Author's Note: So, apparently my computer has the worst timing, because it went belly up on me, and left me with only my laptop and my gaming computer. My laptop is how I managed to post 55 and 56, but I needed my gaming computer once my fingers starting cramping on the little keyboard of the laptop, and my gaming computer didn't have a word processing program on it, so I had to wait until my brother brought me my office 2000 disk so I could install one. But I have it now (yay!) so here we go! (PS: what's an ISSA convention?)

OOOOOOOOO

He was shaking so badly that Sam figured the only thing keeping him from flying to pieces were the arms that she and Jack had so tightly around him. His entire body was racked with sobs that were muffled against her shirt but were so heart wrenching she could feel tears in her eyes even though she had no idea what was causing his pain. Only that whatever it was, it was horrible. There was no way this was something simple. Not for him to be so completely broken up over it. Still holding the cadet tightly, Sam looked over and met Jack's gaze, his brown eyes just as worried as she knew her own were.

Jack didn't have a clue. He'd been asleep right up until Jaffer had woken him, scuffling against the door and whining so loudly that even sound asleep like he'd been, Jack had known something was wrong. By the time he'd jumped out of bed and reached the door he'd heard the shriek – a masculine voice that had to be Ian's – and had come pelting down the hallway with the black lab right beside him. He'd taken in the scene in the kitchen immediately, and had reacted to it in the only way he could have. Ian was folded into Sam's arms, his body shaking, sweaty and tense – and if Jack didn't know better, he'd have thought the cadet had had some kind of nightmare. Didn't he just know all about waking up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat and terrified?

"Ian..." Sam's voice brought Jack's attention back to the here and now, and he realized that while they'd been holding him, Ian's sobs had decreased a bit. He was still crying, but it wasn't the sobs that threatened to tear him apart, now. "Ian... what is it? What's happened?"

Ian shook his head; his arms were wrapped around himself while the other two were holding him, and he knew that he was going to have to come up with an explanation but he couldn't for the life of him think of anything to tell them besides the truth. And he couldn't... could he? He sniffed, trying to get back a little control, but he couldn't do that, either. He was laid completely bared just then and it was terrifying to him to have so little control.

"Ian..."

He felt them helping him to his feet – Jack's strong arms were now taking over as Sam relinquished her hold on him – and he was being guided to the table and into one of the chairs. He went without complaint, and without argument, his head pounding and his chest heaving as he tried to get his breath back. And he refused to look at either of them.

Sam pulled a chair over right next to his own, and she gathered him in her arms once more the minute she was seated. Ian pressed against her willingly, still feeling so raw that he needed the comfort of her touch and his arms went around her as he closed his eyes and sniffed like a little kid, trying to gather his tattered courage while at the same time wallowing in the sensation of being held when he absolutely needed it the most.

She ran her fingers lightly through his dark hair, avoiding the stitches, but stroking him lovingly all the same until his ragged breathing was coming a little more evenly, and his shoulders stopped heaving. Only then did she pull gently away, and even then it wasn't too far away. Just a little, and her hand still stroked his hair soothingly.

While Sam had been holding him at the dining room table, Jack had been going through the cupboard, pulling down a bottle and a glass tumbler. He set it in front of Ian and poured about an inch of whiskey into the glass. Once the cadet had pulled away from Sam and was able to breathe a little, Jack handed him the glass.

"Drink that..."

"I don't dri-"

"Do it, Ian."

Ian did as he was told. His hand trembled but he picked up the glass and drank it, feeling it burning all the way down and warming him from the inside out. He coughed – he wasn't a drinker, after all, and had never wanted to be – but he could already feel the alcohol loosening up that tight knot in the very center of him.

Jack pulled a chair over to sit on the other side of the cadet so he and Sam were flanking him. The whiskey actually had more than one purpose; to calm him a bit once he'd gotten over the crying jag, and to get him to open up just a little more than he might have normally. Jack wasn't above doing whatever it took to find out what was going on inside the boy's head – short of getting him rip-roaring drunk – after all. Plans for the cadet's future aside, he really liked the kid, and he wasn't going to let this night pass without figuring out what was wrong so they could get it fixed.

He rested his hand on Ian's shoulder, gently, and watched as Sam soothed him with a touch and a gentle voice as they waited for the whiskey to have a chance to kick in. Then Jack spoke up, making sure his own voice was just as gentle as Sam's. There was a time for demanding, and Jack knew that this wasn't it.

"What happened, Ian?" He asked.

The boy shook his head, trying to deny that anything was wrong. He wouldn't look at either of them, though, and even if he hadn't known he was lying, Jack would have known then. He'd already figured out that Ian wasn't a good liar, and that when he was lying he wouldn't look at you.

"Ian..."

Sam's fingers caressed his tearstained cheek, and he looked over at her, his eyes haunted and filled with fear. He looked back down, shaking his head again. He couldn't tell them...

"Are you hurt?" She asked, running her hand along his arms. She didn't think he was, but it was a start – a way to get him to talk to them.

He shook his head again.

"Homesick?"

He shook his head.

"Bad dream?" Jack asked, going out on a limb.

Ian flinched – literally. Telling Jack that he was dead on the money.

"And not the first one, either, is it?"

The cadet hesitated, looking up at Jack for the first time, and then over at Sam. Then he shook his head and looked down at his hands, which were still shaking.

"Not even close..."

His voice was a whisper, and he felt his eyes well up with tears. Fucking baby. A few bad dreams and you fall apart like some little kid. He sniffed, trying to stop the tears before they could start, and he felt Sam's fingers brush through his hair once more.

"Want to talk about it?" She asked, gently, knowing from his body language that he absolutely didn't want to talk about it, and knowing from experience that he needed to.

He hesitated, knowing she – and Jack – deserved an explanation for his behavior, but still unable to think of anything but the truth. Would that be so bad? Better that they know than that he let them think he was homesick and missed his mommy or something. Especially since that was the only lie he could think of. And even then they probably wouldn't buy it. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

"You can't tell anyone..."