The rest of the day was a rough one for Sam. Jack went to his bedroom and
back to bed, and refused to eat when she brought him a late lunch. He
claimed that he wasn't hungry, that she'd given him a big breakfast, but
she didn't buy it. The empty expression was back, and she wondered if she'd
pressured him too early and had undone any good she might have done. He
didn't talk to her after that. Instead, he closed his eyes and turned away
as he'd done so many times before, and tried to close out anything and
everyone.
She didn't press the issue of lunch, feeling that a missed meal at this moment was the least of their worries. Instead, she cleaned, trying to work off her frustrations and hurt. Half the time she vacuumed, she was sobbing, knowing he wouldn't be able to hear her over the noise. When she came to his room with a tray of dinner, he didn't want to eat, and Sam was forced to resort once more to threatening him with a visit from Frasier and an IV. She come to the point of actually getting Janet on the phone when Jack caved and grudgingly ate most of his dinner, although he was furious the entire time he was eating, and didn't bother to hide it. She didn't keep him company that evening. He didn't ask, and she was afraid to offer. She'd been hurt too much that day to open herself up to anymore. He always knew what to say that hurt the most, and he was so angry at her bullying that he wasn't holding back.
She checked on him once more before she went to bed, but she didn't do anything more than make sure he was actually in his room. He didn't initiate a conversation, and she didn't stick around to hear the silence echoing through out his room. Hopefully, she told herself, a good night's sleep would restore both their equilibriums and they'd be able to be a little more civilized to each other the next day. Otherwise she was afraid she was going to go slowly mad.
"What are you doing Jack?"
It was late, and O'Neill had been lying in his bed for hours, staring at the darkened ceiling. With Sam gone and the lights off, there was no reason to keep his eyes closed, after all. He turned at the sound of the voice he knew so well, and saw Daniel standing next to his bed.
"Just laying here, Danny boy... Wondering who I'm going to kill next."
Daniel made an exasperated noise and stepped closer to the bed. "It's not your fault, Jack. How many times do I have to tell you that?"
"I wish I had a dollar for all the times I've heard your voice tell me otherwise." The agony in Jack's voice was crushing. It was the first time he'd mentioned the evil dreams, but he figured it was safe to tell Daniel. After all, he was dreaming Daniel.
"That wasn't me telling you that, Jack. It was your own mind using my voice. You didn't do anything wrong. It was all my fault."
"You're wrong, Daniel." Jack shook his head, wondering if he were going insane and if arguing with your own nightmares was a first sign of it.
Daniel changed tactics.
"You're hurting Sam."
"She's tough, she'll survive."
"You really believe that?"
"Yes."
"She cried herself to sleep. Is that tough enough for you?"
He felt a stab of guilt, and sorrow, but steeled himself against both. "I don't care." He lied.
"You're going to lose her, Jack. She's not as strong as you think, and if you keep doing this to her, you're going to say something, or do something that she won't be able to forgive."
When Jack didn't answer, Daniel stepped closer, right to the edge of the bed and looked down at his friend. "Unless that's what you intend to do..." He got that look of sudden comprehension that Jack was so poignantly familiar with.
"You're hurting her on purpose! You're trying to drive her away."
There was no hiding it from his dreams, so Jack didn't bother to deny it.
Daniel shook his head, sorrow evident in both his expression and in his voice. "Jack. You dumb son of a bitch. You're succeeding. But ask yourself this? What are you going to do without her?"
He woke abruptly, sitting up quickly and looking over to the dark corner of his room that Daniel had occupied. There was nothing there, but the dream had seemed so real. His friend had seemed so solid. The anger, the sorrow, the exasperation. It had all been so clear to Jack. How could he have dreamed it? Jack lay in his bed, breathing heavily, remembering the conversation. He'd killed one friend already. Was he really ready to drive another one away? What had he been thinking? Hurting Carter was the last thing he really wanted to do. More importantly, when had he come up with such a foolish, ill-conceived notion? Sometime in the last few days, he was sure. Maybe he'd decided that if Carter were far away from him, then he wouldn't be able to hurt her? But how much pain was he willing inflict on her to drive her away?
He tossed back his blankets and tumbled out of his bed, suddenly terrified that she'd left while he'd been sleeping. He went to the door, still tangled in blankets and shrugging them off in the hallway. Stopping at the door of the guest bedroom, he almost cried out in relief when he saw her sleeping in the bed in the muted glow of a nightlight.
Jack stepped into her room and sat on the edge of the bed, quietly, watching her sleep for a moment before reaching a trembling hand out and touching her cheek. Her eyes flew open at the contact, and Sam sat up in alarm.
"Sir? Is everything all right?" She could see his face clearly, and the lost look in his haunted eyes made her want to weep.
"I'm sorry, Sam," he whispered hoarsely. "I..." Tears were welling in his eyes when he thought of how close he'd come to doing one of the dumbest things of his life. "I never... I'd never hurt you."
"Jack...?" All formality was gone at that moment. He looked so hurt that she instinctively gathered her in his arms and pulled her close against him. "What happened, Jack? What's wrong?" She whispered as she rocked him against her.
