"Happily violence is shortlived, only for a very little while do even the gentlest persons 'see red'."
(The History of Sir Richard Calmody --Mary Harrison, writing under the name Lucas Malet)
Chapter Six: Seeing Red
Jack went about sleeping and snoring for a few hours, and in that time Sam had showered and changed, cleaned up the morning's dishes, and even made a few calls to the SGC to confirm her testing of the new alien device to be done upon SG-9's return. It was now nearly 1230, and time for Sam to get back to Cheyenne. She didn't want to just take off without Jack knowing, but she didn't really want to wake him either. Deciding not to bother him, Sam found a piece of paper and scribbled a quick little note to let Jack know where she'd gone when he got up. Bending down in front of the couch, she placed a loving kiss on his forehead before leaving.
Her drive down to Cheyenne Mountain had been normal, but Sam had the nagging feeling that someone was watching her. Blue eyes shifted to the rear-view mirror on several occasions, checking to see if anyone was there; an unmarked van perhaps, one of those cliche black sedans tailing her. Nothing. Sighing and cursing her paranoia, Sam kept driving, focusing on the slushy road ahead.
She arrived at the SGC not much later, went through the normal security as usual, then went to check in with the General. Sure enough, SG-9 was scheduled to return within fifteen minutes. After being dismissed from Hammond's office and snapping off a salute, Sam scurried off to her lab to look over the equipment before the artifact showed up for testing.
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Opening his eyes groggily, Jack yawned and sat up from his curled position on the couch with a groan. He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh before focusing on the piece of paper neatly placed on the coffee table. One brow raised suspiciously, Jack took a brief look around as he reached for the paper. "Sam?" He called out softly, voice raspy from sleep. Clearing his throat, Jack slowly scanned the fine script, detecting Sam's handwriting before he even began reading.
Blinking, he rubbed his eyes after looking over the note, then sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face as he set it back down on the table. When Jack read that Sam had gone back to Cheyenne already, he realized that it was past 1300, the time she needed to be there by. "Damn," he muttered softly to himself, surprised at how late he'd slept.
Groggily and stiffly rising to his feet, Jack shuffled slowly from the room to wander to the kitchen, decidedly hungry. His knees ached, and he figured that a couple pain meds would do him good. Opening the refrigerator door slowly, Jack tilted his head to look inside without bending. He reached in to pull out a plate of chicken from a couple nights ago. Sniffing the plate cautiously, Jack made a face and nodded to himself with a half-shrug before closing the fridge and bringing his food over to the microwave.
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Later in the day Jack received a call from Sam, letting him know that she was intently working on the artifact brought in and would probably be late getting back to his place. She also informed him that she needed to stop home first anyway. Convincing her that he would be fine on his own, and would most likely be resting, Jack tried keeping busy while he wasn't sleeping.
Taking a few mild pain pills to ease the slight ache in his collarbone and knees that had developed from the light activity he was resigning himself to, which included bringing in a few logs for the fireplace, Jack relaxed by stretching out on the couch and watching a hockey game on tv. After twenty minutes he was unable to focus on the game, the drugs in his system overriding every urge to stay awake and forcing him into a heavy sleep.
Jack woke much later to the startling sound of the front door being slammed shut, followed by choked sobs. He jerked to an upright position painfully, alarmed by the noise. Still fighting the pull of sleep that was trying to draw him back into the comfortable darkness, Jack groggily rose to his feet and shuffled slowly toward the sounds of sniffling and muffled crying. What he found shook him to his bones. Sam was sitting on the floor in front of the door, her knees drawn up tightly, arms around her legs, head down. She was shaking and crying.
"Sam?" he croaked hesitantly before clearing his throat. Jack shuffled toward her, carefully bending as much as his sore knees would allow and placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. She flinched, startling him, and causing him to snatch his hand away, feeling as though he'd somehow hurt her. Jack's face paled as she rose her chin to look at him, obviously fighting back more tears. Her cheeks were drenched in the tears that still leaked from the corners of her eyes, smudges of make-up following the trail. As Jack studied her further, he saw that her bottom lip was cut and bleeding, a dull bruise forming around the area. He gasped worriedly. "Christ, Sam, what happened?"
She blinked hard and tried to steady her nerves, rising slowly from the floor, knowing that Jack couldn't crouch down beside her without being in pain. "He hit me," Sam sobbed, falling into Jack's open arms and clinging to him, burying her face in the crook of his neck on his right side.
