Yeah, sorry it took so long. Funny story: so I discovered Harry Potter over the holidays (wow Christmas seems so long ago now) and after watching the movies like 10 times each I decided to start reading the books and yeah, they kind of get addicting and you can't put them down, now I'm very upset about just missing Deathly Hallows Part 1 at my theatre, anyhoo that's why I haven't updated for a while. (Okay so not really all that funny of a story :P)

Now I have been pulled away from reading Half Blood Prince long enough to give you this chapter... how can you live knowing you are depriving me of my Harry Potter? lol jk

Also I wanted to thank all who have taken time out of their day to read this story as it is my first fic and an extreme work in progress, knowing people read and enjoy it means a lot.

LAIsobel , Your review was totally inspiring for this particular chapter. Thank you for being helpful.

And another small note. Thanks to my wonderful sisters who beta this for me, don't know what I do without you.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. If I did I would not need to write a fanfic about how much Sam and Jack love each other, it would be in the show.

Giving into Grief

Chapter 4

Self Battles

"Today we acknowledge the death of a very brave officer." General Hammond's voice boomed throughout the gate room from where he stood at the top of the ramp. That wasn't true. It wasn't one day and it would be over, I knew it would be forever. I had been acknowledging her death for days and it still wasn't any easier, I knew I would always acknowledge her death wherever I went because I didn't know how to walk away from it. I didn't hear the rest of my CO's speech but when he finished with "Major Carter will be missed" my head shot up from staring at my shoes, which I had neglected to shine for months and were looking rather ugly. At the sound of her name I fought back my emotions that I really didn't want surfacing at that particular time. And of course at that point, being the wonderful man that he is, General Hammond called me up for my '"few words"

My "few words" that were no words at all. I hadn't written a speech. How could I? It was not something I intended to write about, let alone talk about in front of more then half the base.

Once my shaking legs carried me up the ramp and I stared out at the many faces, I closed my eyes, wishing more than anything that I would open them and be anywhere but there. I fought against opening them for fear everything would be real. Finally, I did and it was real, so real. I couldn't hold back anymore. It wasn't what I wanted to do but for me there was no alternative. I couldn't stay and make a speech so I had to run. I couldn't stay and pretend everything was okay, not when everything would never be okay. At the time my mind thought it sensible so I just up and ran off.

For the second time that week I resorted to my top speed to get me out of the base. Instead of running of the premise I flung myself against my truck, slumping against the cool exterior. I didn't cry there, even with no one watching; my eyes were numb; at least that's how they felt, numb like the rest of me.

I popped up suddenly, remembering what was in the back of my truck. My mind went crazy (or was it already gone?) as I grabbed the old hockey stick from the interior of the vehicle. I wanted to destroy any happiness I had left. It wasn't the least bit right to have a nice shiny truck when Sam was dead.

I widely swung my hockey stick around in the air, yelling what I'm sure were some pretty nasty words that no one was there to hear anyway. After what seemed like years gone in slow motion the stick came in contact with glass and the sweet sound of shattering could be heard. For a second I couldn't believe that I had really just smashed my truck, and then suddenly I realized I really didn't give a damn and took a loop around the vehicle smashing every window and making dents and scraps in the once shiny midnight paint job.

Once I was done that and the parking spot was littered in broken glass I threw down my hockey stick so hard it cracked in two. Without another glance at it I clambered into the cab of my truck, the newly shattered glass crackling under my feet. For a moment I sat there, head resting against the steering wheel, shaking with emotion. I wanted to leave. I couldn't believe how no one acted as I was about it being her memorial; I didn't envy their ability to not feel what I was feeling. I wasn't jealous that they were moving on because I didn't want to move on at all. Everything was not okay, not for me. Everything would never be okay and I was determined to show the world that I would not take her death and live on.

With these thoughts coursing through my jumbled brain I jammed the key angrily into the ignition, turning it roughly. The engine roared to life as if nothing was wrong at all. I cursed at the truck for sounding so happy just like everyone else. I hit the gas peddle, hard leaving the base quickly and making my escape. A few blocks over and I felt I could breath again or at least the smallest bit better. I was alone again. Alone in my grief and that was fine.

Was it an insult to her memory to up and leave her memorial service like that? In my opinion it was an insult that the others were not feeling her death like I was. It was as if they didn't miss her, like they didn't care. I couldn't see how I was the one who was acting so stupidly because to me I was being rational; to me the others were stupid for not acting like I was. For not grieving the way I was.

After a few minutes of driving I just stopped. Something hit me, a thought, something I hadn't remembered in years. It was one of my darkest memories, something I had tucked away. Maybe l didn't want to live anymore. Maybe I wanted to die. I had wanted to do it once before and I almost had. I was set, ready to pull that trigger, ready to end my life. How was this situation any different from before? Then it had been my child. I had lost Charlie and I had wanted to end my own pathetic life. Now with Sam, was it different?

