A Special Christmas Tree

Author – Sole

WaM – Decorate

E-mail – soles@gamewood.net

Category – Drama; and death of an original character.

Spoiler – none

Season – 6th

Pairing – none

CONTENT LEVEL: 13+ – although it may make you cry.

Summary – It’s Christmas, time for gift giving – a young friend of Jacks gives the best gift of all.

Author’s note – We have such a tree, as the one mentioned in this story, in the O.R. where I work and it is decorated just as I’ve written.

I’d like to thank my Beta, Lynette, who helped make this a better story.

Disclaimer – We all know to whom Stargate belongs – and it's not me. I'm just using it for therapy, and writing is cheaper than Celexa®.

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Jack O’Neill breathed a long, harsh sigh, which billowed frostily back into his face.

Life sucked.

He’d suspected for a long, long time that life sucked, but only at times like this was he really sure. Sure, as well as convinced, that life would wrest all that was good, leaving nothing but heartache and heartburn, tears and trials instead.

This day had been just such an example. And it brought back all of the heartache and pain that by now, he’d thought was behind him. Yet here it was…still… firmly entrenched right there inside him. Right there - ready to pounce, to weight him down with a sense of contempt, failure, and catastrophe. He briefly wondered if Sara still had moments like this, or with time, had she been able to find a measure of peace.

And move beyond it?

He doubted it, but at least she had moved on with some degree of comfort. She had moved on while he was still at square one, still loathing himself, and still aching with loss.

What master hand ordained our fate, in such a haphazard manner?

Who made these decisions - to take the young, yet leave plenty of crabby old crocks, like himself, languishing on into old age?

Sometimes it was enough to make even an old crock weep.

And, he’d just spent the last ten hours consoling, empathizing, and supporting his next-door neighbors - Doris and Phil McMahan. Ten hours trying to ease the pain and suffering of parents, just like he’d been - and still was to some degree, who didn’t understand why their child was gone. And, although those long hours were nowhere near enough time to reconcile their loss, the entire neighborhood was exhausted with grief.

And the kid next door - what, in his short life, had he done to deserve being the victim of a hit and run?

Justin was…had been only twelve years old, but when he grew up, he’d wanted to be an Air Force jet pilot, or a goalie for the Colorado Avalanche. O’Neill smiled…or a dogcatcher.

The smile faded.

Justin would never have any of those chances now, because his young life had been wiped out with nary a consideration for his plans and dreams. Wiped out by an ignoramus - too drunk - and too stupid to know it, behind the wheel of a fantastically expensive murder weapon.

At least he’d been caught. The stupid jerk had been so drunk; he’d wrecked his fancy ride - crashed right into the nativity scene at St. Fran’s church. Thank god it hadn’t been one of those living things… So much for Peace on Earth, Good will toward man.

Gees, but he needed a cigarette.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Jack O’Neill opened his front door, fully expecting a slimy salesman to pop out at him. Even the cold chill of a Colorado December didn’t faze some of the more persistent ones. Saturdays were too fruitful, too prosperous; too many people at home for the sneaky little bast….

“ Hey, Justin. What can I do for you this morning?”

He looked down at his young next-door neighbor – who was tightly bundled against the cold December morning, and then around to the right and left, as if still expecting someone else.

“Do you wanna’ come out and play, Mr. O’Neill? Mom says if you want to shoot some baskets, or hit a few pucks, I don’t have to go Christmas shopping with her…can you, huh?”

O’Neill smiled down at his young playmate. Doris had called earlier in the morning, asking if he could take charge of her son so she could get in some last minute surprise shopping for the inquisitive twelve year old. She’d also emphasized that Jack might need some help around the house, since he hadn’t been home for a while and “Justin could be a big help with those chores Jack needed catching up on.” Jack was pleased to return the favor since they house watched for him, while he was off - saving the world.

“ I don’t know, Just. I haven’t been home this week, and there’s a lot of stuff I need to get done - the garbage, I need to bring in firewood, the truck’s a mess…”

“ That’s okay, Mr. O’Neill, I can help you and then I can show you those moves I’ve been practicing. Stay right here, I’ll go tell Mom. Thanks, Mr. O’Neill.”

