AN: Ok, this is a very long part (and an impossible scene to split up into parts, I might add!) so you're getting what would normally equate to two parts in one! Anyway, I have to warn you, there is some harsh language in here, but it goes with the angst. Keep the reviews coming! They really make a writer's day.
Chapter Eight
Daniel narrowed his eyes at Teal'c. "You mean to tell me that you can see her?"
"Indeed." Teal'c nodded and Sam was fairly certain he was hiding a smirk behind his typically stoic face. "Major Carter has visited us on several occasions."
"Why didn't you say something? I thought I was going crazy."
"O'Neill does not respond favorably to the mention of Major Carter's name. I thought it unwise to mention the apparition in his presence. Perhaps if Major Carter did not always appear while I was in the company of O'Neill, I would have made mention of her spiritual existence."
The mention of his name drew Sam's attention to the fact that Jack wasn't there for the first time in her visits. "Where is Jack?"
Teal'c looked at her, his eyebrow raised inquisitively. "Are you now in the habit of referring to O'Neill by his first name rather than his rank, Major Carter?"
Sam rolled her eyes as Daniel grinned. It was one thing if Daniel teased her. It was just wrong for Teal'c to do the same. "I'm dead. I'm not in the Air Force any more. I don't have to call him Colonel and you don't have to call me Major." Despite her firm belief in her statement, Sam realized her cheeks were burning red and the boys were grinning at one another. "Don't change the subject. Where the hell is Colonel O'Neill?"
"I understood that you would no longer be addressing O'Neill by his rank, Major Carter." Teal'c's face returned to its usual passive indifference, but Sam was sure he was doing it on purpose. "You need not be embarrassed by your romantic attachment to O'Neill as he is no longer your superior."
Infuriated and mortified, she turned to Daniel. "Let's go. You promised." She was so embarrassed she could die, except, well, she was already dead.
"All right, I'll go." Daniel was dragging his feet at he looked at Teal'c. "Where is he?"
"O'Neill has gone home to search for alcoholic beverages. He grew quite displeased that the cafeteria staff did not take his suggestions regarding a miniature refrigerator for storing liquor."
"You let him drive in his condition?" Sam looked at Daniel, wondering if it was possible to have a heart attack when she was dead. Sam wanted to strangle Teal'c, but still she couldn't let his wording slide without correction. "And it's a mini-bar, Teal'c."
"O'Neill was far too intoxicated to successfully operate a vehicle. I arranged a ride for him with a low-ranking airman who was too intimidated by my presence to refuse."
Daniel shook his head in a disappointed fashion. "You were supposed to watch him."
"It is rather unpleasant to watch a friend's mental and physical health degenerate. Perhaps you are better equipped to perform such a task, Daniel Jackson."
Sam stepped in front of Teal'c, wagging her finger at him in a gesture that would have made her first grade teacher proud. "I expected better from you, Teal'c."
If he noticed the correction, Teal'c gave no indication. "Major Carter, I believe it is up to you to intercede unless you would prefer O'Neill to join you prematurely."
Sam shrugged at Daniel. "I'll meet you there."
Sam got to Jack's first, of course, since she merely had to think about him to arrive there. She didn't wait for Daniel, mostly because she hadn't thought about materializing on the porch, but also because she was kind of hoping Jack would simply notice her and spare them the trouble of needing an intermediary.
She found herself in his living room, standing in front of the couch. Jack was passed out in the arm chair with a bottle of whiskey in his lap. Sam was pretty sure the tumbler of ice on the coffee table had been thoughtfully provided by the airman who'd had the unfortunate job of being bullied into taking Jack home, although she couldn't really rule out the idea that Jack had ordered the poor man into getting it for him.
Sam squatted down next to him, gently taking the bottle from his grasp. Some part of her marveled at the idea she could do it so easily, but the rest of her knew it was due to the emotional overload she felt at being so very close and so very far away from him.
He stirred slightly as she pulled the bottle away and his eyes fluttered open for a second. "Carter?"
She smiled, actually thankful for the inebriation that appeared to be helping her cause. "Yeah, it's me."
He shifted again, his head falling hard against the uncushioned edge of the chair. His eyes popped open completely, the adrenaline rush of pain waking him. "Damn it." His hand flew to his head and rubbed the spot. He looked around, obviously no longer aware of her presence. She saw the momentary hope flash in his eyes, his silent prayer that she really was there. She saw the devastation when his eyes passed over her repeatedly, seeing nothing. His eyes were filling with tears as he reached for the bottle, utterly confused when it wasn't in his lap. He noticed it on the table and reached for it with a growl, not even noticing when she tried to keep it from him.
Her attempt was only half-hearted though, because she realized that he really couldn't bear to face life without her sober.
It was a startling revelation. She fell back, landing on her back end with a rather indelicate noise that made Sam happy, momentarily, that Jack couldn't see or hear her. She wasn't a big fan of embarrassing herself. She stayed where she was on the floor, contemplating what she was seeing.
