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Title: Caesura: Tear Upon the Rose Author: Crash Email: the.yllek@gmail.com Status: Complete! Category: Angst; H/C Pairings: none Spoilers: none that I can think of for sure nothing from seasons 7 or 8 Season: Early 7ish, before Heroes (I finally figured it out :D) Sequel/Series Info: Part two of Ceasura. Caesura: Gortoz A'Ran-J'Attends (part one of series).Š. Brief mention of planet from Whisper On A Scream. But you don't have to have read that fic first. Rating: PG13 Content Warnings: Language! made it to page 7 tho before I had to add this File Size (kb): 95 Archive: Incoming Wormhole Summary: Part two of Caesura 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 author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Author's Note: Most Importantly thanks to T. who's damn near earned Co-Author status no matter how hard she may denied it. Without her I'd not gotten this done and missed out on some awesome dialogue. Not to mention some of the strangest conversations I've ever had. To Neet for never letting me stray far and always coming right out and saying it. To Charli for allowing me use that line you rock! And to the cheering section led by the Mad Hungarain Aniko and joined by Steph, Dee, Kazza, Holly and the others. Tear Upon The Rose is performed by Gaelic Storm. You can find it on their album How Are We Getting Home? They are a truly awesome band. Their website: http://gaelicstorm.com/
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Taking his toast he set it on the table before turning back to the cabinets. He paused on his search as a deep yawn took him by surprise. When it passed he grabbed the jar he'd been hunting for and made his way back to the table. Scratching at his chest, fingers getting snared in the many holes that made up his favorite shirt, Chris sat down to eat breakfast. The creaking floorboards above him signaled that Daniel, more than likely, had woken up. After the events of the night before, Chris expected Jack to sleep most of the morning. He was surprised to have witnessed such a huge purge of emotions from Jack. It had always been his experience to have to literally drag emotional information out of his compadre Jack. He thought it over as he smeared his toast with Nutella. Maybe it was the mountain air, or the injuries the entire team suffered at the hands of the Hoonieyicchts. However, knowing Jack O'Neill with two, count them two ll's', more than likely it was the combination of the music, exhaustion and Jack Daniels. "Wine, women, and song, that's what it takes to get to the heart of Jack O'Neill. I'll have to remember that. Well, maybe not women but definitely the wine and song portion" Chris took a drink of his tea, slamming his cup back down on the table. "Damn it after all these years of trying to get the bastard to talk." "Alien possession works well too." Daniel entered the kitchen, habitually heading for the coffee pot. He paused for a few minutes to just inhale the scent before going through the drain rack for a clean cup. He settled on a soup mug and filled it. Joining Chris at the small kitchen table, Daniel buried his face in his mug inhaling the rich scent. After a long drink he looked up at Chris. "Kona?" "Yeah," Chris grinned around a mouthful, "I knew you'd truly appreciate it. Jack'd just slurp it down." Daniel nodded in agreement, the two men falling into silence, both one-handedly flipping through the separate sections of the paper. "I'll be back in a minute." Chris said, pushing his chair back and tossing his section back in the pile. He slowly made his way up the stairs and down the hall to his room. The weather was much cooler than what it usually was this time of year and he was grateful that he had brought some warmer clothes just incase. He dug out a pair of socks and his favorite pair of sweat pants that had once been a shade of dark blue. Now they were almost gray and the elastic was blown in one of the cuffs from when he had broken his leg. Chris pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead. He'd had managed very little sleep the previous night, managing only a total of three hours. Two before Jack had woken him up and only one after he had coerced his friend back to sleep. Pushing the fatigue aside, he put his hands palm down on his knees and pushed himself up. Jack was asleep, soft snores escaped him, laying sprawled face down on his bed. The covers had been kicked back, the pillows, all but the one that as under his right arm were pushed away. Chris debated about waking Jack up to move him into a better position that would be kinder to his knee but decided against it. Jack was sleeping soundly for the first time and Chris wasn't feeling up to dealing with the cantankerous man. Instead, Chris borrowed the long sleeve flannel shirt that was hanging on the footboard and left Jack to his sleep. Chris went back downstairs. His stomach started to churn as he neared the living room. His memory of the previous night was still fresh and the smell of vomit still lingered. He paused long enough to light the candle on the table. Once in the kitchen he poured himself his own cup of coffee, stirring in a spoon full of sugar, and snagging the comics, he rejoined Daniel at the table. He raised the mug to his lips taking a few moments to inhale the rich scent, hoping to rid himself of the less desirable one from the living room. Daniel got up to refill his cup, leaning against the counter with his mug. "Is Jack