Letters1:Forgiveness

Letters1:Forgiveness

by Rainbow

Title: Letters1:Forgiveness
Author: Rainbow
Email: kaliasmuse@hotmail.com
Category: Angst, Series
Season: Season 1
Pairing: Jack/Sara
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Summary: Jack finally comes to terms with Charlie's death and searches for the one thing he can never have. Forgiveness.
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. I have written this story for entertainment purposes only and no money whatsoever has exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author(s).

Son,

Jack stopped, silently staring at that one word written in his all too familiar handwriting, the black ink staining the crisp whiteness of the paper as it formed the letters. Something about it bothered him, it didn't seem right to address him like that, too impersonal, as though his next sentence ought to be "You'll find dinner in the oven." He furiously scribbled over it, the nib of his pen almost tearing the paper as the word became an unsightly black smudge across the top of the page and Jack sat back in his seat, pondering the best way to start. The smudge defiantly mocked him, acting as undeniable proof that he couldn't do anything right, not even something as simple as writing a letter. Jack retaliated by screwing up the offending sheet of paper and tossing it toward the trashcan; he missed but didn't care. The problem was that this wasn't an ordinary letter, had that been the case he would have found writing it easy. Time consuming, but easy. No, this definitely wasn't an ordinary letter, for a start, it would never be opened, and the person it was intended for was never going to read it, anyway. After several minutes of searching, Jack appeared to have found both the right words and the courage to begin again.

Dear Charlie,

That was good, that was...personal. Jack leaned back in his chair, apparently satisfied with this beginning, so simplistic and yet so meaningful at the same time. A pensive expression invaded his square-jawed face for a second time as he wondered how best to continue, the thoughts and feelings inside of him creating a confusion that couldn't be expressed in words.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I couldn't be there for you, couldn't be the father you deserved to have. I'm sorry that I couldn't save you. I should have seen it coming, should have been there, but I wasn't. Story of my life, yours too I suppose, the dad who was never there when you needed him. Maybe if I had been you'd still be here and I wouldn't be writing this. Maybe...

The words crowded onto the page in a rush of unadulterated emotion, travelling over his body and out through the medium of the pen onto the paper beneath it. Jack felt the world around him fading away to nothingness as he concentrated on the emotions rising up like a tidal wave inside of him and the painful memory of Charlie's death filled his mind.

I should have known better. How dumb do you have to be to leave a loaded gun lying around your house where a twelve-year-old can get it? Jack O'Neill dumb is the answer, and me a Colonel too, so much for all those years of USAF training. It was my fault, if I hadn't been stupid enough to leave a gun lying around the house, then none of this would have happened, you'd still be here and it wouldn't have mattered that I wasn't there. We'd still be a family too, you, me and your mom, together forever. One big, happy family like we used to be.

Jack stopped again as the flood of emotion inside of him dried up and he found himself, once again, searching for the right words to continue and drawing nothing but blanks. He absent-mindedly reached for the cup of coffee resting on his desk and drained its contents in a matter of seconds, as though its bitterness would some how bring inspiration. He stared at the paper in front of him, reading and re-reading what he had just written, over and over again, in the faint hope that it might provide some clue as to how he should continue. It didn't, and the repetitiveness of his constant reading and re-reading caused the words to rearrange themselves in front of him, spelling out messages of pain and hate before his eyes.

I love you Charlie. I remember the first time I held you in my arms, just after you'd been born, a perfect little baby boy. My son. That was the happiest moment of my life, and I'll never forget how it felt to stand there with this beautiful, little human being in my arms. Never! I was so scared when Sara went into labour early, scared that I'd lose you both, that something terrible would happen, but there you were, flawless. An angel. My angel, my son.

Jack felt the tears pricking his eyes as he revisited the memory, knowing that things would never be like that again. An aching sadness filed him as he wrote and the words before his eyes began to blur causing the pen to fall from his hand. He blinked, pushing the tears and the sadness back down into the dark regions of his soul where they could remain hidden and picked up the pen again.

I remember the first time you walked on your own, the first tooth you lost, and the first time you grazed your knee. You refused to cry, no matter how much it hurt and that's when I knew that you'd grow up to be just like me.

He paused at the words "grow up" filled with a different kind of sorrow as he acknowledge that that was something Charlie would never be able to do.

I remember the first homerun you ever hit, I was so proud of you that day. I was always proud of you, Charlie. Always! Even when you were being so stubborn that it drove me crazy, I was proud of you. Proud because you stuck by your principles, like I would have done.

The inspiration died and the pen dropped beside the paper as though exhausted by its own efforts. Once more, Jack found himself staring at the paper, his own fluid script flowing over the page in inky rivers, creating patterns that transformed themselves into letters and words. The memories came to him in flashes now, Charlie on his first vacation, Charlie starting school, Charlie in the school play. Faster and faster they came, until eventually, they stopped, and the image of Charlie's pale form lying cold and still on the floor filled his mind in glorious technicolour. The gun, the gun lay on the floor next to his son's body, instantly recognisable in all its pain-filled glory. It laughed at him, celebrating its victory over Jack and revelling in the pain it had caused him. It had won, it had taken Charlie and Jack hadn't been able to prevent it and it had won, once and for all.

Charlie, I love you. I'll always love you, even though your gone and I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I let you die, that I didn't save you. I'm so sorry, Charlie. Please, forgive me. Wherever you are, all I ask is that you forgive me. Please, Charlie. Forgive me.

Your loving father,
Jack

Tears fell from his eyes onto the page as he wrote, sending trails of black ink running over the paper, racing each other o the edge. He poured out his soul onto the paper as the image of Charlie's dead body burned in his mind and the pen slid form his hand as the final letter of his name took up its rightful place. Jack put his head in his hands and cried, weeping anguished tears. He cried for Charlie. Charlie, the boy who would never grow up and for himself, the man who could never forgive and forget.

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Rainbow