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Aug. 12th, 2010 03:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cassievalentinePart 3 of Introspection and the Outside World
Jack
Hard Hits
**
Jack blinked quickly against the sweat that was running down his forehead, sticking his hair to his face. He really wished that he'd just sucked it up and shaved his head when the weather had started to get hot and muggy. He would have looked like a dork, but he would have been cooler. Besides, it would have grown back before school started again in the fall. But no, he had to decide to try and play it cool.
He was also really regretting that day he spent at the lake without his shirt on. It had been hot and he and his friends had been swimming, so he hadn't really thought much of it until he got home and a nasty sunburn started to spear across his back and shoulders. The sweat working it's way down his back really wasn't helping the burn, either.
Of course, the sunburn and the sweat made him think about cool ocean breezes, which led him to his favorite fantasy about escaping Chicago and running away to the ocean. Sure, he'd play on the beach for a while, enjoy the water and the amusement rides before deciding on his next plan of action.
He'd been thinking about it for a while now and he had finally decided that he wanted to be a pirate. He had considered Ninja for a while, but having to dress all in black and be perfectly quiet all the time seemed like a lot of work and not a lot of pay off. Being a sailor seemed kind of lame too, but a pirate? They were super cool. He wouldn't have a parrot though; he was too cool for that. He'd have a monkey instead, a little one that would ride around on his shoulder and fetch things when he asked for them and he wouldn't name it something stupid like Bananas. He'd come up with something really tough and fitting for a pirate's monkey.
Plus, he'd totally be a captain of his own ship and boss his crew around. They'd do what he wanted while he got to stand around behind the wheel looking dashing. He'd grow his hair out really long and tie it back so that it wouldn't get in his eyes when the wind started to really blow. And he'd look into an eye patch whether he really needed one or not because it would make him look tough. So would the scars he was going to look into getting. He'd probably skip the peg leg though, it looked painful and he imagined that it would probably slow him down, make him a clumsy sword fighter.
Oh yeah, a sword, he'd need a sword. A big fancy one to hang off of his belt. One that would make his enemies quake when all he had done was rattle it.
He'd also be able to drink and swear and stay up as late as he wanted to and no one would be able to say anything about it or try and force him to bed.
Of course, being a soldier might be fun too. He'd get to carry a big gun, travel the world and always get the bad guy.
Don't get him wrong, he liked Chicago and loved Minnesota, but he really wanted to see what was outside of North America. He'd read enough books from the library to have an idea about what was out there. He also watched the news and read the paper, so he knew that there were always bad guys that needed catching.
Soldiering was dangerous though; he might get shot before even seeing anything and that would make the whole endeavor rather pointless.
Maybe he should just finish school and start wandering. He could stop and stay in a town when he needed cash, work some odd jobs and then move on when he felt like it. Jack was turning into a fairly good mechanic; he was even picking up odd jobs around the neighborhood, fixing up lawnmowers and bikes that were on their way out. He was also a fair gardener, being able to tell a weed form a plant better than most. He'd also be able to make lots of friends in lots of different places, maybe even pick up a girl or two.
He could also have a girl in every town. He liked the sound of that, a girl to come home to no matter where he stopped. Someone to cook for him and do his laundry before he moved on again.
That might be a real hassle though, trying to keep more than one girl happy. They probably wouldn't want him to have other girl friends and he wouldn't feel right lying to them, telling them that they were the only ones when they weren't.
Maybe he wouldn't have any girls at all, just a dog.
He could get himself a dog that would be loyal and obey him without question. A best friend to keep him company and keep him safe. Yeah, a dog was definitely the way to go. He'd always wanted a dog.
“God damn it, boy. You listenin' to me?”
“Yes sir,” Jack replied weakly, his hands clinging tightly to the banister, his legs shaking and threatening to give out on him.
“When I tell you to mow the god damned lawn, you do it,” the old man said, giving Jack a shove on the shoulder. The boy grimaced, but he didn't say anything out loud.
“Yes sir,” he replied again, wishing he could wipe the sweaty hair off of his forehead, but knowing that he couldn't move until given permission to do so.
“God damned kid,” Lucas O'Neill growled as he threaded his belt back through the loops of his jeans. His fingers were drunk and clumsy, making him slow. He paused in his attempts to cuff Jack over the back of the head before going back to his belt.
“Don't listen to a damned thing,” he muttered as he finally finished with his belt. He gave Jack one last shove in the back of the head before he wandered off to the living room, back to his easy chair, beer and TV.
Jack let out a shaky breath as he allowed himself to sink to the floor in front of the banister. He finally took the opportunity to wipe the hair from his forehead, grimacing as pain flared across his back.
He knew he was going to be wearing a shirt for the next few days, no matter how hot it got.
He also knew that he was sure about getting a dog now, a big one. A big, black dog that would protect him all the time and from anyone who even thought about hurting him.
*&*
Flying Free
**
Jack had been waiting for this day since being handed that brochure for the Air Force in high school.
The thought of a military career hadn’t crossed his mind until he saw that fighter jet and the bold print saying that could be him. That’s all it took. He was sold.
Jack applied to the Air Force Academy as soon as he was eligible, keeping everything that could possibly be crossed, crossed.
