Too Strong Part 5 of 11
Disclaimer: See Original Post
Jack stood at the foot of Sam's bed, watching her fitful sleep. Even with the double dose of sedative and sleeping stuff, she wasn't resting. Every few moments, mumbled words passed her lips so low he couldn't understand them and she would jerk against the restraints the doctor had applied.
Three hours. She had been like this for three hours. Jack ground his teeth together until pain shot from his jaw.
He knew something was wrong.
Why didn't he do something sooner?
Why did he listen when she told him nothing was wrong? This was Sam, for cryin' out loud? Since when would she actually tell him what was wrong without him pushing?
But he didn't want to push, didn't want to step on toes. Shanahan's toes. Why the hell didn't Shanahan notice? Dumb ass bastard.
Jack walked along the side of the bed, taking in the details of what she had done to herself with just his gaze. Deep gauges marred her throat, neck, and arms, the worst now covered with white bandages. The Doc said she had a good lump on the side of her head from banging it on the floor, coupled with the injuries she had come home with just days before.
He looked down at her hands. Her wrists were wrapped in leather straps lined in fleece to protect her skin as much as possible, but he already saw a red rash spreading beneath the edges. Her hands were curled into tight fists, her knuckles white. With a quick glance around the room to see if any eyes were on him, Jack took a hand from his pocket and ran his fingers along her knuckles.
The skin along the back of her hand was smooth, belying the strength he knew those hands held, contrasting the abrasions she had inflicted along the knuckles. He ran his fingers along hers until he reached the underside of her fist, gently and carefully urging her grip to ease and release. She sighed in her sleep, a shudder moving through her entire body, and her hand opened over his.
Jack looked up to her face and she had turned towards him, her features slightly more relaxed than moments before. Finally, the sedatives had kicked in. He slipped his hand from beneath hers and rested it on top for a moment before putting it back in his pocket.
"I heard you were down here."
He turned to see Kerry standing a few feet from the end of the bed, her arms crossed over her body.
"Yeah," was all he could think to say, looking back to Sam's now calm features for a brief moment before walking past the end of her bed.
"I also heard there have been some concerns about security. Thought we should talk about it."
"Not now." He kept his voice low, but hoped his tone projected there's not a chance in hell I'm leaving this room.
"Will there be a better time?"
"I need to be here right now."
Doc Brightman chose that opportunity to come over to them, a clipboard in hand and a troubled look on her face. "General, I think we've determined what the unknown element is. But I don't think you're going to like it."
"Go ahead."
"Well, as you know . . . four years ago, the Tok'ra were able to isolate a certain chemical compound related to the Za'tarc mind control used by the Goa'uld, and since then we have tested for this compound in each returning team upon their arrival back through the Gate."
"Yeah . . .and . . . this isn't that or you would have caught it three days ago."
She shook her head. "No, Sir. It isn't. It's a derivative. A purer, more refined form of the same compound. Less of it was apparent in the blood than in its counterpart, and the breakdown is significantly different enough that the computer didn't recognize it as part of the tox-screen."
"Are you telling me she's a Za'tarc?"
"I see no evidence to explain it any other way, General."
"Ah, crap . . . "
"This is bad, I take it." Kerry looked between Jack and the doctor as she spoke. "I seem to recall reading a file about some instances a few years ago on base "
"You did?" Jack asked, cutting her off.
"Well, yes. There were some members of an SG team that were found to be these Za'tarcs, and also a Tok'ra named Martouf?"
Jack nodded, unsure whether he wanted to accept that was all that was in the report or not. "Yeah. Speaking of the Tok'ra . . . sounds like it's time to make a call to Anise-Freya and get her in here."
He pointed in the general direction of Doc Brightman's office in a silent request to use her phone, and the doctor nodded. With one quick and hopefully discreet glance in Sam's direction, Jack went to the office and dialed Gate Operations.
"This is the General," he said to the airman who picked up. "Dial through to all the current addresses with known Tok'ra bases. I need either Jacob Carter or Anise-slash-Freya. Actually, both if you can get them. When you make contact, you can reach me in the infirmary."
Jack hung up the phone, and leaned his knuckles onto the edge of the desk, taking a moment to close his eyes and try to absorb the new information. He slowly released a huff of air, letting it fill his cheeks before passing his lips. He didn't get it. According to all the Intel they had on the Za'tarc mind control, there hadn't ever been a reaction like this. Except when the controlee had failed and was trying to kill themselves. But Sam hadn't tried that . . . something wasn't Kosher.
For the second time that day his heart seized in his chest when Sam's scream ripped through the SGC. But this time it was different.
"Jack! Jack!"
His name – screamed with such terror – closed down on his heart like a vice. Jack ran back into the main infirmary room to find Sam bucking wildly against her restraints, with Doc Brightman and three other nurses trying to hold her down. She thrashed and screamed violently, her head twisting and rolling against the pillow.
"Jack! Noooooo!" she screamed again.
Jack pushed past the nurse closest to Sam's head and laid his hands on her cheeks, forcing her to turn towards him.
"Carter! Hey, I'm right here. I'm right here."
She stared at him, her eyes as round as blue saucers and her breath coming in violent, hot huffs against the inside of his wrists. Sam pulled again on the restraints at her wrists, and in his peripheral vision he could tell she tried to reach for him, and couldn't.
"Jack?"
"Yes. I'm here."
"They said you're dead." Her voice dropped so low he almost didn't hear her, and he leaned in closer. The nurses backed off, giving him space.
"Who, Carter? Who said I was dead?"
Tears welled in her eyes, making them shine, and her lips trembled. A wet trail escaped, running down her cheek to follow the crevice where his hand met her skin.
"Them. The voices. Jack . . . so many voices."
"They're wrong, Sam. Don't listen to them."
She pulled again at the wrist restraints, and Jack looked to the doctor. With a jerk of his eyes, he indicated she should release them. He saw in the woman's eyes she didn't think it was a good idea . . . but that was the benefit of wearing stars on his lapel. With her hands free, Sam reached up and curled her fingers around his wrists.
Jack stroked her cheek with his thumb, and the tension in her body seemed to ease away. Slowly, Sam reclined back onto the pillows and Jack let his hands leave her face. But as he tried to step back, she clutched his hand, holding it with both of hers as she turned onto her side to face him.
As quickly as she woke up, Sam fell back asleep, holding his hand.
Jack looked up. Doc Brightman stood on the other side of the bed, a puzzled look on her face. Kerry stood at the foot, an expression that he didn't want to even try to define in her eyes.
Well, hell.
