Reconciliation - For suffers_vertigo

[literary_james]

James had done as he said, locking himself up in the house. He'd closed the gates at the street, closed and locked both the front and the rear doors, and had spent his time sitting on the lone mattress in the Master Suite with his guitar. He went back and forth between trying to play, trying to polish up older songs, and just laying in complete

Comments

[literary_james]

James heard the shuffle of her feet and his eyes immediately flickered over to her. There wasn't anything accusatory in his gaze, even worried -- but the rapid movement of his eyes was enough to make him feel dizzy. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, and before he knew it, he felt her touch on his shoulders and neck. His body tensed at the unexpected contact, but didn't last for very long. Especially as he fingers kneaded the knots that had formed over days of not sleeping and the weight of what he was carrying.

"Because it's easy to say something, it's harder to act it," James replied blankly. "People don't get it -- I talk a lot of optimism. I talk a lot of confidence. I can build people up so that they can face the world, but when it comes to myself? The words deflate and are meaningless. They sit there, staring me in the face, as though they're mocking me. Saying, 'look at all of these wonderful things you can promise to other people, for other people. And look at how we won't ever be there for you.' Talking and doing are different."

James opened his eyes as she stopped, then stood from the couch. He wandered over to the dining room area, checking through a few of the beer bottles to see if there was anything left to salvage. Finding his quest fruitless, he sat on the edge of the small desk, folded his arms across his chest, and looked at her. He strategically tucked his right hand into his arm, hiding the bruises and cuts from the violent outburst he'd had earlier in the day.

"You're asking me how much I trust you?" He watched her, almost as though observing through a pane of glass, trying to see why she'd be asking him the question. Trust was something he'd never been good at, not with anyone, not even himself. He had learned not to trust, to be weary and cautious of everyone, lest he blind himself to the fact that people did spiteful, hurtful things. He wasn't going to let that happen to him again. But because of this inner conflict, he didn't know how to answer her question. He trusted her, as much as he could, but still left room for doubt. He always left room for what seemed to be his soulmate: Doubt, and perhaps a bit of Cynicism, as well. But he wasn't going to lie to her and say that he trusted her completely. He didn't even trust himself completely. He knew that his hand could easily strangle him if he wasn't looking. But to say he didn't trust her at all would also be a lie.

He stayed silent for a few moments, trying to figure out how best to answer her.

"I trust you, as much as I can manage to trust anyone." Maybe it wasn't what she wanted to hear, and maybe it wasn't reassuring. But it was honest, and James wasn't one to beat around the bush when it came to things like honesty. He'd learned to value it, even if it was brutal. It might've been why he'd been so drawn to Z in the first place; she called it as she saw it, no apologies, no sugar coating. If she said something to piss James off, but she was right and being honest? James never stayed angry for long. "I can't -- I can't really give you an answer other than that. I don't trust anyone entirely, not even myself. I think I trust you more than I trust myself, actually."

[suffers_vertigo]

She hadn't meant to startle him and she tried hard to forget that her touch had brought such a reaction. Only days before she'd been able touch him and it would have brought shivers to his skin, days before that she'd only had to look at him in a certain way and he was pulling her close and kissing her. Now, before her sat the shell of the man she loved and as he stood and walked away from her she didn't even have the strength to hide the disappointment from her eyes. She watched him as he searched for beer, shaking that look out of her eyes before he turned around and sat facing her.

"Yes, that's what I'm asking James, trust is the foundation of any relationships. If you think that I'm going to hurt you and leave you then you're mistaken about me, and so far you're the only one who's done that here." There was no malice in her voice as she spoke the truth, it was something he'd asked her to speak.

Her gaze lowered at his answer, it wasn't the kind she'd wanted but it was what she'd come to expect, thanks to Jeff. Slowly she crossed her arms over her chest, a defensive stance, and just let out a long breath. "So what happens now?"

[literary_james]

"It's easier that way, pushing people away and leaving on my own," James replied. "It means that when people eventually hurt me, which they will, whether it's intentional or not, I'll have already distanced myself." He paused briefly. "Don't ask me to explain it, because I know it doesn't make sense." He shook his head as he decided not to go into it. He didn't have the strength to even attempt to explain how his mind often worked, how his thoughts never seem to really make any sense, how he'd been to four different therapists over the course of his life, and never seemed to get better. He'd been on medications before. One almost caused psychotic break. That was the last time he ever really tried to reach out for someone's help, and he'd seen the outcome. It was why he shut himself up in the scarcely-furnished house, away from those who cared, away from those tried to help. He didn't need another psychotic break.

