DICLAIMER: I don't own anything! So don't sue me (
Empty
It had started to rain, but he didn't notice. His shirt was plastered to his body, his jeans were sagging on his lean frame with the extra weight the cold water added, but again, he didn't notice. There was a beer bottle in his hand, but it was empty. It'd been empty when he'd brought it out to the deck and sat down, but he hadn't noticed. He simply sat in the cold rain, staring off into the steadily darkening sky but not seeing anything. He was beyond noticing. And beyond caring.
Carter found him like that much later that evening. It had been a terrible week for the Major, and she hadn't seen her CO during the entire time, which just made it that much harder for her to handle her pain. The Colonel was a stable part of her life. Someone she'd always looked for when she was hurting, and he hadn't been there for her. Not this time. And that had hurt almost as much as Daniel's death. So that evening, sitting at her house and staring at the walls, hoping that this was all a bad dream and knowing better, she'd finally decided that she needed to pull herself together and force him to talk to her before the rift between the two of them became too much to overcome. If it hadn't already.
She'd driven to his house, trying to decide what she would say to him, and how he would respond. When she saw that all the windows in his house were dark, she almost didn't stop. Maybe he was already in bed? It wasn't really that late, but his truck was sitting in his driveway, so she was pretty sure he was home. She sighed and pulled up to the curb. She'd come this far already, there was no sense turning around. If she woke him up, well, he was already distant with her, and what more damage could she do to their relationship? Besides, maybe he was watching TV in the dark.
She knocked lightly on the door, feeling the cold trickle of rainwater as it found its way under her coat and down the back of her blouse. She shivered. There was no answer to her knock, so she knocked a little louder. Still no answer. Just for the Hell of it, Carter tried the door, and was amazed to find it unlocked. She turned the knob and opened the door, letting herself in and closing it quietly behind her. If he were asleep she'd just let herself out and lock the door behind her. No harm done and she'd come back and talk to him tomorrow. If he were awake, he'd probably be pretty pissed at her for just barging in, but she didn't care.
She turned on the light, expecting him to come out of his room, or up off the couch swearing up a storm, but it didn't happen. The state of his living room caused her instant concern. There were clothes strewn about, and a few dishes, and a pizza box. And beer bottles. A lot of beer bottles. It was definitely unlike the Colonel to be so messy, and Carter felt a stab of fear that something was wrong.
The fear intensified when she walked into his kitchen, which was even messier than his living room had been. More dishes. More beer bottles. Clutter everywhere, and a broken glass shattered on the floor next to the far wall, looking for all the world as if it had been thrown against the wall in a fit of anger.
"Colonel?" She called, walking down the hall and looking into his bedroom. It was empty and equally chaotic. Bedding was strewn everywhere, and the closet had been ransacked from the clutter that was spread through out his floor. Then she saw his side arm. The gun was sitting on his nightstand, next to a small handful of shells. Carter walked over and picked it up, checking to see if it was loaded. It was, and the safety was off.
"Jack?!" She was frantic, now. He'd never have left without his gun. Never. She ran out of his room and looked into the bathroom, then the extra bedroom, and finally came back out into his kitchen, where she noticed for the first time that the screen door to the deck was open, even though the glass door was closed. Clutching that final hope, she opened the door and looked out onto the deck. And saw him sitting there. He was in a chair with his bare feet propped up onto the railing of the deck. A beer bottle was in his hand, and he was staring off into nothing.
"Colonel?" She walked over to him, but he didn't respond. He didn't even look up at her when she stopped beside him. He was drenched, though, and shivering. But he didn't seem to notice that, either.
"Colonel? You soaking wet, Sir." God, he had to be freezing.
"I know, Carter. Go away." The words hurt. But the dead tone in his voice scared her, and she shook her head.
"No, Sir. We need to get you inside and warmed up. You're going to catch the flu if you stay out here any longer."
"I'm fine. Go home." Again the dead voice.
"Please, Sir? You're really endangering yourself being out here like this."
"I don't care."
