Title: Jack's Retribution
Category: Angst/Romance/Drama
Content Level: Age 13+
Content Warnings: Themes of domestic and other violence. Language.
Pairings: Jack/Other (Catherine), Sam/Pete
Season: 8
Spoilers: None
Summary: "The first vaguely lucid thought the man had was about pain. He hurt everywhere."
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Copyright © 2008 Su Freund
Author's Notes:
1. I am sorry I kept you all waiting for this chapter. Important and urgent real life issues kept me away from the fantasy for longer than I would have wished. I don't normally like to leave readers hanging on the edge of that cliff for too long, lol! But, it was unavoidable. Thank you for reading and feeding back on this story, and for your patience. I hope this is worth the wait.
2. I am eternally grateful to Lynette (Flatkatsi) for beta reading this story and making so many insightful comments/suggestions. Because of her excellent instincts about fic writing, and her helpfully exacting standards, I almost totally revised the chapter. Then she beta read it again! What follows is a great improvement on my original version. Any remaining errors are entirely mine.
3. Thanks also to ImmerRDA and Livi for some useful advice that made me think again about something I had written in this chapter. Good call!
4. Since I posted the previous chapter, I have received confirmation from a mail buddy that medical professionals throughout the US are obliged to report incidents of abuse to the authorities. This applies in all cases, whether it's child, elderly adult or spousal/ex-spousal abuse. Failure to do so can result in the loss of a license to practice medicine. Thank you Denise Carlson for the heads up. It may or may not come up again in the story, only my muse and time can tell, but at least I know!
Jack's Retribution
Previously:
Gasping at what he discovered, Johnny was suddenly afraid. Lying prostrate amongst the trash was a very battered and bloody man. He knew he had to call the police, possibly an ambulance, although he figured it might be a little late for paramedics. The man looked dead. Not that Johnny had ever seen a real dead person. All he could go on was what he had seen on TV.
Shit! Boy was his mom going to be pissed. She was bound to find out about his antics now. Johnny could have left the man where he was, failed to call it in. His mother would never find out then. But he could not bring himself to do that. He wanted to be a cop right? Leaving this poor guy just lying there was not a cop like thing to do.
So he ran like the wind back to his apartment to make the call. Then he returned to the scene of the crime to wait for the police to arrive. That would be exciting. He would be an important witness. He had seen the men who did this. He could identify them. His mom would be none too happy about that, he thought. Maybe, just maybe, he would get to see first hand how the cops really worked a case. Cool!
As he watched, he realized the man was still breathing. Shallowly, it seemed, from the limited rise and fall motion of his chest, but he was alive and not dead after all. Johnny sure hoped the paramedics got there in time to save him. He'd be a hero. His imaginative young mind started ranging around medals and citations, the Mayor shaking his hand, his picture in the paper. Wowie!
And whilst young Johnny stood vigil over the injured man waiting for the cops to arrive, the unconscious man struggled to take his next breath.
The story continues:
As usual for a Saturday night, the hospital's Emergency Department was chaotic. With surprising deftness, the many people busily milling around avoided bumping into each other most of the time. There was a loud hubbub of background noise - spoken words, sobs, cries and moans, the bleeping of equipment, the sound of sirens.
Paramedics crashed through the door pushing a gurney and a number of staff hurried to assist. The man on the gurney looked like a train wreck, severely beaten, dark bruises starting to form over his face and body, clothing spattered with blood. They rushed him through the throng while a paramedic quickly summed up the patient's status and what treatment he had received so far. They had identified a couple of fractured ribs, a punctured lung, probable concussion and internal bleeding, as well as the external damage.
A police officer accompanied them on the journey, listening intently so he could add anything new to his report, and hoping the injured man would recover sufficiently to talk to him about the crime.
"A kid found him in an alley and called it in to the cops," the paramedic said. "This guy is lucky. If the boy hadn't found him, the internal bleeding might have killed him real quick."
"Any ID?" asked a nurse.
"Yeah, we found this," replied the cop, handing her something. Her eyes widened with alarm as she stared at the ID.
"Okay. We'd better call this in," she said, handing it back to the cop.
"We've already done that, ma'am," he replied and the nurse briefly glanced at him in acknowledgement before looking toward the patient.
"Can you hear me, sir?"
