(no subject)
Title: Down Here Among the Wreckage
Author: Annerb
Summary: Five years ago, SG-1 broke in half. Two years ago, Earth lost. Today, there is one last chance to fix things. But sometimes the pieces just don’t fit back together again.
Warnings: Mature for language, violence, torture, non-con, adult themes, and some temporal meandering.
Categorization: AU, H/C, darkfic, tragedy, and apocafic for flavor. Team, Sam/Jack.
A/N: Special thanks to syxp and la_tante for the betas.
Part 1: History
Prologue
Chapter 1: Fragments
Five years earlier…
“Master!”
A brash young Jaffa, one who has yet to don his first full suit of armor, bursts into the tent. Bra’tac frowns at the youth’s willful disregard for protocol.
The Jaffa stumbles to a halt, clapping his fist belatedly across his chest, bowing his head. “Forgive me, Master,” he says, visibly trying to rein in his impatience.
Bra’tac simply grunts, pushing himself reluctantly back to his feet. Since the death of Apophis, a death O’Neill promised would actually ‘stick’ this time, it has become harder and harder to reconcile heady freedom with the discipline necessary to the life of a Jaffa. It is one thing to question, another to abandon all traditions. Just another difficulty on the path of freedom, one Bra’tac is more than happy to be burdened with.
There was a time Bra’tac sent such young warriors to their deaths for nothing but the ego of a false god. Those days are past.
“Speak, Arnok,” Bra’tac barks when the youth continues to shuffle nervously. Inwardly, Bra’tac smiles when Arnok flinches. Ah, for the foolishness of youth.
“Master,” Arnok finally manages to say. “A woman has come through the chappa’ai.”
“A woman?” Bra’tac repeats, all amusement draining away. “Human?”
“Yes, Master,” he confirms.
“Take me to her immediately.”
Bra’tac follows Arnok through the tents of the training camp, pushing their pace only as fast as is proper. His heart thumps with hope he knows is imprudent, wishing he could lift his robes and sprint for the chappa’ai.
‘Perhaps foolishness is not the sole province of youth after all,’ he thinks with a wry grimace.
Once on the forest path and out of view of the tents, Bra’tac urges Arnok out of his sedate pace. “I am not so old that we need crawl!”
Less than five minutes later they break out of the trees. Near the gate he can see a collection of half a dozen Jaffa all loosely grouped around a figure.
Bra’tac nearly stumbles to a stop when he catches his first clear view of the woman.
Praise whatever true deity may exist, it is she.
She sits on the top step, her back nearly against the chappa’ai, a most imprudent place to linger if the great mouth were to open.
“Jaffa!” Bra’tac calls, gesturing for the men to fall back even farther.
They open a path in front of him and he warily approaches the woman, studying her as he does. She appears unharmed, but her formless smock of indeterminate color is something Bra’tac recognizes as the clothes given to long-term prisoners of the Goa’uld.
She doesn’t move or look up as he nears.
“Major Carter?” he says, one hand daring to reach out to touch her shoulder.
Her blue eyes remain unfocused, intent only on the dirt at her feet.
She is stillness.
And Bra’tac begins to understand.
They are all fools when it comes to hope.
* * *
George Hammond lowers the red phone back to its cradle, feeling weariness settle into his bones, a deep ache that makes him wonder, not for the first time, if he is too old for this job. He’s damn tired of losing good people, of sitting behind this desk and filling out forms.
Two papers sit in front of him at the moment, both waiting for a signature that will declare two people presumed dead and end the eight-week long search for them.
It feels like giving up, too much like betrayal. But when the red phone speaks, it’s his job to comply.
He imagines, for a moment, Jack O’Neill sitting across from him, his posture casual but his expression intense.
‘That’s bullshit, George, and you know it.’
“True enough,” George says, picking up his pen with real regret.
Before the first signature seals anyone’s fate though, the red lights flash, a warning called out over the loud speakers. “Unauthorized off-world activation!”
George doesn’t dare to hope, but pushes out of his chair just the same.
“Receiving Master Bra’tac’s IDC, sir,” Walter informs him when he reaches the control room.
“Open the iris.”
When the iris peels back, two people emerge from the wormhole, both very familiar.
For a moment after the first figure steps through, George thinks he may be hallucinating, his own hopes materializing into an apparition, but then he hears the harsh in-takes of those around him, knowing they are seeing the same thing he is.
