This one is different from my normal stories. It's actually a writing exercise that I agreed to do with a friend. She selected a writing prompt; a topic I normally shy away from in writing. I had two hours to put something together, then post it for review. No editing and no beta'ing. (Scary, right?)
The topic she chose was trauma, specifically male trauma. The writing prompt I received: "Write Jack with Sam right after he comes back in the Abyss, assume that his trauma was much worse than portrayed on the show and his dark side comes out."
So here it is. I welcome your thoughts. Rated M and I'll throw in a trigger warning just in case.
Jack sat on his couch, beer in hand, painkillers on the coffee table. The television played some sort of sports event, but he couldn't have said what was on. Even under threat of death.
He huffed out a stoic laugh as that though flittered through his mind. He now knew for a fact that the threat of death did very little to jog his memory.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he tried to banish that unproductive thought. He was supposed to be recuperating, not rehashing his failures that led to his torture. Gah! His mind shouted. Stop bringing up torture!
A rat-a-tat-tat on his front door finally broke the berate-rewind-repeat cycle coursing through his brain.
"Yeah, yeah, hold your horses," he grumbled as whoever was at his door knocked again.
"Carter?" He quirked an eyebrow at her presence. She was one of the last people he expected to see. Being a fellow soldier, she typically understood that he liked to be alone after a difficult mission.
"Hi, sir," she said, a concerned smile upturning her lips.
"You here by yourself?" He stuck his head out the door, expecting Daniel or Teal'c to be with her. He could count on one hand the number of times in the last six years she'd shown up at his house alone.
"I guess you could say I drew the short straw," she shrugged. "Mind if I come in?"
He mirrored her shug, then stepped back to allow her access.
"Beer?" He asked, crossing into the kitchen.
"Sure," she took a seat on a barstool, accepting the beer bottle. She took a long swallow. If he had to guess, Jack would almost say she was nervous, which didn't make any sense. What did she have to be nervous about?
"So what brings you to my neck of the woods on such a fine day?" He tried to sound glib; no sense having her reporting to the others that he wasn't dealing well.
"I just—" she lowered her eyes, then cleared her throat. "It's simply—I'm," Sam looked like she would burst; her face flush with unease.
"Spit it out, Carter," Jack ordered, not in the mood to deal with whatever she wanted from him.
"I'm sorry, sir," she finally said; her voice filled with guilt and regret.
"Sorry for what?" He couldn't imagine what she could have done that would illicit this type of guilt.
"It's my fault Ba'al captured you," she rushed out. "If I hadn't of begged you to accept the Tok'ra symbiote," she looked up at him, eyes brimming with unshed tears.
"You didn't make me take the snake, Carter," he told her honestly. The decision had been his, and while he'd done it at her urging, he hadn't been willing to simply die without a fight.
"No but, I—"
"No buts," he cut her off. "You didn't make Kanan betray me. You didn't help Ba'al catch me. You didn't torture me."
Sam nodded, but he could tell she was struggling to hold onto her composure. Unsure what to say, he let the silence hang between them.
Sam didn't say a word, but she did push back from the counter. Walking over to him, she didn't wait for an invite or permission as she wrapped him in a strong hug.
Jack hesitated for a mere second; the thought of pushing her away flashing through his mind. But the feel of her against him won out, so he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck.
"I'm glad you're alright," she said softly against his hair. "I don't know what I would have done if—" she stopped as her voice cracked.
Jack huffed; the cruelty of their situation raking across his being. He startled her as he moved away; the sudden retreat leaving her off balance and stumbling forward slightly.
"I can't do this," he said between clenched teeth, gesturing sharply between them.
"This?" Sam asked, hurt confusion marring her brow.
"You offering comfort without being able to offer actual comfort," his voice had taken a cruel tone. "I can't deal with it right now."
"Jack," she said softly, taking a step toward him. "I just need to make sure you're okay."
The concern in her eyes burned a path of shame and embarrassment through him. "Okay?" He barked out a sadistic laugh. "Ba'al tortured me for days," his voice dropped into a low-sinister tone. "He tortured me to death. Literally. I died over and over until I lost count of how many times; until I didn't care about anything. I begged for death, Sam, do you understand? I begged that bastard to let me die. I'm so far from okay that I don't even know what okay looks like!"
"Jack," Sam started forward.
"No!" He backed away from her; knowing he was teetering on a razor's edge. If they continued down this path, he'd say something to intentionally hurt her. "Don't you get it? He broke me. I'm worthless to you."
"You are not worthless," Sam said each word slowly. "Especially not to me."
"I'm done with this," he lashed out, his panic rising. "I don't want you here. You need to leave. That's an order, Major," he added when she didn't move.
He was beyond help, he knew that, she needed to understand that, too.
"No, sir," she shook her head, her tone gentle but firm.
"Excuse, me?" He arched an eyebrow, surprised at her defiance. "Did you just refuse a direct order?"
"I'm not leaving," she tipped her chin up, her eyes snapping, despite the calm tone. "I'll give you whatever you need. I'll help you in any way I can, but I am not leaving."
The viscous bastard in him surged forward, despite his intention of shielding her from his inner-demons. His desire to make someone else feel torment, to share the burden of the horrors he'd faced was strong, but so was the need to envelop himself in something other than this unrelenting agony. If she wanted to push him, he was more than willing to push back.
"Anything I need?" He turned to face her fully, his control cracking.
"Anything," she nodded, meeting his eyes.
"And if I said I needed you?" He cocked his head, his voice deepening so she grasped his meaning. "What would you do, Major? Would you be a good little soldier?" He took a step forward. "Would you do as I ordered?"
