A Little Reminiscing

by Sheryl

I was ashamed of myself, to be quite honest. I mean, you’d think that as their only son, their only offspring, I could have at least made a genuine effort to think about them on a daily basis. Nothing extraordinary, just a little reminiscing, a brief period of time set aside each day, to pay my respect. But, the truth was, I hadn’t. Oh, there were fleeting thoughts and vague images from time to time, but nothing lengthy or detailed. Nothing intentional.

In fact, it had been so long since I’d thought of them, that until the other day, I couldn’t even picture their faces accurately in my mind, even when I tried. That alone should have given me reason to pause for thought. It should have made me stop and take a little time out, busy schedule or not, to get out some old photos, do something to honor the memory of my parents. It was a very simple thing, really, to spare a moment or two for reflection, to remember the people who gave me life. It was inexcusable that I hadn’t.

So there I sat at the dining table with an old photograph album, a scrapbook full of newspaper articles, some textbooks and old magazines with references to their work, a couple of story books and a few other mementos that I’d managed to hold on to over the years. Every tangible thing I had left of my parents fit on my dining table. The important things though, were stored away in my mind.

My parents had bought me hundreds of books. I could still clearly picture the large bookshelf in my bedroom. Every shelf had been filled with books of all different sizes and thickness. I had no idea what had happened to them all. Only three were left. Where The Wild Things Are had obviously been read many times and was looking every bit its age. I could remember my father reading it to me at bedtime when I was really little. Treasure Island and A Separate Peace were not quite as worn, but I had read them on several occasions. They had brought me some small amount of comfort at times when I’d felt especially lonely for my parents.

Picking up my coffee mug, I inhaled deeply and remembered sneaking sips of my parent’s coffee. Funny, I could remember the smell and the taste – separate from the smell and taste of the coffee I was presently drinking. My mother would always add a little sugar and milk to hers and my dad liked his black. I prefer mine black too, but every now and then I’ll add a little sugar for variety, and to help me remember.

I’d been drinking a lot of coffee that evening, in fact I had almost finished my second pot. I was feeling wired, jittery and wide-awake, but I liked the feeling. I wanted to be wide-awake.

I was just reaching for a National Geographic, the one with the article on the Egyptian Pyramid exhibit that my parents were helping to setup when the knocks came.

The knocks, as opposed to the Nox.

The Nox would have been welcomed; the knocks could only mean one thing: Jack. Because, Jack’s the only one who knows the security code to get upstairs without buzzing me first.

Apparently Jack had nothing better to do tonight than invite himself over to people’s houses, most likely to make a complete nuisance of himself.

“Just a minute,” I called out, resignedly pushing myself away from the table to answer the door. By the way he was knocking, he knew I was home and wasn’t planning on going away anytime soon.

I opened the door and there he was, leaning against the doorframe with that annoying grin on his face.

“Jack.” I tried to sound cordial, not too cordial though. Otherwise, I had the feeling he’d never leave.

“Hey there, big guy,” he said, pushing his way past me and into my apartment. “So, what’s going on?”

“Oh, not much. Why?” I hoped that ‘why’ didn’t sound too suspicious. For some reason, my being suspicious always makes him suspicious and I knew if that happened, he’d be there ‘til next week trying to psychoanalyze me.

“No reason,” he replied casually, shrugging. “I tried to call, but you didn’t answer your phone.”

“You did?” To my knowledge, nobody had tried to call since I’d been home. I glanced at the phone and the missing receiver explained the reason why the phone hadn’t rung. God only knew where I’d left it the last time I’d been home. “Sorry.” I told him and immediately began a frantic search for the phone. I checked the crevasses of the couch, under the pillows, the odds and ends drawer, the top of the fridge. Of course I had to try the Page button, even though I knew that it wouldn’t work. According to the answering machine, there were 23 messages. I hadn’t even thought about checking it earlier.

I paused a moment because it seemed like a really good time for a little boost of caffeine. I gulped the rest of the cup and headed over to the coffeemaker to get a refill and begin another pot. I had the feeling it was going to be a very long night.

“Want some coffee?” I asked, although if he did, he’d have to wait because I didn’t have any readily available.

“Oh, sure,” he said, amicably. “How ‘bout decaff. You got any decaff?”

Decaff, yeah right.

“Nope, sorry. You’ll have to make do with the real kind.” I smiled, a little superciliously, just to be irritating. I was getting ready to make some slighting comment like, real men only drink real coffee, something he’d say to me if he had the chance, but then my mind sort of wandered off in another direction. I began to seriously contemplate the purpose of decaffeinated coffee. It was ridiculous, if you thought about it, a total misnomer. You drink coffee to wake up, right? So, why would you drink coffee that didn’t wake you up? My mind has the tendency to dwell on these things when it’s overly caffeinated. I wondered if caffeinated was actually a word? And then scolded myself mentally for having to wonder.

“You got any beer?” he asked, interrupting my thoughts as he made himself at home, opening the refrigerator to check out the contents. “What the hell is this?” he asked, arching an eyebrow and pulling out a bottle of mocha frappucino. He read the label, then shook his head and twisted the cap off. “Only you would have bottled coffee in your fridge, Daniel.”

