Sequel/series info: 3rd in series after Iraq: hounds of love sequence and Blackbeard
Content Level: 15+
Content warnings: language, implied m/m (I never pretended that J/S was all pretty rainbows and apple pie….)

Summary: More of the story dealing with Jack's recovery from captivity - set in and around Blackbeard.


Caught in the monkey jar : Blackbeard Interludes by Roo

Comfortably numb (Pink Floyd)

Military hospital

Jack O'Neill was glad to get out of the house, but hated the idea of being here even more. The physical therapy was a given and something he'd done many times before. But the 'other' was mandatory and he'd put it off long enough. Keep calm he told himself. Deep breaths. Although his knee brace had gone, and the sling for his shoulder was gone too he still wasn't allowed to drive. The indignity of a designated driver picking him up from home also made him mad with the world. Sara would have driven him without question, but she'd want to make small talk and fill in the silent gaps with chatter. He didn't want chatter. He needed space before and after his PT sessions and definitely after 'these' sessions.

God, but he was tired and hungry. Stop it. Don't. Don't think about food. Mouth-watering food. Not the …muck he'd had over….don't go there. Too late, now he was thirsty. Always thirsty. The novelty of water any time, all the time. Not like…stop it. Calm deep breaths. He read the nameplate again. "Dr (Colonel) Stephen Marwood, Psychologist." Like he hadn't already memorised every etched curve and straight line in the shiny brass.

He wasn't wacko, or at least he didn't think so. Looking back he remembered the confusion and bewilderment freedom had brought him. Confused, he lashed out at his rescuers and only told them his name rank and number like he'd told it a million times before. He wouldn't give them any other names, convinced it was all a trick. They injected him with something and when he woke up he seemed to be tied to a bed, attached to monitors and tubing.

So yes, maybe he'd gone a little nuts then.

After that everything was fuzzy and strange, like he was swimming under water. He was so tired and in pain all the time. He hung on desperately. He just wanted go home to his family. Days passed without him remembering details .They spoke to him but he couldn't process it. It was all too fast. He didn't understand what was going on or where he was. So he said nothing, and waited for an opportunity to escape. They told him he was back home, that everything was alright, that he was ill because of powerful infections. But he didn't believe them. Escape and finish the mission, that's all he had to do- then he could go home.

He struggled out of the bed, hanging on for life to IV poles and chairs with one hand. Geez but he looked like a mummy, bandages everywhere. Some sort of brace round his knee and part way round his back and right shoulder, thick padding on his feet. Shuffling slowly to the door and opening it and peering out was a revelation. Maybe he was dreaming this after all, delirious like they'd told him? But this was a huge hospital, clean and bright, muted tones on the walls, overhead speakers calling doctors and making announcements. He clung to the door and edged out. People. Normal people, not in tunics and headscarves. American looking people. And many of them were in uniform, one or two wearing USAF T-shirts even. He swallowed hard.

Someone came towards him. Familiar but his mind refused to co-operate. "Jack!" it couldn't be, but it was. His friend, his nemesis, his traitor. Frank Cromwell. Frank reached for him but he backed away, lost his balance and all the pain and hurt surged up and he fell into blackness.

The second time Frank tried to see him at the hospital Jack hit him with his water jug. He'd almost fallen out of his bed going for his throat, machines beeping and wailing in the background, staff rushing in…. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, and he hadn't changed his mind about that opinion since he'd got back home.

Jack sighed heavily, cleared his throat and picked at the seam of his pants, back in the here and now. The doc was going to try an open him up like a can opener. Let it all out. Wasn't going to happen. More like stick it in the pan and let it burn all to hell. You can have everything you want, except what you want.

He'd given them the abbreviated version in pieces at the first and second hospitals. He managed to be clear enough just to nod or shake his head, which was all he could at the time, round the dental surgery. He was pretty sure he hadn't told them anything he shouldn't despite the pain and drugs he'd been on at the time. So they'd had the basics- now they wanted infinite detail. They'd just have to be grateful with what he could give them. Almost but not quite everything. It was all he had. Some of the story was his to bear witness to and carry alone. They didn't need to know everything. He'd had to be strong to survive. Just one more door to go through, one more hoop to jump. He was a good soldier. This would be a piece of cake. Easy. But he knew he was lying to himself.

He sorted through his memory for solutions and techniques and reviewed his options again. Yup. Sure that this plan would fly. He could do this. A little at a time, enough to get them going. He knew he needed help but only on his terms. Be patient. Maybe he had a few issues and lost marbles, but that's what the doc was for right? His heart jumped as the door opened. Time for the games to begin.

"Major O'Neill, I'm just going to set a few ground rules okay?" His latest patient stared back at him. The doctor sat in one of the armchairs, a notepad open on his knee, pencil tucked into the spiral.

