Blackbeard by Roo

"Loving the alien" David Bowie

Some weeks later, Jack came home while she was watching some report on the World news TV channel. It was a piece on a variety of British allied units still in Iraq, clearing up.

"Hey, I'm back," he called from the hallway.

"Good day?" she asked.

The reporter had worked his way through different specialties- engineers, medics and a typical soldier and had just got to an SAS officer (who was blacked out on the screen) when Jack came in and stood behind when she was sitting on the couch.

"Uhh, so- so." he replied. Jack was back on light duties, some paperwork and still had the odd debriefing and evaluations up the 'wazzoo' as he put it.

The British officer's voice came over clearly as he talked in general terms what his units might or might not still be doing.

"Holy crap," he whispered. Sara turned to look up at him; he'd gone white as a sheet. The American reporter's voiceover behind her explaining the captions on the screen. Pictures of men the unit had lost in the conflict.

"Jack?" she asked worried. Things had been calmer for a while now. He stood riveted to the spot staring at the TV. The reporter had linked in a report from British TV that appeared to be a local sound bite about the family of one of the dead men. It seemed they wanted to know exactly what had happened to him, but the Army wasn't providing any answers.

"Ahh, shit!" Jack spat as he began to pace up and down. The news report moved onto somewhere else in Iraq.

"Jack… did you know some of those British soldiers?"

"Not…all of them,"

Sara knew this was something important for him to have reacted so strongly. He looked awful, panicked. She wasn't sure if he was going to throw up, pass out or both. She decided to make an educated guess and hope that she could cope with the resulting fallout.

"Who is Geordie, Jack?"

"What?" Jack whirled round "Where did you hear that?"

"You told me."

"Never!"

"When you were ill last month, that cold and bronchitis that you didn't have?"

"Oh, for crying out loud," he muttered and kicked the trash bin across the floor, watching the bits fall out as it rolled around.

"Well?" Sara prompted.

"Well, what?"

"You knew one of those British soldiers. What has you spooked, Jack? Tell me!" she ordered.

"Don't! Just don't! Okay?" Jack walked over to the patio doors and desperately looked for the key to unlock it.

"You know how he died and his family don't?" Sara accused as she followed him and reached for his arm.

"Don't touch me!" he shouted flinging her hand off, he hit the glass door hard with his fist, scaring her into thinking he would break it. He managed to unlock the door with his other hand. Wrenching it open he staggered outside into the fresh air of the garden.

"Jack?"

"Oh God. Oh God," he chanted turning slightly to her, wobbling as he did so. He was breathing very fast. The stress was making him hyperventilate.

"Look at me!" she said as she steered him to the nearest seat.

"Calm down, watch me breathe. Slowly, Jack."

He shook his head at her.

She grabbed his face between her palms forcing him to look at her. She could feel the stress his body was under.

"Slowly! In and out. Watch me Jack. Deep breaths."

Gradually his breathing matched hers and she dropped her hands. They sat on the bench for a long time, side by side but still not together.

"You were right. I knew him. I was there…. when he was k…killed." Jack said suddenly in the gathering gloom. He gave a deep sigh.

"Can you tell me? Would it help?" she tentatively asked.

"NO!" he shouted startling her, and bent forward to cradle his head in his hands.

"Sorry. Not yet. I need more time." he continued in a softer tone.

"But what about his family, Jack? He'd want them to know wouldn't he? If the situation were reversed, I'd want to know." Sara pressed.

"They would, he…he asked me to. I just can't deal with it now."

"Well, perhaps if you wrote rather than phoned them it would be easier to start with." she suggested.

"Maybe, I don't know. I'll think about it."

Sara knew that was as far as he was prepared to go for now. But she'd learnt a few valuable things. More missing pieces.

"I'm going to start dinner, what do you fancy?"

"Don't care, you choose."

Jack sat in the garden nursing his headache and nausea until she called him inside for dinner- which he didn't eat. He gave up chasing peas round the plate. Sara knew better by now than to argue one way or another about the food. He grabbed a beer and sat back outside for the rest of the evening, brooding.

