The Sound of Pain
Author: BadgerGater
Email: [email protected]
Season: anywhere before 6
Summary: Jack knows that there are some sounds you really don’t want to hear
Category: Drama; Word-A-Month, Sound
Spoilers: Nothing specific
Rating: PG, a little language
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, SciFiChannel, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions; all the powers that be, not me; This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement intended. The story is the property of the author and may not be posted without the author's consent.
Author's note: Another challenging word a month. More can be found at www.frondfic.com
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It’s quite unmistakable, really.
It’s a noise you’ll never forget.
Once you’ve heard it, it’s forever instantly recognizable: the sound of bone cracking, your own bone breaking apart: a sharp snap, a dull thud, reverberating through the how many hundred other bones there are in the human body.
Oh, yeah, it’s a noise I’ve heard far too often.
Back in ‘80-whatever, I didn’t hear the skull fractures, maybe they sounded different.
But all the others over the years, the leg, the arm, the ribs, the fingers, the wrist, the jawbone, there’s that sound...
Better you don’t hear it, really, I can tell you that from experience too.
Because, I hate to tell you but you really ought to know, it hurts like hell.
Sound and fury.
Snap, of bone breaking.
Sizzle, of nerves firing.
Snap, as your teeth click shut, to hold in the scream.
Sizzle, as your brain screams the words you cannot say.
Snap, as neurons fire, screaming their messages it hurts-it hurts-it hurts-it hurts-*oh shit* it hurts.
Sizzle, as your brain and your body argue over which is going to crash first.
If you’re lucky, whatever you’ve broken stays numb, at least for a while, maybe even long enough for medical help to arrive. If you’re *really* lucky, you’re just plain unconscious and don’t even feel or hear the entire episode.
Of course, if you’re not so lucky, you get to enjoy things the full bodied, au natural way.
Pain’s the body’s way of telling you to cease and desist from whatever you’re doing.
Not a bad plan on Mother Nature’s part.
Except when you’re not in the hands of Mother Nature, and the badass with an even worse attitude just doesn’t feel your pain.
Or maybe he does.
A little too much.
~~~~~~~~~~
I told Daniel to keep his mouth shut.
I told him, whatever they did to me, don’t say a word.
I told him I could handle it.
Sometimes I lie, you know that? Good thing he doesn’t.
~~~~~~~~~~
I’ve broken bones jumping out of airplanes, okay, to be precise, it wasn’t the jumping out of airplanes that broke them, it was the landing back on good old terra too firma.
I’ve broken bones flying out of ice-bound Stargates.
I’ve broken bones when hit by stray objects like shell fragments or not so stray objects like bullets.
I’ve broken bones when hit by purposefully wielded objects, like fists or clubs.
Hell, I’ve even broken bones doing things that were intended to be fun. No one ever said hockey was a game for wimps. Curling maybe, but not hockey.
And then, there are broken bones the Goa'uld way.
Hand device, blasting you across the room, your body hitting whatever's in the way with that sickening thud that tells you, yup, another broken bone.
Kick to the ribcage for good measure.
Big, heavy, metal clad Jaffa foot kicking the crap out of you.
I hate that sound, boots colliding with flesh. And bone.
Go for broke, that's what I always say.
~~~~~~~~~~
Let me back up and explain how I got into this mess.
We’d gated to P3X- 699, a supposedly, and let’s emphasize *supposedly*, uninhabited planet with some *supposedly* empty buildings which *supposedly* would be perfectly safe to explore.
Wrong, wrong and wrong, on all accounts.
Not safe, not empty, not uninhabited.
So much for supposedly.
No, we’d walked right into an ambush and straight into the hands of some backwater snakehead, a guy so far off the beaten path that, thank goodness, he didn’t even know who we were.
Yet.
And I was determined to keep it that way.
~~~~~~~~~~
They caught Daniel and me yesterday. I’d split up the team so we could get twice as much work done in half the time, and yes, I'll admit it, so I didn’t have to listen to *both* Carter and Daniel babbling. Even I have my limits, you know. I sent Carter and Teal’c to check on some soil readings she thought were fascinating; Daniel and I went to check out some fancy looking buildings that had caught Daniel’s attention.
