Comforting Myself - Mental Health Issues
Jun. 21st, 2011 01:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rinkhcTitle: Comforting Myself
Fandom: SG-1
Characters: Jon O’Neill (clone), Jack O’Neill
Pairings: None
Orientation: Gen
Rating: PG-13 for language (f-bombs)
Word Count: 2,154
Warnings: Mental illness, implication of prior self-harm
Notes: foremeraldsnakes, who wanted a little bit of clone comfort.
HC Bingo Fill: "mental health issues"
“So, I hear you’re just a total fuck up.”
Pointedly ignoring the asshole behind him, Jon rolled his eyes and kept looking out the mesh-reinforced window at the bucolic landscape of Happy Dell Sanitarium. He knew it was far too much to hope for that the man would go away. Jon knew he wouldn’t. Just as he knew what the next words out of the old man’s mouth would be. To irritate him, he said them first, “Nope, can’t leave me alone for a second.”
“Breaking and entering?”
Jon shrugged. Something outside caught his eye. ‘Huh,’ he said to himself as he realized that there was a squirrel dragging a pair of panties across the lawn. He watched that for a few moments, it was the most exciting thing to appear outside the window all day. “I was practicing my skills, so I don’t get rusty.”
“At the Community College.”
“Ninja skills need work, they don’t come without sacrifice.”
“Right. Some ninja you are kid, you got caught.” Jon hated that tone, that mocking, holier-than-thou tone. It had taken him years to perfect that tone and it annoyed him to have it aimed at himself.
He shrugged again, because he knew it would irritate the shit out of Jack. He really enjoyed irritating Jack. “Hence the need for practice.”
Jack O’Neill sighed and dropped into the uncomfortable chair set beside the door and glared at his younger clone. “You have to stop screwing with the shrinks, kid. I can’t help you get out of here if you don’t at least work with the system.”
With a heavier sigh, Jon turned around and glared back. “I don’t want your help. Just leave me the hell alone. You guys are good at that, remember? So, get on with it. Get out, Jack. Leave me alone.”
“No.”
“Asshole.”
“Yeah, that doesn’t have quite the same sting coming from you, Mini-me. What the hell is going on? Eleven schools, four trade-training centers, nine jobs, where’s your head, why can’t you stick?”
“It isn’t my life. None of it. It’s all fake,” Jon shouted.
Pointing a finger at Jon, Jack snapped, “See, that, right there, that’s part of the problem. You gotta stop saying shit like that to the wrong people.”
Deflated, Jon waved a hand at the door, “Fuck off, Jack. I’m not in the mood for this today.” He really wasn’t. There was a marathon of World’s Deadliest Catch on this afternoon, and hopefully, the ward nurses could be persuaded to put it on in the rec room TV. Jon had his regular spot on the end of the sofa already staked out, very few residents would fight him for it, he could be very scary when he put his mind to it, or even when he didn’t.
Jack stood and walked over to him. “Show me.”
“No.”
“Show me, kid.”
“I hate you.”
“I know you do.”
“You’ve got everything, I’m left with nothing.” God damn it, the waterworks were gonna come, his eyes were burning as Jack reached down and gently lifted Jon’s wrists, one in each wide palm. He’d been fighting back the God damned tears for weeks and now the asshole had to turn up and get him all twisted and off track.
With another sigh, this one betraying resignation, Jack ran his thumbs lightly over the bandages. “This isn’t the way, Jon. This is never the answer.”
Jon stared down at the hands touching him, hands he remembered as his own, but now were not, and would not be for another thirty years or so. “Nothing,” he whispered with a hitch in his voice as his throat closed up.
“C’mere kid.” Jack gave a light tug, and Jon only fought it for a millisecond before he fell into Jack’s arms, sobbing so hard he kept choking. To his credit, the old guy just held him, gave him a warm body, a living person to take comfort from as he cried his heart out. Six years of being alone, fighting his way through growing up again had taken a toll on him. When the emotional storm finally abated a little, Jon’s throat ached, his nose was a faucet and he couldn’t see clearly out of his eyes. Jack’s flannel shirt was a wet, snotty mess too.
“Sorry about that.” Jon mumbled, running a hand over his face.
Jack patted his shoulder and then rubbed his back a little. It was kinda nice. Jon could forget his older self was such an asshole, sometimes. “You should have called, Jon. When things got this bad, you should have called. One of us would have come, you have to know that, you aren’t alone, you were never alone.”