Until his acceptance letter had shown up in the mail, he had simply been biding his time until he could get behind the cockpit of a fighter jet.
Of course, when that letter had shown up, he had clutched it to his chest, afraid that The Old Man would find it and somehow ruin things for him, that he'd be stuck here forever instead of up in that jet.
But before he could get into said cockpit, he had to suffer through a class or two about physics and the physics of flying.
Jack really didn't care about the physics behind flying. He didn't understand half of what the prof was going on about and the half that he did understand he really didn't see the point of.
“O'Neill! Eyes front!”
“Yes, Sir! Sorry. Sir,” he called out, sitting a little straighter in his chair and forcing his eyes back to the board for a few moments before dropping them back to his notes of little more than random doodles and scribbles.
He'd copy some notes from one of the math wiz geeks later. Peterson tended to have good notes capturing what the teacher was talking about while dumbing them down enough for even Jack O'Neill to understand.
The prof paused and rapped on the podium to get everyone's attention before announcing that tomorrow's class would put what they’d been learning into practice on the airfield. Jack perked up at this, especially when some one in the back asked how they were going to accomplish these maneuvers in gliders.
“You won't be in gliders, cadet. Under the supervision of an officer, you will each get to take a fighter up. Of course, this all depends on you passing this quiz.”
The class groaned and Jack swallowed hard. He really hadn't been paying attention enough to pass a pop quiz. He was going to tank the quiz and have to sit back and watch as all his classmates got to take a real fighter up in the air. And then he'd never get flight certified and they'd probably kick him out and then The Old Man would have him back in his clutches. Jack stopped himself there, before he got completely out of control. He scaled his pessimism back a few points.
This was totally going to blow, he decided.
Tests were quickly distributed and he stared at the blank sheet of paper staring back at him. He exchanged his pen for a pencil, knowing that there was going to be erasing … a lot of erasing. Possibly enough to put a hole in the test paper.
“You have until the end of class,” the prof said casually as he started packing up his things. Jack swallowed hard and turned the paper over. A smile broke out over his face as he read the question. He considered his answer for a moment before he began writing. Maybe this wasn't going to blow as much as he had anticipated.
**
Jack bounced on the balls of his feet, waiting his turn to climb into the cockpit of the plane. Half a dozen cadets had already gone up and two had already thrown up as soon as their feet hit the ground again. He couldn't help by wonder why you'd join the Air Force if you knew you got airsick.
“O'Neill, let's go!” Jack fired off a salute before he headed over to the plane as calmly as he could, which wasn't very calmly.
He all but jumped in and quickly went through the pre-flight checks before taking off. O'Neill quickly leveled off and while he was waiting for instructions, he allowed himself to take in the scenery.
The sky seemed to stretch forever and the sun was nothing but a brilliant white ball. He didn't bother looking down; he'd flown commercially enough to know what the world looked like from a plane.
Suddenly his headset came to life and he snapped his attention back to the task at hand. He radioed back to confirm the maneuvers he was supposed to do and then he took off, accelerating quickly before practicing a few tight, banking turns.
He loved the way that the fighter responded to him instantly, unlike the glider that seemed slow. He supposed it was because the glider depended on wind currents and the fighter most definitely didn't.
Feel brave and rebellious, O'Neill veered out of the turn he was in and banked down sharply before pulling up just as sharply and heading into a few trick maneuvers. He dimly heard someone in his headset yelling at him, but he ignored it. He was having too much fun. The sheer freedom of the moment was all around him and he couldn't help but feel free for the first time in his life, despite the fact that he was strapped in to a seat and his life was ruled by orders.
The pilot behind him chuckled and assured ground control that everything was under control as he transferred control from first seat to second.
Jack complained for a moment after he snapped back to reality and realized he no longer had control of the fighter.
The pilot ignored him and landed the plane for Jack, who was promptly pulled aside and yelled at for disobeying orders as soon as his feet his the tarmac.
Jack nodded and responded where he was expected to, but he wasn't really listening. His head was still up in the sky, corkscrewing the fighter so he could line up a shot to take down enemy planes.
This was totally why he was joining the Air Force.
*&*
Charlie I
**
The baby had been a bit of a surprise.
They hadn't exactly been trying, but they hadn't exactly done anything to prevent it, either. They had talked about having kids, but it had been more of a 'kids would be OK' type of conversation, not a 'let's have three kids in three years!' kind of conversation. If it happened, great. If it didn't, oh well.
They didn't make any solid plans because Jack was going here and there. He didn't exist for missions, however, so when he was home they certain took advantage of their time together.
He left on a two-month mission with Sara complaining about the stomach flu. When he came back four-and-a-half months later because of some 'delays,' she was pregnant and making him promise to try and at least stay on this half of the world, if not the continent.
He'd immediately gone to his commanding officer and secured the 12 months on American soil after the baby was born. It may have cost him his soul, but he was pretty sure it was going to be worth it.
Jack worked like a dog for the next five months. He'd go on his missions, do his best to finish them early without any significant bodily harm and then rush home to play the doting husband. Rushing around the house for whatever Sara asked for, assembling whatever overly complicated piece of baby paraphernalia she managed to purchase while he was gone and generally making a nuisance of himself around the house.