James watched her mirror his position, watched her arms cross over her chest. He kept his eyes on her, not attempting to hide anything anymore. He wasn't sure if he even could. He shrugged his shoulders as he shifted on the desk.

"I don't know. You said you were on your way to the airport in your text message. I imagine you've got some flight to catch, to wherever you're going." James sat there for a few minutes before getting up and putting some of the beer bottles onto the almost full plate of food. He left the joint where it was; he might want to finish it off later that night.

He sat entirely on the desk this time, having cleared room. His legs dangled from the surface, his toes barely grazing the ground. His hands shoved their way into his pockets, the thin fabric of his t-shirt over his back protruding with shoulders and spines and bones that shouldn't be so prominent.

"What time is your flight?" he asked, glancing at her again.

[suffers_vertigo]

"Or maybe it's your pushing them away that results in them hurting you because they can't stand to be made to feel so.. unwanted." Her arms tightened around her, one of her hands resting on her shoulder, their position both defensive and mock comforting. But she couldn't find comfort in them, they felt alien to her. Everything did. Jen felt as if the lights had been dimmed on everything in her life, walking in a nightmare that wouldn't ever end.

There was a pained exprssion as he mentioned the flight, "What choice did I have? You left me on my own in a city I don't know. I don't have any friends here and..and I couldn't stay in that room anymore, every time I looked at the bed I saw the two of us making love and it broke my heart. Memories that had once filled me with such joy seem to haunt me now."

Drawing in a long shaking breath, Jennifer turned to walk away from him, from the conversation. Over to the big window where she pressed her hands to the cool glass and looked out on the worlds outside. Everything out there seemed so dull, cold even. there was no softness to anything and right now even breathing hurt her chest.

Turning she slid down the glass to the floor, eyes fixed on her hands, "It doesn't matter when, I can always get a later flight if I need to, this.. this conversation is more important."

[literary_james]

"Your answer makes more sense," James admitted, his voice tired and defeated. He wasn't going to argue anymore. "And I know it does. And people have told me that before. It doesn't seem to stop my thoughts from happening."

His eyes stayed focus on her as she kept talking, his face washed over with what could have easily been mistaken for apathy, but was more the result of a switch shutting off in his head.

"I'm not saying -- I wasn't talking about the flight to make it sound like that's the reason time's so pressed now." His voice was empty, as though he were nothing more than a puppet reciting words. He'd lost his way, lost his meaning somewhere along the line, and couldn't seem to find his way back. "I know I took the lesser route by leaving, I know I took the cowardly way out. You don't have to point it out again." He watched her walk to the window, then stood from his perch on the desk and began to pace back and forth, his feet shuffling along the ground as he did so.

His hand went and rubbed the back of his neck, the spot still warm from where her fingers had been. He leaned against the wall opposite the rear doors, where Jen was sitting. He pressed the bottom of his foot to it, the ice touch of the plaster startling. He shivered as the cold seeped through his shirt, hitting his body.

Glancing towards his watch, he brought his gaze back to her.

"Going to see your dad?" he asked, his words and voice full yet somehow empty.

[suffers_vertigo]

"And we all have out limits James, we all have points where we wonder if our efforts of friendship, or more, are in vain. We can't give you our hearts if all you're going to do is push them back at us. It's takes great strength to admit to someone you care, it took a lot of self ass kicking for me to admit to you I loved you. I don't fall into love easily because the last time, when I thought it was love before, I ended up hurt. Every man I've reached out to has hurt me, and now you're doing the same thing." No sugar coating, just truth, "You say you're scared of being hurt by someone, that people you care about, people you're willing to give yourself to hurt you.. it's the same for me."

"I never said it was the cowards way James, I'm just trying to make you see that your actions are resulting in one of the things you fear yourself." She hung her head, resting it against her knees. How could she feel so small? Days ago she'd felt like the most beautiful, most amazing woman in the world and now she felt like nothing. There wasn't anything there.

Slowly she shrugged her shoulder and reached into her jacket pocket to pull out the slips from her flight bookings, "Pepper, Dad or work," she said holding out three pieces of paper, "Three different destinations and I don't know where I'm going, because the one place I want to be, I can't be."

[literary_james]

James felt his chest tightening, listening to her talk. His head fell back and tapped against the wall behind him, his eyes falling closed. It was the first they'd manage to stay closed for a period of time longer than two seconds almost all day, almost all week. He clenched and unclenched his jaw as he kept himself composed. He wasn't going to break-- not now. Not when he'd made it this far with only one violent episode.

