The Colour of Pain Chapter 11
A/N Don't want to give away what happens, but I have to warn you that there is a discussion of torture. Nothing graphic, but if you are of a sensitive disposition, you have been warned.
Also, I've had a lot of problems with this chapter, for reasons which will become obvious, so I'd really appreciate reviews.
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The nights were quite cold now and it looked like it might even snow soon, but that didn't bother Jack. He lay on a sun lounger in his back yard, in his nice warm fleece, sipping his fourth beer on an empty stomach. Fifth. No, it might have been his sixth actually, but he couldn't be bothered to lean over and count the empty bottles on the ground. This fact alone suggested to him that sixth was more likely than fourth, but it didn't preclude the possibility it was the fifth.
"Owwww! I'm not supposed to get a headache till morning!"
"Well, if you hadn't drunk so much, Sir…"
"Carter!"
He jumped up, relieved to hear her voice, but sat back down almost immediately. Or fell, depending on whose version you preferred.
"Carter, I told you to wait in my office. I was driving all over town looking for you and I think several of your neighbours now think I'm Norman Bates Mk II. Plus, I had to pick up all those damn files by myself! Took me hours!"
"Sorry, Sir."
Her voice sounded small and she was staring at her feet. She was still in her uniform but minus her jacket and she looked freezing.
"Come on, let's get you into the warm, eh?
**
They'd gone inside, him muttering something about "fourth" and Sam had immediately noticed the change in temperature but she was still shivering. The Colonel had given her his fleece before putting on some coffee. He disappeared while it was brewing and reappeared a few moments later with a fresh, deep purple, shirt on and having ordered pizza. Chicken and mushroom, her favourite. They sat at the kitchen table, warming up, drinking coffee and some water too, in his case. She could smell him, on the fleece. His aftershave, deodorant, soap, sweat… even his beer. Whatever the mix of smells that made up the unique scent of Jack O'Neill. When he went to the door to get the pizza, she'd been able to bury her nose in the collar. And she'd smiled, just a little. She hadn't realised how hungry she was till she'd started eating, and it appeared he was more than a little peckish, himself.
**
With fresh coffee, Sam followed the Colonel through to the front room. It was very tidy. Books neat in their case, remotes all sitting on top of the tv, console joypad wires all neatly wound up, newspapers in a bundle on the shelf under the coffee table. Apparently the bombsite he called his office these days really was due to lack of filing space. Either that or tidying was his distraction when he was at home.
"You wanted to talk scars, Carter?"
She just shrugged, not trusting her voice. He pulled off his boots and socks, wrinkling up his nose.
"Eau de O'Neill feet, sorry."
She tried to smile, tried to remember why she'd thought coming here at 11 at night would be a good idea.
"How d'ya like them scars?"
"Oh God! How did that happen?"
He was holding his left foot over his right knee, exposing the sole, which had a lot of dead skin and scar tissue.
"Want to see the other one?"
Without waiting for an answer, he lifted his other foot and since she was sitting on his diagonal right, the only way to let her see the sole was to lie back on the sofa and hold it up. She didn't notice he'd unbuttoned his shirt until he sat up and took it off, exposing his broad chest and flat stomach. He had a couple of old gunshot wounds, she could see, and a scar that said a broken collarbone had been operated on. He stood up and wordlessly turned around.
**
He could feel her, now warm, fingers on his back, tracing the lines. He could feel his heart pounding so loudly, the absurd thought that she must be able to hear it too, crossed his mind. He heard her voice tremble, as she whispered.
"Who did this to you?"
He sat back down, lifting his shirt from the floor where he couldn't remember it falling and began to pull it back on. She didn't move, stood over him, waiting for an answer. He couldn't meet her eyes.
"Bad men, a long time ago."
"You were tortured."
"Give the girl a coconut!"
He regretted it as soon as he said it, but the words seemed to have left his mouth of their own volition. They'd obviously bypassed his brain because he couldn't recall thinking them first. Once again, he wished he didn't have quite such a smart mouth. Sam sat down, looking upset.
"Sorry, I didn't mean that. Yeah, I was tortured, worse than Baal even, and before you ask… I was shot and captured in a Middle Eastern country, which shall remain nameless since I wasn't technically there, and it was about 4 months before I managed to escape. It would take too long to list everything they did to me and I'm not getting any younger here so I'll give you the highlights."
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and recited in a monotone.
"Beating, whipping, electrocution, drugs, sleep depravation, starvation…"
He finished breathing out and took another deep breath in.
"I was hung by the arms for days, had fingers broken, toe nails ripped out, teeth pulled by a guy I'm pretty sure didn't have ADA accreditation…"
**
Oh my God, he's describing how he was tortured and he's actually joking about it.
"You never let on, never said anything at all, Sir.
"Well, it's not something you drop into casual conversation, is it? "Yes, lovely weather we're having, I was tortured nearly to death after a Top Secret Black Op went wrong and how about them Yankees?" Even if I had wanted to talk about it, which incidentally, I don't really, but nevermind, how was I supposed to bring it up?"
Jack leaned back on the sofa, one arm running along the back of it, the other rubbing his face. He still hadn't buttoned his shirt, giving Sam a good view of his torso. As she stared at his chest, she realised he was watching her and she turned away, blushing furiously.
"Other people's scars are pretty fascinating, aren't they?" he asked, sagely.
Oh no, Sir, I wasn't looking at your scars!"
