InsaneJournal

FIC: Navigating Minefields--SG1/MCR, 15ish


title Navigating Minefields
author: lisa roquin
fandom: Stargate SG1/MCR
rating 15
pairing/characters: Jack Tyler (Clone!Jack)&Gerard Way
disclaimer: MCR has never had a teenage clone of an air force colonel as a roadie. It's safe to assume this is entirely fiction.
summary: It's gruntwork. Anonymous. Simple. Routine. Not where he belongs, but he's not who he once was. It's not so bad, but tonight sucks.
warning: angsty
author notes: inspired by lj's mychemicaltest challenge 18, but went more than double the max limit. A little adjustment of the SGverse timeline in comparison to series airdates, nothing strikingly noticable unless you have every eps first airdate memorized. Everything up to Fragile Balance and even up through end of S8 happens, just Fragile Balance would have happened in 2002.
and thanks to ix_tab and peppery_lime for readthrough & opinions
word count: 3300+



He’d been Jack Tyler for six years now. He still didn’t like it. The face in the mirror was too young yet, jarring and foreign even after this much time. He had wanted to go back to school, do things right this time around, a chance to actually live the ‘if I knew then what I know now’ chain of thought. Frankly, it sucked. And mostly it had been a reason to get the hell away, neither him or O’Neill could have stood him being anywhere near the mountain or any part of the SGC without losing it over the freaking wrong of all of this. A wrong that hadn’t really lessened with time.

College had been a bit better than high school, until it started getting noticeable that he wasn’t aging. At. All.

Loki had even managed to screw that up. Jack Tyler’s identity had been adjusted and he’d shifted locations, and he was still going to just strangle Carter for sticking him back in high school until they could get Thor to figure out to at least get this body to age. Bad enough he was a freaking teenage clone that he was possibly stuck as one indefinitely was unthinkable. Carter wouldn’t fail him, or at least wouldn’t fail who he had been, and O’Neill had been upset by the revelation Jack wasn’t aging almost as much as Jack was. Daniel had been amazed with the possibilities of what Jack might see or experience first hand historically speaking, as much as Daniel had been kicked in the teeth by the universe, as much as he had lost, his sense of wonder didn’t seem to dim. The new guy Mitchell had only said “Huh, weird, the clone thing is real?” and Teal’c had raised an eyebrow and declared it most distressing with something akin to a horrified expression–at least in terms of Teal’c’s non-expressions.

Thankfully Carter had stuck him in as a senior for his third go at high school, so he was supposedly eighteen at the moment, give him a year or two maybe even three if he kept his head down. He’d sat next to Adrian Cortez in History. Jack had helped Adrian with History and American Lit. Adrian had gotten Jack through Spanish III and Physics (What the hell had Carter been thinking?). They’d been fast friends by Homecoming. Another friend he’d be forced to eventually leave behind, but they’d made a good team this past school year. Jack had called Carter and, well himself, his old self, and Hammond. Adrian had gotten his appointment to the Air Force Academy with glowing recommendations from Colonel Carter, General O’Neill and Major General Hammond.

Jack had gotten a job as a roadie thanks to Adrian’s connections. A cousin who was tech and fill in for a band that honestly gave Jack a freaking headache. Jack learned what cables went where and how to set up the stage easily enough, though some of his past CO’s might argue with his ability to follow orders. He could, and follow them to the letter, if they made sense. It was that little ‘if they made sense’ that got all the write ups in his–or his old self’s record. This job wasn’t so bad. Grunt work, no thinking, no responsibility–at least from where he was sitting. Just follow orders, things that fell into routine within a few days.

And he was going to kill that tattooed little Italian monkey. He was too old to know that the ringtone that was programmed into his cellphone at the moment was a song titled “Kiss My Sass” for cryin’ out loud, especially when he was tired, his back was aching and his knee was at least starting to feel familiar aching as it was from getting banged by a nearly-dropped amp yesterday. And generally battered from the little psycho that had jumped Gerard that afternoon. He really wanted more for the aches and headache he had at the moment than the ibuprofen he’d taken and the damned Coke Zero half warm, half flat and sitting on the floor next to the couch where he was laying with the lid tight. He’d complain about what was wrong with sugar, but just caffeine was bad enough with this bunch and he was on the band’s bus after the rabid freak tried mauling Gerard incident earlier, before tonight’s show. He could really go for something a lot stronger.

“Yeah, Tyler.”

“Jack, it’s Daniel.” Daniel’s voice came across the line, and sounded so wrong.