The child ran down the porch steps at full tilt, as if Mr. O’Neill would disappear - because he hadn’t hurried.

Jack stood on his small porch, a cold wind whipping around him, watching the youngster race past the boxwood, and onward toward home. He’d be back in no time, still racing full throttle. That was Justin - he didn’t walk if he could run, he didn’t just run if he could race.

Between the two of them, the garbage was emptied - even the fuzzy collection in the refrigerator, enough firewood was brought in to warm three houses, and since the cold wind was whipping around they decided to take the truck to the carwash. While waiting for the truck, Jack and Justin walked - ran, across the busy street to wait in the relative comfort of a fast-food restaurant, enjoying a quick reward meal - trading toy surprises, and then arguing over the switch.

On the way back to Jacks’ home, a side trip to the grocery store netted frozen pizza for later, a few grocery items to get Jack through the next few days, and a dozen huge fresh baked chocolate chip cookies - for after the pizza.

Justin loved rambling around with Mr. O’Neill - if he had to pick anyone, other than his own dad, Mr. O’Neill would be the best - hands down, to mess around with. They even enjoyed looking at Christmas decorations, as they drove past.

Jack O’Neill enjoyed rambling around with Justin - “ he’s a good kid” just about said it all for O’Neill.

Three days later, Justin had been struck by a drunk driver, and was now in the local hospital, laying eerily still, hooked up to a ventilator - brain dead.

Life definitely sucked!

A grim General Hammond, standing at the end of the metal ramp, greeted the returning SG1. It always felt wrong to greet returning teams with bad news, and although he didn’t know the child personally, as a father and grandfather, he felt a deep kinship. Jack O’Neill had spoken of his young neighbor with a smile - both on his lips and in his eyes. This would be hard.

O’Neill caught the look in Hammonds eye - something was up.

“ Colonel O’Neill…”

Uh-oh

“ Yes, sir?”

“ Welcome back, SG1. Colonel, I first want you to get cleaned up and checked out, Dr. Fraiser is standing ready. I need to speak with you, on a matter of some importance. Major Carter, Teal’c, and Mr. Quinn won’t mind your beating them to the hot water - this one time.”

The team looked perplexed - the general appeared subdued, even for the general.

O’Neill looked perplexed - General Hammond rarely requested that O’Neill move to the head of the line where medical clearance was concerned. Even as the 2IC/SGC, O’Neill waited until his people had received the A-okay from Dr. Fraiser, and the older officer knew how important this was for the colonel. Something unpleasant was definitely up.

“ No sir, I mean yes, sir…” O’Neill handed his weapon and kit to the Armory Sergeant, who was standing by, quietly waiting.

Hesitantly the Colonel headed for the infirmary, then turning, caught Major Carter’s eye as he left through the blast doors. They exchanged a puzzled shrug of the shoulders, while Carter smiled at him in support.

The pretty Major couldn’t think what could be brewing; SG1 hadn’t made any major mistakes, blunders, or faux-paux. The paper work was up to date, she had personally assisted Colonel O’Neill with his stack, all requisitions were signed, sealed, and delivered, and now everything was in readiness for the two week Christmas stand-down.

Colonel O’Neill might have trouble with this one particular holiday, but he never imposed his private feelings and judgments on others - at least not blatantly. He was looking forward to a two-week rest from gate travel, just as much as everyone else looked forward to the holidays. The last few months had been rough on the colonel, and he was just now really hitting his stride after returning to work from the Kannan/B’aal debacle.

Carter – both Sam and the Major alike, winced at the reminder of that episode. She still felt guilt in equal measure with remorse, at having been a ‘Judas goat’, or the one who’d persuaded the colonel to temporarily accept the Tok’Ra symbiote. As a cure for the virus that had been killing him, it was a huge success. As another piece of baggage in the colonel’s already loaded down psyche – it was a heavy burden.

Hopefully she’d see him before he left for the evening - if he was able to leave, just to make sure everything was okay.

Handing off her accoutrements to the Armory Sergeant, Major Carter followed Jonas and Teal’c to the infirmary.

