marzipan77 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
marzipan77) wrote2010-06-26 02:53 pm
marzipan77) wrote2010-06-26 02:53 pm
Entry tags:
The Beginning of Healing Pt 2/3
The Beginning of Healing Pt 2/3
by marzipan77
GEN Sooo angsty, but mostly it’s a team story.
Rated: T+ for repercussions from Hathor and some decidedly strong language. Maybe M for Daniel’s memories, but, then again, I have a strong imagination.
Tag for Hathor.
Feedback: Oh, yes please.
See Author’s Note on Part 1
“It seems to be healing nicely, Mr. Teal’c.” The infirmary nurse removed the dressing from Teal’c’s leg and ran disbelieving fingers over the slight scar that was the only sign of his injury. He raised one eyebrow, considering again when the healers of the Tau’ri would realize that he was not as fragile as his human comrades. The small blonde woman smiled at him and he attempted to smooth the impatience from his expression.
Teal’c glanced around the busy infirmary – even at mid-day on the human ‘weekend’ the healers moved quickly and efficiently from one warrior to the next. Many of the patients were those who had fallen under the influence of the Goa’uld Hathor, and were being examined for lingering effects of her power. The Jaffa tilted his head, watching as the female healers attended each man with a strange brusqueness and an air of superiority not usually found in their demeanors, as if the men’s susceptibility to Hathor’s behavioral inhibitors made them somehow inferior or shameful. The warriors themselves appeared to accept this – their eyes shifting nervously from side to side – ashamed of their apparent weakness.
An odd occurrence, Teal’c observed. He did not consider these men weak for succumbing to the Goa’uld any more than he did O’Neill – the Goa’uld had used a weapon for which the human males had no resistance. One could not fault them for falling before it; staff weapon wounds or gashes from expertly wielded knives would not have drawn the barely hidden contempt from these females. Teal’c considered this past battle a lesson in the guile and deception of the enemy, and, with their victory, these warriors would be better armed, in mind as well as hand, against the false gods of the Goa’uld.
He inclined his head stiffly towards the nurse and made his way between the examination tables, making sure to meet the eyes of each of the Tau’ri as he strode past – not unlike the times he’d spent among the younger warriors of Apophis, encouraging with his very presence. Many who met his steady gaze straightened imperceptibly, sitting taller on the infirmary beds, winning back a portion of their pride.
As he passed an open doorway, Teal’c was surprised to see the slight figure of Dr. Janet Frasier sitting behind her desk, just hanging up the phone, her left arm immobilized within a sling. He hesitated at the doorway until the human woman looked up and met his eyes. She and Captain Carter had acquitted themselves well during the battle for the SGC, and had been justly praised by their commander. Today, however, the healer’s mask of brisk efficiency had slipped to reveal a deeper pain. He watched silently as she struggled to retreat back into her stoic calm and quickly made a decision.
Stepping inside, Teal’c bowed. “I did not expect to see you today, Doctor Frasier. Did General Hammond not order you to leave the base for 48 hours as he did SG-1?” He hoped his warm, level tone would express his concern effectively: Teal’c had found that many of the Tau’ri did not understand his attempts to communicate and, so, often chose to keep his silence.
A moment passed between them and Teal’c moved to quietly close the door behind him. Settling into a chair next to the healer’s desk in order to place himself on a more even level with the diminutive woman, he leaned forward. “Is there anything I can do to assist you, Doctor Frasier?”
“Thank you, Teal’c,” she murmured, touching his arm with one small hand before closing the medical file on her desk firmly, “but I’m not sure if there’s anything to be done at this point.”
He noticed an undercurrent of anger beneath the woman’s despair. “It is not O’Neill for whom you are concerned.” Teal’c had already dismissed the warrior as the object of her anxiety.
“No. Colonel O’Neill is a well-trained, experienced officer. He’s been through something, yes, and he’ll need some time, but I believe, unfortunately, that he’s gone through worse, and that he’s adopted appropriate coping mechanisms for torture. All of Colonel O’Neill’s tests came back perfectly normal,” she added, relaxing slightly, “which, in itself, is remarkable. I wish the Goa’uld sarcophagus technology could have been studied. I’d love to have a tool like that for other seriously injured airmen.”
