Title: Forever Young

Author: Charli Booker

Email Address: charli.booker@netzero.com

Status: Complete

Category: Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort

Pairings: None

Spoilers: None

Season: Before 6

Sequel/Series Info: N/A

CONTENT LEVEL : 13+

Content Warnings: Minor language

Summary: In the portrait of an unknown soldier, Daniel discovers a piece of Jack’s soul.

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the authors. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the authors.

File Size (kb): 104

Archive: JackFic, Heliopolis

Author’s Note: This story is dedicated to brave and honorable soldiers, living and dead, wherever they may be.

FOREVER YOUNG

“You should have died when I killed you.” John LeCarre

* * * * *

October 17, 1979

My name is Beatriz PeZa Rubio and today I am eleven years old. For my birthday, my Papa bought me ice cream and a new dress. Then he paid money to have our picture taken. Papa has been away and tomorrow he must leave again. He says he fears that he will be gone for a very long time, but that he will carry my picture always so he will not forget that his beautiful daughter waits for him at home. Already I miss him.

* * * * *

Present Day

“Don’t worry. I’ll tell you what to do.” And worry enough for all of us. Jack felt the power of the stolen glider thrumming beneath his feet; the controls in his hands vibrated, tickling his fingers like the handle of his Dad’s old push mower. The trees of PX7-244 rushed at him, then swept by in a blur. He keyed the radio with a long, crooked thumb. “Teal’c, you got me?”

“I see you, O’Neill.”

“Atta boy, Teal’c. Like we planned. You drop back. Daniel and I will draw them out, then you and Carter come in behind.”

“Very well.”

Actually, it probably wasn’t . . . very well, that is. It was definitely not one of the better plans Jack had ever devised, but the two stolen gliders were their best shot at taking out the remaining three that the enemy already had in the air, as well as the Jaffa guarding the Gate and barring SG-1's way home. Not even Jack in all his pessimistic glory could have predicted that such a milk run of a mission would so quickly turn into a complete and total clusterfu–

“What about me? What should I do?” Sitting in the seat directly behind him, Jack couldn’t see Daniel’s face, but there was a jittery, nervous edge to the man’s voice.

Jack’s voice, on the other hand, was strangely calm. “For now, I need you to look at the controls in front of you. Down near your knees, there’s a lever with a handle on it.”

“Yeah. I see it.”

“Good. Well, according to our good buddy, Teal’c, it works like a joy stick. It has two buttons on it. Green and yellow.”

“Right.”

“Green locks on target. Yellow fires. Got that?”

“Green locks. Yellow fires.”

“When you grip the handle, it activates the screen in front of you. When you move the joy stick, you’ll be able to maneuver to your target. Hit the green button when he’s in your crosshairs. Fire yellow on my mark. Got that?”

“Whatever you say, Jack.”

“Repeat it back to me, Daniel.” He did. Good man.

They flew in complete silence for nearly five minutes. Although Jack couldn’t see them, he knew that Teal’c and Carter were not far behind, dogging him and Daniel. If it weren’t for the fact that they were preparing to face off with the enemy, it would have been a great flight. The weather was clear and the landscape below was pristine. Signs of habitation were scarce; mainly, there was only the brilliant green of a jungle canopy. Jack banked the glider slightly, watching as the small village they’d visited yesterday came and went in the blink of an eye. Shortly after, the Stargate loomed, then it and the Jaffa guarding it disappeared behind them. The plan was to draw the enemy gliders away from the village and the Gate. Jack wanted any firefight to occur in relative seclusion before circling back to deal with the Jaffa on the ground. However, keeping the fighting as far from the village as possible was an even greater concern.

“Jack,” there was barely controlled fear in Daniel’s voice, “eleven o’clock.”

Glancing at the screen in front of him, Jack confirmed Daniel’s warning and keyed his radio. “Head’s up, people. We have three incoming.”

A rush of adrenaline flooding his veins, Jack turned the glider so that it was directly in the path of the enemy he could not yet see. Finally, when he knew they were closing ranks, he raised his eyes from the screen and scanned the skies before him. There. Dead ahead.

