Sam's night was a tumultuous mix of bliss and torment. While the painkillers granted her temporary relief, the impending agony as their effects waned cast a shadow over her restless slumber. She had been given a bottle of pills at the hospital, but she discreetly discarded it on their way back to the car. The temptation was too great, and Sam knew all too well the dangers of succumbing to the allure of opioids. So, she resolved to endure the pain without the aid of medication despite the relentless throbbing in her thigh.
The age-old mantra persisted in her mind, albeit for varied reasons: "Pain is your friend. Embrace it. It hurts less".
The early morning hours found her tossing and turning in bed, each movement sending a jolt of pain coursing through her body. The doctor's instructions also echoed in her mind: rest and avoid exerting pressure on her leg to prevent further injury. A week of recovery lay ahead, much to the chagrin of her department, who would undoubtedly struggle in her absence. Sam was accustomed to shouldering the burden of demanding work hours and meeting seemingly impossible deadlines, a testament to her unwavering dedication and resilience. Rumors swirled about another potential promotion, a topic that didn't faze Sam in the slightest. She welcomed the prospect with open arms. Her ambition for a commanding post was no secret, and she eagerly embraced any opportunity that would bring her closer to her goal.
As the first light of dawn filtered through her window, a soft knock on her door signaled Jack's awakening.
"What?" she called out, her voice strained with fatigue and discomfort.
Jack entered cautiously, a tray in hand, his demeanor gentle yet hesitant.
"I've made you breakfast, so you don't have to get out of bed," he offered, placing the tray within her reach.
Sam closed her eyes briefly, trying to stifle the pain that surged with every movement.
"Okay," she relented, sitting up slowly, though the effort caused another sharp pang to shoot through her injured leg. Jack oversaw her, and concern etched into his features as he adjusted the curtains to let in more light.
"Are you in pain?" he asked, his arms crossed with concern.
"No," Sam lied, her breath hitching as she fought to maintain her composure. The mantra wasn't really working this time, or she was too exhausted—or both.
But Jack could see through her facade, noting the telltale signs of discomfort.
"I saw the doctor give you pain meds. Where are they? You need to take one," Jack insisted, scanning the room for the discarded bottle.
"Since when are you a doctor, Colonel?" Sam retorted icily, her tone laced with bitterness.
Jack's expression faltered, the sting of her words piercing through him.
"Okay, you're still mad at me, but you don't have to be in pain, Sam," he said softly, his concern evident.
Ignoring his protests, Sam focused on her coffee, a silent defiance emanating from her every movement. Jack's brow furrowed as he realized the implications of her actions.
"Sam, what have you done with the pills the doctor gave you?" he asked cautiously.
Sam remained silent, her gaze fixed on the mug in her hands. Jack's heart sank as he pieced together the truth.
"You threw them away," he concluded, his tone a mixture of understanding and resignation.
Sam refused to meet his gaze, a stubborn silence hanging between them. Jack took a deep breath, his resolve unwavering.
"Okay, so how are you going to deal with the pain? Because you are in pain, and you're going to be in pain. Tell me so I can help you," he urged gently.
Sam set down her coffee cup, her hands trembling with suppressed frustration.
"I deal with pain like everything else, Jack. I'll endure it," she asserted defiantly.
Jack sighed, realizing the futility of arguing with her in her current state.
"Okay. You'll endure it. But you could still take Tylenol or Advil for some mild relief without the risk of addiction. Am I wrong?" he suggested, his tone pleading. He had spent the entire night reading everything he could about the addiction to drugs and pain relievers.
Sam's jaw clenched, torn between her pride and the undeniable truth of Jack's words.
"Yes, I could take them, but that doesn't mean I will," she replied stubbornly.
"Why?" Jack pressed, his patience wearing thin.
"Because I don't want to risk it, okay?" Sam admitted, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
Jack's expression softened, his gaze unwavering as he reached out to her.
"All right, I understand that. But you're not alone anymore, Sam. I'm here. I'll help you," he offered earnestly.
Sam's icy stare bore into him, her distrust palpable.
"For that, I would have to trust you," she spat.
Jack swallowed hard, the weight of her words settling heavily upon him.
"I guess I deserved that," he conceded quietly.
"Yes, you did," Sam affirmed, her tone unyielding.
Jack interlocked his hands, a silent determination coursing through him.
"Fine, don't trust me for now. But you must be functional if you don't want to cancel dinner with your father tonight. Otherwise, we're having dinner here, in your bed. Your choice," he stated firmly.
A blush crept onto Sam's cheeks, her resolve wavering under Jack's unwavering gaze. After several agonizing minutes of silence, she relented.
"Fine. I'll take two Tylenol to be able to walk, and you keep the bottle. I'll probably need two more near dinner time," she conceded.
Jack rose from his seat.
