* * * *
Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
* * * *
May 2030
I run my fingers through my hair, wearily examining the latest infiltration plans against one of the few remaining system lords. Marat should go; he's a natural at fitting in, learning the best-laid plans, and blowing them all to hell. The usual background noise of people going about their business has grown louder within the past few minutes, but I make no move to rise and find out what news awaits. I'm more concerned with who should accompany Marat -- someone who can serve as the voice of reason, someone who can dampen his enthusiasm for acting impulsively. His mate, Soren, was killed on her last mission, so most of all, he'll need a comrade who can keep him from risking his life foolishly, because I don't doubt he's thought of a suicide mission more than once. I share his grief. Soren was one of my first friends here, but Marat is too valuable to us to waste his life for lost love. Yet another thing with which I can identify. The sounds are growing louder, but I'm sure someone will come tell me what's going on presently.
As if on cue, Garshaw enters the room, smiling with an air of exultation. "Lantesh, may I disturb your work for a moment?"
Inclining my head in greeting, I gesture towards a seat. "It is good to see you this day, my friend. Have you come to tell me news of our operatives?"
Her usually serious face is beaming with excitement. "The army of Apophis is destroyed, Lantesh! Our people took control of two of his ships, and the ensuing battle annihilated his forces." She crosses her legs, and gives me a penetrating look. "Aldwin captured Apophis, trying to escape, and executed the system lord."
I take a deep breath, fighting for composure. "Dead." Looking down at my hands, I see that they are shaking. My greatest enemy, the cause of my greatest pain, and he is no more. I allow myself a moment of sympathy for his pitiable host, who never deserved such a life as he was forced into. "We must inform the Tau'ri."
Garshaw nods in agreement. "I rather thought that would be your course of action. It might be appropriate if we took his body to Earth to be cremated. You and Daniel Jackson -- he still lives, does he not? -- should light the funeral pyre." She presses a gentle hand against my shoulder. "He killed your mates. You have the right."
Actually, it was Teal'c who killed Sha're, but I say nothing, lost in memories, and sense my host's anguish. We grieve together, for lost loves, for choices made and hope torn away. For our child, raised in safety by an old friend among the Tau'ri. Garshaw senses my distress, and brings Yosuf to the forefront. Her expression softens, and she draws me into a comforting embrace as my own host takes precedence.
"Samantha, I am so sorry. I know you mourn him still."
Pressing my head against her shoulder, I sob helplessly, the remembrance still painful after almost thirty years. "Martouf," I whisper, tears scalding my cheeks. "Martouf....."
* * * *
I look into the mirror, making sure every piece of my uniform is in place, every hair on my head neat and orderly, my makeup flawless. Now if I could just get the expression of combined fear and anticipation off my face, all would be perfect.
Today I will begin my tour of duty at the SGC. My father has already informed me that the first week or more will consist of sitting in my office being briefed on the history of the organization. As yet, I know only that it's a highly classified operation, and that I'll be joining the medical staff. I know, also, that I'm so close to finally learning what sort of job my father has done all these years, and that I will at last learn my mother's fate.
My stomach is churning. I don't think I've ever been so frightened in my life. Breakfast is on the table downstairs, and Dad is waiting for me.
"Martina! Are you coming down? We're heading out in twenty minutes!" Waiting none too patiently, it appears. But I'm used to that.
I walk down the stairs feeling as if I'm heading towards my execution. Which isn't too strange a feeling -- all the years of speculating, wondering who my parents were, why they died -- all these theories that I've bounced around my head through the years are going to be killed off, replaced by the truth. Part of me cannot wait. The other part wants to run and hide.
I could have stayed at Andrews Air Force Base after I finished my residency. I liked my job there and had lots of friends. But Dad didn't push me towards this choice. He merely let me know that I was qualified, and had a chance to learn the answers to so many questions, questions that otherwise would remain forever unanswered. And given the opportunity, what other choice could I have made?
I'm scared, but I won't let it show. I'm an Air Force officer. Fear may be acceptable, but only if courage attends it.
"Morning, Dad." I smile at him and sit down, taking a cup of coffee and ignoring the plate of eggs and toast at my place at the table.
"What? No salute?" he teases me. He's in uniform as well, something he doesn't do too often these days. He's semi-retired, only serving as a consultant to the SGC, not involved in its day-to-day operations.
I toss off a careless salute. "Lieutenant Martina O'Neill, reporting for breakfast, sir."
"Don't feel like eating?" At the shake of my head, he reaches over and takes my plate, digging into the eggs. "Well, no need for it to go to waste."
I smile at him fondly. His uniform of Major General fits him perfectly. If I ate as much as he did, I'd have trouble maintaining military physical requirements, but my father can eat anything he wants and still be as lean and fit as when he was younger. I think he burns off all the calories when he fidgets.
Sipping my coffee, I flip through the morning paper, surreptitiously examining my adoptive father. Since his sixty-eighth birthday, he's lost more hair and gained more wrinkles, but he still looks as strong and fit as when I was a child. He was the giant that dominated my life, kept me safe, and loved me so much that I never even missed having a mother until I got older and understood that most of my friends had two parents, not just one. I wonder how he feels, knowing that I'm going to finally learn the truth? Does he worry that I won't consider my real father, anymore? Not that he'd tell me his worries, of course. It's always been very important to him to appear strong. When he'd tell me the things he could about my mother, I'd see pain in his eyes, but he never cried. I'm not sure he knows how.
The doorbell rings, announcing our driver. When I get my own apartment closer to base, I won't have such luxuries, but I just got into town three days ago, and haven't had time. Besides, I think my father likes having me here.
We stand, straightening our uniforms, putting breakfast dishes into the sink before heading to the door. I place a hand on his arm. "Dad?"
"Yeah, Marty?"
"I love you."
He clears his throat and grins at me. "Love you too, sweetheart." He opens the door and we walk towards the car, towards the truth.
* * * *
After interminable security checks and several elevator rides, we arrive at sub-level 28, home of what my father has just informed me is the Stargate Command. I'm trying to keep my jaw from dragging the floor. It wouldn't do to arrive at my new job looked totally incredulous and flustered, but I don't know how well I'm doing at keeping my game face intact.
"Jack!" A congenial man in his fifties, wearing the uniform of a lieutenant general, approaches us, smiling.
"General Simmons, sir!" We both stand at attention, and salute. Dad is smirking as General Simmons returns the salute, then claps him on the back. "Never thought I'd be the one saluting you, Graham."
Simmons laughs and then turns to shake my hand. "Lieutenant O'Neill? It's a pleasure to welcome you to this facility."
"Thank you, sir." Looking around, I still can't see anything out of the ordinary. When I glance back at General Simmons, he has a wistful expression on his face.
"You look a great deal like your mother, Lieutenant."
"Yes sir, so I'm told." From the pictures I've seen of her, I know he's right. Except for wearing my hair longer, and having grey eyes instead of blue, I do bear a remarkable resemblance to her, although I'm not quite as tall. I allow myself a moment of exasperation, wondering if everyone old enough to have known her is going to expect me to be a carbon copy of Major Samantha Carter. Don't get me wrong -- most days I'm happy with my appearance, and my joining the Air Force was my own decision. But I often feel as though everyone else sees my life as a continuation of hers, even though I had no interest in astrophysics. Medicine is much more fascinating.
He starts walking down the hallway, and my father and I fall in step behind him. We stop in front of a conference room, where two people await within. "Lieutenant O'Neill, you'll be assigned base quarters and introduced to your medical colleagues later, but for today, Dr. Fraiser and Teal'c will be doing your preliminary briefing." We enter the room, and I recognize Cassandra. I haven't seen her since I went to medical school. "Dr. Fraiser, Teal'c, this is Lieutenant Martina Samantha O'Neill."
Cassandra ignores my outstretched hand, and gives me a fierce hug. "Hello, Martina. I'm glad to see you here."
"I thought you were on an archaeological dig in Pakistan! When did you begin working here?" Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Dad is hugging a massive black man, presumably Teal'c.
"Two years ago, but I've known about the Stargate program since I was a girl." At my puzzled expression, she shrugs. "When we begin the briefing, you'll understand."
"Teal'c," my father gestures towards me, "I'm sure you remember Martina." He looks at me proudly.
I try not to stare as this giant of a man, Teal'c, who has a strange gold ornament embedded in his forehead, bows his head towards me. "It has been many years, Lieutenant O'Neill. I am gratified to see that you have reached adulthood in safety and health."
"Um... yes. I'm sorry, Mr. Teal'c? We've met?" I think if that were the case, I'd certainly remember!
He nods, smiling gently. "You were but a young child when we last met, Martina."
General Simmons interrupts my racing thoughts. "I'm sure you're feeling quite confused just now, Lieutenant, but Dr. Fraiser and Teal'c will bring you up to speed on what you need to know. Now, I must return to my duties." He heads towards the door. "Care to join me, Jack?"
Dad rolls his eyes playfully. "Trying to get me back to work, no doubt. Nobody around here respects the word retirement," he grouses, patting me on the shoulder as he leaves. "I'll meet you later, Marty."
"Please, sit down, Martina," Cassandra suggests, as she and Teal'c do the same. She pushes a very thick folder towards me. "This is information that you'll need to read, but we thought we'd begin with a basic outline of the history of the SGC. Now, the Stargate was found at an archaeological dig in Giza in the early twentieth century..."
* * * *
Aldwin dials the address for Earth, then joins me in front of the Chaapa-ai. "Do you have the code ready, Lantesh?"
Nodding, I check the GDO, making certain I've entered the correct commands. It's been eight years since I used it. "Yes, Aldwin. Shall we?" My stomach churning in apprehension, I walk towards the rippling surface of the event horizon. Aldwin follows me, steering the antigravity device that supports the body of Apophis.
After what feels like a frozen eternity within the wormhole, we emerge onto the gate ramp at Stargate Command. Armed marines step back as General Simmons approaches us in greeting.
"Aldwin, Lantesh. It is good to see you. I presume you have news?" I nod, and ask my host if she wishes to take precedence. Samantha is content for me to lead at the moment, however.
I gesture towards the shrouded body. "The Tok'ra bring great news to our allies, the Tauri. Four days ago, the army of Apophis was destroyed."
