At Christmas I No More Desire A Rose
By Joolz
Notes: Many sincere thanks to Catspaw for the beta and the
encouragement in general. I wouldn't be doin' it without you!
At Christmas I no more desire a rose
Than wish a snow in May’s newfangled mirth;
But like of each thing that in season grows.
--Love’s
Labour’s Lost, Shakespeare
Jack sat idly on the sofa with his hands resting on
his thighs, regarding the new addition to his living room. The seven foot Blue
Spruce was decorated with white lights set to random, slow, fade-and-glow, with
shiny gold and white garlands, glass balls of different colors, and wooden
ornaments shaped like animals that his grandfather had cut out and his
grandmother hand painted. The Christmas tree was beautiful. The Christmas tree
was supposed to be making him feel better. The Christmas tree was failing.
Last year Jack had been a basket case. It had been
the first Christmas since his son’s death and if that weren’t enough he had
just moved into this new house after his wife had left him (not that he blamed
her), and had been surrounded by packing boxes. On top of that, he had recently
returned from being the first man to set foot on another planet, where he had
battled aliens and found his life, and couldn’t even tell anyone about it. The
Christmas cheer going around had been too much for him, and he’d spent most of
the holiday in the bottom of a bottle.
This year was going to be different. Okay, so the
last few months had been more than a little weird, what with the renewed alien
hostilities and all. He had lost some more friends, but he was determined not
to give in to melancholy. He was damn well going to have a nice, normal, human,
merry Christmas if it killed him: thus the tree blinking cheerfully in his
living room. It was nice, but something was missing. Maybe an angel for the
top, or candy canes. Maybe he should put on a Christmas CD and let Bing Crosby
get him in the mood.
Maybe he should just go to bed.
Jack got up and unplugged the light cord from the
socket, plunging the room into darkness and leaving the tree nothing more than
a looming shadow, misplaced and cold. He shuddered slightly as he realized that
he felt much the same way.
O’Neill muttered to himself, “Aw, cut the crap,”
and strode purposefully toward his waiting bed.
It was Christmas Eve and the base was down to a
minimum of personnel. Everyone who had a home to go to was there or on their
way. Jack was sitting in the mess hall, one of the few takers for the overly
ambitious veal cordon bleu holiday fare. He was pushing the boiled carrots
around on his plate when Daniel Jackson walked in, his nose literally buried in
a book. Jack admired the instinctual way that the younger man avoided the
chairs and other obstacles in his path without ever looking up. He passed down
the serving line holding his tray one-handed and barely managed to mumble a
“Merry Christmas” in response to the cafeteria worker’s obnoxious salutations.
Deeply engrossed in whatever it was, he slid into a chair at a small table on
the other side of the room.
Jack noticed how Daniel’s shoulders were pulled in
tightly under a bent neck, a frown of concentration almost completely hidden by
long, unruly hair as he read and speared carrots at the same time.
A sudden image of the Daniel Jackson he had first
met intruded into Jack’s memory. That Daniel Jackson was almost stubbornly
unaware of the people around him. He had casually dismissed two years of work
by the other scientists, not spitefully, but because he was right and they were
wrong. He had seemed to know no fear or self doubt, whether he was explaining
the meaning of a ten thousand year old cover stone to a room full of military
brass, making the first contact with a multitude of humans on another planet,
or facing an alien god. He stood up straight, shoulders broad, and walked forward
casually as though he did that kind of thing every day. Jack knew that some of the oblivious
confidence was a defense mechanism and that in fact the archaeologist saw and
understood a lot more than he let on. He had seen and understood Jack in spite
of his carefully maintained shield of aloofness.
That same almost arrogant self-assuredness was
still sometimes visible, especially during briefings and interactions with
strangers on missions, but in his daily life Daniel had withdrawn into himself
to an alarming degree. Jack watched the absorbed scholar chew on the end of his
pen, unaware that it was leaking a blue stain onto the corner of his mouth. His
cold, half-eaten meal was pushed to one side, and he still hadn’t looked up
once.
Jack felt a tightness in his chest as a full
realization of exactly how much Daniel had lost washed through him. Daniel’s
dreams had come true. He had eagerly chosen to live and work among an authentic
ancient culture: to live it rather than just study it. He had fallen in love
with a beautiful, brave woman and found himself a home amongst a boisterous
extended family. In a matter of minutes it had all been taken from him. What
kind of hole would that leave in a man’s soul?
The sound of voices at the table behind Jack broke
through his thoughts. Some idiot was urging a friend conspiratorially,
"There’s that civilian egghead. Let’s go play some bate-the-geek, what
d’ya say?”
O’Neill was just starting to turn around, prepared
to kill or at least seriously maim, when another voice at the table stopped
him. Ferretti commanded, “Forget it, buck-o. You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree,
there.” After a surprised silence, he enlightened his no-doubt open mouthed
audience, “Let me tell you something. That man has more balls than all three of
you put together.”
The idiot objected, “Fuck that shit. I’m one
hundred percent United States Marine.”
Ferretti snorted, “That may be, but you’d still
pee in your pants if you had to face half the things he has. Look, I made the
same mistake myself, misjudged Dr. Jackson and lit into him. But that was
before I knew him. Do you know how many of us are left from that first trip
through the Stargate? Exactly three: me, the Colonel and Dr. Jackson. Me, I was
lucky. The Colonel was good. But Dr. Jackson saved all our lives, both under
enemy fire conditions you can’t even begin to imagine and because he’s just so
damn smart. The guy might not look like much, but underneath? Solid. You? You
would be lucky to be allowed to shine his shoes. Don’t you forget it, boy.”