I shrugged, hoping he hadn’t grabbed the last one.

“This stuff’s pretty good,” he said, eyeing the bottle again.

“Yes, it is.” Visions of Jack stopping over on a regular basis to raid my refrigerator for frappucino because he was too embarrassed to ask a grocery clerk where the frappucino aisle was located, danced through my mind. I had to smile.

“So, what are ya up to, Daniel?” he asked cheerily.

“Nothing,” I answered, attempting nonchalance. I suddenly remembered what I had set out to do this evening and wondered if my hurrying to put all the memorabilia away would make him suspicious. Knowing Jack, he’d probably jump to the conclusion that I was attempting to cover up some emotional trauma I was experiencing from the virtual games on P7J-989. Instead, I stayed at the kitchen counter and drank my coffee.

When I stole a glance at him, I caught him glancing at me. The expression on his face made me wonder if I’d recently sprouted horns that I was unaware of, or something. When he noticed me looking at him, he smiled, pushed off of the fridge and wandered over to the table.

“What’s all this, Daniel?” he asked, casually picking up the photo album.

Shit.

~ * ~ * ~

I’d been keeping a close eye on Daniel on PJ7-989, and ever since, for that matter. He’s a pretty smart guy, so sometimes it can be a challenge not letting him see that I’m watching. A lot of times though, he’s so wrapped up in whatever’s bothering him, he doesn’t even notice I exist. Of course, I pride myself on not being easily ignored, so when he gets that way, I make use of the ol’ natural charm with a little friendly intervention, or as Daniel so fondly refers to it, I annoy him relentlessly. What can I say? It’s a gift.

I couldn’t help being a little concerned when he didn’t answer the phone, but it gave me the excuse to just drop by. When I arrived, I was glad that I’d came. Daniel wasn’t looking too good. Although I was pretty sure I knew what was bothering him, I was equally sure he would never come right out and admit anything. So, I decided I’d just make myself at home and hope that he got the message that I wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon.

I’d get him to talk one way or another.

After taking a drink of the wine cooler, I stood there for a minute, studying Doctor Juan Valdez. He was leaning against the counter, tapping his foot and white knuckling his coffee mug, definitely looking a bit on the manic side. “So, what are ya up to, Daniel?”

“Nothing.”

Okay, I had expected that. Daniel can be so not forthcoming when he applies himself. I decided it was time for Plan B. Daniel should have known that resistance was futile.

I went over to the cluttered table and stood there, curious. “What’s all this?” I asked, looking down at the assortment of books, magazines and other things arranged on the table. I picked up an old photograph album and opened it up. Oh. “Is this your folks?”

He blinked, that thoughtful way he does, like when he’s trying to come up with a quick solution for some imminent interplanetary disaster. Then he frowned at me, folding his arms across his chest, stubbornly. “Put that down.”

Okay, okay. Calm down and work with me here, pardner. “Is that you?” I asked, ignoring him and his hostility, preferring instead to study the sweet, unhostile boy in the photograph Should have guessed Daniel would have been an adorable little kid. Of course, he coulda used a haircut, but the shaggy-blond-look did kinda suit him.

“Yes.” He answered hesitantly, uncertainly, like he thought I was going to make fun of him or something. Christ, Daniel would ya give me a little credit here.

“That your mom and dad?”

He took a few steps closer and looked at me, then at the photo. “Yes.”

“Cool. Where were you? It looks like a dig or something? What’s all that stuff?”

“No, not a dig,” he answered slowly, looking at the picture and frowning again. “Those were just artifacts. We were at the museum. That was taken right before….”

Oh, smooth one, O’Neill. Can you get your foot any further into your mouth? Plan B was definitely sucking, big time. So, I decided that it was time to come clean, before another well-intended foot ended up pushing poor Danny-boy into a bottomless pit of despair.

“Look, Daniel. Let’s just quit beating around the bush here. I know your upset. I know what’s bothering you. Everything we had to relive on that planet was…well, for me, it was like a really bad nightmare come to life. It’s bothering me, for cryin’ out loud, so don’t even tell me it’s not bothering you.”

“Well, Jack, actually…”

“See, I know what you’re gonna say. You’re gonna say, I’m fine, Jack, just like you always do. But, I’m not buyin’ that, Daniel. I was there too. I had to relive one of the most horrible experiences that’s ever happened to me and not once, but over and over without being able to fix anything. I suppose if I would’ve been able to change the outcome of that particular ordeal, they wouldn’t have chosen that memory. I figured that’s why they didn’t use my worst memory, because that one…well, that one I could have fixed.”

Suddenly, I felt Daniel’s hand on my shoulder and I turned to look at him. He looked sad, worried. Instead of being concerned for himself though, I could tell that he was hurting for me. Aw, Daniel. I swear I came over to make you feel better.

