I've been asked to post this story even though we've lost quite a few chapters... but we're hoping that as we do post, that we will remember what happened in the later chapters... or someone will remind us what happened or will come forward with more of the lost chapters. Did that make sense.... cause I just confused my self.....
So I'm posting this as I fix it..... so be patient with me :)
REVIEWS WILL BE VERY HELPFUL IN HOPEFULLY GETTING THIS FINISHED THE WAY IT WAS ORIGINALLY POSTED. So jog our memories... PLEASE!! We need all the help we can get! HAHA!
So here we go...into Reality Check
Chapter One (Not Everything Chances)
Jack O'Neill ate his fruit loops absently. He was not particularly looking forward to going to work this fine autumn day. He could see the trees outside his sliding glass door. They were beginning to turn all those cool colors.
The man loved living here. He loved the season changes. He wasn't thinking about season changes or cool colors or even the fruit loops he ate.
Going to work these days meant...one, having to pretend he was happy about Samantha Carter being engaged to be married to another man. Pretending it didn't tear him up inside and most of all...keeping a happy face around the woman when all he wanted to really do was pull her into the nearest utility room and fuck her infamous brains out.
Maybe then, though subtle...it might get the point across...he kinda cared for her. In more than a ..I'm your CO and we can't fuck in a utility room because of regs, and I hate that fucking cop guy...way.
And C...or was it 'B'.... He just didn't have the same zeal for the job when he started 7 years ago. He was getting older and...his knees hurt more these days and he thought more and more of...calling it quits.
The man didn't think that these emotions started right after he had heard the news...Samantha Carter was engaged to a cop guy and...well...things just were different and it was hard...damned hard to...see her each day...smell her scent...feel her warmth as she stood next to him in a crowded elevator and not...be able to feel what he had felt before...not with out the damned guilt, anyway.
Jack O'Neill would never cross over the line where another man's woman was concerned.
He knew..in his soul. He had misused the one chance he had been given to ask Carter the question that had needed to be asked. He had blown it.
Not the cop guy or the woman.
Col Jonathan 'Jack' O'Neill. Two 'l's.
He trudged to the kitchen sink...rinsing the bowl and glass he had used for his juice absently. He checked the back door...habit...and gathered his keys and I.D.
Another day to get through. He sighed heavily and moved his tall frame fluidly through the house and out the door.
Had Jack been more alert...more aware...had his mind not been so preoccupied.. He would have sensed the 'difference' at that exact moment.
He did not note his surroundings, however. Not even the fact that the next door neighbors yard was unmowed...that the fence separating their property lines was old...several of the wooden planks missing or hanging askew.
That the old woman's immaculately kept garden, usually full of gloriously beautiful blooms of every color and variety...was dead..uncared for and...long since neglected, turning to weeds.
He drove automatically as one does, his mind aware and alert but his thoughts...wandering and focused on a blonde Major under his command.
The first thing that made the man...aware...something was...different, was odd., was changed...and he even pulled the truck over to the side of the road to stare...the damned gas station was shut down...
O'Neill always stopped there for his first cup of coffee in the morning...well, technically...his second but he did not count his own 'coffee' at home as 'coffee'. It was the one thing Jack was not good at. Making coffee.
"What ...the hell?" Jack snapped out of his 'fog' and really looked about himself.
The usually bustling, busy street was almost deserted. An occasional car would pass, granted but nothing like the usual zip, zip of commuters he encountered daily on his drive to the SGC.
And...the damned gas station...it was not only closed but...boarded up...and the plywood was old and weathered as if...it had been there for years...not just overnight. Jack had stopped in for his usual slurpy on his way home just last night..
Oh Fuck...was this some kind of Alternate Universe thing?
Shit...he hated that...he really...really...hated...
An old woman came up to the car and tapped on the opposite window.
Jack nearly jumped out of his skin. He peered at the haggarded face peering back at him, then..his manners kicked in. He rolled down the window from his side. "....Yes, Ma'am...can I help you?"
She was clearly a street person. Jack O'Neill had never seen a street person in this area before. Never...but, then...this 'area'....he had given a quick look around him before pushing the button to roll down the window... this area was...not the area he remembered. And this 'street person' was just one of...well, he could count several just from his sweep. Across the street...down the way...by the gas station, on the far side, two men sit and drank from a paper bag that Jack guessed did not hold a fine burgundy.
"Got any thing I can trade for food? Anything? I haven't eaten in a while."
