Title: The Art of Hurt/Comfort for the Single Guy.

Author: Flatkatsi

Email: flatkatsi@optusnet.com.au

Status: Complete

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Darkfic

Pairings: None

Spoilers: None

Season: Pre Eight

Rating: 13+

Content Warnings: Violence, slight language.

File Size: 26kb

Archive: Jackfic, Incoming wormhole

Summary: Jack goes seeking comfort and finally finds it.

Disclaimer: Stargate Sg-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.

Author’s Note: I think it’s pretty obvious who this story is aimed at. I’ll say no more. Unbeta’d.

The Art of Hurt/Comfort For the Single Guy

“Damn it!”

Jack couldn’t help the exasperated cry from escaping despite his best efforts. He doubled over, crouching in on himself, cradling his injured hand.

Blood dripped sluggishly from between his clenched fingers, dropping in soft wet thuds on to the richly polished floorboards and spreading in small circles like ripples caused by leaping fish in a lake.

Just for a moment his mind twisted back to a time he would rather forget – a time when all he wanted was to cause as much pain to his enemies as possible. The reaction had been natural – hit back at those that hurt you – and it had taken months to finally move from that downward spiral of hatred and vengeance back up into the light.

Jack stood, pulling himself straight.

He would not allow himself the indulgence of memory. This wasn’t some sort of angst fest. He was hurt, for crying out loud, and all he wanted was a little comfort. Was that too much to ask?

Ha!

His cynical laugh rang through the room.

Comfort. He wasn’t going to take the easy option and go to his team for that. Hell – Daniel would do nothing but hug himself and look panicked, Carter had an unfortunate tendency to fall asleep with her head on his pillow, leaving a large drool patch that annoyed the infirmary staff no end, and Teal’c – well, Jack could count on the fingers of half a hand the number of times he’d offered words of comfort. Somehow standing in a corner and looking stoic just didn’t cut it in the comfort stakes. As for any other members of the SGC - Hammond would just mutter a comment like ‘Suck it up, Airman” and the Doc had a fine line in sadism going.

Nope. If Jack wanted any comfort he knew full well he’d have to find it himself.

But first things first.

He had to deal with the cause of his injury.

Unlocking his thumb from its nest of tightly held fist, he held it out, biting his lip to hold back the pain the movement sent pulsing through him. With a swift, sudden motion he grabbed the old fashioned manual can opener he had resorted to and threw it into the garbage can, uttering an oath as he did so that would have had a Marine Sergeant blushing.

His electric can opener wouldn’t have done this to him. It wouldn’t have grabbed the end of his thumb and pulled, just like the Iraqis had done . . .

Stop! He wasn’t going there.

He liked his electric can opener. It was nice and sharp. Sharp enough to put out an eye if handled correctly.

Jack grinned a feral grin and watched as more blood dripped.

There was something soothing in the feeling of blood flowing from his veins. Something almost hypnotic in the sight.

Of course it helped if it was someone else’s blood instead of his own. There had been that Jaffa back on PSQ-844. His blood had certainly flowed, in fact it had gushed like a fountain, spraying up and outwards from his slit throat. Jack hadn’t moved out of the way – bathing in the warm fluid of someone’s life.  The gore had taken a bit of explaining during the post mission medical, but he’d managed it.

Jack smiled again, taking pleasure in the past and glad he was alone. He didn’t need anyone to comfort him. He’d done quite well on his own. Whistling, he slapped a bandage around his thumb and headed for bed, his lovely feather filled pillow beckoning.

Now there was comfort.

The End