okay? What did he say anything to you? I remember seeing you with him in the hall last night but it's kind of fuzzy, wasn't really very awake." Chris sighed rubbing his now throbbing head. "Well, Daniel, I think I'll refer you to Jack on this one. It's not really my place to speak. Let's just suffice it to say that I'm confident Jack will be okay, in time. Time and his friends are the best medicine right now. Time, more than anything." Daniel nodded again, using his toe to trace the pattern in the tile floor. "You know, this whole deal sucked. Nobody came out a winner here. Some days... some days, I just want to chuck the whole thing and go live like a monk in Tibet." "Daniel, I don't take you for one to give up." Chris set the comics aside and turned in his seat to look at Daniel. "I'm not usually. I've just had it right now. I'm sore. I'm tired. And my team, my friends...hell family if you will all hurt too. Isn't that enough?" Daniel banged his mug on the counter; its hot coffee sloshing over the sides. He took several deep breaths, visibly calming down before continuing. "What keeps you going? What makes you keep coming back for more?" "It's sure not the spiffy threads, great coffee and wonderful food they serve." Chris tried to avoid the question not wanting to delve into his past. Frustrated Daniel circled the table and got into Chris's face. "Damn it! You're just like Jack! Sarcasm and humor to avoid questions. Can't you give me a serious answer?" Chris looked Daniel in the eye and spoke in a low tone "Let it go Daniel." He pushed himself away from the table, retreating to the living room.
He was happy that his friend had someone to talk to. But why with Chris? A shrink! He wasn't there he didn't see what happened on that planet. Daniel had known what went wrong, better yet he experienced it. What made Chris so special?
Since their argument at breakfast, the rest of the day had passed by rather calmly. The two men avoided each other and for Jack's sake acted civil to each other at dinner. "Is that your professional opinion?" Daniel closed his journal around his pen settling them on his lap. Crossing his arms he changed his position to face Chris. "You know for a psychologist you sure are mister gloom and doom" "Psychiatrist. And I prefer to view it as being realistic." Chris smirked. "Besides, how can you sit there and stand to watch that man! His hair isn't even real it's gotta be fiberglass I tell you. There's no way one's hair can look like that. So shiny and unmovable." "How come you're not outside enlightening Jack about your suspicions on hair styles of the nation's news anchors?" "He threatened to emasculate me using duct tape and a Swiss army knife if I didn't leave him and his telescope in peace." "What a pity he didn't." Daniel murmured picking his journal up again. "What is your problem, Daniel? Your pain meds making you constipated?" Chris growled at the other man as he stood up, preparing to leave. "Listen you skinny doctor wannabe." Daniel jumped to his feet, his journal fluttering to the floor. "I've had just about enough of your patronizing putdowns today. You've been up my ass from the git go." "Oh, I've been up your ass?" Chris stopped, turning to face the angry archeologist who was on his heels. "Up my ass, in my head, same difference. I didn't ask to come here. I sure never asked you for help." Daniel brought his hands up to chest level and pushed outward, making contact with the other man and sending him stumbling backwards. Chris tried to catch himself on an end table, his fingers unable to gain purchase and getting tangled in the lamp cord. He hit the floor, hard; the table and lamp followed, the lamp shattering.
Jack tried to block out the noise coming from inside. He knew there was tension between his two friends; he'd sensed that when they first arrived at the cabin. Waking up that morning he had heard their argument, but decided not to say anything. Now they were at it again, their heated words gaining in volume. Jack didn't want to get involved, both men were his friends and he didn't want to be accused of taking sides. But the loud crash from the cabin had him on his feet, and rushing inside. In the living room he found Chris on the floor in the process of regaining his footing. Daniel stood a few feet away, his face flushed, his breathing noticeably faster than the norm. It was obvious that Daniel was responsible for Chris' current position on the floor, but Jack knew that Chris had probably provoked Daniel. He eyed both men "What the HELL is going on here? You've been acting like children since you laid eyes on each other. Why don't you both just grow up! I'm sick of hearing the two of you, you're..." He felt himself trembling as rage overtook reason, and his words petered out as he took a deep breath trying unsuccessfully to calm himself. "You're not worth the aggravation." Daniel and Chris tired to defend themselves, talking at the same time making it impossible to understand anything. "No I don't care!" Jack threw his arms up in the air, "I don't have to stay here and listen to this shit!" He left, pausing long enough to slip his boots on before leaving the cabin, the front door violently slamming shut. The remaining men looked blankly at each other. They had been trying to keep Jack, their mutual friend, from getting involved and ended up doing the opposite. Chris shook his head sadly, letting it fall to his chest. He turned and headed for the stairs, leaving Daniel standing bereft in the living room.