Jack knew that he was going to miss chunks of the baby's life. That was inevitable. The life he was leading left him no other choice but to be absent from his family for months at a time. He was determined to make the most of his time at home.
So Sara grew and Jack worried and the baby did everything his own way. He refused to turn the right way until the last minute, refused to make parts of himself visible to ultrasounds and insisted that his mother remain sick at all times.
“Let there never be any doubt that this is your kid Jack O'Neill,” Sara would often complain while Jack simply smirked.
Then, like everything else the baby had ever done, the delivery was on his own terms. He was early by a few weeks and insisted on making a very late night entry into the world.
He also had the nerve to look nothing like the name Sara had picked out and told Jack he had no say in at all, what so ever.
Jack breathed a sigh of relief when Sara finally admitted that the kid looked nothing like a Jarred. He hated that name with a passion and probably would have even named his kid Earl if it meant he wasn't going to be named Jarred.
“You knew it all along, didn't you?” she complained to Jack as she cradled the small boy, offering one of his flailing hands a finger to grasp. “You knew he was going to look like a Charlie, didn't you?”
“Of course I did,” he replied with a grin. “Why do you think I ever gave into Jarred?”
His gaze never left his son. Even though, as far as he could tell, the boy was nothing but a pink face in a sea of blue hat and blanket.
The nurses kept trying to kick him out; they couldn't understand why this Air Force major wouldn't just go home to his bed like every other military father they'd ever gotten through the doors. Eventually they just stopped trying.
An older nurses came in one night and dumped a fussing Charlie in his arms and handed him a bottle, telling him that if he was going to stick around, he might as well make himself useful.
He fumbled the boy a little, and Charlie began to complain a little more loudly but Jack recovered quickly as he tucked himself into the rocking chair that sat in the corner of the room. After a few tense moments, the O'Neill boys managed to figure out how the bottle worked and they both calmed down.
He started to rock the chair slowly, humming some aimless little tune he remembered from somewhere and took the time to simply take in the magnitude of what he was now responsible for.
He had a kid; a son; a small human that was now completely, utterly dependent on him. Someone he was supposed to raise and nurture and teach to be a decent human being, despite the fact that he was often shipped out to foreign lands with orders to gun some poor soul down before they even knew what was happening.
He felt a little sick at the thought. Not so much because of the responsibility, but because of the things he had done and the things he knew he was going to be asked to do. Jack believed in what he was doing for his country, he wouldn't be doing it otherwise, but still.
Was it going to make him a hypocrite to teach his son not to harm, to turn the other cheek instead? Could he raise a child well in a house where the first rule was “Do as I say, not as I do?”
Charlie eventually finished and Jack snapped out of his thoughts, slowly moving through the post-dinner motions that weren't second nature yet before he settled the boy on his lap and simply stared at him.
The baby yawned, stretched a little, waved a tiny fist at nothing and then settled down.
Jack ran a finger down his forehead and the bridge of his nose before pulling his hands away, feeling like his calloused hands were somehow going to damage the baby-soft skin if he wasn't careful.
Charlie, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy the contact. He cracked an eye open not long after Jack had removed his finger, and the two locked eyes for a long moment before Charlie yawned and his eyes fell shut again.
A crooked smile fell on Jack's face as he gathered the boy up from his lap and rested him on his shoulder, listening to the quiet breathing and little snuffles of the baby.
He didn't hear the nurse come back in to check on father and son, and he didn't hear her leave again without taking the baby.
Instead, he continued to rock slowly, his hand rubbing the baby's back gently while he hummed a little tune and enjoyed the stars that were outside the window.
*&*
Charlie II
**
Jack sat heavily on his bed and stared up at the dress blues hanging in front of the closet door, pressed and starched within an inch of its life. His Eagles and buttons were shined and gleaming.
Jack wanted to put the suit on even less than he usually did. He hated his dress blues and everything it represented at the moment.
He was a field officer. When those dress blues came out of the dry cleaning bag, it usually was because he was going to some ceremony where they were going to pin yet another medal to his chest using vague military language to cover the classified mission that had earned him said medal.
Sara and Charlie would sit in the front; she'd smile and clap for him while Charlie would be so excited he could barely sit still. In his mind, his father was a real life military hero and the coolest person he knew. As soon as Jack finished saluting the big brass presenting the award, he'd turn to Charlie and the boy would immediately jump to his feet and offer his father a salute.
That wasn't the case today though. Today, Jack was putting his dress blues on to go and bury his son, all because he'd been too stupid to lock his gun away after cleaning it one night.
He still couldn't believe that the 8-year-old had laid a finger on the weapon. Jack had lost track of how many times he'd talked with Charlie about how a gun was not a toy, that it killed people and they never came back, like the hamster he'd buried last year.
The boy always nodded, eyes wide, telling his father that he understood completely and that if he ever saw the gun out, he'd tell him or his mother.
Jack hadn't even allowed toy guns in the house. Pop guns, BB guns, even water pistols were forbidden at the O'Neill house. Charlie had known that, all his friends had known that and even if their parents hadn't understood, they'd respected the rule and frisked their boys before sending them over.
But it hadn't mattered in the end. Charlie had gotten a water pistol from a friend and had surprised Jack one day a few weeks ago with it.
