Chapter 10:

"Welcome home, SG-1," General Hammond greeted his flagship team as they stepped out of the wormhole. "How did it go?"

"Oh, you know, General, same 'ol same 'ol, we came, we saw a bunch of trees, Daniel had allergies, we met some natives who weren't supposed to be there and then they tried to kill us. Nothing new."

Hammond looked at Colonel O'Neill skeptically. "Debrief in one hour. Dismissed." He couldn't wait to hear this one.

"Jack, you coming?" Daniel asked as he and Teal'c headed toward the locker rooms for a much needed shower.

"I'll catch up with you later. I'm going to check on Carter." He tried to act nonchalantly about his true purpose for checking in on Carter. "I owe her an arm wrestling match." He was worried about her.

O'Neill walked into the infirmary and headed straight for her room. It was empty. He began to get that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach; the one he got when everything had gone to hell. He had to find Frasier.

Frasier saw him before he saw her. "Colonel, welcome back. Are you here for your post-mission already?"

"Doc, where's Carter? I just left her room and it's empty."

"I released her three days ago. She's at home."

"Released her? Home? Alone?" The sinking feeling in his stomach dropped a little further.

"Yes, Colonel, home. She's made remarkable progress. I really had no reason to keep her any longer." She could see the worry on his face. "Don't worry, sir, I went with her to get her settled. She's fine."

"Fine? You can't be serious? Carter is not fine." Everyone in the SGC had gone nuts in the last five days. How could anyone think…she was not fine.

"Colonel, Doctor McKenzie's official diagnosis was that she was suffering from PTSD and that it did not and would not interfere with her daily functions and I agreed." McKenzie. He should have known.

"McKenzie's an idiot and no offense, Doc, but you are too if you believe for one minute that Carter is okay." He had all the respect in the world for Frasier. He had lost count the number of times she had patched him up. This time she was so off the mark. He knew. He understood. "Dammit"

"When was the last time you spoke with her?"

"Colonel," she said slightly exasperated with his actions.

"Doc, humor me."

"I called Sam the next morning."

"Did you talk to her?"

"Yes, she sounded a little tired, but she said that I had woken her up."

"Two days ago. You haven't spoken to her in two days?" That sinking feeling was now a giant hole threatening to swallow him from the inside.

"No, I've been stuck here. SG-11 came back under heavy fire. There were injuries. Doctor Warner was unavailable…"

He turned and left without giving Frasier the opportunity to finish.

She had been in the infirmary for two weeks under the scrutiny of Janet, the over-protection of Daniel and Teal'c, the gawking of the base personnel like she was a zoo animal on display, the incessant questions of Doctor McKenzie. "How are you feeling today?" "How did it make you feel when he interrogated you, when he locked you up, when he stabbed you and left you for dead?" She was fine. Colonel O'Neill. He seemed to be the only one. The only one who did not treat her like someone to watch, protect, stare, or question. He would visit and just talk. Treat her like she was normal.

She was happy to be home, really home, her house, her belongings, her life. After some not so subtle hinting and a lot of pleading, Janet finally agreed to release her from the infirmary. Of course Janet had to come and help her get settled, make sure she had all her medication, help her restock her refrigerator, mother her. All she really wanted was for her to leave. She really was fine.

O'Neill left the base without telling anyone where he was going. By now, General Hammond, was probably fuming and threatening to bust him back to airman. He would explain later. The twenty minute drive to Carter's house took forty minutes thanks to a fender bender that backed up traffic and hitting every red light in Colorado Springs. He tried calling her house, multiple times. Busy signal. He hoped she was talking on the phone to a friend, he doubted it.

It was early evening when he arrived. Carter's quiet neighborhood was just beginning to come alive with the welcoming glow of house lights as homeowners began returning home from another day at work. Her house was no different.

He exited his truck and headed for her door. He tried to look casual, relaxed while he walked up her sidewalk. He was anything but. He stopped at her door. He took a deep breath and then another trying to compose himself. He knocked and waited. A minute, two minutes passed. No answer. He knocked again and waited. "Carter." He said her name hoping she would realize who it was and open the door. "Open the door, Carter. It's me, Colonel O'Neill." He added O'Neill just incase she didn't recognize his voice through the door. After five more minutes, he took the house key Carter had given him for emergencies and opened her door.