Oh God, Sam! Why don't you just jump him? It couldn't be any less subtle!
It was all she could do not to groan out loud. Had she been alone, she'd have been banging her head off the wall. She risked a glance his way, but he wasn't looking at her. Instead, he was looking straight ahead with his eyebrows raised. Desperate to fill the void, Sam asked the first question that sprang to mind.
**
"Who else knows, Sir?"
"Hmm… General Hammond, of course. And Dr Frasier, of course. I assume she suggested bringing up the topic? Don't worry, I suggested it to her first, after the… accident, but we figured you'd think I was being patronising. In fact, until this afternoon, my opinion hadn't changed so I had a good excuse not to talk to you about it."
"I feel really stupid now. I mean, I've been acting like the universe collapsed and I only have a couple of tiny blemishes in comparison to you. Uh… I hope that didn't sound as bad as I think it did… And I wasn't tortured, either. I was unconscious in a matter of seconds and had pain medication for months. God, you must think I'm such a self-centred cow!"
"No, Sam, I don't", he replied softly.
"The universe may not have collapsed, but yours did. Your whole world changed. You went from being… self-reliant, capable and assured, to… severely injured, self-doubting and reliant on others, at least in the beginning, to help you perform the most simple, even intimate, tasks. Do you think I was running around like nothing had happened, 5 minutes after I got home? I still have nightmares sometimes, especially after Baal. The Doc had me doped up for weeks after I left the infirmary, just so I could get a few hours sleep each night. But do you know what? None of that can compare to the pain of losing a child, especially if you know it's your fault. I'd go through it all again if it could somehow bring Charlie back."
She watched him blink away the tears and sniff. He looked up at her.
"You have your whole life ahead of you, Sam. Don't let it all end here, you career, your friendships… No-one who cares about you sees scars, they see a friend in pain, in need."
He shook his head.
"Life's too short to waste on regrets. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I don't have my bad days, but I know they'll eventually pass and I always have my friends to cheer me up, even if they don't know why I need it."
She was crying, as she whispered her darkest fear.
"But I feel like such a freak."
Jack left the sofa to kneel in front of Sam, ignoring his protesting knee, taking her hands in his and setting his tone of voice to "authoritative".
"Now listen here, Missy, you are no such thing."
He softened his voice and squeezed her hands gently.
"You're an incredibly smart, incredibly beautiful woman, Sam."
She suddenly looked horrified and jumped up, bolting for the door.
"Nooo you don't!"
Jack jumped up right behind her and threw his arms around her, the force of her momentum and his spin turning them through almost an extra 270 degrees and throwing them onto the sofa. Even though the impact had knocked the wind out of him, Jack didn't let go, didn't even loosen his arms as she struggled, despite the fact he could hardly breathe. But it only took a moment for the struggling to stop, to be replaced with deep, wracking sobs.
"It's ok, it's ok… Let it go. Let it all go…"
He got a hand round, under her opposite knee, and pulled her up so she was sitting across his lap instead of in it and he held her closer.
**
"You're an incredibly smart, incredibly beautiful woman, Sam."
Oh God!
Before she even realised it, Sam was on her feet, running for the door. Why had she come here? What did he want that he would lie, so shamelessly, for?
She wasn't quite sure how she ended up in his lap on the sofa and it didn't matter, she had to get out of there. She had to get away from him, but he wouldn't let go. All of her energy, all of her fight, left her, and Sam found herself sobbing in his arms, no longer caring about anything. What anybody thought. What he thought. She just didn't have the strength any more.
"It's ok, it's ok… Let it go. Let it all go…"
Eventually, when she had no more tears left, she fell asleep there.
**
When Jack awoke, it took him a moment to recall where he was and just what he was doing with Carter in his lap. His head and knee protested, loudly, at the night's maltreatment and requested painkillers, though for different reasons. She was still sitting how he'd positioned her and her head was on his shoulder, the top in the crook of his neck. He could feel each warm breath stirring the hair on his chest. Her right hand rested just below his collarbone, the index and middle fingers sitting on his scar. The head and knee would have to wait, he couldn't disturb her. It was definitely a good thing he had the following day off.
As he listened to the seconds ticking away on the clock, he hoped that whatever happened, she found peace. He found he didn't care whether or not she passed some stupid evaluation, just as long as she was happy. She was far from happy right now. She was upset, confused, angry and lonely. If he kissed her right now, she would reciprocate. If he took her by the hand and led her to the bedroom, she'd go willingly. But he could never take advantage of her like that. Maybe she'd stay with him, but the way she was, it would probably only be out of some misplaced sense of gratitude that he, or any man, would want to be with her. More likely though, it would destroy their friendship and any hope of a real, loving, relationship in their future.
Jack was no fool. He knew that, as a species, human beings were drawn to that sort of intimacy with one another as a natural response to emotionally upsetting events. Knowing it was his genetic hardwiring, the caveman in him, didn't make him feel any less guilty that the thought had even flitted across his mind.
He closed his eyes and relaxed, concentrating on the sensation of her breathing, the warm air flowing down his torso. He'd rather go back to the torture of working beside her, day after day, unable to do anything about his feelings for her, than see her like this again. He'd rather she was happy without him, than unhappy with him.
When Jack next awoke, after a surprisingly dreamless sleep, Sam was gone.
End of Chapter 11
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A/N Well, whatever you thought, if you hit the little button just down there that says "Go", you can tell me. Please tell me. Please?