I get no further before an enormous cheer arises from the throats of the men and women in the gate room. General Simmons' face is lit with incredible joy, then he quiets his people. "That is marvelous news, Lantesh." He nods at the body. "Is that who I think it is?"
"Yes. We thought it appropriate to light Apophis' funeral pyre on this world, so his host's ashes may be returned to their original homeland." I look around the room, searching for a familiar face. "Is Dr. Jackson here?"
He shakes his head. "Not at the moment, Lantesh, he's in New York. But we can contact him, and I'm sure he can be here by tomorrow. In the meantime, there is another person here you might like to see." He instructs an airman to take Apophis' body to the morgue for the time being, keeping it under guard, and escorts us towards the hallway. We stop just inside the entrance, and my heart seems to skip a beat as I see who awaits us.
"Hello, Sam," Jack O'Neill says softly. "Bet you didn't expect to see me here, did ya?"
* * * *
I flip another page of the report, pushing my notepad to the side for the moment. "Okay, so of the alien races we're aware of, there's the Goa'uld, the Unas, the Asgard, the Nox, and the Rhi'tou, as well as one race who tried to infiltrate whose name we don't know?"
"That is correct, Lieutenant O'Neill. As well, there are many other human worlds along the Stargate system, at many different stages of development. For example, the Tollan are human allies of ours, who have technology much more sophisticated than our own."
"And so after the death of Ra, and the attack on the base by Apophis, we began traveling this network, in order to learn what was out there?"
"Yes," Cassandra says, scribbling a note on her report. "Now, in addition to the goa'uld system lords, there is a faction of goa'uld called the Tok'ra, who wish to live in peace with humans. They are a resistance movement against the system lords, and have a symbiotic relationship with their human hosts, where neither dominates, but rather share the host's body. They have been an invaluable ally throughout the years."
"Okay." I rub my eyes. "I'm just finding this all a bit amazing, you know, finding out that we've been at war for thirty years now, and I never knew a thing about it."
She shrugs. "Well, for me, it was sort of inevitable that I'd get involved with the Stargate project again. When the goa'uld destroyed P8X-987, I came here to live, and even though I knew what was going on, it was years before I came back here to work. I just couldn't stand knowing the reality and not knowing the details."
"Details," I muse, tapping my fingernails against the table. "I want to learn more about those details myself. I need to know how my parents died, and why Dad could never tell me more than just a few facts about my mother." I look up at them. "I know it's skipping ahead somewhat, but can you tell me about her now?"
As Teal'c begins to speak, his gentle voice is drowned out by a loud noise over the intercom system.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the SGC, this is General Simmons. Representatives from our allies, the Tok'ra, are on base, and they have relayed the news to us that a few days ago, they destroyed the army of Apophis and executed the system lord. I'd like us all to take a moment of silence for his host, who has been released from a few thousand years of living hell." The voice falls silent, and Teal'c and Cassandra are both wide-eyed and excited. She reaches out and grips his arm, shaking. The voice continues, "We'll be having a celebration in the commissary this evening at 1800 hours. That is all."
From beyond the doors of the conference room, we can hear excited shouts and cheers. I raise my eyebrows. "Okay. I have this nice briefing manual, and it's already obsolete, huh? Well, that's the military for you."
Cassandra laughs hysterically. I didn't think it was that funny. "Oh god, Martina, there's no mistaking who raised you!" Impulsively, she hugs Teal'c, who, in contrast to his previous stoic appearance, now seems quite animated. "That murdering bastard is dead!"
A knock at the door distracts us. General Simmons pokes his head inside. "I'm sure you've not heard everything you need to know, Lieutenant, but come with me. There's someone you need to meet." He gestures that my companions should attend him as well.
I look at Teal'c and Cassandra, who both appear as confused as me, before rising to my feet. "Yes, sir." The three of us leave the conference room and follow him down several hallways, until we arrive at his office.
My father's inside. He's talking to a woman dressed in a loose green robe that sweeps the floor. His face is carefully blank, the mask he uses when he's so emotionally screwed up that he's afraid to crack an expression for fear he'll lose control.
I stop at the doorway. "Dad?" Oh dear god, is that who I think it is?
He turns to face me, the woman's hand firmly clasped in his own. "Marty. I --" he breaks off, shaking his head. "I want you to meet--"
She presses her other hand against his shoulder. "It's all right, Jack. Hello, Martina," she says softly, her deep blue eyes glistening, voice trembling. "I'm your mother."
* * * *
"You can fail love, but love will never fail you."
... an idea so luminous, so... so... amazing
that most of us have to make up conditions
* * * *
September 2000
I can't contain my grin as I see my father step out of the Stargate, closely followed by Martouf. It's been several months since I've seen either of them, and this time I know that they're just here for a visit, not to take us to hell.
"Hey, Sam," my father greets me warmly. "Got a hug for one of the Tok'ra's oldest and wisest?"
"Sure thing," I reply, "where is Garshaw anyway?" Martouf just rolls his eyes. He's used to us by now, how we show our love through insults. Dad wraps me in a bear hug until I wheeze, and then Martouf takes my hand as we walk down the ramp.
"It is good to see you well, Samantha," Martouf tells me quietly.
My father immediately falls into conversation with General Hammond and I cringe inwardly as Colonel O'Neill casts his oh, so benevolent gaze upon us.
"Hiya, Marty," he drawls. "How ya doing?"
Martouf inclines his head in greeting, and then lets Lantesh speak. "We are in good health, Colonel O'Neill. We are glad to see that the same is true for our friends the Tau'ri."
O'Neill's face gets all twitchy, and he pastes a smarmy grin on his face. "Yeah. You're good, we're good, everything's good. See you around," and he turns to go, almost imperceptibly shaking his head. I'd bet my paycheck that's he's muttering something about snakeheads under his breath.
"That wasn't very nice, Lantesh," I scold him, trying to hide my laughter.
He shrugs nonchalantly, and Martouf takes over again, smiling slyly. "Colonel O'Neill often seems belligerent when I am about, Samantha. Speaking to Lantesh disconcerts him, and we enjoy seeing him caught off guard."
I choke down a high-pitched giggle. "Oh boy. Testosterone-driven chest-butting. This should be an interesting visit."
He stares at me intently. "That is my hope, Samantha."
We engage in a brief staring contest, then I collect my thoughts, not wanting to embarrass myself in front of a room full of coworkers. "Come, let me show you your quarters."
* * * *
My father pokes his head into my lab. "Got a minute, Sam?"
"Sure, Dad. When are we leaving?" I've already packed everything I'll need for a trip to my brother's.
"That's what I've come to talk to you about." He doesn't look me fully in the eyes. "I'll be going to San Diego, Sam, but I want you to stay here."
"Excuse me?" I mime a double-take. "I thought you just said that you wanted me to stay here."
He has the grace to look a little shamefaced. "Well, Martouf obviously can't go to San Diego with me, and he's admitted that he'd like to spend some time here on Earth. George and I arranged the necessary passes and paperwork, and we thought that you--"
"Could be drafted as tour guide?" Oh, why do I feel like there's a setup going on here?
"Yes," he replies bluntly. "According to George, Dr. Jackson is going to help SG-6 with an archaeological dig, Teal'c is off to visit his son, and Colonel O'Neill is going to be temporarily in charge of the SGC for a few days while George takes his grand kids to Disney World. So there won't be anything for you to do here that can't be done later."
I pick my jaw up off the floor. "General Hammond is leaving Colonel O'Neill in charge of the base?" He nods, and I pinch myself, hard. I don't wake up. "You're serious. You're really serious."
He grins. "Hey, Jack could use the experience. He might get promoted one of these days, you know, if he can keep from being such a loose canon." He throws an arm around my shoulder. "Anyway, Martouf wants to see more of Earth than the inside of Cheyenne Mountain, and I also know he likes your company. So you're the obvious choice."
"Obvious. Of course." Upon consideration, I like this idea quite a bit. On the other hand, what the hell is General Hammond up to? Leaving Colonel O'Neill in charge of the SGC? Of course, if he's tied to the desk, he won't be following Martouf and me around like a fidgety chaperone for the next few days. But General Hammond wouldn't be so devious, surely. Would he? I sigh, and lean into my father's embrace. "So, what's my schedule?"
"Well, it's up to the two of you, naturally, but the leaves are starting to turn, it isn't too cold yet, so you could take him hiking. It might be best to stay away from heavily populated areas, just in case Lantesh wants to talk." He brushes my hair out of my eyes. "Martouf has the necessary identifications, he's hard at work memorizing the details of his cover story, and we've got him into the proper clothes. And I know that you've got a tent and backpacking stuff at your place, right?"
Okay. I know when to give in -- he's obviously given this lots of thought. And I'll probably even enjoy myself. But I'll still find a way for payback, just on principle.
"So, Selmak, I'm guessing you had a hand in arranging this, right? Dad never used to be this manipulative."
His eyes blaze gold as his symbiote takes over. "It is possible that I made a few suggestions, Major Carter," Selmak rumbles. "If only to spare us the sight of a grown man pouting like a young child." His smile has more than a hint of wicked humor. "Martouf has not yet been assigned a new mission, and his complaints of boredom have become somewhat tiresome."
I shake my head in amusement and resignation. "Like I said, manipulative."
My dad takes over again. "Aw, Sam, I can be just as manipulative as Selmak! Honest!"
"Yeah, right, Dad. Well, at least you're going to go see Mark. Don't head out before I've had a chance to dig through my bags -- I've got some presents for the kids." He nods in agreement, and heads for the doorway.
"Well, I'm off to talk to George. If I hurry, I might get to see Jack's face when he's told what his new assignment is for the next few days."
I laugh. Oh, for a video camera at that moment. "Have fun, Dad."
* * * *
We're on our way to a place where I like to go hiking in my rare moments of freedom. The September day is warm, but we've made sure to pack jackets and sweaters for tonight. Everything's in order, and I even have fresh food packed for our dinner later this evening -- a welcome change from the usual MREs.
Martouf is listening to Rachmaninov on the car stereo, occasionally smiling at me, content to stay silent for the moment.
Every few miles, I glance at him. He looks great. Not that his Tok'ra uniform is bad, mind you. He has nice legs, and I have wondered in the past how the men at the SGC would look in tights, especially Teal'c.
