"Come on, guys," O'Neill spat at the engineers. "There has to be a way to do this."
"We're trying, sir," one of them answered. "We've gotten a device to boost the signal a bit, but it doesn't seem to be enough. When you take it down to Major Carter tonight, we'll work with it more."
"If you can even find it," he snapped.
"Sir… I promise you that we want her back as much as you do." He glanced from the colonel's face to Daniel's, then Teal'c's, and finally Jacob's. They were nonplussed. "Okay, maybe not quite as much, but we're doing the best we can."
"Do better," he threatened softly before storming out of the room, entourage in tow.
"Jack," Daniel spoke up as they entered the mess hall, "How is she? Really?"
"She's really okay, Daniel. But every minute she's there alone, she's in danger. This Sileem… I don't trust him. Not even a little bit."
"I wish you'd never told him you were there on business. That you'd have to leave."
"I know. We didn't quite think that one through."
"She must be terrified," Jacob said softly.
Jack wrapped a solid arm around their shoulders. "Carter is the strongest woman I've ever met. She'll get through this."
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Every minute alone in that place cut a year off her life expectancy; Sam was sure of it. All the muscles in her body lived in a state of constant tension while the colonel was gone. Her heart pounded, and she was sure her blood pressure was through the roof. She really, really wanted out.
Even in the shower she wasn't safe. No, she amended, especially in the shower. There was a door (without a lock) to the bathroom, but nothing even resembling a curtain. It seemed… open… and evil, somehow. But she still relished the hot water; every day, it washed away a few more moments of her time in the basement. She would stay until the woman who tended her knocked on the door.
But this day was different. The door flew open and Sileem stood there, watching her, a smirk on his face. She grabbed for a towel, but nothing seemed quick enough to stop his eyes. "Time to get out," he announced.
She carefully tied the now-wet towel around herself and turned the water off. She didn't want to step closer to him, but that was the only way out of the tub.
She wasn't fast enough, and he stepped up and yanked her to him. He put his face in her shoulder and took a deep breath. "Nice."
Sileem watched her this time as the older woman dried and combed out her hair and put the usual makeup on her face. She wondered offhand if this happened to all the girls, but she had never spoken to the woman. When she was done, she left the room, leaving Carter and Sileem alone.
God, Sam hated him.
He held out a new set of lingerie, navy blue this time. "Get dressed," he ordered.
"Get out," she countered.
She hadn't even noticed that he carried the stick weapon, but it was immediately out and jabbed into her bare, still damp shoulder. The pain was excruciating, far worse than before, and she screamed as she fell to the floor.
He threw the lingerie on the floor beside her and repeated simply, "Get dressed."
Using her best Girl Scout camp technique, she tried to put the clothes on under the towel without revealing anything – much, anyway – but the tight-fitting clothes and inability to use her left arm at the moment made it very, very difficult.
She more than hated him. She wanted to kill him.
When she was done, he grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to the bed, wrenching her arms up to tie them to the headboard again. The pain in her shoulder was terrible.
"You've been doing quite well, you know. It makes me wonder what's beneath this nasty little front you put on."
"Nothing for you," she gasped. She knew she shouldn't incite the man, but she couldn't help it.
The weapon found the bare skin above her hip and she cried out, but that pain was quickly replaced by another – he had grabbed her breast and was squeezing it hard.
"What did I tell you about the hand that feeds you?" he breathed into her ear.
She turned her face away. After a long, painful moment, he let her go and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
She wanted more than just to see him dead. She wanted to dance on his bloody, rotting corpse.
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The first thing Jack noticed when he stepped into the room was that Sam didn't look up, bright-eyed and eager like the day before. In fact, her eyes stayed closed. Her skin was ashen, her body still.
"Carter?" He rushed to the bed and touched her face, trying desperately to wake her. When her eyes opened, they were dull and unfocused. It frightened him. "Carter, you in there?" he said softly, putting his face close to hers.
"Yes, sir," she answered weakly. "My hands."
"Right." He released the device quickly, but didn't miss the flinch as she brought her arms down. For the first time, he noticed an angry black mark on her left shoulder. A burn? There was another, not as bad, just above her hip. "Carter, what happened?"
She rolled away from him and pushed herself up on her elbow. "Nothing. I'm okay."
As much as he wanted to fight her on that, she clearly didn't want to talk about it. "I, uh… brought dinner," he offered her back.
She straightened a little and finally turned to look at him. Some of the color had come back to her face, but not enough. "Thank you, sir, but I'm not very hungry." The smile she gave him was clearly fake.
"Maybe later, then." He put a hand to her cheek and opened his mouth before he could stop himself. "I'm gonna kill him, Carter."
She shook her head. "I pretty sure I get dibs on that, sir."
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The two hardly spoke for the rest of the night. The beacon, of course, hadn't worked, and Sam had spent a little while on the radio with Jacob and the technicians. Jacob had noticed the change in her voice and questioned her on it until Jack had taken the radio and told him fairly vehemently not to push the issue.
He had finally gotten her to eat a bit. That was a plus, at least. But when the sun hit the perfect spot in the sky, he noticed for the first time bruising forming around the top of the slinky top she wore, and he had to look away. She hadn't quite met his eyes since.
She was clearly exhausted, and so it was early when she settled in for the night. Jack started to climb in next to her, but thought better of it. "Carter," he offered, "I'll sleep on the floor."
"No," she said softly.
"Okay." He crawled carefully into bed, trying not to disturb her, but was surprised when she rolled toward him, pressing her face into his bare chest. Jack hoped she couldn't feel his heart breaking underneath the skin. He put a gentle arm around her and rubbed her back. "It's okay, Carter," he murmured. "I'm here. It's okay."
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Jack only got a few hours sleep that night. He stayed awake long after Sam's eyes closed, wishing he knew of some way to take her pain away. Sadly, he knew that even killing the man who inflicted it wouldn't really make it better.
Sam woke up violently in the middle of the night, only a few hours after Jack had fallen asleep. He held her, rocked her, spoke softly to her until the shaking subsided and she fell back to a fitful sleep. She hadn't cried – Carter never cried. He almost wished she would.
He spent the rest of the night holding the blankets tightly around her, swaddling her like a small child. It seemed to help, and though she twitched and groaned in her sleep, she didn't wake until well after the sun came up.
There wasn't much to say. Once she was really awake, he took the beacon and gathered his things together. "I'll be back soon," he promised. He made it almost to the door before she spoke.
"Don't go."
When he turned around, she was hanging her head, ashamed to have even made such a request. He sat back down on the bed next to her and took her hand. "I don't want to," he said softly. "I need to take this beacon back to Prometheus and then I'll be back. It'll only be an hour or two. I promise."
He watched her silently as she shored up her courage and nodded her head.
"I'll be back soon," he said again, and he left.