Carter left several hours later, telling him that she would be back to see him soon. She had given up trying to get him to talk, as he knew she would, and they had settled into their game. It was nice having her there, though. She kept the memories away while she talked of her motorcycle and the recent acquisition from planet whatever. He let her talk, giving one-word answers whenever she asked him something and totally ignoring the questions that related to anything he had encountered during the last eight months.
He was alone now; the guard that had stood outside the cell the whole time Carter was there had followed her out. The good news was that they hadn't tied him back down to the bed, although he figured they would wait until he was asleep before getting those restraints out again.
He went back to sitting on the bed, wondering when they were going to let him out of there. He really hadn't done anything to warrant such treatment, just fought like a crazy man every time anyone came near him. He was okay with that now, couldn't they see that? The hours he'd spent with Sam Carter should be proof enough that he was no longer a danger to anyone. He just needed to play it cool. They would have to let him out if he could just manage to keep his cool.
At least it was finally warm in the cell. His body had adjusted to the heat of Hulmeshur after eight months of living in a climate that would have put the Sahara desert to shame. He was used to the heat and anything colder than 75 degrees Fahrenheit had him shivering and his teeth chattering. It was just one more thing for the others to pity him for.
He looked up when the door to the room opened again to see the airman from the day before bringing in a tray with what he hoped was food. His stomach rumbled in anticipation and he uncoiled himself to get up off the bed. A second airman came in, but stood by the door and held his weapon ready in case their prisoner went nuts again. He had forgotten about their routine in his haste to get to the tantalizing smell that wafted from the tray. The airman opened the door of the cell and placed the tray on the floor, then backed away after shutting the door again. Something smelled fantastic and he had to force himself to stay calm. He needed to convince them he was still human, but the smell of food that was obviously something other than the gruel he had been forced to eat for the past eight months had him wanting to attack it with a vengeance. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to calmly walk over to the tray, pick it up and take it back to the bed. He sat down and picked up the cover that hid the food from his view and almost shouted out in joy. Steak! Oh yeah, someone out there loves him.
He looked back out at the room on the other side of the bars to see if the airmen were still there. He would have attacked that steak if they had already left, but they stood there watching him.
"Thanks," he said, hoping that they would leave. "Wait. No knife?" What kind of cruelty was this? Give him a steak, but not the ability to eat it with any dignity.
"No knife. Sorry," said the airman who had brought the tray in.
He picked up the steak with his fingers, glaring at the airmen as he took a bite. They were no better than the guards at Hulmeshur with their cruelty and contempt. He took up the spoon, which was the only utensil he was allowed to use. Apparently his skill with throwing forks and hitting people between the eyes had become legendary. He grimaced at that thought – sarcasm just didn't seem to be the same when there was no one else around to appreciate it.
Someone had gone to a lot of trouble for him, he realized, as he dug into the baked potato with his spoon. This was not something one would normally find in a military commissary. He wondered if Carter had a say in this, or maybe it was Daniel. Either way, everything was delicious and he was saddened when he reached the bottom of the plate.
He put the spoon down on the tray when he had finished everything and sat back on the bed, leaning back up against the wall. "Please put the tray down on the floor where you found it," the airman who had brought the food told him. Anger welled up in him as he stared at the guards, the very people who had stood there watching, waiting for him to make a mistake. One little mistake could bring on the punishments again and this was not going to happen as far as he was concerned. He got up slowly, picking up the tray and carrying it over to the place where he had originally found it. The guards watched, ready and willing to pounce the first chance they got.
Once the tray was settled, he stepped back from it, not for a minute taking his eyes off of the airmen. Would they mess it up and say he'd done it? Balzor would have done it in a heartbeat. But Balzor wasn't here, he had to remind himself. These were his own people and he knew they wouldn't do something like that. Would they?
The tray was picked up and both airmen left the room after making sure the door of the cell was locked. Silence fell around him once again and he felt the tension build up inside him. Silence had only meant one thing on Hulmeshur, dread and a fear the likes of which he had never known until he had lived in that place for a few months.
