Less Than Human
by Mandarax
Summary – We never got to see how Jack dealt with the after effects of what happened to him in Abyss. So this is an ep tag to… Abyss. Obviously, a bit of Jack-whumpin' and as always, S/J loving (but still UST).
Disclaimer – I'm only fixing what you destroyed.
A/N – Been marathoning SG-1 recently, and reading SG1 books (Trial By Fire) and I got this idea after watching Abyss and the book played in… Anyway, I geeked out and wrote a story.
Spoilers – obviously, Abyss.
SG1SG1SG1SG1SG1
"How is he, Doctor?"
She'd been watching over him from the observation deck, leaning against one of the columns holding the tilted windows, her arms crossed in front of her, lost in thought. Below, in the room with him, all three of his teammates sat. Teal'c and Jonas off against one wall, and Sam sat by his bedside, one eye constantly on the Colonel.
Dr. Fraiser straightened when she heard the voice, but General Hammond's hand wave stopped her and she let herself drop back against the column.
"Physically, Sir, he's fine. Has never been better."
"Sarcophagus," Hammond surmised.
"Yes," she nodded minutely.
"Will he have withdrawal symptoms like Dr. Jackson had when SG-1 brought him back from P3X-395?" The General stood next to the petite doctor, watched over the scene below him with her, when he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper, as if not to awake the sleeping Colonel below.
"He'll have some residual effects of the repeated use of the Sarcophagus, but I can't be certain how much. Daniel's addiction was fed by his use of the Sarcophagus when he was perfectly healthy. From what I could tell Colonel O'Neill had been tortured, put through the Sarcophagus a countless number of times. I suspect he'd been dead for a few of them, if the nightmares are anything to go by."
General Hammond swallowed, picking up on what she wasn't saying. "Emotional trauma."
"And knowing the Colonel, he isn't likely to actually deal with it in any way that is not his own."
"I don't suppose Dr. Mackenzie will be any help," Hammond's lips curled up slightly.
Dr. Fraiser snorted softly as she looked at her CO, appreciative of his attempt to ease the tension they all felt. "If anything, meeting with the good Doctor will just delay Colonel O'Neill's recovery."
"Yes, I suspect it would."
Silence descended on the two observers as they watched SG-1 below them change shifts. Major Carter stood up, looked at her companions who were immediately by her side. They spoke softly, and Teal'c took to the chair next to O'Neill as the other two left the room. Both officers watching above knew it was only temporary – Carter and Quinn will be back within a few minutes. The three hadn't left O'Neill's side for more than a few minutes at a time, and never all three together. It was always like that.
Hammond straightened, rising to his full height, which may not have been very tall, but commanded a lot of respect. Fraiser followed suit without even noticing.
"What will be the next step in his recovery, Doctor?"
The small woman glanced down at the sleeping man below and back at her CO. "He's sedated right now, so he can at least sleep for a few hours without the dreams. Since he's physically fine and such a private man, I don't want to keep him in the infirmary more than I have to. I'll give him a checkup when he wakes up, and send him home for a few days."
"It's not like he'll take more than a few days as it is," Hammond nodded. "Though I'm not sure it would do him good to be alone."
Below them Carter and Quinn were back. Teal'c relinquished the seat and Carter took it with a gentle nod and small smile to her teammate.
"I don't really think he'll be alone, Sir," Fraiser answered, "and I'll prescribe sleeping medication for him to take, if he needs it."
"Very well, Doctor." Hammond glanced down once more and turned to leave. "Keep me informed."
"Yes, sir."
SG1SG1SG1SG1SG1
He wasn't surprised to find his team there when he woke up. He wasn't surprised when he'd been told that they hadn't left his side for the whole three days since he'd stumbled back through the Stargate. He wasn't surprised to learn that physically he was perfectly fine. He wasn't surprised to learn he'd been sedated for three days. He wasn't surprised to learn that he might be feeling the effects of sarcophagus withdrawal for a few days. He wasn't surprised to learn that SG-1 was given downtime until he felt strong enough to come back.
He was surprised to learn that he didn't have to see the head shaman, Mackenzie. Eventually he will have to go to a psych exam, it's the only way Hammond will let him back in the field, but he didn't have to do the whole healing process thing with that man who only wanted to know how he felt about things. Mackenzie was of course available for him should he choose to talk to him, but he didn't think anyone really thought that was going to happen.