“Yeah, I am. I was. I can’t take it, Jack. Your team, your life, not mine. I can’t look at Daniel’s face without hurting; I can’t hear Sam’s voice without wanting to break down in tears. My stomach hurts when I think about Teal’c. I know you guys would help, but I just can’t.”
Jack gave him a gentle nudge towards the bed. “Sit down, when you’re calm, I have something to tell you.”
He did as he was ordered, all the bluster had gone out of him, leaving him just so fucking tired. When he stopped hiccupping every third or fourth breath, Jack slapped his knee. “Good. I pulled some strings. A lot of strings. I gotta tell you kid, this is probably the only time I’ll be able to do this, I burned a lot of favors.”
What had the asshole done now? Jon wondered, and then just asked him the question. “What did you do now?”
Jack reached into the pocket of the jacket hanging over the back of the chair and moved back to hand an envelope to Jon. He stared at the embossed seal in the corner that said “State Department.” Strings, indeed. The old man had probably cashed in his “I saved the world for you” cards. He opened the envelope and pulled out the folded sheaf inside. He flipped through the pages, scanning for the pertinent information first.
His eyes widened as he realized what he held in his hands. “This is an officer’s commission.”
“Yeah, Lieutenant O’Neill. Welcome back to the SGC.”
Jon shook his head in denial and tried to pass the papers back. He waved with his free hand at the sanitarium around him. “Medical discharge, they won’t take me now.”
Refusing the papers, Jack said, “What they don’t know won’t hurt them. I told you, I pulled strings. This particular incident has been hushed up. Your name is no longer in the Happy Dell system. I put my best geeks on the job. And I meant what I said; this is the only time I can get away with this. You gotta straighten up and fly right, kid.”
“But, this is all so… not regulation.” He stared down at the paperwork. It looked legit, all the seals and notarizations in the right place. He smiled for a few moments, but then he remembered all the reasons why this couldn't be; Daniel, Sam, Teal’c, the SGC, he had no place there any longer. “I can’t Jack. I still can’t go back to the SGC, even with this.”
“You’re not going to the SGC, not exactly. You’ve been assigned to Atlantis; she’s leaving within days, we’re taking you out of here now, so grab your gear.”
“Huh, what? Atlantis? Daniel found it?”
Jack bobbed his head and waved in the direction of the door A woman with frizzy hair, clad in a pair of polka dotted pajamas peered into the room. “Yeah, six years ago. The walls have ears. Crazy ears, but ears.” He tossed his head towards the visitor.
“You want your seat?” The woman asked Jon, while looking at Jack suspiciously.
“Nah, you can have it.” Jon waved and the woman smiled and shuffled off, her slippers squeaking on the tile floor. He smiled as he called after her quietly, “I’m not staying.”
The Atlantis restock and deployment turned out to be utter chaos. Jon was so busy with briefings, psych evaluations and medical exams that he didn’t have time to get upset about being back at the SGC. He even managed a smile and a hug for Sam when she bounded into the infirmary and threw her arms around him. He had been given the cover story of being Jack’s nephew, and he played the part to the hilt, calling her Auntie Sam and chatting with her casually. Of course, she was busy, and had to run off again, for which Jon was grateful, putting on the front was more painful around certain people. He had avoided Daniel completely.
Jon had been remanded to the custody of the expedition’s shrink, a nice little man named Doctor Holstein, like the cow. Holstein was one of the few that knew Jon’s true medical history. Jon was required to have twice weekly sessions with the psychiatrist. He figured it was a fair trade off for the exciting life he’d been leading at Happy Dell. Colonel Sheppard and Mister Woolsey, the expedition’s leaders, were also informed of his record and Sheppard had been told of Jon’s true identity.
The CMO for the mission, Carson Beckett had been very kind to Jon. After a few days on base listening to gossip and rumors, Jon learned that Beckett, like himself, was a clone. He determined to get to know the Scotsman better, when things settled down.
He was finally released from the SGC and taken up to the moon, where Atlantis had been temporarily stationed. The ride on the puddle jumper had been weird. His senses were a little wacky; during the flight. he imagined he could ‘feel’ the ship. He shook it off and determined to read the reports he had been handed about Lantean tech and the city itself.