It was chilly outside and in his haste to leave he had neglected to grab a jacket. He hadn't planned on being out so long but once he started walking he didn't stop, until he found himself at the end of the driveway to the cabin. His wind-burned ears tingled painfully as he made his way to the living room. Drawing closer Jack could hear the muffled voices of anchormen on the television and saw one of his friends seated in an over stuffed chair. He couldn't tell who it was; the channel on the television was of no help in figuring it out. He was well aware of Chris' dislike of newscasters, Peter Jennings in particular, but Chris couldn't stop himself from watching. Choosing the loveseat, Jack gratefully lowered himself into the corner, using his hands to move his sore leg to rest on the coffee table. Jack's eyelids fell shut as he dropped his head back, letting it loll to the side. An all encompassing ache settled in as the last of the cold left his body.
Daniel drew his attention away from the CNN reporter on the television and focused it on his friend. Jack was slouched on the couch, injured leg resting on the table. "Nice to see you made it back." Jack's eyes opened and he watched Daniel for a moment before grunting in reply, turning to face the television. "I'm sorry about earlier." Daniel searched his friends face for a reaction. "Chris and I, well mainly me, were acting like jerks." "Mmhmm," Jack nodded focused on the television. Daniel rolled his eyes at his friend's behavior. "Look, I've considered you my best friend for a long time Jack and I guess I always thought you considered me the same." "So you're jealous because after all the time you have spent trying to get me to talk, Chris walks in and I 'bare my soul' to him without a second thought?" Jack blurted out, sitting fully upright on the couch and moving to look right at Daniel. "Umm yeah. You could put it that way." Daniel stumbled over the words, shocked at his friend's sudden change in interest in that conversation "I guess I just wanted to know what it is about Chris that you are able to talk to him and not to me." "I've known Chris a long time Daniel." Daniel spoke up, stopping Jack from continuing. "I gathered that Jack, but you haven't seen him for years - what makes now so different?" "He still knows what it's like. He may have never been through the gate, but before he was a shrink, he was a soldier. He's been there. Seen, doneŠbeen through some terrible shit." They fell silent for a while, their interest drawn back to the colorful moving images on the TV. Jack finally reached for the remote muting the sound. "The difference between you and Chris is that I don't care what he thinks about me. He doesn't matter one iota." Jack regained his feet, visibly limping as he paced the length of the couch. "Oh, yeah, I know we have been friends a long time, but I also know that the stubborn mother fucker will always land on his feet. That's the difference between him and you Daniel - you don't" Daniel stared at Jack, waiting for some clue as to what he meant. When it became obvious the other man didn't intend to continue, he prodded "What are you talking about? I don't understand." Jack paused in his steps, and looked around, glaring at Daniel. "I mean I don't have to be careful of what I say to Chris. I don't have to worry about the consequences because I know exactly how Chris thinks." He turned, his eyes shifting away. "Listen, I can't have you knowing what goes on in my fucked up head. How about we just leave it at that?" Daniel didn't respond. "Good. Well I'm beat!" He stretched theatrically "I'm off to get some shut eye. Have a good night." "Good night, Jack." Daniel answered dazed at the sudden mood change. "And if you are thinking about apologizing to Chris?" Jack called over his shoulder when he reached the staircase. "Don't. He'll eat you for breakfast. Let him stew. It's more fun that way."
Chris held the offending little bugger up by its leg, coffee still dripping off its dead carcass. He'd left his mug on the deck when he went to investigate the burning smell coming from the kitchen. Jack was making omelets for breakfast and had burned one of them. When he'd returned Chris found the bug floating belly up. Chris gave it a couple of shakes before tossing it out into the yard. He raised the mug up, turning it to read what the lettering said. "I don't need Prozac. Just keep this filled and no one gets hurt." The same cup he'd seen Jack drinking out of one of the first days there. "Damn it, Jack! You've shared enough things with me. I don't need to pick up your habit of finding things in your coffee." he called back into the house, shaking out the paper in search of Mutts.