“Get SG-1 in here,” George orders.
Half-listening to the call over the speakers, George looks down at the woman he’d just been about to declare dead.
Sam is backlit by the wormhole she just walked through. Bra’tac stands to one side, his hand hovering near her back, not touching as if he’s scared to make contact, but still unsure that she’ll remain standing on her own. George has rarely seen the Jaffa Master so disconcerted.
She doesn’t look injured, but something about the way she holds herself doesn’t sit right with George. They learned a long time ago that not all injuries are visible. Or physical.
“Get a medical team up here,” he says to Walter.
The wormhole blinks out behind the two unmoving figures and still, neither of them speak.
Below, Daniel has reached the gate room, coming to a stop at the base of the ramp, the same disbelief mixed with crushing relief on his face that George feels. They haven’t seen Sam in eight long weeks, and, as evidenced by the forms on his desk, had begun to fear they never would again.
“Sam?” Daniel asks, his hands twitching against his sides as if fighting back the urge to rush up the ramp towards her.
There’s no outward reaction from Sam, not even the slightest movement of her eyes in his direction. She continues to stand with one arm hugged across her chest, her eyes blindly staring at the ramp.
Teal’c reaches Daniel’s side then, and right on his heels is Dr. Fraiser. She stops by Daniel, the two of them sharing a moment of silent communication before Dr. Fraiser slowly walks up the ramp. Approaching Sam, she touches her on one arm, but there is not the tiniest flicker of response.
George watches as Dr. Fraiser convinces her to lie on the gurney with ease, just another sign that something is terribly wrong. As she is rolled out of the room, George joins SG-1 and Bra’tac in the gate room.
“Master Bra’tac,” George says by way of greeting, the other man bowing his head slightly.
“Where did you find her?” Daniel asks, his voice a bit hoarse.
“I did not,” Bra’tac replies. “She was discovered wandering near the chappa'ai on Chulak. One of my pupils recognized her and brought me to her directly.”
“She just appeared on Chulak?” Daniel asks. “Do you have any idea how she got there? Where she’s been all this time?”
Bra’tac shakes his head. “You see how she is. She has not spoken a word. I am not even certain she recognized me. I just thought it best to return her home as soon as possible.”
“And we are grateful for that,” George says. “Hopefully, given a little time, Major Carter will be able to tell us herself.”
“That is my hope as well,” Bra’tac says with a small smile.
“And Jack?” Daniel interjects, asking the question no one wants to verbalize.
Bra’tac’s face becomes grave once more. “There has been no word.”
Oppressive silence settles over the room.
* * *
Daniel sits in a dim corner of the infirmary watching the steady, competent motions of Janet’s hands as they run efficiently over Sam’s still form. The gestures are comforting. Familiar. Just like the smell of antiseptic and the feel of cool, rough concrete against his back. It’s assumed by many that Daniel hates the infirmary with single-minded focus, but the truth is, no matter how many horrible things have almost happened in these rooms, there is still something fundamentally reassuring about this place, the logic and organization of Janet’s infirmary.
Today Daniel is taking comfort where he can, because Sam is still eerily silent, her eyes wide and staring. Alive, but not living.
The last time he saw Sam was across a hazy field as she yelled at him to double-time it through the gate.
“Don’t argue with me, Daniel! Just go! We’re right behind you.”
Only they weren’t.
Jack and Sam never made it home from that planet.
Neither Daniel nor Teal’c managed to get a clear look at the Jaffa who ambushed them. The Tok’ra knew nothing, could only confirm that Sam and Jack were not the prisoners of any of the System Lords. How were they supposed to search when they had not the slightest clue where to start looking?
It was as if they had both disappeared into the mist of that damn planet.
Even now that Sam is back, it’s as if she is still shrouded in mist, not a single outward clue to help them understand where she has been, what she has endured.
“You’re going to feel a small pinch here, Sam,” Janet says as she draws a blood sample. She’s been keeping up a steady stream of one-sided conversation as long as Daniel’s been here.
As usual, Sam doesn’t answer, but she does flinch, looking down at her arm almost as in surprise.
Daniel sits up, watching closely, feeling hope rise at this brief sign of life in her, but Sam just leans back against the bed, staring once more at the ceiling.
“Sorry about that,” Janet murmurs.
Daniel drops his head back against the hard wall.