As the other mumbled in acquiescence, Jack smiled
to himself. Damn if Ferretti hadn’t said it just right.
He stood and deposited his tray in the collection
area, then strolled over to the small table. Pulling out a chair he turned it
around to straddle it. “Hey, Jackson.”
Daniel glanced up briefly. “Hi, Jack.”
Jack reached out, slid his broad palm onto the
open pages of the book, pushed it down onto the table, and closed the cover.
Now Daniel looked directly at him, eyes wide and not a little annoyed.
Jack cut him off at the pass. “So, Daniel, can you
cook?”
Confused fish-lips fluttered in response.
“W..what?”
“I asked if you can cook, because one of us had
better be able to if we’re going to have any kind of Christmas dinner
tomorrow.”
Guppy-boy was a little slow on the uptake.
“Christmas dinner?”
“Yeah. It’s Christmas tomorrow. You know, Deck the
Halls and Jingle Bells. Happens every year on December 25th. You’re
going to have to help me with the bird, because I’m new at this.”
The thick eyebrows slowly rose up Daniel’s
forehead. “You’re inviting me to Christmas dinner?”
“Well, sort of. I’m inviting you to help me make
Christmas dinner. You’re gonna have to do your part. So can you cook?”
“I...um...well, ah.…” A rare smile spread across
Daniel’s face, reaching the sparkling blue eyes. Then suddenly the light went
out, as though he had just remembered that he didn’t have a right to be happy
as long as people he loved were suffering. Jack talked on, hoping his words
would brush away the ghosts that he knew so well himself.
“I thought about having Teal’c over, too, but he
still isn’t allowed off the base. Besides, all this hohoho and sleigh bells
stuff would probably freak him out. You and me, though, we’re old hands at
Christmas. Bring on Santa and Frosty the Snowman, we can take ‘em. Hell, I even
got a tree. So you are going to come, aren’t you?”
The smile was tentative, but it was there. “Yeah,
sure.”
Jack stood up again. “Good. Be at my place
tomorrow at 10:00 hours, and don’t be late. We have a lot to do.”
He paused, “And… ah… you have…” He waved a finger
toward Daniel’s face and motioned with his chin. “…ink there. On your mouth.”
Daniel grabbed his napkin and rubbed furiously.
“Is that better?”
Jack grinned at the mess he’d made. “Gettin’
there.”
In the event, both of them were very much needed
to wrestle the ‘bird’ into submission. Jack had opted for chicken rather than a
traditional pork roast, but that didn’t mean he knew how to prepare it.
Daniel placed himself in charge of the cookbook
while Jack wielded the baster.
“It says right here, you have to pull the skin up
and push pats of butter underneath with your hand.”
“Excuse me? This is a chicken. Its skin is
attached.”
“Well, just try it. Just pull it up a little. Yes,
like that! Now push the butter in with your fingers.”
“I am NOT putting my hand in there. That’s
disgusting. You do it.”
“I can’t do it, I’m holding the book. I would get
my hands messy.”
“For crying out loud. I’ll hold the book…”
When he allowed himself to think of it, Jack was
nearly floored by the strangeness of it all. On the one hand they regularly
went to other worlds hoping to find a wife and her brother who had been abducted
by aliens; the same aliens who wanted to wipe all life off the face of the
Earth as soon as inhumanly possible. On the other hand they were just two guys
trying to cook a chicken. It was so surreal it made him dizzy.
Eventually the bird went into the oven. The
microwave would take care of the store-bought cartons of mashed potatoes, gravy
and green bean casserole, and there were pecan tarts from the bakery and Cool
Whip for dessert.
In the meantime they drank copious amounts of wine
and made bets on how deep the snow was going to get outside. In this way Jack
and Daniel did Christmas. They talked and laughed and with great pride picked
every scrap of moist, tender meat off the chicken bones.
Replete and as satisfied as he had felt in a long
time, Jack finished putting the crockery into the dishwasher. When he returned
to the living room he found Daniel sitting on the arm of a chair looking at the
Christmas tree. The younger man seemed lost in thought, and Jack’s wistfulness
returned. He moved silently to stand next to his friend and gently laid his
hand on Daniel’s shoulder. Startled, Daniel looked at him in surprise, but
didn’t pull away. They stayed like that, contemplating the tree, for several
minutes.
The soft lights glistened on the shiny garland and
caused bright spots of color to flash from the glass bulbs. The depth and shape
of the shadows shifted, now illuminating, now shrouding in darkness. The green
branches and simple ornaments spoke of mortality and continuity.
The tree was beautiful. It would be wrong not to
appreciate the beauty in life, for as long as the gift of life was still his.
To value it would honor those who were gone more than any regret or grief.
Beside him, Daniel whispered, “It’s beautiful,”
and Jack could see a sheen of tears in his eyes. Once again they had been
thinking the same thing at the same time.
Jack’s voice was gruff as he answered, “Yeah, it
is.”
Daniel turned to him and said softly, “Thank you
for inviting me over.”
Jack squeezed Daniel’s shoulder lightly and responded,
“I’m glad you came.” And he found that he was glad; for Daniel’s company, for
the beauty of the tree, for a lot of things.
This Christmas stuff wasn’t so bad after all.