“Daniel, target the glider in the center.” In a game of hi-tech, alien chicken, he aimed directly for the enemy gliders. The trio fanned out, preparing to attack.

“I’m locked on, Jack.”

“On three.” Jack tightened his grip on the controls. “One . . . two . . . fire!”

As Daniel fired, there was a slight shift in the controls and Jack pulled into a sharp curve, banking up and away from the enemy. He heard Daniel gasp softly, but wasn’t sure if it was because of the unexpected movement or because his shot had clipped the wing of the middle aircraft. As it plummeted in a graceful, smoky spiral, the remaining gliders turned. The one on the right followed them. The other one curved away, but Jack knew it was merely going to circle around.

“They’re firing, Jack.”

He forced the glider into a steep dive, then banked sharply to the left. The enemy’s aim went wide, as evidenced by a small streamer of smoke passing less than a hundred feet from the right wing.

“The second one’s coming in behind and above us. About four o’clock.”

Jack felt a glimmer of pride that Daniel’s voice had grown calmer. A hard smile on his face, Jack danced with the enemy. He continually shifted directions, deliberately avoiding a pattern or rhythm, as he tried to anticipate two unknown pilots. It was like being thrown into an unrehearsed dance routine with Fred Astaire and trying to not step on the man’s toes.

“Come on, Teal’c. Any time, old buddy,” Jack mumbled.

The aircraft shuddered as a round exploded somewhere to the left of the tail. The tail bounced slightly to the right from the near hit, forcing the nose in the opposite direction. Jack corrected and pulled up.

“Jack!”

Daniel’s panicked yell was nearly drowned out by the noisy impact of something slamming into the left side of the canopy. Almost before Jack realized they’d been hit, whatever had struck them shot out the opposite side of the glider. Oddly dazed, Jack vaguely realized that the inside of the windscreen in front of him and to his right was covered in a fine, red mist, and that the glider was nosing downward in a gentle curve.

“What–,” but his question was silenced by a tremendous wave of agony. He groaned loudly and unable to think, unable to correct gravity’s pull on the controls, he sensed his consciousness ebbing.

“Jack, we’re crashing!”

For Daniel’s sake, Jack tried to force himself and the glider back into control, but nothing worked. His arms and hands were like rubber, his mind was fuzzy, and the damaged aircraft responded sluggishly. Feeling something warm on his leg, Jack looked down and frowned at a large shard of metal protruding from his left leg, just above the knee. Confused by what he saw, he stared at it, watching the steady outpouring of his blood. Suddenly, the pain ratcheted to a new level and Jack found himself beyond screaming, beyond thinking, and he gently slipped into blackness.

* * * *

Something was tickling his face. His eyes closed, Jack blindly tried to brush it away with his hand, but it had no effect. He turned his head, but the tickling only moved from one cheek to the other. From somewhere nearby, a bird called. That was weird. Where the hell?

With difficulty, he forced open his eyes. His head was leaning back against something, and he could feel a stiff neck coming on. He blinked, clearing his vision, then nearly panicked as something dark lunged at him. Jack cringed away from the strange thing assaulting him, then screamed out loud at the agony caused by moving.

“Oh, God.” Coughing, choking, gagging, he clenched shut his eyes and forced himself to remain motionless, waiting for the pain to recede. It didn’t.

“Shit.” Panting shallowly, he bit down on his lip, trying to regain some control. Nothing helped. Okay, O’Neill. Deal with it. Lord knows, you’ve done it before.

Again, he forced open his eyes, but this time he remained rigid, unmoving, as the black thing continued to swat at his face. As it touched him, then darted away, then lunged again, he finally recognized it for what it was. A leaf. A stupid leaf. Jack wanted to laugh, but couldn’t. Instead, he tried to identify the source of his agony.

It was difficult to categorize the pain, especially since everything hurt and he was terrified of moving, but it seemed to start from somewhere in his middle and stretch downward, gaining power as it went. He tried to slow his breathing in an attempt to reduce the movement in his torso. It didn’t help.

Staring up at the protective shelter of tree limbs overhead, he tried to remember what exactly had brought him here and if he had ever hurt this bad. He wasn’t even sure his little parachute incident could compete with this. Parachute. Plane. Glider. Hit. Leg. Impaled. Reamed. Daniel!

