You Can't Go Home Again
by Pho
All my life I've heard that you can't go home again, but never really gave the saying any thought. Until now. Now that Dr. Jordan is dead and Steven ... who I've never been crazy about anyway ... is critically injured. If he survives we'll have to come up with one heck of a cover story. And Sarah. Poor, dear, ambitious Sarah. I should have suspected her from the beginning, but our past relationship blinded me to the truth. Truth is, Steven didn't have enough gumption to have gone against orders and opened the Osiris Jar. Not with the professor alive.
God, what a mess. We're stuck here in the American Embassy while the powers that be sort out the ... paperwork necessary to get us the hell out of Egypt. Wouldn't be so bad if I could play archaeologist and visit a pyramid or two or three. Maybe even the Sphinx. Haven't been there in ... oh, years. But even if the Egyptian officials would grant me access, Janet would say no. Actually, probably not just no, but hell no, with a stomp of her foot and an icy glare that would cow even the most hardened military personnel. She certainly took Military 201 - Advanced Intimidation to heart. But she's probably right. That ribbon device left my brain hurting - I can almost feel it pounding against my skull.
Maybe that's why I can't figure out how Jack fits into the picture. He's on his way, should be here inside of thirty-six hours, or so Major Davis says. Just don't know why. He sure as hell didn't want to get involved earlier ... when he hung up on me. Okay, that's not really fair of me, he was on vacation, didn't know what was going on, and just reacted badly. He does that sometimes. Like when I wander off on a mission, or ignore his orders about ... weapons, or get my brains scrambled by a Goa'uld ribbon device. Sweet - I can hear the lecture, and he's not even here. Hell, here I go, being condescending again. I really have to remember that he did offer to go to the funeral with me. Said I shouldn't go home alone, but I turned him down. The only thing worse than a bored colonel on a mission is a bored colonel at a funeral. Particularly surrounded by my, uh, peers who no longer see themselves that way. Yep, Jack would've been in fine form. Still, I should've let him go ... for backup. God, when did I start thinking in terms of backup? Hell, when did I start *needing* backup? At a funeral, of all places.
It all seemed so simple. Fly to Chicago, pay my last respects to Dr. Jordan, share a few special memories of the good doctor with my ... friends, then fly home. Simple. But nothing's ever simple when in the eyes of your colleagues you're a disgrace. Steven didn't even try to hide his disdain, and out-and-out dislike. He didn't like me being in Chicago, he didn't like me being at the funeral, and he really didn't like me talking with Sarah.
Sarah. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. God, what a damn shame! I still wonder if I should have known. Should have seen that she wasn't the same woman I knew so many years ago. Maybe that was the trouble - she was exactly as I'd remembered her. Minus the venom of our last conversations, of course. Surely that should have told me something. She never understood my need to stand behind my theories. Never understood that I couldn't abandon them, even for her. In her mind that meant I didn't love her, or maybe that I loved my theories more. Hindsight being twenty-twenty, I'd say she was probably right, on both counts.
Why didn't I notice? Why didn't I see? I was far too late to save her from Osiris' control, and too late to prevent the murder of my old teacher. But I might have been able to save the curator, or the hapless lab tech who'd done nothing more than date an artifact.
Poor Sarah, I can only imagine the horror of being trapped in your own body, watching as your hands act to the will of another. Screaming soundlessly for your freedom, and being ruthlessly silenced at every turn. Listening as the thing sharing your body laughed while your hands beat Steven to within an inch of his life, simply because it could. Watching, along with another, as the ribbon device burned its way into my mind, knowing that your hands were causing another man you cared about anguish and pain. A nightmare without end, now endured by two women I have cared for deeply. A horror beyond words. Is it cold in here?
The powers that be have oh-so-kindly left me the cover story for our Egyptian misadventure. And just like in the real one, Sarah plays a prominent role, that of a terrorist, responsible for three murders in the States, and a brutal assault in Egypt. What a horrible legacy for a bright, ambitious woman whose main desire was to rise to the top of her profession. Oh, there's always the off chance that we can save her from Osiris, but then what? Her life on Earth is over. With three outstanding murder warrants against her, she'd never find peace here. I suppose they could be squashed, but how? Have the President explain it was a National Security issue? Don't think so. Of course, I've never been good at subterfuge - I suppose Jack could think of something.
And what of her family back in Chicago? Will they believe the terrorist story, or will they go to their graves convinced it was all a mistake, that their Sarah is a victim of a horrible miscarriage of justice? How many years of anguish have they been condemned to live - wondering where she is, what she's doing, if she's all right, wondering if she'll ever come home. But the truth of the matter is, the terrorist story is - for all its evil - a kindness. Imagine that.
I find myself drawn to her photograph, the delicate features, the soft blond hair, the gentle expression in her eyes. What a Goddamned waste! Her features start to blur, and I realize that once more the good Doctor Fraiser is correct - I need to sleep. Perchance to dream of happier times that can never be reclaimed. All my life I've heard that you can't go home again, and next time maybe I shouldn't even try.
*fin*