It was two or three hours before dawn when Carter sat up to survey her surroundings.
"Well Sir, how are you enjoying your vacation."
"Feeling better? You know Carter there are easier ways of getting rid of me. What have I done to piss you off?"
"Honestly, Sir, we really researched this place, multiple MALP readings, it was always just perfect."
"Well somebody hates me."
"Not us."
"I think I found our lunch. Someone sealed the Styrofoam container with duct tape so I'm kind of hoping for the best. Hungry?"
"Starved."
They split a roast beef sandwich and can of soda. There was no dry wood to make a fire for anything hot to drink. Matter of fact there was no dry anything except Carter. She stayed in the raft with the sleeping bag around her while O'Neill sat on the ground near her. He was still in the sodden uniform. They decided the rest of the food should be kept in reserve but he did offer her some grapes.
"Carter, I need to get a few hours of sleep. Wake me in 3 or 4 hours, sooner if you need to." And he handed her the P – 90. He unfolded one of the metallic foil-like sheets from the med kit and wrapped it around himself and lay down on the other side of the raft.
She watched him sleep; there wasn't much else to do. He was curled up in fetal position trying to keep warm under the inadequate foil blanket. He looked so cold. She remembered him too many time so incredibly cold. She turned the sleeping bag side ways, left part over her lower half and flung the rest over him. He seemed to relax a little but grabbed the cloth in his fist. He had crammed his hat on before he lay down, having pulled it out of his shirt like a magician would have pulled out a rabbit. She wondered how he could have possibly held on to it through the storm. But there he lay, brim of his hat over his eyes and fist full on cloth under his nose and she thought about their lives as he slept. Why couldn't they have held on to one another through the storm of their lives? Who let go first? Were they even…. Oh this was just pointless. It was starting to brighten outside but the rain continued. She thought it better to let him sleep. She could see his hand better in the dim light. It was scratched and bruised, knuckles split and bloody.
A memory flitted through her mind. She had gone up to Dr. Lee's lab to help with a chemical analysis he was doing.
"You've got to see this." He said
The technicians were examining something that reminded her of the Shroud of Turin. It was the shirt that O'Neill had worn at Ba'al's fortress. They were attempting to determine the chemical composition of the acid and of the reagent that neutralized it. First they needed to determine the cause of each tear and stain. It was positioned on a clear form and with an accompanying chart. When she walked in to the room one of them took it upon himself to describe in rich detail each and every mark with its cause and result. He went through the knife wounds, how deep they penetrated, the nonfatal ones, then the fatal, the acid burns, and the antidote stain. Then he turned it to the back.
"And as you can see, the main acid spill, on the ventral surface, burned clear through to the dorsal, and there are the blood splatter patterns from the body's impacts with solid surfaces and along with it on the collar seem to be bits of gray matter."
She couldn't bear to hear one more word. Panic was beginning to overwhelm her but she couldn't figure how to get out. She needed to get out now. They were talking about the staff blast burn marks severe injury versus fatal, and she began to loose her peripheral vision. She felt it all again just staring at his bloody hand. And it had been all her fault. They didn't talk about it and they should have. When he first came back he wasn't well and then he brushed it off or they were too busy or she was too much of a coward to bring it up, whatever. And it was all because she said "Please" and he acquiesced. And he suffered.
"Well Sir, how are you enjoying your vacation."
"Feeling better? You know Carter there are easier ways of getting rid of me. What have I done to piss you off?"
"Honestly, Sir, we really researched this place, multiple MALP readings, it was always just perfect."
"Well somebody hates me."
"Not us."
"I think I found our lunch. Someone sealed the Styrofoam container with duct tape so I'm kind of hoping for the best. Hungry?"
"Starved."
They split a roast beef sandwich and can of soda. There was no dry wood to make a fire for anything hot to drink. Matter of fact there was no dry anything except Carter. She stayed in the raft with the sleeping bag around her while O'Neill sat on the ground near her. He was still in the sodden uniform. They decided the rest of the food should be kept in reserve but he did offer her some grapes.
"Carter, I need to get a few hours of sleep. Wake me in 3 or 4 hours, sooner if you need to." And he handed her the P – 90. He unfolded one of the metallic foil-like sheets from the med kit and wrapped it around himself and lay down on the other side of the raft.
She watched him sleep; there wasn't much else to do. He was curled up in fetal position trying to keep warm under the inadequate foil blanket. He looked so cold. She remembered him too many time so incredibly cold. She turned the sleeping bag side ways, left part over her lower half and flung the rest over him. He seemed to relax a little but grabbed the cloth in his fist. He had crammed his hat on before he lay down, having pulled it out of his shirt like a magician would have pulled out a rabbit. She wondered how he could have possibly held on to it through the storm. But there he lay, brim of his hat over his eyes and fist full on cloth under his nose and she thought about their lives as he slept. Why couldn't they have held on to one another through the storm of their lives? Who let go first? Were they even…. Oh this was just pointless. It was starting to brighten outside but the rain continued. She thought it better to let him sleep. She could see his hand better in the dim light. It was scratched and bruised, knuckles split and bloody.
A memory flitted through her mind. She had gone up to Dr. Lee's lab to help with a chemical analysis he was doing.
"You've got to see this." He said
The technicians were examining something that reminded her of the Shroud of Turin. It was the shirt that O'Neill had worn at Ba'al's fortress. They were attempting to determine the chemical composition of the acid and of the reagent that neutralized it. First they needed to determine the cause of each tear and stain. It was positioned on a clear form and with an accompanying chart. When she walked in to the room one of them took it upon himself to describe in rich detail each and every mark with its cause and result. He went through the knife wounds, how deep they penetrated, the nonfatal ones, then the fatal, the acid burns, and the antidote stain. Then he turned it to the back.
"And as you can see, the main acid spill, on the ventral surface, burned clear through to the dorsal, and there are the blood splatter patterns from the body's impacts with solid surfaces and along with it on the collar seem to be bits of gray matter."
She couldn't bear to hear one more word. Panic was beginning to overwhelm her but she couldn't figure how to get out. She needed to get out now. They were talking about the staff blast burn marks severe injury versus fatal, and she began to loose her peripheral vision. She felt it all again just staring at his bloody hand. And it had been all her fault. They didn't talk about it and they should have. When he first came back he wasn't well and then he brushed it off or they were too busy or she was too much of a coward to bring it up, whatever. And it was all because she said "Please" and he acquiesced. And he suffered.