With a gasp, Jack tried to raise his head, intending to look back towards where Daniel should be. Instead, his vision tunneled and he sank into darkness once again.

* * * * *

His eyes still closed, the first thing he was aware of was noise. The bird was still there and it sounded like it was in the same spot so he must not have been out for long. Then, from somewhere behind him, Jack heard a faint rustling. He couldn’t identify the sound, but for some reason he wasn’t worried.

The second thing that returned was the pain. It somehow filled him, causing his body to pulsate with heated agony. He gasped softly and gritted his teeth.

Okay. Time to open the old eyes, Flyboy. He did, blinking to clear his vision. Well, O’Neill, you wanted to see what was wrong, didn’t you? Careful what you wish for. Instead of leaning back, his head was now lolling forward, his chin resting on his chest. Jack was presented with an unobstructed, front-row view of the source of his pain.

Four inches of jagged metal nearly an inch in width was sticking out of the meat of his outer thigh. His left pants leg was soaked with blood. More blood had pooled on the seat and was slowly dripping onto his boot.

“Jack?” The voice was soft, weak, but it was definitely Daniel, and it was coming from somewhere behind him. Jack could have sobbed with relief.

“Daniel? Are you . . . okay?” Jack tried to keep the fear and the agony out of his voice. He really needed to sound calm and in control.

“Huh?” Daniel sounded as confused as Jack had been earlier. “Where are we?”

“Welcome to . . . Alien Amazon.” Jack panted, grimacing at the agony rising in waves up his injured leg and into his torso. “You like?”

“Sucks.”

“You’re just . . . hard to please. Now,” Jack stopped, riding out a wave of nausea and swallowing a gasp of pain, “how bad . . . are you hurt?”

“I think,” he could hear the rustling of material and movement behind him, “just my head. Ribs are a little sore.” More movement. “Oh, crap.” A low moan.

“What?” No answer. Jack’s heart raced, elevating the agony in his leg to a blinding intensity. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Dammit, Daniel . . . answer me!”

“Sorry. Damn joy stick. Really shouldn’t put it right between a guy’s legs.”

“Oh.”

“Okay. It’s okay.” More movement. The glider groaned and shifted ominously.

Jack sucked in a breath at the slight jarring. “Careful.”

When Daniel spoke again, he sounded closer, clearer. “What about you, Jack? You okay?”

“Uh,” Jack gritted his teeth, eyes still closed, “actually . . . that would be a ‘no.’” Afraid to move, he still sat with his head hanging forward.

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder and Daniel’s breath on his left ear. “Okay, let’s . . . oh, God.” There was a brief moment of silence, and Jack knew Daniel had seen his leg. “Okay. All right. Don’t move.”

Jack couldn’t help but chuckle, and he bravely opened his eyes and tried to turn his head to look at his friend. Pain slammed him and he had to lean his head back against the seat, fighting the black pinpoints threatening his vision. “You are . . . shitting me, right?”

“Right. Sorry. I’m going to climb out on the wing. I think we’ll be okay if I take it slow.”

Jack didn’t bother responding; he was too busy trying to not vomit or pass out.

“All right. Here goes.” He sensed movement to his left, and heard a few muffled curses. “Almost there.” The craft creaked and groaned miserably.

Jack’s leg throbbed, and he was suddenly conscious of another pain – a deep, subtle ache somewhere above and to the left of his navel. What internal organ was located there?

Daniel cursed again, softly. He’d obviously been spending too much time around Jack; his language had been slowly deteriorating over the last few years.

Kidney? Good question.

“Hang on, okay?”

Liver? Who knows.

“Jack, you still with me?”

Spleen? Maybe that was it. Spleen. What the hell was a spleen anyway?

“Jack!”

He jerked. “Wha–”

“Stay with me.”

“Not going . . . anywhere.” But he was. Everything was going black again. Black was good. No busted spleens in black.

* * * * *

“. . . was worshipped in Memphis. And after Ptah is . . . oh, crap.”

Jack felt a deep burning in his leg and in his gut.

