Hey! Hmm... I guess the trigger warning for self-harm still stands.

Enjoy!

M.

Important! As Shamrock56 has pointed, this is no way to deal with a suicide attempt, and as you all might figure out by now I'm far from being a Psychologist. So, in case you need more information on how to properly work with these cases don't hesitate to visit www . nimh . nih . gov . I'll sure make a stop there too :)

Chapter 89

Sunday, December 30, 2012

Jack left out a string of swear words that would make a sailor blush. The moment yet another traffic light had turned red. He'd made the four hours back to Colorado Springs, in less than two. Changing his usual drive through 76, to the shorter one though 71 and to 24. Mostly because it would make him avoid Denver and its traffic. How he hadn't been stopped or killed himself, it was something he would always wonder about.

He considered for a second if he should let Parker know that he'd finally reached the city. However, as the last traffic light on the way to his house changed to green, that decision was taken away from him. Parking his truck right beside hers felt so utterly familiar and yet so damn ominous.

Taking a deep breath. Jack closed his eyes only to see the last awful memories he'd had of Charlie. He remembered rushing into the house and his room. He remembered the door was ajar… and shook his head. This wasn't what he was going to find. He wasn't going to find her in the same crumpled position he'd found his son.

No, Sam knew how to handle a weapon and besides…. Who even said she'd found it? He opened his door and walked around the house. He didn't even know if she was still there. She could've been gone ages ago, while he was rushing out through the state.

'Her SUV is still there, and the back door's still open where else she could be?' his mind provided

"Shit." He mumbled as he stepped inside, sighing. It was a good thing he knew the layout of his house perfectly. Thanks to all those hours in the dark whenever he couldn't sleep. So, Jack didn't need to turn the lights on or open the curtains. Which meant he wouldn't alert her of his presence.

His room door was slightly opened. He gulped. Shaking again, the images out of his mind. He found her. Sitting on his bed, weapon in a hand. Looking at it, as if it held the answer to all the mysteries of the universe.

Her gaze fell on her cellphone for a second. "No," she mumbled. "You know how calls in times of despair can end up." She raised the gun to her head. Jack froze in place.

Could he stop her? Would she accidentally pull the trigger if he made his presence known? Would she pull the trigger out of her free will if she noticed him? Would she look at him in the eyes and do it? He hadn't even noticed her turning his bedside lamp on. Not until a growled "Fuck!" came out of her. Making him jump in place and blink, only to notice the gun bouncing slightly on his bed.

The image of this Sam breaking in his room. With his sweatshirt on, and one hand tightly wrapped around his gun was an image he wouldn't ever forget. Burned into his brain for eternity. The fact that despite knowing his life experiences, she'd dared to place the barrel so damn close to her brain. One elegant finger playing too damn close to the trigger. It made him wonder if she was right after all.

He wondered if this woman that was breaking inside his room wasn't really the Sam he'd once knew and loved so fiercely.

Was this woman so damn different that she was about to blow her head off? Did she not care about his feelings in the sightless? Or how he would come home only to find her there. Torn beyond repair and lifeless? Dried blood marring her skin and his bedroom. A true painful reminder of a past he had learned to forgive, yet not to forget.

What about Parker? The girl that had been so scared that she called him to ask about her mommy. The girl sounded so mature when talked to her. Yet he'd spoken to her in two terrifying moments of her life. No matter how mature she seemed, there was a kid underneath it all. Sam knew this! She'd raised her after all! Would this woman so selfishly leave her daughter to fend for herself at whatever short-age she was? Her kid was, what? Eight? Nine?

Jack remembered fleetingly that day when Cassie mentioned Sam had everything arranged in case of her demise. In between, they'd be responsible for the kid. Was this Sam so broken that she'd just throw her kid to her mourning friends, not caring at all about it? About them? About how broken he would be? They all would be?

He looked at her, looking at her hands. Enthralled by them as if now the mysteries were held there. Parker mentioned PTSD, but what would be the reason in her mind that brought her so low? What would be the reason she hadn't done it? Would he ever know? Would she ever trust in him enough to let him know? Did he really want to know?

All he knew was that she was still there, sitting completely devoid of emotions. She looked so damn empty that it hurt. She stood up and embraced herself by the middle. She walked to stand in front of the full-length mirror that took over most of his closet door.

Did she choose her fate? Did she figure out what she wanted now? He shook his head. Wondering if he should make himself known. What could happen if he did? Would she come clean about the weapon currently laying forgotten on his bed? About the reason, she was wearing his sweatshirt? About why she dared to place the gun against her head?