Teal’c and General Hammond join them after a while, Hammond dropping one hand to Daniel’s shoulder in an uncharacteristically paternal gesture. Hammond, he knows, is probably just as unsettled as the rest of them are.
“How is she?” he asks.
“About the same,” Daniel says. “She still hasn’t said anything.”
Hammond lowers himself onto the bench next to Daniel, apparently settling in for the long haul. Glancing at the clock, Daniel knows they all should have gone home by now. No one is ridiculous enough to suggest it.
When Janet finishes with Sam, she gestures for the men to follow her into her office.
“Tell us what you can, Doctor,” Hammond says.
“Well, best I can tell, she’s dehydrated, a bit malnourished, but nothing serious.”
Daniel knows he should feel relieved, but he can’t quite let himself believe Sam has come away from what they suspect is eight weeks of captivity without a scratch.
“She shows no physical signs of trauma,” Janet continues.
“But if they used a sarcophagus…,” Daniel counters.
Janet nods, weariness crossing her face. They all know that a sarcophagus can hide countless evils done to the human body. “At least she’s not showing any signs of withdrawal.”
“Not yet,” Daniel tacks on before he can stop himself. He’s not sure why he’s insisting on the worst-case scenario. Hadn’t that always been Jack’s job?
Janet concedes the point with another nod. “Her blood work will be able to tell us for certain.”
“Is there any physical reason she cannot speak, Doctor?” Hammond asks.
“None that I can see, sir,” she says with a shake of her head. Her voice sounds a bit rough around the edges as if she’s angry at her inability to find them answers.
“Should we bring in Dr. MacKenzie?” Hammond says delicately as if to make the words less painful.
Daniel hears it anyway. The general wants to know if Sam has lost her mind.
Janet opens her mouth, her eyes darting to Daniel. “I think that’s probably a good idea, sir.”
Daniel turns away, his eyes landing on silent, still Sam.
Three days of silence later, the psychologists are plying them with complex terms about post-traumatic stress disorder and frozen states. Daniel thinks this is about way more than trauma. Sam has good reason to be silent, even if he doesn’t know what that is. People are worrying that she is perhaps brain-damaged or no longer able to function in the real world.
Daniel knows differently.
When Sam first came back, her eyes were blank and he knew she hadn’t really believed she was here, that she could be safe at the SGC once more. But time here has changed that for her. He knows she accepts this now, because even beyond her lack of words and the shield she has erected around herself, Daniel can see that she is thinking and processing.
Hammond has been questioning Sam for nearly twenty minutes now with no response. She shows no interest in pen and paper and though Daniel knows she is listening, she has no intention of responding.
The only outward reaction she lets slip through is the slight clenching of her fingers when Hammond asks her about Jack.
Daniel doesn’t think anyone else even notices.
“Sam,” Daniel says, breaking his long silence. “We need to know.”
He can read her reluctance as she stares stubbornly at her sheets, her breathing unnaturally even.
“Sam.”
She understands what he is asking. He knows she does. Is Jack alive? Can he be saved? Is there any hope?
Sam lifts her eyes to his for the first time since she returned, a long, electric moment of connection between them. He’s not ready for what he sees there: the flat, lifeless quality to eyes that had once been familiar.
She looks haunted. Resigned. He’s not sure which is worse.
Daniel knows then though, knows that only part of Sam has been returned to them.
“Jack?” he asks again, his voice wanting to crack over the word as dread squeezes his chest.
Very deliberately, Sam shakes her head, her eyes dropping away from his.
Daniel's left to wonder if this hopelessness is what stole her voice.
* * *
Teal’c watches the interrogation of Major Carter from afar. Watches Daniel Jackson begin to realize that though she has been returned to them, she may never again be what she was.
Teal’c is the only one to truly understand what she probably suffered during her captivity. He keeps such knowledge to himself. He assumes Major Carter’s silence must be necessary to her in some fundamental way. He will not betray that with speculation about a tale that is not his to tell.
He recognizes it though, that expression he has witnessed on prisoners before. Prisoners broken by any and all means necessary.
He sees it and understands what it means.
When she is ready to be released from the infirmary there is brief discussion of transferring her to a facility that may more fully serve her ‘special’ needs, as if she is an uncomfortable reminder of their own vulnerabilities that needs to be hidden from sight. A reminder that only a small twist of fate separates them from her.
Daniel Jackson objects. “You are not sticking her in some damn ward.”
