joe noted, meeting his brother's eyes as he sipped his beer.
Jack looked away. "How are the others?"
"Susie says hi, Patrick and Bridget, too. They'd have come if you'd asked."
Jack said nothing. "No need."
"Still grieving in private."
Jack shrugged, taking another gulp of the beer. "Yeah, well..."
Joe got to his feet. "Jack, talk to me."
"Speaking now as my brother, or my priest?"
"Either, both, whatever you want or need."
Jack stood, turned away from his brother and looked through the window into the darkness of his backyard. "I just need people to quit telling me what I need."
"Jack, you don't have to carry this alone."
"I do."
"There are people who care about you who want to help."
Jack spun back to face his brother. "To do what? To bring back my son? To fix my marriage? To help me sleep at night? To stop the memories of what happened that day?" His glance caught the clock, which had just passed midnight. "What happened five years ago today? That will never happen, Joe, never. Some things can be forgotten or forgiven. Not this." His voice sounded quieter, defeated. "Never this."
Joe stood quietly for several minutes, studying the rigid set of the familiar shoulders. "Sara said you weren't coming to the memorial mass."
"No."
"Why not?"
Jack shrugged. His eyes, Joe noted, were fastened on a painting, a bright, childish painting of trees and flowers that hung on the wall opposite the fireplace.
"Why not?" Joe insisted.
Finally, in a voice that seemed to be ripped from deep within the darkest confines of his soul, Jack answered, "I can't. I just can't." He shouldn't have to explain, he thought, Joe should know, Joe knew him, knew he couldn't grieve in public. "It's not my way, you know," he waved a hand, a helpless gesture from such a strong man, thought Joe. "I can't go in there, in that church. Not since," the eyes raised to meet his momentarily, then slid away again. "since you and I," Jack remembered the bitter argument, every ugly, hurtful, nasty, vicious word he'd said. "I don't belong there."
"Why? Because God will strike you dead for the blasphemous things you said that day? Because you cursed him and said you hated him and didn't believe in him? Do you think God didn't know you didn't mean them?"
"I did." Jack insisted.
"No. You were hurt and angry and scared and God understands. He doesn't expect us to be perfect, he just expects us to try to be."
"Yeah, right."
"Jack, please. Come to the mass. It will give you peace."
"Bullshit."
Joe shook his head. "Still stubborn as ever."
"Yes."
"And damn proud of it?"
"Yup."
Joe smiled "You always were perverse. Drove Mom to distraction."
Jack shrugged.
"You need to attend the service. Do it for Sara and for Charlie, if not for yourself." Stubborn silence consumed the room. "Then will you do it for me? I hate seeing you like this, Jack."
Jack dropped bonelessly back into the chair, letting his face sink into his hands. "I can't, Joe. I can't go in there. The memories. I can still see it, his coffin. It was so small."
"I know, Jack," Joe's voice was soft, and comforting.
The grieving father sat silent for long moments, and finally raised bleak eyes. "Why, Joe? Tell me why. You have all the answers. Tell me why. Give me a reason, something I can understand."
Joe had never heard such pleading in his brother's familiar voice, such raw pain. "God's plan for us is a mystery, Jack. I know there was a purpose to Charlie's life and death, and there's a purpose to your life, too. Sometimes God reveals his plan to us, sometimes not. But I know he has a purpose for you."
"A purpose?" anger broke through Jack's quiet voice. "And Charlie was the price I had to pay to fulfill my *purpose*?"
"No, he was your gift, Jack. A gift you needed to get you where you need to be."
"Then I don't want it. I don't want a purpose or a gift, if that was the price I paid. Nothing was worth that. Never. Ever. He was worth more than I'll ever be."
"Jack, we can't understand God's ways, but I know this. Charlie was your gift, yours and Sara's. Ten years was all he had, that's not much, I know, but those ten years were God's gift to him and to you. He was a soul that needed to be nurtured and loved as only the two of you could. His life was short, but it was filled with all the best things you could provide, more love and more laughter than most people find in 10 times his years. God called him home when it was time, and he's there, now, with God in a better place, a place of peace and happiness with his Heavenly Mother and his Father in Heaven."
