Too Strong Part 6 of 11
Disclaimer: See Original Post
"O'Neill . . . "
Jack's eyes snapped open, and he raised his arm from where it had rested over his eyes. He lifted his head off the pillow behind him and looked up at Teal'c where he stood between the two infirmary beds, then to the bed beside him.
It was empty.
His legs still hung off the side of the bed, and he vaguely recalled reclining back on the pillow some time around 2100 hours when Sam seemed to be resting for several hours straight.
"What time is it?"
"It is approaching the midnight hour."
Jack sat up, his back protesting the awkward sleeping position. "Where is she?"
"Doctor Brightman has moved Colonel Carter and the other infected personnel to private holding quarters."
"She was supposed to wake me up before they were moved."
"Doctor Brightman expressed her concern that you may not be resting sufficiently."
"For cryin' out loud," Jack mumbled as he hopped down from the bed. "When did you get back?"
"Not half an hour ago, O'Neill. I was most troubled to hear of the events that have occurred in my absence."
Jack scrubbed his face with his palms. "Do you know if we've heard from the Tok'ra?"
"All requests to contact the Tok'ra known as Anise have been unsuccessful. A message has been relayed to Jacob Carter and we have been notified he will be here within the next thirty-six hours."
Jack closed his eyes for a brief moment, drawing in a slow breath. He felt powerless, and he hated feeling powerless. Especially when it came to his people. Hell, who was he kidding? When it came to Sam. Give him an enemy he could shoot, and put a gun in his hands. That's what he knew . . . that's what he was programmed for.
Not this not knowing crap.
"So, you know what's going on?" Jack asked.
"Indeed. It must be most disconcerting to see Colonel Carter in such a state of diress."
"That's one way to put it," Jack mumbled against his hands as he scrubbed his face, trying to push away the sleep. "She won't let me get more than two feet away from her."
"It is only in your touch does Colonel Carter find peace."
Jack opened his eyes again and looked at the big man. "Did someone tell you that?
Teal'c arched one eyebrow, tilting his head. "As the Tauri would say, 'not in so many words' . . . "
Jack tried not to think too hard about what might already be said about the situation. He accepted a long time ago it didn't matter what he and Sam said or didn't say, did or didn't do, stories would be told. He'd worry about it later . . . when she was okay again. Right now he couldn't give a monkey's ass what Nurse Shea had to say.
"Walk with me, T," Jack said, heading to the door. If Sam had been asleep when they moved her, he wanted to be there when she woke up.
Teal'c fell into step with him and they walked together out of the infirmary. The halls of the SGC were quiet in the middle of the night, with none of the usual technicians and personnel roaming from place to place. They reached the nearest elevator and Jack patted his pockets, searching for his security id.
"Damn it," he muttered. Just as he found it in his back pocket, Teal'c swiped his own card and the elevator doors opened. "Thanks."
Teal'c bowed his head and they stepped aboard. Jack was more tired than he realized, and leaned his shoulder into the wall of the car.
"I bet Carter will be glad to see you," he said as the elevator moved with a low hum. "With Daniel being . . . not here . . . and all."
"If my presence can be of any comfort, I will gladly do all that I can."
"Thanks, T."
The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Jack led the way down the hall towards the quarters where the effected members of SG-3, SG-5 and Sam had been moved. Everything sounded quiet, and Jack slowly released a breath. No screaming, no crying. Perhaps she was finally resting.
They rounded the final corner to the rooms, and Jack saw Doc Brightman speaking with one of the nurses. She looked up as he approached.
"I was about to come see you, General."
"Why didn't you wake me up when you moved her – them?"
"I thought you could use the rest."
"Excuse me, General," came a voice behind them, and the three of them stepped closer to the wall to allow an airman to push a large supply cart past them.
Jack glanced at the cart as it passed. It was way overloaded, and the kitchen supplies weren't stacked right. The airman was probably in a rush to get the job done and take a break, and right now worrying about how neat his trays were stacked wasn't Jack's concern. The cart veered to the left as he passed, and the kid fought to keep it straight. Jack arched his eyebrows, shook his head once, and turned back to the doctor.
"Where is Carter?"
Doc Brightman pointed with her pen to a closed door several feet behind her. "She's there, and she's resting now. It appears that once the sedatives took effect "
They heard the airman who had just passed curse loudly just before the entire supply cart toppled over with a resounding and thunderous crescendo of falling cafeteria trays and chaffing dishes.
Jack hissed. "Ooooh, not good."
"I'm sorry, Sir," the airman apologized, frantically trying to pick up the stainless steel trays and. "I'm so sorry. I'll – I'll get this picked up immediately, Sir!"
Jack raised his hand. "Just . . . try not to wake the dead next time, airman."
Lids and tongs still slipped from the cart's bins when a scream tore through the air from Sam's room.
"Nooooooo!"
One of the nurses burst through her door. "Doctor, come quickly!"
But Jack was already half way there, and pushed past the nurse into the room. He froze, quickly assessing the situation before him. Sam was free of the bed, standing on the far side of the room with her back to the wall and her hands spread flat against the gray concrete. Panic and desperation twisted her features as two nurses flanked her, trying to apprehend her.
She was yelling, screaming things he couldn't understand – things that made no sense – about it being her fault and that she didn't want to do it. She tried not to, but the voices . . . the voices wouldn't stop.
"Colonel Carter, stand down!" the doctor shouted, trying to approach her with an exposed syringe in her hand. "We are here to help you!"
Sam threw back her head so hard it bounced off the concrete wall, a rough, guttural scream ripping from her throat . . . and on that scream his name. "Jaaaack!"
Fuck this . . .
Jack shoved everyone out of the way that stood between him and Sam, and as he reached out to her, she turned away, covering her face with her arms.
"No!" she screamed. "Oh, God!"
"Carter . . ."
"God, he's dead!"
Sam slipped down the wall, landing hard on her knees, and before she hit the floor Jack was with her. He knelt in front of her and, just as he had in the infirmary hours before, took her face in his hands and forced her to look at him.
"Sam. Sam, look at me!"
Her entire body shook, sweat covering her skin and sticking her blonde hair to her forehead in dark streaks. Heavy lids hooded her eyes, and she seemed only half conscious. Jack stroked her cheeks, and moved his hands to her shoulders to shake her gently.
"Sam!"
She blinked, her blue eyes focusing again on him. As their stares met, her lips trembled and her eyes welled with tears, a harsh quake shooting through her body. "Jack?"
"Yes," he said in a low voice, his chest so tight it hurt to breathe.
Sam sucked in several sharp breaths, shaking her head. She tried to pull away from him, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes as she shook her head.
"Sam . . . "
"No!" she screamed, her eyes coming up to stare at him. "No! You're gone! You're gone!"
When he touched her again, she fought against him, swatting around her head as if a swarm of wasps attacked her. Jack was persistent, fighting back until he hand her wrists and yanked her towards him, bringing them face to face.
"Carter!"
She stilled, staring at him, her eyes shifting rapidly across his features. Her lips moved silently, as if she struggled to connect thoughts to words.
"I'm not gone. I'm here. I'm. Right. Here."
The tension slipped from her body like water from a bucket, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face against his throat. Jack didn't hesitate to pull her to him, figuring the health and well-being of a soldier under his command was more important than appearances at a time like this . . . right? Right?
"They don't scream so loud when you're here," Sam said softly, before she went limp in his arms.