She loved Jack; she knew that. She'd known it for a very long time. She knew he loved her on some level, that he was attracted to her on all the others. She knew he blamed himself for her death and that explained some of why he couldn't face reality. But she knew there was so much more to it than she had ever realized. She saw the pain and loss and desperation in his eyes. He couldn't stand to live without her. And it chilled her to the bone to realize that he had no intention of trying.
He took a long swig right from the bottle and let his eyes glaze over as he stared at nothing. It was no wonder why Daniel didn't want Jack to be left alone. She could feel the despair radiating from him. She was starting to think it was a good thing that he was too drunk to stay conscious for long because she didn't want to think about what he'd do if he stayed awake long enough to remember he owned a gun.
Sam reached out, grabbing the neck of the bottle and trying to wrestle it from his grasp. "Don't do this, Jack."
Jack's attention returned to the bottle, his drunken mind not quite processing that the bottle was moving on its own. He pulled it from her hand, lifting it to his lips and taking another long drink. The bottle was barely back in his lap before his head lolled against the cushion and his consciousness waned.
Sam couldn't stop the tears that rolled down her face. She hated seeing him like that. She hated seeing him hurt. She hated that she couldn't do anything to help him. She leaned forward, sitting up on her knees to reach him. Her fingers grazed the stubble on his cheeks the same as they had at her funeral. Her hand slid against his chin, turning his face toward her. She was rewarded with his eyes opening wide, revealing unguarded fear because he didn't think anyone could see him. He couldn't see her, she knew, but he could feel her touch. She felt him shiver and she hated the situation a little more because she'd never imagined he might consider her touch unwelcome. "Jack, please see me. I'm here. I won't leave you." Her words came unexpectedly as sobs, mixing together as the emotion fought its way free. "I'm right here, Jack."
His breath caught for a moment, his eyes suddenly fixing on her. "Don't cry, Carter. It's ok."
She couldn't help it, couldn't stop the tears, when his hand reached for her face. He was lost, miserable, and practically suicidal and he was trying to comfort her. "I'm not going to leave you, Jack. I promise."
His hand stopped just shy of her cheek. His eyes narrowed. Sam could see the hope fading as his hardened, analytical mind kicked in. "Carter?"
She nodded, trying to encourage him. "I'm here."
His hesitation disappeared as he reached out again. His fingers barely brushed the hair that fell across her forehead. Sam almost cried at the contact. She watched as he decided to go with it, decided to believe the trick he thought his mind was playing on him. He leaned forward, his hand slipping back into her hair, holding her still, for the kiss he was leaning in to give her.
Until a knock at the door distracted him. His hand dropped down, his eyes blind to her once again. His eyes were full of tears as he picked up the bottle and threw so much of it back that he came up sputtering.
"Damn you, Daniel!" She had been the one to demand Daniel's help, but his timing pissed her off.
Jack staggered to the door, managing to fling it open before he collapsed on the floor of the hallway. "What the hell do you want?"
Daniel walked in, closing the door behind himself and glaring at Sam. She knew he was trying to figure out whether or not she'd changed her mind about wanting his help after he undoubtedly heard her shout. He tried to pull Jack to his feet, but Jack pulled his arm away in a completely self-defeating, uncooperative move.
"Come on, Jack, let's get you to the couch so you can pass out with some kind of dignity." Daniel looked at Sam and they both knew his next words were nearly a warning about embarrassing himself in front of her. Daniel reached for Jack again, mentally regrouping, and having a slightly better result. He got Jack halfway to his feet before he lost his grip and Jack fell back down.
Jack looked up, obviously confused as to Daniel's presence. "Daniel?"
"Yeah?"
"How'd you get in here?"
"You let me in."
"Remind me not to do that again." Jack shook his head in a short-lived attempt to clear it. "What are you doing here?"
Daniel sat down next to him. "I came to talk to you."
Jack sat up, looking Daniel squarely in the eye. "Damn it, Daniel, if you're back here with that 'her spirit is everywhere now' bullshit, I'm going to pop you one."
Daniel shot Sam a look that clearly indicated he would hold her solely responsible if he wound up with a black eye. "You can't see straight enough to hit me, Jack."
Jack wasn't one to back down from a challenge, and alcohol wasn't one to make a man think twice. He pulled his arm back and threw the hardest punch he could muster at Daniel. Considering that Daniel was sitting only a few inches away and had very little warning, the punch should have landed right in his face. But Jack was drunk and Daniel was right, so Jack's fist connected with the wall between them without Daniel even having to duck.
"Shit!" Jack cradled his wounded fist in his lap while Daniel got some ice from the kitchen. Jack begrudgingly took it and glared at Daniel. "What do you want, Daniel?"
