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WARNING:
This fic is rated R for language and graphic violence, and contains
Hand in Hand by Jb and Jmas
Ch. 1: Jb
Small and perfectly formed, it fits the palm of my hand just like Sha... Well, it fits. Funny how an increase in acuity during times of stress can express itself. The things you notice when under pressure. Speaking of pressure, maybe I ought to let up a bit on this now and check it out. No... it's still bleeding too freely. Press on it, harder. Whoa... maybe that's too hard; her fingers are turning a bit blue. Can't have that. Not these fingers. So long and slender, the skin so soft even where it's stretched taut over small knuckles. Fine lines on the tips, an intricate spiral dance of soft touches and intimate sensation. Fingernails like oval pearls. A palm which yields so easily to my grip, but which I know to be so very strong. Just like the person, all at once soft and yielding while powerful and capable. I guess that's how I've always seen her... as being so strong and so very adept at just about everything. Just like this perfect, pale, slender -- this beautiful -- hand I hold in my own. It's really amazing just how observant you can be in time of crisis. I never noticed, before now, that Sam has the hands of a woman. Looks like the bleeding has slowed down a bit. I wish I could reach the pack for the medkit. Hell, I wish I could reach into my own pocket... for something to use as a bandage, for something to wipe the blood away from this perfect palm. For anything. Christ, for that matter, just to be able to do it. But I can't. I can't move my left arm at all and I hurt and I have to hold on. I can't let go. God. It's so small, so light. Even limp like this, its form and precision are just so... Four fingers and a thumb, perfectly proportioned, resting in a gentle, graceful arc. I want to trace the delicate folds and lines on her palm with my finger, to feel the strength and chart the paths of life, to impart whatever I can of my own flagging strength. But I have to keep the pressure on. I'll have to settle for a gentle motion of my thumb across the knuckles on the back of her hand. I will not let go. The hand of a woman. Sized just right, the perfect fit. Warm and soft. So much like the hand of my love, the hand I will never again hold in my own. I won't let go of this hand. I won't let go of this life. God, please. Jack, Teal'c, hurry. Please. Ch. 2: Jmas Eyes look at me from the shadows. Startlingly intelligent eyes that have so stubbornly argued with me in the past. I don't know that I've ever taken the time to notice just how amazingly distinctive they are, the pupils so dilated in this darkness there is a corona of blue fire blazing into me...willing me to hold on until help arrives. There is a force in those eyes...something beyond the intellect and gentle humor I've come to know and rely on. It is the force of 'Daniel,' a personality as strong and unique as the hand holding pressure on the wound on my palm. I want to tell Daniel to hold on to that strength he keeps trying to force into me. I can see the lines of pain between his expressive brows, the little wincing blinks as he struggles once again to reach for his backpack. He's hurt a lot worse than he's telling me. Wish I could get up and see for myself...can't seem to move. Daniel's eyes. The old adage about eyes and mirrors was surely invented because of someone like Daniel, someone whose soul could shine from his eyes like a living entity in and of itself. Eyes that reflect a myriad of thoughts and feelings in the blink of an observer's own eyes. Eyes that make you wish you didn't have to blink at all because you'll surely miss something of vital importance. I learned very early on to watch Daniel's eyes if I wanted a true measure of what he's feeling or thinking. Like that squinty tension revealing he doesn't entirely believe the words he keeps repeating to me, words of comfort and of help not too far away. The way he looks off into the darkness after studying my hand for so long speaks to me of other hands he's held in this amazingly tender yet strong grip. Sha're was a very lucky woman to have held this man in her heart. Moisture forms across the blue-blackness staring down at me, heightening the impression of unknowable depths within, he's feeling very vulnerable right now...worried, remembering. It's been awhile since I've seen that look in his eyes... I hate that look more than any other I've ever seen there. The glittering proof of a spirit pushing itself beyond limits, lacking only the overflow to seal the deal. I don't want that look to be there for my sake. I force myself to tell him I'm fine...I don't exactly feel fine, but it doesn't hurt as much right now. He looks away again, composing his face into calm sureness...but it doesn't quite find its way into his eyes. I don't think either of us has much time.