The man had been slipping in and out of consciousness ever since young Johnny James had discovered his prostrate body, but he managed to squint at the nurse through increasingly swelling eyes. Barely conscious now, his vision was blurred and it seemed like two identical nurses were peering at him searchingly. Their voices seemed to reverberate inside his head.
The first vaguely lucid thought the man had was about pain. He hurt everywhere. His throbbing head felt like it was about to rip open and spit his brains out.
'What was the question again?' he thought, but if he had spoken aloud, the words would have been unintelligible. Taking a ragged breath, he tried to steady himself sufficiently to frame an inquiry. Unable to think straight, it took grueling effort to formulate his question.
"Wh'… 'm I?" he asked in a rasping, breathless voice. Attempting to speak was excruciating as well as arduous. Fresh blood bubbled on his lips, adding a bright red layer to the dried dark brownish red caking his mouth. His words were scarcely intelligible but the nurse understood him well enough.
"Hospital. We've got you. You'll be all right now." The nurse tried to be reassuring, although she was not at all certain that he would be okay.
"Wha…" he started, overexerting himself further in his struggle to speak again.
He narrowed his eyes as if trying to focus and the nurse matter of factly noted his slurred speech and confused manner. It seemed speaking was hard work and he obviously had no idea what was happening. Concussion, just as the paramedic suspected, but that might be the least of his problems.
"Wha… happ…?" he said, trying once more. Somewhat foolishly in the circumstances, he tried to lift his head and was rewarded with a spell of dizziness that forced him to lower it again way too quickly. The resulting nausea made him heave, although he came up empty of vomit, instead gurgling more bright red blood from his lips and causing a shockwave of severe agony to engulf him. He coughed blood for a short spell and groaned, feeling wretched.
"You're in good hands, sir," the nurse replied calmly. "Don't try talking."
"Wh… am…?" he said in another vain attempt to communicate, but his words were incoherent and he faded out, eyes glazing over. Then his eyelids fluttered momentarily before closing.
"General? General O'Neill?" the nurse encouraged gently, but Jack was out cold.
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A set up. A trap.
Grabbing hands, coming out of nowhere. Many hands, coming up behind him, catching him off guard. No chance. Too many, too quickly, too much of a surprise. Something hard hitting head. Falling. Fists and feet. Lots of fists and feet.
Truck. Smelled of something… something real bad that made him sick. Acrid stench. Probably contents of stomach.
Dragged over hard concrete. More fists, more feet. Pain. Lots and lots of pain. Had worse, but still hurt like hell.
Sniggering. Laughing. Leering. Taunting. Warning.
Hot breath. Sneering. Hitting. Punching. Too many hands. Too many fists.
Oblivion…
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The tall, swarthy man ran fingers through short wiry black hair and sucked in a breath, ticking items off his mental inventory to ensure he had all the bases covered. His chiseled features appeared unruffled, but that calm outward demeanor belied his tumultuous emotions.
His CO was in trouble and that meant he was not a happy camper. Not at all. But it was Jesse Ellis' job to ensure everything ran as smoothly as he could make it run, no matter what. He was not on his home turf of the SGC, but that was irrelevant. He refused point blank to let Jack O'Neill down under any circumstances.
Ellis would do his job and do it well because O'Neill merited whatever support he required. The general had earned it. Almost any member of the SGC would offer the same. Most of the people working in Cheyenne Mountain regarded O'Neill very highly. Elsewhere too, if it came down to that.
Jesse greatly liked and admired the general and was fiercely loyal to his CO. He would do anything for him and that literally meant anything. These feelings made it hard to be dispassionate when he knew O'Neill was badly injured and there was still so much uncertainty about his physical condition. He could do nothing to help his boss in that respect, however, so he was doing whatever he could.
The good-looking colonel had better cause than many to feel this way about his CO. As the general's Executive Officer, Jesse Ellis worked very closely with Jack O'Neill. He was an excellent XO too. O'Neill had said so many times. He was a fixer – could talk almost anybody into almost anything – and he was sharp, organized and possessed a prodigious memory.
O'Neill envied his golden tongue. For crying out loud, the man was not even Irish but he was blessed with the gift of the blarney. It did not seem right or fair to a man like Jack who was descended from good Irish stock and who considered himself inarticulate. Not that he really was. He just thought so.