Jack’s face drained of all color. “Who?”

“Hammond had a stroke two hours ago.”

“How bad?”

“We don’t know yet. Jack’s flying out there, Sam’s off-world at the moment and I am under quarantine.”

“FOR WHAT? FOR CRYIN OUT LOUD, DANIEL, WHAT THE HELL DID YOU MANAGE TO GET INTO NOW?”

“I’ve got a rash on my arm Jack, topical allergic reaction to a plant on PRX-3955K. But since it’s an allergic reaction from off-world I’m stuck til it clears.”

Jack groaned. “Daniel..”

”Yadda yadda, Jack.”

“Right back atcha, Spacemonkey.” Jack snorted. “You know anything call me...hell I don’t even know where the hell we are at the moment.”

“Think tomorrow’s Charleston,” Gerard’s voice comes softly from the ‘doorway’ between the front lounge and bunks.

“Maybe going to Charleston. Use that damn machine and figure out the tour schedule.”

“Sam’s–Sam hasn’t had time. You could come to the mountain–“

“I don’t belong there anymore, don’t start, Daniel, don’t. Let me know how George is? Let me know anything–“

“I will, Jack, I promise. As soon as I can when I know.”

“Thanks.” Jack managed and ended the call. O’Neill was headed there at least. Hell, it had been Hammond, not O’Neill. He wasn’t sure if he could handle the thought of his original self being the one in a hospital bed maybe dying. Not like that. Gunshots and staff weapon burns and caught in rock slides or somehow killed by natives off world was less daunting than that. Especially when just being old might be out of his reach. For cryin’ out loud, Carter’d had a year so far and came up with bupkiss. Thor knew, and had some of Loki’s research and no clue what the alteration in Jack’s genetics to allow him, clone-him, to stay alive, and done originally to prevent him from being properly cloned might have effected the process especially with the Ancient’s gene involved. And then there was the fact Thor was the High Commander of the Asgard Fleet, a general, a tactition and soldier, not a scientist, not really, despite all his shiny toys and tricks beyond what a human counterpart might be able to pull off. He also had tech far beyond anything human. None of them knew, and Replicators in Pegasus kept him on the back burner. Too much attention to him might get the NID interested again.

“Fuck,” Jack groaned as he flopped his head back where he laid on the (damned uncomfortable for sleeping) lounge sofa.

“You okay?”

Oh hell, Gerard. Jack sighed and sat up. “Friend had a stroke. They don’t know how George is yet.” Jack looked at Gerard, all wide-eyed and still obviously shaken by the nutcase of a fan earlier. “Sorry, if I woke you–“

“Couldn’t sleep. You didn’t wake anyone else..”

“Frank monkeyed with my phone when I was getting stitches, didn’t he?”

“Uhm...”

Jack snorted. “Ought to wipe his damned little thingamajig and fill it with opera. If I can catch Carter or Daniel long enough to talk me through it.”

“I’ll help.” Gerard almost smiled. “Can save his music onto my laptop..use Bob’s to upload to it if you’ve got...”

“Yeah, got it on CD in storage–“ CD. Damn he missed his vinyl. He better inherit his albums when O’Neill ...Christ he was getting morbid. He scrubbed his hand over his face. “You okay, kid?” Jack asked.

Gerard snorted. “I’m, what? Twelve years older than you?”

Jack had to stop and think how old he was at the moment–officially–eighteen. Right? “You’re thirty” he gaped at Gerard.

Gerard snorted. “Thirty one.”

Jack shook his head. “Baby-face.” he snorted. “You don’t look any older than Cassie.”

“Who?”

“Friend’s daughter...Cassie is...” two years older than what he is supposedly right now. Oops. Damn he was tired. He needed a drink. And that wasn’t happening on this bus. He got why, he respected why, but goddamn he wanted a drink. “Twenty.”

“Where–that kid earlier–where did you learn to...”

Jack snorted. Yeah, like he was able to explain that one. Still, Worm and the other security had been busy with the screaming girl mob trying to get to the other four, especially Frank, and the one nut that had managed to grab Gerard had been a sneaky little shit. He saw it first, and he was close enough, since Adrian’s cousin seemed to have decided babysitting Jack was his job and tended to keep him within arm’s reach.. “Most of the people I consider family are military. I picked stuff up.” Okay, that was...yeah, close enough. Carter and Hammond were Air Force, O’Neill was Air Force, Teal’c was a soldier, he’d been in Apophisis’ army as long O’Neill had been alive before he’d ended up with them.