"We hurt the people we love," James commented, his words flat. "It's why I prepare myself to be hurt, and why I don't let anyone in completely. Because it's the nature of people." He opened his eyes and looked at her from where he was sitting.

"I know I've taken the cowardly way out, Jen. I know it, personally. I know that better, stronger people would have taken this head on. Lauren, being one of them. She already got pissed at me for locking myself up in the house as it is. She's fighting her grief and toughing it out. I retreated, I seclude, I isolate. I know that it's yellow-bellied of me."

He looked at the pieces of paper, his eyes flicking to a shade of almost-black. He stretched his legs out in front of him, a hand resting over his concave stomach, the other laying lazily on the ground.

"You should see your dad," he advised. "You don't know when you'll see him again, right?"

Beneath James' cold, icy exterior was a small child, wanting nothing more than to run to her, hold her, be comforted, and feel loved. But James' cynicism and jaded experiences of the world had all but silenced that child, forced him to sit in the corner in solitude. He was trying so hard to break out past the ice, past the bruised, frozen heart that James carried with him. He just had to persevere.

Suddenly, James was burying his head in his hands, curling over himself. His legs scrunched up closer to his body. He kept falling forward until his forehead was pressed against the floor, and he could feel the heat from his ragged breath on his face as it echoed back against him. His body shifted as he tucked his knees under him, his hands interlacing behind his neck, almost looking as though he was in prayer. Except that his body was shaking, his throat was dry, his hands were quivering, his heart was pounding, and his stomach was wretching inside of him.

And then, a movement from the pit of his stomach, up his throat. He could feel the slow ascension, and tried to stop it by squeezing his eyes and shaking his head. The motion of his head made it worse, and before he knew it, the movement that had started in his stomach was gushing from his mouth, spilling out onto the floor around him. A pale yellow liquid started pooling and dripping past his lips, his face flushing red as he finally felt the exhaustion hitting him. He sputtered and coughed, trying to get rid of the vile taste from his tongue, but the coughing exacerbated the problem and the bile came up again. There was no food left in his stomach; what little he had eaten had already been devoured by his starving body.

"Jen," he groaned into the floor, his body shaking.

[suffers_vertigo]

"Why do we? Do we lash out at those closest to us because we know they'll come back, or is it to prove that we were right all along, that they'll leave us and break our hearts. An act that only happened because we lashed out at them on the first place? We should cherish those we care about because who knows when it's going to be too late to tell someone how you feel or something just as important?"

She stayed silent for a while, "When mom died I hid in my work, I'd pick up all the extra shifts the hospital would allow. I was helping people, saving lives and it was the only way I could give my life any kind of worth. Then I'd go home and look after dad, make sure he was eating and giving him the sedatives he needed to rest at night. After he'd gone to bed I'd pull mom's jumper out of my draw, hold it to me and just cry until the morning or until I fell asleep from exhaustion. I don't sleep enough as it is, but that was extreme, even for me. But shutting yourself away like this, James, it's not safe. People are scared...I'm scared you're not going to make it.. and if I lost you too.."

Her words stopped and she turned her head away from him, features crumbling. No tears fell now, how much had she cried in the last few days? Too much. Her breath felt dry against her lips and she licked them to try and stop them from feeling the way they did. But her mouth way dry and her head was pounding all too hard now.

"And I don't know when I'll see you again James...o-or if you ever will want to see me after today," she squeaked the last two words, the pain all to real inside of her.

Seeing him curl over made her freeze with fear, she knew what was happening and she couldn't move. His body was finally giving him the kicking he needed. It was shutting down and it wouldn't just get worse if he didn't eat and rest.

Hearing him say her name snapped her out of her daze and she rushed to her feet, dropping down at his side the moment she was there, "It's okay," she said softly, her arms going around him as she kissed his shoulder, "We need to get you to bed, which way is the bedroom?"

[literary_james]

James' mind went into a frenzy, trying to remember where the bedroom was. It was as though there were a thousand different filing cabinets, with random bits of information and absolutely no labels. He couldn't seem to remember where anything else -- he knew where his bedroom had been at Z's loft. He could tell her what pictures were on the wall, where there was a dent from someone's elbow at a rowdy party, why there was a handprint on the bathroom wall, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember anything about this house. Maybe he'd blocked it out.