Nothing was going right on this 'vacation.' He couldn't seem to shake off their last mission. His two best friends were intent on making him miserable with their petty bickering. And now all he wanted was an omelet for breakfast, but his mind has been on his friends and not on the task at hand. Blinking several times, his eyes coming back into focus to see the now smoking, scorched omelet grinning at him, mocking him. Stomach reacting at the stench from the still burning omelet, Jack violently turned the burner off and bare handedly picked up the cast iron skillet. Crossing the short distance to the patio doors he flung them open and threw both the omelet and skillet into the yard. "That's it Jack, you show that cast iron and that sorry looking Denver Omelet who's boss! Feed Rocky Raccoon while you're at it. I'm not hungry anyhow." Jack turned to look at the other man who was seated on the deck. "Fuck you, Jepp!" he yelled and stormed back into the house. "Jesus, I can hear you both upstairs, what is the problem this morning?" Daniel asked, the burning smell having drawn him downstairs. "Don't you start, Daniel." Jack grumbled as he looked at the remaining eggs sitting on the counter. "Okay," Daniel held his hands up defensively and edged toward the carafe "I'll just pour some of this vicious looking coffee and go outside shall I?" "Sure, that coffee is vicious and viscous the way you two make it. It's a joke trying to eat around here!" he spun around to face Daniel, picking up the spatula he discarded earlier. "Damn Jack, who pissed in your Froot Loops this morning?" Jack slammed the spatula down on the counter splattering the eggs and glared at Daniel. "Well, I would suppose it's the attitude of my friends, the fact that I feel like shit, I'm hungry and I can't think straight." Jack slumped, deflated, against the counter. "Anything else you need to know?" Daniel looked at Jack and raised his eyebrow. "Nope, that just about covers it I'd say." He pressed his cup into one of Jack's hands. "Why don't you get a cup of mud, go outside, sit with Chris and let me cook? I do know how you know. I'd be glad to do it." He pushed Jack out of the door.
Jack looked up from contemplating his coffee and gave a blank look to the man across the table. It'd been a good ten minutes since Daniel had steered him outside and he'd calmed down since then. "What? Don't look at me like that." He folded his hands together resting them across this belly as he leaned back in the chair. "You'd be sad if you turned on the TV here to find that they canceled Joan of Arcadia with Mary Steenburgen" Jack winced at the dig and reached for his drink. Clasping his fingers around the cup he picked it up and pain tore through his palm and fingers. The mug fell, hanging on to his thumb momentarily before tumbling down, bouncing off the table and on to the deck, lukewarm coffee sploshing everywhere. Ignoring the liquid soaking his pants and Chris' objections to his newspaper getting wet, Jack zoned in on his hand and out on everything else. Vicious red blisters ripped their way across his left palm and fingers. He was startled when Chris laid a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, you okay?" Jack pulled his left arm in holding it protectively against his abdomen with his right hand. "Yeah I'm okay. Just a little burn that's all." "What?" He reached for Jack's hand instinctively but Jack jerked away. "Hey now, come on. Let me see those feelers of yours." Jack thought for a minute before giving in and let Chris look at his hand. "Shit Jack! A little burn? You call this a little burn?" He looked at his friend incredulously. "If that's a little burn then I'm goddamn Peter Jennings." "Really Peter, you need to get your hair fixed. Much too loose for TV." Jack joked trying to gain possession of his hand back. "Nice try. Stop stalling and come on. Need to get your hand under some cold water." Chris snaked his arm around Jack's shoulders and urged his friend upright, guiding him back into the kitchen where Daniel was working on breakfast. He parked Jack against the sink and flipped on the cold water and forcefully held Jack's hand under it. Daniel joined the two men at the sink and saw Jack's hand. "What the hell happened?" "Rocky Raccoon's Revenge I'd say." Chris quipped reaching for the towel drawer with his free hand. "Must you name everything?" Jack fought to pull his hand out of the water. "Rocky Raccoon? What?" Daniel looked back and forth between the two. "I don't even want to know do I?" "Jack and the frying pan had a disagreement" Chris tightened his grip on Jack's wrist, pinning his arm under his own against his side. "For Christ's sake Jack, stop fighting." "It fucking hurts! And the water pounding on it's not helping!" "Well had you not decided to take out your frustrations with a hot frying pan you wouldn't be here, would you hmmm?" he moved Jack's arm so that the water fell directly on his wrist and cascaded down over the burned palm and fingers. "Well breakfast is done." Daniel smiled trying to diffuse the tension. "Why don't you set it out and I'll grab an ice pack for Mr. Flying Skillet and we can eat." Chris shut the water off and draped a clean towel over Jack's hand. Jack rolled his eyes, pulling his hand back closer to his chest when Chris let go to get the ice pack. Daniel nodded and picking up the two plates of food, left the kitchen.
