Caught in the monkey jar: Blackbeard Interludes

Holding out for a hero- Bonnie Tyler.

Jack managed the welcome back hug for Sara and to pick up Charlie briefly, the day he finally came home to his family- because he needed to feel that they were real, and he was overwhelmed by the moment, but that was it. He couldn't stand people touching him, slapping his back or whatever. The sickening touches in the prison had been unbearable. The pretend niceness followed by brutality. The necessary prodding and probing at the hospitals, whilst caring and sympathetic, was also too much. People staring at him, pitying, horrified. They pretended they didn't but he felt the itch on his shoulder blades and caught them when he turned round. Just leave me alone, dammit.

But Jack had always been a touchy feely kind of a guy around Sara and Charlie, and he couldn't do it any more. They didn't get it at first when he jerked away or froze or raised his hands to ward them off. They learnt not to. He knew it hurt Sara, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

No matter how many times he scrubbed in the shower or soaked in the tub, he still felt dirty. No matter how many times they told him it was alright, it wasn't.

The doc was trying to help but he couldn't get the words and images and sensory memories out of his mind, so he couldn't reach out to Sara. He couldn't begin to start getting used to her touching or holding him, like he was supposed to. He couldn't let it go. She was clean and soft and smelled so good and he dared not touch her for fear of soiling her wholesomeness. And Charlie, dear God, Charlie was an innocent. And he was after all an expert in evasion….But he and Sara were trying and he thought it wouldn't affect him, but it did. How could it not?

Loss of control was not an option he cared to contemplate with Sara. He'd scared her enough as it was with the yelling and nightmares, pushing her literally out of bed. One time he woke curled up in the corner of the clothes closet, not knowing how he came to be there, but it felt safe. Confined in the dark, and alone he stayed there as long as he could.

It had been kept as the ultimate threat, since the playing with one bullet in the gun episode hadn't worked. The black box in the sun had its moments too. The beatings were a part of life, hands, sticks didn't matter. Electric shocks and cigarettes burns were nasty but you recovered in time. Base threats to what made a man, a man, were all that were left to kill off the spirit, unless illness and infection got you first. And he'd made it through all that and more. Mind games, the head honcho liked those a lot. Leave it until the body was weakened from illness and injury and then weaken his mind as well…

Whispered words in his ear, caressing touches. Insinuations about his wife or girlfriend back home. Insinuations about when Chris- the British guy- had been put into his cell, when he was so ill that time. It was all geared to wear down a soldier's belief in himself as a man. Reduce him to nothing and he'd have no self worth left, so telling them what they wanted to know would be an easy step. Or so they thought. They threatened, tormented and humiliated proud men. And came close to doing what they promised, laughing all the while as he hung with his arms above him, naked and beaten and exposed. He knew what they were doing. His own unit had practised such events during training. Anything to get the information.

He felt ashamed but the doctor kept saying thathe hadn't responded, only his body had because that's the way men were wired. But he couldn't get past it. Unclean, groped and caressed, hot breath, heavy body, his body finding release despite where he was and who he was with- he had blanked his mind. Head honcho guy had been pleased with the results and next time threatened to let Warid have him for himself. All he had to do was walk out of the room and leave them alone. Jack could tell them what they wanted to know now, or….he would ask again later, when Warid was done. And if he could do it once, he could do it again. Why was he so special that he should be left alone? To not endure what the others had?

He was left in his cell to think about it. It wasn't something he could ask Chris, since he was dead now. But if he'd still been alive would he have said? Would any of them? They all heard the thuds and the shouts and the screams and the deafening silences. And they could all imagine and they all thought thank god it's not me.

Slowly the doc drew the stories out of Jack, needing to know why he did what he did or said something or reacted in a certain way. And Jack knew these were old, old tales that men of war had let loose to run shrieking and sobbing in a safe room to someone who did not condemn them. And he knew that as long as man went to war with one another, the stories would always be told, no matter whose side you were on.

How far would he go in order to protect his country, his unit wherever they were and himself? The longer he was there of course, the more out of date any Intel he had, must be. They knew that and wanted everything he had anyway and they were prepared to get it by any means necessary. The fact that he'd lasted so long made it all the more of a challenge for them. Another game for the head Honcho guy. Bastard.

Military hospital

"How's things at home with Sara?"

"Slow. But okay."

"Only okay?"

"She's great. It's me. Sometimes I just can't feel good enough about myself to get close to her."

"Ah."

"That's a big help, doc."

"Maybe there's more to the physical injuries you sustained. I re-read your medical notes. Is there anything you like to tell me?"

"Nothing else happened."

"I beg to differ. The notes don't lie; you're lying to yourself and to me."

"Nothing happened, doc. I swear!"

"I think you're protesting too much. I know something else did and this is blocking any progress you should be making back home with Sara."

"I already told you they beat me up, and other stuff. And a couple of times… this guard, arid, touched me…made me…get off. There were others there in the room, it was humiliating. That's all."