It's not different, it's not different, a voice chanted in my head as I reached for the gun that I kept in the glove compartment. My fingers brushed against the cold steel and my heart stopped beating in my chest. It was different. With Charlie it had been a knowing loss. I knew, from the first second he was gone, all that I had lost all that had been taken. I knew with his last breath the love I felt for him. With Sam it was an unknowing loss. I didn't know how I loved her. I didn't know what I could've had until it was too late, how incredible cliché that was, but true. I knew I cared about her, she was my friend, my teammate, we had faced death together, but one thing I hadn't done was let myself tell the truth, both to her and to my own heart. I was pathetic. I was not good enough for her anyway. I was ready to finish it.

Maybe it was finally time for me to die. I had little life let in me because her death had taken it away. I could feel it fading every minute I suffered that loss, every second I breathed I felt guilty she was not. Maybe it was time for everything to end. Than again maybe deep down I really didn't want to die, somehow that seemed a concept so far away to even consider. My mind was set and determined to end it and I was going to.

Bringing the gun level with my face, I cocked it smoothly, the sound shot through the silence and suddenly the cab of the truck felt extremely cold. The windshield, which I now noticed I had failed to destroy, became foggy as if knowing what was coming and hiding the view from any possible bystander. In the cold, a wisp of silver air escaped my mouth, showing me what would be one of my last breaths. I raised the pistol; pointing it at my head, hand shaking, finger poised over the trigger.

I was ready. I took one last breath and waited for the sudden abrupt stop and the ringing shot that would end my suffering. It never came. I couldn't do it. Why couldn't I do it? "Why can't I do it?" I whispered aloud.

That small fleeting concept had escaped the dark place in the back of my mind. It had surfaced somehow telling me that maybe I had something left. Maybe this was not the thing to die over. Maybe I did have something worth living for.

I hadn't done it before, when this pain had come, so I couldn't do it now. Somehow I knew the future held something big. I couldn't kill myself not with the gun, nor by any other means. The same kind of weapon I held in my hand had killed my son and I hated it. The same weapon had failed Sam in battle and I hated it. It had made their deaths possible, yet it couldn't make mine possible. I dropped the gun to the floor with a clunk, betraying it. It rested next to the broken glass where I forget about it for a few minutes, because to me it was useless.

I had made the decision to not die but it didn't mean I had made the decision to live again. I didn't know if I was happy about it. The pain of her absence still burned through me and I felt as if it would never end. I hated the mental pain but maybe I could end that and still live. Maybe all it took was a distraction, something to make me forget the hurt in my heart. I needed a different kind of pain to take her away from my mind. I needed a pain I could feel, not with my heart, but with my physical being.

Without another thought I snatched the gun off the floor, letting my finger scratch smoothly against the glass, giving me a small tester of what was to come. The steel weapon felt useful again and I was filled with anticipation as small beads of blood trickled down my knuckles. I wasn't scared or worried as I shot my right leg without a single regret. The pain flooded me and I welcomed it. Physical pain was so much easier than the kind of mental pain that had haunted me. But no more would I feel my mind hurting.

I sat there in a pool of red that gathered under my thigh, soaking the seat, staining it scarlet and filling the air with the hot stench. It was during those breaths of blood-filled air that my head whirled and I decided the one shot just above my knee was not enough to take all those thoughts away. As the blood continued to trickle down my leg speckling the glass with deep red, I pulled the trigger again and this time the pain shot through my left shoulder. I was a little surprised, having no idea where I had been pointing the gun or where I had planned to shoot, but the pain the second bullet added to the first made it more therapeutic against my suffering. Yet more blood fell to the steering wheel and soaked into the leather behind me. I could feel the shot to my shoulder had gone right through, the pain torn through like fire and ice. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, suddenly as if out of nowhere I felt every once of pain and barely stayed on the brink of consciousness.

All I saw was the red of my own blood and the flashes of my blurring vision as my life faded from my eyes. I really hadn't meant to kill myself, not yet at least, but at that moment things were looking towards that fate. I had chosen the painful way, instead of a quick shot to the head but I knew I had wanted to suffer before the end.

More flashes, more red, more pain, it was torture and it all became so much. Finally I regained enough composure to raise my hand one more time. Way not go out with another bang, I was already gone anyway. I was already dead. I put another bullet in my leg, wedged just above the first metal pellet. By that time I was absolutely drenched in blood and the pain was unbearable. I felt myself slipping away. This was truly the end for me. I would die here in my blood, letting it pool around me and wash over me. I had killed myself not with the gun, but days before when I had heard of her death. I hadn't been living, only surviving and that just wasn't enough.

I slumped against the horrible blood-stain seat as the dark shadows of unconsciousness closed in and I went to that oh so familiar place. But just before everything went black I thought of her just one more time before everything I knew disappeared and became sweet nothing. I didn't expect to ever wake up. I didn't expect to still live after all that.

Well that was cheerful! It's my birthday so Please review and let me know what you think, I'd really like to know if people are actually reading and enjoying my story. Reviews also make me want to write more so if you drop me a few lines you might get a chapter faster.