Jack was tired and had snapped on the boy, wrenching the gun from his hands and yelling at him that hew knew guns were not allowed in their house.
Charlie had fired back that he hated that rule and that he and his friends played guns at school and when he went to their houses, so what difference did it make if he played them here? He wasn't going to confuse a green plastic water pistol with the black Beretta Jack kept upstairs.
But Jack hadn't wanted to hear it. He'd wanted to play catch with Charlie. But that wasn't going to happen now as father and son stared each other down for a long moment before Charlie stalked off to his room. Jack heard the door slam even though he was still standing in the yard.
Charlie was still mad two weeks later and while he and Sara were looking at the latest set of school pictures to come home, Charlie had gone looking for his father's gun.
He wanted to prove to Jack that he knew the difference between a real gun and a pretend one. He hadn't really expected to find the gun sitting on the nightstand.
Charlie had expected to get caught looking for the gun and to get a lecture before his father pulled the gun out, empty the clip and tuck it away before showing him the weapon and maybe even letting him flick the safety on and off.
But he had found it and in his attempt to take the clip out, he'd accidentally pulled the trigger.
So here was Jack, standing in front of a mirror, adjusting his tie before pulling on his jacket and grabbing his hat and heading down the stairs to join his waiting wife. She cast a sideways glance at him and he saw the disapproval flash over her face. She'd wanted Jack to wear his black suit, but he knew how much Charlie had admired the Air Force blues, often proclaiming that he was going to follow in his old man's footsteps.
Jack couldn't not wear his blues to this, no matter what his wife wanted.
They sat quietly in the car, and Sara cried in the church and again at the internment, but he remained silent; the perfect stoic soldier who offered his son one last salute as his coffin was lowered into the ground.
As they slowly made their way back to the car, Jack decided that he never wanted to see his dress blues ever again.
*&*
Secrets and Lies
**
Daytime TV sucked, Jack decided as he cycled through the channels again.
All he could find were shows for stay at home moms and other women of various ages. This was why he really left retirement for the Air Force again, to escape the crappy daytime TV.
Jack sat at home, tucked away in his favorite easy chair with a beer in hand and a bowl of pretzels in his la, as he tried to find something on TV that would hold his attention for more than 10 seconds.
Normally he'd only watch if there was something worth watching, but he really needed to take his mind off of recent events. Unfortunately, his attempt at using “The Simpson's” to do just that had failed miserably, hence the channel surfing.
He'd lied to his team before about secret missions, but it had never hurt like this one did.
Hell, lying to Sarah and Charlie about secret missions had never hurt this much.
The look on Carter's face as he'd stolen from the Tollan; the look on Daniel's face as he'd lied about their friendship. And as for Teal'c, well, the man was as inscrutable as always, though he was pretty sure he would have liked to lay him out as soon as possible. He also felt like an ass talking to Hammond the way he did, even though the General was in on the act.
He knew that he had put them all in impossible positions by stealing the tech right in front of them. He forced them to choose between their loyalty to him and their loyalty to Hammond.
He worried about Carter the most in this situation. While he knew that it was all an act, she didn't.
As far as she was concerned, he'd forced her to put her career, her personal integrity, on the line to try and protect him.
As far as she was concerned, she'd seen him steal a piece of technology from their allies and she had chosen to keep quiet to try and protect him.
She was probably freaking out right now, and there was nothing he could do to assure her that everything was fine; that Hammond wasn't going to think any less of her for choosing to try and cover for him; that if she had gone to Hammond she would have made the whole act just that much more difficult.
He was pretty sure that SG1 hated him and he hated himself for making them hate him, though he was glad that they'd be safe now from what was going on.
With him no longer talking to any of them, no one would think they were in on this. He was also pretty sure that his place was bugged by now. There'd be no doubt to any one who was listening that he was dedicated to securing Earth at all costs. Especially after the things he'd said to Daniel. God, he felt like an ass!.
He supposed that since he'd heard from Maybourne not long after his fight with Daniel that the plan was obviously moving along smoothly. This was also further proof that his place was bugged and he'd made the right choice by going off on Daniel. Those were good signs, at least. The sooner he could wrap this up, the better.
Jack had to admit that he was a more than a little surprised that his acting wasn't tipping any one off. He was showing a rather dramatic, sudden, personality shift after all. He was actually slightly worried that he was over playing the role of disgruntled soldier.
With a sigh, Jack forced his thoughts back to the TV in front of him, now blaring about some useless product that would fulfill his life for only four easy payments of $19.95.
He considered picking up the phone briefly before changing his mind. He wasn't really retired, he was only acting and it would do him well to remember that. There would be plenty of time for him to waste money on useless gadgets in the future.
He turned the TV off and slouched back in the chair again as he considered his options.
His gaze fell on the phone again and the small white card tucked under it. It had been a few days since Maybourne had been here. He was supposed to wait a week, but Jack just really wanted this mission over and done with.
He had fences that were going to need more then mending and he wanted to get on with that as soon as possible. He hated to admit it, but he missed Carter and the guys. Without another thought, Jack picked up the card and dialed the number on it.
“Yeah, I'd like to leave a message for Colonel Maybourne,” he said calmly. “Tell him Jack O'Neill called. I'll be home all week.”