He glanced over at Gerard. There, it’s there in his eyes, how shaken the kid still was. And with the crowds of fans and stage and whatever else went with all the celebrity shit and noise were safely kept away by the bus engines and the motion of wheels on concrete, the shaken was that much easier to see. If Jack wasn’t there, he was pretty sure Gerard would be–twitching or curled up in a ball rocking, some little breakdown he wasn’t likely to let the others, especially his little brother, see.

He was exhausted. George, damn it. He was almost banged up enough at the moment for it to feel familiar, feel right, feel like countless missions with Jan reading them the riot act in the infirmary after. Janet was gone though, and he hadn’t even been able to go to her funeral. None of them could come up with a way to explain who the hell he was to Cassie. Six years and he’s still not used to this too short, too skinny body. When he had been fifteen or sixteen (which is what both he and O’Neill guessed he was physically from memory and old pictures) he hadn’t been comfortable in it either, that he could remember, but it was that much worse the second time around–and then stuck with it for six years now. At least he’d mastered it this time, had himself trained, strengthened, muscles retaught what O’Neill’s were forgetting, or at least protested remembering these days with aches and pains of years of mission-injuries.

“Aw for cryin’ out loud, kiddo, c’mere,” Jack groaned. He reached and tugged Gerard carefully down onto the couch next to him. Gerard, something about him at the moment was putting in mind Daniel trying to hold it together after a mission, be a good soldier for Jack–for O’Neill, back when things were so screwed up. After Shau’re had died, and Jack–O’Neill, hell him, he was only one person then–he was having his own freaking mid-life crisis about Daniel.

Before either of them really had a clue how, Gerard had his head pushed gently on Jack’s shoulder, Jack’s elbow on the back of the couch and fingers brushing over slightly greasy black awkwardly, partly from the angle and partly because Jack hadn’t really touched anyone, in anyway, much since Loki, since he’d been in existence.

“It’s normal ya know, kiddo. When something, “a mission”tanks and goes south and everything’s just completely fubared. You’re fine in the moment,” training holds, kicks in”then after, the adrenaline wears off and what was reaction and autopilot then kinda crawls in your head and rattles around til ya want to scream, especially when it goes to what could have happened.” This he knew. How many kids had he taken out green and brought them home, on world or off, with their first real action behind them, first fire fight, first injury (on world usually bullet or shrapnel wound, off well all bets were off off world), first dead buddy... So he’d never pulled any of those kids next to him, that if they were any closer they’d be on his lap, or put their head on his shoulder and petted their hair. Daniel he had a couple times, after they were both so pissed up the innocent contact could be blamed, explained away by whiskey and wine. Still this kid wasn’t a soldier, hell wasn’t even Daniel who had to learn how to be one to make it at the SGC. Patting him on the back and saying good job, did good when it counted wasn’t the thing to do with Gerard. “Ya ain’t a wimp or a little girl that when the adrenaline wears off you’re shaky and wanna puke over it all. And thanks–you wouldn’ta called my name I mighta really hurt the kid.” killed him.

Gerard trembled a little. “I’m thirteen years older than you.”

Jack snorted. Kid, I’m old enough for you to be my kid. Charlie. Christ. Charlie would be twenty what...twenty three now? Twenty-four? “Numbers always give me a headache.” Jack offered. Especially when it came to figuring out how the hell old he was supposed to be these days, and Carter. Numbers being nothing but a damn headache when they came from Carter’s direction was a given, and usually Danny’s, though his numbers were years and centuries and historical eras usually. But years made his head hurt as a matter of course these days.

Gerard giggled a little bit. High and off, a little wheezy and a lot shaky.

Jack’s fingers tangled a little more into black hair. “S’okay, kiddo, you’re safe now. No one got really hurt, just the kinda crap that’s scarier after than during.”