"I would do anything for you, Jack," she swallowed visibly, her eyes sparking with something other than the anger and fear he'd expected.
"Go home, Carter," he growled, toe to toe with her. "Go home before I do something that I can't take back."
"No," Sam said defiantly. "I'm not leaving."
He moved before he could stop himself. One second he was glaring at his insubordinate 2IC and the next she was in his arms. His mouth crushed against hers, swallowing her gasp at his brutal capture of her lips. Jack used his height to tower over her. His fist wrapped in her hair, jerking her head back, allowing him full control over the kiss.
The moan from Sam urged him onward. Using teeth and tongue, he devoured her; learning how her velvety mouth felt and tasted under his relentless one.
His plan to intimidate quickly turned into a quest for domination as she molded herself against him. Releasing her lips, Jack blazed a path to her neck, nipping at her flesh and relishing the sound of her whimper.
Sam's mind clawed for awareness as Jack overwhelmed her senses. She didn't realize he was moving them backwards until her body slammed against the door. As he moved, the hand buried in her hair had shifted, had cupped the back of her head, absorbing the pain of the impact.
Jack used his body to pin her in place, keeping up his relentless assault as he began working on the buttons of her blouse. She had a moment of hesitation where the years of military protocol almost made her protest. Almost. But this was Jack; the man who'd haunted her fantasies for the past six years. Whatever he wanted to take, she was more than willing to give.
He made quick work of the material, hastily ripping the buttons that refused to budge, pausing to briefly admire her lacy black bra. Their eyes met, and she knew he was looking for any resistance—as if she would ever resist him.
Dipping his head, Jack refocused, drawing her nipple into his mouth through the flimsy fabric. A hiss emerged from Sam's throat as pleasure shot to her core.
Not wanting to simply let him have all the fun, she reached to the small of his back, tugging his shirt up, longing to touch his bare skin. To make him feel as good as she felt.
"Nu-uh," he tsked, grasping her wrists and pinning them to her sides. "Stay," he ordered, leaving no room for arguing.
Sam exhaled with unmistakable anticipation, but remained still as he returned his attention to her breasts, then moved lower. He shoved the skirt she wore up to her waist, then pushed her thighs apart. Obeying his silent command, she widened her stance, to give him better access.
"Stay," he ordered again gruffly, leaning forward and shoving the flimsy lace underwear down her legs. Lights exploded behind Sam's eyes at the feel of his mouth on her. He wasn't gentle and she didn't want him to be.
She quivered, the fire building in intensity, and instinctively tried to shift her hips away, to escape the wonderful torment. But he allowed no retreat. One hand moved to grip her hip, his fingers pinning her firmly in place as he forced her to take everything he offered.
He drove her higher, unrelenting until she cried out and convulsed above him. Still he didn't cease, propelling her onward, giving her no quarter, until Sam's body bucked involuntarily. He continued until standing was no longer an option, but as she collapsed, Jack was there, lifting her as she knew he would be. Trusting him to catch her, Sam allowed the ecstasy to consume her.
"Sam, I—" Jack's distressed voice broke through the haze of contentment.
Her eyes fluttered open and met his worried gaze, his brown eyes frantically searching hers.
Jack's soul screamed as he held Sam in his arms. He'd roughly driven her to a release she hadn't sought. His need to feel something other than pain had overridden his restraint, compelling him to take what she hadn't offered.
"Jack?" Her voice shook as she looked up at him. She appeared so vulnerable, her lips swollen from his sensual assault, her hair in disarray from his hands. There wasn't a part of her he hadn't ruthlessly explored.
"I'm so sorry," he lifted her into his arms and crossed to the couch, sitting down with her draped on his lap. He tried to adjust the skirt that was shoved up to her waist and close her gaping shirt, but the buttons were gone. Ripped away by his own hands. Self-hatred assailed him as he realized he'd lashed out at the one person he'd die to protect.
"I'm not," Sam said, drawing his attention, a smile on her face.
Her reaction confused him.
"Sam, you have to know that I never meant—" he clenched his eyes shut. No words would undo what he'd done.
"Jack O'Neill," Sam growled, "I swear to god, if you say you never meant for this to happen, I'll shoot you."
"What?" He gaped at her, trying to figure out what she meant.
"That was—" she blushed and suddenly glanced down at his chest. "—amazing."
"Amazing?" He parroted, trying to comprehend, but the walls seemed to be closing in on him. His vision dimmed, darkness creeping inwards until her face was like a pinpoint of light.
"Jack?" He felt her hand touch his face and flinched. It was all too much. The torture. The relentless pain. His actions. The dam he'd erected broke, not crumbling piece by piece, but disintegrating under the tidal wave force of his grief.
"Oh god," he sobbed, unable to stop the torrent of memories assailing him. He reached for the only person he'd ever allow to see him like this; his arms pulling her further into his chest as he finally let lose the repressed emotions.
"Shhh," Sam soothed, stroking the head buried against her. Her own heart breaking at the sheer force of his agony. His body racked with sobs as he held onto her.
She'd known this was coming; had experienced it herself on a few occasions. Memories of her time on Simarka flashed through her mind, of Adrian Conrad, too, as she held onto Jack and let him purge the horrors he'd survived.
Time stood still as she held onto him; joined him in expelling the demons haunting them. Minutes, maybe hours passed, she couldn't tell. Didn't care. There was no where else in the universe she'd rather be than here, with him.
Eventually, the torrent passed and exhaustion won out. Content to just be close to Jack, Sam simply held him. And when the waning light gave way to a growing dusk, she joined him in sleep.