Jack O’Neill hurried up the short rise of steps, leading into the Colorado Springs Memorial Hospital. His painful chest and pounding heart had nothing to do with any exertions on his part to get here, as fast as he could, and everything with the anticipated loss of a young friend. His throat constricted with tension, the air refusing to flow easily in and out of his lungs.

This was just like before, just like the mad rush to get to the hospital - when Charlie had shot himself. The feeling of déjà vu was overwhelming, as O’Neill stepped up to the brightly lit and gaily decorated information desk. That feeling alone slowed his steps, and the need to turn around and run screaming into the Colorado night fought with his need to offer succor and support to his friends.

This was going be bad, maybe he should’ve asked Carter, or Teal’c, to come with him to offer him support.

The bright, cheerful pink lady, at the patient information desk, gave him concise directions to find the Pediatric ICU. She also informed him that only parents, or close relatives, were allowed to visit the patients in the Peds ICU.

“ I’m his brother…ma’am.” O’Neill lied with easy aplomb, “ They’re expecting me…I’ve just returned from a trip abroad” - at least that part was true. Hadn’t he just returned from P3C-225?

The pink lady’s bright cheerfulness dimmed a few watts, frowning at his obvious untruth.

“ Yes sir…I’m sure, sir. There appears to be quite a few long lost family members – older brothers and sisters, up there tonight. Just let your ‘parents’ know we’re here for them, if there’s anything we can do.” She smiled a sympathetic, knowing smile at him, and then handed over the family visitor card.

Jack walked away from the skeptical volunteer - a visitor’s pass clutched tightly in his hand, heading for the elevator taking him to the upper regions of the hospital. Waiting for the elevator, he had a chance to look around, taking in the tasteful, but abundant seasonal decorations adorning every inch of space on the walls and ceilings of the hospital lobby.

Justin would appreciate…would have appreciated the lush, somewhat garish decorations. Justin’s credo was “Gold and glitter…with lots of it, and lights - lots of lights - gaudy, ostentatious, and over-the-top.”

The elevator door slid open silently, allowing O’Neill to step through. Taking a deep breath, as if to arm himself, Jack punched the elevator button -more forcefully than was actually necessary, and proceeded up to the PICU floor.

Apprehension and dread accompanied O’Neill on the short elevator trip, and the queasiness in his stomach had little to do with the quick bounce of gravity at ride’s end, and a whole heck with meeting the grieving parents and other neighbors, just as concerned as himself.

Walking the short distance from the elevator to the Pediatric Unit, Jack looked around, seeking familiar faces. In the family waiting area, he found a familiar figure, unknowingly swathed in pathos.

Phil McMahan sat an overstuffed chair, looking alone - somewhat oblivious to his surroundings, and deathly tired. The pallor of his skin and dark rings under his eyes told the story of grief, exhaustion and pain, while his wrinkled clothing spoke of long hours of waiting - waiting and hoping.

Yeah…this was definitely déjà vu.

Feeling the loud thumping in his chest, Jack strode over to the lonely figure.

“ Phil?” His hand offered in friendship, “ How’s it going?”

The distraught father looked at the offered hand, confusion in his face and eyes, and then up into the concerned face of his next-door neighbor and friend. Recognition cleared his confusion as he took the offered lifeline.

“ Jack…it’s good to see you.” His blank facial expression belied the statement, but O’Neill understood, “ Did you just get back? How is…where was it this time…?

“ Cold and boring, Phil…where’s Doris?

“ She’s…she’s spending some time with Justin…until the Donor Alliance team gets here.”

“ And you’re out here sitting all alone, worrying yourself to a frazzle…where’s Tom and Sydney? The message on my machine said they’d be here with you?”

“ They were, Jack…they are. Tom went to get us some decent food and Sydney’s sitting with Doris…. We’ve, ah…we’ve been sort of tag teaming, since only two of us are supposed to be in there. I had to get out…Doris wouldn’t leave him… ”

“ How’d it happen Phil?