Jack's eyes widened in alarm at her words, but as much as he wanted to pull back so he could look in her eyes, he didn't. He just held her tightly, knowing how much she needed it. "Who? Who hit you?" He struggled to keep his voice quiet, rage building up inside and bubbling toward the surface at the thought of someone hurting his Samantha.
"Pete," she cried into his shoulder, trembling. Sniffling and breathing shakily, Sam tried hard to steady her nerves, though being held comfortingly in Jack's arms was helping alot. "He was at my house when I got there, said he'd been following me," she explained in a faltering voice before forcing herself to continue. "God Jack, he was so angry and drunk. I could smell the alchohol on his breath." Sam shivered involuntarily, and Jack held her tighter. "I told him to leave, but he wouldn't go. He kept screaming at me, saying how I'd betrayed him, stabbed him in the heart."
"I'll kill him," Jack growled coldly, clenching his jaw. He meant every word too. That bastard didn't deserve to breathe the same air as his Sam. Suddenly remembering her relationship with Jonas Hanson, and how abusive he'd been, it made so much sense to him why she'd be so shaken. "Come sit down," His voice was gentle now as he shifted to wrap an arm around her waist and lead her down into the living room.
"I hit him back," Sam mumbled without feeling once they were settled on the couch. She leaned into Jack's body as he draped an arm across her shoulders. Sniffling, she took a breath, more in control now. "I think I broke his nose,"
"Good," Jack muttered with conviction. He couldn't help himself.
Sam just continued as though she hadn't heard. "He was distracted after the hit, so I kicked him and he fell backwards on the floor. That's when I grabbed my keys off the counter and ran." Fresh tears began to trail down her cheeks. "I didn't know what to do Jack, I came straight here."
"Shh," Jack hushed her, rubbing her shoulder soothingly. "It's alright, you did the right thing." He turned his head to kiss the top of her head. "I won't let him hurt you again," he whispered, deadly serious.
While Sam laid on the couch leaning against him, she slowly fell asleep, leaving Jack to his thoughts. He felt a sudden swell of guilt come over him as he realized that Pete was probably so upset with Sam because she'd gone to him instead of Pete. Jack's jaw clenched involuntarily, and he felt determined to put an end to this dispute.
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Tired and aching from the position he'd been in for so long, Jack carefully eased away from Sam on the couch, laying her on her side and moving a throw pillow under her head in place of his own body. He rubbed gingerly at his ribs before carefully standing, despite the protesting of his knees. Sighing softly, Jack shuffled toward the fireplace to grab at the metal rod nearby and poke at the embers. He really needed to get more logs inside if he wanted the fire to keep going, and it was pretty damn cold out so it would certainly be a good thing to have. A grin lit his face as he imagined lying on the floor among a pile of blankets, Sam held close in his arms.
Jack stood by the back door, shrugging into his coat slowly and slipping his feet into the pair of boots on the floor. He stepped out into the cold, then shuffled along toward the wood pile on the back porch. Grabbing at a few logs and cradling them in his arms, Jack headed inside to deposit them on the floor, deciding not to bring them into the living room until later so he didn't bother Sam. Turning back outside, he went to gather more wood, trying to ignore his protesting injuries. Pausing for a moment, Jack looked up into the blackened sky to see soft flurries of snow trailing from the heavens. It was snowing again. If this keeps up we'll be buried in a week, he thought with a grunt before continuing with his task.
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Realizing she was now bereft of the warmth she had been leaning against, Sam woke, rubbing at her stinging eyes. The tears from earlier had dried on her face, but she was feeling better, safer now that she was at Jack's. But he wasn't here now. Where was he? Suddenly worried, Sam climbed to her feet, not fighting the yawn that soon escaped her. Blinking steadily to focus, Sam left the living room to find the back door open. She was frozen in place, staring nervously and fearing the worst. Oh God, what if Pete-! And Jack-! Her blue eyes were wide and glassy, breath caught in her throat.
Seconds passed that seemed like hours, and Sam finally heaved a sigh of relief when Jack stepped out of the dark and into the doorway to the warm light inside. That's when she noticed the logs he was carrying, and the pile nearby on the floor. "Jack," she called softly, causing him to look up as he just noticed her presense.
"Hey," He grinned weakly at her, seemingly drained of what energy he'd had.
Sam quickly moved toward Jack when she noticed him struggling, a grimace of pain creating deep lines in his face. She reached behind him to close the door before taking the wood from his arms.
"I got it," Jack murmured quickly and unconvincingly, but Sam still managed to take the firewood from him with ease.
Settling the logs on the small stack that he'd been building up, Sam straightened and eyed him with concern. "Jack?" Her brows furrowed as her eyes locked onto his.