“After Ptah is Serapis. Yeah, Serapis, who was worshipped in Alexandria. Wait, I forgot Re.”

There was a hard tug on his thigh, followed by shooting pain. He groaned and fought to open his eyes.

“Jack? Come on, buddy.”

He cracked open his eyes, squinting up at a blurry, pale oval.

“Wake up, sleepyhead.”

“Dan . . . Daniel?” Wait, that couldn’t be his voice. It sounded weak, ragged.

“Hey, Jack. How do you feel?”

He raised his head to look around, surprised to find that he was laying on the ground beside the twisted wreckage of the glider.

“How did you . . .”

A large bruise already forming on the right side of his face, Daniel smiled. “You really don’t want to know.”

Swamped with a surge of dizziness, Jack lowered his head back down. “Oh. Okay.”

“Here.” Daniel was lifting Jack’s head, holding a canteen to his lips.

Water. Jack suddenly realized he was dying of thirst. He gulped greedily.

“Slow down.” Daniel pulled the canteen away. “Easy.” Jack saw Daniel glance down towards his leg, his face puckered in a worried frown.

“How . . . bad?”

Daniel looked back up at him and helped him to sip more water before lowering him back down. “I’ll be honest with you, Jack, it’s not good. You’ve lost a lot of blood and I’m having trouble getting the bleeding stopped. No way am I going to try to remove that piece of metal.” Daniel grimaced slightly. “It looks like it’s driven right into your knee.”

Well, that explained the excruciating agony. Exhausted, Jack closed his eyes. “Ouch,” he mumbled.

“That’s putting it nicely. Do you hurt anywhere else?”

Jack thought about it and he knew there was absolutely nothing Daniel could do about the deep-seated pain building in his abdomen.

“Did you hear me?”

He forced his eyes open. “Have you heard . . . from Teal’c or Carter?”

Daniel frowned. “The radio’s dead. Jack, what are you not telling me?”

“Daniel . . .”

“Dammit, don’t pull the martyred leader shit on me. Now is not the time.”

Jack sighed. “Where’s your spleen?”

“I’m not sure. Why?”

“I think . . . I think I may have busted mine.”

“Where?” Daniel pulled up Jack’s shirt. “Show me.”

His hand shaking, Jack laid his palm against his stomach just below his rib cage. Daniel moved Jack’s hand out of the way, then looked closely at his abdomen. Finally, tentatively, he pressed down.

Shoving Daniel’s hand away, Jack rolled onto his right side. Favoring his injured leg, he curled up, wrapping his arms across the throbbing ache Daniel had awakened and groaning loudly.

“God, Jack, I’m sorry.”

Moaning, Jack struggled to breath. “It’s . . . okay. I’ll be . . . fine.”

“Crap. I’m sorry.”

His eyes closed, Jack tried to concentrate on anything besides pain. He refused to think about busted spleens. Metal rods jammed through knee joints were the last thing on his mind. Blood loss was not something that concerned him. He wouldn’t . . . dammit! He coughed back a round of bile and groaned again. “Daniel, who . . . who’s after . . . Serapis?”

“What?”

“Talk to me . . . please.” Jack shivered and seemed to pull in on himself.

“Jack?” Daniel knelt next to him, a worried frown on his face. “Sure. Sure. Uh, let’s see. There was Re, then Serapis. Serapis was worshipped in Alexandria, but I think I said that already. Next was . . . uh oh.”

“What?” Jack’s voice was a mere whisper.

“You’re not going to like this, Jack. After Serapis is Sekhmet.” As Daniel watched, Jack rubbed a shaky, bloody hand across his face and coughed softly. “Sekhmet was the mistress of war and sickness.”

“Oh. That’s just . . . swell.”

* * * * *

He was awakened by the sound of his own voice, never a good thing . . . especially a moan of pain like the one he’d just let fly.

“Wait! Stop. Put him down.”

Jack felt his world spin dizzily as a burning lump of what could only be his stomach contents inched up the inside of his throat. Something firm settled under his back and he rolled to his side, vomiting even before he’d forced his eyes open. A hand settled softly on his shoulder as he retched, then coughed and spat. Out of breath, he dropped onto his back, groaned, and looked up into the sympathetic face of his second in command.