"Well his mother and father down here needed him, too," Jack said in a strangled voice that reverberated with pain.
"I know."
"No you don't," the anger and bitterness were back in the voice. "What the hell could you possibly know about it?" Jack raged. Joe stepped forward to lay a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder, but Jack stepped away, opening the door and stalking out onto the patio, into the concealing darkness, because he had to hide the tears that were threatening to overwhelm him. He hadn't meant to hurt Joe, he was his brother, and he meant well. Oh shit, why couldn't he ever say or do the right thing?
Jack heard quiet footsteps follow him out onto the deck. Joe was a brave man, in his own way, Jack thought, braver than he'd ever be.
"Joe, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I'm just...."
"I know. You're hurt and you need to let the hurt out at someone. Jack, I'm a priest. I've heard it all, the most terrible and horrible and hurtful things people say when they are grieving. I understand, and I know God understands, and He forgives."
"Well, I don't."
"It's time you did, Jack. You need to forgive God, and Sara, and yourself and Charlie."
"Forgive Charlie?"
"Yes, Charlie. You are angry with him, aren't you? Still?"
Jack's shoulders slumped as he leaned on the deck railing, and his voice was low and dark. "I *told* him. He *knew* never to play with guns. Guns aren't toys. They're tools of my job. I explained how he was too young, just like he was too young to drive a car, but someday, when he was older, if he wanted, I'd take him to the range and teach him..." Jack choked back a sob. "Why couldn't he listen? Why couldn't he wait? Why? Why? It was my fault the gun wasn't locked away, but why didn't Charlie leave it alone? Why didn't Sara find it first ? Why couldn't a thousand other things have happened than what did?"
"God...."
Jack spun once again to face his brother, anger overcoming the grief, bitterness in the voice. "There is no God, Joe. Not one that I want to know, one that would do that to my son..."
"I'm sorry you feel that way, Jack, because He hasn't given up on you."
"Right. He just keeps torturing me, one thing after another, stripping away all the good things...."
"That's not God, that's the devil."
"Oh, the devil," there was sarcasm in the voice now. "Now, him I know."
Joe raised an eyebrow.
"I've met him. More than once."
"And he is?"
Jack was staring past Joe, looking at memories the priest could not comprehend. "A little Iraqi man who spoke perfect English." The Colonel shuddered, paused, went on. "A god wanna-be who would wipe out millions without batting an eye," he added, remembering Ra. "A warlord who kills for sport and pleasure. A creature masquerading as a man who enslaves and tortures and kills for his own gain or just on a whim."
The darkness in the voice left Joe chilled. "But he hasn't won has he, Jack? There's still good in the world, and decency and compassion. I don't know what it is you do in your work, but I know it's for good, that it's God's work as much as mine."
"Yeah, right."
"You can't deny it. I looked at those certificates and medals and commendations on your mantle. And I know the Air Force doesn't give those out for designing a better paper clip. I've seen the scars Jack. I've seen the look in your eyes. You've seen the elephant and it was one ugly pachyderm."
Jack laughed bitterly. "Oh, good, from God to elephants. What's next, Joe?" He sighed, rubbed a hand across his face, and continued in a tired voice. "There is no God, Joe, just fate and random chance and evil. I've seen things, things you can't begin to imagine..." he stopped, his eyes dark, his face grim. "I can't talk about it."
"You can tell God. You can tell Him anything and everything, your deepest darkest secrets. He'll understand."
"Not this."
"You don't know until you try."
Jack shook his head. "I tried Joe, for months, I begged him every day, I begged and pleaded to be rescued or released or die, but God didn't answer."
"Maybe you didn't listen. You've never been very good at listening. God gives us what we need, not necessarily what we ask for, but what we need to fulfill our purpose. You survived. I can't imagine what you went through, but I know it must have been terrible."
Very quietly. "It was. But what came after was worse."
Joe looked at his brother's face, shadowed in the darkness, the eyes bright.
"I thought I'd survived hell, until Charlie died."
There was a long pause before Jack went on. "I intended to kill myself. I had the gun, loaded, in my hand, time after time. Put it to my head, started to pull the trigger, but my hand would shake so bad..."
