Path of Thorns
Path of Thorns
by Bounty
Title: Path of Thorns
Author: Bounty
Email: kaisteph@worldnet.att.net
Category: Thoughts, Missing Scene/Epilogue
Pairing: Jack/Sara
Spoilers: Cold Lazarus, references to events mentioned in Solitudes, A Matter of Time, and The Devil You Know
Season: any
Rating: PG
Content Warnings: none
Status: Completed
Summary: Sara O'Neill makes a package for Jack
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. We 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 authors. Not to be archived without permission of the authors.
Author's notes: Song lyrics are from "The Path of Thorns" by Sarah McLachlan
I knew you wanted to tell me
In your voice there was something wrong
But if you would turn your face away from me
You cannot tell me you're so strong
Sara O'Neill stood outside the closed door, large cardboard box in her hands. Shifting her weight from foot to foot, she stared at the heavy wooden panel. She'd done everything she could think of in the last few days to avoid this moment. The car was fixed, the house spotless; rugs shampooed; curtains washed, ironed and re-hung; yard raked; huge dinners cooked and cakes baked for her dad. Martha Stewart, eat your heart out, she thought with a grimace. Nothing left to do, but to go in.
She opened the door and stepped into the room. Charlie's room. Over a week had passed since she'd last been inside - with Jack. No, not Jack - a strange sort of being that had become Jack, then had become Charlie, and her mind ached just trying to think about that, so she didn't.
Sara set the box down on the floor and sat on the bed, pulling her feet up and wrapping her arms around her shins. She rested her chin on her knees and closed her eyes, conjuring to her mind an image of her ex-husband. Jack stood before her, craggy face set with a slightly lopsided smile, warm chocolate eyes, and hair that no matter how severely he tried to cut it, defied military demeanor with a wave here, a spike there. An outward expression of the struggle he kept otherwise hidden behind tight thin lips and clenched fists.
He'd needed her once - long ago. Never overtly, never out loud, but she'd known it all the same. The tough, gentle man she'd married, who'd laugh but never cry, joke around and have a good time, but clam up like a stone if things got rough. One top-secret trip after another, he'd come back a little harder, a little quieter. Eyes more hooded, it would take him a little longer to laugh again each time. Nights he would wake up shaking, and hold her tight, whispering to her not to ask, not to look, just to be still.
Then came the moment she'd been warned about and dreaded - the moment every military wife waits for. A phone call, a somber voice. "Mrs. O'Neill, your husband has been missing for over a week..." Three days of grief, then a second phone call....
Sara followed the spit and polished general down the hall, listening to the clicking of his shoes on the shiny floor, his words washing over her with less notice. The Air Force was so proud of Jack, yadda, yadda, he was a major now, or would be after he'd recovered enough for a ceremony. They reached the end of the hall and the pompous droning ceased. The general cleared his throat. "He's in here. Mrs. O'Neill..."
"Thank you," Sara interrupted. Turning away from the man, she pushed open the door and entered, only to be confronted with a heavy curtain. She pulled the curtain impatiently aside, and finally reached - Jack.
He lay on the bed, long legs almost overlapping the end. His head was propped up with pillows and swathed in bandages. Huge dark eyes stared at her from a face almost as white as the gauze that surrounded it.
They stared at each other, frozen. Then Jack opened his mouth, closed it, and reached out his hand. She took it, and long trembling fingers closed around hers. He gave a long soft sigh. "Sara...."
Just let me ask of you one small thing
As we have shared so many tears
With fervor our dreams we planned a whole life long
Now are scattered in the wind.
Sara opened her eyes; straightened, and let her feet slide to the floor. She reached across the bed to pick up the soft blue square that lay across the pillow. Charlie's receiving blanket. She held the soft piece of thermal cotton to her cheek, rubbing slowly...
"He's a baby, not a football, Jack," Sara said irritably as her overly exuberant husband hefted his new son in one arm while bending down to help her from the car.
"The nurses told me to use a football hold," Jack told her indignantly, tugged at her arm till she was standing. "Hey," he lifted the baby higher, "go long!"
"Just kidding!" he added hastily, eyes widening at the look of horror that crossed over her face. He hugged the blue-swathed bundle tightly to his chest. "See?"
"I need to talk to those nurses," Sara muttered. She sighed. "Jack, I'm tired. And sore in places you probably don't even know I have." She ignored his suggestive eyebrow waggle at that comment. "Do you think we could just go quietly inside?"
"Whatever you want, Mama." He gave her an incorrigible smile and slung the strap of her duffel bag over his baby-free shoulder, leaving his hand free to open the door. He ushered her ceremoniously inside and over to the couch.
Sara sat back, feet up, and watched drowsily as Jack showed their son around his new home. Her eyes drifted shut as the boys left the room.
"And this is a puck from an Avalanche game," she heard Jack say proudly. A baby's cry responded, growing louder and louder. She opened her eyes to see them in front of her, Jack's face as pale as Charlie's was red.
"I don't think he likes hockey," Jack said shakily, handing her the bundle.
"He's just hungry," she told him, cradling her son to her chest as Jack hovered anxiously, hopping from one foot to the other. "Really, he's okay," she said. "Go - unpack or something." But he wouldn't budge, just standing there staring in fascination as Charlie had his lunch....