*&*
On to part 4
Back to part 2
Jack
Hard Hits
**
Jack blinked quickly against the sweat that was running down his forehead, sticking his hair to his face. He really wished that he'd just sucked it up and shaved his head when the weather had started to get hot and muggy. He would have looked like a dork, but he would have been cooler. Besides, it would have grown back before school started again in the fall. But no, he had to decide to try and play it cool.
He was also really regretting that day he spent at the lake without his shirt on. It had been hot and he and his friends had been swimming, so he hadn't really thought much of it until he got home and a nasty sunburn started to spear across his back and shoulders. The sweat working it's way down his back really wasn't helping the burn, either.
Of course, the sunburn and the sweat made him think about cool ocean breezes, which led him to his favorite fantasy about escaping Chicago and running away to the ocean. Sure, he'd play on the beach for a while, enjoy the water and the amusement rides before deciding on his next plan of action.
He'd been thinking about it for a while now and he had finally decided that he wanted to be a pirate. He had considered Ninja for a while, but having to dress all in black and be perfectly quiet all the time seemed like a lot of work and not a lot of pay off. Being a sailor seemed kind of lame too, but a pirate? They were super cool. He wouldn't have a parrot though; he was too cool for that. He'd have a monkey instead, a little one that would ride around on his shoulder and fetch things when he asked for them and he wouldn't name it something stupid like Bananas. He'd come up with something really tough and fitting for a pirate's monkey.
Plus, he'd totally be a captain of his own ship and boss his crew around. They'd do what he wanted while he got to stand around behind the wheel looking dashing. He'd grow his hair out really long and tie it back so that it wouldn't get in his eyes when the wind started to really blow. And he'd look into an eye patch whether he really needed one or not because it would make him look tough. So would the scars he was going to look into getting. He'd probably skip the peg leg though, it looked painful and he imagined that it would probably slow him down, make him a clumsy sword fighter.
Oh yeah, a sword, he'd need a sword. A big fancy one to hang off of his belt. One that would make his enemies quake when all he had done was rattle it.
He'd also be able to drink and swear and stay up as late as he wanted to and no one would be able to say anything about it or try and force him to bed.
Of course, being a soldier might be fun too. He'd get to carry a big gun, travel the world and always get the bad guy.
Don't get him wrong, he liked Chicago and loved Minnesota, but he really wanted to see what was outside of North America. He'd read enough books from the library to have an idea about what was out there. He also watched the news and read the paper, so he knew that there were always bad guys that needed catching.
Soldiering was dangerous though; he might get shot before even seeing anything and that would make the whole endeavor rather pointless.
Maybe he should just finish school and start wandering. He could stop and stay in a town when he needed cash, work some odd jobs and then move on when he felt like it. Jack was turning into a fairly good mechanic; he was even picking up odd jobs around the neighborhood, fixing up lawnmowers and bikes that were on their way out. He was also a fair gardener, being able to tell a weed form a plant better than most. He'd also be able to make lots of friends in lots of different places, maybe even pick up a girl or two.
He could also have a girl in every town. He liked the sound of that, a girl to come home to no matter where he stopped. Someone to cook for him and do his laundry before he moved on again.
That might be a real hassle though, trying to keep more than one girl happy. They probably wouldn't want him to have other girl friends and he wouldn't feel right lying to them, telling them that they were the only ones when they weren't.
Maybe he wouldn't have any girls at all, just a dog.
He could get himself a dog that would be loyal and obey him without question. A best friend to keep him company and keep him safe. Yeah, a dog was definitely the way to go. He'd always wanted a dog.
“God damn it, boy. You listenin' to me?”
“Yes sir,” Jack replied weakly, his hands clinging tightly to the banister, his legs shaking and threatening to give out on him.
“When I tell you to mow the god damned lawn, you do it,” the old man said, giving Jack a shove on the shoulder. The boy grimaced, but he didn't say anything out loud.
“Yes sir,” he replied again, wishing he could wipe the sweaty hair off of his forehead, but knowing that he couldn't move until given permission to do so.
“God damned kid,” Lucas O'Neill growled as he threaded his belt back through the loops of his jeans. His fingers were drunk and clumsy, making him slow. He paused in his attempts to cuff Jack over the back of the head before going back to his belt.
“Don't listen to a damned thing,” he muttered as he finally finished with his belt. He gave Jack one last shove in the back of the head before he wandered off to the living room, back to his easy chair, beer and TV.
Jack let out a shaky breath as he allowed himself to sink to the floor in front of the banister. He finally took the opportunity to wipe the hair from his forehead, grimacing as pain flared across his back.
He knew he was going to be wearing a shirt for the next few days, no matter how hot it got.
He also knew that he was sure about getting a dog now, a big one. A big, black dog that would protect him all the time and from anyone who even thought about hurting him.
*&*
Flying Free
**
Jack had been waiting for this day since being handed that brochure for the Air Force in high school.
The thought of a military career hadn’t crossed his mind until he saw that fighter jet and the bold print saying that could be him. That’s all it took. He was sold.
Jack applied to the Air Force Academy as soon as he was eligible, keeping everything that could possibly be crossed, crossed.
Until his acceptance letter had shown up in the mail, he had simply been biding his time until he could get behind the cockpit of a fighter jet.