“The Goa’uld guard these closely, as they are their only means to keep their host bodies from falling to injury, disease, or old age.” He noticed how the woman’s eyes strayed back to the file in front of her as he responded. “Unfortunately, the sarcophagus has no power to heal the deeper wounds of the soul.”
Janet’s gaze snapped back to the warm eyes of the Jaffa, surprise clear on her features and a question in her eyes.
“I have been in the service of the Goa’uld for more years than many humans here have lived, Doctor Frasier,” Teal’c sat back in the chair, images of the atrocities and tortures inflicted by Apophis and his armies flashing across his memory. “I have witnessed their cruelty and the humiliation they bring to their enemies for both strategic and more… personal… reasons.” His nostrils flared as if he could still smell the stink of death and horror that the Goa’uld left in their wakes throughout the galaxy. “I have, myself, with my own hands,” he lifted them almost unconsciously, “brought pain and death to thousands.”
Janet could think of no response. She and the rest of the SGC had grown so comfortable with the Jaffa’s presence, had accepted him as one of their own so firmly, that the thought of his past rarely crossed their minds. Her lips clamped shut and she stilled herself to listen.
“I have seen humans killed, tortured, and abused, I have seen their spirits broken and their bodies bowed by slavery, and I have seen them turn on each other in desperation and fear. But it was not until I met the humans of the Tau’ri – O’Neill, Captain Carter, and Daniel Jackson – that I saw their determination, self-sacrifice, and the ability to absorb hardship that is at the heart of the human spirit.”
After a moment, her eyes full, Janet again touched the file in front of her. “You’re right. Some of the people we work with are amazing. The things they’ve experienced would have destroyed others. But, Teal’c – some wounds are so deep, some pain so caustic that the road to healing can be a very long and painful one.”
“And you are afraid that this is the case for Daniel Jackson?” His brows furrowed, Teal’c remembered his first glimpse of the young man among the human slaves, his willingness to throw himself to the Goa’uld for his mate’s sake. Even those wounds were still unhealed.
Janet shook her head, a slight smile touching only her lips. “As a doctor, I shouldn’t talk about any of my patients, Teal’c, except in my official reports to General Hammond, and even those are restricted to his eyes only.” She smoothed her hand across the medical file gently.
~o~
Daniel sensed her knowing smile above him as he fought himself – the constant adrenaline forcing him in two directions: towards the embrace of her smooth, centuries old body, and away, disgusted and appalled by the feel of his skin touching hers.
“You are strong, my pharaoh,” she laughed into his mouth and he felt his reason slip, screaming, beneath the blind arousal that filled him. Somewhere inside he tried to find a place to cling to, to hold onto something of himself. Sha’re, oh, God, Sha’re.
Daniel jerked awake, stomach roiling and clothes stuck to his skin with sweat. Heaving himself up off the couch, he staggered to the phone and knocked it clumsily to the floor to silence the ear-splitting bell. He pulled his damp shirt off over his head and dropped it behind him, barely making it to the toilet before he retched, his throat burning.
Okay. Alcohol didn’t work.
Empty and shaking, Daniel pried off the rest of his clothes and fell into the shower, turning the water on full - icy cold, but it didn’t matter. He leaned his head against the tiles and let the water batter against him until his teeth chattered and every muscle ached. Fumbling with the spigots, he switched over to warm and closed his eyes under the soothing stream.
~o~
“Were we not both there in the Goa’uld’s quarters, Doctor Frasier?” Teal’c raised one eyebrow at the healer’s statement. What Daniel Jackson had suffered at the hands of Hathor had been all too apparent.
Janet closed her eyes against the image. “Teal’c.”
“Is this form of personal attack unknown on your world?” Teal’c asked quietly. He had never considered this possibility. The Goa’uld reserved this humiliation for those humans who were most personally appealing – men or women – proudly displaying their victims as if dispensing upon them a great honor. Those who were weak of spirit often found a way to die, while the strongest survived, for a time – he had watched as their lives had become more of a living death.
The healer sighed. “No. Unfortunately this ‘personal attack’ as you call it, is not unknown – it’s not even particularly rare. But our society has never been able to develop an effective treatment for the victims. In fact,” she ground her teeth in frustration, “many ignorant people still insist upon blaming the victims themselves.”