I stifle another giggle. Must stay calm, Sam. You really don't want Martouf to ask you why you're laughing to yourself for no reason. On the other hand, who knows what he looks like when he and Lantesh are having conversations? I wonder what they do when they have a really big fight, or is that just something you avoid when you have two people in one body?
I wouldn't really know. Jolinar did her best to keep me out of her thoughts at first, only flooding my mind with her memories as she died. She'd given me a few hints when I spoke with Colonel O'Neill, but only enough to know that she spoke the truth, not enough to know anything serious about her life. So when the Ashrak came for us, and attacked us, in the midst of the pain, my mind filled with random images, sadness, longing. And a name that I didn't remember for a few months.
Tonight, I'm pretty sure that we'll get around to having the talk that we haven't had time for in the past. Basically, it's time to discuss what feelings other than friendship, if any, we have for each other, and to what extent they're influenced by Jolinar. At the moment, I have no idea what I'll say. Do I have feelings for Martouf? Yes, I believe so. But I'm still not sure at what point my infatuation with him comes from me, and what comes from her memories of their partnership. I know so much about him, understand his character and his actions, but is this knowledge accurate? How much is subjective, coming from someone who loved him so passionately?
And does he see me as anything other than Jolinar's replacement? I might have only a shaky grasp on my own feelings, but I have no idea what his are. He is attracted to me; I can read that in his eyes, his body language. Dad told me that Martouf wanted to spend time with me. Selmak said he'd been impatient to see me again. All these things point to his having a strong interest in being with me, but is it truly me he sees?
"This music is beautiful, Samantha." His voice intrudes upon my thoughts, and I smile at him before returning my attention to the highway.
"It's always been one of my favorites."
"Then I am pleased that you chose to share it with me." He leans his head back against the seat and sighs. "I am grateful to your father for allowing me to come to Earth with him. It has been a long time since we were able to be together without interruptions."
No, I will not blush. "Yes, it is nice," I say neutrally.
The interruptions have usually come in the form of missions, or my team members. Colonel Jack O'Neill has never flat-out told me that he's jealous of my connection with Martouf, but I'm not blind. His actions speak well enough. The mere sight of Martouf sends him into an Alpha Male frenzy. He rushes to protect me from things that I might want to explore. And if he weren't figuratively chained to a desk at the moment, I have no doubt that he'd have found some way to insinuate himself into this camping trip.
I do try not to think of him as anything other than my commanding officer. It's gotten easier since he returned from Edora. I missed him so much while he was gone. I threw myself into building the particle accelerator to get him home. I was so happy to finally see him that I almost broke down and cried, but he just acted like I was inconveniencing him. Whenever he flirts outrageously with me, I just conjure up the mental picture of him embracing Laira after he walked away from me in mid-sentence.
I can understand him wanting to move on, to accept the changes that had happened to him. I just don't understand how he could think that we'd leave him behind. He came back, and then has tried to worm his way back into my heart. Although I want to let him, I still don't trust him an inch. Flirting, joking, and silly nicknames -- Major Snookums comes to mind, from that interminable nine day wait on P3X-234 -- all these can't make up for his not saying anything about his hopes for us. He expects me to be content with an unspoken promise, with a future that will probably never happen. I just don't know if that's enough for me, not anymore, even if I am in love with him, which I suspect I may be. And that just opens up another can of worms due to regulations. I swore I'd never fall prey to this cliché, being the token girl who falls for her CO.
Not when I also have feelings for Martouf, and there are no regulations saying that he and I can't love each other. I don't know if I love him yet, but I have the chance to find out. How can I turn away from this opportunity, and be satisfied with the possibility of someday? I don't think I can. Right at this moment, I feel like if I tell Martouf I only think of him as a friend, and return to Colonel O'Neill's unspoken approbation, I'll be betraying myself. I've done that often enough in the past, and it's time to stop.
* * * *
Love is an endless mystery for it has nothing else to explain it.
* * * *
We've finished dinner and cleaned up all the cooking equipment, and the food for tomorrow morning is hanging in a sack on a nearby tree branch, so that any marauding animals will leave the tent alone. The campfire will most likely keep them away, but I don't want to take the chance that a bear will interrupt our sleep.
Martouf adds another branch to the flames, watching as the sparks spiral upwards to the starry night. "This is such a lovely planet," he comments.
"Not all of it is this beautiful," I reply, "but yes, I am quite attached to it."
He sits down beside me, resting his arms on his knees. "In the Tok'ra, we try not to become too fond of where we are, since we never know when we shall have to leave. It is good to know that the planet of our origin, the home of the Tau'ri, is still safe. We must keep it so."
I nod, not saying anything, just studying the flicker of the fire, the point at which the flames glow red, then blue with the intensity of heat. When he places an arm about my shoulders, I'm not surprised. Here goes nothing. I lean against him, and place my hand over his own.
He looks at me directly, the firelight casting shadows on his face. "Samantha? I believe we both know what we need to discuss, do we not?"
"Yes." My voice is calm, a direct contrast to my pounding heart. Breathe, I remind myself. It helps to breathe.
He looks down at our entwined hands. "Now that I am with you, it is difficult to know where to begin." He shrugs self-depracatingly. "I want you to know how much I care for you, Samantha." We both take deep breaths, a sigh of relief that we've actually begun this conversation, then laugh self-consciously. "I told you once before, when I asked you to take Selmak as a symbiote, that it stemmed from my desire to keep Jolinar in my life in some form, although she is dead."
"I know," I tell him quietly, trying to quell the sinking feeling in my stomach. Am I going to have to pretend that "we're just friends" after all, to save face and keep from looking like a fool?
He smiles tenderly, banishing my fears, and brushes my hand against his lips. "I was very foolish, Samantha. You keep some of her memories within you, but you are not she. It has been wrong of me not to let you know this before." I open my mouth to speak, and he presses his hand against my lips. "Let me finish? My desire is for your companionship, because of the regard I have come to have for you, not because I am trying to hold onto her. I know that you are not Jolinar. My relationship with her may have influenced my initial attraction to you, but it is far from the sole reason."
I struggle to find words, certain that my pounding heart must be audible halfway down the mountain. I squeeze his hand tightly. "Martouf, it's been difficult for me to know exactly what my feelings are in this matter. Jolinar left such a strong imprint upon me that I don't think it's possible that I wouldn't be drawn to you."
His eyes glitter in response to my words, and he pulls me closer to him. I want to let him, but I'm not done, so I raise my hand, and he pauses. "As I've come to know you, I have gotten better at separating my emotions from hers. I don't know if all the confusion will ever go away, but I'm at a point where I think I can deal with it."
"And?" His voice is rough and sensual, his body warm where it presses against mine.
"She left me with a lot of good memories, Martouf. But I want us to make some of our own." I look down, suddenly bashful. When have I ever been this direct? To conceal my nervousness, I ask him, "What does Lantesh think of this?"
He shakes with laughter. "He's been quite impatient with me, Samantha."
"Really?" I smile at the mental picture of Lantesh ranting inside Martouf's head.
"Would you like to speak with him now?"
"Yes, I suppose so."
He lowers his head, and when he looks back up at me, his eyes shine golden, and his voice has deepened. "Our time together will always be brief, Samantha. It is the way of the Tok'ra, that we rarely have more than a short time between our assigned tasks. I, too, care for you. But you and Martouf have been silent for so long, and then only talked, rather than getting to the point," he says, voice dark with frustration.
"And what point do you wish to make, Lantesh?" His eyes are pools of brilliant light, and I'm drowning.
"Allow me to demonstrate, it should clarify matters," he growls, before his mouth descends upon mine.
Shuddering, I lean into his embrace as our arms wrap tightly around each other. His chest is firm and solid against mine, his hands running through my hair and down my back, his tongue demanding entrance between my lips. I gasp for air, and that moment gives him his opportunity.
Wow. So this is what kissing Lantesh feels like. I'm not complaining in the least -- I can't remember a more passionate kiss in my experience, ever. Not even when I was touched from the virus of the Land of Light. Banishing that thought and all its connotations immediately, I give myself up to the feeling of Martouf's lips trailing kisses down my throat, even as his hands caress my breasts.
Longing hits me like a kick in the stomach. My legs tingle, my pulse quickens, and as we lie back on the ground, a small part of my brain reminds me not to let us roll into the campfire. God, I'm shaking. He kisses me again, not quite so urgently, but sweetly, letting us both explore each other's mouths, and learn what we like. Pulling the hem of his shirt away from his pants, I slowly investigate the warm, smooth skin of his back, scratching lightly with my fingernails as he hums his approval.
Pulling away from me, Martouf smiles again, and I can't help but close my eyes against the joy in his face. "Lantesh can be rather eloquent at times, don't you think?" His mouth brushes against my cheek, feather-light.
I reach for him again. "Works for me." Pressing my lips against his neck, I whisper, "Let's go into the tent, it's getting cold out here."
He's on his feet like a shot, unzipping the tent door, spreading our sleeping bags into one pallet, kicking off his shoes, and finally pulling his shirt over his head to reveal his chest. I walk towards him, desire warming my skin, knowing that the love and anticipation on his face is echoed in mine.
* * * *
May 2030
My mother's voice is soft and wistful as she tells me of my father, and how they came to love each other. We sit in the same conference room where I was before -- Samantha Carter, my dad, and me.
His face is still expressionless. Looking at him, you'd think he was about to take a nap, unless you got a good look at his eyes. He stares at my mother like she's life for a drowning man, and when she talks about Martouf, I can tell that it's hurting him.
She must realize this is true as well, for she's kept her tale thus far to bare details, although I can imagine that for my father and her, it's like reliving the past.
At this point, I'm not sure what to think. What possible reason could explain why I was told she was dead? Yes, I know the SGC was classified, but couldn't something have been done? I joined this program to learn about her life and eventual death, only to learn that she's still alive, but she's now a blended Tok'ra with the symbiote who used to be blended with her late husband. She's sixty-two years old, and doesn't look a day over thirty.
Dad squeezes my hand, but says nothing, offering silent support and love, as always.
When I speak, it seems too loud in the small room. "Can I ask you something?"
She nods gracefully. "Whatever you wish."