Of course, when that letter had shown up, he had clutched it to his chest, afraid that The Old Man would find it and somehow ruin things for him, that he'd be stuck here forever instead of up in that jet.
But before he could get into said cockpit, he had to suffer through a class or two about physics and the physics of flying.
Jack really didn't care about the physics behind flying. He didn't understand half of what the prof was going on about and the half that he did understand he really didn't see the point of.
“O'Neill! Eyes front!”
“Yes, Sir! Sorry. Sir,” he called out, sitting a little straighter in his chair and forcing his eyes back to the board for a few moments before dropping them back to his notes of little more than random doodles and scribbles.
He'd copy some notes from one of the math wiz geeks later. Peterson tended to have good notes capturing what the teacher was talking about while dumbing them down enough for even Jack O'Neill to understand.
The prof paused and rapped on the podium to get everyone's attention before announcing that tomorrow's class would put what they’d been learning into practice on the airfield. Jack perked up at this, especially when some one in the back asked how they were going to accomplish these maneuvers in gliders.
“You won't be in gliders, cadet. Under the supervision of an officer, you will each get to take a fighter up. Of course, this all depends on you passing this quiz.”
The class groaned and Jack swallowed hard. He really hadn't been paying attention enough to pass a pop quiz. He was going to tank the quiz and have to sit back and watch as all his classmates got to take a real fighter up in the air. And then he'd never get flight certified and they'd probably kick him out and then The Old Man would have him back in his clutches. Jack stopped himself there, before he got completely out of control. He scaled his pessimism back a few points.
This was totally going to blow, he decided.
Tests were quickly distributed and he stared at the blank sheet of paper staring back at him. He exchanged his pen for a pencil, knowing that there was going to be erasing … a lot of erasing. Possibly enough to put a hole in the test paper.
“You have until the end of class,” the prof said casually as he started packing up his things. Jack swallowed hard and turned the paper over. A smile broke out over his face as he read the question. He considered his answer for a moment before he began writing. Maybe this wasn't going to blow as much as he had anticipated.
**
Jack bounced on the balls of his feet, waiting his turn to climb into the cockpit of the plane. Half a dozen cadets had already gone up and two had already thrown up as soon as their feet hit the ground again. He couldn't help by wonder why you'd join the Air Force if you knew you got airsick.
“O'Neill, let's go!” Jack fired off a salute before he headed over to the plane as calmly as he could, which wasn't very calmly.
He all but jumped in and quickly went through the pre-flight checks before taking off. O'Neill quickly leveled off and while he was waiting for instructions, he allowed himself to take in the scenery.
The sky seemed to stretch forever and the sun was nothing but a brilliant white ball. He didn't bother looking down; he'd flown commercially enough to know what the world looked like from a plane.
Suddenly his headset came to life and he snapped his attention back to the task at hand. He radioed back to confirm the maneuvers he was supposed to do and then he took off, accelerating quickly before practicing a few tight, banking turns.
He loved the way that the fighter responded to him instantly, unlike the glider that seemed slow. He supposed it was because the glider depended on wind currents and the fighter most definitely didn't.
Feel brave and rebellious, O'Neill veered out of the turn he was in and banked down sharply before pulling up just as sharply and heading into a few trick maneuvers. He dimly heard someone in his headset yelling at him, but he ignored it. He was having too much fun. The sheer freedom of the moment was all around him and he couldn't help but feel free for the first time in his life, despite the fact that he was strapped in to a seat and his life was ruled by orders.
The pilot behind him chuckled and assured ground control that everything was under control as he transferred control from first seat to second.
Jack complained for a moment after he snapped back to reality and realized he no longer had control of the fighter.
The pilot ignored him and landed the plane for Jack, who was promptly pulled aside and yelled at for disobeying orders as soon as his feet his the tarmac.
Jack nodded and responded where he was expected to, but he wasn't really listening. His head was still up in the sky, corkscrewing the fighter so he could line up a shot to take down enemy planes.
This was totally why he was joining the Air Force.
*&*
Charlie I
**
The baby had been a bit of a surprise.
They hadn't exactly been trying, but they hadn't exactly done anything to prevent it, either. They had talked about having kids, but it had been more of a 'kids would be OK' type of conversation, not a 'let's have three kids in three years!' kind of conversation. If it happened, great. If it didn't, oh well.
They didn't make any solid plans because Jack was going here and there. He didn't exist for missions, however, so when he was home they certain took advantage of their time together.
He left on a two-month mission with Sara complaining about the stomach flu. When he came back four-and-a-half months later because of some 'delays,' she was pregnant and making him promise to try and at least stay on this half of the world, if not the continent.
He'd immediately gone to his commanding officer and secured the 12 months on American soil after the baby was born. It may have cost him his soul, but he was pretty sure it was going to be worth it.
Jack worked like a dog for the next five months. He'd go on his missions, do his best to finish them early without any significant bodily harm and then rush home to play the doting husband. Rushing around the house for whatever Sara asked for, assembling whatever overly complicated piece of baby paraphernalia she managed to purchase while he was gone and generally making a nuisance of himself around the house.
