XOVER: Changing of the Guard 4: The Road To Hammelcar [PG13] 10/19
ecolea (ecolea@WT.NET)
Mon, 24 Dec 2001 08:54:16 -0600
Notes and disclaimers in part 0/19
Chapter 10
"Blessed Ninkasi handles the dough, and with a big shovel mixes it up.
"Blessed Ninkasi, fair of form, adds the date honey to the big pit filled
with the holy bappir.
"Sweet bappir, baked and..."
"Oh, shut up!" O'Neill whispered, bleary eyed as he held his head in a vain
attempt to keep his brain from exploding at the sound of Methos' singing.
His nemesis chuckled unsympathetically. "Feeling a little under the weather
are we, Colonel?"
"Just a little," O'Neill muttered, groaning miserably as the warning klaxon
sounded making his eyeballs swell. "Great," he gasped as the computer
reported another unidentified ship in the area and he followed Methos to the
lift.
The other man sighed and pulled a couple of small packets from his pocket
and opened them. "I was going to let you suffer just a bit longer," he
explained as he handed them to Jack. "That was a stupid stunt, letting me
get you drunk."
O'Neill shrugged as he chewed and swallowed the bland tasting tablets dry.
"The mission's complete and we needed to blow off some steam," he offered,
grimacing as the doors opened on the operations center with a loud hiss,
though he could already feel the vise around his forehead slowly being
lifted.
Methos simply nodded as he took his station. He understood the principle all
too well, and O'Neill was certainly entitled to a little down time after all
he'd been through.
"Looks like the search is still on," Methos commented as he checked the
computer.
"That's the second ship this week," O'Neill complained. "Does the woman
never give up?"
"Quinta? Not to my recollection," Methos admitted.
Suddenly, laser fire erupted from the ship, scoring several asteroids in the
field.
"Whoa!" Jack shouted. "That's new."
Methos nodded, nervously checking his readouts. "The computer says they
weren't at full power," he sighed with relief.
"Testing the waters, are they?"
"Looking for a reaction would be my guess," Methos responded.
"Shaking the apple tree," Jack agreed. "Just to see what falls out. But why
this tree? There must be a million asteroids in this field."
"Something must have-- Oh, shit!" Methos uttered, his back stiffening with
shock.
"What?"
"The fighter. The one we came in." Methos closed his eyes, feeling like an
utter fool. "I got rid of it the day after we arrived."
"Got rid of it?" O'Neill asked, confused. He hadn't seen it in the hanger
bay, but he'd assumed Methos had simply moved it into storage.
"I blew it out into space, okay? I wanted the damn thing gone!"
"Jesus!" Jack squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, trying not to let
the sudden surge of anger he felt get the best of him.
"Okay. All right. I understand," he finally nodded. And he honestly did
appreciate what Methos had tried to do, but, "It looks like her people found
it and backtracked its trajectory. Space is big. Really big. But not big
enough, apparently."
"I'm sorry, Jack," Methos sighed. "It was a fool thing to do."
"Don't sweat it, Pierson. I'd probably have done the same if things were
reversed. And it changes nothing. So, they've got a general direction. They
still can't pinpoint our location, right?" Methos said nothing. "Right?"
"If they hit us they'll kick up a debris field," he said quietly. "The outer
shell of this rock is suffused with several thousand tons of equipment. The
least that could happen is that we'll be blinded for a while, the worst..."
Methos sighed. "Naquada is the basis of all the Ancients' technology, and my
guess is, it doesn't occur naturally very often. A scan of the area might
pick it up in the rubble. We wouldn't miss a clue like that. It's a good bet
Quinta wouldn't either."
O'Neill sighed disgustedly. "Let's hope she does, if not..."
"Hope for the best and plan for the worst," Methos supplied and Jack nodded.
Methos suddenly cocked his head. "You know, we don't dare contact the SGC
again. If they pick up the transmission, we're dead."
O'Neill nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah. But they'll figure it out. Maybe come up
with something to keep the dogs at bay."
"Like what?"
"The Tok'ra," Jack smiled. "They may not give a rat's ass about me, but they
sure do like you, O Son of Tok'ra. And I doubt they'll be thrilled when they
find out what Quinta's planning for them and the Goa'uld."
"They might not give a rat's ass about me either anymore. I was pretty
obnoxious when last we met," Methos admitted ruefully.
"Part of your charm," Jack teased. "You just keep an eye on that ship. I'll
be down in the hanger. Maybe I can speed things up a bit."
***
"There's been another incursion along the border with the Goa'uld," Methos
reported cheerfully.
"Hoorah!" Jack called, raising a blue gel covered fist from within the panel
of the jump ship where he was working.
Three weeks had passed since they'd first lost contact with the SGC. Within
a few days of that there had been Goa'uld ships attacking Quinta's buffer
zone. As near as they could figure, the Tok'ra had transmitted all, or part,
of Quinta's manifesto to the System Lords. They had immediately begun
launching preemptive strikes against the Ishri, though Quinta's fleet seemed
to be holding its own. Still, she was far too busy at the moment to continue
the search for her errant baby brother, and that had given them both a great
deal of hope.