Ellis had joined the SGC a couple of years previously. Injured in Iraq, the medics declared him unfit as a pilot, which depressed him enormously for a long time. He had enjoyed the excitement and rough and tumble of flying and field ops - the adrenaline rush and the comradeship of his unit. He was good at it.
For a while back then it had seemed like he might end up with a medical discharge he did not want. As it turned out, however, medics declared Jesse fit enough for lighter, non-combat duties and he was far more than just a good field officer. His administrative skills were as excellent as his soldiering ones, and he was simply the best at running interference for his boss. The armed forces needed men like him so Ellis stayed in the Air Force.
Despite his proficiency, Jesse hated the desk job and seriously considered retiring anyway. Then someone recommended his skills to their old friend George Hammond. Jack inherited him. His work at the SGC, and Generals Hammond and O'Neill, made riding a desk seem worthwhile. Jesse had a cause, and people he respected who needed his help. It was like getting a new lease of life.
O'Neill felt for the guy. He was probably never going to get through that Stargate he worked so closely with. He also knew his XO would not appreciate pity any more than he would, therefore never told him so.
From everything O'Neill knew about the man, he figured Ellis would have made a darned fine SG team leader. The pair got along well, which was a very good thing in Jack's book. Jesse could deal admirably with anything Jack threw at him, including any dark mood he might happen to have - water off a duck's back. The colonel just got on with his job and did what he knew needed doing. Jesse soon got the knack of second guessing his CO, and more often than not was right.
Ellis was a phlegmatic kind of guy, calm under pressure. He had a slightly off-kilter sense of humor Jack appreciated. Like Jack, his military record was somewhat checkered. He had been lucky enough to encounter commanding officers who tolerated his occasional defiance because he was good at what he did, and often proved right. Also like Jack, he was divorced. Unlike his CO, however, he had two fantastic kids and an ex-wife who accepted him as a friend and shared their care. Overall, therefore, he was a contented man despite that he was grounded and would never see combat again.
The man was a charmer. He had a certain something that was appealing to many, although he made the occasional enemy. This was something else Jesse shared with O'Neill, although Jack was oblivious to the similarity.
Right now, Ellis was bemoaning the fact that his CO had been admitted to this hospital rather than a military environment. The location was not secure and he did not feel in total control. O'Neill might be under threat and no way was anyone going to harm a hair on his CO's head. Not on his watch. No sirree.
The man was a general in the USAF, for heaven's sake. Generals deserve to be treated with respect, not to have the shit kicked out of them by any one who takes such an un-American thing into their head. Jesse was a little gung-ho about stuff like that. No good for nothings or enemies of the state were gonna harm his CO. He almost took it as a personal affront.
No one yet knew any detail about how or why this had happened to the general but until Jesse Ellis understood what the hell was going on, he would ensure his people protected O'Neill day and night. Jesse was doing his best. It was as much as he could do.
The hospital was crawling with people who had an interest in the attack on O'Neill - police, military, Feds. All of them concerned about the general's welfare and what this attack implied for security, national or otherwise. O'Neill was an important man and anything that happened to him provoked much interest from various agencies. A White House staffer had already been on the phone, tasked with keeping the general's Commander in Chief informed of any developments.
Jesse was running interference, as usual, and doing a fine job of keeping all of these interests under control, as well as dealing with the hospital authorities and staff. He was determined to keep his fingers on the pulse.
The hospital's powers that be were not 100 happy about these military and government types invading their well run establishment. Ellis was attempting to keep them happy, placating them and keeping as many people as possible out of their way while also getting what he wanted. He made a lot of promises to a lot of people to get them out of his hair for a while. It was a tough job but someone had to do it and no one could have done it better than Colonel Jesse Ellis. O'Neill would have been proud.
Jesse organized that a separate waiting room be available for "his" people and ensured they stayed put as much as possible. He posted a couple of SFs in the room and ordered them to be unobtrusive. To the casual observer they might not have appeared to be on guard, but that was their job. When someone left the room, one of them followed to keep a watchful eye. The room's occupants quickly took the hint. Whether they liked it or not, they were stuck with it. The colonel had his skittish livestock well corralled.
Meanwhile, Ellis was currently the only person in the general's entourage who had the run of the hospital and he constantly popped back and forth to keep the rest of O'Neill's camp followers informed of developments. Keep 'em happy, he thought, and peace might follow, at least for a while.