"Whatcha reading?" He gestured to the book in Chris's lap. Chris turned the book over in his hands, reading from the cover, "Blink. The Power of Thinking Without Thinking. Malcolm Gladwell." "Good?" "Different." "Ah." Daniel raised his eyebrows, quickly letting them fall again. As Chris had returned to his book, he reached for one of the magazines on the table and settled into the corner of the couch. Chris gave up. He'd been reading the same page for a while now but nothing was sinking in. Sighing he shoved the flattened Lemonhead box into the book to mark his spot and put it on the end table. Elbows resting on his knees he covered his face with his hands and sat here, thinking. Yesterday's confrontation with Daniel played over in his mind again. His reaction to Daniel's innocent question had caused a rift to open between the two men which in turn put more stress on their mutual friend. As he remembered President Johnson saying 'We can draw lessons from the past, but we cannot live in it.' Chris knew he should practice what he preached. He always told his patients to learn from the past not to live in it. While he had certainly learned from it, a tiny part of him was still ignoring his own words. Letting out a rush of air he looked over at Daniel who was buried in a National Geographic. "Guilt. That what keeps me going." Daniel put the magazine down and raised his eyes to meet Chris' gaze. "You wanted to know." Chris shrugged. "Now, you do." He finished shrugging one last time and leaving the room.
"Oh, okay," Daniel observed Jack guarding his stomach with his burned hand. "Are you sure you're alright?" "Yeah. Popped a couple of stitches. Don't worry; Chris patched me up." He waved at Daniel with his good arm and headed for the stairs. "Don't stay up too late." "Yes Sir!" Daniel mocked. With Jack gone Daniel debated whether or not to finish the movie. He wanted to see the ending but Chris's earlier words were gnawing at him. Jack had quashed his concern at dinner, stating that Chris just needed to be by himself. But Daniel's concern was back; the older man was yet to come inside. Turning the TV off and dropping the remote in the chair as he went out on to the deck. A security light, mounted above the patio doors, dimly lit the deck and yard. Daniel paused to let his eyes adjust to the lower light levels. He finally made out Chris' form in the far corner, hiding in the shadows. "That's a filthy habit you know." "Yeap." Chris held the glowing red butt out to Daniel Daniel took the cigarette, squinting to examine it. "No filter?" He complained, taking a drag from it before handing it back. "Get your own if you don't like it." "That's okay. Really shouldn't smoke," he paused, thinking, "I've taken enough years off my life as it is." "Well, being dead isn't everything they say it is." Holding the burning cigarette between his teeth, Chris pulled a fresh one from the pack and broke off the filter. "Been there, done that and all of that cliché" "And what do you know about that?" Daniel sneered, "You been reading up on me?" "No, no, personal experience." Toying with a lighter he continued, "So I think that I'll take my chances with smoking." He lit the new cigarette, dropping the old one into a soda can. "I enjoy it quite a bit thank you. I'm not imposing it, you came out here remember" "To each his own, I wasn't judging or anything. How was I supposed to know you died? You look alive to me." "So do you and you've died how many times?" Chris waved his hand around, cigarette between his middle and fore finger. "Touché" Daniel backed off, unsure how to continue. He knew there was more to what Chris had told him earlier, but didn't want to push the older man into clamming up, like Jack. "Coffee?" "Hmm?" He turned to look at Chris. Chris picked up his soda can, dropping the still burning cigarette in to join the other one. "I asked if you wanted some coffee." "I have a feeling there will be much talking and little sleep, so I feel that coffee is in order." "Yeah coffee sounds good."