Jack knew that he was going to miss chunks of the baby's life. That was inevitable. The life he was leading left him no other choice but to be absent from his family for months at a time. He was determined to make the most of his time at home.
So Sara grew and Jack worried and the baby did everything his own way. He refused to turn the right way until the last minute, refused to make parts of himself visible to ultrasounds and insisted that his mother remain sick at all times.
“Let there never be any doubt that this is your kid Jack O'Neill,” Sara would often complain while Jack simply smirked.
Then, like everything else the baby had ever done, the delivery was on his own terms. He was early by a few weeks and insisted on making a very late night entry into the world.
He also had the nerve to look nothing like the name Sara had picked out and told Jack he had no say in at all, what so ever.
Jack breathed a sigh of relief when Sara finally admitted that the kid looked nothing like a Jarred. He hated that name with a passion and probably would have even named his kid Earl if it meant he wasn't going to be named Jarred.
“You knew it all along, didn't you?” she complained to Jack as she cradled the small boy, offering one of his flailing hands a finger to grasp. “You knew he was going to look like a Charlie, didn't you?”
“Of course I did,” he replied with a grin. “Why do you think I ever gave into Jarred?”
His gaze never left his son. Even though, as far as he could tell, the boy was nothing but a pink face in a sea of blue hat and blanket.
The nurses kept trying to kick him out; they couldn't understand why this Air Force major wouldn't just go home to his bed like every other military father they'd ever gotten through the doors. Eventually they just stopped trying.
An older nurses came in one night and dumped a fussing Charlie in his arms and handed him a bottle, telling him that if he was going to stick around, he might as well make himself useful.
He fumbled the boy a little, and Charlie began to complain a little more loudly but Jack recovered quickly as he tucked himself into the rocking chair that sat in the corner of the room. After a few tense moments, the O'Neill boys managed to figure out how the bottle worked and they both calmed down.
He started to rock the chair slowly, humming some aimless little tune he remembered from somewhere and took the time to simply take in the magnitude of what he was now responsible for.
He had a kid; a son; a small human that was now completely, utterly dependent on him. Someone he was supposed to raise and nurture and teach to be a decent human being, despite the fact that he was often shipped out to foreign lands with orders to gun some poor soul down before they even knew what was happening.
He felt a little sick at the thought. Not so much because of the responsibility, but because of the things he had done and the things he knew he was going to be asked to do. Jack believed in what he was doing for his country, he wouldn't be doing it otherwise, but still.
Was it going to make him a hypocrite to teach his son not to harm, to turn the other cheek instead? Could he raise a child well in a house where the first rule was “Do as I say, not as I do?”
Charlie eventually finished and Jack snapped out of his thoughts, slowly moving through the post-dinner motions that weren't second nature yet before he settled the boy on his lap and simply stared at him.
The baby yawned, stretched a little, waved a tiny fist at nothing and then settled down.
Jack ran a finger down his forehead and the bridge of his nose before pulling his hands away, feeling like his calloused hands were somehow going to damage the baby-soft skin if he wasn't careful.
Charlie, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy the contact. He cracked an eye open not long after Jack had removed his finger, and the two locked eyes for a long moment before Charlie yawned and his eyes fell shut again.
A crooked smile fell on Jack's face as he gathered the boy up from his lap and rested him on his shoulder, listening to the quiet breathing and little snuffles of the baby.
He didn't hear the nurse come back in to check on father and son, and he didn't hear her leave again without taking the baby.
Instead, he continued to rock slowly, his hand rubbing the baby's back gently while he hummed a little tune and enjoyed the stars that were outside the window.
*&*
Charlie II
**
Jack sat heavily on his bed and stared up at the dress blues hanging in front of the closet door, pressed and starched within an inch of its life. His Eagles and buttons were shined and gleaming.
Jack wanted to put the suit on even less than he usually did. He hated his dress blues and everything it represented at the moment.
He was a field officer. When those dress blues came out of the dry cleaning bag, it usually was because he was going to some ceremony where they were going to pin yet another medal to his chest using vague military language to cover the classified mission that had earned him said medal.
Sara and Charlie would sit in the front; she'd smile and clap for him while Charlie would be so excited he could barely sit still. In his mind, his father was a real life military hero and the coolest person he knew. As soon as Jack finished saluting the big brass presenting the award, he'd turn to Charlie and the boy would immediately jump to his feet and offer his father a salute.
That wasn't the case today though. Today, Jack was putting his dress blues on to go and bury his son, all because he'd been too stupid to lock his gun away after cleaning it one night.
He still couldn't believe that the 8-year-old had laid a finger on the weapon. Jack had lost track of how many times he'd talked with Charlie about how a gun was not a toy, that it killed people and they never came back, like the hamster he'd buried last year.
The boy always nodded, eyes wide, telling his father that he understood completely and that if he ever saw the gun out, he'd tell him or his mother.
Jack hadn't even allowed toy guns in the house. Pop guns, BB guns, even water pistols were forbidden at the O'Neill house. Charlie had known that, all his friends had known that and even if their parents hadn't understood, they'd respected the rule and frisked their boys before sending them over.
But it hadn't mattered in the end. Charlie had gotten a water pistol from a friend and had surprised Jack one day a few weeks ago with it.