Unfortunately, they’d also drawn the attention of a whole squad of Jaffa, who proceeded to force march us a good 10 miles before throwing us into this dank, dark and smelly cell overnight. This morning, the Jaffa hauled us bodily up about 8 million stairs to a big, gaudy room, where a short, chubby overdressed gould-type guy waited, sitting on this oversized gold and glitz chair.
Snakes. Got no taste whatsoever.
“Who are you?” the snake asked. “Where are you from? How did you get here?” Goa’ulds are nosy that way. Information, information, information, always wanting information.
I said nothing, just looked him in the eye with my best ‘who me?’ innocent expression.
He asked again. “Who are you?”
I remained silent, throwing Daniel a look out of the corner of my eye that reminded him of what I’d told him while we’d been marched here to this dirty, drafty, ugly, stone building.
The Goa’uld stepped closer to me. “I know you can speak. You were overheard talking while on the way here.” Mr. Snake walked around me, circling me, then circled Daniel, like a shark honing in on its prey. “Who are you? Why are you here? Who sent you here?”
Daniel stayed silent.
Snakey finished his inspection of us, and stopped in front of Daniel. “Tell me what I want to know and I will send you on your way.”
Okay, I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Who was writing this guy’s bad dialogue, anyway?
Snake didn’t like being laughed at, I guess. He spun toward me, his arm extended, his hand open, the ribbon device on his palm throwing out a beam of energy. That stuff’s got some kick, let me tell you. The beam picked me right up off the ground and tossed me back about ten feet. I hit so hard I felt my skull bounce off the stone floor. Stunned by the impact, I didn’t recover quickly enough. I’d just barely managed to push myself up off the floor, sort of half sitting, supporting my upper body with my arms, shaking my ringing head and trying to get my eyes to focus.
I never saw the blow coming.
But I sure felt it.
I half-heard the swish of displaced air, of something thick, heavy and rock hard being swung through the air a fraction of a second before it smacked into my left arm, creating that familiar, dull snap-thud sound as that big bone in my forearm metamorphed from one piece into two.
“Arrrggghhh,” I hollered, collapsing back onto the floor. Seconds later, I let out a second yelp as a pair of Jaffa grabbed me, one by each arm, which of course meant one of them was tugging on the broken one. Not a nice feeling, by the way. Made me forget all about the headache, though, which is the best thing I could say for it.
Snakey was smiling now as his Jaffa dragged me back across the room and dumped me on the floor near his fancy chair-throne thingy. “Tell me your name,” he demanded.
“No.”
Snakes have a thing about power, you know that? Love to show it off. This time, the damn beam tossed me about 15 feet. Luckily, there was a semi-padded couch sort of thing that broke my fall. Still hurt, though, especially when the Jaffa repeated their ‘drag the wounded captive across the floor’ act.
So there I was, back on the floor in front of Chunky the snake.
“Tell me your name.”
I could see Daniel was about to say something, so I beat him to the punch, er, punchline, as it were. “I’m Bart and he’s Lisa, we’re the Simpson kids.”
Daniel was kneeling on the floor now, hands bound behind his back, a Jaffa keeping one meaty hand on the archeologist’s shoulder, shot me a glare. Guess he didn’t like being called Lisa, but hey, I didn’t have much time to come up with something better. I shrugged in apology and turned my attention back to our captor, who was glaring at me with about seventy fold the nastiness Daniel had been able to muster.
So, okay, snakehead had obviously never watched American television, but I think he realized real fast that I was pulling his leg, figuratively that is. You do understand it’s hard to literally pull someone’s leg when you’re lying on the floor with a raging headache, cracked ribs and one very broken arm?
He was short, this snake was, very short and really quite round, with pale skin and pale eyes and balder than my favorite CO. Guess good hosts are hard to find on these out of the way planets, I mused, keeping my mind occupied thinking about something other than the way all the battered parts of my body were no longer numb.
My arm hurt like hell, if you really have to know. A few other parts weren't feeling much better, either.
A pudgy, short fingered hand yanked at my hair, forcing me to look up into those pale eyes. “You speak nonsense. I think you should tell us the truth.”
“I think not.” Okay, now that’s the truth. Because if I’d have thought about what I was saying, I wouldn’t have said it.
But I did.
The Pillsbury Dough Boy’s eyes flashed, you know, that glowy thing I really hate to see, and he stuck out his hand and the ribbon device lit up one more time.
