Grey Dims to Black – Part 4
He was damned if he'd go see a shrink, especially one who had no idea what the members of SGC units went through on a daily basis. Hell, Mackenzie would be preferable, he at least understood. But it was obvious his mental health wasn't the prime concern here, just a need to cover everything up, sweep it under the carpet and hope their allies never found out. The shrink would be on the phone to DC before Jack's ass had barely left his chair, reporting on whether he was a security risk. He was only glad Teal'c would be spared the indignity, his emotional stability unquestioned. It was better that Jack distance himself from his teammate. It would be safer for Teal'c.
Jack slammed down a second shot of bourbon, grimacing as it passed down his sore throat and hit his still tender stomach, igniting a slow burning.
There was nothing to discuss – he had merely being obeying orders – as always.
As always.
He would deal with the aftermath in his own way, as he always had, and he sure as hell wouldn't be discussing it with anyone any time soon. Certainly not Carter and Daniel.
Crap – if they knew…
He grabbed at the bottle, pouring another glass before staring into its depths morosely.
Daniel had enough trouble understanding he had been obeying orders when he lied to them. How could Daniel possibly understand what he had been ordered to do this time and the result of his actions? And Carter – she hadn't spoken more than two words to him since his return from the first rogue base.
It was so damned unfair.
The wave of loneliness that swept over him was followed swiftly by nausea as the face of the man he killed rose up unbidden in his mind. He swallowed it back down and followed it with a bourbon chaser.
No, it would be far better if he just got out of Dodge, went to ground and licked his wounds.
This time the Air Force could go fuck itself.
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"Are you sure we should be doing this?"
Daniel pushed Jack's doorbell again, leaning on it for far longer this time than the last. "Well, I'm not exactly looking forward to being told our friendship is worthless again, but at least this time I have you for backup."
"You don't really think he'd do that."
Daniel shook his head. "No, not really, but I'm worried. There's something going on and I don't think it's good."
"I suppose the general didn't exactly order us to not visit the colonel." Sam noticeably brightened as she spoke, the light of determination in her eyes. "Let's do this. He isn't answering." She pulled a key ring from her jacket pocket and selected a key, pushing it into the lock.
"Maybe he isn't home."
"His truck's in the drive." She gave the door a push, opening it wider and calling out "Colonel O'Neill!"
There was no answer.
"Oh well, we've come this far …" Daniel moved past her, walking toward the living room. "Jack, you here?"
The house was quiet. Daniel looked around the room, seeing the half empty bottle on the coffee table.
Sam was staring at it too. "What if he's asleep? He won't appreciate it if we wake him. Maybe we should leave."
Where Sam's courage had obviously deserted her, Daniel's had grown at the sight of the bottle. "Only one way to find out." He strode toward the master bedroom.
It was empty.
Daniel pulled open the closet. "He's gone somewhere."
"How do you know?"
He pointed. "There's a lot fewer clothes in here than there should be and one of his suitcases is gone – the one I borrow whenever I go on vacation."
They looked at each other, not sure what to do next.
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Six days after he holed up at the small resort in the mountains, Jack was beginning to seriously wonder if he'd done the right thing and what exactly had possessed him. The initial burst of energy that had gotten him moving and on to a plane out of the Springs had worn off very quickly, leaving him with the uneasy feeling that he had finally burnt his bridges. Trouble was, he didn't know now if he wanted to leave them burning or maybe throw a very large bucket of water over the smoldering embers.
He lay on the ridiculously large bed, staring up at the pale tan ceiling, his mind cycling through his possible actions and their probable consequences, while ignoring his body's steadily growing aches and pains.
AWOL.
Or maybe not. He was after all, meant to be on leave.
He pulled his left arm out from under his head and rested it on his chest, closing his eyes as he pictured Hammond's ruddy features, the anger and disappointment plain.
Nope, there was no way he could rationalize what he'd done. The general had made it clear that the appointment with the psychiatrist was not negotiable. And he'd well and truly missed that – by several days. There was probably a search underway for him right now.
Probably – who was he kidding? They definitely would be looking for him. Hammond wouldn't have had any choice in the matter.
Twisting, he sat up, his bare feet cold on the polished floorboards, and scrubbed his hands over his face.
He had to go back – face the music, see if he had any career left. Maybe he could plead temporary insanity. The thought had him giving a short, self-deprecating laugh. Temporary insanity. Wouldn't they just love that. The perfect excuse to lock him away somewhere where he couldn't rock the boat, hide him away where even the Asgard couldn't find him.