Now, he was waiting in reception for Doctor Brightman to arrive. Some medical issues back at the SGC had delayed her but she was due soon. Jesse wanted her professional support to help him deal with and understand the medical side of things. He needed more clarity because his lack of knowledge and expertise made him feel exposed. Jesse figured this made the general more vulnerable too, something he could not tolerate.
The colonel winced slightly as he saw the other three original members of SG-1 enter the hospital reception. These people would have genuine concerns for Jack O'Neill the man, not simply the Commander of the SGC and a general in the USAF. Jesse knew they would be more worried and upset than most of the people he had dealt with so far because O'Neill was their friend. Their possible reactions to this situation bothered him and he could see deep concern written all over them as they spotted him and approached.
"How is he? What the hell happened?" Carter asked, clearly agitated.
Jesse knew there was a special bond between O'Neill and his former team mates. Hell, everyone at the SGC knew it. He had only been at the SGC for a couple of years, so came in at the tail end of the original SG-1's glory days, but Jesse picked up on that real quick. The 1 was in SG-1 for good reason.
When he first arrived at the SGC, there were rumors about O'Neill and Carter too - that they had the kind of relationship they should not. Jesse had never believed it. If George Hammond had faith then so did he. Like O'Neill, Hammond was a man he admired. He was a general who knew precisely what he was doing and had his finger on the pulse of his subordinates.
Sure, O'Neill could be a maverick, a trait Ellis liked as it reminded him of himself. That unconventional streak was one of the things that made O'Neill a singular kind of SGC commander. The SGC required a special kind of something, not just the also ran type of military officer. However, neither O'Neill nor Carter would breech the regs by having an illicit affair, even though anyone with two eyes in their head could see they shared that special SG-1 bond.
If for no other reason than the fact O'Neill would never risk someone else's career just to get his rocks off, that kind of breech was never going to happen. It simply was not Jack O'Neill's style, and Jesse did not believe it was Samantha Carter's either.
Then Carter got engaged and everyone knew about O'Neill and the society dame because of the newspaper article that appeared while Jesse was on vacation. Some folk even went so far as to suggest both these relationships were a cover for O'Neill and Carter's fling. Jesse had heard this ridiculous gossip, though most people would not dare to repeat it to him directly because he would give them short shrift. He had his sources. Walter Harriman seemed to know almost everything that happened at the SGC and so Ellis found out too. Harriman was a good man to have on side.
These fleeting thoughts reminded the colonel of something he had forgotten and he sighed inwardly at himself for being such an ass. Making a mental note to call O'Neill's girlfriend, he started to answer Carter's questions. As succinctly as possible, he explained what he knew about how O'Neill had obtained his injuries. It was not nearly as much as Jesse wished he knew and he could see they wished he knew more too.
As he offered what details he had, the team mates exchanged dismayed looks and displayed body language signals that spoke many volumes they did not verbalize. The gist was, however, clear. Even the Jaffa showed a modicum of anguish on his frequently unreadable and stoic features. Their agitation was contagious and the normally phlegmatic Colonel Ellis did not need or want to catch it. He had to keep cool or he could not do his job effectively. So, he steeled himself against it and tried to remain dispassionate.
"Is he going to be okay? How bad is it? Have you seen him?" Daniel asked, his words tumbling out in a rapid jumble.
Ellis grimaced. Apart from the police, he was the first of the O'Neill entourage to arrive at the hospital and he saw the general for a moment as they wheeled him into the operating theater. He looked awful and was out of it.
"Briefly. He looks bad," he replied bluntly. "They're operating. Internal bleeding, maybe a ruptured spleen but they aren't sure. Collapsed lung, concussion, cracked ribs, bruised... well, you get the picture." He shrugged helplessly and his mask slipped, showing apprehension in his features for the first time. "I'm betting he's seen worse, but... they'll keep me informed."
Teal'c remained silent, looking thoughtful, but the other two started talking at once, asking O'Neill's XO questions to which he did not have answers. He gestured for calm.
"Look, I realize you want answers, we all do, but I'm telling you just about as much as I know. We'll get the answers, believe me, but these things take time. I need you to be patient."
"Patient?" Carter snapped angrily, her whole demeanor a mass of pent up frustration and tension. "That's all right for you to say!" Jesse resented the implication that he did not give a damn like they did.