Ch. 3: Jb
How many times over the past three years have those lips, that mouth, offered much appreciated reassurances? Too many to count. Everything from gentle caring words and commiseration, right on up to vehement expressions of unconditional support. Everything from small, tentative twitches of her lips to full blown, face-cracking smiles which rival the sun for brilliance. She's been there for me... so many times. Have I ever told her? Have I ever let her know just how grateful I am? She's never lied to me, either. Until now. The dimple disappears and there's a flash of white as she bites her lip. Perfect white teeth draw back across her full lower lip, leaving short tracks of deep scarlet. Dark red. Like the blood on my fingers, on her hand; like the pool on the ground right under my shoulder... Oh hell. If I can see that against the stone... A light source. It's getting brighter here. And if I can see it then she'll be able to see it as well. I try to shift my weight, to move forward enough cover it with my chest, hoping the movement won't reveal the source of the bleeding to her. It's hard, though. I feel the cold on the back of my bare shoulder - the breeze against the wetness - and it hurts so bad. She's reared up as I tried to move and while I can't lift my head enough to see her eyes now, her mouth tells me that I wasn't fast enough. Lips parting into a tense oval, the lines at the corners of her mouth lengthen and I can just barely hear the quiet exhalation of surprise and worry. She's seen it. There's definitely a new light source somewhere above, its glow filtering down here through the cracks, into our hole. It glints off her teeth, and as her tongue darts out in a quick swipe I can see the fresh moisture on her lips glistening. Glistening. Shining. My vision blurs out and back again and I can see... I can see full red lips near to my own, feel warm breath and soft words against my cheek. I feel the moisture and pressure and tingling and want and need and it's all right everything is all right. But it's not. It's not real. It was once but not now. Never real, ever again. Sam says it again... that she's okay. That we're okay. That it's going to be fine. It doesn't sound like it did before. It's all deep and slow and it doesn't sound like her. Lifting my head as best I can, I peer at her mouth to see why. She's talking to me, I can see that. But I can't... I can't hear her. The only thing I hear now is a low growl in my ears, rapidly turning into thunder. I can see her lips moving, red and soft, a delicate dance of shape and
motion. It's captivating, and I fight to hang onto it with my eyes and
my mind for as long as I can as the dance slows and softens and blurs... Ch. 4: Jmas It's a strong back. Capable of taking on the weight of the world...or the weight of bodies no longer able to carry themselves... Stop thinking like that, O'Neill... Teal'c's not going to be carrying any bodies today... We're going to get there in time...we have to. My own damn fault, I should never have let them go so far from base camp alone. They aren't kids...but two damn scientists run a pretty close second... That's not fair. Trouble never seems to need an invitation to drag us all in...just once I wish it would. So here I am, in the gathering darkness, watching the ripple of Teal'c's muscles under the cotton shirt as we jog across the rocky ground...afraid to stop, afraid of being too late... And I know Teal'c feels the fear just as strongly as I do. It's more than evident in the too stiff backbone, the subtle tensing and flexing far more revealing than words could ever be. Teal'c's commitment and spirit are every bit as strong as the massive back blocking my field of vision. Teal'c will continue onward, regardless of obstacles...meeting said obstacles with all the potential power inherent in the impressive physique. But there's so much more beneath the surface... Honor, caring, a protective instinct a mile wide and ever prepared to act in defense of his friends... There's strength in Teal'c that has nothing at all to do with the physical. Something we've all come to rely on. Strength of character, a wit that's not always as clueless as he'd have us believe, strength of resolve that has seen us through more than one seemingly hopeless crisis. I'd follow the man in front of me into hell itself...we all would...secure in the knowledge he would provide every protection within his power to see us all through. I just hope that's not what we're headed into now... We'll make it... They're counting on us.
