Jack by Mandarax
Rated T
Disclaimer – yadda, yadda, yadda
Summary - Completely AU. Jack's minds finds outlet to help him cope. Jack whumpin'.
Author's note – After three weeks of being muse-less, this finally came to me after watching Grace Under Pressure, the Atlantis episode where McCay hallucinates Carter. I loved the name reference to SG1's Grace. And then it just wrote itself. Hope you enjoy.
**
"Jack."
He didn't bother to look up. He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. She wasn't really there. He knew that. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Any minute now they, whoever they were, will come back for him, and this hell will start all over again, with the pain and the screaming and the –
"Jack. Look at me."
Reluctantly he opened his eyes and slid his head sideways against the wall. "You're not here."
"And you're being tortured. Again."
He sighed but kept his eyes on her. The imagined her. His mind always knew just the right times to conjure her up. And she was never in uniform. Jeans and a black sweater with just a hint of cleavage, boots, light makeup. Nothing Air Force about her.
"So this is how it works?" he asked. "You guys take turns keeping me entertained while I wait for the real you to show up?"
"Huh?" She asked.
"Never mind," he sighed. He closed his eyes again. "So what are you doing here?"
"I don't know. You brought me here."
"Right."
He stretched his leg, the one that didn't hurt every time he moved. Keeping his eyes closed, he concentrated on breathing, running an internal inventory of his body to assess the damage they have caused other than the broken leg.
"Jack."
He opened one eye. "Weird."
She raised an eyebrow at him and he opened both eyes to look at her.
"You, saying my name. I'm always Sir to you."
"I'm a figment of your imagination, Jack. I'd much rather not be Carter or Colonel in your head."
"Ah." He breathed heavily again and it hurt. There was a broken rib, too. The third rib on the right side, if he was correct. Damn, always the same one. He was silent then. As was his head. She must have disappeared, he figured. He listened for the sound of boots against the metal floor. They'll be back soon.
"Not always."
He opened his eyes again. "Hmm?"
"You're not always sir. Or General."
He snorted. "You? The perfect officer? The walking rule book?"
She slid down the wall across from him. "Necessity," she said simply, her eyes holding his gaze.
"I thought you moved on."
She looked away, a sad half smile on her lips. "I tried."
He gave an exasperated snort. "This means nothing. I've had this conversation with you in my head too many times." But he kept his eyes trained on her.
She glanced back up. "And?"
"And nothing. Chain of command, planet to save, 15 years older than you."
"That last one was never a problem, Jack."
He rolled his eyes. "Talk to me when you're 70 and I'm dead."
She sighed but said nothing.
He resumed his previous position, eyes closed, head against the wall. He concentrated on everything but her. She was in his mind but he could smell her scent. There was pain in his head. A concussion. Damn.
"I was hoping you moved on so that I can move on."
"Is that true?" she whispered.
"No," he admitted. "I tried to convince myself it was. Just so I can bear seeing you with someone else."
"He's just a replacement for what I want and can't really have. A bad replacement."
"You're better off without me, Sam."
"You seem to forget that I know you, Jack. I know you pretty well. I know you're brave, and handsome, and a lot more intelligent than you let on. And I know what I want."
"You're a figment of my imagination. I hear you say that in my head every day," he rubbed his eyes again.
"Do you doubt that I, or she, or however you want to refer to Sam, really feels that way?"
"No. Maybe that's the problem."
"Is it a problem?"
He kept his eyes trained on her as long as he could. He could hear the boots on the metal floors coming for him. He heard the latch on the large metal door unlock and open with a screech. He steeled himself for the large arms that would grab him and pull him to his feet, then drag him out.
**
"Sir?"
The voice broke into his subconscious, but he refused to allow it to bubble out and take him with it. He held on tight to the deep slumber, all the while feeling it slide between the fingers of his mind. For the first time since… he didn't know how long really, there was no pain. There was a numb feeling from within. He wouldn't stir for anything.
"Sir?"
The voice again, this time closer. Right above him, maybe. He refused to acknowledge its presence. He would not let it disturb the lack of pain, lack of screaming in his head and outside it. No metallic floors being pounded on. No sharp, pointy things beneath his feet. No, the sound cannot be acknowledged.
"Jack?"
A whisper right over his ear. He opened his eyes.