When he stepped out of the hatch of the puddle jumper and onto the floor, Jon felt a jolt run through him, an overwhelming sense of welcome enfolded him. It shook him, while at the same time, it comforted him. A sergeant flashed him a cheeky smile, saluted sharply and then told him. “General O’Neill wishes to see you, Lieutenant, if you’ll come this way to the Gate Room.”
Reading the man’s nametag, Jon returned the friendly smile. “Thank you, Sergeant Stackhouse, lead on.”
He led him down some stairs and out into the wide open Gate Room. The color cascading from the windows was beautiful, and Jon almost stumbled as he paused to take it all in. Jack was watching him, leaning on the railing of a balcony overlooking the room. As Jon climbed the stairs; each riser seemed to glow a bit brighter as he stepped on them. He joined Jack at the railing.
“A little overwhelming?”
Jon gulped and nodded. “You could say that.”
“You can feel her too?” Jack asked quietly, leaning close so that he would not be overheard.
“Yeah.” He breathed a sigh of relief, it wasn’t his crazy imagination kicking in, there was something weird about the city. “You knew about this? Why didn’t you tell me?” Jon asked, waving a hand around at the Control Room, windows and the Gate below.
Jack gave him a sad smile. “They weren’t sure if the gene expression would still be there, if you’d respond to the Ancient tech. I figured you had enough on your plate and didn’t need another disappointment if it didn’t work.”
After thinking about it, he nodded, he probably would have been upset at that, to find out he didn’t have another thing that his elder, original self had. The asshole was right, he didn’t need the extra baggage, he had enough to carry. “So, what happens now?” Jon asked.
“You’ll get a Gate Team; Sheppard already said he’s putting your experience to use. Talk to him about the gene, he probably will understand best how to explain it all to you. Do your best. Make yourself a new life here, Jon. I have to scoot, things to do, people to see, Homeworld Security to run. Take care of yourself, kid. This time, I mean it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jack cleared his throat and turned slightly away. Jon wasn’t certain what came over him, but he suddenly found himself throwing his arms around the asshole. “Thanks, for this Jack. I’ll try not to screw it up.”
Jack hugged him back and then left him standing there on the staircase of the Atlantis Gate Room, alone, again. Jon glanced down at the “Atlantis” patch on his uniform sleeve and realized that this time; he didn’t mind it quite so much.
The End.
Fandom: SG-1
Characters: Jon O’Neill (clone), Jack O’Neill
Pairings: None
Orientation: Gen
Rating: PG-13 for language (f-bombs)
Word Count: 2,154
Warnings: Mental illness, implication of prior self-harm
Notes: for
emeraldsnakes, who wanted a little bit of clone comfort. HC Bingo Fill: "mental health issues"
“So, I hear you’re just a total fuck up.”
Pointedly ignoring the asshole behind him, Jon rolled his eyes and kept looking out the mesh-reinforced window at the bucolic landscape of Happy Dell Sanitarium. He knew it was far too much to hope for that the man would go away. Jon knew he wouldn’t. Just as he knew what the next words out of the old man’s mouth would be. To irritate him, he said them first, “Nope, can’t leave me alone for a second.”
“Breaking and entering?”
Jon shrugged. Something outside caught his eye. ‘Huh,’ he said to himself as he realized that there was a squirrel dragging a pair of panties across the lawn. He watched that for a few moments, it was the most exciting thing to appear outside the window all day. “I was practicing my skills, so I don’t get rusty.”
“At the Community College.”
“Ninja skills need work, they don’t come without sacrifice.”
“Right. Some ninja you are kid, you got caught.” Jon hated that tone, that mocking, holier-than-thou tone. It had taken him years to perfect that tone and it annoyed him to have it aimed at himself.
He shrugged again, because he knew it would irritate the shit out of Jack. He really enjoyed irritating Jack. “Hence the need for practice.”
Jack O’Neill sighed and dropped into the uncomfortable chair set beside the door and glared at his younger clone. “You have to stop screwing with the shrinks, kid. I can’t help you get out of here if you don’t at least work with the system.”
With a heavier sigh, Jon turned around and glared back. “I don’t want your help. Just leave me the hell alone. You guys are good at that, remember? So, get on with it. Get out, Jack. Leave me alone.”
“No.”
“Asshole.”
“Yeah, that doesn’t have quite the same sting coming from you, Mini-me. What the hell is going on? Eleven schools, four trade-training centers, nine jobs, where’s your head, why can’t you stick?”