Daniel's hand snaked across the table, fingers toying, trying to extricate the plastic tray from the wrapper. He succeeded finally, pulling out three cookies. Setting two on the table next to his cup, he shoved the third in the cup until the hot liquid rose to the brim of cup. Bubbles surfaced and popped around his fingers as the cookie succumbed. "The night weighs heavy on his guilty mind." Daniel quoted, withdrawing the saturated cookie and hurriedly popping it into his mouth before it fell apart. "What is it that weighs so heavy on your mind?"v "I think," Chris stood up to turn his chair around and sit properly, "you've been spending too much time around Jack." "I think you're avoiding the subject." "This far from the borderline you sound like Jack, Daniel. Stop it... tell me what you are fishing for." He snagged a cookie for himself. "Quoting songs is not you. Just say it." "Fine. What are you guilty about?" Daniel leaned forward, hunching over the table with his head up. "Death." "You had a patient die? That's it?" he pushed off the table, slouching slightly in his chair. "Not to sound rude or anything, but doesn't that come with the territory?" "Yes, it does." Chris shot Daniel a steely look over his mug. "So?" Daniel motioned for him to continue while he drowned another Oreo. "So what?" "Now you're acting like Jack." "What do you want to know?" Chris stood up suddenly, his chair tipping backwards. "You want to know how I was trapped in a truck with my best friend next to me? How she died because it took so long for rescue people to get to us and all I had was first aid." Daniel watched as Chris paced around the kitchen, carrying his cup in his right hand his left hand scrubbing his hair and rubbing the back of his neck. Daniel waited patiently, dunking Oreos in his coffee. Timing was everything. He'd been through this with Jack before. You had to wait until he was near breaking point, then give a gentle shove and back off. "I can't consume all these cookies alone you know." The plastic packaging crinkled as Daniel held it up, "Bring the coffee, have a seat, and eat some cookies" ~*~ Chris stopped moving and regarded the younger man for a moment, weighing his options. Sit down and finally spill, or leave knowing Daniel wouldn't let it drop until he wheedled it out of him. Deciding to get it over with, he fetched the carafe from the counter and joined Daniel at the table. "Are you ready for a trip down the rabbit hole?" He quirked his eyebrows, offering up the pot of coffee. Daniel nodded, holding his cup out and Chris refilled it, before pouring another for himself. He took a large swallow, grimacing as the too hot liquid hit his tongue, and began to speak, his voice low. I was on maneuvers with my unit...we were deployed to set up radio towers in remote places that I cannot disclose to you. I was in a truck with my good friend Captain Zimmerman, we were in some really dense fog going up a mountain. Hell, maybe we were coming down the mountain, I don't remember exactly anymore. Anyhow, it had just snowed like a bitch and the fog was thick really fucking thick and I couldn't see shit. Not one fucking foot in front of us, couldn't even make out the hood of the damn truck. So we're inching along. The fucking chains on the tires weren't helping worth shit, we were sliding around so much I about pissed and shit my pants several times. It was dead silent. Not in a peaceful, comforting way either. I'm talking that creepy silence where the hairs on the back of you're neck stand on end, your breathing echoes in your body, your heart has migrated to your ears, and you are in the process of freaking out. You would think that it would be dark you know, the fog pressing in around you and in the dead of night, but it wasn't. There was a glow to everything, the water molecules amplifying the light from the dimmed headlights. It was like one huge glowing cloud surrounded us. It reminded me of the time I was on an airplane. We had taken off shortly after sunrise and as we made the initial climb we had passed through some low hanging clouds. The cabin of the plane lit so bright I thought I'd be blinded. Carol, that's Captain Zimmerman's first name there, she said it reminded her of the time she was stuck on the highway in California in dense fog. Though she did admitted there was no snow to contend with and it was fairly level ground. So driving up or was it down. Either way navigating twisted mountain roads is challenging enough in beautiful clear weather but this was just hell on earth. I do believe hell froze over that night. Carol had the map spread out on her lap, a chem. light clipped to the top of it. There were some freaky curves we had to deal with and since we couldn't see them we were using the odometer and map to try and judge how close we were, like they do in Navy submarines. It wasn't exactly the best way to do things. We went slow but there were a few times I swore it felt like the back tires had scraped the edge. The first couple of turns weren't so bad wide turns that we got through, mind you not without a lot of swearing. Carol asked me if I was a sailor at heart after one particular bit. We were both tense as an E string on a violin. We didn't want to be out there but we had to get that equipment in place. Things gotta get done and the fog was a snasty surprise. It had been light when we started out but just steadily got worse. Not that it would have been buckets of fun anyways. Not with all the snow and no traction but at least I could have seen the road. It was cold too. Ass biting cold. The kind that just seeps through your clothing and settles in for the long haul. Yeah, there was a heater, but it wasn't working all that well. The truck wasn't built with comfort in mind that's for sure. One of the springs in the seat was poking me in the butt. Rather uncomfortable if I do say. We had just cleared one of the last turns when it happened. I had stopped. I needed a minute to cool down after making that turn. Sharp as a bitch