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I should post something.
So I will post this bit of fanfic. In one of the SG-1 episodes, Jack gets cloned into a 16-year-old kid. Now I've read a lot of clone-fic, mostly mini-OTP -- you know where the author clones all the SG-1 (or at least Sam) and then writes happy fic about them being in love and the like. I've also read the usual teen-age angst pieces where Jack spirals into depression and wallows in MTV misery before killing himself.
Now, there are those few stories that are middle ground (and I enjoy them greatly), but I have this little fic floating around in my head. Okay, it's a long fic, but I keep seeing it in little scenes. Here's the first one I managed to put down on paper.
It's short and you really don't ned to know anything about the story or the fandom except to know that Clone-Jack has all Jack's memories, is about 16 and is living life as "Jon 0'Neil", high school studen. Sara has just found out that the 16-year old "Jon" is really Jack. That's it. It's mostly emotion and I kinda like it.
It's not much of anything, but it is something. It needs a plot (well, more than the one I have) but I like the feel of this scene.
Clone WIP
“Look, you don’t have to do this alone," Sara’s voice was low and hesitant. “If you can’t get help from your old team, let me help you.”
“No.” Jack shook his head. “You can’t. It won’t work.”
“Sure it will. I could be a long lost relative, an Aunt or—“
Jack’s laugh, bitter and low, cut her off.
“What?” Sara bit her lip; her tell that he’d hurt her feelings. “I can be a very convincing actress, if you remember.”
“Oh, I remember all right, I remember too much.”
"What do you mean?" Sara asked.
"I remember us." He went on when he saw she didn't understand. "The memory of my first leave back from Saudi. We stayed at the cabin." It had been a long time since he'd thought of his time with Sara. Longer still, since those memories weren't bitter. "Almost a year in the desert and I don't get sunburn until I go to Minnesota. Of course, I usually kept that part of my body covered in Saudi..."
She blushed just as he remembered, ducking her head and tucking the loose strands of hair behind her left ear. Her eyes flickered from her coffee cup, to his face, then back down again. In that gesture, he saw the woman he'd loved, before the ocean of pain had swept them apart. A low, warm ache spread through him, a familiar longing, darker than the inky night sky. It set fire to his skin. A sudden stab of fierce loneliness stole his breath and he stood and turned his back on Sara and rode out the feeling, not trusting to even look at her.
"Jon?"
"Jon. That's what's wrong with this." He said. His voice -- his young, teenage voice -- threatened to crack. He gripped the railing in front of him and forced himself to be calm. "When you look at me, you see 'Jon'. A seventeen-year-old kid who happens looks like Jack O'Neill." He turned to look at her and it took every ounce of self-control he'd ever learned to face her. "When I look at you, you know what I see? I see you in that ridiculous orange polka-dot swimsuit that you wore when we first met. I see you in your wedding dress standing in the back of the church, arm in arm with your dad. I see you holding Charlie in the hospital, the day he was born. Holding Charlie the day he--" he gestured helplessly, "the day he died."
His hands shook and his eyes burned. He focused on taking even breaths and steeling himself against the onslaught of emotion. This stupid, child's body betrayed him every chance it got. It was so much harder to control his emotions when they were always so close to the surface. Or maybe it was just, after a year of not being able to talk to anyone, of not having anyone who could truly understand, of living a life where every day required control and deception, maybe he just couldn't do it any more. He kept his eyes on her and didn't even blink.
She held his gaze for a moment before she said it. "Jack."
It was a small sound, barely more than a breath, but it washed over him like a wave. No one had called him Jack since he'd left the SGC. Hell, he didn't even think of himself as Jack. Jack O'Neill was someone else, a ghost that only visited him in his nightmares. In his dreams.
She stood and walked towards him. Electricity danced along his nerves as she drew closer. She made a small movement, a motion to lay her hand on his arm. He didn't know what he would do if she touched him and he knew he should pull away now because none of this was right or good. A new, desperate need to be close to her warred with the knowledge that he should stop her. Her hand raised and floated over his arm, making his skin crawl.