"Major, I'd like to hear you speak or at least nod so that I know you can hear me." He took the slight nod for what it was and continued.

"Nothing you do or say to me here in this room goes anywhere else unless I deem it a medical emergency. I am conversant with your history and I'm here to help you deal with what happened to you. I'm Colonel Marwood, but I'm also a fully qualified doctor in psychotherapy and psychology and I've been in the service for twenty three years. The door is shut but not locked and we can open the window for more air if you'd like. The fridge in the corner has water bottles if you need any."

The room was deliberately non threatening. More like a lounge with comfortable chairs, a couch and a coffee table. In one corner a desk was angled, with a phone and piled high in/out trays, Dictaphone on top and filing cabinets nearby. The pictures on the walls were not the usual military ones of planes and flags and the President, but gentle woodland forests and waterfalls instead.

Still getting no reaction the doctor got up and took a bottle of water from the fridge and placed it on the coffee table. His patient looked at it and then back at him, watching and waiting. The doctor continued to explain what the sessions were for, how long they'd last but he knew that O'Neill wasn't following him. He was lost in his thoughts far away, but every now and then he'd look at the condensation on the outside of the water bottle like a starving man. He wanted it but did not ask for it, nor did he just take it. He sat there tired, in pain and struggling to adapt to normal life now that he was back in the real world again. He didn't want to be there and it showed.

The next session a few days later a crack appeared and the doc lightly probed to see how deep the crack went and how to repair it without his patient shattering. O'Neill limped in, all spit and bravado when the doc could see how tightly reined in he really was. And in the end it was nothing the doctor did, O'Neill did it to himself.

"Okay start the clock doc. I'm all yours."

"Are you sure? You look…"

"What? Had a tough PT session that's all." But the doctor noted the grimace of pain when O'Neill sat back against the comfortable chair.

"The therapy is supposed to get range of motion back not re injure you."

"I can handle a little pain doc."

"You don't have to, and you're not supposed to hurt that much after therapy."

"Thanks but I'll take the pain over any drugs of choice."

"Interesting answer. Why?"

"Because I've been through this before."

"Ah, yes the injuries you sustained when a parachute failed to open properly."

"Oh yeah. That." The doc noticed that O'Neill really did look drained and in fact was beginning to struggle to stay awake.

"Tell me how you got through that."

"Why?"

"Humour me."

"I just picked myself up, buried the chute best I could. Used some for bandages and headed out. No idea what happened some of the time, but mostly I was just aiming to get the intel out, and then go home, one step at a time."

"Like in Iraq?"

"If I could have walked home from there I would have doc. But they…. stopped me. They stopped us from doing our job."

"Who did?"

"You know! I already told you. I'm not telling you anything!"

"Why won't you tell me?"

"O'Neill, Jonathon, Major."

"Tell me what you see."

"No! O'Neill Jonathon, Major."

"Jack, you're not over there. You're home with your family, on the base. You got out. You made it home."

"No! Trick. Trap. Liar."

"Open your eyes if you don't believe me."

"You're the liar; I'm the one with the hood over my head and tied to the chair!"

"No you're not. Feel the chair you're sitting in. It's soft, comfortable isn't it? Open your eyes and see for yourself." His patient did open his eyes but he still wasn't seeing the here and now.

"Okay so you took the hood off."

"Would you like some water? I'm placing a bottle in your hand, you sound thirsty." No answer. O'Neill's hands refused to grip the bottle.

"Why won't you take the water?"

"O'Neill, Jonathon, Major. Think you can bribe me with the water?"

"Not really."

"It's still daylight."

"What has that to do with anything?"

"This is another trick right? Fool me into drinking without permission again?"

"What happened?"

"You know! We all know! We were all punished!"

"Just drink the water."

"No! Did you put salt in it again? It's too early, not dark yet."

The doctor went over to the window and pulled a dark blind down, muting the daylight.

"Is it okay now?" O'Neill looked round at the window and nodded.

"There's plenty of water in the fridge over there. New seals on them, never been opened before. Trust me."

O'Neill got up and slowly went to the fridge; he opened the door and stood looking at the contents for a long time. He reached in and held a bottle, struggled to open it and seemed to have difficulty using one arm. In the end he used his teeth on the plastic screw cap. After the first tentative sip he drank the whole bottle thirstily. And before the doctor could say anything he grabbed another and drank that. He leaned against the fridge breathing heavily. The doctor went over to him as he started to open the third bottle and slowly raised the blind on the window.

"Jack. It's okay to have the water whenever you want it- day or night okay? Just don't overdo it. The cleaning services really hate getting stains out of the carpet in here."

"Weren't we just talking about something else doc?" O'Neill put the bottle down abruptly.

"How's the water Major?"

"Ah. It's fine, what time is it?"

"We still have a few minutes left. Finish your water."

"I've had enough thanks. I'll save this for later".