God – he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Damned no matter what he did. He was a complete idiot, playing right into the hands of people like Senator Kinsey. Why the hell had he run?
His body ached, his head hurt, and he wanted to throw up. He felt like he was in his eighties rather than his forties. It was a disturbingly familiar feeling, except now he didn't have the comfort of Kynthia's company.
Now what? He could disappear, no problem, hide out for a little longer, just until he had gotten his head on straight. Then call Hammond, try and explain … what? Explain what? That he wanted to find a hole and crawl into it in the hope that everything would go away? That he felt betrayed and alone?
That he didn't want to do this anymore?
Jack got to his feet slowly and stared around him at the bland walls and the impersonal furnishings. He hadn't spoken to anyone since he arrived, going to ground as soon as he checked in. Was this really what he wanted?
Damn it, no it wasn't.
It was time to go home.
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General Hammond wasn't a man normally given to being easily startled, but the sight of his errant officer standing calmly at the observation window of the Briefing Room, had him taking a step back and wondering if he was having hallucinations.
The general's next reaction was as close to fury as he had experienced in years.
He had been fielding phone calls for days, from the Pentagon, and from everyone up to and including the President of the United States, trying to explain how he had misplaced his second in command, and here the man was, looking for all the world like he was back after just popping down to the cafeteria for a bite to eat.
"Sergeant Harriman!" He barked out the words and noted how O'Neill's back stiffened.
The door to the outer office opened as the colonel turned.
"Sir?" Harriman's gaze was immediately drawn to the second person in the Briefing Room, and Hammond saw the same look of amazement on his face that he knew had been on his own only moments before.
"Find out why I wasn't informed of the colonel's return as soon as he signed in." He continued without pause. "And send in the SF's."
"General, I …"
At the halting, softly spoken words, he finally focussed his attention on O'Neill. "I don't want to hear it, Colonel." He was already planning his call to the Joint Chiefs as he gave the order for the colonel to be taking to the holding rooms.
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"Surely you must know something?"
Teal'c ignored the question, wondering why his teammates seemed to think he would know more than they. He was not privy to the thoughts of General Hammond, nor was he one to whom the base gossips gravitated. It was far more likely that Daniel Jackson would hear any news first.
So why did they persist in asking him?
Instead of answering he continued down the corridor, followed closely by the other members of SG-1 – or at least the members not presently in the SGC holding rooms. However, despite his silence, he couldn't help inwardly speculating on the reason for O'Neill's incarceration. O'Neill had been given leave, and yet General Hammond had ordered him returned to the SGC. Even more puzzling was that now O'Neill had returned he had been put under arrest. Teal'c could only assume whatever had occurred had been a result of their most recent mission.
He must speak with the general and it would be far better to do so without an audience. Turning sharply, he detoured down a side corridor where the chance of being overheard was lessened, and stopped.
"It would be best if you accompany me no further."
"Why?" Major Carter asked, as she halted alongside him. "Where are you going? To see the colonel?"
Teal'c shook his head. "I cannot give you any information. You may discover more if I did not accompany you, and instead made enquiries with others. Now, if you will excuse me ..."
He was already turning the corner before he heard the first protest.
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"Hey!" Daniel called after Teal'c but the Jaffa ignored him and was soon out of sight.
"I don't think there's any point trying to follow him." Sam folded her arms as she leaned slightly against the corridor wall, taking time to think about the events of the last hour. She had the uneasy feeling that things were not as they seemed. "What could possibly have riled General Hammond up enough to throw the colonel in a cell?"
"It isn't really a cell, Sam – more like very basic motel accommodation."
"With CCTV and a door locked on the outside. It might as well be a cell as far as the colonel is concerned, and like I said, why would the general have locked him up at all?"
"Jack can be pretty annoying at times."
Sam stared down at the floor as she shook her head. "Not this, the general wouldn't do this." Then a thought struck her, making her numb. "I've only seen the general this angry once before." From the puzzled look on his face it was obvious Daniel hadn't made the same connection, so she continued. "When we thought Colonel O'Neill had stolen from the Tollan."
"No … they wouldn't … Jack wouldn't. He'd tell us."
"Would he?"
Daniel turned his back to her and Sam waited, seeing the slump in his shoulders as he considered what she had said.