He was sobbing, now, and simply shook his head, unable to say anything. Unable to catch his breath in anything more than stuttering gasps. "I'm sorry..." He managed to whisper once more, and Sam hugged him closer. His arms went around her and he clung to her, holding her as tightly as he could, reassuring himself even as he broke down that she wasn't going to leave him.
She didn't press the issue of lunch, feeling that a missed meal at this moment was the least of their worries. Instead, she cleaned, trying to work off her frustrations and hurt. Half the time she vacuumed, she was sobbing, knowing he wouldn't be able to hear her over the noise. When she came to his room with a tray of dinner, he didn't want to eat, and Sam was forced to resort once more to threatening him with a visit from Frasier and an IV. She come to the point of actually getting Janet on the phone when Jack caved and grudgingly ate most of his dinner, although he was furious the entire time he was eating, and didn't bother to hide it. She didn't keep him company that evening. He didn't ask, and she was afraid to offer. She'd been hurt too much that day to open herself up to anymore. He always knew what to say that hurt the most, and he was so angry at her bullying that he wasn't holding back.
She checked on him once more before she went to bed, but she didn't do anything more than make sure he was actually in his room. He didn't initiate a conversation, and she didn't stick around to hear the silence echoing through out his room. Hopefully, she told herself, a good night's sleep would restore both their equilibriums and they'd be able to be a little more civilized to each other the next day. Otherwise she was afraid she was going to go slowly mad.
"What are you doing Jack?"
It was late, and O'Neill had been lying in his bed for hours, staring at the darkened ceiling. With Sam gone and the lights off, there was no reason to keep his eyes closed, after all. He turned at the sound of the voice he knew so well, and saw Daniel standing next to his bed.
"Just laying here, Danny boy... Wondering who I'm going to kill next."
Daniel made an exasperated noise and stepped closer to the bed. "It's not your fault, Jack. How many times do I have to tell you that?"
"I wish I had a dollar for all the times I've heard your voice tell me otherwise." The agony in Jack's voice was crushing. It was the first time he'd mentioned the evil dreams, but he figured it was safe to tell Daniel. After all, he was dreaming Daniel.
"That wasn't me telling you that, Jack. It was your own mind using my voice. You didn't do anything wrong. It was all my fault."
"You're wrong, Daniel." Jack shook his head, wondering if he were going insane and if arguing with your own nightmares was a first sign of it.
Daniel changed tactics.
"You're hurting Sam."
"She's tough, she'll survive."
"You really believe that?"
"Yes."
"She cried herself to sleep. Is that tough enough for you?"
He felt a stab of guilt, and sorrow, but steeled himself against both. "I don't care." He lied.
"You're going to lose her, Jack. She's not as strong as you think, and if you keep doing this to her, you're going to say something, or do something that she won't be able to forgive."
When Jack didn't answer, Daniel stepped closer, right to the edge of the bed and looked down at his friend. "Unless that's what you intend to do..." He got that look of sudden comprehension that Jack was so poignantly familiar with.
"You're hurting her on purpose! You're trying to drive her away."
There was no hiding it from his dreams, so Jack didn't bother to deny it.
Daniel shook his head, sorrow evident in both his expression and in his voice. "Jack. You dumb son of a bitch. You're succeeding. But ask yourself this? What are you going to do without her?"
He woke abruptly, sitting up quickly and looking over to the dark corner of his room that Daniel had occupied. There was nothing there, but the dream had seemed so real. His friend had seemed so solid. The anger, the sorrow, the exasperation. It had all been so clear to Jack. How could he have dreamed it? Jack lay in his bed, breathing heavily, remembering the conversation. He'd killed one friend already. Was he really ready to drive another one away? What had he been thinking? Hurting Carter was the last thing he really wanted to do. More importantly, when had he come up with such a foolish, ill-conceived notion? Sometime in the last few days, he was sure. Maybe he'd decided that if Carter were far away from him, then he wouldn't be able to hurt her? But how much pain was he willing inflict on her to drive her away?
He tossed back his blankets and tumbled out of his bed, suddenly terrified that she'd left while he'd been sleeping. He went to the door, still tangled in blankets and shrugging them off in the hallway. Stopping at the door of the guest bedroom, he almost cried out in relief when he saw her sleeping in the bed in the muted glow of a nightlight.
Jack stepped into her room and sat on the edge of the bed, quietly, watching her sleep for a moment before reaching a trembling hand out and touching her cheek. Her eyes flew open at the contact, and Sam sat up in alarm.
"Sir? Is everything all right?" She could see his face clearly, and the lost look in his haunted eyes made her want to weep.
"I'm sorry, Sam," he whispered hoarsely. "I..." Tears were welling in his eyes when he thought of how close he'd come to doing one of the dumbest things of his life. "I never... I'd never hurt you."
"Jack...?" All formality was gone at that moment. He looked so hurt that she instinctively gathered her in his arms and pulled her close against him. "What happened, Jack? What's wrong?" She whispered as she rocked him against her.
He was sobbing, now, and simply shook his head, unable to say anything. Unable to catch his breath in anything more than stuttering gasps. "I'm sorry..." He managed to whisper once more, and Sam hugged him closer. His arms went around her and he clung to her, holding her as tightly as he could, reassuring himself even as he broke down that she wasn't going to leave him.