“You don’t like our music,”

“I like the lyrics okay, it’s not bad, when it’s not at weapons grade volume like I’m hearing it every day.” Jack snorted, unfazed by the strange seemingly random of that proclamation. Jack had spent too many years trying to keep Daniel from getting killed, and he mostly had succeeded, mostly. Daniel had more lives than a cat, any cat, terrestrial or not, and was alive and breathing with alien poison ivy or something to that effect at the mountain right now. Gerard’s mind worked like Daniel’s did. Well, on the same general principles, you just rolled with what they spat out because eventually it’d make sense, usually. Daniel almost always, Gerard a little less so from what Jack has seen the last six weeks with these guys, but enough. He had an earnest innocence that still peeked through all the jaded. He had the same whirlwind spin, thinking in seventy directions at once like Daniel had. Less focused, less grounded, less book educated–he wasn’t going near intelligence. Daniel was a freak of nature, so was Carter. 99.9 percent of the population of a dozen worlds were less intelligent than Daniel, and Carter for that matter. Daniel you might have a vague idea of the direction he was going, or at least stood a chance of knowing where he was intending to end up, because it was a mission, a current apocalypse that had him spouting off something about–Egyptian cat worship or some damn thing. Too damn many years of Daniel to blink at a little bit of random from someone who had that same spin in their eyes.

“Weapons grade volume?” Gerard repeated, his voice shaky but amusement and confusion taking over the shaky just a little.

“Yep.”

“You’re very odd,”

“Yeah, sure, you betcha,” Jack smiled tiredly and continued to pet Gerard’s hair. George. fuck.

Jack vaguely registered the hand that inched over to his knee, he sure as hell noticed as Gerard’s hand slid up and stopped about mid-thigh.

“Gerard,” Jack managed to get out in a strangled voice. Gerard pulled back, then leaned, turning just enough as Jack turned his head to look at the singer. Scared, beautiful, nervous. Jack got this too. Got the need to feel alive, while the situation had been, from Jack’s perspective, minor. A kid flying on hell knows what– a big kid, 6 foot or so with some muscle- tackling and screaming and just making no sense at all, no reason discernable for the attack. Out of left field like it had been, yeah, it was enough to rattle Jack a bit and Gerard had been the target and he wasn’t used to being ambushed violently despite grabby handed fans. He knew this, understood this. The need to feel alive, not alone when the adrenaline and fear and anger started to wane.

Gerard’s eyes were so fucking wide, the tangle of emotion and confusion that shown from them sucker-punched Jack. Old hat for him, but violent close calls not involving mosh pits weren’t for Gerard.

Beautiful kid. Christ, he was an absolutely beautiful kid. Lips soft hesitant, almost pleading against his own. Jack let it happen–it had been so long since he’d kissed anyone slow, hesitant. Beautiful gorgeous kid, brilliant, strange amazing kid. And one old enough Jack didn’t feel like a pedophile for noticing that. Even more strangely reminded him of Daniel in the way things spun behind pretty eyes.

The slightest shift, Gerard leaned in a little closer, the kiss deepening. It wasn’t the kiss, hell no, it was the weight, the claustrophobia induced by a decidedly male body, combined with the kiss.

“I can’t,” Jack said raggedly, pushing Gerard back just an inch or two, gently, as he fought the rolling of his stomach, nightmares,--Christ, nearly twenty years old-- too close to the surface. No freakin’ way in hell was he getting any sleep tonight, he closed his eyes and he’d be smelling desert wind and sand and sweat and hearing Arabic in his nightmares.

Oh hell.

Jack’s hand tangled tightly in Gerard’s hair. “If I could, I would,” he whispered.

He must look even worse than he felt. He struggled to keep his breathing even and his face neutral and he was pretty sure he was failing just by the suspicion and horror that crept into Gerard’s eyes.

“If I could, I would. If I could–can’t–just it’s not you.” Jack managed. please, kid, let it go, let it go. “Long time ago, rather forget,”

And Gerard turned green. “You’re not old enough to have a long time ago.”

“Matter of perspective,” Jack grated out and nudged Gerard back to where he had been, his head on Jack’s shoulder, hunched in a bit more than Daniel ever had been in similar position with his old self. “I get it. I get it...can’t, kinda want to, but can’t. Shh, kiddo.”

“Sorry,” Gerard whispered shakily.

Jack pressed a kiss to dark hair, catching just a hint of forehead. “Don’t be. Best kiss I’ve had in ages, just can’t be more than that. I get it, just can’t..”

Slowly Gerard relaxed again, and finally slept. Jack stared blankly at the muted tv, no clue what the hell was on, it didn’t matter. The shaky kid who wasn’t used to being ambushed by psychopaths and George mattered. He pushed away old memories a half world and near two decades in time away, back to where they belonged, locked up and banished. He pushed away memories of missions and the comfortable feeling of Daniel leaning against him like this sleeping, even if it couldn’t be more than that, not even Daniel. He leaned his cheek against Gerard’s hair as the bus started to brighten with sunrise and waited for Daniel to call with more news of a life and friends that were no longer his.