Next thing I knew, I was flying across the room again, slamming into something unyielding.
The wall this time, I suppose.
The good thing was that most of me had gone numb again.
The bad thing was that the parts I could feel did not feel good. Nope. Nada. Nein. Nyet. Not good at all.
I tried to get up, willed my legs to move, pulling my knees up under me, using my good arm to push my torso off the floor. I got into a mostly sitting position before things started spinning and I had to stick out my left arm to catch my balance.
Bad move.
Said left arm was not in a fit state to balance anything, which it didn’t.
I heard as well as felt the broken bones grating together… now there’s another sound I do soooo love… in the fraction of a second before the wave of pain sent me crashing back to the floor, gasping, fighting the nearly overwhelming urge to retch or curse or black out, or all three.
Because, while a part of me was perfectly willing, even eager, to pass out and leave this mess to someone else, the other part of me, the responsible side of me, reminded the tired and hurting side that if this snake quit knocking me around, he’d surely start on Daniel, and it was my job to protect Daniel at whatever cost, because I’m the military guy and he’s the civilian guy and it’s just not in my nature to let somebody else get hurt, not while I can help it.
Time. We needed more time, time to let Teal’c and Carter and a rescue party find us and get us the hell out of here. Not too much time, I was praying, because I wasn’t sure how much more of this I could take before the pain won out and I passed out and then the jig would be up.
So somehow, I managed to stay conscious, managed to get the legs and the good arm working in tandem, managed to stagger upright and paste that snarky grin back on my face as if nothing hurt.
As if even a snake was going to buy that fiction.
Riiigghhttt, Jack.
Daniel was watching me as I weaved my way to my feet, and I saw it in his eyes that, no matter how sternly I’d ordered him to keep his mouth shut, he was about to start talking.
And I couldn’t let that happen.
So I somehow straightened up, er, mostly straightened up, lifting my chin, which at the moment was one of the few parts of me that didn’t hurt, and pretty much focused my best ‘you don’t scare me a bit’ look on good ol’ Doughboy.
I don’t think I intimidated him one bit.
The snake waved a hand at one of the Jaffa who was standing at attention near the back of the room, and a warrior stepped toward me, waving his staff weapon threateningly. I stood my ground, and the Jaffa poked me in the back with the weapon, the light push throwing off my already shaky balance.
I stumbled forward, landing in a heap at Doughboy’s feet. So much for the “I’m not as hurt as I look” look.
But Doughboy wasn’t looking at me, he was looking over at Daniel, and the frozen expression of horror on Daniel’s face. Doughboy reached down once more, curling those stubby fingers into my hair, using that snake-supplied strength to pull me halfway to my feet, forcing me to look up at him.
He wasn’t looking at me, but had his gaze fixed on Daniel’s face. Snake’s words were addressed to Daniel, too. “I will kill him if you do not tell me who you are and where you are from.”
“Don’t!” I ordered Daniel, struggling in the Goa’uld’s tight grip as I felt his hand slipping through my short hair.
He let go, and I fell back to the floor.
“Tell me!” the Goa’uld ordered, still looking at Daniel. “Tell. Me. Now. Or I *will kill him. Very slowly, very messily and very painfully.”
Damn, I hate this, I hate having to look up at one of those badly dressed, ill-mannered, slimy, egotistical, overbearing, maniacal … I had barely started enumerating my list of 100 favorite adjectives to describe a Goa’uld when said Goa’uld kicked me.
He’s obviously never heard the phrase about how you shouldn’t kick a man when he’s down.
I heard that sound again, that one I really hate, the snap of bone breaking, following by the sizzle of pain shooting from one more broken rib.
And then he kicked me again, and I felt the bone shards shift and something inside me tore, and I bit my lip to keep from screaming as he kicked me a third time, a knife sharp pain driving deep into my chest. I could hear Daniel hollering something but I couldn’t make out the words over the roaring in my head, over the overwhelming sensation of searing agony as I took another shuddering breath. I tried to see, tried to tell Daniel to shut up, but everything was gray and spinning, and then I think I hit the floor but I really don’t remember.
~~~~~~~~~
I woke up somewhere dark and cold and damp, propped up against something rock-hard. Like rock.
Confused, I stayed quiet a moment, trying to figure out where I was.
And then I tried to move.