Dr. Fraiser agrees. “She’s not a danger to herself. She’s functioning. She just doesn’t interact. She’s much better off here, among people and things she knows and is comfortable with.”
In the end, Major Carter is given a room on base next to Teal’c’s, an implicit agreement that he will keep an eye on her at night, be there in case she has need of anyone.
She never spends a single night in her own room.
Each evening she knocks on Teal’c’s door. She always takes an almost involuntary step back when he opens the door, her eyes darting past him to the room behind.
“I would appreciate your company if you wish to come inside,” he says each time, stepping back to let her make the decision herself.
Choice would have been the first thing her captors stole from her.
After a moment or two of hesitation, she enters.
She flinches a bit when the door closes, moving to the far wall and leaning back against it. When Teal’c retakes his seat on the floor, she also slides down the wall until her knees are drawn into her chest.
She has never appeared smaller to him than these hours she spends huddled in the flickering candlelight of his quarters, looking as if the shadows might swallow her whole.
She waits, her eyes intent on him and her body tense, until he begins to speak.
He speaks of inconsequential things. He doesn’t need to interrogate her, doesn’t need to pry to know what she’s suffered. She survived it, is coping as well as she can. He can ask no more of her than that.
He talks to her of the last eight weeks, any odd occurrences, conversations overheard in the commissary, or base anecdotes. He doesn’t know if she hears the words or is just listening to the cadence of his voice. Either way, he speaks until she finally sleeps, curled up on the hard concrete of his floor.
Each night it is the same.
During the day, Teal’c watches her closely. He notices the way she eats steadily and throws herself into physical rehabilitation with the fever of one possessed. He can see past her silence, knowing there is more they don’t understand about what she endured.
She turns to him sometimes, awareness of his scrutiny in her eyes, wary that he might spill her secret. That he might interfere.
“I will assist you,” he says, shifting to spot her as she lifts weights, or pacing and encouraging her on the treadmill.
In these moments, she closes her eyes briefly, her fingers tentatively brushing his. It is the only physical contact he ever witnesses her make of her own volition. When the moment passes and she looks at him again, there is only the steely determination of a warrior with a mission.
Teal’c understands this far too well.
He does not know for certain what she is preparing for, what goal she has set for herself. It is enough that he suspects. He respects her right to it and will help her reach it.
Three weeks later when Jacob Carter arrives, she surprises them all by letting him pull her into a hug.
“I’d like to bring her back with me for a while, if she wants,” Jacob Carter says, disconcerted by the condition he finds her in.
They protest, but Major Carter takes her father’s hand, waits until he looks at her and nods firmly once.
And so it begins, Teal’c thinks.
He has carried her as far as he can.
* * *
A small crowd gathers to see Sam off. Daniel watches her as she enters, people murmuring their farewells as she passes. She doesn’t pause or respond, walking straight to the base of the ramp where her father waits for her.
Jacob takes the pack from Sam’s hand and begins to lead her up the ramp, but Sam resists, pulling back slightly, and he turns to her, concern creasing his face.
Daniel wonders if she has changed her mind.
But Sam merely crosses over to Daniel and stands less than a foot in front of him. As he’s come to expect, she doesn’t say anything, but she does take his face between her two hands, the flesh of her palms cool against his cheeks. Her eyes say everything they need to and Daniel knows without her saying that this is a goodbye. Woven into the love and gratitude is the knowledge that she doesn’t plan to return.
“Sam,” Daniel sighs, batting down the urge to grab her and keep her here.
Her face crumples momentarily and she leans in, her forehead resting against his for a fleeting last moment of contact.
She releases him, turning to Teal’c and grabbing the man’s upper arms. He pulls her into a full hug. Sam tenses at first before melting into his arms.
“May you find that which you seek,” Daniel can hear Teal’c say in an undertone.
She nods against his chest, her fingers clenching on his arms.
Then, as if she flips a switch somewhere, her expression wipes clean and she steps away from him.
She backs up the ramp, taking the time to look around the room at all the people who have gathered to see her off. At the horizon, she hesitates, turning to Hammond and saluting one last time.
She steps through.
Only three days pass before Jacob returns to the SGC.
“She’s gone,” he says, looking a little lost.
Teal’c isn’t surprised and Daniel wonders if this is what his parting words meant.
The three men share a look, all of them conscious of the same simple fact.
She won’t be found. Not unless she wants to be.
And just like that, Sam Carter disappears out into the universe again.