Shock registered on the Jaffa’s stoic features, but was replaced immediately by cold fury. Watching him, Janet’s spirits lifted, hoping to have found an unexpected advocate. She had been afraid that the martial nature of the Jaffa culture would have him see any victim of violence as weak or unworthy of sympathy. Instead it seemed as if the alien among them might have the most “human” response of all.
“…and,” she continued, staring hard into Teal’c’s fierce brown eyes, “victims who are male are considered even more contemptible.”
Teal’c’s eyes narrowed. Some of the behavior he had witnessed in the infirmary became clear. “I believe I have seen this way of behaving from the female personnel on this base just a few moments ago.”
Janet shivered, remembering how close she and Sam had come to criticizing their male colleagues for being vulnerable to Hathor’s power. “It’s a complicated dynamic between men and women, Teal’c.”
“On any planet,” Teal’c inclined his head in agreement. “But only a being with the arrogance of a Goa’uld could seek to blame a warrior for falling to a far superior foe.” He had seen Apophis revel watching the humans he’d enslaved battle each other for prominence, mirroring the Goa’uld’s weapons of violence and humiliation against those weaker than themselves.
“That’s just it, Teal’c,” Janet explained earnestly. “In our culture we’ve found that women’s vulnerability to… personal attacks… is largely met with compassion and sympathy, but men – men are expected to be strong, capable of defending themselves and their households – especially in a military setting. Vulnerability is inexcusable.”
“Weakness is death,” Teal’c translated the Jaffa axiom.
Janet adjusted the strap of the sling where it irritated her neck. “In a sense I suppose that’s true,” she replied wearily.
“And Daniel Jackson believes this as well?”
“Teal’c, I’m very much afraid that he does. Our studies have shown that anyone who has suffered from ra… a personal attack of this nature carries deep psychological scars: feelings of shame and betrayal, a desire for isolation from everyone in the victim’s life, irrational bouts of anger and depression, and sometimes even self-damaging behavior. And that behavior is only increased when the victim is male.”
~o~
Daniel’s shaking hands groped for his clothes awkwardly, his limbs reluctant to follow his brain’s instructions. Leave. Leave now. Go. It was all the lucidity he could muster. As he leaned his weight back onto the bed he nearly cried out when he felt the mattress shift and one arm was flung over his shoulder and across his bare chest.
“So strong,” she murmured against his neck, “to leave my bed so easily.” She pressed herself against his back and he froze. “The humans of this world grow strong,” Hathor brushed her fingers against his collarbone, lifting her hand to cradle his chin and draw his head around to face her, “and beautiful. I have not been required to use so much nishka on a man in centuries, my beloved.”
He tried to turn away, but she breathed again and he was lost.
Her voice filled his mind and raised the hairs all over his body. “Await me here,” she whispered. “Our children will be mighty indeed, my pharaoh.”
“No!” The sharp pain brought Daniel back to here and now and he blinked at his fractured image in the broken mirror in front of him. Anger washed over him in waves, tearing the perverse memories that flooded his mind into pieces.
Good. Anger worked where alcohol had failed. That shouldn’t be hard to maintain, especially if Jack or Sam – whoever it was – kept trying to call him.
He glanced down and the bright red stains decorating the white porcelain of the sink caught his eye. He was bleeding, a shard of glass sticking out of the skin under his knuckles.
Pain worked, too.
~o~
Teal’c rose from his chair in one swift movement, suddenly towering over the small healer, his face set. “Then I must speak with General Hammond at once.”
Janet got to her feet. “The general isn’t here, Teal’c – Colonel Makepeace is on duty.”
“Then I will speak with him.”
“Teal’c, please, I shouldn’t have told you any of this…” her eyes were soft with concern. “But,” she glanced down at the silent phone on her desk. “I’ve been trying to reach Daniel all day and I think he’s taken his phone off the hook…”
“You have said nothing,” Teal’c responded quickly. “As Daniel Jackson’s friend and brother it is my responsibility to see to his injuries, no matter the cause.” He placed one large hand on her office door. “There is an old Jaffa saying that my mentor, Bra’tac once taught me. ‘He who first sees the gap in the wall must be first to fill it.’”