Through the years I've grown to love you
Though your commitment to most would offend
But I stuck by you, holding on with my foolish pride
Waiting for you to give in
Sara folded the blanket into a small square and placed it carefully in the bottom of the box. She ran her hand over the faint layer of dust that covered the surface of the nightstand, and the train shaped lamp that had doubled as a nightlight. Not Martha Stewart, after all.
She wasn't sure when exactly it had happened - when Jack's need had transferred from her to Charlie. She suspected the bond had been formed the first time Jack had laid eyes on his infant son. The next couple of trips had ended in happy returns, with Jack bounding in full of excitement and presents.
Then came Iraq. Of course the Air Force had never told her exactly where Jack had been for the 4 months they had thought him dead; but she wasn't stupid, and she watched the news...
Sara woke with a start, and stared up at the dark ceiling. Her outstretched arm revealed only empty bed and cold pillow next to her. Groaning she rolled over and looked at the blinking red lights of the clock. Three AM. She sat and dangled her legs, shivering as her feet touched the cold floor. She stood quickly and fastened her robe. "Jack?" she whispered softly, then more loudly.
She'd only brought him home the morning before, after two months in the hospital, a thin pale shell of a man. The doctors had warned her that he was having trouble sleeping, and gave her bags of pills, all of which jack refused to take. He'd wandered around the house most of the day, looking at his things, touching them, and barely saying a word. She and Charlie had nervously shadowed him, trying at times to start conversations, to which he'd reply in a grunt or monosyllable word. When Charlie had hesitantly suggested they go outside with a football, Jack had stared at him as though he were a ghost. After an awkward dinner during which none of them had eaten more than a bite, she'd put the 5 year old to bed, and climbed into her own next to her silent, still husband.
Sara looked first in the bathroom next to their room. It was dark and empty. The kitchen was empty as well, and the living room, and the den. Back upstairs, she hesitated, then opened the door to Charlie's room.
A dim glow from under the cowcatcher of the train lamp cast just enough light for her to see her sleeping son. Curled up beside him, his face pressed to Charlie's back, was Jack, sound asleep.
You never really tried or so it seems now
I've had much more than myself to blame
I've had enough of trying everything
And this time it is the end.
Sara unplugged the lamp, coiled the cord around its base, and placed it in the box next to the blanket. Rising, she crossed the room to the dresser, and opened the top drawer. Nestled among some folded clothes was a baseball glove. Jack had bought the glove for Charlie the week before -. It had been one of his guilt presents after being away too long. Jack was an amazing father, when he was there. The separations had been hard on both father and son.
Sara rubbed the soft leather of the toy that had never been used. Finally she allowed herself to remember Jack - after.
Daylight savings had ended, making darkness fall before Sara returned from her afternoon of errands. Balancing a grocery bag on either hip, she fumbled for her house keys on the unlit doorstep. "Jack!" she hollered as one of the bags slipped, dumping soup cans unceremoniously on the sidewalk. No response. Too tired to be angry anymore, Sara put the bags down, opened the door, and made two trips to get all the groceries in.
The house reeked of stale cigarette smoke. Sara flung open windows to let the crisp winter air in, and then followed the trail of ashes and empty bottles to the bedroom, where Jack had made a nest for himself in the corner looking out the window into the black sky. He didn't look up as she entered. A brief light flared in the dark corner as he lit another cigarette and took a long drag.
She switched on the light, and he blinked angrily, lifting a hand to shade his bloodshot eyes. She couldn't gage how much he'd had to drink - now matter how drunk Jack was he never showed it, and he was withdrawn all the time now, drunk or sober. Then she saw that he was leaning against his Air Force duffel.
"Shipping out?" she asked casually. He grunted and took another puff on his cigarette.
"I thought you were retiring."
"Special assignment." He looked back out the window.
"I don't suppose you'd like any dinner before you go."
"Not hungry."
"Fine." End of conversation. Sara retreated downstairs to the kitchen, and busied herself doing dishes, until she heard the door shut and his car start. She had no tears - he'd already left long before.
The next day she'd packed her bags and moved into her father's house, and taken all of Charlie's things with her.
There's no coming back this way
The path is overgrown and strewn with thorns
They've torn the lifeblood from your naked eyes
Cast aside to be forlorn
Sara placed the glove in the box and folded the top closed. She'd been angry when she left, but that anger had long since cooled, and she realized now that it had been wrong for her not to leave Jack anything of his son.
She carried the box downstairs, grabbed packing tape and a heavy marker. A blinking light caught her eye - the answering machine. She hadn't even heard the phone ring while she's been up in Charlie's room. She hit the button to play the message as she taped the box and wrote Jack's name and address.
"Hey - Sara - this is Tom. It's a cold, lonely Saturday night, and I'm calling to beg you again to just have some coffee with me. That's all, nothing threatening I promise. Please? Call me back."
Sara smiled softly picturing the face behind the voice. She put the box on the table by the door, and picked up the phone. Jack was getting on with his life - she'd seen his friends at the hospital - the tall blonde woman, the gentle man with glasses and longish hair who looked so out of place in fatigues... He'd moved on, and now it was time for her to do the same.
The end
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