“Carter?”

“Yes, sir.”

He frowned in confusion.

“We saw your glider go down. Teal’c found a place to set down about two hours’ walk through the jungle.”

“Oh.” He shut his eyes. He hurt. Bad. Worse than before. Glancing back up, he noticed Teal’c and Daniel standing behind her. “Daniel, you . . . okay?”

“Yeah, Jack. I’m fine. Just some bruised ribs and a smack on the side of the head.”

“Teal’c?”

“Major Carter and I were unharmed, O’Neill.”

Feeling exhausted, Jack merely nodded.

“We were able to take out the other two gliders and the guards at the Gate before coming back around to where you went down. So,” Carter smiled and did something to his leg, causing it to hurt worse, “we’re clear to head home.”

There was always a, “But. . . .”

“But, it’ll take about six hours to get to the Gate.” Carter glanced up at Teal’c and Daniel as if for support. “Colonel, we’re taking you to the glider. Teal’c’s going to fly you back to the Gate. It’s the quickest way to get you medical attention. In the meantime, Daniel and I will hoof it, and Teal’c will send someone back to meet us.”

Jack slowly shook his head, squinting against the dizziness. “No.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’re not . . . splitting up. We go . . . together.” Beginning to feel decidedly wonky, Jack braced both shaky hands on the ground in a fruitless attempt to steady himself.

Daniel leaned closer. “Jack, you’re still losing blood. We need to get you to Janet.”

“Can’t leave you and . . . and Carter. Too . . . dangerous.”

“O’Neill, Daniel Jackson is unable to assist in carrying you. This is the best way.”

“Teal’c–”

“Sir, how’s your stomach feel?”

Jack frowned up at her. They weren’t playing fair.

Carter gave him a small grin. “That’s what I thought. Colonel, to be perfectly honest, it will take at least six hours to reach the Gate. I’m not sure you or my arms will last that long.” When he didn’t respond, she continued. “With the glider, we can have you back in a little over two hours. The sooner we get you there, the quicker Daniel and I can go home.”

Jack looked at each of them and knew that they’d already decided amongst themselves that this was how it was going to go down. They were just trying to be nice, breaking it to him gently. He swallowed another lump of bile and closed his eyes. “Dammit.”

* * * * *

“O’Neill, I am going to lift you now.”

Jack roused slowly, only vaguely aware of Teal’c’s presence until he felt strong arms slip beneath his legs and around his back. He cried out as a shaft of icy-hot pain shot up his left leg.

“Oh, God.”

“I am sorry, my friend, but we are at the Gate.”

Groaning, Jack blinked and glanced around. Teal’c was lifting him out of the glider. He thought he’d dreamt being carried through the jungle and being loaded into the aircraft, but apparently not. And he’d obviously slept through the flight itself, which meant he must be in worse shape than he’d thought. His leg hurt like a son-of-a-bitch and despite Daniel’s and Carter’s best efforts, the wet trouser leg told him he was still bleeding. But what concerned him more was the heavy, burning ache in his gut.

Teal’c carried him to the base of the steps on which the Stargate was mounted. Jack leaned drunkenly against the roughhewn steps, sweating and trying to catch his breath, while Teal’c dialed the DHD and punched in their Iris code. As Teal’c returned, Jack struggled to push himself to his feet. Instead of helping him to stand, Teal’c merely moved to lift him again.

“I’m . . . walking.”

Teal’c easily lifted him, causing Jack to gasp in pain. “You are not.”

With that, he was carried home.

* * * * *

Jack opened his eyes to the dim light of the infirmary at night. He blinked tiredly, hearing the distant sound of shoes on a cement floor. Something tickled his nose but when he reached for whatever it was, he felt a sharp tug on his wrist. Groggy, he glanced down. An IV needle protruded from the back of his hand.

Looking further, he discovered a clean sheet had been tented over his legs. Somewhere beneath it, hiding behind the Fraiser Cocktail that was circulating through his veins, a dull throb hinted of nasty things to come. A similar promise harbored in his abdomen.