And for the first few days of his recovery, Jack O'Neill appreciated having his team near him when he was home, as well. There was an underlying fear in being alone and wallowing in thoughts. More like getting buried under them. Except that they – Carter, Teal'c and Quinn - were there all the time. When he woke up, they were there. When he went for a run, they were there. When he had dinner, they were there. When he took a shower, they were there. They were always there.
On the fourth day, he thought he was losing his mind in a brand new way.
THEY NEEDED TO LEAVE HIM ALONE.
It was Teal'c who'd noticed it first. Or maybe Carter did, but didn't give in to it because she didn't think he should be on his own yet. But it was Teal'c who was the first to say something. An hour later, all three of his teammates, his family, had gone and left him on his own for the first time since… Since his little escapade, and it had been a blessing. There was no one there to argue with him when he decided to take Fraiser's sleeping pill, there was no one there to stop him from throwing things in his house when the rage was just too much. There was no one there to stop him from standing outside, on his porch, barefoot, drinking beer after beer after beer, wallowing in self-pity.
That had been two days ago.
He'd been waiting for her to show up since the previous evening.
She couldn't stay away. He knew that. Just as well as he knew Daniel, had he been of flesh and bones and not a ghost or a hallucination, would be here with her.
Sam.
He couldn't really say that she'd been foremost on his mind, the reason he stayed alive, his source of strength. She was there - of course she was in his mind, in his mantra to go on - as a member of the team, as his friend, as his family, as the woman he was still helplessly in love with. But she wasn't what drove him to escape. To survive. He momentarily wondered if she'd ask, but realized just as fast that she wouldn't. He also realized that even if she had been the reason he survived, managed to escape, his reason for continuing on living, he wouldn't tell her.
Just like he wouldn't tell her Daniel had come to him, had helped him, had kept him alive and hoping. That one he would keep to himself.
When she finally did show up, it was early evening. She wore form-fitting civvies and looked great, like she always did. She felt uncomfortable for the first two and a half seconds, not being used to being alone with him off base, but the uneasiness disappeared when the first beer went down and before she knew it, they were sitting on his couch. She was settled with her back against the armrest, her knees bent and crossed at the ankles, her arms wrapped around them and she was mostly staring at him, sitting next to her but not touching, spread out, legs on the coffee table in front of him, arms spread wide over the back of the couch.
They'd been talking about this and that, about the on goings at the SGC when he was away, since he came back. They talked about Cassie, because that was always a safe topic.
He waited for her to bring it up. He had until that moment to figure out if he was going to tell her or not. If he could trust her enough with his most vulnerable moments, or not. If he was going to actively shut her out, or not.
He'd nearly missed it when she finally did bring it up.
"I wish Daniel was here," she whispered softly when there was a lull in the conversation. "He'd know what to say to you."
"You're doing fine, Carter," he reassured her.
"I can talk about everything around it, but I don't even know how to start asking you about it."
"I don't want to talk about it." Gruff. He'd made his decision without realizing it.
"And Daniel would still know how to get you to talk about it."
He snorted, "You're giving him too much credit, Carter."
"Am I?" she gave him a half smile, half shrug. "Maybe."
He looked at her, examined her features, her eyes, the curve of her cheeks, the softness of her lips, the curl of her hair. This wasn't Major Carter. This was Sam Carter. Maybe he could trust her. He took another sip of his beer – his third since she'd arrived and fifth of the day – and relaxed back against the sofa, dropping his head back, not looking at her.
"I was tortured for information I didn't have, Carter. The snake ran away. Died. Whatever. I was tortured and put through the sarcophagus and tortured again. There isn't much more to it."
She knew the cold delivery of his statement had nothing to do with her prying and more with his need to detach himself from it to be able to actually say it. It still brought tears to her eyes.
"Do you remember how many times?"
"Eighteen."
She gasped. "Do you remember each time?"
"I was dead for some of them," he murmured. "I think I win the pool on which one of us died the most."
She was chuckling and wiping tears from her eyes. "Only because Daniel is still dead."
"Yeah." He still hadn't looked at her, unable to face the pity she must be feeling for him. But he'd started, and somehow now he didn't want to end it here. Even if she did pity him. He was her CO, he could order her to stop.
"What…" she swallowed, and tried again, "How did he do it?"
