Make it Stop
By
Denise
I don't ever want to be like that again.
Carter's softly spoken admission haunts me now, even though it's three years later.
It was a quiet night when she'd said it, the two of us alone on my deck, the noise from the movie the others were watching just a low murmur in the background.
She'd just passed her psych eval, the last obstacle to her returning to active duty after Jolinar. She should have been happy, was on the surface. But I could tell something was bugging her, hence the little tete a tete on the deck, private but not too private, the large glass sliding door providing a chaperone.
"What do you mean?" I asked her, deliberately keeping my voice casual but not flippant. Carter wasn't the type to open up freely, still isn't, and I know if I phrased something wrong, she'd just clam up.
"I remember everything he did," she said, not looking at me. "It was like…like sitting in the front row in the theater but you can feel and hear and smell the movie." She turned and looked at me. "I remember the look on Cassie's face, and what it sounded like when I threw you across the room." She held up her hands, rubbing them together. "I can still feel the grenade. I…I don't ever want to do that again," she said sincerely.
"Yeah, well, I can think of a few other experiences I'd rather relive," I said.
She shook her head. "No, sir. What I mean is…" she paused, clearly working up the courage to say something. For a minute, I really thought she was going to quit. Something I really didn't want to let her do, not after all the wrangling Hammond and I did to keep her at the SGC and on SG-1. "What happened was the worst thing that's ever happened to me and I'd rather die than go through it again," she said, turning to look me in the eyes.
"Carter?" I asked, more than a little spooked by the desperation in her voice.
"I'm asking you, please, if it ever happens again, don't try to get it out or make it leave just…I can't do that again." She shakes her head. "I can't, I just…."
"Ok," I cut her off, the faint note of panic in her voice starting to spook me. "It won't happen again."
"Promise me," she demanded. "Your word, as an officer."
"Yeah," I said, reaching out to grab her arm. "I give you my word."
She stared at me for a second, then sighed, shutting her eyes. "Thank you," she said, her body visibly relaxing.
I'm reminded of that night now as I stare at her lying on that bed. I try to tell myself that I did what she wanted. I honored her request when I shot her…when I killed her.
Part of me is angry at Fraiser for bringing her back, especially when I knew she had to have been aware of Sam's wishes.
I guess I can't blame her for trying though. We've been resurrected from the dead so many times I'd started to think we were immune or something. Fraiser did her job, but she just made mine that much more difficult. Now I have to kill her again. I have to pull the plug, which is really misleading because what I'm really going to do is flip a switch.
Flip a switch and the machine will stop.
First the breathing part stops, then I get to sit and watch the little screen, the little blip that represents her heartbeat will falter in its rhythmic dance, stumbling and staggering across the screen until it falls for that last time, collapsing to the floor to lie so still.
I don't want to do it. When I made that promise three years ago, I never thought I'd have to keep it. All I was doing was telling her what she needed to hear, giving her some peace of mind.
I wasn't going to have to kill her, because I wasn't going to let it happen again, to her, to any of us.
There wasn't supposed to be a threat here. We're not on some alien planet, in our own base, where we're supposed to be safe.
I don't ever want to be like that again.
I let her down. I never shoulda let her try to talk to the thing. Shoulda fought harder to just blow it up. It didn't seem that dangerous at first, then again, when you look at a goa'uld they don't look that dangerous either. Until they force their way inside you, raping your mind and taking over your body. Using your memories against you.
I could see it in her eyes as the entity used her body to talk to us. A tiny flicker of horror barely visible behind the entity's cold expression. She knew what was going on, she was aware. She was begging me to end it, disappointed that I'd let it happen again. I broke my promise. I let her down.
I don't ever want to be like that again.
It's too easy. All I have to do is flip that little switch. It's a tiny thing, a little piece of plastic. It shouldn't be that easy to kill someone. Of course, technically I'm not killing her. I already did that. There's nothing there, that's what Doc says. That her brain, the part of her that makes her, her, is gone, dead. Devoid of life, like some hunk of meat at the butcher shop.
I already killed her once, now I have to do it again.
I could take the easy way out, leave the room and make Doc do it. It's her job after all.
And it's her fault that Carter's hooked up to the damn thing in the first place. I should make her do it, teach her a little lesson about honoring someone's wishes.
I don't ever want to be like that again.
No. She was just doing her job. She was trying to save Sam, not hurt her. How would we have lived with it if the entity had left and we let Sam die because we just didn't care enough to try and save her? Because we didn't give her every opportunity to live.
I wish Jacob were here. He deserves the chance to say goodbye. The Tok'ra said they'd send word, but that it'd likely be days or weeks. We can't do that to her, keep her alive just to make him kill her. That's cruel, to both of them.
I should do it, just reach out and flip that switch. It's right there, three feet away. If it was a snake…I can't make my hand move. I know I should get up, I should just end it, but I can't. The only sound in the room is the hiss of one machine, the beeping from another. I should make them stop. That's what she wants…wanted. That's what she asked me to do, begged me to promise her years ago.
I don't ever want to be like that again.
One simple thing, one of the few things she's ever asked of me. I let her down when I let that thing crawl into her head; I don't want to let her down again. I should flip the switch, honor her wishes, and do this one last thing for her.
I don't ever want to be like that again.
I should make it stop, let her have her peace.
I should.
I can't.
Fin