What made him think of that? He had endured a lot of silence since coming back to the SGC. This was not the first time. He decided to dwell on that little mystery for awhile in hopes that he would forget the memories this particular silence was conjuring up.
Fortunately, he was saved from thinking about it too much because the door of the room opened and the doctor walked in, followed by Daniel Jackson, two male nurses and the SF who had been standing guard outside the door. He eyed the little entourage warily, wondering what they had in store for him this time. It didn't look good if the doctor felt the need to be surrounded by four men.
"How are you feeling?" the doctor asked. She was standing just outside the closed door of his cell and he wondered if she was going to come in. Judging by the nod she gave to his guard, she was.
"Hi Jack," Daniel said a little too cheerfully, as he stood next to the doctor, both looking at him with anticipation.
"Hi," Jack replied, not moving from his position on the bed. He sat there with his head leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest and one knee brought up, staring at his visitors, waiting for the bomb to drop.
"I see you've enjoyed your lunch," the doctor said, as the guard came forward to unlock the door. Jack brought his head up at that, but didn't move just yet. He had to be calm. If anyone needed to be convinced of his ability to stay calm so that he could get out of there, it was the doctor.
"I figured you'd like the steak," Daniel added with a shrug. "I had to practically browbeat the cook into making it for you."
"Thanks," he said, watching them warily.
"You're welcome," Daniel responded with a frown. "You okay Jack?"
"Yeah," he responded, wishing he knew what was going on.
"I just want to get your vitals and to check you out one more time," the doctor told him as she tentatively moved closer. Daniel was a little braver and came right over to sit on the bed next to him, smiling at him, albeit a little defiantly.
Jack didn't move when Daniel sat down, his eyes were trained on the doctor, watching her every move. He was afraid she was going to sedate him again and he tried to come up with an excuse to keep her from doing so. He sat calmly when she put the blood pressure cuff on him, although he panicked just a little when the band tightened on his arm. It reminded him of the vise that had him screaming in agony… Oh shit. Don't go there. Focus on the Doc. She was looking at him with concern, her face reflecting the terror he felt of the memories that had almost surfaced. She knew something was up and he tried to smile at her to show her he was okay.
"Jack?" Daniel said quietly. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing," he replied, still trying to stay focused on the doctor. "You done?' he asked her, hoping they would leave before he lost it and sacrificed the freedom he had been hoping for.
"Almost," she replied with a smile. He saw through the smile though. She wasn't going to help him, he just knew it.
"When can I get out of here?" he asked, watching the smile on her face dim as she looked to Daniel for assistance. That bitch, he snarled inwardly. She was just as bad as Taria.
"Just as soon as you can show us that you won't try to kill everyone who comes near you," Daniel supplied.
"You're near me now," he said, hoping they would see he was ready to face the world. "I haven't killed you yet."
"Well, you do have a point there, but they want to wait just a little longer to make sure you are absolutely okay."
"I'm okay. In fact, I'm better than okay. I am so ready to blow this joint," he said, trying to keep the desperation at bay. "Please Doc. I'm feeling much better."
"Just a few more days. That's all I ask," she said as she pulled a penlight out of her pocket. "I'm just going to look into your eyes for a minute, okay?"
"I'm ready to go now," he growled, as she shone the light into his left eye. He stared at the light, hoping that cooperation on his part would be the deciding factor, knowing deep down that it wouldn't be.
The light was now shining in his right eye and he knew without a doubt this woman was as heartless as Taria when she stepped back and shook her head. "Just a few more days," she insisted.
"What will a few more days hurt?" Daniel asked. "This will give you the opportunity to relax and…"
"I can't stay here!" Jack blurted out, desperation making an appearance anyway. "There's nothing to do and it's too quiet. The silence is deafening, which means they're… Daniel, I have to get out of here." Oh God, what was he going to do? What would it take to get through to them?