"Why do some people call you Sam and others call you Lantesh? How do they know which one of you they're talking to?" It confused me to no end, the first few minutes, hearing her answer to two different names. I hate not understanding details.
"Ah. Yes, I can see how that would be puzzling." She leans forward, placing her elbows on the table, and resting her chin on her hands. "Well, when Lantesh speaks directly, you will hear my voice deepen and my eyes will glow. It's impossible to misunderstand, then. But deciding which name shall predominate is most often agreed upon by the blended pair. We chose to use Lantesh's name when dealing with the SGC, to emphasize that I was no longer merely Major Carter, but a member of the Tok'ra." She stares at her hands, tapping her fingernails on the table. "Also, I was more comfortable having Lantesh predominate when we dealt with the Tauri. The manner of my leaving Earth was not easy, and I suppose at times, it was a way of avoiding how conflicted I felt. When someone wants to speak to one of us in particular, he or she will address us by our individual name." She smiles at Dad fondly. "Jack almost always calls me Sam. Lastly, when Lantesh was blended with your father, they used Martouf's name most of the time. I thought it was fair that he had a turn."
"Lantesh is male?"
"Not exactly. The symbiote adapts to the gender of the host. When I met Lantesh, he was Martouf's symbiote. I didn't just marry one man, but both of them."
"And now you carry your husband within you?" This is far beyond weird. I've almost given up trying to understand all the subtleties.
"In a way, yes. It wasn't until we'd been blended for a few years that we began to think of her as female." She frowns. "Lantesh and I blended to save my life, Martina, and yours." Pausing, she stares off into space, seemingly uncertain where to continue.
Dad clears his throat. "Want me to take over for a bit with the history lesson, Sam?"
"Please," she whispers, wiping her eyes. "I don't want to have to say this next part."
* * * *
Thus, love comes free, but not for you or me.
we have to deserve it, we have to be worthy of it
* * * *
December 2000
They're getting married tomorrow. Martouf and Carter. Major Samantha Carter is going to marry a snakehead! My Sam. And have I mentioned that she's pregnant?
I still can't believe it. I've pinched myself several times lately, trying to convince myself that it's just a dream, but all I end up with are bruises on my arms. Sweet.
It all began a few months ago, when General Hammond gave me the wonderful opportunity for more command experience, as he put it. He left me in charge of the SGC for four days so that Martouf could seduce Sam! There wasn't anything to do, only three units were off-world, and I spent the time catching up on paperwork and twiddling my thumbs, trying to convince myself that Hammond and Jacob wouldn't be that devious. I was in charge in case of an emergency, right? I'd almost convinced myself of that fact. Almost.
But any theory I had about Sam not falling into old Marty's arms was shot to hell when they returned. They were both perfectly professional -- I suppose she'd briefed him on how the Air Force isn't too big on public displays of affection. But the way they looked at each other? I didn't need to hear any details of their wonderful camping trip. I'd be surprised if they did anything other than have sex.
So, I was feeling a bit frazzled, realizing all of a sudden that whatever thing Sam and I had going on was now a thing of the past, when General Hammond and Jacob Carter traipsed back into the SGC, looking insufferably smug when they realized what was going on. Hammond looked tremendously relieved.
So sure, one of the best officers in the SGC was sleeping with one of the Tok'ra, but at least he didn't have to worry about her getting involved with her commanding officer anymore, right? I put on my best poker face, waved Martouf and Jacob off when they went back through the Stargate, and got us back at work on our next mission. All would be business as usual, if I could just get the mental image of Sam making love to Martouf out of my mind.
She didn't flirt with me very much anymore, although she still smiled at my jokes. So I started toning things down, trying not to think of her as anything more than my second in command. I even tortured myself with the reminder that this had to be karmic payback for Laira.
It's just a fling, I told myself, a way for both of them to get Jolinar out of their systems. The fact that she spent every spare minute of stand down with him didn't mean anything.
That excuse doesn't work anymore. Not when I saw the look of incredulous joy on her face as she dashed out of the infirmary after a post-mission physical, on her way to contact the Tok'ra, to let Martouf know that she was pregnant. Not when Martouf came through the Stargate like death gliders were on his heels, racing down the gate ramp to see her. And when I walked past the conference room where they were talking -- I wasn't eavesdropping, I swear -- he was embracing her tightly, tears streaming down his cheeks, telling her how much it meant to him, them having a baby together. That he'd long ago given up hope of ever having a child of his own, since the women of the Tok'ra cannot, because it would mean their symbiotes would have to hibernate all the while their host was pregnant. He was absolutely overjoyed, and Carter was walking on air, since Janet had told her that since Jolinar died within her, it was unlikely she'd ever conceive.
They love each other. They're going to be a family. They're incredibly happy. And I can't hate them for it, even though I've tried. God, I've tried.
* * * *
"My God, Jack, are you all right? You look terrible." Daniel's words cut through the fog in my heavy head.
I groan in pain. "Please, don't talk so loud," I beg him, cautiously raising my head from my desk and grimacing at the dry, sour taste in my mouth. "Let me just rest here a few more minutes. And get me a glass of water, huh?"
Rolling his eyes, he ducks out of my office and returns with a plastic cup full of cool, sweet water. I drink half of it straight down, closing my eyes in relief as my tongue once again becomes flexible, rather than the dead, fuzzy lump it was a moment ago. Opening my desk drawer, I grab a bottle of aspirin, pop the lid, and take two pills, washing them down with the rest of the water.
Five minutes later, I'm feeling well enough to go get another glass of water myself, after waving Daniel off with the promise that I'll be in the Gateroom in time for the ceremony. At this point, it is quite clear that a six-pack of beer last night was a bad idea. Oh well, at least it was fun while it lasted. When a friend is getting married, and you wish that she was with you instead, you're supposed to stay up the night before feeling mad at the world and get stinking drunk. I'm sure it's a rule somewhere. And you know me, a stickler for regulations.
Goddamn regs. I should have said something to her. One of us could have transferred to another team. But I'm an idiot and a coward, so I kept my mouth firmly shut, and now she's marrying Marty. Serves me right. Saying something now would only hurt her. She loves him, and I won't do that to her. Shit.
Glancing at the clock, I see that I have only six more minutes to make myself presentable. I duck into the men's room to empty my bladder, wash my hands, and check myself in the mirror. My dress uniform is neat and crisp, my hair satisfactory, and my eyes nowhere near as bloodshot as they should be. All squared away. Time to go face reality.
Daniel and General Hammond try to look nonchalant as I join them in the Gateroom. They don't succeed, of course, but they're making an effort. They probably thought I wouldn't come. At least they saved a spot for me -- there are so many SGC teams and Tok'ra in here that we're all jammed in like sardines. Garshaw stands at the head of the room with Martouf, who looks remarkably calm. And why wouldn't he? He's already knocked Sam up, it's not like she'll get cold feet at the last minute.
There's no minister. The marriage vows they're going to make will be binding for the Tok'ra, but the United States government is hardly going to legalize a marriage to a man from another planet, because the existence of life on other planets is still classified.
There's movement at the back of the room, and everyone turns towards the doors. Aldwin raises some sort of flute to his lips, and begins to play a soft, low melody. Holding her father's arm, Sam walks towards Martouf, smiling at the witnesses. She's beautiful. Last week, when Janet suggested a long white gown and veil, Sam just rolled her eyes and snickered. Instead she's wearing a long red robe of some sort, quite similar to Martouf's, except that his is green. As she reaches the front of the room, she embraces her father, then turns to clasp Martouf's hands in hers. I've never seen her look so happy. She's a bit pale, but she has been quite nauseous lately. She still looks perfect.
Garshaw steps forward, her eyes shining, her low voice rumbling through the room. "We gather here as witnesses. Martouf and Lantesh desire to join their lives with Samantha. Be silent, and listen with respect and joy as they make their vows."
Both bride and groom bow towards Garshaw as she steps back to stand beside Jacob, then smile at each other. Sam clears her throat, then looks up at Martouf and speaks in her clear, sweet voice. "I, Samantha, pledge my love to you, Martouf, and give my heart into your keeping. All that I have I give to you. I will cherish and honor you all the days of my life. I am yours, now and always."
Martouf's voice is a bit shaky, but still audible. "I, Martouf, pledge my love to you, Samantha, and give my heart into your keeping..." He recites the vow in turn, and they kiss. My headache is back full force. But instead of finishing the ceremony, they're only halfway done. Martouf lowers his head, and when he looks back up, Lantesh is in control.
"I, Samantha, pledge my love to you, Lantesh..."
I'm really here, watching her marry two men who just happen to reside in one body. This can't be real, can it? As much as I wish for this to be a dream, they're embracing and kissing each other again. Turning to their audience, both bow and say, "So do we vow. Let all respect our bond. Thank you for honoring our joining as witnesses." The Tok'ra bow as one towards them, and after a brief pause, the rest of us copy their actions. Aldwin starts the music again, and that seems to be the cue for everyone to mob the married couple.
Janet hugs Sam tightly, then steps back. "Okay, I have to get a picture of you two!" Happy to oblige her, they stand side by side, arms around each others waists. Janet gets her photo, and Martouf kisses his wife again, rubbing their clasped hands across her still flat stomach, where new life is growing.
I really do not want to be here, but my feet are moving me towards them. "Congratulations, Martouf." I clasp his hand, pasting a smile onto my face. I pat Sam's shoulder. "You too, Carter."
She smiles, radiantly happy. "Thank you, sir."
Martouf bows his head towards me. "I know that all the members of SG-1 are close friends, Colonel O'Neill. I am glad that Samantha works with such companions as will do their best to keep her safe."
"No sweat," I say, grinning like an idiot.
Sam raises her eyebrows. "Well, at least until I'm reassigned to the lab, but that shouldn't be for another four months or so." She laughs softly, and absently pats her belly. "Now, I heard Daniel say something about food. Do you know where it is? I'm starving all of a sudden." I point towards to left side of the room, where juice, fruit, and cookies have been arranged on a table, and she makes a beeline there, dragging Martouf behind her. "I'm dying for something sour, like maybe an apple? Or lemonade?" Her voice fades away into the general cacophony of a room full of people talking. Guests try and delay them, wanting to offer their congratulations, but Martouf is apparently explaining the urgency of the matter, because an airman next to the refreshments lobs an apple through the air, and it's quickly passed to Sam, who bites into it eagerly.