Her smile, still strained by pain for one of her charges, now carried a measure of hope.
“That is a true warrior,” she whispered to the empty doorway.
by marzipan77
GEN Sooo angsty, but mostly it’s a team story.
Rated: T+ for repercussions from Hathor and some decidedly strong language. Maybe M for Daniel’s memories, but, then again, I have a strong imagination.
Tag for Hathor.
Feedback: Oh, yes please.
See Author’s Note on Part 1
“It seems to be healing nicely, Mr. Teal’c.” The infirmary nurse removed the dressing from Teal’c’s leg and ran disbelieving fingers over the slight scar that was the only sign of his injury. He raised one eyebrow, considering again when the healers of the Tau’ri would realize that he was not as fragile as his human comrades. The small blonde woman smiled at him and he attempted to smooth the impatience from his expression.
Teal’c glanced around the busy infirmary – even at mid-day on the human ‘weekend’ the healers moved quickly and efficiently from one warrior to the next. Many of the patients were those who had fallen under the influence of the Goa’uld Hathor, and were being examined for lingering effects of her power. The Jaffa tilted his head, watching as the female healers attended each man with a strange brusqueness and an air of superiority not usually found in their demeanors, as if the men’s susceptibility to Hathor’s behavioral inhibitors made them somehow inferior or shameful. The warriors themselves appeared to accept this – their eyes shifting nervously from side to side – ashamed of their apparent weakness.
An odd occurrence, Teal’c observed. He did not consider these men weak for succumbing to the Goa’uld any more than he did O’Neill – the Goa’uld had used a weapon for which the human males had no resistance. One could not fault them for falling before it; staff weapon wounds or gashes from expertly wielded knives would not have drawn the barely hidden contempt from these females. Teal’c considered this past battle a lesson in the guile and deception of the enemy, and, with their victory, these warriors would be better armed, in mind as well as hand, against the false gods of the Goa’uld.
He inclined his head stiffly towards the nurse and made his way between the examination tables, making sure to meet the eyes of each of the Tau’ri as he strode past – not unlike the times he’d spent among the younger warriors of Apophis, encouraging with his very presence. Many who met his steady gaze straightened imperceptibly, sitting taller on the infirmary beds, winning back a portion of their pride.
As he passed an open doorway, Teal’c was surprised to see the slight figure of Dr. Janet Frasier sitting behind her desk, just hanging up the phone, her left arm immobilized within a sling. He hesitated at the doorway until the human woman looked up and met his eyes. She and Captain Carter had acquitted themselves well during the battle for the SGC, and had been justly praised by their commander. Today, however, the healer’s mask of brisk efficiency had slipped to reveal a deeper pain. He watched silently as she struggled to retreat back into her stoic calm and quickly made a decision.
Stepping inside, Teal’c bowed. “I did not expect to see you today, Doctor Frasier. Did General Hammond not order you to leave the base for 48 hours as he did SG-1?” He hoped his warm, level tone would express his concern effectively: Teal’c had found that many of the Tau’ri did not understand his attempts to communicate and, so, often chose to keep his silence.
A moment passed between them and Teal’c moved to quietly close the door behind him. Settling into a chair next to the healer’s desk in order to place himself on a more even level with the diminutive woman, he leaned forward. “Is there anything I can do to assist you, Doctor Frasier?”
“Thank you, Teal’c,” she murmured, touching his arm with one small hand before closing the medical file on her desk firmly, “but I’m not sure if there’s anything to be done at this point.”
He noticed an undercurrent of anger beneath the woman’s despair. “It is not O’Neill for whom you are concerned.” Teal’c had already dismissed the warrior as the object of her anxiety.
“No. Colonel O’Neill is a well-trained, experienced officer. He’s been through something, yes, and he’ll need some time, but I believe, unfortunately, that he’s gone through worse, and that he’s adopted appropriate coping mechanisms for torture. All of Colonel O’Neill’s tests came back perfectly normal,” she added, relaxing slightly, “which, in itself, is remarkable. I wish the Goa’uld sarcophagus technology could have been studied. I’d love to have a tool like that for other seriously injured airmen.”