The hand jerked away.
She took a step to the side. She walked past him as he stared at his arm, almost able to feel the warmth of her hand. He pivoted slowly and saw that she had stopped at the railing. She gripped the bar so tightly he could see the whiteness of her knuckles even in the darkness. Tears ran down her face and fell to the ground. He couldn't breathe.
"Damn it!"
There was such desperation in her sudden exclamation that it broke the spell that had bound him. He took a deep breath and hated the fact that it sounded like a sob. He stepped up to the railing and held it as tightly as she did. His knees were weak and he blinked rapidly to keep the world in focus. 'Damn it' was right.
"That wouldn't have helped, would've it?"
He knew she was talking about touching him, but he couldn't answer. His vice-like hold on the railing was the only thing that kept him from touching her.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry, Jack."
There was the name again. The name that didn't belong to him, but that he longed to hear. She said it with such despair and empathy that it hurt like a physical blow. Anger and hatred boiled abruptly inside of him.
"I'm not Jack," he snarled. "I'm--" but he couldn't say the name, because he knew he wasn't Jon. He wasn't anyone. Being here, with her, just proved that.
Swearing, he vaulted over the railing and dropped the ten feet to the flowerbed below. He heard Sara calling after him but he didn't stop. He ran into the darkness, pretending the wetness on his face was rain from the cloudless sky.
So I will post this bit of fanfic. In one of the SG-1 episodes, Jack gets cloned into a 16-year-old kid. Now I've read a lot of clone-fic, mostly mini-OTP -- you know where the author clones all the SG-1 (or at least Sam) and then writes happy fic about them being in love and the like. I've also read the usual teen-age angst pieces where Jack spirals into depression and wallows in MTV misery before killing himself.
Now, there are those few stories that are middle ground (and I enjoy them greatly), but I have this little fic floating around in my head. Okay, it's a long fic, but I keep seeing it in little scenes. Here's the first one I managed to put down on paper.
It's short and you really don't ned to know anything about the story or the fandom except to know that Clone-Jack has all Jack's memories, is about 16 and is living life as "Jon 0'Neil", high school studen. Sara has just found out that the 16-year old "Jon" is really Jack. That's it. It's mostly emotion and I kinda like it.
It's not much of anything, but it is something. It needs a plot (well, more than the one I have) but I like the feel of this scene.
Clone WIP
“Look, you don’t have to do this alone," Sara’s voice was low and hesitant. “If you can’t get help from your old team, let me help you.”
“No.” Jack shook his head. “You can’t. It won’t work.”
“Sure it will. I could be a long lost relative, an Aunt or—“
Jack’s laugh, bitter and low, cut her off.
“What?” Sara bit her lip; her tell that he’d hurt her feelings. “I can be a very convincing actress, if you remember.”
“Oh, I remember all right, I remember too much.”
"What do you mean?" Sara asked.
"I remember us." He went on when he saw she didn't understand. "The memory of my first leave back from Saudi. We stayed at the cabin." It had been a long time since he'd thought of his time with Sara. Longer still, since those memories weren't bitter. "Almost a year in the desert and I don't get sunburn until I go to Minnesota. Of course, I usually kept that part of my body covered in Saudi..."
She blushed just as he remembered, ducking her head and tucking the loose strands of hair behind her left ear. Her eyes flickered from her coffee cup, to his face, then back down again. In that gesture, he saw the woman he'd loved, before the ocean of pain had swept them apart. A low, warm ache spread through him, a familiar longing, darker than the inky night sky. It set fire to his skin. A sudden stab of fierce loneliness stole his breath and he stood and turned his back on Sara and rode out the feeling, not trusting to even look at her.
"Jon?"