Next Chapter
Author: Annerb
Summary: Five years ago, SG-1 broke in half. Two years ago, Earth lost. Today, there is one last chance to fix things. But sometimes the pieces just don’t fit back together again.
Warnings: Mature for language, violence, torture, non-con, adult themes, and some temporal meandering.
Categorization: AU, H/C, darkfic, tragedy, and apocafic for flavor. Team, Sam/Jack.
A/N: Special thanks to syxp and la_tante for the betas.
Part 1: History
Prologue
Chapter 1: Fragments
Five years earlier…
“Master!”
A brash young Jaffa, one who has yet to don his first full suit of armor, bursts into the tent. Bra’tac frowns at the youth’s willful disregard for protocol.
The Jaffa stumbles to a halt, clapping his fist belatedly across his chest, bowing his head. “Forgive me, Master,” he says, visibly trying to rein in his impatience.
Bra’tac simply grunts, pushing himself reluctantly back to his feet. Since the death of Apophis, a death O’Neill promised would actually ‘stick’ this time, it has become harder and harder to reconcile heady freedom with the discipline necessary to the life of a Jaffa. It is one thing to question, another to abandon all traditions. Just another difficulty on the path of freedom, one Bra’tac is more than happy to be burdened with.
There was a time Bra’tac sent such young warriors to their deaths for nothing but the ego of a false god. Those days are past.
“Speak, Arnok,” Bra’tac barks when the youth continues to shuffle nervously. Inwardly, Bra’tac smiles when Arnok flinches. Ah, for the foolishness of youth.
“Master,” Arnok finally manages to say. “A woman has come through the chappa’ai.”
“A woman?” Bra’tac repeats, all amusement draining away. “Human?”
“Yes, Master,” he confirms.
“Take me to her immediately.”
Bra’tac follows Arnok through the tents of the training camp, pushing their pace only as fast as is proper. His heart thumps with hope he knows is imprudent, wishing he could lift his robes and sprint for the chappa’ai.
‘Perhaps foolishness is not the sole province of youth after all,’ he thinks with a wry grimace.
Once on the forest path and out of view of the tents, Bra’tac urges Arnok out of his sedate pace. “I am not so old that we need crawl!”
Less than five minutes later they break out of the trees. Near the gate he can see a collection of half a dozen Jaffa all loosely grouped around a figure.
Bra’tac nearly stumbles to a stop when he catches his first clear view of the woman.
Praise whatever true deity may exist, it is she.
She sits on the top step, her back nearly against the chappa’ai, a most imprudent place to linger if the great mouth were to open.
“Jaffa!” Bra’tac calls, gesturing for the men to fall back even farther.
They open a path in front of him and he warily approaches the woman, studying her as he does. She appears unharmed, but her formless smock of indeterminate color is something Bra’tac recognizes as the clothes given to long-term prisoners of the Goa’uld.
She doesn’t move or look up as he nears.
“Major Carter?” he says, one hand daring to reach out to touch her shoulder.
Her blue eyes remain unfocused, intent only on the dirt at her feet.
She is stillness.
And Bra’tac begins to understand.
They are all fools when it comes to hope.
* * *
George Hammond lowers the red phone back to its cradle, feeling weariness settle into his bones, a deep ache that makes him wonder, not for the first time, if he is too old for this job. He’s damn tired of losing good people, of sitting behind this desk and filling out forms.
Two papers sit in front of him at the moment, both waiting for a signature that will declare two people presumed dead and end the eight-week long search for them.
It feels like giving up, too much like betrayal. But when the red phone speaks, it’s his job to comply.
He imagines, for a moment, Jack O’Neill sitting across from him, his posture casual but his expression intense.
‘That’s bullshit, George, and you know it.’
“True enough,” George says, picking up his pen with real regret.
Before the first signature seals anyone’s fate though, the red lights flash, a warning called out over the loud speakers. “Unauthorized off-world activation!”
George doesn’t dare to hope, but pushes out of his chair just the same.
“Receiving Master Bra’tac’s IDC, sir,” Walter informs him when he reaches the control room.
“Open the iris.”
When the iris peels back, two people emerge from the wormhole, both very familiar.
For a moment after the first figure steps through, George thinks he may be hallucinating, his own hopes materializing into an apparition, but then he hears the harsh in-takes of those around him, knowing they are seeing the same thing he is.