Sara woke up to the sound of something smashing in the bathroom. Then silence. It could only be Jack. Charlie was at her parents for the week. She went to the bathroom wondering what she would find, how she would tell Charlie. She'd been scared earlier in the day when he'd banged his fist against the patio door in his anger and desperation to get out.

Jack was sitting barefoot on the bathroom floor, blood on the smashed cabinet mirror doors and on his t shirt and sweat pants. Blood from cut and bruised fists ran over his hands and dripped onto the floor as he sat there unmoving. Shards of silver glittered over the floor and sink.

"Jack?" she tentatively asked.

"I hate what I've become, what happened to me." he said flatly.

"Can I come in?"

He shrugged his shoulders at her.

Stepping carefully round him she found a wash cloth and dropped it on his lap. He ignored it.

"Jack, are you with me? You hit the cabinet doors? It's just your knuckles, not your wrist?"

He nodded as she lifted the hands and placed them on the wash cloth.

"Don't move until I clear some of this up okay?"

He nodded again. She was back in a moment with a dustpan and brush to clear up the debris. Then she spread towels on the floor just in case she missed any.

"Talk to me Jack. Don't do this. If you lose it they'll section you and I'll never get you back. We need you. Keep fighting; I know you can make it. Please let me help, even if you don't think I can understand what happened to you."

Jack's head jerked up at that.

"Use you anger, that strength to get better, not at them, prove to them that they don't have any power over you anymore."

Jack shook his head.

"If you don't get better Jack, Charlie and I will be joining you in that padded room. I don't know how much more of this we can take, he's five years old Jack. He doesn't understand. And you're scaring him away. I know you love him. You were great …before. You need to be again, for all our sakes."

"I can't! I can never be the same person I was…..before!" Jack gasped, the dam finally breaking.

"Yes, you can. You've come such a long way Jack. Don't give up now." Sara pleaded; it was all she had left and she felt such a loser for begging like this.

"I'm so tired." Jack said.

"I know. Let me look at those hands."

"How can even you stand to look at me or touch me?"

"What?" she asked surprised thinking it was the other way around.

"The scars and the bad dreams, I've hurt you and I'm so sorry for that. You must think about it- imagining what they did to me"

"I don't…"

"Don't lie to me!" he snapped angrily.

"Okay. Yes! I tried to imagine! I had to because you won't show me. You won't talk. You won't let me help you. Then I hate myself for wanting to try and imagine what happened to you. And it goes round and round in my head."

Sara stood up and got some bandages and scissors out of the wrecked cabinet.

"Can you stand up? We need to wash this out."

Slowly with her helping him up he stood and moved over to the sink.

She turned the tap on and pushed his hands under it, the water turning pink. After a moment she lifted one back up and peered intently at it. "I don't think I can see anything in there." She repeated it for the other hand.

She bandaged the knuckles and fingers.

Without thinking she gently kissed each finger "kiss it all better" she said just like she would have done for Charlie.

Sara realised what she had done. Jack had not made any advances to her in the months since he came back always using the excuse that he was tired or not feeling well. He won't let her be close to him. She felt useless and very hurt that he didn't want her any more.

She looked up at his face. It was expressionless unreadable, but his dark eyes were filled with pain and longing.

"Would you really kiss it all better?" he said softly surprising them both.

"Oh Jack of course, if you want me to…"

He moved away from her and she wanted to cry. She put the bandages back in the cabinet. When she turned round Jack was watching her, as she made to go past him into the dark bedroom his hand on her arm stopped her.

"No," he said.

"Jack?"

He shook his head and suddenly took off his t shirt wincing as the movement hurt his grazed hands. He still needed to put some weight on, his ribs still too defined for her liking. There was a reddish scar along his rib line that she hadn't seen before and other odd marks on his torso. Slowly he turned around in the glare of the bathroom lighting. There were marks on his back too as well as thin scars in an odd pattern…like…. like…a whip perhaps. Along his right shoulder there were recent surgery scars. He turned again so he faced her.

Jack looked so lost. He didn't want her pity, Sara knew that. Hoping she was doing the right thing at last, she stepped closer and picked up a hand and gently looked at it, she knew he'd had surgery to reset fingers and she kissed each finger again, and then moved to the wrist. She knew he'd been handcuffed and bound at times. She looked at his face; he let out a big sigh but didn't move away.