"Don't you think that's quite enough for any man in that situation?"

"I guess. We were trained to expect a lot of what happened to us."

"I'm not interested in generalities, Major, I'm interested in what happened to you and how you are coping with it."

There was a long gap before Jack continued in a monotone…

"Training is good, it was good…but it wasn't real enough, although we tried to make it real at the time…I'd been there for, like, forever. Weeks, months and it wasn't getting any better. Some days were worse than others. There are some days, maybe even a week, I don't remember near the end…

I liked it in the cell because it was mine, I wasn't bothered by anyone else. I got used to it. The time I was ill, they had more prisoners in and we had to double up for a while. Maybe it was a game for the honcho guy but I'll never know. But I was very ill and someone was there but it was okay. The voice in the dark was different to…to…" Jack suddenly got up and paced around.

"Different to what?"

"I can't…..Geordie- that's what Chris said everybody called him- was good, did what he could- he got more water off a new guard, nursed me, gave me strength to carry on for a bit longer …and then…" Jack broke off and got a bottle of water, drank some and then worried the bottle in his hands.

"What?"

Jack sighed heavily. "He was dead, they…killed him… and I was on my own again."

"And that was okay?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Until…?"

"I don't...I can't…I'm not sure any more if it was real or if I dreamt it…"

"I think you know Jack. There's more isn't there? You just have to talk to me. Let it out."

"God."- Jack sat on the floor and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes as if trying to shut everything out.

"No, I'm just a doctor trying to help you."

"Honcho guy appeared one day and said it was a week since our last 'chat'…..but I never believed him except…"

"Go on."

"He did go away for a few days, but some of the other guys told me that later. At the time…I'd been questioned by him, got stuck in the box overnight, they beat me up badly. Had my head rung good. Little food or water, got a little dehydrated and feverish. Didn't know what I was seeing or hearing."

"See what? What did you hear?"

"I thought there was someone in my cell, heard breathing. But no one answered. Dreamt it I guess. Maybe I was remembering when there were two of us in the cell…."

"Maybe not."

"A day or so later I got questioned again, slapped around a bit as usual-why are you here, where are your units, how many men are you? Only now I think about it, I don't remember head honcho's voice. But he didn't always speak-- he watched from the shadows. There were always a few guards in the room. I was ill and injured… I tried…. I think he tried again- touching me- but I was too hurt to…to respond. Made him mad. I couldn't… get away."

"From who?"

"Any of them, but especially Him. Crawled to the door, slammed into the wall, god it hurt thought I was dying."

"And then what?"

"Black, dark, I'm back in my cell, I wake up and I hear breathing again."

"And does it go away?"

"…..no. but I don't know if I'm dreaming or what. But my feet are shackled and …there's nothing I can do. Maybe I imagined it out of my twisted imagination after all. Doesn't mean he actually did anything….."

"But what if he did?"

"Ahhh, Jeez. But my cell was safe, should have been. All that time. Like it was a rule or something right? They left the light on all the time. Left the radio on full blast. Then sometimes, darkness. But...maybe that breathing and I hurt and there was a heavy weight, pressing… on me and…I wasn't there I blanked it out. One more hurt to add to the others."

"But you aren't blanking it now, are you, and the doors didn't magically open in time and he didn't stop, did he?"

"…no. I don't think so."

"Do you remember what happened next?"

"Maybe, it's the next day and all I know is that I hurt everywhere and not for the first time. Sometime after that honcho comes back and orders the guard to hose me down and we have a 'chat'. But he doesn't get much from me because I don't say anything. The threats and taunts have no effect. He gets mad and stomps off- I go back in my cell. I hear a lot of shouting. Never see Warid again. Don't know if he ordered it or Warid was just doing his own thing. I swear I didn't think anything…it all got jumbled up and lost with all the other bad stuff towards the end. But I know it made me mad, rebellious, not weak like they wanted….."

Jack sat on the floor head, leaning back against the wall, eyes shut, utterly drained.

"How do you feel?"

"Really tired, doc. Sick"

"We've been through a lot this session."

The doctor's phone rang and Jack jerked a little at the sudden noise. Marwood got up and spoke quietly into the phone.

"Didn't realise that's what the time was, doc. I've overrun. I'd better go." And he started to get up off the floor.

"No. we take as much time as we need for this. Sit back down and relax for a spell."

"How can I tell Sara this?"

"She needs to know why you react like you do when you're with her. You love your wife, don't you, Major O'Neill?"

"Yes!"

"Then don't you owe it to the both of you to give her an explanation. That you have some problems because of what happened to you. That you will still need to be tested."

"I know."

"So take it slow and build up to what you feel comfortable with- which is what you've been trying to do. One on one. Once you have another negative test back, you can let nature take its course."

"You make it sound so easy doc. I don't want anyone else to know I was…assaulted. Not my CO, anyone."

Jack sat in the car for a while when he got home, thinking, before going in and taking a long shower.