Shadows

Author: BadgerGater

Email: [email protected]

Category: Missing scene for the S6 episode Shadow Play

Summary: Why was Jack the last one into the gateroom to go to Kelowna? And looking rushed?

Rating: PG

Pairing: None

Warnings: None

Disclaimer: Much as I’d love to own Jack O’Neill, Stargate SG-1, etc. etc., I don’t <sob> No copyright infringement intended, story created for entertainment purposes only.

Author’s Note: That one tiny scene intrigued me, because it seemed out of the norm for Jack...

~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was sitting in the locker room, gearing up for another off-world mission.

No big deal.

Jack O’Neill had gone through the wormhole hundreds of times.

He didn’t have to think about each task as he changed into fresh green BDUs and a crisp black t-shirt. His black vest lay on the bench beside him, pockets already stuffed with standard off world gear. When he was done here, he’d go down to the gateroom, and there he’d pick up the rest of his weapons-- his 9mm handgun and the flat black P-90 that snapped to the harness on his chest.

Nothing new. Nothing different. Nothing difficult.

Then why was it so hard?

Why was he sitting here, his hands shaking like a green recruit? His breath coming harshly like a rookie about to go on his first off-world mission? His heart hammering loudly in his chest?

Because this is your first mission, Jack, he told himself, your first mission since *that* mission, the one that had changed him forever.

He was still himself. He knew that. Different, sure, but not that much. That thing that had been in his head was gone, all of it. Doc Fraiser had run test after test, reassuring him of that. No remnants of Kanan remained. Nothing, he reminded himself, nothing at all, not even memories, especially not any memories.

Or so he kept telling himself.

He’d never been awake and aware during those few days. Kanan had been in complete control. It was like he’d been unconscious the whole time. The time was just gone, like all those days he'd been comatose after fracturing his skull in that little airborne misadventure over Iran/Iraq all those years ago.

Of course, some folks said you could hear and remember things when you were unconscious.

That was how he knew Kanan’s name, he was sure. During the time they’d been transporting him to the Tok’ra base, doing the preparation for the implan… procedure…, he’d heard them talking, yeah, that was it. They’d said the snake’s name and he’d heard it and, under duress in Ba’al’s fortress, he’d recalled a name.

Nothing else remained.

Kanan was gone.

But every time he tried to tell himself that he didn’t remember, he knew it was a lie because he knew Kanan had loved Shaylin. That wasn’t a memory, not really. It was a vision, like a picture, a tiny strip of film playing in his head, and an emotion, a strong emotion. Kanan had loved Shaylin.

Jack O’Neill knew all about lost love and shattered dreams and broken promises. He had enough bad memories of his own, he sure as hell didn’t need anybody else’s floating around in his head.

Was this how it had started with Carter, stray bits and pieces of memories you knew weren’t your own? What other leftovers from Kanan were lurking there in his brain? Freakin’ Tok’ra. He’d been right to prefer death on his own terms to this unending dread that somehow he wasn’t who he was anymore.

Frustrated, the Colonel scrubbed a hand through his spiky gray hair.

He didn’t want to go to Kelowna, didn’t want to go through that gate, didn’t want…

He’d never felt this way before. Never sat here, contemplating all the things that could go wrong on a mission, like the computer misdialing and the wormhole spitting them out somewhere other than Kelowna, somewhere Ba’al was waiting with his knives and his acid and his gravity machines…

Goddamit, O’Neill, don’t go there.

It ain’t gonna happen.

You know better.

Yeah, right. As if there’s never been a screwup before. Remember the trip back to 1969? Remember the first trip to Antarctica? Maybe the wormhole won’t send me for another meeting with Ba’al, O’Neill thought, maybe it will just spill me out on some planet filled with Goa’uld larvae and I can get another guest in my head…

Just the thought of the symbiote crawling into his mouth, tearing through the back of his throat made his throat spasm.

Oh, God.

He jumped to his feet, diving for the bathroom that was located just outside the locker room door. He made it just in time as the spasms turned into retching. He stood over the toilet, heaving up his breakfast, and when his stomach was totally empty, the dry heaves continued, leaving him breathless and shaking.

So much for the O’Neill bravado.