She could tell it was true. But she did care, and she reached down and took the empty bottle of beer from his hand, noticing just how very cold his fingers were as she did so.
"God, Jack, you're freezing." She said.
"It doesn't matter, Carter," O'Neill said. "Go home, please?"
"Come inside and get warmed," the Major replied.
"No."
She wasn't sure what was wrong with him, but she wasn't about to leave him alone like that. Instead she reached down and took his hand, and pulled, trying to drag him to his feet.
Much to her surprise, he rose up off the chair, still not looking at her, but it was a start.
"Let's go inside, Sir."
"I don't want to go inside, Carter."
"I know. But I do." She kept hold of his hand and took a step towards the door, giving him two options; come with her willingly or force her to drag him in behind her. Luckily for both of them, he followed her.
"What the Hell is wrong with you?" Sam asked as she closed the door behind them. He stood quietly in the middle of the kitchen, water dripping off him onto the floor and didn't answer her. He didn't know what was wrong, and didn't care. All he wanted was to be left alone.
Realizing that he wasn't going to answer her, Carter sighed and dragged him down the hall and into his bedroom.
"We have to get you warm, Sir," she said, talking more to fill in the void that his silence was creating. "I'll be amazed if you're not already sick, as much as you're shivering. How long were you out there, anyways?" She didn't expect an answer, and didn't receive one. All he was willing to offer her was silence.
She let go of his hand and reached down, grabbing up a pair of sweats and a t-shirt off the floor, then pulled him into the bathroom and started the shower. Making the water as warm as she dared, she pushed him into it, still fully clothed. He didn't resist, just standing there under the warm spray, eyes closed, wishing the world would go away.
She left him in the shower until the warm water started to turn cool, then pulled him out and pulled the soaked t-shirt over his head. He didn't say anything, although he was watching her now. She expected him to step away when she reached for the buttons on his jeans, but he didn't do anything, and he didn't say anything, so she unbuttoned them and pulled them and his underwear down and helped him step out of them. Naked and still shivering, although not as hard as he had been, Jack stood silently while his 2IC dried him with a towel and then dressed him in the sweats and the dry shirt.
"We'll put you to bed, now, Sir," Carter said, and pulled him into his bedroom once more. For the first time, Jack pulled his hand from hers and shook his head, looking at her instead of through her.
"I don't want to go to bed, Carter," he told her. How could he tell her that every time he closed his eyes all he saw was Daniel? Daniel was dead, and it was all his fault. He was the leader of SG-1, and it was his responsibility to bring them all home safely. And he'd failed. Nothing mattered anymore. All he felt was empty.
"Too bad," she replied, pulling all the blankets off the bed and pushing him down onto it. He went, even though he didn't want to, and she covered him warmly with a blanket and a comforter.
"Stay there, Sir. I need to go make a couple of calls."
He didn't have any intention of going anywhere. He didn't want to go anywhere, or do anything. Jack closed his eyes and tried to close out the world.
Sam waited until his eyes were closed, then reached over and pulled his Beretta off the nightstand, reached down and grabbed up another pair of sweats and a t-shirt, and walked silently out of the room.
She quickly dried off and changed into his sweats and t-shirt, both of which were too big for her but were better than her own wet clothes. Then she went into his living room and called Janet, and explained what had happened so far.
"I don't know what's wrong with him, Janet," she said softly as settled herself on his couch, the phone in one hand, and his gun in the other. She had no intention of leaving him alone with it in the state he was in.
"Has he said anything?" Janet asked, the concern in her voice obvious.
"Well, let's see... I got a couple of 'It doesn't matters', a few 'I don't cares', and a couple 'go away, Carters'. Does that count?"
"He told you to go away?"
"More than once."
"Is he running a fever?"
"I'm not sure, Janet. He's been out in the rain for God only knows how long, and his entire body was still chilled when I put him to bed. You should see this place, it's a mess."
"I'll be right over, Sam. Don't let him get out of bed."
Sam put the phone back on its charger, and then emptied the shells from O'Neill's gun. Unsure of what to do next, and restless, she walked back into Jack's bedroom to check on him.