“Get SG-1 in here,” George orders.
Half-listening to the call over the speakers, George looks down at the woman he’d just been about to declare dead.
Sam is backlit by the wormhole she just walked through. Bra’tac stands to one side, his hand hovering near her back, not touching as if he’s scared to make contact, but still unsure that she’ll remain standing on her own. George has rarely seen the Jaffa Master so disconcerted.
She doesn’t look injured, but something about the way she holds herself doesn’t sit right with George. They learned a long time ago that not all injuries are visible. Or physical.
“Get a medical team up here,” he says to Walter.
The wormhole blinks out behind the two unmoving figures and still, neither of them speak.
Below, Daniel has reached the gate room, coming to a stop at the base of the ramp, the same disbelief mixed with crushing relief on his face that George feels. They haven’t seen Sam in eight long weeks, and, as evidenced by the forms on his desk, had begun to fear they never would again.
“Sam?” Daniel asks, his hands twitching against his sides as if fighting back the urge to rush up the ramp towards her.
There’s no outward reaction from Sam, not even the slightest movement of her eyes in his direction. She continues to stand with one arm hugged across her chest, her eyes blindly staring at the ramp.
Teal’c reaches Daniel’s side then, and right on his heels is Dr. Fraiser. She stops by Daniel, the two of them sharing a moment of silent communication before Dr. Fraiser slowly walks up the ramp. Approaching Sam, she touches her on one arm, but there is not the tiniest flicker of response.
George watches as Dr. Fraiser convinces her to lie on the gurney with ease, just another sign that something is terribly wrong. As she is rolled out of the room, George joins SG-1 and Bra’tac in the gate room.
“Master Bra’tac,” George says by way of greeting, the other man bowing his head slightly.
“Where did you find her?” Daniel asks, his voice a bit hoarse.
“I did not,” Bra’tac replies. “She was discovered wandering near the chappa'ai on Chulak. One of my pupils recognized her and brought me to her directly.”
“She just appeared on Chulak?” Daniel asks. “Do you have any idea how she got there? Where she’s been all this time?”
Bra’tac shakes his head. “You see how she is. She has not spoken a word. I am not even certain she recognized me. I just thought it best to return her home as soon as possible.”
“And we are grateful for that,” George says. “Hopefully, given a little time, Major Carter will be able to tell us herself.”
“That is my hope as well,” Bra’tac says with a small smile.
“And Jack?” Daniel interjects, asking the question no one wants to verbalize.
Bra’tac’s face becomes grave once more. “There has been no word.”
Oppressive silence settles over the room.
* * *
Daniel sits in a dim corner of the infirmary watching the steady, competent motions of Janet’s hands as they run efficiently over Sam’s still form. The gestures are comforting. Familiar. Just like the smell of antiseptic and the feel of cool, rough concrete against his back. It’s assumed by many that Daniel hates the infirmary with single-minded focus, but the truth is, no matter how many horrible things have almost happened in these rooms, there is still something fundamentally reassuring about this place, the logic and organization of Janet’s infirmary.
Today Daniel is taking comfort where he can, because Sam is still eerily silent, her eyes wide and staring. Alive, but not living.
The last time he saw Sam was across a hazy field as she yelled at him to double-time it through the gate.
“Don’t argue with me, Daniel! Just go! We’re right behind you.”
Only they weren’t.
Jack and Sam never made it home from that planet.
Neither Daniel nor Teal’c managed to get a clear look at the Jaffa who ambushed them. The Tok’ra knew nothing, could only confirm that Sam and Jack were not the prisoners of any of the System Lords. How were they supposed to search when they had not the slightest clue where to start looking?
It was as if they had both disappeared into the mist of that damn planet.
Even now that Sam is back, it’s as if she is still shrouded in mist, not a single outward clue to help them understand where she has been, what she has endured.
“You’re going to feel a small pinch here, Sam,” Janet says as she draws a blood sample. She’s been keeping up a steady stream of one-sided conversation as long as Daniel’s been here.
As usual, Sam doesn’t answer, but she does flinch, looking down at her arm almost as in surprise.
Daniel sits up, watching closely, feeling hope rise at this brief sign of life in her, but Sam just leans back against the bed, staring once more at the ceiling.
“Sorry about that,” Janet murmurs.
Daniel drops his head back against the hard wall.