Methos leaned against the jump ship as Jack finally stood and wiped his
hands on his coveralls. "How far along are you?" he asked, peering curiously
into the inner workings.
"Three weeks, maybe four to go. Thrusters and stabilizers are pretty much
done. Already tested them. Just some tinkering left there. I'm working on
the fuel distribution now. I'll do communications and environmentals last."
"Fantastic," Methos complimented. "At this rate we'll be home in time for
Christmas."
"Christmas?" Jack looked startled.
Methos smiled. "Yes, Christmas. In fact, I believe today is your
Thanksgiving holiday."
"Not my holiday," Jack mumbled as he turned to get back to work.
Now it was Methos' turn to look startled. "Come on, Jack. You've been at
this 18 hours a day for the past three weeks. I got Mabel to make us a
little celebration feast. Thought you could use the break."
"Forget it. I hate the holidays."
"Really? Why?" Methos asked curiously. He liked holidays. Anyone's holidays.
Especially the upbeat, happy ones, where people laughed and had a good time
just because they were supposed to. The depressing ones, where folks were
required to evaluate their lives and pray a lot served their purpose as
well, and he was just introspective enough to appreciate them too.
"If you must know, I don't believe in all that religion crap."
"Why not?" Methos asked, very much surprised. In his experience, a man as
deeply feeling as O'Neill, had to have some core belief that the world was a
good and righteous place which ought to be protected. Otherwise, why bother?
Jack closed his eyes and sighed. "Look, I did my bit when I had a kid. I
loved the look on his face Christmas morning when he opened his presents. I
tried to give him everything I never had growing up, but now... I just don't
want to go back there. If that's okay with you?" he asked sardonically.
"Fine with me," Methos agreed. "And I do understand your grief. But..." he
shook his head not knowing how to ask, or if he should.
"But you want to understand me?" Jack asked, a hint of tired anger in his
voice.
"That's what friends do, isn't it?" Methos offered tentatively.
"Okay," O'Neill said tightly. "I'll give you the Cliff Notes version. I
thanked God for giving me Charlie. Then I turned my back on the son of a
bitch for taking my kid away. And doing it with my gun," he choked softly.
"Anyway," he added, angrily brushing at his eyes. "It's all a lie, right?
Christ was one of you guys with a god complex!"
"Hey!" Methos interrupted his diatribe. "I never said that."
"You didn't have to," Jack retorted sharply.
"That's because he wasn't," Methos insisted. "At least not according to
Peter--who was."
Jack paused, taking a deep breath as Methos' words sank in. "Saint Peter was
an Immortal?"
"He carried a sword, didn't he?" Methos replied quietly. "And used it well,
I might add," obliquely referring to an incident recorded in the Christian
bible.
"Cut off the ear of a soldier when they arrested Jesus," O'Neill nodded.
"Okay, so Peter was Immortal. But how do you know Christ wasn't?"
"I did tell you he baptized me," Methos grinned. "I may not have asked him
all the questions I should have, but I did ask the obvious one. Was Christ
one of us? And he said no. Peter didn't know what he was, but he was damned
certain he didn't get any sense of Immortal presence when he came back. And
the wounds were still bleeding, he said. So, whatever he was, Christ
couldn't have been Immortal. Not in the sense that I am, at any rate."
"And you believed him?"
Methos rolled his eyes and sighed. "It's not the sort of thing we lie about,
because it's not anything we can hide. And while he might have been deluded
about some things, Peter was nobody's fool. You didn't mess with The Rock.
Why the hell do you think I let him baptize me?"
For a long moment Jack was quiet. "Do you believe Christ really was the Son
of God, or God in human form?"
Methos shrugged. "Like the miracles Peter insisted were real, it's still a
mystery to me. Just as it is to the rest of the world."
Jack nodded thoughtfully. "Why do you care about Christmas anyway?" he
finally asked with a tired sigh. "You aren't really Christian. You just went
along for the ride."
"True, I'm not Christian in the strictest sense. Not the way you were raised
to believe. But back then, you joined every cult there was. Covered all the
bases, so to speak. If one god didn't do you right, you asked another. And,
like I said, Peter was a very difficult man to say no to when he wanted you
to do something. I didn't mind getting a little wet -- just to be on the
safe side of anyone's Lord."
"But why the interest in Christmas?" O'Neill repeated.
Methos sighed, leaning back against the ship and crossed his arms. "I
suppose because, at its root, Christmas is about family." He lowered his
eyes, looking away from O'Neill as he pressed forward, dipping into what
were likely to be difficult waters. "The birth of a child is a precious
thing. The death of one more painful than we can often bear. I will never
have a son of my body, Jack, so I can never truly know how you feel. But I
can remember how jealous I was of mortals way back when. I was bitter and
angry, and I cursed the gods for making our kind barren. But once I left the
Horsemen, once I truly became civilized again, I began to see just how much
of an opening that anger and bitterness had given Ku'ahktar and later,
Kronos. Three hundred years as a mercenary and another thirteen hundred
reveling in even worse slaughter."
He shook his head in disgust. "The first few centuries should have been
enough to purge the madness. The rest... I lost my humanity because I no
longer believed in humanity. Hadn't believed in it even before Ku'ahktar.