Exhausted by the mere raising of his head, Jack dropped against the pillow and reached up with his free hand, tugging at the bothersome nasal cannula. He groaned softly and scrubbed at his face.

“Jack, stop it.” The voice was soft, full of sleep, and it was soon followed by Daniel’s face. Leaning over the bed, he pulled Jack’s hand away and put the cannula back in place.

Jack weakly twisted his head. “Don’t.”

“Well, leave it alone.” Daniel reached for something out of Jack’s line of sight. “How’re you doing?”

Jack frowned up at his friend and gestured with a shaky hand at the large bruise on the right side of Daniel’s face. “What happened?”

Daniel smiled. “You don’t remember plowing a little airstrip?”

He started to shake his head ‘no,’ then he remembered. “Oh. Yeah.” He studied Daniel closer. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just bruised.” Before Jack had a chance to ask, Daniel answered the question he knew was coming. “And Sam and Teal’c are fine, too. They’re sleeping. They’ve been taking turns sitting with you since yesterday. I just sent Sam off to bed a little while ago.”

Jack felt his eyes closing.

“You should stay awake until Janet gets here.”

“Sleepy.”

“Yeah, I know you are but . . . Jack? Jack?”

* * * * *

When he next opened his eyes, it was day. Even underground, he could tell. For one thing, the lights were cranked up to their usual annoying brightness, but mainly it was due to a different feeling in the air, what could only be described as a hushed bustle of activity. Feeling a little less groggy and a little more in pain, Jack looked around the room. Nothing much had changed. Daniel was sitting in a chair beside the bed reading a book.

“You still here?” Damn, his voice sounded like it’d been run through a cheese grater.

Smiling, Daniel laid the book aside and stood beside the bed. “How do you feel?”

After accepting a sip of water, Jack tried to scoot up in the bed, surprised at the shakiness in his arms and the pain that blossomed in his leg and his gut. “You’re still here,” he repeated.

“Not ‘still here.’ I’m back.” Daniel chuckled softly at the blank, slightly glazed look he received. “It’s been over fourteen hours since you first woke up.”

“Geesh. How long have I been here?”

“Over two days.”

Jack grimaced and started to rub his thigh which was still hidden beneath the tent, then thought better of it.

“Does it hurt?”

He frowned over at Daniel. “No. No, it feels great. I was thinking of going rollerblading later today. Want to come?”

“How do you do it, Jack? Even drugged to the gills, you’re an ass.”

“What can I say? It’s a gift.”

“Colonel?” Janet Fraiser stepped inside the room, a bright smile on her face. “About time you joined us. How do you feel?”

Rubbing his face, trying to wipe the sleep from his eyes, Jack looked at her. “So what’d you do to me this time?”

“Well, you’re very welcome, sir. Let’s see, this time we did some major repair work on your knee and we stitched up a lacerated spleen.”

“My spleen?”

“Yes.”

“You’re positive?”

Janet laughed softly. “Lacerated or intact, I’m pretty sure I recognize a spleen when I see it.”

Jack looked at Daniel, who grinned. “I know what you’re thinking, Jack. And, yes, you were right . . . you did bust your spleen.”

“Damn.” Even though talk of his injuries caused the pain to spike, Jack was amazed that he’d properly diagnosed the damage. So what if it had been a lucky guess? He should have placed money on it. “When can I go home?”

Janet sighed softly and glanced at the chart, then at her watch. “Well, let’s see . . . today is Tuesday, the sixteenth.” She glanced at the chart again, then hesitated, knowing her next statement would bring a resounding protest. “What do you say that barring any complications, we think about sending you home on Friday?”

Jack grew quiet, frowning.

“Colonel?” Janet stepped closer to the bed, a hand dropping to his arm. He looked up at her, his eyes slightly out of focus. “Sir, what’s wrong?”

“Today’s the sixteenth?”

Janet glanced at Daniel, who shrugged slightly. “Yes, sir.”

Jack shut his eyes, his frown deepening.

“Colonel, please tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing. I’m just . . . I’m tired. I’d like to be alone.”