"You don't like the quiet?" the doctor asked. "I think we could have them bring a TV or a radio in here."
"Since when don't you like the quiet Jack?" Daniel asked with a frown. "You thrive on it. You are forever telling me to shut up, that I talk too much." He stared at him for a few moments, then asked, "Who's here when it's quiet?"
Jack didn't respond right away. He was too busy trying to erase the memories from his mind. "The guards," he finally said, as he pulled his knees up to his chest. "They didn't notice us if we stayed quiet and hidden. That place would be like a tomb when the guards came in. The door would open and every single person in the room would stop speaking and drop down to their knees in an instant, hoping and praying they wouldn't be noticed." He squeezed his eyes shut at that point, working hard on trying to think of something else, but the memories seemed to wash over him like a waterfall. "It wasn't long before the silence was broken by the screams," he whispered, before putting his head down on his knees.
He brought his head back up when he felt someone put their hand on his shoulder, only to see that the guards had found him despite his best efforts at staying quiet and not moving an inch. "No," he said as he tried to back up, but a wall stopped his movements.
"Get up," one of the guards demanded as he grabbed his arm. "It's your turn today."
He stood up and waited, knowing what was coming and dreading it. There was no use fighting it, in fact fighting them only made things worse. So he stood there waiting for the pain, hoping that this time he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of hearing him scream.
"Jack?" one of them said to him, while grabbing his arm. "What is it? Jack?"
The fear in Daniel's voice brought him out of his memories. He was back in the cell in almost an instant, trembling in fright as he stood there wondering what had just happened. Oh Christ, he was seriously deranged and in so much trouble, he didn't think he would ever see the light of day again.
"Jack!" Daniel said again. "Come on, snap out of it."
"Leave me alone Daniel," he snarled, suddenly tired of the whole scene. They were not going to let him out of there now. Jeez, he'd be lucky if they'd let him stay in this cell instead of installing him into the nearest mental hospital.
"I think you may benefit from talking with Dr. Mackenzie." the Doc said. Damn, it seems his luck had run out. Mackenzie would have him in that mental institution quicker than he could say "nutcase".
"No," he said. "I don't need to talk with Mackenzie. I'm fine, really I am. I just need a little more time. Away from here," he added for good measure.
"Dr. Mackenzie is more qualified in dealing with situations such as this," the doctor insisted as she walked toward the door of the cell. "I'll see what I can do to arrange it."
"No!" he yelled. "I won't talk to him. Daniel, talk to her. Make her see that this is wrong."
"It wouldn't hurt to give him a try," Daniel said thoughtfully. "You have to admit that there is something wrong here Jack. Mackenzie is trained in helping people deal with their demons."
"The way he helped you with yours?" he said, wondering how Daniel could forget his own stay in a mental institution. He realized he was heading down the right path when he saw Daniel's face grow pale.
"You can't deny you need help Jack," Daniel replied stubbornly. "Mackenzie may not be the best choice, but at this point, what do you have to lose?"
"Do you think he'll put me in the same room you were in?" he asked spitefully. Daniel reacted as if he'd been slapped. He stared at Jack for a moment then turned away to walk toward the cell door. He stopped and turned back, and Jack could see that his eyes had taken on a haunted look. Daniel opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again and settled on just glaring at him.
"I won't let it come to that," Daniel said quietly when he finally found his voice. Jack knew better though. Mackenzie could do whatever he wanted with his slaves… patients he corrected himself, struggling to keep himself in the here and now.
"You won't be able to stop him," Jack replied. Oh what was the use? His situation was just as hopeless here as it was in Hulmeshur. "Please Doc," he said to try one more time. "I just need to get out of here for awhile. Freedom is something I didn't have on that planet and I don't have it here. Please."
"Teal'c and I can stay with him," Daniel piped up in an effort to help.
"I'll talk with the General," she said. "I'll try to convince him."