Jack was tired and had snapped on the boy, wrenching the gun from his hands and yelling at him that hew knew guns were not allowed in their house.
Charlie had fired back that he hated that rule and that he and his friends played guns at school and when he went to their houses, so what difference did it make if he played them here? He wasn't going to confuse a green plastic water pistol with the black Beretta Jack kept upstairs.
But Jack hadn't wanted to hear it. He'd wanted to play catch with Charlie. But that wasn't going to happen now as father and son stared each other down for a long moment before Charlie stalked off to his room. Jack heard the door slam even though he was still standing in the yard.
Charlie was still mad two weeks later and while he and Sara were looking at the latest set of school pictures to come home, Charlie had gone looking for his father's gun.
He wanted to prove to Jack that he knew the difference between a real gun and a pretend one. He hadn't really expected to find the gun sitting on the nightstand.
Charlie had expected to get caught looking for the gun and to get a lecture before his father pulled the gun out, empty the clip and tuck it away before showing him the weapon and maybe even letting him flick the safety on and off.
But he had found it and in his attempt to take the clip out, he'd accidentally pulled the trigger.
So here was Jack, standing in front of a mirror, adjusting his tie before pulling on his jacket and grabbing his hat and heading down the stairs to join his waiting wife. She cast a sideways glance at him and he saw the disapproval flash over her face. She'd wanted Jack to wear his black suit, but he knew how much Charlie had admired the Air Force blues, often proclaiming that he was going to follow in his old man's footsteps.
Jack couldn't not wear his blues to this, no matter what his wife wanted.
They sat quietly in the car, and Sara cried in the church and again at the internment, but he remained silent; the perfect stoic soldier who offered his son one last salute as his coffin was lowered into the ground.
As they slowly made their way back to the car, Jack decided that he never wanted to see his dress blues ever again.
*&*
Secrets and Lies
**
Daytime TV sucked, Jack decided as he cycled through the channels again.
All he could find were shows for stay at home moms and other women of various ages. This was why he really left retirement for the Air Force again, to escape the crappy daytime TV.
Jack sat at home, tucked away in his favorite easy chair with a beer in hand and a bowl of pretzels in his la, as he tried to find something on TV that would hold his attention for more than 10 seconds.
Normally he'd only watch if there was something worth watching, but he really needed to take his mind off of recent events. Unfortunately, his attempt at using “The Simpson's” to do just that had failed miserably, hence the channel surfing.
He'd lied to his team before about secret missions, but it had never hurt like this one did.
Hell, lying to Sarah and Charlie about secret missions had never hurt this much.
The look on Carter's face as he'd stolen from the Tollan; the look on Daniel's face as he'd lied about their friendship. And as for Teal'c, well, the man was as inscrutable as always, though he was pretty sure he would have liked to lay him out as soon as possible. He also felt like an ass talking to Hammond the way he did, even though the General was in on the act.
He knew that he had put them all in impossible positions by stealing the tech right in front of them. He forced them to choose between their loyalty to him and their loyalty to Hammond.
He worried about Carter the most in this situation. While he knew that it was all an act, she didn't.
As far as she was concerned, he'd forced her to put her career, her personal integrity, on the line to try and protect him.
As far as she was concerned, she'd seen him steal a piece of technology from their allies and she had chosen to keep quiet to try and protect him.
She was probably freaking out right now, and there was nothing he could do to assure her that everything was fine; that Hammond wasn't going to think any less of her for choosing to try and cover for him; that if she had gone to Hammond she would have made the whole act just that much more difficult.
He was pretty sure that SG1 hated him and he hated himself for making them hate him, though he was glad that they'd be safe now from what was going on.
With him no longer talking to any of them, no one would think they were in on this. He was also pretty sure that his place was bugged by now. There'd be no doubt to any one who was listening that he was dedicated to securing Earth at all costs. Especially after the things he'd said to Daniel. God, he felt like an ass!.
He supposed that since he'd heard from Maybourne not long after his fight with Daniel that the plan was obviously moving along smoothly. This was also further proof that his place was bugged and he'd made the right choice by going off on Daniel. Those were good signs, at least. The sooner he could wrap this up, the better.
Jack had to admit that he was a more than a little surprised that his acting wasn't tipping any one off. He was showing a rather dramatic, sudden, personality shift after all. He was actually slightly worried that he was over playing the role of disgruntled soldier.
With a sigh, Jack forced his thoughts back to the TV in front of him, now blaring about some useless product that would fulfill his life for only four easy payments of $19.95.
He considered picking up the phone briefly before changing his mind. He wasn't really retired, he was only acting and it would do him well to remember that. There would be plenty of time for him to waste money on useless gadgets in the future.
He turned the TV off and slouched back in the chair again as he considered his options.
His gaze fell on the phone again and the small white card tucked under it. It had been a few days since Maybourne had been here. He was supposed to wait a week, but Jack just really wanted this mission over and done with.
He had fences that were going to need more then mending and he wanted to get on with that as soon as possible. He hated to admit it, but he missed Carter and the guys. Without another thought, Jack picked up the card and dialed the number on it.
“Yeah, I'd like to leave a message for Colonel Maybourne,” he said calmly. “Tell him Jack O'Neill called. I'll be home all week.”
*&*
On to part 4
Back to part 2