Ch. 5: Jb
If Daniel has to bear visible scars, it seems appropriate that they be in the form of those penetrating slashes. It was a shock at first, seeing just what was hiding behind those strong shoulders. But I know it's there now, and just like with the myriad other traumas he's stoically shouldered - all the awful things he's had to claw his way past - there's not a damn thing I can do about it. I know that if he comes to - no; when he comes to - I'll need to pretend it's not so bad. He wouldn't want me to know just how desperate it is, just as he's never wanted anyone to know in the past. Daniel carries the weight of the world, the pressures of so many tragedies, on those shoulders. Normally stooped, rounded into a characteristic slouch, you'd think they couldn't possibly be capable of bearing the load they do. But they are like a barometer of how he's coping; the worse the trauma the taller he stands, the straighter and stronger his shoulders become. I've come to understand that with Daniel, "I'm good" really means 'I'm coping', "I'm fine" means 'it hurts', and "I'm okay" hides a silent cry into the darkness. It's with the "I'm okay" that he shrugs his shoulders back most firmly and raises his eyes to gaze into the distance, willing himself to find the path that will lead him back to being 'fine'. Maybe even to 'good'. Over the years I've watched as he's reached and struggled and clawed up from depths I'm afraid to even try to fathom... and he refuses to let us see that the wounds are more than skin deep, that the losses have ripped right through him. Just like the claws of the beast above us. Torn right through all three layers of clothing to claim the soft skin, the firm muscle and bone which has withstood so much up until now. Levering myself up slightly, I can see it all through sodden shredded cloth. Deep gashes and ragged edges extend from the point of his left shoulder across his back to the right. A shadow quickly flits across in front of the light from above, turning a momentary glimpse of pale grey bone to a muddy charcoal and causing the wetness on the ground and his shoulder to seem to flicker. It's still up there. They're up there. It... they... haven't quite worked up the nerve to come down after us, but it's probably only a matter of time. The light - it has to be the moons rising, sending that faint illumination through the opening above us. It must be hours, gone by. Hours since Daniel managed to send off that single quick message, a burst of rapid-fire instructions into the radio, as he placed himself between me and it - as once again he took all the weight and pain onto those generous shoulders. We don't even know for sure that they heard it. Movement. He's awake. Watching me, his eyes narrowed. Even as he lays here only just barely back with me, I see the willingness - no, the intention - to accept my pain as his own, his shoulders slowly, carefully straightening in preparation to bear the load. I whisper to him, ask him how he's doing, and he whispers back. "I'm fine." I know, Daniel. I know it hurts.
As am I. One must look deeply into his face to recognize the fear that lives there, but I have come to know it well. I have seen it before as we waited together for Major Carter and Daniel Jackson to find a means of defeating the orb holding him prisoner. I have seen it as we drove away from Daniel Jackson, leaving him alone when Machello's device made him appear insane. I have seen it many times in the past, and will likely see it many times in the future...but I would wish never to see it again. O'Neill looks somehow...older. Weighed down by the knowledge of danger to our friends. The lines on his face seem to grow deeper by the moment, the weight of guilt and responsibility for the fate of our friends pulling stronger than that strange force Major Carter calls gravity. It is a force which makes his eyes burn with the fire of determination, his mouth set itself in a line that will allow no negative words to come forth, his shoulders set themselves solidly in preparation to bear the burden which comes with accepting command...and its consequences. Yet, beneath it all is fear...fear for the lives that have come to mean so much to him despite his often confusing words that might convince a stranger otherwise. I am no stranger, nor so easily confused by his words as I once was. O'Neill tries to smile at me, but the gesture does not reach his eyes. He knows it is futile to attempt to convince me of that which we both know is true. Our friends are in trouble, perhaps are already dead, and we can do nothing until we reach them. Nothing except worry. I have learned to do that quite well in my time with SG1. O'Neill is an excellent teacher in the way he carries responsibility for those he cares for...and I have learned well from him. I look back again and see O'Neill looking beyond my shoulder, at the ruins that are our goal...still so very far away across the plain. It will be several more hours before we reach the outskirt, and still we will have to locate them. I know it is not practical, but I quicken my pace nonetheless...