Janet took a moment to study the monitors at the head of the bed then, watching him closely, she adjusted the flow of the IV to increase the pain medication. “Sure. I’ll let you get some rest. Let me know if you need anything.” Patting his arm, she left the room.

Daniel remained by the bed watching his friend, who was pretending to sleep. “What’s going on, Jack?”

“Nothing. I’m just . . . I don’t feel well and I’m tired.” Shifting his weight, Jack finally looked up at him. “Would you do me a favor?”

“Sure. Anything.”

“Would you bring me my wallet?”

“Your–,” Daniel started to say something about the absurdity of him needing his wallet under the circumstances, but at the flat look in Jack’s eyes, he decided against it. “You got it. I’ll be right back.”

* * * * *

Daniel watched Jack sleep. He’d retrieved Jack’s wallet a few hours before and had then left the man alone after he’d insisted that he needed some sleep but couldn’t if he knew Daniel was watching him. Heavily drugged, his eyes drooping and glazed, Daniel knew Jack was lying, but he also knew Jack well enough to know that he needed some space.

Finally, unable to take it any longer, Daniel had returned. One glance into the room told him that Jack had done exactly as he’d predicted: he was sound asleep. Daniel had entered the room and stood next to the bed, staring down at Jack’s lax features.

He looked so different when he was asleep. Gone were the hard lines, the snarkiness and the insufferable energy that comprised Jack O’Neill. Asleep, Jack seemed gentler, younger despite the grey hair, and oddly vulnerable. Daniel studied the man’s face, something he could never have done if his friend were awake. As if he knew that he was being watched, Jack moved slightly and frowned, mumbling something incomprehensible, even to a linguist.

Daniel smiled and started to resume his seat at Jack’s bedside when he noticed the photograph. Checking to make sure that Jack was still asleep, Daniel bent over the bed and stared at the photo clutched in Jack’s left hand. It was a cheap black and white portrait, the kind you had taken in those little booths at the mall. It was of a man and a little girl who he guessed was about ten years old. She was wearing a dress that looked two sizes too big and she had a huge, crooked grin on her face. The man was probably in his late twenties or early thirties; he wore a dark uniform and a weary, tentative smile.

Frowning, Daniel glanced at Jack, whose fingers were tightly gripping the photograph even in his drugged sleep. Very carefully, Daniel lifted the corner of the picture. On the back, faded ink proclaimed: “Beatriz y Papá, 17 de Octubre de 1979.”

“Huh.” Clearly stumped, Daniel sat down and watched Jack sleep.

It was hours later before Jack groaned, twitched, and opened bleary eyes. He started to roll onto his side, grimaced, and settled back onto the bed, finally noticing the man who was silently watching him.

“Daniel?”

“Hi.”

Jack yawned. “I thought you left.”

“Yeah. For a bit.”

Groaning, Jack shifted his weight on the bed and seemed to notice the picture for the first time. He frowned and turned it face down.

“Who’s Beatriz?”

“What?” Jack blinked sleep from his eyes, trying to focus on Daniel’s face.

Daniel gestured towards the photo. “Anyone I know?”

Jack flinched and hesitated before answering. “No.”

“She’d probably be in her thirties now.” At Jack’s blank look, Daniel pointed to the date on the back of the picture. “October of 1979. That’s a long time ago.”

“Shut up.”

It was said without anger and Daniel chuckled, not sure if Jack was serious. “What?”

“Just drop it.”

“All I did was ask who she was.” When Jack didn’t respond, Daniel sighed and picked up his book. If you looked up ‘an enigma wrapped in a mystery’ in the dictionary, you’d find a black square followed by the words ‘Colonel Jack O’Neill, photo unavailable.’ One minute he was the wise-cracking clown and the next he was a complete and utter asshole of the highest–

“I’m sorry, Daniel. It’s not . . . I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

When he looked up, Jack’s eyes were squeezed shut and he was rubbing his leg. Okay, maybe he wasn’t a complete asshole. “You okay? You need me to call Janet?”

“Dammit, no, I don’t need you to call Fraiser!”

Okay, so he was wrong. Jack was an ass. “Fine. Excuse me for caring.”

Jack grimaced, hitching himself up in the bed and glaring over at Daniel. “I don’t know who she is, okay? Are you happy?”