Empty
It had started to rain, but he didn't notice. His shirt was plastered to his body, his jeans were sagging on his lean frame with the extra weight the cold water added, but again, he didn't notice. There was a beer bottle in his hand, but it was empty. It'd been empty when he'd brought it out to the deck and sat down, but he hadn't noticed. He simply sat in the cold rain, staring off into the steadily darkening sky but not seeing anything. He was beyond noticing. And beyond caring.
Carter found him like that much later that evening. It had been a terrible week for the Major, and she hadn't seen her CO during the entire time, which just made it that much harder for her to handle her pain. The Colonel was a stable part of her life. Someone she'd always looked for when she was hurting, and he hadn't been there for her. Not this time. And that had hurt almost as much as Daniel's death. So that evening, sitting at her house and staring at the walls, hoping that this was all a bad dream and knowing better, she'd finally decided that she needed to pull herself together and force him to talk to her before the rift between the two of them became too much to overcome. If it hadn't already.
She'd driven to his house, trying to decide what she would say to him, and how he would respond. When she saw that all the windows in his house were dark, she almost didn't stop. Maybe he was already in bed? It wasn't really that late, but his truck was sitting in his driveway, so she was pretty sure he was home. She sighed and pulled up to the curb. She'd come this far already, there was no sense turning around. If she woke him up, well, he was already distant with her, and what more damage could she do to their relationship? Besides, maybe he was watching TV in the dark.
She knocked lightly on the door, feeling the cold trickle of rainwater as it found its way under her coat and down the back of her blouse. She shivered. There was no answer to her knock, so she knocked a little louder. Still no answer. Just for the Hell of it, Carter tried the door, and was amazed to find it unlocked. She turned the knob and opened the door, letting herself in and closing it quietly behind her. If he were asleep she'd just let herself out and lock the door behind her. No harm done and she'd come back and talk to him tomorrow. If he were awake, he'd probably be pretty pissed at her for just barging in, but she didn't care.
She turned on the light, expecting him to come out of his room, or up off the couch swearing up a storm, but it didn't happen. The state of his living room caused her instant concern. There were clothes strewn about, and a few dishes, and a pizza box. And beer bottles. A lot of beer bottles. It was definitely unlike the Colonel to be so messy, and Carter felt a stab of fear that something was wrong.
The fear intensified when she walked into his kitchen, which was even messier than his living room had been. More dishes. More beer bottles. Clutter everywhere, and a broken glass shattered on the floor next to the far wall, looking for all the world as if it had been thrown against the wall in a fit of anger.
"Colonel?" She called, walking down the hall and looking into his bedroom. It was empty and equally chaotic. Bedding was strewn everywhere, and the closet had been ransacked from the clutter that was spread through out his floor. Then she saw his side arm. The gun was sitting on his nightstand, next to a small handful of shells. Carter walked over and picked it up, checking to see if it was loaded. It was, and the safety was off.
"Jack?!" She was frantic, now. He'd never have left without his gun. Never. She ran out of his room and looked into the bathroom, then the extra bedroom, and finally came back out into his kitchen, where she noticed for the first time that the screen door to the deck was open, even though the glass door was closed. Clutching that final hope, she opened the door and looked out onto the deck. And saw him sitting there. He was in a chair with his bare feet propped up onto the railing of the deck. A beer bottle was in his hand, and he was staring off into nothing.
"Colonel?" She walked over to him, but he didn't respond. He didn't even look up at her when she stopped beside him. He was drenched, though, and shivering. But he didn't seem to notice that, either.
"Colonel? You soaking wet, Sir." God, he had to be freezing.
"I know, Carter. Go away." The words hurt. But the dead tone in his voice scared her, and she shook her head.
"No, Sir. We need to get you inside and warmed up. You're going to catch the flu if you stay out here any longer."
"I'm fine. Go home." Again the dead voice.
"Please, Sir? You're really endangering yourself being out here like this."
"I don't care."
She could tell it was true. But she did care, and she reached down and took the empty bottle of beer from his hand, noticing just how very cold his fingers were as she did so.