"Do you really think this is all another act?" He didn't turn but Sam could hear the plea in his voice.
She couldn't say what he wanted her to. "Yes. It's the most logical explanation."
The sudden movement took her by surprise as Daniel spun on his heels to face her again, his eyes flashing with visible anger. "I don't know what I'll do if you're right."
"I might not be." Sam knew she was backpedaling, but she couldn't think what else to say in the face of his anger.
"It fits."
"Yes. It does, but I'm sure if we could just talk to him, he'd explain." She felt like she was going in circles, arguing the same things she was denying a few minutes before.
The fire died in Daniel's eyes, leaving a deep sadness. "Like he did last time? Anyway, I've already tried to talk to Jack and was told he's allowed no visitors."
"None?"
"Apparently not." Daniel started walking, and Sam moved to come pace him. He lowered his voice as they quickly reached the busier section of the level. "Maybe we should hope this is an act, because otherwise I think he's in serious trouble."
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Jack stared listlessly at his surroundings, not even able to summon up the energy to be angry at the circumstances he found himself in.
The thud of the closing door echoed with a finality that at any other time would have made him shudder, reminding him of far worse moments in his military career than this, when he thought there was little chance of escaping his imprisonment.
He glanced briefly at the bare toilet in the corner. At least this time he had one, even if it was a trifle public.
And there was a bed of sorts, not just a dirt floor.
He moved slowly over to the narrow cot and sat, wincing as the pain in his gut worsened. Looked like he should be thankful for whatever toilet facilities he had. Maybe after a meal – something else he could be sure of getting – he would feel better.
The dripping faucet over the small hand basin reminded him of yet another difference to his previous jail experiences. He unconsciously licked his lips at the memory of the small cup of filthy water pushed through the bars at irregular intervals.
Yep – in pretty well all respects this was five star accommodation.
Now, if he could just get the general to listen.
So far he was batting nil for nil. All that sneaking onto the base to take advantage of the element of surprise hadn't gotten him anywhere. He had to admit that he hadn't expected to be just banished to a holding room without even a chance to explain. Boy, Hammond must be mad!
The sound of keys gangling in the lock had him sitting, and he pushed to a position with his back resting against the wall and waited, ready to leap up if it was General Hammond. Unfortunately it was one of the Marine lieutenants. The man carefully balanced a tray in one hand as he pushed open the door then walked to place it on the cabinet beside the bed.
"Here you are, sir, dinner. I'm afraid the coffee is probably a little cold."
"Thanks, I'm sure it will be fine." Jack twisted on the bed, slowly standing. "Could you see the general gets a message from me before he leaves for the evening?"
The young man shook his head apologetically. "I sorry, Colonel, but General Hammond has left orders that he isn't to be disturbed."
Oh boy, this was bad!
"Then could you ask one of my team to visit?" Maybe if he could just talk to Daniel, and tell him, he could explain things to Hammond. Daniel was pretty damned good at getting people to see things from his point of view.
With another shake of his head, the Marine dashed that hope. "I have orders that you aren't permitted any visitors, sir."
"Okay, Lieutenant. Thanks."
There wasn't any point in pursuing it further – it was clear the Marine had his orders. He sat back down as the door was locked again, leaving him alone once more.
It was several minutes before he summoned up the willpower to lift the covers from the plates on the large tray. What he found didn't instill him with confidence. Apart from a dish of chicken macaroni and a plain salad, there were two single serve boxes of cereal, a container of that milk that lasted for weeks and tasted revolting, a small bottle of juice, some peanut butter, and several slices of bread, as well as a bowl, glass, and small plate.
It looked like he couldn't expect to be let out of the holding room any time soon.
Jack picked up the large plastic mug of coffee and grimaced at the lukewarm liquid. He drank it regardless, knowing it was probably the last he'd be given for several hours, then, casting a rather disappointed look at the rapidly congealing pasta, he lay back down, willing his churning stomach to settle again, visions of Leavenworth circling in his head.
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Author Note: A little hint to Von (anon review so I can't do a private reply if the site police are reading this), without giving too much of the story away. I try to never write the same thing twice. There are far too many plots in my head for me to have to repeat myself. But also remember that this is a ficathon story. For those that don't know what that is, it is where you submit a plot bunny and have it written, while writing someone else's. I submitted a plot bunny and this is the fic I've written in return. The requested plot will be at the end of this story.
TBC