Could he really blame her, though? Truth was, he'd been there before too… He'd placed the same cold barrel against his forehead. Something had stopped him from pulling the trigger. In his case, the reason had been her.

Maybe in her case, the reason was the kid who desperately needed her mother. The girl, her girl, didn't stand a chance by herself in the cold dark world they both had come to know too damn well. Parker needed her… Then why would she risk it?

"Fuck you!" Sam shouted. "I fucking hate you!"

Jack took a step back. Gulping as she shouted those words to him. He loved her. No matter how much she hated him. Maybe she couldn't love him back. Maybe what he'd experienced the previous night was just a dream from his younger days. Like the last conscious moment, most people get before they pass away…. Maybe she gave him that, so she could kill the remnants of them.

"I fucking hate you, Samantha Carter!" she growled, punching the mirror and breaking it. She dropped herself to her knees. Crying over the distorted images of herself that the pieces on the floor forced her to see.

She pulled one hand to her mouth. Not even noticing how the other one was splintered and marring the carpet below her with her blood.

That finally struck Jack. He entered his room, standing behind her crumpled form. He took a deep breath.

"I love you, Samantha Carter," he said. With creaking knees, he sank carefully behind her. Wrapping her in his arms as tight as he could.

Jack wanted to feel anger, wanted to shout at her for not coming to him. For not searching him out sooner. But then, the words of his siblings echoed in his mind. 'You both are too alike.' If he was honest, he hadn't broken his own mirror because he had been hiding from it as much as he could. He was just as broken as she was, and just as unable to find her. To trust this version of himself with her. Thus, it made all the sense in the world that she hadn't.

'No,' he thought. 'You trust in her. You simply don't want to burden her already weighted shoulders with your own pains. Maybe that's the case too? Maybe she saw you avoiding her kid and decided you didn't want to know. That you didn't want them.'

She turned in his arms. Her head found the crook of his neck and her cut hand found purchase on his shirt. Grabbing a fistful of it as she sobbed on him. Tears and blood staining his shirt. Sorrow and defeat permeating into his soul.

"I love you, Samantha Carter," he had repeated like a mantra. "Any version of you."

"You don't even know me anymore…" She mumbled, her voice hoarse after a while of quietly crying.

"I do." He whispered. "Whatever's changed, we can figure it out. We were doing a great job before…" he trailed.

"Until I screwed it all up and send you away… Again." She groused. Her fisted hand closed tightly, she hissed. It was just that moment when he noticed the few shards sticking into her hand.

"Sam… We need to clean your wounds."

"My wounds can't be cleaned." She stated so firmly that he wondered to which was she referring.

"Your hand? There are a few pieces of my mirror that we need to get out of there. Get it cleaned up before it gets infected." He mumbled. He felt her frown. Before she moved back just enough to check the place where his hand was laying softly by her wrist.

"Oh…" She blushed.

"Come on. Let's get up and clean you up. We can't get you to your girl until we've patched you up and come up with an explanation for her," he said. Standing up and offering her his hand. She frowned, but carefully took it.

"My girl?"

"Parker." Jack shrugged. She eyed him weirdly but said nothing as he led her to the bathroom. Memories of the last time she sat on his bathroom vanity took over. When he patted the counter so she'd hop up on it.

She did as he silently requested. While Jack found his medkit. He stood up between her legs. They both blushed, feeling the heat of being this close. Sam licked her lips. He cleared his throat as his body reacted to the situation.

Shaking his head, he tried to keep himself in control by concentrating on the task at hand. He'd done that dozens of times. Dressing some wounds she'd gotten, standing in close quarters with her. He'd managed all those times before. Now, the fact that her other hand had found the nape of his neck and was softly caressing it, was utterly distracting.

She was playing with fire and she knew it. She was peaking again after such a devastating low. For some reason, it made her needy. Her own thoughts about attempting to get rid of herself from the world were now pushed to the back of her mind. They were being replaced with a powerful bout of need. Arousal was coursing through her as his fingers softly touched the damaged skin.

Sam tried to remember a time when she'd had issues with him dressing her wounds. She remembered him putting pressure on several parts of her body, along with just bandages or ointments. Back then, she'd been covered in goosebumps from having his hands on her skin, knowing it was forbidden. Now… He grazed his fingertips over her skin, in search of more shards that he couldn't see. She whimpered. His touch wasn't forbidden.

"Sorry." He whispered. Raising his head only for a second to watch her. He expected a grimace and hidden pain. He found her biting her lower lip and with dilated eyes. He cleared his throat for the umpteenth time.