Teal’c and General Hammond join them after a while, Hammond dropping one hand to Daniel’s shoulder in an uncharacteristically paternal gesture. Hammond, he knows, is probably just as unsettled as the rest of them are.
“How is she?” he asks.
“About the same,” Daniel says. “She still hasn’t said anything.”
Hammond lowers himself onto the bench next to Daniel, apparently settling in for the long haul. Glancing at the clock, Daniel knows they all should have gone home by now. No one is ridiculous enough to suggest it.
When Janet finishes with Sam, she gestures for the men to follow her into her office.
“Tell us what you can, Doctor,” Hammond says.
“Well, best I can tell, she’s dehydrated, a bit malnourished, but nothing serious.”
Daniel knows he should feel relieved, but he can’t quite let himself believe Sam has come away from what they suspect is eight weeks of captivity without a scratch.
“She shows no physical signs of trauma,” Janet continues.
“But if they used a sarcophagus…,” Daniel counters.
Janet nods, weariness crossing her face. They all know that a sarcophagus can hide countless evils done to the human body. “At least she’s not showing any signs of withdrawal.”
“Not yet,” Daniel tacks on before he can stop himself. He’s not sure why he’s insisting on the worst-case scenario. Hadn’t that always been Jack’s job?
Janet concedes the point with another nod. “Her blood work will be able to tell us for certain.”
“Is there any physical reason she cannot speak, Doctor?” Hammond asks.
“None that I can see, sir,” she says with a shake of her head. Her voice sounds a bit rough around the edges as if she’s angry at her inability to find them answers.
“Should we bring in Dr. MacKenzie?” Hammond says delicately as if to make the words less painful.
Daniel hears it anyway. The general wants to know if Sam has lost her mind.
Janet opens her mouth, her eyes darting to Daniel. “I think that’s probably a good idea, sir.”
Daniel turns away, his eyes landing on silent, still Sam.
Three days of silence later, the psychologists are plying them with complex terms about post-traumatic stress disorder and frozen states. Daniel thinks this is about way more than trauma. Sam has good reason to be silent, even if he doesn’t know what that is. People are worrying that she is perhaps brain-damaged or no longer able to function in the real world.
Daniel knows differently.
When Sam first came back, her eyes were blank and he knew she hadn’t really believed she was here, that she could be safe at the SGC once more. But time here has changed that for her. He knows she accepts this now, because even beyond her lack of words and the shield she has erected around herself, Daniel can see that she is thinking and processing.
Hammond has been questioning Sam for nearly twenty minutes now with no response. She shows no interest in pen and paper and though Daniel knows she is listening, she has no intention of responding.
The only outward reaction she lets slip through is the slight clenching of her fingers when Hammond asks her about Jack.
Daniel doesn’t think anyone else even notices.
“Sam,” Daniel says, breaking his long silence. “We need to know.”
He can read her reluctance as she stares stubbornly at her sheets, her breathing unnaturally even.
“Sam.”
She understands what he is asking. He knows she does. Is Jack alive? Can he be saved? Is there any hope?
Sam lifts her eyes to his for the first time since she returned, a long, electric moment of connection between them. He’s not ready for what he sees there: the flat, lifeless quality to eyes that had once been familiar.
She looks haunted. Resigned. He’s not sure which is worse.
Daniel knows then though, knows that only part of Sam has been returned to them.
“Jack?” he asks again, his voice wanting to crack over the word as dread squeezes his chest.
Very deliberately, Sam shakes her head, her eyes dropping away from his.
Daniel's left to wonder if this hopelessness is what stole her voice.
* * *
Teal’c watches the interrogation of Major Carter from afar. Watches Daniel Jackson begin to realize that though she has been returned to them, she may never again be what she was.
Teal’c is the only one to truly understand what she probably suffered during her captivity. He keeps such knowledge to himself. He assumes Major Carter’s silence must be necessary to her in some fundamental way. He will not betray that with speculation about a tale that is not his to tell.
He recognizes it though, that expression he has witnessed on prisoners before. Prisoners broken by any and all means necessary.
He sees it and understands what it means.
When she is ready to be released from the infirmary there is brief discussion of transferring her to a facility that may more fully serve her ‘special’ needs, as if she is an uncomfortable reminder of their own vulnerabilities that needs to be hidden from sight. A reminder that only a small twist of fate separates them from her.
Daniel Jackson objects. “You are not sticking her in some damn ward.”