And then I met Peter, who swore up and down that a Jew from Galilee had
risen from the dead and wasn't an Immortal. That this rabbi had preached a
creed that went beyond anything I, or anyone for that matter, had ever
heard. Goodness for the sake of goodness. To do the right thing simply
because it is the right thing, and not because some god will get angry and
punish you if you don't follow the rules. And in those days there were lots
of rules when it came to religion."
"There still are," Jack commented softly.
"Yes, but back then you could bribe the gods to let you off the hook. This
was a god who couldn't be bribed -- and didn't need to be, either. He loved
you whether you were good or bad, rich or poor, and would still love you
even if you never repented. The whole idea was ludicrous! I couldn't for the
life of me figure out why He would. I mean, what did He have to gain from
loving everyone in spite of themselves?"
Jack stared at him thoughtfully. "So, what did you finally figure out?"
"That He loved us because we were His children. Like all good fathers and
mothers love their children. And because of that He gave us free will to do
good or bad, righteousness or evil, and yes, even to save lives or commit
murder. That doesn't mean He approves, just that He expects us to take
responsibility for our actions because that's what all growing children must
learn to do. And the birth of Christ is, for me, the symbolic celebration of
that message. The one that told Humanity it was time to grow up and stop
following all those rules just because they were afraid to make a mistake.
Follow them because it's the right thing to do."
O'Neill raised an eyebrow at that. "Okay, who are you? And what have you
done with my selfish, cynical minion?"
Methos' shoulders shook with mirth. "I didn't say I believed Christ was the
Son of God, I said I celebrated His message. It's a good message, whether
you believe in Him or not. And it clued me into the whole idea of family.
Gave me that missing link I just couldn't quite seem to grasp. A father's
love for his children, a mother's love for her son. For three thousand years
that defining emotion had eluded me. And in all that time I had never
married a woman with children. Never had a wife who carried a child that I
knew wasn't mine that I didn't immediately divorce. Fatherhood was an
experience I'd assiduously avoided."
"Why?"
"Because it wasn't fair that it wasn't mine!"
"But you have been a father," O'Neill finally surmised.
"Many times," Methos nodded. "And while I've never had a son of my body,
I've had a hundred sons and daughters of my heart. Each and every one of
them mortal and gone."
Jack sighed, shaking his head in pain and wonder. "How do you cope? How do
you raise a kid, knowing you're going to outlive him?"
"You don't. You treasure each and every moment they're alive and you miss
them when they're gone, because that is the way of things. Nothing is set in
stone, Jack. Your son did not die by your hand, but by his. He chose to
search for your weapon, knowing it wasn't a toy. Knowing you had forbidden
it. Harsh as this may sound, he exercised the free will God gave him and
made a terrible mistake."
"He was only ten years old!" O'Neill shouted angrily. "What the hell was I
to expect?"
"Did he follow all the other rules of your household?" Methos demanded. "Did
he obey, however reluctantly, his parents' orders?"
O'Neill shrugged, nodding shortly. "Most of the time."
"Then he knew the difference between right and wrong. He knew there was a
reason for the rule, even if he didn't understand it."
"He was just a little boy!"
"And Marta was just a little girl," Methos retorted. "A little girl I told
not to go to the river because the ice was too thin for skating. She knew it
was dangerous, but she would have her way. And it cost her the life she
might have had. But it was not my fault, anymore than Charlie's death was
yours."
It was cold comfort to O'Neill, but it was true, and Methos waited patiently
for Jack to mull it over. Finally, the other man nodded.
"I understand what you're saying, and part of me knows it's right, but..."
"You don't want to blame the victim," Methos finished. "It feels wrong."
O'Neill swallowed hard and glanced away. "I always think, 'If I had done
something different.' Not, 'If Charlie had just listened to me...'"
"I can't tell you what to think, Jack. But I can offer one bit of advice."
O'Neill looked back at him and Methos smiled kindly. "Be thankful that you
had a son. Be thankful for what time you had together. Be thankful for all
the joy he brought to your life. I can't promise you that the pain of his
loss will fade, but in time, those good memories will overtake the bad. And
they should be his memorial, not your bitterness and pain."
O'Neill nodded slowly, a small, tentative smile beginning to form on his
lips.
"You hungry?" Methos suddenly asked, deliberately changing the subject.
"Yeah, starving," O'Neill nodded, the smile growing wider as he headed for
the elevator. "Come on, Son of Tok'ra. Let's go have that turkey dinner."
"Pseudo turkey dinner," Methos grinned, silently relieved as he followed.
"Whatever. I'm so hungry I could eat a pseudo horse."
"Did I ever tell you I once ate my own horse?" Methos asked brightly. "And a
mule. Two mules, in fact. Not at the same sitting, of course."
"Did I ever tell you I once lived on tree rats and rain water?"
"Me too!"
"Imagine that."
A short while later they were sharing a meal, some friendly companionship
and a little bit of holiday cheer. Not much of a holiday, Methos thought,
but O'Neill seemed pleased. And that was the important thing, wasn't it?
Giving more than you got? The ultimate civility.