~ * ~ * ~

So, can I just say that at that moment, I felt like a world-class shit? Here I’d been feeling sorry for myself, trying to avoid needing anyone, especially Jack. I’d been so self-involved that it had never entered my mind that maybe Jack needed me.

“Ah, I’m sorry Daniel.” He smiled, that rare, tender smile that usually comes when one or all of us has made it through some horrific experience and come out on top.

“It’s okay, Jack.”

“Believe it or not, I actually came over to try and make you feel better,” he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I’m not doing such a great job, am I?”

“No…I mean yes! You are, really.” I gazed at him intently, willing him to understand that I wasn’t just placating him. It’s not often that Jack admits to being unnerved or upset. More often, he’s playing the good soldier, pushing back his feelings and emotions so he can be strong for everyone else. “It’s okay, Jack. Really.”

“Well,” he looked at me with a touch of shy amusement, “okay then. I guess the point that I wanted to get across is that we can’t keep dwelling on the past. What’s done is done. I’ve been thinking about all of this, a lot.” He raised an eyebrow, like he was waiting for me to make some sarcastic comment about his thinking abilities. I just smiled at him, hoping that he’d take it as encouragement.

“Not just the last few days,” he continued, “but everything. I mean, what if during the virtual dream, or whatever it was, we could have come up with something different, some new plan that would have changed the outcome? I can’t help but wonder how I would have lived with myself if that would have happened, you know?”

“Yeah, I thought about that too.”

“So, what I’m saying is, if you think about it,” he went on like I hadn’t spoken, “the specific memories they chose from our minds were the ones that were impossible to resolve. I had gone over that scenario so many times in my head trying to figure out where I went wrong and what I could have done differently, but there’s nothing I could have done.” Placing his hands on my shoulders, he made sure I was looking into his eyes. “There’s nothing you could have done either, Daniel. You need to realize that, to accept it.”

I could have told Jack I’d already accepted that, but I was pretty sure that he wouldn’t have believed me. Besides, what he wanted to do right then, was to fix something, to make things turn out right, to have some type of control over the outcome of the present scenario. I presume it was a being-in-command thing. But, as long as it wasn’t one of his really obnoxious, pain-in-the-ass, being-in-command things, I was more than happy to indulge him. I also think he needed to work this out in his own mind, to resolve it and put it to rest, for both of us. Maybe he felt that my confirmation of his theory would finally absolve us from the guilt we’d been carrying all these years. I suppose he was right.

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Yeah,” he replied, smiling contentedly and patting my cheek. The smile lasted barely a second, before he narrowed his eyes, pulling back and looking at me with suspicion. “What’d you say?”

What? What did I say? A short burst of laughter escaped me, sort of a release of tension. I guess Jack hadn’t expected me to agree so readily. “Um, I said…you’re right, Jack.” Patting him on the arm, I moved around him to get another cup of coffee. When the pot of coffee came into view, I had to admit that it wasn’t looking very appealing anymore, but then if I wanted to stay up after Jack went home, I was going to need a little pick up.

“Hey Daniel,” Jack said quietly, while I was still pondering whether or not I could stomach any more coffee. “Why don’t you come over here and tell me about these pictures?” I looked over my shoulder and found that he was sitting on the couch with the photo album opened across his lap, patting the space beside him.

Admittedly, I was very intrigued by what I perceived to be seldom seen, other side of Jack. The normal Jack rarely openly engaged in conversations about emotions. In fact, I suspected that even under threat of torture and death, he’d find it difficult to admit that he *had* feelings, let alone sorrows and regrets. Could it be that his experience on PJ7-989 had changed him so profoundly?

The likelihood of an emotional scene had pinged my radar, automatically kicking in my ingrained flight response. I stood temporarily frozen in my kitchen, one hand on the refrigerator door, unable to take my eyes off of Jack. Then, he leaned back, smiling and holding up the book, Where The Wild Things Are. “Ya know,” he said, opening the book, gazing at it in wonder. “I used to read this to Charlie all the time.”

And damn, Colonel O'Neill was just full of surprises.  What could I have
said to that?  Obviously, Jack needed to do a little reminiscing too and I immediately knew that I didn't want Jack to have to face his memories alone. Maybe this would be good for us. Maybe it was something we needed to do together.

If nothing else, I figured that it would be interesting to explore this rarely seen facet of the Jack O'Neill psyche.  It was a little unnerving only because I’d grown so accustomed to the tough, sarcastic persona that he wore for everyone else. I knew I should be honored -- and I was -- that once again he was allowing me past the usually impenetrable walls he had built, but it made me nervous. Mostly because I wasn’t good at letting people past my own walls.

I didn’t want to let him down, but I couldn’t imagine an evening of emotional catharsis with Jack. The thought of it was making me edgy, but then, I reminded myself *this was Jack*. Emotional or not, we could do this. We needed to do this.

“Aw, what have we here?” he said, chuckling and holding up the obligatory bare butt baby photo he’d found. “I tell ya what, you bring me another one of those frappi things and I’ll think about not showing this around the base.”

I suddenly found myself grinning like an idiot.

Yeah, we could do this.


~ the end ~

back