Dr. Fraiser agrees. “She’s not a danger to herself. She’s functioning. She just doesn’t interact. She’s much better off here, among people and things she knows and is comfortable with.”
In the end, Major Carter is given a room on base next to Teal’c’s, an implicit agreement that he will keep an eye on her at night, be there in case she has need of anyone.
She never spends a single night in her own room.
Each evening she knocks on Teal’c’s door. She always takes an almost involuntary step back when he opens the door, her eyes darting past him to the room behind.
“I would appreciate your company if you wish to come inside,” he says each time, stepping back to let her make the decision herself.
Choice would have been the first thing her captors stole from her.
After a moment or two of hesitation, she enters.
She flinches a bit when the door closes, moving to the far wall and leaning back against it. When Teal’c retakes his seat on the floor, she also slides down the wall until her knees are drawn into her chest.
She has never appeared smaller to him than these hours she spends huddled in the flickering candlelight of his quarters, looking as if the shadows might swallow her whole.
She waits, her eyes intent on him and her body tense, until he begins to speak.
He speaks of inconsequential things. He doesn’t need to interrogate her, doesn’t need to pry to know what she’s suffered. She survived it, is coping as well as she can. He can ask no more of her than that.
He talks to her of the last eight weeks, any odd occurrences, conversations overheard in the commissary, or base anecdotes. He doesn’t know if she hears the words or is just listening to the cadence of his voice. Either way, he speaks until she finally sleeps, curled up on the hard concrete of his floor.
Each night it is the same.
During the day, Teal’c watches her closely. He notices the way she eats steadily and throws herself into physical rehabilitation with the fever of one possessed. He can see past her silence, knowing there is more they don’t understand about what she endured.
She turns to him sometimes, awareness of his scrutiny in her eyes, wary that he might spill her secret. That he might interfere.
“I will assist you,” he says, shifting to spot her as she lifts weights, or pacing and encouraging her on the treadmill.
In these moments, she closes her eyes briefly, her fingers tentatively brushing his. It is the only physical contact he ever witnesses her make of her own volition. When the moment passes and she looks at him again, there is only the steely determination of a warrior with a mission.
Teal’c understands this far too well.
He does not know for certain what she is preparing for, what goal she has set for herself. It is enough that he suspects. He respects her right to it and will help her reach it.
Three weeks later when Jacob Carter arrives, she surprises them all by letting him pull her into a hug.
“I’d like to bring her back with me for a while, if she wants,” Jacob Carter says, disconcerted by the condition he finds her in.
They protest, but Major Carter takes her father’s hand, waits until he looks at her and nods firmly once.
And so it begins, Teal’c thinks.
He has carried her as far as he can.
* * *
A small crowd gathers to see Sam off. Daniel watches her as she enters, people murmuring their farewells as she passes. She doesn’t pause or respond, walking straight to the base of the ramp where her father waits for her.
Jacob takes the pack from Sam’s hand and begins to lead her up the ramp, but Sam resists, pulling back slightly, and he turns to her, concern creasing his face.
Daniel wonders if she has changed her mind.
But Sam merely crosses over to Daniel and stands less than a foot in front of him. As he’s come to expect, she doesn’t say anything, but she does take his face between her two hands, the flesh of her palms cool against his cheeks. Her eyes say everything they need to and Daniel knows without her saying that this is a goodbye. Woven into the love and gratitude is the knowledge that she doesn’t plan to return.
“Sam,” Daniel sighs, batting down the urge to grab her and keep her here.
Her face crumples momentarily and she leans in, her forehead resting against his for a fleeting last moment of contact.
She releases him, turning to Teal’c and grabbing the man’s upper arms. He pulls her into a full hug. Sam tenses at first before melting into his arms.
“May you find that which you seek,” Daniel can hear Teal’c say in an undertone.
She nods against his chest, her fingers clenching on his arms.
Then, as if she flips a switch somewhere, her expression wipes clean and she steps away from him.
She backs up the ramp, taking the time to look around the room at all the people who have gathered to see her off. At the horizon, she hesitates, turning to Hammond and saluting one last time.
She steps through.
Only three days pass before Jacob returns to the SGC.
“She’s gone,” he says, looking a little lost.
Teal’c isn’t surprised and Daniel wonders if this is what his parting words meant.
The three men share a look, all of them conscious of the same simple fact.
She won’t be found. Not unless she wants to be.
And just like that, Sam Carter disappears out into the universe again.
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