Jack O’Neill always felt inadequate when it came to words, but this man sitting here all alone needed something…someway to open up the flood gates of grief, and O’Neill had learned from experience that talking your way through it was best…even if he didn’t practice – at all, that which he endorsed.

Tears gathered suddenly in Phillip McMahon’s eyes, and then overflowed their boundaries, sliding unrestrained down his sallow cheeks. For a moment, O’Neill thought he wouldn’t answer, but the distraught man took a deep breath and plunged into an abridged account.

A child was dead; a drunk, irresponsible driver was the culprit. The second retelling didn’t blunt the pain, or clarify the details, or explain why a child had died. If anything, this father’s story was even more saddening, and sorrowful – his voice, and heart, grief filled.

Long after Phil finished his account, the two men sat in silence.

Tom Manchester - another neighbor, found them sitting quietly, when he returned with food and drink for Phil and Doris, and his wife Sydney. He and O’Neill gravely shook hands – and then Jack grinned, as an amusing thought struck.

“Are you and Sydney those long lost family members the pink Gorgon mentioned?

“That would be us…” he smiled, and then sobered, “This has been such a shock, I couldn’t see leaving Doris and Phil to manage on their own. We’re glad you could make it, Jack. We didn’t know if you’d be able to get here in time…what with your travelling so much, and all…”

“My CO almost called me back early – he’s heard me talk on and on about Justin – my whole team has. I can’t believe we were together, having a great time, less than five days ago…it sucks.”

O’Neill massaged a hand over his burning eyes, “Do we have any idea when the organ procurement team will get here?”

Manchester looked at Justin’s father – lost in his own thought’s and shook his head. No, they didn’t know, but it shouldn’t be too long now.

Jack nodded, and turned his thoughts to the dead child, and his lost life, until the site of Manchester’s boxes and tote bags finally registered.

“Hey, you guys haven’t eaten…and I may be mistaken, but Phil looks like he’ll soon blow away, without something in his stomach. Why don’t I go sit with Justin, and you take Phil and Doris. I’ll scoot both she and Sydney out for a breather.”

A few minutes later, Jack knocked on the door of his little friend’s room – all the while sending up prayers that this was a nightmare, from which he would soon awaken.

Sydney Manchester opened the door and smiled when she recognized the visitor. She welcomed Jack with a great big hug, and more tears – for which she apologized profusely.

“Don’t worry about it, Syd. Even us tough military types have been known to shed a tear, or two…. How’s Doris?”

Sydney shrugged her shoulders, and shook her head, as if to say “not good.”

O’Neill stepped further into the darkened room, taking in the panorama that greeted his sight. Doris McMahan sat beside the bed, holding her son’s warm, but lifeless hand. The child looked asleep as his mother rubbed the hand tirelessly - unceasingly, as if to encourage his awakening. A whoosh and sigh from beyond the bed, tucked in the corner, indicated the working ventilator – the only thing keeping Justin tethered to this plane.

Jack frowned when he saw the machine – such a travesty. He moved over to Doris, unsure of himself and what he could say – before breaking down, which would have any meaning to this woman. It was TOO reminiscent of Charlie, too evocative of the dread and panic he and Sara had endured.

He turned himself away from self-interested thoughts and laid a hand on Doris’ shoulder. She jumped at the touch, but turned to gaze up at the newcomer, not quite cognizant of his arrival. Jack hunkered down beside his friend, speaking softly.

“Doris, it’s Jack. Tom and Sydney want you to go with them, to get something to eat. I know you’re probably not hungry, but at least take a break. I’m going to sit here with Just, for as long as you need. He and I have a few words to say to each other, Doris…”

She looked deeply into his familiar eyes, and finally, he saw a spark of recognition.

“Jack, you made it…we were worried.” Tears silently fell, as she spoke, “I don’t want him to be alone, Jack. You won’t leave him…”

“No, Doris, I’ll be right here. You go take care of yourself and Phil.”

The other woman helped her to stand, as Jack took the child’s small hand in his own warm, long fingered grasp. He looked long at Justin’s familiar face – not paying attention as the women left the room. A face so familiar, yet distorted somewhat by the breathing tube.