"Colonel… Sam… please," Jesse replied coolly. "We all want him to pull through. I wish I could reassure you, but I can't. I care about him too."
Sam came close to retorting heatedly again, but she caught a look in Ellis' eyes. A plea for restraint, and something else. Something that belied the XO's unflappable outward appearance. The man was right. He did care, deeply it seemed, but he had a job to do. Her tension uncoiled slightly as she considered Ellis' position and she reached forward to grasp his arm sympathetically.
"I'm sorry, Jesse," she said in a considerate and contrite tone. He noticed tears forming in her eyes and saw the moment she fought and gained self-control, sniffing them back to where they belonged. "We know he means a lot to you too, but…" She was trying hard to bury her obvious fretfulness beneath a businesslike military persona. It worked – in part. Jesse admired the attempt, realizing it was not easy.
"I know," he replied understandingly. "I get it, Sam. I wish…" He shrugged, not sure how to react or what to say. An unusual situation for the slightly younger man, who usually found the right words for almost any situation. That gift of the blarney he knew O'Neill referred to frequently. Frankly, faced with SG-1 and their palpable concern, he seemed to be fresh out.
Daniel Jackson had a reputation for pushing boundaries, sometimes a little too far, but now he seemed to pick up on the vibe from his team leader. "Was he conscious?" he asked more evenly than before. A question Ellis could answer.
"Barely. Not when I saw him. In and out of it, I'm told. More out than in. Not making much sense. Delirious and confused. The concussion..." Ellis trailed off, wishing there was more he could tell them. "I don't know, and it's kind of pissing me off."
He sighed almost dramatically, Carter thought. He was worried and if Jesse was worried, she was too. Not that she needed his mood to influence hers. She was upset enough in her own right. However, the colonel was not the worrying type. Normally, he just got on with things, no fuss, no dramatics. His unease therefore rubbed off on her. If he had known, Jesse would have thought that ironic given he believed SG-1's disquiet was rubbing off on him. They were all a little jittery, it seemed, and with good cause.
SG-1 had been through similar scenarios many times with O'Neill. He was always getting injured and poked full of holes by alien types, but they had not anticipated it happening in their own back yard.
"Crap!" Sam cursed under her breath. Noting Jesse's heavy sigh and the way he rubbed his fingers in his eyes, she realized he was feeling the strain. Squeezing his arm compassionately, she searched his eyes. "Jesse, are you all right?"
"Sure," he lied. Carter knew it was a lie but did not call him on it. Instead, she dropped her hand back to her side and said nothing.
"Jack's tough," Daniel inserted, catching the mood again.
Ellis smiled faintly. "I know. I just hate not being in control. The staff are trying to be helpful but... security in this place is shit, and setting some up was a major headache. They don't like us tramping all over their turf. I told them the Commander in Chief and the Government of these United States takes a dim view of someone attempting to murder one of their generals. National security might be at stake, all of that. I think they got the message. Two armed SFs are guarding the operating theater and the general will be protected around the clock by our people, not the police."
"You think O'Neill remains in danger?" Teal'c asked, speaking for the first time.
Jesse eyed the Jaffa warrior dolefully. "Let's just say I'm not taking any chances. I wish we had him in the infirmary. Failing that..."
"A military hospital," Carter finished for him when he trailed off. Ellis nodded.
"He's more vulnerable here and I don't like that one little bit."
"We can move him as soon as possible. Once he's recovered sufficiently." She did not even want to contemplate the possibility of O'Neill not recovering. No way could he survive for all these years, gone through everything he had, and then they lose him because of something like this. He did not deserve that. If he was going to die it had to be a hero's death, or from old age. Nothing less would do.
"That's the plan. Doc Brightman's on her way so she can cut through the medical bullshit. Once he's out of theater and we know better what we're facing... I guess we have to play it by ear, but I can't say I'm happy about it. Then I've got the FBI, the White House and the Joint Chiefs crawling up my ass for answers…" He rolled his eyes, feeling slightly better now he had shared his burden.
"If there is anything we can do, we are at your service," Teal'c offered with a short bow. He too was perturbed by this unsecured location.