"I'll shower and head to the supermarket to buy a bottle. Stay still," he instructed before exiting the room, taking the tray with him.
Left alone, Sam released the tears of frustration she had been holding back as the relentless pain continued to course through her. Fuck the mantra!
As agreed, Jack hurried to the nearest supermarket and swiftly purchased a bottle of Tylenol. Upon his return, he found Sam still in bed, her eyes closed as she attempted to find solace in deep breaths. Jack approached her slowly, clutching the pills and a glass of water. Coughing lightly to alert her to his presence, he watched as her eyes fluttered open.
"Here," he murmured, offering her the pills and the water.
Sam accepted them in silence, her hands trembling with the effort to control the pain that coursed through her body. Jack couldn't help but empathize, recalling his struggles when he had quit drinking. For Sam, the tremors were simply a byproduct of her suffering.
"What else can I do?" Jack inquired softly as she handed him back the glass.
Sam resisted the urge to tell him to 'fuck off,' instead opting to say to him to do whatever he pleased dismissively.
"I don't care, Jack," she muttered before closing her eyes again and resuming her breathing exercises.
Jack lingered momentarily, watching her intently before finally retreating from the room, leaving the door ajar. Determined to assist in any way he could, he decided to tackle some cleaning tasks. Sam's office still bore the traces of his earlier attempts at first aid, and he set about gathering and disposing of the evidence. He meticulously wiped away any lingering blood traces and restored order to the space.
Feeling accomplished, Jack vacuumed the rest of the house, closing Sam's bedroom door to avoid disturbing her rest. Once the floors were spotless, he turned his attention to the kitchen, determined to ensure Sam had a nutritious meal waiting for her when she awoke. After all, nourishment would be crucial for her recovery.
Jack was on the verge of bringing lunch to Sam's room when he nearly dropped the tray upon seeing her standing in the kitchen doorway, her pallor betraying her weakened state.
"What... what are you doing up?" he asked, setting the tray down on the island.
"I can't stay in bed all day," Sam replied, her voice showing determination despite her evident fatigue.
Jack cursed inwardly, momentarily considering calling General Carter to cancel the dinner.
"How's the pain?" he inquired, his concern palpable.
Sam glanced at the tray, noting the spread of soup, sandwiches, and a glass of orange juice.
"Is that for me?" she asked, deflecting his question.
Jack hesitated, placing a hand in front of the tray.
"How's the pain?" he repeated, his gaze unwavering.
Frustration flashed in Sam's eyes as she met his stern expression.
"Still here," she admitted begrudgingly.
"Better? Worse? The same?" Jack pressed, his hand still resting on the tray.
"A little better," Sam conceded, her voice tinged with exhaustion.
With a nod, Jack withdrew his hand and pushed the tray toward her.
"Enjoy," he said, sitting across from her at the table.
Sam began to eat her soup, noticing Jack's reluctance to join her.
"Aren't you eating?" she inquired, puzzled by his behavior.
"I'll eat later," Jack replied, his gaze fixed on her.
Sam felt her cheeks flush as she focused on her meal, feeling the weight of his stare.
"Why?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"To make sure you eat everything," Jack admitted with a small smile, attempting to lighten the mood.
Sam's irritation flared, her frustration bubbling to the surface.
"I'm not a child, Jack!" she snapped, her tone sharp.
Jack's smile faltered slightly, though he maintained his composure.
"Well, sometimes you fool me," he replied, the hint of a tease in his voice.
Suppressing the urge to storm off, Sam continued eating, forcing herself to swallow each bite despite the tension in her stomach.
"I'm sorry I entered your office and broke your trust. I shouldn't have done that. Please forgive me, Sam," Jack apologized softly, his tone sincere.
Sam remained silent, refusing to meet his gaze.
"I don't want to talk about that now," she said after a long pause.
"Okay," Jack assented, watching her eat with concern and guilt.
"In that case, can we talk about tonight's dinner? With your father?" he suggested, attempting to change the subject.
Sam looked up, her expression guarded.
"What about it?" she asked, taking a bite of her turkey sandwich.
"I suspect you don't want to tell him about your injury, do you?" Jack ventured, his brow furrowing with concern.
Sam shook her head, a slight grimace crossing her face at the thought of her father hovering over her.
"That's the last thing I want."
"So, you need to move as little as possible so he won't notice," Jack suggested, trying to be helpful.
Sam couldn't help but smile at his attempt to navigate her father's presence.
"You clearly don't know my father. That won't work," she remarked, amusement flickering.
Jack lifted an eyebrow in confusion, prompting Sam to clarify.
"But you just said you didn't want to tell him..." Jack started; his confusion was evident.
"I said I didn't want to tell him. Not that he wouldn't notice. Two different things," Sam pointed out with a grin, enjoying Jack's puzzled expression.