He’d thought he was ready for this. Thought he had it all under control. Everyone else thought he was ready, or they wouldn’t be sending him on this mission. General Hammond okayed it, Doc okayed it, even that bastard Mackenzie had okayed it. Sure, he’d snowed that fool with his whole ‘I was dead so many times I don’t remember’ bullshit, and the shrink bought it; sure you didn’t tell him the half of what really happened, but just enough to get him to believe you. You are good at faking your way past the head doctors, Jack, yup, you are. And while you could fool him, and Fraiser and maybe even Hammond, you can’t fool yourself.

You don’t want to do this.

You really don’t want to do this.

Okay. Right.

There’s been lots of things you haven’t wanted to do in your lifetime, he reminded himself, but you did them anyway. You suck it up and go on because you are Jack O’Neill, two L’s thank you, and that’s who you are and what you do.

He exited the bathroom stall and walked out to stand before the sink. Even he could see that his face was pale and his eyes looked… different. They’d looked different since he came back from… from the Tok’ra and that scumsucking Goa’uld’s fortress. They looked haunted.

Not scared.

Haunted.

Worried.

Okay, he had a right to be worried.

And upset.

After all, he’d sworn he’d never go back to Kelowna, after what happened to Daniel there. That was it, it was the Kelowna thing making him feel this way.

Yeah, sure, Jack, deluding yourself now, too, his inner voice whispered.

Realizing time was passing, he quickly turned on the faucet, splashing water onto his face with his hands and using a paper towel to wipe his face.

Okay. Buck up, Jack. Time to do your thing.

He walked back into the locker room.

Carter was there, already kitted up, and Teal’c and Jonas were just finishing.

The Major gave him an odd look, but he quickly turned his back to her, rummaging in his locker like he’d forgotten something.

He knew they were waiting for him, watching him, wondering what the hell was going on, because they knew him and they knew this wasn’t like him. “You guys go, I’ll be there in a minute,” he tried to sound nonchalant. “Got to, ah, visit the boys room…” He let his voice trail away.

Jonas smiled and started out the door. Teal’c shot him an odd look, okay, all of Teal’c’s looks were odd, but this one was differently odd, then the Chulakian nodded and followed Jonas down the hallway.

Carter hadn’t moved.

“Carter?” He hoped there wasn’t a tremor in his voice.

“Sir, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, not too loudly or forcefully he hoped. Hard to get the tone right.

She stared at him. “Colonel…”

“Carter!” he warned. “I’m fine.”

“Sir…”

“What?”

“It’s just, well, I know it’s your first trip offworld since...” her eyes were filled with concern.

“Oh, gee thanks, Carter, I hadn’t even thought of that. Thanks for reminding me,” he snapped sarcastically.

“Sir, I mean…”

He sighed in exasperation. “I know what you meant, Carter. And I’m fine.” I will be fine, he told himself. I will be, so that’s not a lie. “Don’t fuss, okay?”

Carter stared at him uncertainly. He wasn’t his usual self, just the fact that he was the last one ready worried her in and of itself. Normally, he was waiting in the gateroom five minutes before they were scheduled to leave, glaring and pacing impatiently. At Daniel, usually, because Daniel had excelled at the fine art of raising the Colonel’s blood pressure by strolling in the door about 10 seconds before they were supposed to depart.

That had always driven O’Neill crazy.

“Sir…”

“Major!” he snarled, waving a hand. “I’m fine…”

“Then why are you shouting? Sir.”

“I’m not shouting.” Taking a deep breath, O’Neill let his tense shoulders slump. “Carter,” he said softly. “This just isn’t my… favorite… planet, you know.” That wasn’t a lie either. It wasn’t, he would never forgive the Kelownans for what happened; even more than the accident, he was still angry over their attempt to blame Daniel when all Dr. Jackson had done was save their whole stinkin’ planet. Just thinking about the place made him want to hit someone.

Which was maybe a good thing because it gave him something to think about besides the way his stomach was tying itself in knots over the thought of stepping back through that gate, out there, into the universe, where Ba’al and his knives and his acid and his gravity games were just waiting…

Snap out of it, Jack, he ordered himself. Turning his attention back to Carter once more, he waved her concerns away. “Major, I really *do* need to make a pit stop and then I’ll be there at the gate. Two minutes. Go.”

The little worry lines were still there on her forehead, and she appeared to be on the verge of saying something else, but she suddenly just shook her head. “Yes, Sir.” She couldn’t make him accept her concern or help, or anyone else’s for that matter. Sam knew he was like that, knew he had to carry his own burdens. He was like her father, only even more so; men with that stubborn military bravado, who thought they were hiding everything and yet, hid nothing from those who knew them well.