To the uninitiated the expression on Teal'c's face would seem as impartial as ever, the steady gaze and practically immobile mouth surrendering nothing, allowing not even the most tenuous detection of opinion, attitude... of emotion. But I am initiated, and I know better. He's afraid, and worried... and he's trying to believe. I can see the worry in the slight downturn at the corners of his mouth; the fear is in the barely noticeable tremble of his lower lip. The will to believe, the hope that we can do this? It's that brief light in his eyes as he looks back at me, encouraging me on, to run, to keep up with him. A light that flicks off like a snuffed candle flame as we stop for a breather and stare out over the moonlit expanse of brush ahead of us. It's still a long way away. Sucking air like nobody's business, bent over trying to force my lungs to believe, my hand goes to my comm without even asking my brain. I coulda told it, no way. I can't even breathe, never mind talk into the damned thing. And I don't even know if there'd be anyone hearing anything on the other end. Feeling the bulk of it under my fingers, his voice comes back to me. The urgency, the desperation. Jack Teal'c, help... Sam's hurt... predators... 15 klics southeast, the ruins... under attack... too many too big I can't... A transmission that ends with Carter's distant scream under a godawful snarl-shriek and, up close and personal, a cut-off guttural cry that tells me a lot more than I want to know. Teal'c's hearing him again, too. I can tell by the way his lips press together to match the narrowing of his eyes. Then those lips are moving, speaking quietly into his comm. They open and close, wait, do it again, saying the words I still can't quite get past the heave of air. There's no answer. Even the uninitiated would see straight into the man's soul as he looks from me toward the ruins and back again. Full lips part and twist, the strength of the concern and indecision lending them a mobility I've rarely seen. Pretty clear what's happening... unspoken anxiety vying with eighty years of careful schooling... but the outcome is a no-brainer. He won't place me at risk by going on ahead alone... and he won't burden me with his own worry. He knows what I'm going through. The lips move one more time to ask me if I'm ready to move on, and then it's back again. The look - strength, determination, competence. But I'm one of the initiated. Ch. 8: Jmas
Fine enough to lie to Sam, evidently... No, that's not right. I'm not exactly lying...She always says I'm too optimistic. That's it, I'm being optimistic... Right, Daniel...tell yourself another one. She doesn't believe it anymore than you do. If I could just sit up a little... Well.maybe in a little while... Sam's looking at me. She knows. We aren't fooling each other at all here, maybe it's time we stopped trying. I saw the shadows moving around up there, I know as well as she does what it means. Time's running out in more ways than one. I'm cold... Shock, I know...I've felt it often enough. Too much blood gone. There's too much blood on the ground at the bottom of this alien pit on this forsaken, barren world devoid of human sweat and blood for countless generations. If my head were a little clearer I could probably come up with some appropriate blood ritual from some obscure culture... Surely this isn't all going to be for nothing, the two of us fading away in this darkness to no purpose... Stop thinking like that, Daniel... I can't seem to decide if it's too cold or too hot down here... Hot right now though...hard to breathe... Sam's still looking at me, saying something I can't quite seem to focus on... I reach out to touch her hand, squeezing gently in a reassurance I think we're both a long way from feeling. Feeling her blood mingle with mine...Too much blood from both of us. Appropriate that it mixes so freely here and now, just before... I'm sorry, Sam...I don't want to leave you alone with this, I'll stay as long as I can. Won't let it get you. I'll stay til Jack comes... I didn't mean to, but I think I actually said that out loud, her eyes are huge with concern... Jack...God, Jack...please hurry... I don't know how much longer I can hold on. Shadows moving... That isn't right... Oh, God...it's here... My hand reaches out, finding a stone. It'll have to do, everything else is out of reach. I push myself up as far as I can, bracing against some rubble, feeling something tear away and wetness flowing down my back. Bleeding again...
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