A little piece of drabble I wrote today in lectures. I've been out of the writing game for a while, so please be kind. R&R would be greatly appreciated.
DISCLAIMER: Stargate SG:1, it's characters, and settings belong to the SG franchise.
Haunted
The slow, soothing chords of the Moonlight Sonata hung in the air as I stared – I can only imagine – blankly ahead of me. I heard my front door open – a pause – and close softly. Abandoning the tumbler, I swigged from the bottle.
"Jack?" The voice came floating down the corridor, shattering the music. "Jack! Ja-" the voice stopped abruptly as it reached the doorway. Footsteps made for my music player, and it was turned off. There was a sigh, and the lights were turned on. "How long have you had that on repeat?"
I said nothing, taking a good swig, and observed that the whiskey was doing one helluva job of warming and numbing. As an aside, I noted that I was a little fuzzy around the edges, and that the belligerence had now faded, leaving only emptiness and melancholy in its wake. Whoever said that alcohol made you violent? Clearly they had lied. I didn't feel like slamming doors or shooting things anymore. I was tired and numb, and I wanted to sleep and forget. My quiet introspection was interrupted by that voice again.
"Jack, can you hear me?"
I blinked as the bottle was taken away from me, the empty beer cans kicked away, and a plastic bottle of water was placed in my hand. I looked at it dumbly, and a small voice at the back of my head made a belated comment that I may be more than a little fuzzy around the edges. Hands helped me off the floor and onto the couch. There was that sigh again. Why didn't they just leave me alone, today of all days like they had in the past. Didn't they realise that he used to torture me with their faces and voices – with her face and voice. That voice...
I looked up and tried to focus on the face in front of me, and the hands trying to get me to lie down on the couch. Concerned blue eyes... she still haunts me.
"Damnit Jack, why won't you let me help you?" I closed me eyes and tried to turn my head away, but it had grown so heavy. There was a hand on my cheek – it felt like I was burning. There was a startled gasp and the pressure of the hand left, although the burning remained. Soon there was a cold washcloth on my head, and I could feel myself sinking towards that blissful oblivion of dreamless sleep. But I needed to do this, now. Fumbling, I reached out a hand, and it was soon caught and held.
"Carter -" I couldn't believe how rusty my voice sounded in my ears.
"Sir?" the response came almost immediately.
I wasn't dreaming. I could relax, I was safe. "Sam." I said again, softly.
"I'm here, Jack." There was that hand on my cheek again. It didn't burn this time.
"Stay with me?"
"Always."
Clutching that hand for dear life, I sank into darkness, feeling safe for the first time in years.