I remember how Sara was, when she was expecting Charlie. She'd feel sick and queasy, not wanting any food, until suddenly she had to eat something that instant, and heaven help the person who stood between her and what she wanted. I don't know what I'm more jealous of, Martouf having Carter, or their having a baby. Sometimes when I'm alone at night in my empty house, I dream that I can still hear Charlie racing around, playing, getting into trouble. No child could ever replace him, but the hunger is still there, to have someone else to love.
* * * *
February 2001
Trees, trees, trees. While it's nice to know that there's plenty of planets in the universe that have a similar ecosystem to Earth, for once I'd love to see those funky kind of alien plants that I used to think were so cool on Star Trek. Kirk, James T. Kirk, you can call me. Heh. Not likely.
Daniel bends down, offering Sam a hand, should she need help getting up. "Sam, are you sure you're all right?"
She spits one last time, then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "I'm fine, Daniel, it's just morning sickness. Going through the gate makes it worse." She grabs the proffered bottle of water, and rinses her mouth, then stands up. "Sorry about the delay, sir. I'm ready."
"Okay. Mineral survey time, people. Carter, you find a good spot to get your samples. Teal'c, take point." I look around at the forest before us. "Daniel, can you find any signs of human habitation?"
He shakes his head. "Well, it's possible that at one time this planet was populated, but aside from the Stargate, I don't see any other signs. Any buildings or settlements might have eroded over time, or the gate builders might have connected it to the network, and never got around to colonizing. The coordinates were on the Abydos cartouche, however, so the goa'uld know this planet exists."
"All right. So while we appear safe for the moment, we should keep our eyes out just in case."
After about half an hour's walk, Carter finds a site she deems suitable for her purposes, and begins directing Daniel to unload FRED, all the while enthusiastically munching on an apple. She's always nibbling on something these days, but she's still meeting the physical requirements for our missions, so it's not a big deal. Looking at her, you'd only know she was four months pregnant if you knew her well and took a very close look at her waistline. Janet says she's in good health, and General Hammond has expressed no reservations about her continuing work, at least until April. We have, however, been doing lots of mineral and archaeological surveys lately. Hammond hasn't come right out and said it, but he's not about to send us into any dangerous situations until Carter gets assigned to the labs and Captain Bill Foraker joins us from SG-8 as her temporary substitute. I'm not even letting myself think that after the baby is born, Sam might not want to join SG-1 again.
"Teal'c?"
"Yes, O'Neill?" The Jaffa nods once in response, but still keeps his eyes scanning the landscape.
"I'll help Carter and Daniel for now, then take over guard duty in about an hour, okay?" Mineral surveys. What joy. But nothing gets by Teal'c.
Soon I'm cursing the pebbles under my knees as I take soil samples and put them into their proper containers. Yes, I know this is important work. Carter and Daniel certainly are finding it interesting, but I'm hot, sweaty, my knees hurt, and I'm bored.
"O'Neill, I believe someone is approaching our position." Teal'c stares intently into the forest.
I crouch down, grabbing my binoculars to scan the tree line. "Take cover, everyone." Carter and Daniel do so, unquestioning. "I don't see anyone." Then, I see a subtle hint of movement in the underbrush. "Yep, someone's coming." We all move into defensive positions, and wait for our newcomer to show himself.
Fifteen minutes later, Arris Boch strolls up, looking just as disreputable as when we saw him last. Keeping my gun trained at his head, I groan. "What the hell do you want?"
"Well, such a warm welcome." He grins at us maliciously. "I came to find you because I have some news that you might want. Oh, by the way, Major Carter, congratulations on your marriage."
She looks at him warily. "Thank you. How did you find out about it?"
He shrugs, trying to look innocent. "I hear things. You guys don't have quite as good security as you'd like to think. What I heard is that one of the Tok'ra got you pregnant, so you got married."
She frowns, then shakes her head. "We know this already, Boch. Somehow I don't imagine news of my impending motherhood is a big deal."
"Oh shit," Daniel gasps, "Sam's possession by Jolinar?"
"What?" I demand. "I'm a little out of the loop here, guys!"
"Apophis has learned that you're expecting a child. The father is a goa'uld..."
"Tok'ra," Sam snaps. "Martouf and Lantesh are Tok'ra!"
"Whatever. And you, Major Carter, were once a host. There's a chance your child could be harsesis. Apophis has offered a very high reward to anyone who brings you to him." He grimaces. "I figured you'd appreciate the warning before a horde of Jaffa are waiting the next time you step through the Stargate."
"Oh my God." She swallows, turning pale, and clasps her hands in front of herself, protectively. "Sir?"
"Campers, let's pack up what we have right now. Back to the Stargate. Boch, what's in this for you?"
He holsters his weapon and helps load supplies onto FRED. "Hey, I can be altruistic sometimes. I figure this is worth some supplies, right? I've been trading for the rashna that I need, but some food, a bit of naquadah would be nice."
I fasten the last piece of equipment. "Okay, let's go! I think we can arrange something, Boch. But, just so you know -- if you're leading us into a trap-- before I kill you, you'll be begging me to."
He sneers at me. "Oh yeah, like I'm afraid of you." He looks over at Carter, who is scanning every square millimeter of our path, gun at the ready. "Her, on the other hand? Apophis is stupid. He wants a harsesis for a host, but he forgot one thing. The most dangerous creature in the world is a woman whose child is threatened."
* * * *
The Stargate has been activated, and Carter stands with Martouf, Tuplo, and Leedora at the base of the ramp.
"You're certain that you wish to do this, High Councilor?" General Hammond asks. "The Goa'uld have left your planet alone for decades. Giving sanctuary to Major Carter may bring them back."
Tuplo inclines his head, but stands firm. "General, your people have helped my world in the past, from a scourge that tormented us and tore families apart. There was risk in what they did, yet they did not let that stop them. We will not let the possibility of what might happen prevent us from doing what we should." He smiles at Sam, who stands pale and silent at Martouf's side, their hands tightly clasped. "We are honored that you thought of us when looking for a world where Major Carter could live in safety until the birth of her child. We shall defend her with our lives."
"Very well. But I had to make certain you knew the chance you're taking." Hammond draws Tuplo and Leedora aside, while the rest of us approach Sam and Martouf.
Daniel draws her into a hug. "We'll come visit when we're able to, Sam, okay? And I promise I'll bring books."
At that, she finally smiles. "That would be good, Daniel. Leedora wants to teach me how to spin." She makes a face, then shrugs. "But I'll be all right. It's not like I can take the contents of my lab to a world still in the Bronze Age."
"But you are taking weapons, right?" I point to one of the bags at her feet.
"She is," Martouf tells us. "Some of your guns and a zatnikatel, as well as the healing device."
I shudder, remembering when she healed Chronos with it. If we could station an entire squadron of Marines with her, I'd be a bit happier. But we need her to keep a low profile. If she can be safe for five more months, everything will be all right. As long as the baby isn't harsesis. I hope.
Teal'c embraces her gently. "Please send my greetings and affection to my family, Major Carter."
"I will," she assures him. Looking directly into my eyes, she places her hand on my arm. "Don't be too mean to Foraker, sir," she admonishes me, smiling. "I'll be back before you know it." I press her hand between my own, and nod, saying nothing. Please, God, let her be safe.
General Hammond walks back towards us, and Carter snaps to attention, and salutes him. He returns it, trying not to show his worry. If I hate her leaving, how must he feel, knowing that a woman under his command has to hide out from our greatest enemy? "Major, safe journey."
"Thank you, sir." She picks up one of her bags, Martouf taking the other, and takes his hand again. "I'll be fine."
Joining Tuplo and Leedora at the top of the ramp, she looks back at us once, eyes gleaming, then steps through the event horizon.
Let her be safe, her and the baby. Please God.
* * * *
April 2001
We step through the gate on P3X-797 onto the dark side of the planet. Daniel shows Martouf how to work his night vision goggles, and after a brief conversation with the guards at the gate, we set out through the forest, towards the Land of Light.
Within half an hour, we're at the palace, being greeted by Tuplo, who is glad to report that all is well, both with Carter's health, and the absence of any activity at the Stargate other than us.
A servant takes Martouf to Samantha, Daniel and Foraker go off with one of the cities' architects, and Teal'c and I head out towards his family's house. We'll be spending the night here, if you can call it night when the sun never goes down. This is our fourth visit so far, and we've settled into a routine by now.
The first time we came, we hung around with Sam, teasing her about the clothes she was wearing, telling her about the missions we'd been on, and trying to cheer her up, until she finally lost her temper and told us to leave her alone with her husband. We've gotten a bit more considerate now, since I have no doubt that if we didn't leave them in peace, she'd probably just pounce on him right in front of us. Martouf often looks quite tired when we leave, but very happy nonetheless.
She's looking so beautiful, and if she still seems to be on guard against Jaffa around every corner, she's not quite so jumpy as she was before. We'll see her tomorrow, and Foraker can tell her how he pulled off that incredible practical joke on Ferretti, and I can make sure with my own two eyes that she's still safe.
* * * *
Yawning, I follow Teal'c towards the palace, trying to shake off fatigue. Ry'ac kept me up for hours last night, asking for every single detail about his father that I could tell him, letting Teal'c have some private time with his wife. Then, when I finally went to bed, it was almost impossible to sleep, since the sun wouldn't go down. I ended up tying my shirt over my eyes, and got maybe four hours sleep, but I could have had at least six more. I must remember to bring a pair of those silly-looking eye shades that Daniel uses next time.
It's a bit overcast today, which is a relief from the usual blazing sunlight, but the spring day is warm without being too hot, and the residents of the town are going about their business, greeting us as we pass. I'm so caught up in just staying awake that when Teal'c halts in his tracks I nearly slam into him.
"O'Neill." He points with his staff weapon at the dust. "Jaffa tracks."
Without another word we start sprinting towards the palace. As we come closer, we hear the sounds of shouting and weapons fire.
