Title: When the Smoke Clears
Author: Flatkatsi
Email: flatkatsi@optusnet.com.au
Status: Complete
Category: Angst
Pairings: None
Spoilers: None
Season: Any
Sequel/Series Info: Sequel to When the Wind Comes Up
Rating: G
Content Warnings: None
File Size: 27kb
Archive: Incoming Wormhole, Jackfic
Summary: They left him behind.
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: Well you asked for it, so here it is. Happy now?
They walked out of the gate and stood, stunned by the sight.
None of them could think of anything to say. It was impossible to see how anyone could survive such a thing, such utter and complete devastation. There was nothing recognisable.
Then Daniel put it into words.
“We left him.”
And there was silence once more. There was nothing else to say.
As one they began the walk to their old campsite, scared of what they might find there, but knowing that they had to do it. The walk was short, the ground still hot under their feet.
Sam kicked at the twisted metal, her boot stirring up the thick layer of ash and making it swirl. Whatever it had been, it wasn’t recognisable now. Other forlorn objects lay strewn across the ground, scattered by who knew what.
He had been looking for water. Checking out the area. He had said that he wouldn’t be gone long. Only a few minutes.
He was gone now.
The fire had taken them by surprise, the wall of flame impenetrable. It had beaten even Teal’c back. There had been only one way to go and they had been forced to take it.
They left him.
And although they knew that there had been no choice, they also knew that they could never forgive themselves.
Never.
In those last seconds before they entered the wormhole they had looked around desperately for any sign, even knowing that it was impossible for him to reach them.
The smoke had already been too thick, too choking. The smoke still hung in the air, the smell of burning pungent even now.
So they had gone home to face the disbelief, the shock and, they were sure, the disappointment. No one had said it, put it into words – but they had known.
He had been left behind.
Now they were back. Not a rescue mission.
Just retrieval.
They didn’t discuss which way to go. It really didn’t matter. They would find him eventually.
He would go home.
They were looking for metal. The glint of dog tags in the weak daylight.
They were surrounded by desolation; it was within them, filling them.
They were numb, their minds filled with images of how it must have been.
What it must have been like.
The terror. Because surely even he would have been afraid.
Their boots sank into the heavy cloying powder carpeting the ground as they slowly made their way forward, dreading what they would find.
The cough was startling in the unnatural stillness. So startling, astonishing even, that it took a moment to register. They stopped and stared at each other, confirming that it was real, that it hadn’t been their imagination.
And the figure kneeling before them stretched out his hand and gave them absolution, with that one gesture cleansing their souls.
They knelt beside him, each of them touching him, huddling close. Making sure that he was truly there and accepting the miracle for what it was.
The smoke had cleared and they could see. He was grimy. He was shaking. He was singed at the edges. He was coughing enough to tear his lungs out.
But he was smiling.
And Jack O’Neill was alive.
They would take him home.