"Oh, there were knives that flew into me, there was acid, there were things I wouldn't wish for my greatest enemy. Except maybe for him."
She sniffled, and for the first time since he'd started talking about it, he looked at her. There was not a trace of pity in her eyes. There was anguish. There was pain. There was compassion. There was even the love he knew she still felt for him. But no pity.
"I wished I could find a way to die without ever being able to be revived. But there was no way. There was the torture, and the sarcophagus, and then the cell."
She didn't say anything, listening intently, crying softly to herself, letting him talk.
"Every time I woke up in that damn cell, I felt I was losing my humanity. I'd been hurt so badly, I'd died, and there was no physical evidence. No pain. I wanted to die and never wake up.
I wake up in the middle of the night, and I still don't feel human. I know where the scars should be, where the pain, searing pain, should be, but it's not there. I've been burned with acid, and have nothing to show for it. Scars have meaning. Scars tell you something about yourself, about who you are, about what you went through. I have none. I have ghost pain. Inhumane pain. Unreal pain."
He stood up suddenly, unable to take it anymore, not quite believing he'd said so much. Grabbed his beer and disappeared through the back door to the porch. He hadn't meant to say all that. Hadn't meant to… but her eyes, the tears, the anger, the pain, the despair he saw in them.
The thing was he'd meant it. He hadn't felt human since he woke up. Waking up screaming in the middle of the night was as close as he got to feeling human again. He'd sit up straight, screaming, reach a hand to where there should be an acid burn or a knife hole, and there would be none and he'd feel the life drain out of him. Lather, rinse, repeat.
And now she knew. Could never understand, but she knew.
Not that that would do either of them any good.
He threw the now empty bottle of beer across the back yard. It shattered against the fence into a million pieces and he thought about grabbing one and cutting himself open in all the places he felt the pain that had been taken away from him. Maybe then he would be human again.
He didn't move.
He'd heard the door open and close, heard her soft footsteps coming closer to him until she stood next to him.
"It's not the scars that tell the story, Sir. It's not that scars that make you human. It's the experience."
What the hell did she know.
Before he knew it, she was standing in front of him, her eyes still red but dry. She pressed two hands to his chest and pushed herself onto her tiptoes before pressing her lips to his.
She'd meant it to be a chaste kiss, soft and short and sweet, just enough to give him a taste of what it was to be human, that it wasn't just the pain the defined us, but also the sweet acts like kissing. God knows she'd have loved to show him more about the physical pleasures that defined them all as humans, but even the simple kiss wasn't really allowed.
Her chaste kiss was quickly turning into something a lot more passionate. It took him all of a millisecond to respond to her, opening her mouth with his lips, sliding his tongue against hers, sucking gently at her lips.
And just as fast as it had started, the kiss was over.
"No one who isn't human can kiss like that," she whispered as his forehead came to rest against hers. "No one."
He swallowed, his eyes wandering to her lips, so close with his forehead against hers. Then he let out an amused chuckle. "Daniel wouldn't have gotten his point across quite like that."
She laughed then, and he chuckled with her, and for the first time since the whole ordeal began, he felt alright. Felt like he could laugh again. Felt like he could joke around again. Felt like he was human again.
"Come'ere," he said softly, between chuckles as he pulled her into his arms into a hug that was hers and hers alone. She moved swiftly into his embrace, wrapping her arms around him and holding on tightly.
"Thank you," he whispered into her ear as he held her.
She simply nodded against him, not letting go.
SG1SG1SG1SG1SG1
That night, long after she'd left, he'd slept through the whole night without waking up from a nightmare once.
The next day he drove to the SGC and went directly to Dr. Fraiser's office to get checked up. She insisted he take a few more days off. To sleep through more than one night. To regain his strength.
He'd argued because that's what he does, until finally she sent him away with a simple "Doctor's orders".
He'd smiled back when he accepted her verdict. He'd actually planned on staying away for a few more days anyway.
He then went and found Teal'c, sparred with him in the gym. He'd had lunch with his friends in the commissary.
He'd gone back to the SGC two days later, dropped off the sleeping pills – he hadn't used them since Sam had come by.
He returned to duty the following Monday. He knew he would never be the same. The experience – the torture – took so much out of him, and he wasn't sure how much he would be able to get back.
But whenever Jack O'Neill needed a reminder that he is human he only needed to look over at his Major.
Fin