"Sure. Thanks Teal'c. I guess we wait. They've assigned a private room to wait in. Down there, second door on the left," he said pointing to a corridor. "It's crowded. I guess the general is an important guy and everyone is itching to know if this is a national security issue." Another whisper of a smile appeared on his lips. "I'm waiting here until the doc arrives but there's no point in you sticking around. I can call when I hear anything." The three friends briefly looked aghast and then defiant. Jesse grinned. "I might have figured there'd be no shifting you three. You don't plan on going anywhere, right?"
"Not a chance," Daniel replied.
"No way in hell," said Carter.
"Indeed not," chimed in Teal'c.
"We'd like to see him as soon as possible, if that's okay," Sam added.
Jesse shook his head slightly. "I'd love to oblige but I figure you'll have to join the queue. Police, Feds…" He sighed again, briefly wishing for a simpler life. Things had seemed way easier than this out in a combat zone. At the SGC, there was one freaky crisis after another. Jesse loved it really, just not right now. Not when his CO was critical and in potentially life threatening danger.
Sam thought it was probably time to leave the poor man alone. He had enough to deal with without their worries to add to his burden. She could not know what a relief it was for Jack's XO to share his own concerns, albeit briefly.
"Who's in charge back at the ranch?" she asked, thinking this would be her final question for now.
"Colonel Eastman. Reynolds is backing him up. Only one team is out now and they are due back…" he glanced at his watch, "soon. Hopefully nothing major will be happening over the next couple of days, but one can never know for sure." Sam nodded knowingly. At the SGC, shit had a bad habit of hitting the fan at the worst possible moments. "General Hammond is available for consult over the end of a phone line. He wanted to come but is under orders to stay put in DC for now. The SGC is in good hands."
"If we're needed…" she started, not wanting to return to the mountain right now but thinking she should make the offer. The hard working members of SG-1 were on down time, after all.
Because O'Neill's absence from home disrupted their original plans for the barbeque, the three had spent the afternoon and evening together over at Daniel's place. They tried to compensate for their disappointment about the abortive get together by enjoying their down time with each other - minus one important friend. However, they remained slightly uneasy about the general. As they lacked any information or clues, the threesome could do little else but wonder what had happened.
Realizing SG-1 would want to be notified, the duty officer called Carter to tell her about O'Neill's current plight. Although not any comfort in this situation, it was good to know why the general had not been home when they turned up. They all wished the reason was something different, something prosaic. If only.
Their short vacation was convenient in the circumstances, but Carter knew Eastman might recall them any time if there was a crisis. All of them would rather be on hand at the hospital waiting for news about the general.
"I'll let Eastman know you're here," Jesse replied.
She nodded and exchanged a look of understanding with her fellow colonel. They could rely on him to keep them posted. He was a very efficient and dependable man, and extremely likeable with it. No wonder their CO thought so highly of him.
"We'll leave you to it, Jesse," she said, turning to her two companions. "I guess we wait with the others." She started to walk toward the room Ellis had indicated.
"Coffee?" asked Daniel, following Sam.
"Before we face the throng? Good idea."
"Indeed," agreed Teal'c.
So they went to pick up a decent dose of caffeine before settling in for their anxious wait.
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Catherine cradled the telephone in her hand, staring at it incredulously for long moments before she replaced the receiver on its pedestal. Stunned. Still trying to grasp the news. Injured. Hospital. In theater. She swore she only heard about one word in ten of what the man told her.
Jack was hurt. She got that much. The part that mattered most.
Before the call came, she had been fretting about him. He should have been at her place ages ago and Catherine had tried his cell phone a few times, her efforts rewarded only by voicemail. At heart, she knew something was wrong and his continuing absence only served to fuel her concern.
Where was he? Had he done something stupid? Had he…?
Catherine knew he was furious about what her ex had done. Jack tried to keep those feelings to himself - simply to be there for her - to listen, hug and comfort her - but his inner fury was obvious, at least to her. It seethed and nagged at him under that composed exterior. He did not want her to know the full extent of his ire, but she knew, or maybe she only knew part of it. The part she knew about was enough to scare her half to death about what he might do.
She worried he might get himself into trouble on her account. Jack was a good man, one of the best, but she understood very well that there was a darkness lurking under the surface. Catherine had faith that he would never turn this brooding dark against her, not like Pete. Jack was totally different, would never vent his anger at her in an act of violence. She was sure he had issues, had a past that had damaged him, but she would never anticipate him acting like that. Catherine trusted Jack implicitly. He was the kind of man she could trust and she knew it, despite a past that meant trust was usually in short supply.