Stupid mistake… those sounds, remember? First, there came the realization that the rasping noise I was hearing was me breathing, and as confused as I was, I still knew I don't normally breathe that way. The second sound was also nastily familiar. Broken bones grating against each other, in forearm and ribcage, and I nearly passed out again right then because, damn, that hurt.
I must have said the ‘damn’ out loud because suddenly there was another sound in the darkness, a sound of shuffling feet, and then a reassuring voice.
“Jack?”
It was hard to get enough air to talk, there was this odd catch in my side every time I breathed and the pain, well, let’s not even talk about that. “Daniel?” I fought down a cough and cautiously sucked in another breath, reminding myself not to try to breathe so deep. “Where…?”
I heard little sounds of movement, the rustling of clothes as I realized that dim shadow I could see was Daniel sitting down beside me. “I suppose you’d call it the dungeon. We’re in a cell, under Rabush’s palace. He said he’d just leave us here, no food, no water, until we changed our minds. Or died.”
Okay, I remembered now. We’d been in here last night, before our nice little audience with Doughboy.
“How long… have we… been here?” my voice was a whisper, shallow breathing makes it hard to talk, in case you haven't figured that out for yourself.
“They threw us in here maybe an hour ago,” he answered softly. “I checked out our accommodations. There’s a window in the door, but it’s covered from the outside. No other windows, no loose bricks. Nothing.”
“Floor’s nice,” I suggested, having nothing better to say at the moment.
Daniel didn’t laugh.
I sighed.
Bad mistake number, hmmm, what am I up to now? Twelve? Fourteen? Eighty-five?
This time I did cough.
And couldn’t stop.
I’d have cursed and swore and maybe moaned, but it was taking everything I had to keep breathing, to try to box up the pain and damp it down to a controllable level.
Tried, but couldn’t.
Punctured lungs are a bitch.
I'd been through this particular brand of fun before, back in Antarctica. I was sooo not looking forward to it again.
I felt something warm wrapped around my shoulders. Daniel must have still had his jacket. Mine was long gone, and the atmosphere in our deluxe suite wasn’t exactly up to standard, and I was shivering on top of everything else. This place was *not* going to get my recommendation for a five star rating.
The jacket helped though.
I knew my breathing sounded awful, even I could tell that. I could also tell that Daniel was scared by the way he kept trying to fuss over me, and the 800 times he asked if I was okay or if there was something he could do to help. The really scary part was when he started telling me everything was going to be okay and rescue was on its way and I just had to hold on, because I’ve used those words myself before, and they were invariably said to someone I figured was sliding the last couple of feet towards the pearly gates.
Daniel talked, but I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I couldn’t take a deep enough breath to do more than mumble, and besides, I didn’t have anything to say anyway.
Finally, after a long, long time, I got those air passages back under control, concentrating on those shallow breaths.
I drifted, Daniel’s words lulling me, the darkness steadily pulling at me until I couldn’t resist anymore, and I slept, or maybe I passed out, I don’t really know.
~~~~~~~~~~
I awakened to the best sound in the world, the sound of rescue.
I know it well.
And appreciate it every time.
The chatter of P-90’s, the crack of energy weapons, distant shouts, and then, at last, the sound of running feet coming steadily closer.
“Colonel? Daniel?” that was Carter calling out.
“O’Neill? Daniel Jackson?” that was Teal’c’s voice.
“Here, we’re in here!” Daniel hollered. “Sam! Teal’c. In here!”
After a brief moment, I heard noises at the door, and a bit of light leaked through around the doorjamb. Then came the muttering of quiet voices and I couldn’t make out their words. Finally, Carter raised her voice. “Sir, we’re going to have to blow this door. Keep back.”
I tried to shift into a sitting position, groaning as pain bit deep into my lung. Daniel moved in front of me, shielding me from the door as I heard the comforting sound of C-4 exploding, immediately followed by a fingernails on a blackboard sort of screech of long un-oiled hinges flying open until, bang!, the door smacked into the wall.
People pushed into the cell, hands reaching down to help me to my feet.
I probably shouldn’t have gotten up, okay, not probably, just plain shouldn’t have, but I wasn’t going to let them carry me out if I could help it.
With assistance from Teal’c on one side and Daniel on the other, I got about halfway to vertical before I had to take a breath.
Another one of those mistakes I'd lost count of.