Jack's heart went out to the woman. He glanced around and then finding nothing of value to 'trade'....he reached into his back pocket, producing a ten dollar bill, extending it to her. "That do?"
"I can't use that...I need something to trade...you know that stuff isn't worth the paper it's printed on...what about your watch?"
She had eyed the object covetously.
Jack...scowled and...shook his head. "What do you mean..the money isn't worth anything."
"What about this tire thing...I can get a lot for it..." She asked excitedly.
"Ma'am..what's going on here?...this is...eh..." He glanced around. Where the hell was this? It sure as hell was not ...his home. "Colorado Springs?"
"No..it's the Big Apple..of course it's Colorado Springs...the city is no place for a woman to be...and don't you think I know it "
"Why...why isn't New York a place for a..." He looked the woman up and down...holding his opinion to himself. "...eh...woman to be?"
The woman just sniffed and started to walk away, clearly angry with him.
"Hey...take the tire iron..." He called after her.
She hesitated and retraced her steps...she glanced at the tire iron in the back of Jack's truck...reached and grasped it and...headed on about her way.
Jack noted...she hid the item from sight and looked fearfully about to check if anyone noted the 'exchange'.
Jack sat for a long time and...took in the streets and people around him, this time...with the eyes of a trained observer.
He tried to sort through all the misgivings...thoughts and...hypothesis running around inside his head. He took out his cell and tried Carter's number. Number 1 on his system. He got...nothing. He looked at the phone...it was dead.
Dead? He just charged the damned thing last night...no...he looked closer. The little lines were all the way to the top of the scale...the cell was charged... Jack pushed button after button. Teal'c...Daniel...Hammond...nothing.
The lines for reception were gone..completely.
What the hell?
He looked around him. He sat...and...took in the area. He had no ideal how long he sat.
Maybe he was still asleep...Fuck..this was some dream, if so.
He knew he was not asleep.
Ok...he couldn't use the cell...he looked at the gas station across the way. There used to be a phone over....no...the stand was there...nothing inside the metal box...maybe the old lady had taken the phone to 'trade' for food.
This section reminded Jack of a street he once sit on in Moscow...during his Black Op days. His unit was waiting for the arrival of a suspected terrorist group at a run-down hotel.
There was no hotel in sight but the 'feel' of the place was the same.
He was a man of action. His first instinct was to head for SGC. He checked it...for if something was wrong...and it had hit this spot..it sure as hell had hit the complex first.
He started the truck and drove to Daniel Jackson's apartment. He had considered Carter's home but Daniel was closer.
Or...would have been..if Daniel's apartment building had not been turned into a hang-out for junkies and gang members. O'Neill had pulled into an intersection...the one that would have taken him to the building he had come to know so well...but, again...the 'feel' of the place had made him take a long look and....drive on.
If Daniel Jackson was in that building at one time...he sure as hell was no longer in there. Daniel would not be caught dead in a place like that...not of his own free will.
Jack was completely baffled and unsure of what to do next.
His training would suggest...scout the surrounding territory...get the lay of the land...see what the hell was what and...make a plan.
His senses were reeling and...despite what his training told him...he had to know if Samantha Carter was alright...
If anyone would know what was going on...the resident genius would.
He headed for her street and he did not observe the speed limit...mostly because speed limit signs were few and far between but more so because..his gut was telling him something was waaaaaay wrong and he had to find something familiar...or preferably...someone...before he totally lost it..which meant..go crazy..nuts..insane..went bonzo, was no longer in possession of his faculties.. The man stepped on the gas, his thoughts wondering freely... Three fries short of a happy meal......whacko
He screeched to a halt outside Samantha Carter's home but...he knew...he would not find her inside that dilapidated...shack.
What the fuck....was going on..??
Jack O'Neill's world was turning upside down and..he hadn't even had his coffee yet.
This had to be one bad mother fucker of a dream....that's all there was to it...
He would have just turned around and went back home and went back to bed except...for one little thing...
In the mirror...the rear-view one...he saw...far down the way...turning the corner...all marching in perfect, military precision...which was their way...he well remembered...an entire patrol of...Jaffa.
Without hesitation...the man gunned the engine and eased carefully away from the curb so as not to draw undue attention to himself. But..he felt the need to be far away from this place as quickly and as quietly..as his truck could take him.
He kept glancing in the mirror and while the Jaffa had turned onto the same street...they did not seem disposed to think anything of a truck moving on down the far end.
O'Neill rounded the nearest corner...put the truck in first gear...floored it and..got the hell away as fast as his V-8 engine could take him.