He was not ready for what greeted him. The house was ransacked. Lamps were overturned, dishes broken, pictures shattered. The television played loudly. He instinctively withdrew his weapon and started searching for Carter. "Carter," he called out trying not to sound frantic, which he was. He searched the house. He left her bedroom for last. He knew that's where she would be. He stood in front of the door, afraid to go in. Afraid of what he would find. "Carter," he said calmly while turning the doorknob to her room. He pushed the door slowly open.

Her room, like the rest of the house, was in disarray. The bed was unmade, covers thrown on the floor. Clothes were strewn across the room. The bedside table was overturned. She was sitting huddled in the furthest corner of the room pointing a gun at him.

He held his hands up slowly. She looked as though she had not slept since coming home three days ago. Pain etched her features. She was dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. Her right arm was still in a sling from her recent surgery. She looked lost and absolutely broken.

"Put the weapon down, Major."

"He's still here."

O'Neill did not know who he was although he suspected it was the wacko from Volostra.

"I just want him to go away." She moved the weapon to her head rubbing the barrel against her temple.

"I know you do, Major," he said calmly while slowly lowering his hands. He placed his own weapon on the bed and moved gradually toward her.

"I refused to talk, sir. It just kept getting worse," she said despondently.

"What kept getting worse?" He was beside her now. He slid down the wall and sat waiting for her to continue or not. Carter remained silent as if contemplating whether she should tell him what happened.

Her weapon hung loosely in her hand. He reached over and gently took it from her. "At first." She closed her eyes as if reliving the events. "He interrogated me; beat me for not saying what he wanted to hear. He kept me shackled in the box for hours, days, I really don't know. I couldn't stand. The pain…"

"Carter, you don't have to do this. I watched the video."

She looked into his eyes. "It's not all in the video." She turned away from him and focused on an unseen spot on the other side of the room.

He knew she didn't tell Hammond everything that happened. Still, hearing it from her was somehow unnerving. "Did they…" He couldn't say it. Hell, it made him sick to even think it.

'No. Somehow, I think that would have been easier to deal with." She took a deep breath and continued. "He started calling me Samantha. He put me in a cell with no light, sound. I don't know how long days maybe weeks. Then…then"

He ached for her. He knew how hard it was for her to relive these memories, to show weakness and vulnerability especially in front of him.

"They took me to another interrogation room. They tied my arms behind me and pulled me up. The pain was unbearable. That's when…"

"You wanted to give up."

She was quiet. "Yes." He could hear her taking deep breaths. "You kept me going wouldn't let me give up."

He really didn't know how to respond. The thought of seeing Sara again kept him going all those years ago. It was not inconceivable her mind chose him. He put his arm around her mindful of her shoulders. "You beat him, Sam."

She leaned into him and let out a small sardonic laugh. "That's why he stabbed me."

"Because you beat him?"

"Because it had stopped being about interrogations and answers. It was all just a sick game to him. I was hanging in that room, my shoulders had been ripped out of their joints. I was screaming because I couldn't take the pain anymore. He was so happy. He thought he had broken me. I told him to go to hell. I won."

He grinned. "I would expect nothing less."

"No, sir, he won. He's still here. Every time I close my eyes, every time I try to sleep. He's here." She said pointing to her head. "I thought…I thought once I came home…"

"He would go away."

"Yes, sir."

"But he didn't."

"He didn't."

He saw for the first time a tear slide down her cheek. It was just one tear and she quickly brushed it away, but it was a start.

"Carter. Sam," he started, realizing this was where he was supposed to say something deep and profound, something to make it all better. He couldn't give her those words. "I know." He said quietly. "I understand."

"Iraq?" She asked just as quietly.

"Iraq." He sighed as if it was still too painful to remember. "Amir and Kaleem."

"Sir?"

"My torturers."

"I can't say his name."

"You don't have to."

They sat together in peaceful silence as night fell. He could feel Carter drift off to sleep probably for the first time in three days. He hoped the nightmares would stay away. He would be here if they didn't. He was not going to leave her again.