Jack was all too familiar with that tube, and how it felt in his own throat – he hated seeing it in his small friend. He hated that the only way it would be removed, was not as the child recuperated and gained strength, but at the end of Justin’s usefulness as an organ donor.

And someone else would breathe using Justin’s lungs…some other lucky person would have another chance at life, through Justin’s gift of a strong young heart. Two other people would have a new lease on life, because Justin’s kidneys were vigorous and healthy.

And he, Jack O’Neill, would lose another friend – a child this time, whose life was not yet fulfilled, and in reality, had only just begun. He fought to find the words he wanted to say – knowing full well the child’s brain had ceased to function. But Justin lived with his heart, so if his heart still paced a beat, he was in there somewhere.

“What can I say, Justin? This really sucks. And you know I’m not good with words, so bear with me…. I’m going to miss you kiddo, but I really think you’ll be in a much better place – they won’t have ignoramuses up there. It’s all wiped away clean, when you go through the gates. It’s sort of like visiting a new planet - all new, all different, another chance to be something distinctive. I’ll keep a watch on your mom and dad. They’re going to be really sad for a long, long time…and they’re going to miss you for a long, long time – it’s called eternity, Justin.

Jack took a deep breath; he was doing well, so far.

“I want you to be on the look-out for someone. In a strange place, it’s always good to have the name of a friend. His name is Charlie, and he’s my son…you’ll like Charlie. You guys will hit it off, right from the start – he likes basketball, and hockey, and he REALLY loves baseball, so…you know…”

The rest of his monologue was lost as a knock on the door ushered strangers into the room.

“Mr. McMahan?” A kindly young man asked, and then stretched his hand out in greeting.

“No,” Jack reached out to shake the offered hand, “I’m Jack O’Neill, a friend of the family. I’m sitting with Justin while mom and dad get a bite to eat…”

The young man nodded and smiled.

“Mr. O’Neill, my name is Chris Stewart…I’m a coordinator, with the Colorado Donor Alliance. This is Dr. Gloria Putnam, who will head up the surgical team. May we wait here with you, until Justin’s parents return?”

The O’Neill grimace must have been broader than he thought, because Stewart immediately offered to wait at the nurse’s station.

“No, no…I was done here, just…ah, waiting. I promised Doris he wouldn’t be alone – it was important to her.”

“ Then by all means, Mr. O’Neill, we will be at the nurse’s station. I have some things to attend to. Dr. Putnam is coordinating with the other centers who will be receiving the organs…”

Again the grimace interrupted Stewart’s words.

“I’m sorry, Mr. O’Neill, I can see that this is making you uncomfortable…I’ll leave. Just call me when Mr. and Mrs. McMahan return, and are ready to discuss the details.”

The kindly young man shook Jacks hand again, and then he and the doctor left. Jack returned to his spot at Justin’s bedside, picking up the child’s hand. Was it his imagination, or had the small hand grown colder? Was Justin slipping away even as he watched?

“It’ll be time soon, Just. They’re going to harvest your organs, Justin – do you know what that means? It’ll mean life after death for you, and a chance for a healthy life for at least four other people. When Charlie died, they didn’t have an elaborate system like they do now. If they had, maybe he would be alive somewhere, other than in my heart and Sara’s. Gees, Justin…listen to me…if my team could hear me now, my cover would be shot.”

O’Neill sat alone with his young friend for a few more minutes, and then both Phil and Doris returned to the darkened room. Jack called for the nurse to tell Mr. Chris Stewart to come to Justin’s room. But he slipped out before the kindly young man returned – he didn’t have the stomach for the details.

Walking out of the men’s room, where he’d made a quick detour, Jack saw familiar faces seated with Tom and Sydney Manchester. They must have arrived earlier, while he’d made a quick trip outside for a breather. Faces he’d left behind in Cheyenne Mountain – he looked at his watch – too many hours ago. Everybody cleaned up pretty well, once out of the military BDU’s.

How the heck did they get here? More long lost family? He might have to have a serious discussion with General Hammond about “need to know.”

But, the dark face – with the hat pulled low over his forehead, and the bright blonde head, and the goofy, but subdued grin – anxiously turned his way when he entered the waiting area.