Jack's eyes widened in realization.
"Oh..." Jack murmured, understanding dawning on him.
"He'll know something is wrong with me the minute he walks through that door."
"So, what do you want to tell him?" he asked gently.
"Not the truth, obviously," Sam replied, her tone tinged with resignation.
Jack raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture.
"I'll back up whatever you want to tell him," he offered.
Sam sighed, her shoulders slumping.
"I'll just tell him I fell while running during my workout routine. It's the safest choice," she decided.
"And your week's leave?" Jack inquired, his brow furrowing with concern.
Sam chewed her lip, considering her response carefully.
"When I tripped and fell, a wooden stick went through my thigh. I had to get stitches. When you have to lie, stay as close to the truth as possible, Colonel," she advised.
Jack shook his head.
"Don't call me that, please," he requested.
Sam sighed, her tone softened by fatigue.
"Well, I have a lot on my mind right now, so deal with it," she quipped, slowly rising from her seat.
Jack watched her movements, his concern evident in his gaze.
"I don't suppose you want me to help you?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Nope," Sam replied, using the wall for support as she steadied herself.
With a silent curse, Jack turned to the fridge, resigned to eat his lunch alone.
Sam spent the rest of the afternoon resting while Jack watched some TV. As the time approached, Jack moved to the kitchen, eager to ensure everything was ready and to be there in case Sam needed assistance. He was preparing meatloaf when the doorbell rang. Knowing Sam wouldn't make it in time, Jack hurried to the door and opened it to face General Jacob Carter, impeccably dressed in dark blue pants, a pristine white shirt, and a light grey polo over it. Despite his composed appearance, Jack knew better than to underestimate him.
"Welcome, General," Jack greeted with a smile, accepting the bottle the General offered.
"Colonel," Jacob Carter replied, entering the house and gazing at Jack's vibrant purple apron adorned with planets. He had offered it to Sam when she bought the house, but she never used it since she didn't cook. Jack had found it hidden in one of the drawers.
Jack felt self-conscious until he realized the General's gift was sparkling water.
"Thanks," he muttered, feeling slightly relieved.
As Jacob returned to the living room, where Sam was seated on the couch, Jack retreated to the kitchen to resume cooking. Jack could hear Jacob's voice from the living room, tinged with concern as he addressed Sam.
"What the hell, Samantha?" Jacob exclaimed, his tone filled with worry.
Jack focused on cooking, allowing father and daughter to handle the matter privately.
In the living room, Jacob scrutinized his daughter, his gaze fixed not on her injured leg but on her face.
"Dad... it's not as bad as it looks. I just tripped", she said.
"You tripped? And why is your leg like that? Did you go to the hospital?" he asked, sitting beside her.
Sam took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"Yes, I needed stitches, and Jack took me there. I have to stay home for a week to rest and heal. I'm handling it, Dad. Don't worry," she reassured him.
Jacob glanced towards the kitchen, where Jack continued his culinary efforts.
"You could and should have called me. What about the pain?" he pressed gently.
Sam swallowed, her cheeks flushing slightly.
"They gave me the usual pain meds at the hospital, but I threw them away," she admitted.
Jacob closed his eyes momentarily, processing the information.
"Wait. Dad, I'm taking Tylenol. So, I'm not doing this cold turkey. He's helping me," Sam interjected.
Jacob turned his attention back to his daughter, gently stroking her hair.
"My dear Samantha," he murmured fondly.
"I can get through this, Dad," Sam asserted, her determination shining through.
Jacob smiled warmly.
"Oh, I know you can, and for once, I'm glad you aren't alone. Even if it's with him," he remarked, nodding subtly towards the kitchen, unaware that Jack was within earshot.
"I assure you, General, that I'll take good care of your daughter," Jack's voice suddenly interjected, startling Sam and her father.
"Jesus," Sam exclaimed, nearly jumping on the sofa, while Jacob shot Jack a pointed glare but remained silent.
Jack quickly defused the tension.
"And I just came to say that dinner is ready. So, you can come whenever you want," he announced with a broad grin before retreating to the kitchen, leaving father and daughter slightly embarrassed by the unexpected interruption.
The atmosphere during dinner was tense, the clinking of utensils against plates filling the awkward silence that hung heavy in the air. Sam's father sat at the head of the table, his gaze alternating between Sam and Jack, his expression a mixture of concern and disapproval.
"So, Jack," Jacob began, breaking the uneasy silence. "Would you care to explain your continuous presence here?"
Sam briefly closed her eyes while Jack shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling the weight of Jacob's scrutiny.
"Sir, as I said before, I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused by being here," he started, his tone measured. "Your daughter has kindly offered me a room to stay while I go through my recovery at AA."
Jacob raised an eyebrow skeptically.
"You already told me that. And you will go on staying here for how long?"