As she turned and started down the hallway toward the gateroom, she worried about her CO. He’d told them almost nothing of what had happened to him. He’d been dying of a virus, implanted with a symbiote to save his life, then, apparently quite unwillingly, been dragged off to a rescue mission gone bad, where he’d been captured and tortured. The Goa’uld Ba’al had used the sarcophagus at least five times to revive him, maybe more, they weren’t sure. He hadn’t said why he’d needed the sarcophagus, but she’d seen the remnants of his shirt, the gaping holes and the bloodstains. Just remembering it made her shiver.

The Colonel had stumbled home, exhausted, addicted to the sarcophagus. He’d spent days in the infirmary battling the physical effects of the addiction. That was all she knew. He had refused visitors, even his teammates. Teal’c was the only one who’d been allowed to stay with him through the worst of it.

The Colonel *was* better, she knew that, knew that Janet wouldn’t have discharged him from the infirmary otherwise just as she knew that General Hammond wouldn’t have assigned him this mission if he wasn’t fit for duty.

But still, the nagging worry remained.

He’d been through some hellacious experiences, back to back to back, and, okay, if she admitted it, she felt some guilt of her own for what had happened to him. After all, she’d been the one who’d talked him into the action that had led to his capture and torture. She’d convinced him to accept the Tok’ra even when she knew how much he despised the idea.

If only she knew what had happened to him. She’d asked Janet, who’d only shook her head and said she couldn’t reveal anything; it was up to the Colonel what and how much he was willing to tell his team. Doctor patient confidentiality, Janet explained, but Sam hadn’t missed the worried look in her friend’s eyes when she’d said it.

Still, most of the time, the Colonel seemed like himself, darker, maybe, less humorous, more quiet, and she could swear she hadn’t seen him smile once in the weeks since all that had happened. That was a natural reaction to all he’d been through. Janet had assured them that the Colonel would be his old self, if everyone just gave him a little time and didn’t fuss. Fussing made him uncomfortable. Always had. So he wasn’t acting odd, not at all. That’s what she told herself.

Sam just wished she could believe herself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With fumbling fingers, Jack finished lacing up his boots and headed for the bathroom. He really did need to go, he was that nervous. His mouth was dry, and his stomach still felt unsettled, and there was this niggling headache starting to throb right behind his eyeballs. kay. So fine, he was nervous. That wasn’t going to stop him. There was an old adage about true courage didn’t mean you weren’t afraid, it meant you went on despite your fear.

He’d done this before.

O’Neill remembered his knees trembling the first time he’d jumped after that long ago incident on the Iran-Iraq border, when his chute had opened late and he’d spent nine days crawling across the desert.

He remembered feeling light headed going back into combat the first time after Iraq, four months of hell on Earth, and all that had happened there.

But each time, he’d done what he had to do, overcome the physical reaction…

That’s all it was, a physical reaction, his body remembering what his brain refused to acknowledge or concede.

That was it.

Completing his business, zipping up his trousers, he washed his hands once more, and stared sternly at his face in the mirror. Okay. Time to go. Time to lock those bad memories back in that box where they belonged and get on with life.

It was just another mission. Just one more wormhole ride across the galaxy.

Piece of cake.

Straightening his shoulders, Jack O’Neill slid the bravado back into place, exited the men's room, and strode quickly down the corridor. Grabbing his P-90 from the armory sergeant, he buckled it into place as he walked briskly into the gateroom. “All right. Let’s move out,” he ordered brusquely, not even pausing at the base of the ramp to see if his team was following.

He didn’t let his feet slow as he trotted up the stairs, didn’t hesitate as he all but flung himself into the frigid cold of the wormhole, and was glad no one heard the audible sigh as his feet landed on the familiar Stargate platform of Kelona.

No Ba’al.

No Tok’ra.

No fortress or shifting gravity.

Behind him, he heard the soft sounds of his teammates emerging from the wormhole, then the distinctive snap as it disengaged.

He took a deep breath. He was Jack O’Neill. A little battered by time and death and life and living, but living. Still living.

And glad of it.

Like Daniel had said, he’d be okay. He *was* okay. Not the same, never the same, because every mission, every day, life changed you. The struggle wasn’t over, it never would be, life had never been easy for him and never would be. But he could handle it. He was Colonel Jack O’Neill, leader of SG-1, and very, very human.

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