Rating: G
Disclaimer: They're not mine I just borrow them from time to time and promise to give them back in perfect working order...eventually ;).
Season/Spoiler info: Season 6, set straight after Abyss. Spoilers for Upgrades, Divide & Conquer, Revelations.
Authors notes: Sequel to "Sufficient Motive". Thanks go to Guilt Sock my beta and you're encouragement which I believe was something along the lines of "See you can write crap like just like me when you put your mind to it". lol. Again, it's pretty short 'cause if I had anything longer I'd have to come up with a plot. *Pokes tongue out*. Feedback would be awesome, lets me know I'm not a complete screwball, and lastly enjoy or quietly contemplate...whatever!
He went back for her.
And somehow Jack couldn't bring himself to blame him for that. Not that he didn't try to hate Kanan, he did. Just not for that. He would have done the same thing...he had done the same thing.
Daniel was gone *again*, along with a soft thank you he was sure to hear. The infirmary was dark and quiet. A deafening silence against the myriad of thoughts running through Jack's head. Sucking in a deep breath, he quickly exhaled as pain shot up his left side, reminding him that he didn't escape Ba'al's fortress completely unscathed, how ironic. Pain he could handle, being out of control he could not.
He wondered how Carter...Sam, got through it, how she could so easily now sing the Tok’ra’s praise when he wanted absolutely nothing more to do with them. He suspected it was a facade. He knew how she operated, she wasn't so beyond that 'way of the warrior crap' herself. Still, she had strength, more than he felt he had to deal with the situation and for that she had his utmost respect as a soldier and as a friend. He remembered how she was after Jolinar; somehow he didn't think it would be that way with him. It wasn't exactly clear if that was a good or bad thing...
But, she knew he'd be ok. Jack had seen it in her eyes when she bought him the water. Eyes don't lie. Maybe it had something to do with that 'windows to the soul' stuff. He wasn't going to question her judgment. She knew he wouldn't. They were just like that.
He lay alone in the dark, struck by the sudden urge to move his hands. To grasp, to clench, to pull. Because he could. It troubled him to notice that even now they lay still. He grasped the bed sheet into a fist, as tight as he could, just to feel it move of his own free will. He didn't remember much from his 'blending' but that one odd thought seemed to stick.
He drew another sudden heavy breath, side effects from the sarcophagus. Pain didn't seem so bad after losing control.
The End
