He' s not dead.
I know he's not dead.
He was in a cave where the Ancestors' were. They survived. He'll survive.
Which is what I tell myself every minute of every day.
It's been just over three months since Jack was...lost.
It's funny. They say lost and mean dead, they say lost and mean missing...they say lost and mean...lost.
Like if we looked hard enough, we could find him behind the furniture. Or under a rug.
Except...he's not.
He's on a planet, where he's stuck, thanks to a meteor impact.
It didn't kill him.
I know it didn't.
Jack O'Neill would _not_ die from a huge chunk of rock exploding in his face.
He just _wouldn't_.
Of course, I also told myself that Sha're would survive everything just fine.
Look how _that_ turned out.
It's odd that, in the hallucination or dream, or message, or whatever it was, Jack was the one who tried to tell me that I couldn't walk away. He said that I'd miss the excitement and adventure...and him. I seem to recall saying something sarcastic like I'd really miss the salty, ill-tempered comments and the illogical arguments.
You know what, Jack?
You were right.
I _do_ miss you.
So do Sam and Teal'c, and everyone, really. But at least they all have something constructive to do. They're building a particle accelerator a la Sokar to solve the problem.
Me, I get to brief the other teams and do research.
And rake myself over the coals.
I know-- I had no way of knowing that my commenting that the caves had held the Edoran's ancestors would make Garen retreat there. I never could've predicted that a meteor would slam into the Gate, creating a seal. I can't be blamed for following orders and believing that Jack would be right behind me.
It is not my fault that everything I do seems to turn out totally wrong.
Even if it _does_ sometimes feel that way.
Three months.
I wonder what Jack's doing a lot. If it'd been me stuck there, I'd have been in my element-- I've always had a fondness for cultural ethnography. The time would just have flown by.
And, if I'd been there...at least I wouldn't feel so helpless.
And, as if Jack's being gone wasn't bad enough...Sam's all but locked herself away in her lab, pulling all-nighter after all-nighter, driving herself mad trying to build the accelerator that much faster. I wish her all the luck in the world, because it seems like Jack's only shot for at least a year.
Because no matter how hard I argued, shouted, or begged...that's how long it'd be.
I don't think I could imagine another nine months without him.
It's utterly amazing to me how someone who constantly condescends to me, is eternally rude to me, and in general drives me insane on a daily basis, how someone like that could somehow have become such a part of me that I am having trouble coping without him.
Though, admittedly...not as much trouble as I'd have had, if this'd happened a few months ago.
I feel like I've aged a year with each day that's passed since my wife's death... each day where I'd wake up and realise that she was gone for good. A year ago, I'd thought I'd never have survived that loss of hope.
And now it's gone...and I'm still here.
And one of my closest friends is gone.
But he's not dead.
Intellectually, I know that I can't be certain of that.
Instinctively, I know it's true.
But it's not hope sustaining me. Not this time.
It's the belief that the Universe, or God, or gods, have a sense of symmetry.
Maybe I've just read too many epics, or too much mythology...but I do believe that, in the end, we die in the way in which we live. In Jack's case...I just _can't_ see it having been fire rain.
Only "thanatos kalos".
The beautiful death.
A warrior's death.
That's the only thing it could be.
Whether he wants it that way, or not.
For me, I'd always thought that I'd die by the pen; the whole publish or perish thing.
Now...when death comes for me, it will very likely be due to my own shortsightedness.
Most likely because I'd begun to hope too hard again.
There are times when I wish I could just close my eyes and relax into meditation like Teal'c. At least that'd give me a way to spend the days. I mean I can't even look at the Ancients' language or Latin without thinking of Jack. I can't see an ad for a hockey game without thinking of him. And I can't talk to the others without thinking about him.
All in all...these have been some of the most frustrating months I've ever spent.
But it'll be worth it.
Because he's not dead.
He's just lost.
And if we have to burn through a mountain of naqahdah, we'll find him.
We have to.
He's one of the few people I have left.
I do worry about him not wanting to come home, though.
That woman, Lara, took quite a shine to him, and I know it's been a long time since he and Sara divorced, and...it may be a cliche, but...I think he does need to be needed.
And since we're not there for him to need....
Well.
As he might say; we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.
We _do_ need him.
I've had this feeling...a very bad feeling that something is at work in the Galaxy. Behind the scenes, in the shadows...something.
Something.
Something...dark.
Destructive.
Evil.
And heading this way.
We'll need everyone we can to save ourselves, Jack included.
So, he can't be dead.
He's got too much to do.
And so do I.
Sam builds.
Teal'c prepares.
Jack survives.
And I wait.
"Kairos to pan".
Timing is everything.
And time is all I have.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: The author wishes to gratefully acknowledge Professor Bradley A. Ault, Ph.D, Professor John J. Peradotto, Ph.D, and Professor Carolyn Higbie, Ph.D, all of the Classics Department at SUNY Buffalo for their assistance in Ancient Greek culture and language.
© March, 2003 The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp. The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names, titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author.