"Carter!" I yell, praying they haven't reached her yet. "Martouf!" Leedora lies motionless in the hallway, but a quick check of her pulse tells me she's still alive. Teal'c runs ahead, and as I follow, he begins firing at three Jaffa who are trying to get past the guards into the women's quarters. "Hit the deck! Down!" I yell at the guards, pulling out my zat. The Jaffa, warned by my shouts, turn, but fortunately we're faster, and in seconds, they're lying dead on the floor. "How many were there?" I demand, hauling a guard to his feet.
"Five, my lord! Follow me!" He turns and runs inside, Teal'c and I on his heels. We run towards Sam's room, and stop in the doorway.
Two Jaffa lie dead on the floor, and the bedclothes are scorched from staff blasts, but I don't see anyone else in the room. "Carter! Are you here?"
A weak voice responds, "Help us, please?"
Sam and Martouf are on the floor on the other side of the bed, which they used for cover. She holds a zat loosely in one hand. Her face is deathly pale expect for a few smears of blood across her forehead, and one of her legs is badly burned. She clutches at her stomach, eyes panicked. "Martouf's hurt badly. Help him!"
Teal'c helps Sam limp towards a bench, and I turn to Martouf. His eyes are dazed with pain, and he groans as I check his injuries. His tunic is burned away from his ribs, and the wound looks incredibly bad. "I was hit by staff blasts, O'Neill." He coughs, and gasps for air. His eyes shine as Lantesh comes forth, and he grasps at my shirt with his hand. "Help me onto the bed."
I shake my head. "It's not a good idea to move you, Lantesh. I might hurt you even worse."
"Martouf's wounds are mortal, O'Neill," he says quietly, in the hopes that Sam won't hear. "They are beyond my abilities to heal. Now help me onto the bed so that I may say goodbye to my wife."
I close my eyes for a moment. Damn that son of a bitch Apophis. I'll tear him to pieces. "Teal'c, I could use a hand here." Throwing the ruined bedclothes to the floor, we lift him as gently as possible onto the bed. Sam tries to stand, but can't. "I got you," I assure her, picking her up before she falls, and placing her beside her husband. She turns towards him, eyes filled with tears, and Teal'c and I cover the exits. The guard said only five Jaffa, but we can't take any chances. I grab my radio, and contact Foraker, telling him to go back to Earth and bring medical assistance and reinforcements.
Sam brushes Martouf's hair out of his eyes and kisses his forehead. "They're bringing help, Martouf."
"Can you not use the healing device on him, Major Carter?" Teal'c asks.
She shakes her head, trying to stay calm. "No, they destroyed it." She points towards a pile of twisted metal. "They shot at the weapons first." She grimaces with pain.
"Samantha?" Martouf's voice is rough with pain. "The child?"
She shakes her head, frantic. "I don't know. It hurts."
He brushes his fingers across her face, and Lantesh speaks. "Samantha, I cannot heal Martouf. He is going to die."
"No!" she pleads, grasping his hand, "No, you just have to wait until Janet gets here!" Breaking down, she cries, "I can't lose both of you like this!"
Clearing his throat painfully, Martouf speaks again. "I love you." He shakes in agony, and speaks, hesitant. "We've only discussed this once. But... you must take Lantesh as a symbiote, Samantha."
"What?" I say, incredulously. "What the hell are you talking about?" He must know what a terrible experience she had with Jolinar, and now he wants her to be a host again?
"Shut up, Jack," Samantha orders me, never taking her eyes off Martouf. "All right. What about the baby?"
His face contorts. "Lantesh can remain in hibernation until the child is born, but he can heal the injuries to both you and the child, Samantha." He trembles, every breath an effort. "Please. It's bad enough that I must die. I want the three of you to live." He raises her fingers to his lips. "Please, Samantha."
Shaking with sobs, she kisses him. "Yes," she whispers. "I love you. I love you more than anything else in the world."
He smiles up at her, trying to ignore his wounds. "You make me so happy," he says quietly. "I could have had an eternity with you, and it would never be enough, but you have brought me so much joy, Samantha." He closes his eyes and groans. "Love you..."
His voice deepens as Lantesh takes over. "There is not much time, my beloved. Are you prepared?"
She shakes her head. "No. No, I'm not. How could I be?"
He sighs regretfully. "This is the last time I will look upon you with these eyes, Samantha." His face is sorrowful and pale. "I will not awaken until the child is born, but I shall care for the two of you and keep you well. Be strong, until I can join you, my love." He kisses her, then lowers his head.
"O'Neill?" Martouf's voice is barely audible.
I stand closer to the bed. "Yes?"
"You must not move Samantha for at least an hour. Tell Dr. Fraiser that she will require at least a week or more of rest. For the rest, contact Selmak. He will know what should be done." He looks up at me, willing me to understand. "Keep them safe."
"I will, I promise you." How can I do that? I thought they were safe here. My God, how can this be happening?
"Samantha?" He tries to hold onto her hand, but no longer has the strength. "You will tell our child..."
"Shh..." She takes his hand in hers, and presses it to her belly. "I know."
His eyes are growing dim. "You are so beautiful," he whispers. "My wife..."
"It's time," she tells him, voice shaking and thick with tears. "I love you. Always."
"I love you," he sighs, as she leans towards him. She covers his mouth with her own, as I stare, unable to look away. They both spasm, and as Sam falls back onto the bed, unconscious, I can see a quick flash in her eyes as Lantesh joins with her. Martouf's eyes are still open. I check his pulse, finding none, then close his eyes.
"Crap."
"Jack! Teal'c!" Daniel runs into the room, gasping for breath, then stops dead, looking at Sam and Martouf. "Janet's on her way."
I shake my head and sit down on the floor, staring blankly ahead. "It's too late."
* * * *
And at last I know my love for you is here; I can see it all, it is whole like the twilight It is large, so large, I could not see it before
* * * *
The voices swirl around me, but I don't want to listen. It's warm and dark here, just me, and the occasional twisting movements of the baby rippling the skin of my abdomen. I'm so tired, and they want me to wake up. I don't want to. Right where I am is nice enough for the moment.
"-- looked like a placental abruption. I thought she'd go into labor too soon, but then it started healing on its own -- it must be the symbiote..."
Nothing to do with me.
I feel my lips turning upwards in a smile, even though I'm still not going to open my eyes. I'm not sure why I shouldn't do this, but the feeling is very strong. If I open my eyes, the world is going to fall apart. It's a tremendous responsibility.
"How much longer until she wakes up?"
They should leave that poor woman alone and let her sleep. If I were her, I'd be really angry. I mean, how often does one get the opportunity for a nice long nap? Let her get some rest.
I take lots of naps lately. Leedora just smiles, and tells me that the baby is stealing all my life force, and walking the world of dreams will keep me well. And I must rest up, because Martouf comes to see me every few weeks. My gorgeous husband. The rest of the women here are jealous of me, that I have such a beautiful lover. I want to wrap myself around him, until I'm part of him, until I feel him with every breath. When he's around, why would I want to sleep when I could be making love with him?
He held me in his arms, both of us still gasping for breath. "I just finished my latest mission, beloved, and told Garshaw the High Council must spare me for a visit, because pregnancy has made my wife absolutely shameless and insatiable in her appetites."
I chuckled softly, pressing a kiss against his chest. "I didn't notice you protesting any." I smiled as the baby moved against his hip. "Guess we woke her up."
His eyes shone in the afternoon light like grey river stones. "A daughter, do you think?"
"Mmm. I think so. I haven't had Janet do any tests for it, but it's just a feeling."
He kissed me, slow and sweet. "I care not, so long as he or she is healthy, and as beautiful as you." He ran his hand across the skin of my stomach, tracing the few stretch marks until I giggled and made him stop.
We woke up that first morning in the tent, as the light changed from grey to light blue, wrapped around each other, not minding that the damp air made our blankets clammy. I was so happy. Reaching for him, feeling the wonderful reality of him, knowing it was no longer a dream, and that Jolinar had very little to do with how we felt. Feeling his strong body above my own, the sounds we made, the blue fabric of the tent that I stared at as I bit down on my lip, trying to concentrate on nothing but how he made me feel.
I want to hold onto that moment. It's very important, although I'm not sure why right now. Maybe I should just go back to sleep.
"Jacob, you can't sit here all night. Go get some sleep. I'll let you know if she wakes up."
"Thanks, Jack."
Dad. Dad was so happy for me. He set the whole thing up, he and General Hammond. I'm sure of it. Not that I minded, of course. Why would I want to visit family or go through the Stargate instead of being in a tent on the side of a mountain on a cool September morning, crying out with joy as Martouf made love to me?
Martouf.
He's not here right now. I breathe deeply, keeping my eyes closed. Something is very wrong. I don't want to remember.
[It is bad enough that I must die.]
No, that can't be right. Can it? Lantesh would keep Martouf healthy, protect him from anything. Dear Lantesh, whom I love just as passionately. Lantesh, who whispers incredibly naughty suggestions in my ear when Tuplo gets pompous. Not that he hasn't been a marvelous host, of course.
[I will not awaken until the child is born...]
None of this makes any sense. I want to sleep, want to stay in this nice warm bed where everything is safe and cozy, but it's no good now. I can't rest, as confused as I feel. I have to wake up, and I'm frightened. I don't think I'm going to like what I find. Not at all.
My eyes flicker, and I clear my throat. "Martouf?" I whisper, trying to sit up. "What's going on?"
"Jacob! Janet! She's awake!" A man jumps out of the chair beside my bed and bolts out the door, bellowing for someone to listen to him. That's Jack, isn't it?
Why is Jack here and not Martouf?
I rub at my eyes, which are sticky and gritty, and reach for the water pitcher beside my bed.
Eyes. Grey eyes, dim with approaching death. Oh my God. The baby kicks, hard, and the pitcher falls from my hands, soaking the blankets. Blankets. Scorched from weapons fire, and damp with our blood.
"Sammie?" My father approaches me, with a look I've seen on his face once before, when I was still young. That look--
Dead. My husband is dead. But my other husband sleeps within me, another person for me to care for. Once more, I'm a host, and even though it is voluntary this time, I tremble, remembering what Jolinar did to me. I look at my father, bewildered and numb, even as a nurse starts fussing over me, taking my temperature and blood pressure. Jack and Janet stand at the foot of the bed, silent, and Daniel and Teal'c both enter the room at a run. They're all here.