"What?" He cried innocently, eyebrows shooting up.
"Janet told you to take it easy," she warned, narrowing her eyes slightly. "You shouldn't be doing any heavy lifting like that. Your collarbone's not fully healed and I'm sure your ribs are bothering you too, not to mention those knees,"
Jack scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I wouldn't call this heavy lifting,"
"Jack," Sam warned, crossing her arms.
He grinned, but the gesture was weak at best. The effort it took for Jack to do the seemingly easy task had really taken it's toll on him. He'd actually made several trips back and forth to the wood pile before Sam had woken, even though he'd only carried around three logs at a time. "It's gettin' late," Jack commented idly while Sam held his elbow to steady him.
Sam smiled briefly. "I don't think I could sleep again," She yawned, shaking her head to ward off the lingering effects of sleep. Truth was, she didn't want to go back to sleep. Her dreams hadn't been plagued by nightmares, but she kept getting this sickening feeling that something awful would happen if she wasn't up and alert.
Turning slowly, Jack went to bend down and pick up some of the firewood by the door when Sam's grasp on his elbow tightened. "What?"
"No lifting," Sam repeated slowly, eyeing him with a stern look. She gestured toward the living room. "Go sit down, rest. I'll bring over a few logs for the fireplace," she assured him with a gentle smile.
Sighing, Jack slowly nodded. "Fine," he muttered reluctantly, blinking and standing still for a moment before slowly shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it carelessly on the back of a chair, then shuffling toward the living room.
Sam watched him with a caring smile. Bending down, she gathered up some firewood from the pile and followed Jack down into the living room.
"What do you think about sleeping down here tonight?" Jack questioned suddenly, the warm glow of the fire reflecting in his dark eyes. "The couch pulls out,"
Smiling at him adoringly, Sam nodded. "Yeh. It'll be nice by the fire," she said, placing the logs she'd carried over into the fireplace before replacing the grate. As Jack tiredly began pulling the cushions off the couch, she hurried over to help him out, not wanting him to further strain himself. She could tell he was already tired and sore. Excusing herself to get him some pills before she unfolded the pull-out, Sam told Jack to go on and change, insisting she'd be right back.
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Jack was slowly making his way down the stairs after dressing in a pair of clean sweatpants and a t-shirt when he heard a crash, followed by a terrified cry. His eyes widened in alarm while nearly tumbling down the remaining steps on unsteady legs in his haste. "Sam?" When his feet hit the floor below, Jack steadied himself shakily, adrenaline keeping him determinedly upright. He was shocked to see Sam on the floor, nervously backing away from an obviously angry Pete. "Get the hell away from her!" Jack growled, fiercely.
"You!" Pete shot a hateful, wild-eyed look toward Jack, his attention away from Sam long enough for her to get away. "You took'er from'e," he slurred drunkenly, right hand slipping beneath his jacket to brandish a pistol and aim it shakily at the man he was scolding.
"No!" Sam shrieked helplessly as Pete stalked closer to Jack. "Pete don't! Please, it's not his fault! You can't blame him because I didn't love you!" She pleaded, slowly edging closer after she'd grabbed the iron poker from beside the fireplace, hiding it descretely behind her back.
Jack rose an eyebrow at Pete, catching Sam's movements from the corner of his eye, but not bringing attention to it. Instead, he made sure the angry man's attention was fully on him. "You know, this is all very cliche of you Shanahan," Jack remarked casually, as though the insane man in front of him wasn't waving a gun. "I mean, stalking Sam, breaking into my house with a gun. This whole revenge thing, all because she never loved you?" The words were cold and bitter, obviously biting deep.
Pete's face became red with anger. He screamed then, preparing to fire, when something crashed down against his forearm, causing the gun to slip from his hand.
Nodding sharply toward Sam, Jack flung himself at Pete once the opening was available. He tackled the bulkier man with surprising speed that belied his still-healing injuries. "Sam, get to the phone!" Jack yelled while he held the struggling Pete down.
Scrambling from the room, Sam hurried into the kitchen where the phone was. She was shaking from nerves, but knew what she had to do.
When Shanahan's movements shifted, Jack quickly realized that he was struggling to grasp at a revolver in an ankle holster. As Pete jerked sharply, throwing his weight at Jack's chest and elbowing his ribs, the Colonel was winded and gasping from the pain. While Jack was left off-balance from the blow, this gave Pete the chance he needed to grab at the gun.
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Note: Cliffy! Haha, evil, I know. Soooooooorry! x-0; Heh.