“God oh God oh God,” I mumbled, feeling my knees buckle and my head swim. I’d have hit the floor if it wasn’t for the steadying hands of my teammates propping me semi-upright.
All movement stopped and it got very quiet except for the ugly rough sound of my own gasps for adequate oxygen.
“O’Neill?”
I couldn’t answer, just managed to shake my head a bit, praying they would just let me stay right where I was until I had regained control.
I could sense the concern all around me, even before Carter’s worried voice broke the silence. “Sir, maybe you should lie back down. We can rig up a stretcher…”
I shook my head more emphatically this time. “Get…upstairs…first.” I remembered those steps, steep and winding and narrow and I couldn't see how they could carry me up them. I'd just have to stumble out on my own two feet.
Which I much preferred.
And proceeded to do.
Made it, too. With only a few rest stops, okay, more than a few, more like many.
Hurt like hell ten times over.
But I made it.
With the help of my team.
Up to the main floor, where Major Griff stood grinning, his team holding weapons trained on a gaggle of Jaffa. Over near the wall, a limp bundle of gaudy gold cloth lay unmoving.
Griff saw where my gaze rested.
“Goa’uld’s dead, Sir.”
“One less… snake in… in the… universe… is… a… good… thing,” I mumbled as I felt myself slipping toward the floor.
~~~~~~~~
That’s the end of my recollections of P3X-699. They stop rather abruptly I know. Tends to be what happens when you pass out.
Guess I gave my team a pretty good scare, crashing like that. But frankly, for my own sake, it was probably better that I wasn’t awake for the trip home.
Doc said I could have died, as if that was news.
The only sounds I can hear right now are mechanical noises. Doc’s machines are pretty noisy. You’d think they’d do something about that, so a man could sleep. There’s another sound here, too, though, another one I recognize. It’s the sound of someone snoring softly in their sleep, and since I’m not sleeping, and Doc doesn’t snore, at least as far as I’ve ever noticed, it must mean Daniel is here.
I open my eyes, and scan the room.
Yup, there he is, sleeping in a chair. He’s gonna be really stiff and sore when he wakes up, sleeping with his neck all scrunched up like that, leaning against the wall. Surprised Doc let him stay here with me. She usually doesn’t, generally she likes to make the rest of the team go home and rest while one of us is laid up. Of course, it rarely works when it’s me looking after one of the team, and I know Daniel can be just as stubborn.
My eyes are focusing better now, and I can see something is wrong with Daniel’s face. It’s not just the low light in here, shit, he’s got a whopper of a bruise that covers about half his face.
Shit. Ol' DoughBoy must have done that after I passed out I guess. I hope that's all the damage he sustained. Of course the fact that he's sitting there in a chair in regular clothes means he couldn't have been hurt too bad, or Doc would never have let him out of her clutches.
I stare more closely at Daniel's face and suddenly realize what seems odd. The bruise has already gone black and blue, fading toward yellow, so I guess that means a few days have passed. Not that I remember them, and most likely never will. Considering where I am and how I feel, I'd say the odds are heavily in the favor of me having been unconscious for way more than a few hours and much more like several days.
As I watch, Daniel wakes up, the blue eyes opening, momentarily confused. Even as one hand reaches up to massage that stiff neck, I see his eyes light up when he sees I'm awake.
“Hey, Jack,” he says softly.
“Daniel?”
He looks at me oddly, then a small grin crosses his face. “Well at least you didn’t call me Lisa this time.”
“Sorry,” I mumble.
“It was okay, really, Jack.”
“Next time,” I was already finding it hard to keep my heavy lids propped open, “Next time, you can be Bart. I’ll be Lisa.”
Daniel chuckles.
A good sound.
Next I hear the soft sounds of Daniel getting to his feet.
“You leaving?” I ask, forcing my eyes open but unable to keep them that way.
“Yeah. Janet said you need to sleep, so I better go.”
“You don’t want to get her mad at you,” I mumble.
“No,” Daniel chuckles again, “no, I don’t.” He pauses, and then just as I'm drifting away, I hear him say, “Goodnight, Jack.”
“’Night.” At least, I think I said the word, and then the last sound I hear before sleep claims me once more is the soft sound of his footsteps heading out the door and down the corridor, fading away into the quiet night noises of the SGC.
~~~~~~~~~~~