All, but for the one I really want. I choke back a scream, and look at them, all wanting something from me. They want me to live, to be well, to be what I was before. But the emptiness is overwhelming, and I grasp my father's hand in desperation, clasping it as tightly as possible.
"Dad?" Is that my voice? It sounds so real. But I still can't be here, can I? Not when Martouf is dead.
"I'm here, Sam." He sits down on the bed beside me, careless of the wet blanket, and wraps his arms around me. I hug him back, wishing that he could tuck me into bed with a story, and the nightmare would go away. I hear the others leaving the room, and know they'll be back later with their terrible compassion. I cling even closer to my father, the tears beginning, and the arms that hold me aren't the ones I want. But for now, they're all I have, so I lean into his embrace, crying for the appalling silence within my mind.
* * * *
June 2001
Knocking softly, I poke my head into her quarters. "Sam? I'm going for a walk topside. You want to come?"
She's lying on the bed, her back to the door. "Go away, sir."
"Look, I've had security check it out, and there aren't any Jaffa hiding out in the woods. Come on. You could use the fresh air."
Sam rolls over carefully and frowns at me. "I don't feel up to going on a hike today."
I enter the room and lean against the wall. "Carter, you haven't been outside in two months. It's time, don't you think?"
Shaking her head, she gestures around the room. "But everything I need is right here," she says sarcastically. "Why would I want to leave such a paradise? Not to mention the fact that the last time I went somewhere that was supposed to be perfectly safe, we ended up getting ambushed?"
I look around the room. Since Martouf's death in the Land of Light, Sam has holed up in her quarters in the SGC. General Hammond agreed it would be best if she stayed here where security is so tight, but officer's quarters aren't exactly built for comfort, especially for a pregnant woman. So Daniel, Janet, and I spent a few afternoons of downtime getting some things to improve her surroundings -- a queen-sized bed with nice sheets so she can sprawl out with lots of pillows, a small refrigerator to hold her endless supplies of fruit, juice, and milk, and a comfortable chair where she can put her feet up.
Her position within the SGC is rather undefined at the moment. After two weeks in the infirmary, she threw herself into the task of supervising the installation of a remote iris for P3X-797. If the inhabitants of the Land of Light want to use their Stargate, they can dial out, but anyone dialing in has to have approval from our computer system. I still can't understand half the technical jargon she used to explain how the signal got to Earth, but we've verified that it does work, and we met with Thor to place the Land of Light on the list of protected planets. All we can do now is hope that Apophis will leave them alone, and that Sam can forgive herself for going there in the first place.
Since then, she's done various amounts of research in the lab, but she doesn't enjoy her job anymore. She's still in shock over what's happened, and about the only thing she bothers to care about these days is fighting with Dr. Fraiser over prenatal treatment, claiming that she's sick of being poked, prodded, and treated like a damned guinea pig. Janet got verification from Jacob that Lantesh would keep Sam in good health, and has let Sam have her own way, for the most part.
Her injuries were severe when we brought her home that day. Unlike Martouf, whose terrible wounds were quite visible, Sam had a lot of internal injuries, and Dr. Fraiser was certain that the baby would be born too soon, until all of a sudden, she started healing. I still am having a hard time believing that she actually has Lantesh inside her, but I have to admit that he saved her life, and the child's.
So, physically she's doing wonderfully, but emotionally it's another matter. I recognize the signs of apathy and depression -- I had them myself when Charlie died. I closed myself off from anyone who could possibly help me, until I drove everyone away. But I'm not going to let her do it anymore. She's had two months to grieve, and doesn't seem to be getting any better. I know I can't make all her sorrow go away with a walk topside, but if I can just get her to start talking, then maybe she'll know that her friends still care about her, and want her to be well.
"If you don't get up and put some shoes on, I'm going to have Janet order you to get some exercise, Sam. Besides, being barefoot and pregnant is such a cliché."
She shrugs. "I'm in good physical condition, sir. When your wife was eight months pregnant, did you nag at her to go climbing up hills?"
"No, but she didn't hide away from the world, Carter."
"I'm hiding from Apophis, sir," she snaps at me. "I have reason."
I search the floor until I find some sneakers. "Here, put these on," I tell her, crossing to her dresser. Opening the top drawer, I find some socks, and toss them to her. "Need help tying your shoelaces?"
She makes a face. "Won't you please just go away?"
I shake my head. "Sam, I'm trying to help you. Look, we won't go far, and if you like, some of SG-3's marines can come with us to cover our sixes. Now put your shoes on, all right?"
Scowling at me, she begins pulling on her socks. "Half an hour, sir, then we come back inside."
* * * *
I am living, I remember you.
* * * *
Carter adjusts her sunglasses, and leans back against the rock. Lieutenants Neilson and Lancaster are keeping an eye out for anyone approaching, not that it's very likely. Before Carter joined us at the elevators, I told them to look menacing and protective, but to enjoy the break from routine. It is a beautiful day outside -- sunny, with a faint breeze, and not yet scorching hot, which it probably will be next month.
"So." I mimic her actions, leaning back and looking out across the hillside.
"So what?" she asks wearily, still catching her breath. I would have been concerned about how she was huffing and puffing her way up the hill if I hadn't remembered how Sara had complained that the baby was compressing her diaphragm in the last trimester of pregnancy.
"So are we ever going to talk about all of this?"
"By this, you mean the fact that my husband was murdered by Apophis' Jaffa, and I'm now a host to my other husband, who's a member of the Tok'ra?" By the creasing of her brow, I can tell that she's glaring at me. "Or perhaps the fact that I don't know how I'm going to keep my child safe from a false god that most of Earth doesn't know exists? Or how I'm going to deal with becoming Sam and Lantesh, rather than just Sam, once the baby's born? Is that what you want me to talk about, Jack?" Her voice is bitter and accusing, and I can't blame her.
"Yeah, I guess that's what I meant, Sam." I drop my hands back into my lap and stare at them.
"I just... I don't know what I'm going to do," she says softly, removing her sunglasses and wiping her eyes. "I'm so damned sick of being afraid and sad and angry, but I don't know how to stop."
"Sam, you're not officially on the SG-1 anymore, but you need to know that we're here for you, okay?" I press one hand hesitantly against her shoulder. "We're your friends, and you shouldn't try and go through this alone."
She gasps a shaky breath. "I know. But most days, sir--"
"Jack," I correct her firmly.
"Yeah, Jack," she accepts the admonition. "Most days I'd take every last one of you and give you to Apophis if I could just have Martouf back." She looks down, ashamed. "I know it's selfish. I just miss him so much," she whispers, tears beginning to slide down her cheeks. "He died protecting me. I want him back, and I can't have him."
"Yeah, it's selfish, Sam," I tell her, taking one of her hands in mine. "But it is understandable." She looks up at me, startled, her eyes wide and reddened with tears. "You don't think I would have tossed the whole world away if it would have brought Charlie back to life?" She chokes back a sob, and I sigh. Lancaster and Neilson are studiously looking elsewhere, and at my nod, begin moving away, taking up position about a hundred yards away from us. I scoot closer to her and draw her against my shoulder, silently cursing myself. How many times in the past have I dreamed about having her in my arms? But not like this, never this. It's like a knife to my heart, seeing her in so much pain.
Sam shakes with the force of her grief, which for the most part she's kept contained, only letting it out when she's alone. We sit, the sun blazing down on us, and I rock her back and forth, wishing that I could make everything all right. My kingdom for a magic wand. The worst part is knowing that all her fears are justified. I've got my own concerns too, selfish as they may be. Right now, Lantesh is hibernating within her. How much will she change when he awakens? Is she going to want to leave Earth and join the Tok'ra? What will she do about the baby? I try and force the questions back down, but they keep nagging at me.
When her low, ragged sobs become softer and further apart, I raise my cheek from the top of her head, and look about us. The trees are covered with leaves, the grass green and rich, and weeds and wildflowers dot the landscape, if you're careful to look away from the military vehicles entering Cheyenne Mountain. "It's a beautiful day, Sam. Take a look."
Sitting up a bit, she rubs one hand against her abdomen and wipes her face with the other. Voice husky with tears, she says, "It shouldn't be. It doesn't seem right, that it's so wonderful out here when he's gone."
My eyes sting and I blink back my own tears. Every Christmas and every year on his birthday, I have the same sorts of feelings. Remembering what Charlie did, and said, and who he was. My son. Nature is callous and unfeeling. Sam's heart is broken, but the world doesn't care. "I know, Sam. Life does go on, even when we don't want it to." She smiles unsteadily at me, and grasps my hand again. "It's been about a half hour. Do you want to go back inside now?"
She leans against me again, sniffling slightly. "No. Let's stay out here a while longer, okay?" Her face gets a faraway look to it as she places both hands against herself, feeling the movements of the child.
* * * *
July 2001
We head towards the locker room with Daniel hurrying ahead of us, in a rush to get our grimy, muddy gear off. P5X-823 was a colossal waste of time, but not every mission is going to earn us medals and promotions. Teal'c looks on, impassive, as Foraker and I laugh uproariously, and I realize that this guy -- Sam's replacement -- is growing on me. Sure, he's not the scientific genius that she is, but he's dependable, he watches our backs, and he's outstanding at tactics. He also has memorized some of the filthiest jokes in existence.
"Uh, guys?" Daniel backs out of the locker room and plants himself in front of the door. "You really don't want to go in there right now."
"Why?" Foraker asks, grinning. "The ladies sign isn't on, and I really need a shower."
Daniel just shakes his head, looking slightly dazed. "Sam's in there."
"Okay," I shrug. "And what is she doing?"
"Having a baby, apparently."
"What?" I bellow. "Teal'c, go get Fraiser, now." He nods and turns away, headed to the infirmary. "How do you know?"
Daniel squirms, looking quite embarrassed. "Well, she's in the hot tub, she's making funny noises and doing her breathing exercises, and she's holding a stopwatch."
"Oh, for crying out loud! Couldn't she have waited until we were through cleaning up?" I laugh quietly to myself, realizing that babies come when they want to, not according to nice neat schedules. "Look, I'll go in and reason with her."