Sam intervened, her voice calm yet firm. "Dad, this is my house, and that is my business. Jack will stay as long as necessary, and his presence here helped me."
Jacob's gaze softened momentarily as he looked at his daughter, but the tension remained palpable.
"Sam, I understand that you value Jack's support, but I can't help but worry about the circumstances surrounding your injury."
Sam took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation that she knew was inevitable.
"I told you, Dad, I just tripped. It was a stupid accident."
Jacob's eyes narrowed slightly, unconvinced.
"You tripped? And stuck a piece of wood in your leg? While running?"
Sam looked at the meatloaf in her place.
"I told you it was stupid…" she said again.
Jack cleared his throat, sensing the escalating tension.
"Sir, I assure you it was just an accident. She was bleeding and needed medical attention, and I was here to assist."
Jacob regarded Jack with a scrutinizing gaze, searching for any hint of dishonesty.
"And I get back to what I asked you the last time we talked…what are your intentions, Colonel? Are you planning to stick around for much longer?"
Jack met Jacob's gaze evenly, his expression unwavering.
"I care about your daughter, Sir. I'll be here as long as she wants and needs me. And however, she needs me."
Jacob remained silent momentarily, his thoughts swirling as he processed Jack's words. Finally, he spoke, his tone softer than before.
"Sam, I trust your judgment but must know you're safe."
Sam took her father's hand, offering him a reassuring smile.
"Dad, I appreciate your concern, but I can handle myself. And Jack is here to help me."
Jacob sighed, conceding defeat.
"Very well. But I expect you both to keep me informed about any developments."
The remainder of the dinner passed in strained conversation, the tension gradually easing as they focused on lighter topics. Despite the initial discomfort, they managed to find common ground. As the evening drew to a close, Jacob rose from the table, his demeanor softer than before.
"I'll be keeping an eye on both of you," he said with a small smile, his concern for his daughter evident.
Jack nodded respectfully. "Understood, sir."
With a final nod, Jacob bid them goodnight, leaving Jack to clear the table in comfortable silence, the lingering tension of the evening slowly dissipating as he worked alone, and she went to the living room. She picked up the remote and started to flip the channels. She was exhausted.
After finishing the kitchen cleanup, Jack prepared Sam's medication and a glass of water.
"Here," he said softly, offering it to her.
Sam accepted the pills in silence, her mind elsewhere as she swallowed them down. Jack settled onto the sofa, breaking the silence.
"I can leave whenever you want me to, Sam," he offered, his voice gentle.
Sam shot him a glance before turning her attention back to the TV.
"You're not a prisoner, Jack. You're free to go whenever you want," she corrected him, her tone measured.
Jack sank deeper into the cushions, contemplating her words.
"But what if I don't want to leave?" he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
A sudden dryness filled Sam's mouth, and she hesitated before responding.
"I don't think now's the time to discuss staying or leaving," she replied cautiously, her eyes flickering to the screen where a nature program played in the background.
Jack absentmindedly fidgeted with the blanket draped over the sofa.
"But you still want to sleep alone, right?" he questioned, already knowing the answer.
Sam swallowed hard.
"Yes," she confirmed, her fingers tracing the other edge of the blanket as if searching for comfort amidst the tension. The program on TV depicted a struggle for dominance—a lone lion surrounded by several lionesses.
"Right," Jack muttered under his breath, his disappointment evident.
Sam glanced at him briefly, sensing his sulking demeanor.
"Thank you for making dinner for my father," she offered sincerely, attempting to ease the tension.
"You're welcome," Jack mumbled, his tone subdued.
Sam clenched her fists beneath her sweater, feeling the weight of their unresolved emotions hanging in the air.
"I think I'm going to bed," she announced, attempting to rise from the sofa—a sharp pain shot through her leg, causing her to wince.
In an instant, Jack was on his feet, reaching out to support her.
"I've got you," he reassured her, his touch gentle yet firm.
Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, and before Jack could stop himself, he leaned in to kiss her, his hand finding its place on her neck as he drew her closer. Sam didn't resist, but her response was tepid, her mind elsewhere.
Jack reluctantly released her.
"Fine, Sam. I won't push," he conceded, his tone tinged with frustration. "Have it your way."
Sam steadied herself, gritting her teeth against the pain in her leg as she stood alone. She retreated to her bedroom without another word, leaving Jack grappling with his inner turmoil.
Frustration surged through Jack as he ran his hands through his hair, the urge to drown his aggravation in a drink growing stronger. His old demon was rearing its head too often lately, a troubling pattern for Jack. Since the incident in Sam's office, the desire for a drink had surfaced more than once, a worrying sign he couldn't ignore. He knew he had to stay committed to his sobriety and the progress he'd made, but it wasn't easy. Disappointing Sam was bad enough, but Jack feared disappointing himself even more.