it was, I had cut it close, almost driving into the side of the mountain, but we made it all in one piece. Shaken not stirred, just like Bond likes them. The fog had gotten thicker. I swear if it got any thicker it could have crushed the truck. The moisture started to condensate on the windows and outside of the truck. The wipers were frozen in place and the windshield was shiny with ice. Carol had spoken, asking me if I was going to get a move on it. Said she appreciated me being cautious but she was fucking cold and wanted to get the job done with. I put the truck back in gear and we slid a little bit then started going again. When you fly at night everything looks dark. All around you it's all the same, you can't tell where the ground meets the sky. You get disorientated easily and you can't tell up from down. You could be flying upside down and not know it until it's too late. They teach you to trust your instruments. That if you place your trust in them you will have a safe flight. That's what it was like that night, in the fog. It was like flying in the dark, but only with no instruments. We didn't know until it was too late that when we slid after putting the car in gear and releasing the brake that we skewed. We hadn't gone very far when the front of the truck lurched forward, pulling us towards the dash. I tried to fix it, hoping that we had just found a dip in the road and the snow was making us balance weird. But that only made it worse. The tires spun out and the driver's side, my side, started to slip, leaning, tilting. When I look back at what happened it feels like it was a few minutes, but I know it wasn't. From the time the front went over to the whole truck tumbling over was only a few seconds. The fall was loud. The leaves and branches crackling and brushing the truck like wind blowing over your ears. The metal that made up the body shrieked and crunched when it contacted trees and rocks. It felt like parachuting, the sense of weightlessness with the flow of air brushing past, but there was no gentle glide back to earth. Nothing like that at all. Just a flat out thump of the truck landing in the trees. I was slammed into my seat and against the door frame. I remember hearing Carol laugh. You know the kind where you can't believe the luck you just had. We were both still alive. A bit battered and bruised but still together. We locked arms together, grabbing each other's wrists and just sat there, relishing the moment. It didn't last long. The load of equipment in the back shifted, upsetting our precarious balance and sending us careening down the mountain again. I remember hearing this god awful noise and Carol screaming. I know I screamed I could feel it, the vibrations in my throat. Then everything stopped, like the power had been cutoff. I don't know how long it was before I came to, but when I did there was something tickling my face, making it itch painfully. I couldn't move. I tried. I screamed at body parts to move and get working. My eyes wouldn't even open. The only thing that was working was my ears. The engine was ticking as it cooled off, it reminded of me of the clock on the bathroom wall. It was on the wall right across from the commode. It had this hollow clicking sound that during thoes late at night visits made my spine shiver and creep me out. Aside from that there was this really odd sound. Harsh, ragged, empty noise that came from my right side. It was more or less repetitive, except occasionally it sounded like it was getting hung up on something. When my eyes finally opened the first thing I saw was red. And green. That was all that I could see. The green had a vein-like texture than ran through the red parts. It's weird the small details you see when you are draped over a steering wheel with tree branches in your face. It's more amazing how I can remember that when at the time I didn't have a clue as to what was really happening. It took a long while before my brain kicked into gear. When it did, I pushed my self off of the steering wheel, my hands slid on the dashboard a few times before I got enough leverage to hold myself back against the seat. Carol's chem. light still glowed and the headlights were on the fog helping reflect their light back on us. There was blood everywhere, covering the dash and steering wheel, on what was left of the windshield. It was all over the tree that had found its way inside the cab. I could see Carol. She was back against the seat her side touching the door. I couldn't see if she was awake or not the way her head was cocked. I reached over and touched her, sticking my arm through the small twig branches that came off the larger one. Poking her shoulder, I called her name, but she didn't answer. I couldn't reach more than her shoulder. My seatbelt was a mess and part of the dash was on top of my legs. I called her name more but she never moved or did anything. I managed to get the chem. light in my hand and when I held it close to Carol I could see how come she wasn't answering. The tree that was in the cab of the truck, was in her too. The branch that came though the windshield landed between the two of us, puncturing the seatback. One of the branches sticking off went right into her side. Another branch that came through the passenger window was what was holding her back. Somehow I managed to get out of my seatbelt and move enough under the dash to be able to reach her. Almost lost my foot in the process. Carol was one of my best friends. I'd do anything for her. There was nothing I could use though. There was a first aid kit but I couldn't get to it. It might have been thrown out of the truck for all I know. I didn't have anything to help Carol. She came to a couple of times. And we talked. We both knew she was dying. I was dying too. The cold, my own internal injuries. But we didn't mention it. Just sat there. Together. I don't know how long we were there. Stuck in the truck impaled on a tree. Was a long time. Carol died. Quietly. She just closed her