“It isn’t my life. None of it. It’s all fake,” Jon shouted.
Pointing a finger at Jon, Jack snapped, “See, that, right there, that’s part of the problem. You gotta stop saying shit like that to the wrong people.”
Deflated, Jon waved a hand at the door, “Fuck off, Jack. I’m not in the mood for this today.” He really wasn’t. There was a marathon of World’s Deadliest Catch on this afternoon, and hopefully, the ward nurses could be persuaded to put it on in the rec room TV. Jon had his regular spot on the end of the sofa already staked out, very few residents would fight him for it, he could be very scary when he put his mind to it, or even when he didn’t.
Jack stood and walked over to him. “Show me.”
“No.”
“Show me, kid.”
“I hate you.”
“I know you do.”
“You’ve got everything, I’m left with nothing.” God damn it, the waterworks were gonna come, his eyes were burning as Jack reached down and gently lifted Jon’s wrists, one in each wide palm. He’d been fighting back the God damned tears for weeks and now the asshole had to turn up and get him all twisted and off track.
With another sigh, this one betraying resignation, Jack ran his thumbs lightly over the bandages. “This isn’t the way, Jon. This is never the answer.”
Jon stared down at the hands touching him, hands he remembered as his own, but now were not, and would not be for another thirty years or so. “Nothing,” he whispered with a hitch in his voice as his throat closed up.
“C’mere kid.” Jack gave a light tug, and Jon only fought it for a millisecond before he fell into Jack’s arms, sobbing so hard he kept choking. To his credit, the old guy just held him, gave him a warm body, a living person to take comfort from as he cried his heart out. Six years of being alone, fighting his way through growing up again had taken a toll on him. When the emotional storm finally abated a little, Jon’s throat ached, his nose was a faucet and he couldn’t see clearly out of his eyes. Jack’s flannel shirt was a wet, snotty mess too.
“Sorry about that.” Jon mumbled, running a hand over his face.
Jack patted his shoulder and then rubbed his back a little. It was kinda nice. Jon could forget his older self was such an asshole, sometimes. “You should have called, Jon. When things got this bad, you should have called. One of us would have come, you have to know that, you aren’t alone, you were never alone.”
“Yeah, I am. I was. I can’t take it, Jack. Your team, your life, not mine. I can’t look at Daniel’s face without hurting; I can’t hear Sam’s voice without wanting to break down in tears. My stomach hurts when I think about Teal’c. I know you guys would help, but I just can’t.”
Jack gave him a gentle nudge towards the bed. “Sit down, when you’re calm, I have something to tell you.”
He did as he was ordered, all the bluster had gone out of him, leaving him just so fucking tired. When he stopped hiccupping every third or fourth breath, Jack slapped his knee. “Good. I pulled some strings. A lot of strings. I gotta tell you kid, this is probably the only time I’ll be able to do this, I burned a lot of favors.”
What had the asshole done now? Jon wondered, and then just asked him the question. “What did you do now?”
Jack reached into the pocket of the jacket hanging over the back of the chair and moved back to hand an envelope to Jon. He stared at the embossed seal in the corner that said “State Department.” Strings, indeed. The old man had probably cashed in his “I saved the world for you” cards. He opened the envelope and pulled out the folded sheaf inside. He flipped through the pages, scanning for the pertinent information first.
His eyes widened as he realized what he held in his hands. “This is an officer’s commission.”
“Yeah, Lieutenant O’Neill. Welcome back to the SGC.”
Jon shook his head in denial and tried to pass the papers back. He waved with his free hand at the sanitarium around him. “Medical discharge, they won’t take me now.”
Refusing the papers, Jack said, “What they don’t know won’t hurt them. I told you, I pulled strings. This particular incident has been hushed up. Your name is no longer in the Happy Dell system. I put my best geeks on the job. And I meant what I said; this is the only time I can get away with this. You gotta straighten up and fly right, kid.”
“But, this is all so… not regulation.” He stared down at the paperwork. It looked legit, all the seals and notarizations in the right place. He smiled for a few moments, but then he remembered all the reasons why this couldn't be; Daniel, Sam, Teal’c, the SGC, he had no place there any longer. “I can’t Jack. I still can’t go back to the SGC, even with this.”
“You’re not going to the SGC, not exactly. You’ve been assigned to Atlantis; she’s leaving within days, we’re taking you out of here now, so grab your gear.”