Daniel tried helping Jack to his feet again and was actually entirely successful in dragging him to the couch. Once he'd carefully chosen a seat out of reach, in case Jack's aim improved, Daniel took a deep breath. "I was wrong about Sam."
Jack, who had been eyeing the whiskey bottle he'd left lying on the chair he'd been in previously, looked up. "Huh?" His attention immediately went back to the bottle. He judged that it was out of reach, but he'd long since stopped trusting his judgment.
Daniel knew exactly what Jack was looking at, but chose to ignore it. "I was wrong about her spirit being everywhere, Jack. You were right, that was bullshit to get you to feel better."
Jack's eyes were diverted from the bottle again. "I know. But it's pointless, Daniel, because her spirit isn't anywhere. She's dead. I killed her. There's no fucking spirit. There's no fucking Sam. There's nothing left, Daniel. Nothing." His eyes seemed to focus in a fleeting moment of sobriety. "Hand me that whiskey, would you?"
Sam hated the cold way Jack said the words. She hated the fact that he believed them. She hated the truth that suddenly seemed crystal clear to her - Jack had gotten involved with the Stargate project right after Charlie's death, which he'd also blamed himself for, in a passive-aggressive attempt at suicide. When that hadn't worked, he'd reluctantly gotten sucked back into the program to save Daniel's life when Hammond was going to nuke Abydos. And then he'd had to stay to save Skaara and help Daniel save Sha're and by the time he'd given up on those goals, he'd been in love with her. And now she was dead and he thought it was his fault and they were right back at square one with a Jack O'Neill who had one foot in the spirit world and was begging for someone to push him the rest of the way. She was looking at the scared, broken, terrifyingly angry man Daniel had told her about, the man she didn't believe really existed because she hadn't ever seen him when he didn't care about something.
"Daniel, please do something!" She was certain that her caseworker's shoddy work was going to start a landslide of inopportune, unfortunate, and untimely deaths. She wasn't about to let Jack's be among them.
Daniel ignored the request for the bottle, but he moved over into the chair it occupied to get Jack's attention focused on him. "Her spirit isn't everywhere, Jack. It's right here." Daniel motioned to Jack's side, to the space beside him where Sam was perched.
Jack held Daniel's eyes for a long time. Sam watched the emotions play across his face in rapid succession - pain, hurt, longing, hope, despair. The emotions he would never let her see were open to Daniel. But Sam understood it because she was the same way. It had always been easier for them to lock up all their feelings, not just the ones bound to get them in trouble. Daniel was safe to open up to. Daniel was good at keeping secrets.
Jack broke the stare and let his head fall back. He looked crushed and Sam knew he assumed Daniel was trying to hurt him for some reason. "If you're not going to hand me the whiskey, then fuck off, Daniel."
"Jack, you have to believe me. She's right here."
Jack lifted his head up, something akin to hate shining in his eyes. "Get out."
Daniel was wrapped up in his argument, just as Sam had expected. "If you believe she's here, you'll see her, Jack. Just like me and Teal'c can."
"If you're going to be here, you at least do something useful like handing me the whiskey."
Angry at his stubbornness, Sam stood up, grabbed the whiskey off the chair and hurled the bottle into the fireplace. The glass shattered where it hit the rock, sending glass and liquor flying. "No more whiskey for you!" She turned back to Jack, expecting that her display would have caught his attention.
And it had. Jack was staring at the fireplace, a snarl curling his lip in a most unattractive fashion. His eyes were as cold as Sam had ever seen them and he turned them on Daniel. "You owe me a bottle of whiskey." Apparently, Jack hadn't noticed Daniel didn't move when the bottle went flying.
Daniel jumped up, pointing at the angry ghost. "It wasn't me! It was Sam!"
Jack somehow sobered enough to pull himself to his feet, reached across the coffee table to grab a hold of Daniel's shirt, and then delivered a punch to the younger man's jaw. At least, he tried. His fist missed Daniel's face by a mile. He had put so much energy into the swing, committed himself so thoroughly to the movement, that missing contact with something solid created an unrecoverable vortex in his ability to balance. Sam thought it was almost comical to watch the way all three of them realized simultaneously that he was going to fall. Jack was too drunk to do anything to save himself. Daniel reacted the way most people would, by leaning back out of the way. Sam knew Jack would come down on the coffee table, resulting in a broken piece of furniture and, more likely than not, at least one broken bone. And at that moment, Sam didn't think Jack could be trusted with the pain killers a broken bone would merit him. And when it came down to it, she just couldn't let him fall.
She was in an awkward position to catch him since she was next to him, but she had to do something. She tried to move as much of herself in front of him as she could, grabbing for his torso and throwing her weight against him. If she had thought about what she was doing for even a second she would have realized that as a ghost she had no weight and that she therefore also had no leverage.
But she didn't think about it. She only reacted. And in so doing, realized the utter truth to the theory that there was no limit to what one could do when one didn't know what one couldn't do.