“The Goa’uld guard these closely, as they are their only means to keep their host bodies from falling to injury, disease, or old age.” He noticed how the woman’s eyes strayed back to the file in front of her as he responded. “Unfortunately, the sarcophagus has no power to heal the deeper wounds of the soul.”
Janet’s gaze snapped back to the warm eyes of the Jaffa, surprise clear on her features and a question in her eyes.
“I have been in the service of the Goa’uld for more years than many humans here have lived, Doctor Frasier,” Teal’c sat back in the chair, images of the atrocities and tortures inflicted by Apophis and his armies flashing across his memory. “I have witnessed their cruelty and the humiliation they bring to their enemies for both strategic and more… personal… reasons.” His nostrils flared as if he could still smell the stink of death and horror that the Goa’uld left in their wakes throughout the galaxy. “I have, myself, with my own hands,” he lifted them almost unconsciously, “brought pain and death to thousands.”
Janet could think of no response. She and the rest of the SGC had grown so comfortable with the Jaffa’s presence, had accepted him as one of their own so firmly, that the thought of his past rarely crossed their minds. Her lips clamped shut and she stilled herself to listen.
“I have seen humans killed, tortured, and abused, I have seen their spirits broken and their bodies bowed by slavery, and I have seen them turn on each other in desperation and fear. But it was not until I met the humans of the Tau’ri – O’Neill, Captain Carter, and Daniel Jackson – that I saw their determination, self-sacrifice, and the ability to absorb hardship that is at the heart of the human spirit.”
After a moment, her eyes full, Janet again touched the file in front of her. “You’re right. Some of the people we work with are amazing. The things they’ve experienced would have destroyed others. But, Teal’c – some wounds are so deep, some pain so caustic that the road to healing can be a very long and painful one.”
“And you are afraid that this is the case for Daniel Jackson?” His brows furrowed, Teal’c remembered his first glimpse of the young man among the human slaves, his willingness to throw himself to the Goa’uld for his mate’s sake. Even those wounds were still unhealed.
Janet shook her head, a slight smile touching only her lips. “As a doctor, I shouldn’t talk about any of my patients, Teal’c, except in my official reports to General Hammond, and even those are restricted to his eyes only.” She smoothed her hand across the medical file gently.
~o~
Daniel sensed her knowing smile above him as he fought himself – the constant adrenaline forcing him in two directions: towards the embrace of her smooth, centuries old body, and away, disgusted and appalled by the feel of his skin touching hers.
“You are strong, my pharaoh,” she laughed into his mouth and he felt his reason slip, screaming, beneath the blind arousal that filled him. Somewhere inside he tried to find a place to cling to, to hold onto something of himself. Sha’re, oh, God, Sha’re.
Daniel jerked awake, stomach roiling and clothes stuck to his skin with sweat. Heaving himself up off the couch, he staggered to the phone and knocked it clumsily to the floor to silence the ear-splitting bell. He pulled his damp shirt off over his head and dropped it behind him, barely making it to the toilet before he retched, his throat burning.
Okay. Alcohol didn’t work.
Empty and shaking, Daniel pried off the rest of his clothes and fell into the shower, turning the water on full - icy cold, but it didn’t matter. He leaned his head against the tiles and let the water batter against him until his teeth chattered and every muscle ached. Fumbling with the spigots, he switched over to warm and closed his eyes under the soothing stream.
~o~
“Were we not both there in the Goa’uld’s quarters, Doctor Frasier?” Teal’c raised one eyebrow at the healer’s statement. What Daniel Jackson had suffered at the hands of Hathor had been all too apparent.
Janet closed her eyes against the image. “Teal’c.”
“Is this form of personal attack unknown on your world?” Teal’c asked quietly. He had never considered this possibility. The Goa’uld reserved this humiliation for those humans who were most personally appealing – men or women – proudly displaying their victims as if dispensing upon them a great honor. Those who were weak of spirit often found a way to die, while the strongest survived, for a time – he had watched as their lives had become more of a living death.
The healer sighed. “No. Unfortunately this ‘personal attack’ as you call it, is not unknown – it’s not even particularly rare. But our society has never been able to develop an effective treatment for the victims. In fact,” she ground her teeth in frustration, “many ignorant people still insist upon blaming the victims themselves.”