His weary smile was heart wrenching, as everyone turned to see him. And his reddened eyes told their own silent story – but no one mentioned them, or stated the obvious.

“How the heck did you get past that pink power monger?”

“I’m Justin’s sister, sir…”

“I am his brother, O’Neill…by marriage.”

Jack turned to the newest SG1 recruit.

“And I suppose you’re their son – and too young to be left alone…”

Jonas grinned, obviously pleased to be included in the light banter,

“Yes, sir, Colonel…you guessed it! Although, I don’t think we were entirely convincing.”

“I can’t imagine.”

Jack introduced his team to Tom and Sydney, who soon left the area after deciding to stretch their legs, having also volunteered to get coffee for everyone. It was going to be a long night.

“O’Neill, I have been most intrigued by this Earth custom of exchanging internal organs. We have nothing like it on Chu’lak.” Teal’c intoned softly, after the couple disappeared.

“I guess you don’t actually need organ transplants after receiving your own personal lifetime guarantee of health and long life, Teal’c. Since we don’t have a symbiote, we have to make do with something else.” O’Neill sounded bitter, or was it grief that roughened his voice? He cleared his throat and began again.

“You ah…you kids really didn’t have to come all the way down here. But, I appreciate it any way.”

Carter opened her mouth to speak, but Jonas beat her to it.

“We thought this might be kind of rough on you, sir…seeing as how your own son…. Whaaat…?” A hard, feminine elbow, planted firmly in his ribs interrupted Jonas. A pair of frosty cold, crystal blue eyes, which bored through his own, silenced a blushing Jonas very effectively.

“We just thought you might like some company, sir – these things are rarely pleasant,” Carter stated, still staring angrily at her teammate.

“Indeed, O’Neill. But, as you were holding vigil with young Justin, Mr. Chris Stewart was regaling us - along with Justin’s mother and father, with words of honor for the young man’s gift and the continuing memorial for his great sacrifice.” Teal’c beamed with pride for the young man he barely knew – having met him only once, briefly at O’Neill’s home.

“I’m sorry, Teal’c, I guess I’m just tired, but what-the-heck are you talking about?” O’Neill could feel the beginnings of a headache, right there between his eyes – no doubt from lack of sleep; but it could be Jaffa-based.

“Come, O’Neill, we must show you the shrine. Although it is in keeping with the events you celebrate at this season of the year, Mr. Chris Stewart has assured us this shrine is a permanent fixture.”

The huge warrior guided his ‘brother’, and team-mates, down the long hospital hallway to another waiting area – this one outside the surgical suite. In its place of prominence stood an ordinary artificial fichus tree. But that’s where its similarity to anything ordinary ended.

The tree was strung with hundreds of tiny bright, twinkling white and red lights, and hung from each branch were small figures – tied to the branches with ribbons of gold.

O’Neill looked at the gaudy tree, disappointed at not finding something more spectacular to remind people of Justin’s lost life, and gift to posterity.

“It’s a Christmas tree, Teal’c…”

“Indeed it is not, O’Neill, look closer.”

He looked again, and on closer inspection Jack realized that each tiny figure was a person, and each person was a different color – yellow, red, purple, green and blue. There seemed to be a lot more yellows and reds than purples and greens.

“They call it the Tree of Life, sir,” Sam Carter spoke up. “Each figure represents a successful transplant. purple is for the kidneys…”

“You can see by the sheer number, sir, they’ve had quite a few of those,” Jonas jumped in eagerly.

“ Red is for the heart, green for the liver, and yellow is for the kidneys…each one represents someone who is alive today because of someone else’s gift. And, each one represents someone who gave the gift of life.”

Teal’c spoke up again, after watching his brother’s fight for emotional control.

“Even the light’s have a meaning of their own, O’Neill. Is it not a wonder? The red signifies the sacrifice made, and white is for the hope – of renewed life. It is indeed a very special Christmas tree.”

SG1 stood silent, watching the twinkling lights, offering support to a friend. No one spoke of, or remarked on the silent tears that fell, as each remembered in his or her own way. Finally, Jack reached out to touch one of the tiny figures.