"I don't know," he muttered, trying to move his mouth away from the puddle of bile surrounding his face. He coughed and tried to catch his breath, but his heart was pounding too hard inside of his chest. With its increased palpitations, his body shook and shivered and his eyes squeezed shut as the pain seared into his stomach. "I don't know where the bedroom is," he managed to groan, coughing again.

His eyes felt heavy, his body lethargic. He tried to pick his head up and after lifting it an inch, it fell back down and his forehead hit the floor. His arms went limp underneath him, his breath streaming in and out of his mouth like a mad wind. He coughed again, almost panting, trying to keep himself from vomiting any more of the fluid his body didn't have. Between not sleeping, barely eating, and drinking alcohol, he'd driven his body to the point of absolute exhaustion and dehydration. He couldn't seem to move.

"The bedroom," he slurred, almost in a dream-like voice. "The bedroom .." he repeated, his body trembling, his mouth dry.

[suffers_vertigo]

"James," there was a deep panic in her voice, unthinking now her training kicked in. Slowly she hooked his arm around her shoulders and tried to pushed herself up, helping him to his feet but it wasn't any use. James felt like a dead weight in her arms. "James, please..I can't.." She tried again, still nothing. What was she supposed to do? Shit.

Letting his arm down, Jen moved him the best she could away from the bile on the floor and into the recovery position, it was all she could do, she wasn't even strong enough to move him on her own. Sliding her jacket off and put it over him the best she could, fear rushing through her veins as her mind tried to tell her body what she needed to do. But she felt helpless.

Pulling her cell from her pocket she sent a text to Jeff, hoping to god that he was on his want to see James.

Fluids, she needed to get fluids into him...

[literary_james]

James couldn't formulate words. Instead, he babbled something in gibberish that had something to do with not wanting to eat bacon. He felt himself being lifted from the floor, but then felt himself being set back down again. He wanted to try and stand, to try and make it easier for her to move him to wherever she needed to move him, but nothing in his body was cooperating. Everything was shutting down, and James was only half-coherent, or maybe even a quarter-coherent and aware of what was going on.

His eyes were half-lidded and empty, the deep, black wells underneath his eyes worse than they had been before. His skin looked dry, almost too old for his age. His head lolled lazily, resting against the floorboards. He started muttering more gibberish, this time telling his father something about a test he hadn't, he swore, cheated on. Random sounds and what were attempts at words kept coming from his mouth until they finally grew quiet, spaced out more and more. His eyes went from being half-lidded to closed completely, his body still shaking with the erratic beating of his heart.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, almost silently, before his body went limp and things went black.

[suffers_vertigo]

"James? James?!" Jen shook his shoulder softly, "Shit, don't do this to me," her fingers came to rest on his neck and she checked his pulse. Feeling it beneath her fingers she sighed softly, a little relief washed over her, but only a little. Outside the horn from the cab brought her back to reality and she blinked, eyes suddenly going wide as she shot to her feet and out the door.

There was one thing she'd always been teased about when she went on an off world mission to help others, and that was the amount of medical supplies she carried with her, and back here on Earth it wasn't any different. Even before she'd started working with the SGC, Jennifer had carried a bag of medical supplies with her, and this trip wasn't any different. "Help me into the house with my bags," she told the driver, and when he gave her a look she threw $20 dollars extra at him through the window and he soon moved. Once her bags were in the doorway she shooed the man off and started her frantic search around the house.

Sheet, blanket, wire coat hanger, ice - thank god for built in ice machines. Bowl of water, a flannel and a cloth. Okay, she could do this.

The floor would be too cold for him and as she couldn't lift him up onto the sofa, she pulled the seat cushions off of it, brought the pillows from the bedroom and laid them out on the floor. Carefully she rolled him onto the sheet, wrapped it around him and with a little effort, she pulled him up onto the cushions. Now he was off the floor. Tossing the blanket over him she dragged a chair over from the table and left it next to his arm, back facing him. Bending out the coat hanger she made a make shift hook which she looped over the chair. Then came her bag of medical supplies. Inside was pouches of saline and she attached one to the hook over the back of the chair ready. Then came the needle, straight into the vein on his arm to which she attached the tube to the saline pouch. That was to combat his dehydration.

She checked his temperature and then his pulse once more.

There were things she needed to do, emails to write, flights to cancel and phone calls she needed to make. Right now all she could do was sit and wait for him to wake up. Jennifer knew that he needed medical attention, and while a hospital was a good place for him, she really was one of the best doctors out there.