"Suicide is a mortal sin..."
"I knew that, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered."
"So what stopped you?"
"I don't know. I guess some small part of me hadn't given up yet. And then the Air Force came calling and offered me the perfect opportunity-- suicide mission, die in the line of duty. Everybody wins. I get what I want, the Air Force gets a dirty job done, and some other poor SOB gets to keep a life he actually wants."
"So what happened?"
Jack considered how much he could say. "I found a way to do the job without blowing myself up."
"Why? Why did it matter? What made you care?"
"There were people, at that place, innocent people. Kids. A man who became my friend. I was willing to blow myself up but I couldn't do it to them."
Joe nodded. "Life still mattered."
"Not mine. Theirs."
"And then?"
"And then I realize there was a job I needed to do, a way I could use my life, give my life, to something else, for something else..."
"A penance for Charlie?"
"I guess." Jack shrugged.
"A purpose bigger than yourself?"
"Yeah."
"Ah, see, God isn't a face in a painting or a character in a book, Jack, He's not just there in the church. He's all around us, and in us, and even when we try to push Him away, ignore Him, or deny His existence, He's still there, waiting for us to find Him again."
"Hmmpph."
"You always were a skeptic, Jack."
"And you always were a dreamer, Joe."
"A believer." Joe hung his head. "I wish I could give some of my belief to you, Jack, some of the certainty and peace and joy I feel because I know God is with me. It doesn't mean that sometimes I'm not frightened. Or worried. Or doubting. I'm human, too. But you can't carry your burdens alone, Jack, no one can, not even someone as stubborn and strong as you."
Jack shook his head.
"You don't have to talk to me or confess to any other priest; you don't have to look for God just in that building we've decided to call His; go up into the mountains, gaze up at the stars, and share the burden. He's there, Jack, waiting to help you...if you give Him a chance." Joe stepped forward and laid his hand on his brother's shoulder. "He's forgiven you. I've forgiven you. Sara's forgiven you. Charlie's forgiven you. Now forgive them and forgive yourself. Punishing them and yourself won't change things."
"Nothing can change things." There was despair in the quiet voice.
"Nothing can change what happened to Charlie, no. We can only change how we react to it and deal with it." Joe paused. "Now, come on back in the house. We need some sleep. Tomorrow --today-- will be a long day."
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In the cool and quiet church, Charlie's picture sat on a small table in front of the altar, his baseball glove and hockey skates propped up beside it. The front of the church was filled with candles and flowers.
Sara and her father, her siblings, all those former in-laws Jack knew, sat on one side of the church along with a scattering of their old friends and neighbors. Jack swallowed a truck sized lump in his throat when he recognized several young men as the boys who had been on Charlie's baseball and hockey teams and in Scouts with him; Frank Cromwell's wife, who had once been Sara's best friend; a woman who had been Charlie's third grade teacher; and the lady who'd been his babysitter.
Jack had never felt so alone, and he took a seat in the front pew across from them, meeting no one's eyes, tugging on the sleeves of his blue jacket. He hadn't been sure if he should wear his uniform, but then he remembered how, as a baby, Charlie always loved to grab at the bright colored insignia; how he loved to wear Jack's hat; how he saluted-- damn, stop that Jack, he ordered himself. Not now.
And then, from the corner of his eye, he saw the familiar faces come in to the back of the church. He didn't know who'd called them but he was suddenly grateful that someone had. Each one shook his hand, or touched his shoulder as they came and sat beside him-- Daniel, Teal'c, Major Carter, General Hammond, Major Ferretti, Dr. Fraiser, Katherine Langford and Ernest Littlefield. Following them were dozens more, Sgt. Siler, Sgt. Davis, Lt. Simmons, Major Kovachek, several of the nurses, members of at least half of the SG teams, and standing out in the sea of Air Force blue, the green uniforms of the SG-3 Marines.
It was all the Colonel could do to breathe as he watched them enter, one after another.
Joe stepped forward then, to the altar, and turned to the small gathering, his eyes meeting Jack's for a moment in silent promise. "We are gathered here today, with God, to remember and celebrate the life of Charles Jonathon O'Neill..."
FINIS