"Jon. That's what's wrong with this." He said. His voice -- his young, teenage voice -- threatened to crack. He gripped the railing in front of him and forced himself to be calm. "When you look at me, you see 'Jon'. A seventeen-year-old kid who happens looks like Jack O'Neill." He turned to look at her and it took every ounce of self-control he'd ever learned to face her. "When I look at you, you know what I see? I see you in that ridiculous orange polka-dot swimsuit that you wore when we first met. I see you in your wedding dress standing in the back of the church, arm in arm with your dad. I see you holding Charlie in the hospital, the day he was born. Holding Charlie the day he--" he gestured helplessly, "the day he died."
His hands shook and his eyes burned. He focused on taking even breaths and steeling himself against the onslaught of emotion. This stupid, child's body betrayed him every chance it got. It was so much harder to control his emotions when they were always so close to the surface. Or maybe it was just, after a year of not being able to talk to anyone, of not having anyone who could truly understand, of living a life where every day required control and deception, maybe he just couldn't do it any more. He kept his eyes on her and didn't even blink.
She held his gaze for a moment before she said it. "Jack."
It was a small sound, barely more than a breath, but it washed over him like a wave. No one had called him Jack since he'd left the SGC. Hell, he didn't even think of himself as Jack. Jack O'Neill was someone else, a ghost that only visited him in his nightmares. In his dreams.
She stood and walked towards him. Electricity danced along his nerves as she drew closer. She made a small movement, a motion to lay her hand on his arm. He didn't know what he would do if she touched him and he knew he should pull away now because none of this was right or good. A new, desperate need to be close to her warred with the knowledge that he should stop her. Her hand raised and floated over his arm, making his skin crawl.
The hand jerked away.
She took a step to the side. She walked past him as he stared at his arm, almost able to feel the warmth of her hand. He pivoted slowly and saw that she had stopped at the railing. She gripped the bar so tightly he could see the whiteness of her knuckles even in the darkness. Tears ran down her face and fell to the ground. He couldn't breathe.
"Damn it!"
There was such desperation in her sudden exclamation that it broke the spell that had bound him. He took a deep breath and hated the fact that it sounded like a sob. He stepped up to the railing and held it as tightly as she did. His knees were weak and he blinked rapidly to keep the world in focus. 'Damn it' was right.
"That wouldn't have helped, would've it?"
He knew she was talking about touching him, but he couldn't answer. His vice-like hold on the railing was the only thing that kept him from touching her.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry, Jack."
There was the name again. The name that didn't belong to him, but that he longed to hear. She said it with such despair and empathy that it hurt like a physical blow. Anger and hatred boiled abruptly inside of him.
"I'm not Jack," he snarled. "I'm--" but he couldn't say the name, because he knew he wasn't Jon. He wasn't anyone. Being here, with her, just proved that.
Swearing, he vaulted over the railing and dropped the ten feet to the flowerbed below. He heard Sara calling after him but he didn't stop. He ran into the darkness, pretending the wetness on his face was rain from the cloudless sky.
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I liked that too
Date: 2006-06-18 06:49 am (UTC)From:Wow, very nice. I like the Sara and Jon interaction, and I wondered why neither Daniel nor Samantha visited Jon. Too painful? Too freaky? Totally forgot about him? Didn't want to draw attention to him?
I could really feel Jon's angst and frustration, and love the last line: He ran into the darkness, pretending the wetness on his face was rain from the cloudless sky.
Damn. Poor teenage Jack clone.
I hope you will add more, even if you haven't thought of a plot yet. I do wonder what'll happen next, will Jon run into someone? Go somewhere deserted where he can let out all his pain, etc. with no-one the wiser?
If you like Michael Welch enough to see him in other roles, the "NCIS" repeat on Tuesday, June 20th, 8:00 p.m. Eastern features him.
Re: I liked that too
Date: 2006-06-18 05:47 pm (UTC)From:While I don't have worked out what happens right after this scene, I know the reason no-one visits him is because it's what "Jon" wants. He wants to completely reinvent himself as someone new and the main character-plot line in the story is that not only can't he do that, he really doesn't want to.
Re: I liked that too
Date: 2006-06-18 07:58 pm (UTC)From:Okay, you need to add more to this one, and write up the ones I said you have to, on your fave characters meme!
Get cracking, I need fic to read! *grin*