"God, Jack, you're freezing." She said.
"It doesn't matter, Carter," O'Neill said. "Go home, please?"
"Come inside and get warmed," the Major replied.
"No."
She wasn't sure what was wrong with him, but she wasn't about to leave him alone like that. Instead she reached down and took his hand, and pulled, trying to drag him to his feet.
Much to her surprise, he rose up off the chair, still not looking at her, but it was a start.
"Let's go inside, Sir."
"I don't want to go inside, Carter."
"I know. But I do." She kept hold of his hand and took a step towards the door, giving him two options; come with her willingly or force her to drag him in behind her. Luckily for both of them, he followed her.
"What the Hell is wrong with you?" Sam asked as she closed the door behind them. He stood quietly in the middle of the kitchen, water dripping off him onto the floor and didn't answer her. He didn't know what was wrong, and didn't care. All he wanted was to be left alone.
Realizing that he wasn't going to answer her, Carter sighed and dragged him down the hall and into his bedroom.
"We have to get you warm, Sir," she said, talking more to fill in the void that his silence was creating. "I'll be amazed if you're not already sick, as much as you're shivering. How long were you out there, anyways?" She didn't expect an answer, and didn't receive one. All he was willing to offer her was silence.
She let go of his hand and reached down, grabbing up a pair of sweats and a t-shirt off the floor, then pulled him into the bathroom and started the shower. Making the water as warm as she dared, she pushed him into it, still fully clothed. He didn't resist, just standing there under the warm spray, eyes closed, wishing the world would go away.
She left him in the shower until the warm water started to turn cool, then pulled him out and pulled the soaked t-shirt over his head. He didn't say anything, although he was watching her now. She expected him to step away when she reached for the buttons on his jeans, but he didn't do anything, and he didn't say anything, so she unbuttoned them and pulled them and his underwear down and helped him step out of them. Naked and still shivering, although not as hard as he had been, Jack stood silently while his 2IC dried him with a towel and then dressed him in the sweats and the dry shirt.
"We'll put you to bed, now, Sir," Carter said, and pulled him into his bedroom once more. For the first time, Jack pulled his hand from hers and shook his head, looking at her instead of through her.
"I don't want to go to bed, Carter," he told her. How could he tell her that every time he closed his eyes all he saw was Daniel? Daniel was dead, and it was all his fault. He was the leader of SG-1, and it was his responsibility to bring them all home safely. And he'd failed. Nothing mattered anymore. All he felt was empty.
"Too bad," she replied, pulling all the blankets off the bed and pushing him down onto it. He went, even though he didn't want to, and she covered him warmly with a blanket and a comforter.
"Stay there, Sir. I need to go make a couple of calls."
He didn't have any intention of going anywhere. He didn't want to go anywhere, or do anything. Jack closed his eyes and tried to close out the world.
Sam waited until his eyes were closed, then reached over and pulled his Beretta off the nightstand, reached down and grabbed up another pair of sweats and a t-shirt, and walked silently out of the room.
She quickly dried off and changed into his sweats and t-shirt, both of which were too big for her but were better than her own wet clothes. Then she went into his living room and called Janet, and explained what had happened so far.
"I don't know what's wrong with him, Janet," she said softly as settled herself on his couch, the phone in one hand, and his gun in the other. She had no intention of leaving him alone with it in the state he was in.
"Has he said anything?" Janet asked, the concern in her voice obvious.
"Well, let's see... I got a couple of 'It doesn't matters', a few 'I don't cares', and a couple 'go away, Carters'. Does that count?"
"He told you to go away?"
"More than once."
"Is he running a fever?"
"I'm not sure, Janet. He's been out in the rain for God only knows how long, and his entire body was still chilled when I put him to bed. You should see this place, it's a mess."
"I'll be right over, Sam. Don't let him get out of bed."
Sam put the phone back on its charger, and then emptied the shells from O'Neill's gun. Unsure of what to do next, and restless, she walked back into Jack's bedroom to check on him.