“You’ll fill up their tree, won’t you Justin – and then, forever be enshrined in gold and gaudy light’s. What more could you ask for?”

“Let’s go check on Doris and Phil…do they know about this?” He turned to his friends, and then pointed to the tree.

“I don’t think Chris mentioned it, sir…maybe, you’d like to tell them…”

“I think I’d like to Carter…”

The friends walked back up the hall, and were met with warm cups of coffee and the news that Justin was being prepared for the trip to Surgery. Jack quickly put his coffee down and walked…ran to Justin’s room. The door opened just as he got there. The leading edge of a patient gurney pushed through the door, guided by a nurse and an orderly. Breathing apparatus, ECG monitor, and other patient paraphernalia seemed to dwarf the already small patient, but Jack only saw Justin.

Jack stopped the stretcher, apologetically looking at the people gathered around it, and spoke softly into Justin’s ear, “You’re a good kid, Justin McMahan…”

And then pushed the gurney on its way, down the hall.

Doris and Phil, coming slowly behind the stretcher, looked like the walking wounded. O’Neill and the Manchester’s gathered around the stricken couple, escorting them down the hallway, behind their son. At the entrance to the surgical suite, the parents were required to stay behind while Justin’s went the rest of the way alone. But before he was taken from them, both Doris and Phil gave their warm, breathing child one last kiss – for eternity.

Doris and Phillip McMahan, Jack O’Neill, and Tom and Sydney Manchester stood silent, staring at the solid wood and frosted glass doors blocking their entrance to the suite. As if together, they could fathom what was happening, what would happen behind the closed doors.

Jack O’Neill was the first to move, the first to come out of the trance.

“So, Doris and Phil…let me tell you about a VERY special Christmas tree….”

Epilogue…

January was going to be the coldest month on record, if it didn’t warm up soon. And with enough snow for even the most fanatical snow bunny. December had been a difficult month to get through, for a multitude of reasons.

Jack O’Neill unlocked his front door hurriedly. The whipping, cold winds only made him want to hibernate inside his warm house, even more so than just an ordinary cold winter day would have. He was glad to be home – he and the rest of SG1 had been off world – saving the world…again. It was nice just to be able to kick back and enjoy those things they were out there saving.

He carried a bag of groceries on into the kitchen, and then returned to the front hall to retrieve the mail. After putting coffee on to perk, Jack put away his groceries, plundering the thick stack of mail after each grocery item was properly put away. One large white envelope, without an address to identify where it came from, caught his attention. He didn’t recognize the handwriting that scrawled his name across the front.

Ripping open the envelope – and hoping it wasn’t rigged to blow, saturated in a virus or bacteria, or some ungodly poison - O’Neill found a plain white sheet of paper. It was inscribed with a handwritten note – from his neighbors Doris and Phillip McMahan. Along with it was another letter – its return address was the Colorado Donor Alliance. He read the short hand written note first –

Hi Jack,

You’ve been away for such a while, we were beginning to doubt if you were coming back. Ha! Ha!

Anyway, we received the enclosed letter, from C.D.A., and thought you might be interested in reading it for yourself.

Fondly, your neighbors,

Doris and Phil

Jack moved over to the counter and poured himself a cup of fresh brewed coffee, and then settled himself down at the kitchen table to read the letter –

Donor Alliance, Inc.

Denver, CO

Dear Mr and Mrs. McMahan,

We take this opportunity to grieve with you for the loss of your loved one, young Justin McMahan…

We also rejoice with you, in knowing that through Justin’s gift of life, we were able to transplant six healthy organs into four very ill patients. To date, each patient is doing well, and is expected to make a smooth, uneventful re-entry into useful, productive, and healthy lives.

We take this opportunity to say Thank you…

Jack read the letter again, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend. And then, he smiled – the smile that erased all his worldly cares, the one that let the sweet, handsomely innocent face shine through.

“You did it, Justin, you did it, kiddo…what did I tell you? You are a good kid…you were the best!

^*^*^* THE END^*^*^*

11-15-03