Jack nodded at her, all the while fighting to control the urge to grab her and shake her. He knew she was just patronizing him. He could see it in her eyes. She didn't believe him and he was at a loss as to what he could do to convince her.
The nurses followed her out, leaving Daniel and the SF to keep him company. He wasn't quite sure what to say to Daniel, having already touched a nerve in his old friend. "I appreciate your help," he finally said.
"You might be a little premature here. Let's wait and see what the General has to say."
"Do you think he'll agree?"
"I don't know. You have been lashing out at people ever since you got back. Why are you doing that?"
What to say to this? If he admitted that he was reacting to flashbacks, Mackenzie would be dragged in. Acknowledging that he didn't know why, would guarantee Mackenzie being brought in. It was a lose/lose situation all around, so he kept his silence hoping Daniel would just drop the subject.
Daniel finally got the hint an hour later and Jack was glad when he'd finally left, defeated. That guy sure could be persistent, but Jack held on to his unwillingness to think about that place with both fists. Part of him was having a hard time dealing with the memories while the other part was terrified he would slip into a flashback and act out in anger. He was determined that he was not going to mess things up any more than they already were, so he steadfastly refused to cooperate. Now if he could only convince the doctor and the General of his sanity.
Daniel hadn't been gone 30 minutes when two guards came in and handcuffed him to take him to the briefing room to meet with the General, SG-1, and Captain Steven Gordon, the only other survivor of that fateful mission to Hulmeshur. It was the debriefing from hell, as far as Jack was concerned. They wanted him to tell them, in great detail, everything that had happened to him.
He did, up to a point. He was able to tell them about going to that planet with SG-8, of meeting with Handar to talk with him about an alliance and a treaty, then of the attack by Handar's guards during the meeting. He even managed to tell them all about his capture and subsequent stay in their less than hospitable accommodations, commonly referred to as the slave quarters. But he was unable to elaborate on his day-to-day activities for the last eight months. The memories of what they did to force him into slavery were tame compared to what they did to him when they had caught him after he had jumped at the opportunity to escape, not to mention the agony he experienced the few times he had been chosen as the entertainment when the guards were bored.
He cringed when he remembered the moment he had inadvertently given into the memories and found himself back at the courtyard in Handar's palace, watching the guards pull an old man off of a wagon and kick him near to death. He had stayed where he was, watching them, wanting to do something to help, but unable to, due to his fear. It was a weakness he regretted even now. He remembered fighting past the fear and going over to the guards shouting at them, taunting them with words filled with hatred and anger stopping only when they turned their attention to him. He was pushed down and he found himself laying face down on the table, staring at Carter who returned his stare with wide, frightened eyes.
He had blown it. He knew it the moment he was dragged up off the table and saw that the General had made up his mind. He was going to have to face Mackenzie.
God, he hated them all. The General, the doctor, even his friends, but mostly he hated Handar and his guards. He was now back in his cell, sitting down on the bed to keep himself from pacing. Depression settled in, as he pulled his legs up in the now familiar huddle, while closing his eyes and resting his head on his knees. Nothing had changed. He was still a slave, he realized, even here at the SGC. At least they wouldn't be beating the crap out of him, he reasoned.
Dinner was brought to him and he ate it, not even caring what the airmen thought of his behavior. He ate everything that was given to him and he was the perfect gentleman as he set the tray back down on the floor before going back to sit on the bed. The same old routine, he thought. Boring!!
The rest of the day passed by in a blur and he was exhausted by the end of it, despite the fact that there wasn't much to do in a jail cell. The majority of his energy was spent on worry and fear as he thought about his impending visits with Mackenzie. He knew from past experience that Mackenzie was good at his job, which meant that he would be forced to relive his imprisonment at Hulmeshur whether he wanted to or not.
He was just so tired. Sleep would not be good, mainly due to the nightmares, but more importantly he knew he would wake up in the restraints. He knew they didn't trust him. They were afraid he would hurt himself during one of his 'episodes'. Hurt himself? What a crock.