“What?”

“Beatriz. I don’t know who she is.”

“Then why . . .,” but Daniel thought better of it and merely swallowed and opened his book. He’d just found where he’d left off reading and was blankly staring at the page when Jack cleared his throat.

“I killed him.”

Daniel glanced up at the soft words to find that Jack was holding the photo, staring into it as if he’d never seen it before. “You mean the man in the photo?”

Jack nodded absently. “Yeah.” He lowered the photo to his lap, but continued to look at it. “It was my first kill. In Nicaragua. We’d received intel on a group of guerillas and had been ordered to move in and strike. We were following a day-old trail, our team spread out and on radio silence. We’d been walking for hours and I couldn’t see or hear any of my own men. It was like I existed in a vacuum in the middle of the jungle. And then I stepped around a tree and there he was.” He gently tapped the photo. “This guy was just standing there, leaning back against a log smoking a cigarette. And so I shot him.”

Daniel remembered the first person he’d ever killed, too. On Abydos, years ago now. Sometimes, he still dreamed about it. “You did what you had to do.”

Jack looked at him. “Did I?”

“What do you mean?”

“He hesitated, Daniel. He had his rifle pointed at my chest before I even realized what I was seeing. He could have killed me, but he didn’t.”

“He would have.”

“You don’t know that. Not for certain.”

Daniel studied his friend’s tired face and he was suddenly consumed with guilt. Jack was so adept when it came to killing, he was so efficient at it, at protecting others, that it never occurred to him that Jack hadn’t always been good at it. Or that it bothered him all that much. The guy could gun down a squadron of Jaffa and walk away loading a new clip into his P-90, discussing last night’s hockey scores, and taking bets on today’s flavor of mess hall Jell-O. Jack doubting himself?

Daniel’s gut clenched. “You’re right. I can’t know for certain, but I’m pretty sure he would have.”

Jack dropped the photo onto the sheet and leaned back, closing his eyes. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think he might have let me go. Maybe we both could have just walked away.”

Daniel looked over at the picture and wondered how many times Jack had stared it. What other thoughts went through his friend’s mind when he looked into it? “How’d you get the photo?”

Jack’s eyes opened and he stared up at the ceiling; otherwise, he didn’t move. “When I finished puking, before my Lieutenant came over to see what had happened, I found it laying on the ground next to him. Apparently, he’d been looking at it, smoking his cigarette, when I’d come up on him. I picked it up and put it in my pocket. I’m not sure why.”

“And you’ve carried it with you ever since.”

Jack blinked sleepily.

“So . . . Beatriz is the daughter of the man you killed.”

Jack closed his eyes and Daniel watched until his friend’s breathing evened out. As Jack dozed, Daniel reached over and picked up the picture, studying it again in a new, harsher light. Handling the paper as he would a rare artifact, he stared at the smudges around the edges and wondered whose fingers had made them: Jack’s, the unknown soldier’s, both? Daniel peered at the faces; he looked back at a moment in time, at the strangers who’d been captured on film. A cheap camera and a senseless war had transformed them into the forever young.

“So why do you think he didn’t shoot?”

He flinched and looked up to find Jack watching him with sleepy eyes. Daniel held the photo closer, running a thumb over the smooth surface of the man’s face, a face too young to look as weary as it did. Smiling softly, he looked over at his injured friend. “I think he was tired of killing, Jack. I think he’d seen and done too much of it, and he just wanted it to stop.”

Brown eyes met blue as Jack searched Daniel’s face. Finally, he nodded and closed his eyes again. “Yeah.” He seemed to doze off, then flinched and looked at Daniel with drugged eyes. “I know I had no choice, but I wish I could take it back.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

But Jack was already asleep, his dreams filled with humid jungles, gunshots, and the crooked smile of a woman with babies of her own.

<fin>

___________________

This was loosely based on the true story of Richard Luttrell, who in 1989 wrote a letter addressed to the man he’d killed in Chu Lai, Vietnam in 1967. Luttrell left the letter, along with a photograph of the Vietnamese soldier and his daughter, at the base of The Wall in Washington, D.C.