By Mickey
STORY STATUS: Completed 4/11/07
SPOILERS: Abyss, Meridian
CONTENT WARNINGS: Mild language
A rather loud commotion draws my attention from what I'm doing. I hear the colonel's angry voice.
"Damn it!" He bellows. "I said I'm not hungry."
Did I say angry? I meant down right pissed.
Then there's a clatter as metal meets the floor. I sigh as I finish up the report I am working on and file it away.
Just as I suspected. Sergeant Pamela Gremk, one of my best nurses, stops him from getting up to help clean up his mess. I consider stepping in to help, but she has things under control. She's one of the very few people who can exert any kind of control over the colonel. Which is why she volunteered to bring him his lunch today.
Finally, he relents. Of course, the look on her face could melt steel. I taught her well. After several minutes, and before the colonel can make anymore of a nuisance of himself, I decide to make my presence known.
"Sir, I realize the commissary isn't exactly known for its gourmet cuisine, but you need to eat."
"That's the understatement of the year."
Oh yeah. Testy as always. Well I can give just as good as I get. He knows that. Our verbal sparing goes on a bit longer. I make sure to keep my voice even, reassuring. This isn't his fault. He needs understanding and patience right now, not anger or a fight. He will need all of his strength to get through this. The road to recovery will be long and hard for him.
Unfortunately, it's one he's painfully familiar with.
He's done the "drugged out of his mind and strapped to a bed" thing before.
Twice.
I know why he won't eat. He gets like that every time he's seriously injured. Or when he's been through a particularly harrowing mental ordeal.
This time, like too many others, it was both.
I'm just waiting for the retching to start.
His eyes divert from mine. I can see his shame. Damn it! I hate seeing him like this. It isn't fair. It isn't right.
I get up and gather some things I'll need. He isn't going to like this, but it can't be helped. He's dehydrated. Not only is he not eating, he isn't drinking very much either. Eventually, whether either of us likes it or not, I'll have to start sedating him as well.
His eyes open upon my return to his beside.
"No." Determination is fierce in his eyes and voice. It only takes a minute to persuade him to let me do this. He knows the drill. He also knows I won't administer any drugs until it's absolutely necessary.
It takes me but a few minutes to set up the IV. His eyes close and he doesn't acknowledge what I'm doing, not until I get up to leave. Then he grips my hand tightly with strength he shouldn't have.
He pleads with me to stay. There are some things I really need to get done, but I can't stand to hear him beg. It happens so very rarely and breaks my heart. This time I relent. I assure him I'll be right back then get Lieutenant Renik to do a few things for me. I grab a book for myself and a glass of water for the colonel.
The colonel falls asleep in less than five minutes, which shows just how exhausted he is, but I continue to read to him for another half hour. I want to make sure he stays asleep. Satisfied he isn't going to wake up again, I stand and stretch my stiff limbs. We really need to get some more comfortable chairs in here. My butt is sore and my back feels stiff.
I check his temperature. It's a little high, but within acceptable levels. I adjust his sheet and IV then go back to my office. My thoughts go back to when we started treating him. I've seen the clothes he was wearing when he returned. My imagination is painting some pretty gruesome pictures. The sad part is, the torture was probably much, much, worse.
His shirt has at least a half dozen holes caused by knives. It's obvious the holes were made bigger by multiple hits. At least a half a dozen more are burn holes most likely caused by some kind of acid. I've got the lab checking on the chemical make up of the residue around the holes. My blood pressure damn near hit the roof when I saw his pants. Particularly, the hole in the crotch area.
Adding an injury report to anyone's medical file is never fun, but adding one to the colonel's makes me cringe more than usual. His is easily four times thinker than any three members of the other SG teams altogether. I hate the fact that my entries have made it so much thicker since I've been stationed here. In the past six years I've added one broken leg, several staff weapon and other types of burns, alien possession of various forms, countless broken ribs, hypothermia, and a few concussions to the ever-thickening file. And that's just the short list.
We will, most likely, never now the full extent of what was done to him this time, but I have a pretty damn good idea. To be perfectly honest. I really don't want to know.
If I ever get my hands on that son of a bitch, Ba'al, I'll kill him. Slowly and in the most painful manner possible.
Screw the Hippocratic oath.
General Hammond is the only one who knows about the pants. I haven't told his team and I have no intention of ever doing so. They don't need to know. I know the colonel will never tell them nor would he want me to.
"Daniel?"
I stop in my tracks as soon as I hear the colonel muttering. He must be dreaming about Daniel's . . . death. God, I miss him. We all do. I think the Colonel was hit the hardest by it, although you'd never have guessed it by looking at him. The colonel hides his true emotions very, very well.
"I just tossed my shoe through you."
What? I guess he started hallucinating that Daniel was with him while he was a prisoner. He mumbles incoherently now as he tosses and turns. I consider starting him on a sedative, but then he stops. I watch him for a few minutes more as adjust his sheets and make sure he hasn't dislodged his IV. Satisfied that he is resting peacefully again, I brush my hand across his forehead one more time then turn to leave.
I don't get far before I hear him croak, "Doc." He's propped himself up on his right elbow. His face is even paler than it was before.
I turn and quickly grab a bedpan, not that there's much to come out, shoving it in front of face just in time. It takes several long, agonizing minutes before the retching stops. Exhausted, the colonel flops back on the bed and covers his eyes with his arm.
If I didn't know better, I'd have sworn I just heard a sob.
I turn my back and get rid of the bedpan, giving him time to compose himself. By the time I return, his arm is back by his side and a little color has come back to his face. A little, but not much. I sit on the edge of his bed and wipe his face and neck with a cool, damp cloth. He gives me a weak but grateful smile.
I really need to get going. I hate to leave him, but I need to check in with Cassie. She loves Jack so much. Aggravating as it is for her that she can't be here with him, she does understand why. That doesn't mean she likes it though. Soon, she will be an important part of his recovery, but she doesn't know that yet. The colonel wouldn't let her see him like this, even if I did allow it.
"Rest." I tell him as I stand to leave.
"Doc." I pause once more as I get to the door. "Thanks."
I turn and smile. "Anytime, sir." Anytime. The road before him will be long and hard, but he won't travel it alone.
TBC