Shock registered on the Jaffa’s stoic features, but was replaced immediately by cold fury. Watching him, Janet’s spirits lifted, hoping to have found an unexpected advocate. She had been afraid that the martial nature of the Jaffa culture would have him see any victim of violence as weak or unworthy of sympathy. Instead it seemed as if the alien among them might have the most “human” response of all.
“…and,” she continued, staring hard into Teal’c’s fierce brown eyes, “victims who are male are considered even more contemptible.”
Teal’c’s eyes narrowed. Some of the behavior he had witnessed in the infirmary became clear. “I believe I have seen this way of behaving from the female personnel on this base just a few moments ago.”
Janet shivered, remembering how close she and Sam had come to criticizing their male colleagues for being vulnerable to Hathor’s power. “It’s a complicated dynamic between men and women, Teal’c.”
“On any planet,” Teal’c inclined his head in agreement. “But only a being with the arrogance of a Goa’uld could seek to blame a warrior for falling to a far superior foe.” He had seen Apophis revel watching the humans he’d enslaved battle each other for prominence, mirroring the Goa’uld’s weapons of violence and humiliation against those weaker than themselves.
“That’s just it, Teal’c,” Janet explained earnestly. “In our culture we’ve found that women’s vulnerability to… personal attacks… is largely met with compassion and sympathy, but men – men are expected to be strong, capable of defending themselves and their households – especially in a military setting. Vulnerability is inexcusable.”
“Weakness is death,” Teal’c translated the Jaffa axiom.
Janet adjusted the strap of the sling where it irritated her neck. “In a sense I suppose that’s true,” she replied wearily.
“And Daniel Jackson believes this as well?”
“Teal’c, I’m very much afraid that he does. Our studies have shown that anyone who has suffered from ra… a personal attack of this nature carries deep psychological scars: feelings of shame and betrayal, a desire for isolation from everyone in the victim’s life, irrational bouts of anger and depression, and sometimes even self-damaging behavior. And that behavior is only increased when the victim is male.”
~o~
Daniel’s shaking hands groped for his clothes awkwardly, his limbs reluctant to follow his brain’s instructions. Leave. Leave now. Go. It was all the lucidity he could muster. As he leaned his weight back onto the bed he nearly cried out when he felt the mattress shift and one arm was flung over his shoulder and across his bare chest.
“So strong,” she murmured against his neck, “to leave my bed so easily.” She pressed herself against his back and he froze. “The humans of this world grow strong,” Hathor brushed her fingers against his collarbone, lifting her hand to cradle his chin and draw his head around to face her, “and beautiful. I have not been required to use so much nishka on a man in centuries, my beloved.”
He tried to turn away, but she breathed again and he was lost.
Her voice filled his mind and raised the hairs all over his body. “Await me here,” she whispered. “Our children will be mighty indeed, my pharaoh.”
“No!” The sharp pain brought Daniel back to here and now and he blinked at his fractured image in the broken mirror in front of him. Anger washed over him in waves, tearing the perverse memories that flooded his mind into pieces.
Good. Anger worked where alcohol had failed. That shouldn’t be hard to maintain, especially if Jack or Sam – whoever it was – kept trying to call him.
He glanced down and the bright red stains decorating the white porcelain of the sink caught his eye. He was bleeding, a shard of glass sticking out of the skin under his knuckles.
Pain worked, too.
~o~
Teal’c rose from his chair in one swift movement, suddenly towering over the small healer, his face set. “Then I must speak with General Hammond at once.”
Janet got to her feet. “The general isn’t here, Teal’c – Colonel Makepeace is on duty.”
“Then I will speak with him.”
“Teal’c, please, I shouldn’t have told you any of this…” her eyes were soft with concern. “But,” she glanced down at the silent phone on her desk. “I’ve been trying to reach Daniel all day and I think he’s taken his phone off the hook…”
“You have said nothing,” Teal’c responded quickly. “As Daniel Jackson’s friend and brother it is my responsibility to see to his injuries, no matter the cause.” He placed one large hand on her office door. “There is an old Jaffa saying that my mentor, Bra’tac once taught me. ‘He who first sees the gap in the wall must be first to fill it.’”
Her smile, still strained by pain for one of her charges, now carried a measure of hope.
“That is a true warrior,” she whispered to the empty doorway.