"Jack," she whispered once more, in a pleading tone. He ignored her. Jack wasn't sure he would be able to finish what he was doing if he looked at her now. Slowly and carefully, he tracked all the pieces and cleaned her hand. All the time ignoring her shortened breath and the way her legs were pushing him closer. Other than that, she had made no move to distract him anymore from his task.

"All done," he said in a husky tone. He took a moment to carefully place everything back into this medkit. Placing the shards somewhere he would remember to throw away later. Then he looked at her. A knowing smile on her face.

"I think you missed one place." She said. Pulling him close, not even minding her now covered wounds. Jack growled against her lips when she ground herself against his hips.

"Sam…" he let out as a warning of sorts. Trying to bring them back to the previous place they were at. Where she had just stated she hated herself, and he'd stated he loved her.

"We can talk later…" She lowered herself down from the vanity. Rubbing her entire body deliciously slow against his. She slid away from him and he felt the abandonment all over again. She walked out of the bathroom and he followed like a lamb to the slaughter. She sat on his bed. His mind provided him with the image he'd found earlier.

'If you replace that situation with a pleasant memory, you can almost overwrite your memories.' one of the several shrinks he'd gone to during the years had told him. So he groaned. He couldn't think of any more pleasant memory than making love to his wife on his bed.

He stalked to her, pushing her back on the bed. She crawled towards the headboard, and he followed her. They never lost eye contact. His hands found her shirt under his sweatshirt and then glorious skin. He unclasped her bra, and she made a move to get rid herself of her clothes.

"No," he growled. Kissing her harshly. She answered in the same way. She didn't care if she was fully dressed or utterly undressed, she just needed him. To feel complete. To feel sane. To forget everything about her past and concentrate only on her present. Feeling only the way he loved her.

Somehow, as he was keeping her thoughts busy. He'd also freed himself. Then Jack got her out of her pants. He didn't bother with the underwear, shoving it to the side before he joined them. Their coupling, like every time since her return, was frantic.

It was more about feeling alive, and whole than about love. It was more about giving everything in the quickest way than about receiving. It was hard and fast and… perfect for their mental state. Slow would give them time to think about what they were doing. It was just fast enough so they wouldn't dwell on how wrong it all was, even when it felt so perfect.

"Jack," she'd moaned. As she came apart under him. In exchange, he kissed her. Biting her lips as he filled her. He let himself fall on top of her.

"I love you, Samantha Carter. I'll love you even if you can't love yourself." He whispered into her ear as she cried.

Slowly he moved to the side, bringing her over his chest. She was still crying silently. He wondered when had she become such a silent crier? He wondered if that was how she'd always cried, because truth was, he couldn't remember.

Her breathing evened out soon. The exhaustion of the rollercoaster of emotions taking over. It was then that Jack realized something… Another hour had passed, and he still hadn't called her daughter. Hoping not to wake her, he slid off the bed and found his cellphone.

Walking out, he searched for the last call. His finger hovered over her name. What could he tell the girl? Sorry, you were right. I found your mommy with intentions of blowing her head off. Then she broke my mirror and to finish it, we kinda fucked… So now she's sleeping. That so didn't sound like something he could say to her.

He pressed the name. It didn't take two rings before she answered.

"Is she okay?" she asked. Jack held his breath.

'No. She's broken. We both are. I'm not sure if we can repair ourselves anymore.' He thought. "Yes. I think she was just exhausted. She fell asleep on my couch as she waited for me." Jack lied surprisingly easily to her.

"But she's okay?"

"She's in one piece. If that's what it's worrying you."

"Will you take care of her?"

"Until she wakes up."

"And then?" Parker asked in a hopeful tone.

"Then, it's up to her, P. Totally up to her."

"But you'll tell her, right? That you want to take care of her? Uncle Jordan said no one ever did."

'I did. I took care of her before, even though I was the only one broken was me,' he thought. He sighed. "I'll try. I can't promise you anything, Parker. Things are complicated."

"I know. She says they always are. Thanks, Sir General Jack, for letting me know she's okay."

Hanging the phone. Jack walked back to his room. He looked at the disarray. The gun was right next to where they'd fucked. He grabbed it and shoved it back to its place. Unwillingly, he looked at his distorted image on the remains of his mirror that still hang from the frame. He saw her distorted image, too, in the back.

"Maybe our pieces make a whole," he mumbled. Then getting rid of his pants. He slid back onto the bed. 'Maybe this is the last cuddle we get… Maybe it's just the first one of a long list…' he thought. As she made herself comfortable half on top of him again. With her hand over his heart, and his over hers. For once he drifted into a peaceful sleep.