“Huh, what? Atlantis? Daniel found it?”
Jack bobbed his head and waved in the direction of the door A woman with frizzy hair, clad in a pair of polka dotted pajamas peered into the room. “Yeah, six years ago. The walls have ears. Crazy ears, but ears.” He tossed his head towards the visitor.
“You want your seat?” The woman asked Jon, while looking at Jack suspiciously.
“Nah, you can have it.” Jon waved and the woman smiled and shuffled off, her slippers squeaking on the tile floor. He smiled as he called after her quietly, “I’m not staying.”
The Atlantis restock and deployment turned out to be utter chaos. Jon was so busy with briefings, psych evaluations and medical exams that he didn’t have time to get upset about being back at the SGC. He even managed a smile and a hug for Sam when she bounded into the infirmary and threw her arms around him. He had been given the cover story of being Jack’s nephew, and he played the part to the hilt, calling her Auntie Sam and chatting with her casually. Of course, she was busy, and had to run off again, for which Jon was grateful, putting on the front was more painful around certain people. He had avoided Daniel completely.
Jon had been remanded to the custody of the expedition’s shrink, a nice little man named Doctor Holstein, like the cow. Holstein was one of the few that knew Jon’s true medical history. Jon was required to have twice weekly sessions with the psychiatrist. He figured it was a fair trade off for the exciting life he’d been leading at Happy Dell. Colonel Sheppard and Mister Woolsey, the expedition’s leaders, were also informed of his record and Sheppard had been told of Jon’s true identity.
The CMO for the mission, Carson Beckett had been very kind to Jon. After a few days on base listening to gossip and rumors, Jon learned that Beckett, like himself, was a clone. He determined to get to know the Scotsman better, when things settled down.
He was finally released from the SGC and taken up to the moon, where Atlantis had been temporarily stationed. The ride on the puddle jumper had been weird. His senses were a little wacky; during the flight. he imagined he could ‘feel’ the ship. He shook it off and determined to read the reports he had been handed about Lantean tech and the city itself.
When he stepped out of the hatch of the puddle jumper and onto the floor, Jon felt a jolt run through him, an overwhelming sense of welcome enfolded him. It shook him, while at the same time, it comforted him. A sergeant flashed him a cheeky smile, saluted sharply and then told him. “General O’Neill wishes to see you, Lieutenant, if you’ll come this way to the Gate Room.”
Reading the man’s nametag, Jon returned the friendly smile. “Thank you, Sergeant Stackhouse, lead on.”
He led him down some stairs and out into the wide open Gate Room. The color cascading from the windows was beautiful, and Jon almost stumbled as he paused to take it all in. Jack was watching him, leaning on the railing of a balcony overlooking the room. As Jon climbed the stairs; each riser seemed to glow a bit brighter as he stepped on them. He joined Jack at the railing.
“A little overwhelming?”
Jon gulped and nodded. “You could say that.”
“You can feel her too?” Jack asked quietly, leaning close so that he would not be overheard.
“Yeah.” He breathed a sigh of relief, it wasn’t his crazy imagination kicking in, there was something weird about the city. “You knew about this? Why didn’t you tell me?” Jon asked, waving a hand around at the Control Room, windows and the Gate below.
Jack gave him a sad smile. “They weren’t sure if the gene expression would still be there, if you’d respond to the Ancient tech. I figured you had enough on your plate and didn’t need another disappointment if it didn’t work.”
After thinking about it, he nodded, he probably would have been upset at that, to find out he didn’t have another thing that his elder, original self had. The asshole was right, he didn’t need the extra baggage, he had enough to carry. “So, what happens now?” Jon asked.
“You’ll get a Gate Team; Sheppard already said he’s putting your experience to use. Talk to him about the gene, he probably will understand best how to explain it all to you. Do your best. Make yourself a new life here, Jon. I have to scoot, things to do, people to see, Homeworld Security to run. Take care of yourself, kid. This time, I mean it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jack cleared his throat and turned slightly away. Jon wasn’t certain what came over him, but he suddenly found himself throwing his arms around the asshole. “Thanks, for this Jack. I’ll try not to screw it up.”
Jack hugged him back and then left him standing there on the staircase of the Atlantis Gate Room, alone, again. Jon glanced down at the “Atlantis” patch on his uniform sleeve and realized that this time; he didn’t mind it quite so much.
The End.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-13 04:47 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-22 03:25 pm (UTC)