But she realized he could turn that dark against others. For a start, this must have been part of his job. Jack would do almost anything to protect and serve his country. This was something she saw as fundamental to Jack O'Neill, a part of his nature. She understood it was part of him even without any direct evidence to suggest it. Her instincts told her. Something about the man Jack revealed to her told her.
Sometimes this propensity must have included doing things most people might find a little distasteful. This is why governments have armies - to do the things to protect their fellow countrymen that most people would not even begin to comprehend or do for themselves.
So she worried that this dark might be unleashed. Jack might try to avenge her, try to harm Pete.
Catherine was not worried that Pete might come to harm. For everything he had done to her, in the past and more recently, he deserved to be hurt. A taste of his own medicine. She often wished she could avenge herself, but this was not really in Catherine's nature. She might dream it, but would never do it. She fought Pete while he tried to hurt her, and she was proud of herself for that, for fighting back. But to seek him out for retribution was not Catherine's way.
Not so with Jack. She could imagine him proactively seeking Pete out, and the artist in Catherine had a vivid imagination. A vengeful Jack might be an angel of death, filled with a dreadful and overpowering wrath, hiding in the shadows and using them to wreak a mighty and awful retribution on the man who had harmed someone he cared about.
Thus, all the time he was not there with her she worried he might be out there getting himself into trouble. The phone call imbued her nagging concerns with a touch of the frantic. Injured. Hospital. In theater. She had considered Jack getting into trouble, but not this. Not that Jack might come to harm in seeking to harm.
In her gut, Catherine knew this is what had happened. That her ex had something to do with Jack's plight. No evidence, but she knew.
Jack was hurt. It was bad. No! It was not possible. It was unacceptable. Nevertheless, it was true. Injured. Hospital. In theater. Her handsome, kindhearted, wonderful General Jack. What would become of him? He could not leave her, not now. Surely, he could not die for her sake? She so was not worth it. He deserved better than that.
In a daze, she grabbed her purse and scurried to the door, glancing briefly in the mirror and realizing she could not leave the apartment like that. Catherine had been moping around in a housecoat all day, trying to distract herself from her woes. In her distracted and befuddled rush to get to the hospital, she had forgotten that.
Catherine had been regretting sending Jack away. Sure, she needed time for herself, but Jack had given her that when he was there, and been on hand as her chief hugger and protector at the same time. She loved that about him and missed having him around. She needed him and he was not there. The apartment echoed with silence and increasing dread. So much for that hard fought for independence.
Close to acting as if on autopilot, Catherine changed into street clothes as quickly as her aching body would let her. She grabbed a pair of jeans, a blouse, a jacket – the nearest things to hand. Anything that would allow her to leave the apartment as quickly as possible, and cover her injuries at the same time. After rummaging for a large pair of sunglasses to hide her blackened eyes, she surveyed herself in a mirror again.
Catherine had not left her apartment since the attack, seeking to hide her injuries from a curious and judgmental world. She still looked like crap, but no longer cared. She needed to get to that hospital.
Then, realizing she was not in a fit state to drive, she called a cab and waited. The waiting seemed to stretch endlessly. Too long. This was when the tears came at last. The frantic sobbing and wailing. She shuddered and shook uncontrollably as she cried her heavily laden and sorrowful heart out. Jack! Her poor hurt Jack! Injured. Hospital. In theater.
Catherine was desperate to get there quickly, desperate to see him, desperate to know he would be all right.
Injured. Hospital. In theater. She could hardly believe it was true – but it was.
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"He's bleeding out."
"BP's dropping like a stone. We're losing him!"
"We need more blood."
The monitor flat lined and the medics quickly started the business of trying to revive their patient from the death their equipment foretold. That death was not yet inevitable. They still might save him.
"Charge the paddle to 100. Clear!" Pause. "Nothing."
"Again. Charge to 200. Clear!"
Pause. "No rhythm. Make it 3. Give me 5 of epi ... charging. Clear!
The watchful SFs standing guard outside exchanged worried looks, aware of the frenetic activity inside the operating theater. They were expected to remain imperturbable, but it was difficult in these circumstances. This was their boss, General O'Neill. He was someone they admired and respected, and he was fighting for his life.
TBC