Many thanks to Denny and Devra who gave this story a much needed boost!
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Title: Life in Small Ways
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An episode tag for Abyss
G and Gen
Angst
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"Colonel O'Neill, I thought I told you-"
At Fraiser's voice Jack jumped, surprised to find himself drifting. From the sound of it, she'd been talking for a while. "Sorry. What?"
Dr. Fraiser took a deep breath and let it out as a long sigh. "Are you alright, Jack?"
"Well, I've been better," he said and winced at the pull of sore muscles. He smoothed the sheet beneath his fingers, reveling in the feel of cold cotton instead of hard stone or hot blood.
"Physically, there's not much wrong with you, you do know that?" Out of habit, he suspected, she picked up his chart and started to flip through the pages. "You're a little dehydrated, you've strained some muscles in your back, a twisted ankle from your sprint to the 'gate." She scanned the list again. "Your blood count is a little low and we'll be keeping an eye on it, but the sarcophagus healed most of the-"
Jack cut her off. He didn't want to know about blood or hear the word blood or see blood ever again. And he certainly didn't want to discuss the sarcophagus. "I got the bullet point summaries, Doc, when you brought me in last night."
She pursed her lips together. "I know how hard this has been on you, sir, but it will get better. You'll need to talk to someone..."
He closed his eyes and let her drone on. Ba'al's torture had drained him of more than just the blood flowing through his veins. It had made him delusional, maybe even crazy. He'd begged for death, both from Ba'al and from the strange apparition who'd appeared to him, the apparition that had looked like Daniel. Of course, neither of them had been that kind to him. Ba'al kept slicing him open again and again, and Daniel did nothing but talk at him again and again. They'd each in their own way tortured him to death.
Ba'al's had been the worst, no doubt about it, with the knives and the damned sarcophagus. Just when he thought he'd be given the grace to die, Ba'al would stick him in that damned coffin and bring him back to life. But Daniel's torture had been of a different, more insidious kind. He'd offered Jack another deal he simply couldn't take. He'd offered him ascension. It was thoughtful of him, really, (in a very Daniel-like kind of way) to offer Jack the opportunity to join him, and had Jack really believed in his own sanity, he might have taken him up on the offer.
But it wasn't true, and he hadn't taken Daniel up on the offer. He'd lashed out at the ghost in the white sweater. He'd accused him of not caring. He'd thrown a shoe through him. He'd acted like an ass. Nothing new there, Jack striking out at the one person who deserved it least. Objectively, Jack knew he was dealing with abject cruelty the only way he knew how. In his heart he knew he was dealing with cruelty by lashing out at the person who had left him behind—not with Ba'al (although that betrayal hurt too) but at the bottom of the Stargate ramp where he'd walked away with a smile on his face to be with Oma DeSala. Daniel had left him behind—and Jack couldn't accept that.
"Sir?" Fraiser's voice intruded on his thoughts. "Did you hear anything I said?"
In another time and place Jack would have played the game. But he was too tired, too worn, too broken to do more than shake his head. "No."
"It'll get better, sir, but it'll take time. And we're here to help you every step of the way." She placed a gentle hand on his knee. "Trust me."
I've got my journey and you've got yours?"
He blinked dry gritty eyes.
"You're gonna be all right."
The ghost with a soft voice, a white sweater, and a self-deprecating smile had stood by Jack's bed, assuring him that life would go on.
You're just going to have to trust me."
The apparition had come and gone, leaving him alone in the infirmary.
"Sir?"
"Trust you," Jack said to the figure in white. "I can do that."
Dr. Fraiser squeezed his knee and then removed her hand, returning to her professional manner. "I'm serious about the coffee though. I don't want you drinking any more today." She gave a pointed glare at a small white cup sitting on a nearby table.
Jack saw it, the steam curling up from its surface. "I didn't drink any coffee. I swear."
"Of course not, sir." She obviously didn't believe him. "And when I find your co-conspirator, he or she will hear from me as well. No coffee until at least tomorrow," she ordered. Before she left, she turned down the lights. "I'll check on you in the morning. If you need anything before then..."
"Yeah, yeah." He waved her away and looked at the Styrofoam cup. The non-corporeal guy in the white sweater was long gone, yet who else would have left him an honest-to-goodness cup of coffee? How, he didn't know, nor did he care. But he did wonder if Fraiser had Daniel Jackson listed among the possible co-conspirators.
He heard the door close with a snick, and he was alone again.
"Thanks," he'd told Daniel. He said it again in case his ghost was still with him, and let the smell of coffee lull him to sleep.
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