eyes, and drifted away. Her breathing eased out until she wasn't breathing any more and I couldn't feel the pulse in her wrist anymore. It was cold and you know you're in trouble when you stop shivering. I didn't even remember when the last time I had shivered, so I knew I was in deep shit. But there was nothing I could do. I couldn't move any more the‹dash prevented that. I remember slumping back down in my seat, slipping down the smooth vinyl seats to rest against the door. My breaths came slowly in and out and I remember being mesmerized by them. It made me think of tea kettles and how when the water boils the steam comes streaming out of the spout. I always thought that when I died it would be like going to sleep. You know just closing your eyes and then just never opening them. That wasn't what happened. It was fucking scary. I could feel my heart falter, missing beats and stuff. And my chest wouldn't work. I tried to breath but nothing worked. I was angry because I knew I could do better. I knew I could take deep breaths and my heart could beat without skipping. I felt myself die. Cease to exist and all of that crap. I was just gone. Dead. I wasn't one of those people though, the ones that say they see a bright light and stuff. It wasn't anything like that. It was like watching TV or something. I could see myself and Carol in the crumpled truck. The path we took down the hill. The broken trees and the dirt upturned through the snow. Then I was falling. It was the kind where your stomach goes flying up to meet the back of your throat and you wish you never let Jack talk you into going flying with him. My stomach was slammed back into my belly and I hurt. Voices. There were tons of voices but I couldn't barely hear a word. It was like being under water. The voices got louder, screaming about something or another. They didn't make a lick of sense to me then. I saw people first. Or what I hoped were people. Distorted silhouettes moving all around, gliding across the frosted-over remains of the windshield and the passenger window. They were shouting at me, yelling my name and Carol's. I wanted to tell them that she couldn't answer because she was dead but my body wasn't listening to my commands. You know it was like coming out of anesthetic. You're aware of everything, but you can't answer or move.
"Why psychiatry?" Daniel asked getting up himself stretching carefully, aware of the gentle pull of his own set of stitches. He was shocked that Chris had talked for as long as he had. It seemed that once he started the words just poured out and Daniel wasn't going to be the one to stop him. "That my friend is a story for another time." Chris turned away from the sink leaving Daniel standing alone next to the table.
Slowly he went up the stairs, wincing each time the stair treads creaked, the silence amplifying the noise they made. The floorboards in the hallway were quieter, allowing him to relax some as he made his way down the hall. He stopped off at the bathroom to brush his teeth before going to his room. He leaned back against the closed door, suddenly drained of energy. All he wanted to do was collapse in a heap on the bed. His head was beginning to ache and his ankle had been throbbing most of the day, a constant reminder of the truck accident. Pushing away from the door Chris stripped his jeans and sweater off, dropping them in his dirty clothes pile by the closet. Clad in boxers and beloved Eagles shirt he sat down on the bed. He pulled his pack over to him and began rummaging through the CDs that littered the bottom of the bag. Moving Hot Tuna and Jefferson Airplane CDs out of the way Chris searched for the one he had borrowed from Jack. Finding it, he pulled it, along with the discman, out and zipped the bag shut. He swapped the CD in the player for the one in the case and untangled the headphone cord. He slipped the headphones over his head and he fiddled with the controls, skipping tracks until he got to the seventh one and set it to repeat. Laying back on the bed he rested the discman on his chest and folded his hands behind his head It was so much easier to handle other people's problems than to face his own. Detachment. He could deal with the problems that other people had because he was detached from the events. While with his own, there was no detachment, they were always with him and as long as he didn't pay any heed to them he could pretend they were someone else's. The lyrics drifted from the headphones and settled into his mind. They were meaningful to Chris, giving him what a hundred of his colleagues couldn't‹succor from his grief. He was able to imagine that Carol was in a place better than she had been on earth. The accident had shaken up more than just his body; his beliefs had been fractured by his experience. He felt the tears begin, traitorously rolling down the side of his face. He hated that he couldn't stop them. Maybe after they were done this time he would feel some relief. God, why was it every time he lost someone he loved it felt like his heart was amputated and there was just barely enough left for him to walk around with? Scrubbing harshly to wipe the tears away Chris rolled on to his side, slipping under the covers. He was being selfish, letting his own problems consume him when he should be helping others. Sure, he and Jack had talked but there was still a long ways to go. And Daniel he knew was burying everything in his head, trying to forget it by burying himself in books. Chris's body shuddered as he drew in several breaths in an effort to regain his composure. Morning wasn't far off and he needed to get some sleep if he was going to be of any help to the other two men. Head pounding, Chris curled up, one hand under his pillow the other carefully guarding the discman as he finally fell asleep.
Song Title: Tear Upon The Rose Performed by: Gaelic Storm Album: How Are We Getting Home Lyrics: http://gaelicstorm.com/?inc=albums&sm_ord=3482#3013
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