She worked her way across his chest pressing her lips to each mark she found. His heart was pounding next to her ear. Something splashed onto her. She looked up, Jack was crying, his eyes tight shut.

"Love, I'm here. Shhh baby. It's alright."

He made some inarticulate noise and pulled her to him his arms tight round her, his chest heaving. She reached up and framed his face with her hands and kissed his teary eyes and finally his lips.

"I'm right here Jack…. with you." And they stood there clutching each other.

"Oh god" he said not quite believing he was going to give in to the comfort, the need, the love he now saw instead of pity. "Help me" he said at last. And some of the dark places within him shattered.

Sara took a bandaged hand, turned off the bathroom light and led him over to their bed. He got in and lay there on his side looking at her as she got in.

He reached out towards her and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. His hand dropped to her neck gently rubbing it. She put her hand on his. He turned his face into the pillow.

"I thought about you and Charlie lots of times. It …helped me get through…it" he said.

"Oh, Jack..." she started to say.

"I thought it would be different when I got back. Things would magically be okay. But it wasn't and I didn't know how to fix it…" he continued.

Sara edged closer to him, she could feel the heat of his body next to hers. He didn't move away.

"There seemed to be so many good and bad things competing for attention that I gave up and drifted. I didn't know who or where I was sometimes. You were like a dream I'd had so many times it couldn't be real," he stopped to wipe his eyes.

"I know what they did to me but at the same time I wanted to pretend it never happened. And if no one else saw the real me then everything was alright. But the doctors tried to get me to talk to them. I told them enough to get them off my back but not…everything. Then the rehab plain hurt so I was hiding from them too. I'm sorry."

"Who knows what the right way is or was Jack. You're here now that's all that matters to me and Charlie. The doctors have their theories and know what other people have or haven't done. But you're one person Jack, you. It's how you make it work that counts. I'm just glad you're finally letting me in." Sara whispered to him, reaching out to caress his face.

"Can ... I just hold you?" he asked hesitantly.

"If that's what you want Jack. But yes of course. We'll take it slow."

Slowly he pulled her to him, wriggling his other arm under her to complete his embrace. As always she fit neatly into his shoulder. His heart was pounding she realised. She waited. Slowly he calmed down. She wondered if he would fall asleep.

"I never stopped loving you," he murmured into her neck. She felt so good, so soft.

"I know," she said. Sara had missed his hugs, and the way he held her close. She had always felt safe with him. This time it was his turn to be loved and soothed.

"I need you."

"I need you too Jack."

"I do want to love you," he said.

"I know," she repeated

"I …I don't know if I can."

She shifted to look at him while she thought about this. She was lying snug against his body and she could tell that tonight he was only interested in talking and snuggling. That would teach her to think that everything would be fine now. Two steps forward, one step back. That was the pattern of their life now.

"This is fine Jack. I've missed this closeness just as much as the loving. Keep talking to me. You know you can tell me anything don't you?" well almost anything, apart from how one soldier died, she thought.

"Umm. How can I put this…amongst other ways of trying to get me to tell them about our mission, or pretty much anything…. they got a little creative with their toys…." he said hesitantly.

"Permanent creative …or…?" she asked quietly, she could feel him trembling slightly and his heart rate spiked for a moment. But he didn't pull away from her. He held on.

"Umm. The docs said everything would be okay, all healed up and all. But … umm things…kinda shocked into hiding for the time being, I think was the docs conclusion," there was a slight pause "I can't believe I just said that," he replied. He was tired of hard edges and blunt pain. No more. Finally. He wanted to lose himself in the one person he trusted to catch him.

"It's just me, Jack. No-one to be scared of. I love you and I'm so glad you're here with me. I'm sure together we can encourage things to come out of hiding…"

Sara couldn't help but smile round the horrible image he'd just presented her with, because his comment meant he was going to be okay. Which meant they would be okay. Probably. Given a little more time and patience. Maybe he would write a long letter to a grieving family the other side of the Atlantic. And maybe one day he'd tell her what he'd written.