Hi, Guilt. People seem to think I don’t feel it, am not capable of it. That I’m some sort of unfeeling machine; all intellect and nothing else. Or at least, nothing good. I’ve heard it all; arrogant, rude, petty, tactless, unfeeling, sarcastic. And worse, I’ve heard much, much worse. Usually not directly to me, overheard conversations more often than not, though some are willing to tell me to my face what they hate about me. And that’s just it; everyone dislikes me, or hates me, despises me even. It’s no more than I deserve, I know that. I don’t have the time or energy to deal with people’s feelings, I deal with facts; cold, hard facts. My parents didn’t like me. Tolerated me at best, hated me at worst. Guess I should have gotten the clue, shouldn’t I? I mean, if they didn’t like me, what chance did I have that anyone would? But in my youth, and during my college years, I still hung onto the hope of making friends. And I did…only they always turned out to be people who wanted things from me. False friends. People who were using me to get better grades, or to kick start their careers. A couple even tried to steal my work…they failed, but that’s not really the point. These were people I let in, people I trusted, people I thought liked me, maybe even cared about me. In the end, I gave up. No one liked me, that was clear. And those who came in friendship were never friends. They’d drop me as soon as they got what they wanted, often telling me how much they detested me as a person in the process. So, I’m not likeable. It took me awhile to get it, but I got it in the end. Even those few I let see a side of me I rarely show to the world – the person I hide inside – even they couldn’t stand me. I accepted it as a fact in the end, and if no one was willing to like me, then why should I care about them or their feelings? So I push the world away, avoid people who offer friendship, and carry on alone. But I can feel guilt. The people I work with, the people I’m in charge of, they might hate me, I may not like them particularly, but they are my responsibility just the same. I don’t want to see them hurt, especially if it’s my fault. Don’t like to see anyone hurt if it’s my fault, whether they work with or for me or not. What happened in Russia is my fault. And I do feel guilt. Sure, Dr Lebedev went against my orders, against the orders of his government; went ahead with a stupid and dangerous experiment. Can’t be blamed for that, can I? That’s what I’ve been told. Only I can be blamed. I knew the guy, knew he was trouble, knew he was obsessed with this experiment. Wouldn’t accept his theories were wrong…reminds me of someone, actually. Someone not a million miles from here. I was wrong about Teal’c being dead when he was stuck in the stargate. I could see what Dr Lebedev was like, because I’ve been there myself. I knew he was dangerous, and I should have acted. Should have had him transferred to another project, preferably at another research centre entirely. But the thing was, everyone liked him, he could be very suave and charming when it suited him, and I really couldn’t be bothered with the hassle involved with trying to get him transferred. Couldn’t be bothered…three people died because of that, not to mention everyone who was hurt. So, I feel guilt, contrary to what everyone else seems to think. The stay in the hospital was the worst time of my life, and that’s really saying something. I was alone in a foreign country, and no one came to visit me, well, except for the ones investigating the ‘accident’ of course. But who would visit? When everyone hates you, you don’t expect visitors when you’re ill. I don’t know why it hit me so hard this time, perhaps because I nearly died from the infection. The knowledge that I could count on one hand the people who might mourn me. One hand would be too many digits, actually. Sure, my intellect might be missed, but me? I can think of many who’d be relieved I was no longer in this world to annoy them. I hope you wouldn’t be one of them, but I don’t kid myself that you would mourn me if I died. You barely tolerate me, but at least it’s better than being hated. Alexandra tolerated me, you know. She was one of the assistants that Dr Lebedev persuaded to help him with his experiment. I fully believe she didn’t know it wasn’t a sanctioned experiment, she wasn’t one for breaking the rules. She liked to work with me, wanted to learn, and showed a remarkable level of tolerance. I mean, she probably disliked me as much as anyone else there, but she could put up with me. And, rather pathetically, that meant a lot to me. I think her death hit me hardest. It’s rare to find someone who will tolerate me these days. Getting harder, it seems. I know people wonder why I’m here, in Colorado Springs. I resigned, couldn’t stand being in Russia anymore, and didn’t want the responsibility. I needed to get away from it all. Why here? Part of me wants to return to working for the Air Force, on my terms…which are basically that I don’t get assigned to a foreign place unless I’m willing to go…none of this packing me off against my will. So by being here, I guess I’m staying on the radar. I could have moved somewhere near to Area 51, but I prefer the climate here. I could always relocate if I returned to work at Area 51. Of course, the Air Force might be sighing in relief that I resigned. Or aren’t going to be manipulated by a civilian. To be honest, I’m not sure I care. I’d like to come back one day, but right now, even if I was offered a job at the SGC - and how unlikely is that? - I would turn it down. Maybe in a few months I’d accept, but not now. My reasoning isn’t up to its normal standard. If you want the truth, I came here because I wanted to be near to you…not that I’ve plucked up courage to try and meet with you…not that you would be interested in meeting with me anyway. It’s just that, rivalry aside, and your hotness too, I admire you. And I would like to be…well, maybe friends is too much to hope for, and it’s not like I know how to be a friend anyway…but, something. Stupid, really. lkkjhfsdgfsdfapetowriopkmebjjkkkk |