"I'll join you," Janet gasps for breath as she runs up to us. "I knew those natural childbirth manuals she was reading were trouble."
Foraker smiles. "Tell her good luck. Teal'c, Daniel, let's go up a level and get cleaned up, okay?" They turn back down the hall and around a corner.
Entering the locker room, we're greeted by the sight of Sam resting her arms on the edge of the hot tub, scowling at her stopwatch. Janet rushes to her side while I sit down on a bench and try not to peek too much, because she's certainly not wearing anything.
"Damn. I was hoping this would be finished before you guys got back," she says calmly. "Sorry."
"Sam, when did labor start?" Janet is practically jumping out of her skin, she's so tense.
Sam sighs with relaxation. "About five hours ago, Janet. My water broke, but it was clear, and contractions are now about three minutes apart and lasting about forty-five seconds."
Janet rubs her eyes and gives an exasperated huff. "All right. Out of the water so I can examine you."
"No." Sam's face is a study in stubbornness. "I'm not getting out of the water."
"Sam, I need to see how far along you are!"
Sam grits her teeth against a contraction and glares at the diminutive doctor. "Janet, before I got into the water, these contractions hurt like hell. I can still feel them, but they're manageable at the moment. I am not getting out of the water and you can't make me!"
Janet throws up her hands. "God, you got this from one of those books you were reading, didn't you?"
Sam glances at her stopwatch and ignores her. I rise to my feet. "Well, ladies, while you're working this out, does anyone mind if I take a shower?"
"Go ahead, Colonel. I'm going to go get some supplies." Janet stalks out of the room in high dudgeon, Sam settles contentedly back into the water, and I grab some clean gear out of my locker and move to an area of the room where I can go back and forth from the shower without flashing Sam.
Fifteen minutes later, I'm scrubbed clean and into fresh BDU's, peering into the mirror to make sure I got all the mud off. Pulling on my shoes, I check on Sam, who is still floating happily in the water, occasionally groaning, but basically all right. "I'll see you in a while, okay?" She waves at me without even opening her eyes.
Exiting the locker room, I come face to face with Dr. Fraiser, who looks completely disgusted. Her arms are full of all sorts of medical supplies, and she's changed into scrubs. "What's up, Doc?"
She shakes her head, still annoyed. "Well, I have stuff I may need here, but I really would rather that she delivered in the infirmary." She sighs again. "I even spoke to General Hammond, but he just started beaming and said that he'd contact Jacob."
I laugh. "He doesn't see anything wrong with her giving birth in the locker room?"
"Well, he did say it's the only baby she'll ever have, and if she wants the hot tub, she gets the damned hot tub." She holds out a few packages. "Here, take these for me."
We both go back inside, where Sam is once again tight-lipped and tense. "You okay, Carter?"
"Fine," she grates, "except for the fact that my back is killing me."
"Lean back into the water, Sam," Janet instructs her. "Want me to turn up the temperature a bit?"
"Sure," she sighs, relaxing as the contraction fades. "Now, sir, what the hell are you doing in here?"
"I'm backup," I tease her. "If we need to get you out of the water, you don't honestly think that Janet could pick you up, do you?"
"Colonel, if you start singing "Short People Got No Reason to Live" again, I'm going to update all your vaccinations at once," Fraiser warns me.
Sam starts laughing, then groans loudly. "Don't make me laugh, please," she begs. "It hurts. You can stay if you don't tell jokes."
Janet smiles, more at ease now, even though I'm certain that if it were up to her, she'd have Sam in the infirmary by now. But Sam has grown more and more resistant to constant medical exams of late, insisting that she feels like a lab rat. Janet instructs her to raise one arm so that she can take Sam's blood pressure, and I open a bottle of juice for Sam to sip on. Then, because as of yet, nothing more is happening, I settle back onto a bench to wait.
* * * *
"Okay, Sam, you can push now. You're sure you don't want to get out of the water?"
"Try and move me and I'll drown you, Janet. Aaaah!" Sam gasps, clutching the sides of the tub and trying not to yell too loudly. She found out a few hours ago that the sound really echoes well in the locker room. Daniel and Teal'c came running in, certain that the baby was here, only to be sent back out with some very sharp words.
"Do you want Colonel O'Neill to rub your back? Will that help?" Janet is as tense as a whip. She knows that Sam's in good health, her labor is progressing well, and that Lantesh will help prevent anything from going medically wrong with Sam. But she's a doctor, and in her opinion, Sam should be hooked up to monitors and letting Janet orchestrate the whole thing. Sam, on the other hand, looks ready to bite off the hand of anyone who touches her.
"Both of you stay away from me," she snarls, breathing hard. "I'm doing fine. I don't need your help." Bracing her arms once more, she begins to bear down.
"Can you feel anything? Is the baby moving down the birth canal?" Janet persists.
"YES, Janet! Now quit distracting me!" She closes her eyes, scrunches up her face, and pushes. Alternately pushing and gasping for breath, she's oblivious to us, until she suddenly opens her eyes, looking surprised. "Oh my God," she whispers, and starts crying.
Janet is beside the hot tub at once. "Are you all right, Sam? What's wrong? Tell me!"
She sniffs, tears continuing to slide down her already sweaty cheeks. "Lantesh! He's here, Janet, he's waking up. I can hear him!" Despite her tears and her overall disheveled appearance, her expression is joyful. "He's here," she repeats, looking at both of us.
I try and keep a normal expression on my face and look at her. These past hours I've been trying to memorize every detail of her, while she's still Sam, and not Sam and Lantesh. Sam isn't just giving birth to her child, she's undergoing a rebirth of her own. Every second brings Lantesh closer to the surface, and Sam further away from me. I look at her, brow creased, eyes tired, her naked body blurred by the water, and the bulge of her abdomen, which is starting to shift downward. I need to remember this, because I know that however much things have changed already, it's nothing compared to what's going to happen when Lantesh wakes up.
She pushes once more, tilting her chin against her chest and groaning. Gulping air, she continues, biting down on her lip. "Oh God..." Her yell is probably audible topside, then she relaxes. "Head's out," she gasps, and Janet moves in to check that all is well, while I begin readying some blankets for both the baby and Sam.
"Just a few more pushes, Sam, and you're done. Deep breath, okay?" Janet wipes her friend's forehead, smiling, as Sam gathers up her strength and pushes again. "Got it? Okay, bring the baby up out of the water so we can see what you've got." She gestures at me, and I hand her an aspirator.
Sam smiles beatifically. "A daughter. I knew it!" She cradles her child against her chest, letting Janet suctions the baby's mouth and nose, and a moment later, the reedy wail of a newborn echoes through the room. She and Janet both laugh with relief, and I move in closer to take a look.
The baby looks like most newborns -- in other words, her skin is bright red and wrinkly, and red and white stained mucus clings to her. But the hair plastered in sticky clumps to her scalp is pale blond, a sharp contrast against the mottled red tone of her skin, and she's so tiny and sweet that my tongue tangles up at the sight of her. I'm glad she wasn't a boy -- I don't think I could have handled the memories that would bring, and this is Sam's moment. She doesn't need me losing it because this birth reminds me of my son.
The baby has already fastened onto her mother's breast, and Sam stares down at her in rapt attention. "Look," she says quietly. "Look at our daughter." She must be talking to Lantesh. "Isn't she perfect?" Then, she looks up at Janet and me. "Thank you," she tells us seriously.
I hold up my hands self-deprecatingly. "Hey, I didn't do anything."
"I didn't do much either," Janet observes, quickly cutting the umbilical cord.
"I know. And I appreciate it." She strokes a finger against her daughter's tiny cheek. "There had been so many tests and so much time in the infirmary... I needed to do this myself." She leans over and kisses Janet's cheek, smiling at her friend. "Thanks for not making such a huge issue over it."
After a few more minutes the placenta is out, and Sam temporarily relinquishes the baby to Janet, who wants to clean her up and weigh and measure her. I grab a few towels, and carefully help Sam out of the water, then turn my back while she begins drying off and putting on a robe. "Want me to go get a wheelchair to take them to the infirmary, Doc?"
Janet looks up from counting the baby's toes. "Thank you, Colonel, that would be great."
Sam sits down on a bench, then stands up again as quickly as possible. "And maybe a pillow or three for me to sit on?" she asks, wincing. "And you can start spreading the news if you wish."
I grin and pat her shoulder. "Sure thing, Carter." As I start to turn away, I halt in my tracks. Her eyes just flashed.
"Colonel O'Neill?" she rumbles. "I wish to thank you as well. You have been a true friend to Samantha in her grief. I went into hibernation after the blending knowing that her comrades would care for her, and I awaken glad to realize that this was indeed the case."
My mouth works silently for a moment, and I try not to be too horrified. I knew this was going to happen, and Sam had no hesitation or doubts when she blended with Lantesh, even after her experience with Jolinar. "We all care for her, Lantesh." I falter for a moment, unsure of what to say. "I'd better go get the wheelchair, you need to rest." I hightail it towards the door, trying to contain the empty feeling in the pit of my stomach.
* * * *
I lie on my side, half awake, aware of my father sitting by my bedside, holding his granddaughter and humming a monotonous lullaby. After a few moments of protesting that he'd forgotten how to hold a newborn, he happily accepted her into his arms, and is now watching her with fierce protectiveness and love.
Now that two days have passed, I'm quickly growing accustomed to Lantesh's voice within my head. He's a comforting presence against the bitterness that we both feel. Martouf ought to be here. He should have been able to see his child. I had let my grief die down into an uncertain numbness, but with Lantesh's awakening, we both feel it again, our rage at his loss, and desire for revenge against Apophis. She is our child, and we're going to do whatever we must to keep her safe.
He pauses, sending comforting images of love to me.
My mind fills with laughter. The aches and discomfort of childbirth have quickly disappeared with Lantesh's help. I can sit up without wincing, and the small amount of tearing I had is completely healed.
He waits as I settle myself against my pillow, and adds softly,
I assure him, closing my eyes, praying that I will not dream again of Martouf's eyes glazing over, his beautiful body broken and in pain, or have nightmares of being trapped in my body while Jolinar threatens my friends. We're going to work on those memories, both of us, because once Lantesh could recall my memories and realized the extent of what his former mate had done to me, he was appalled.
We feel the pain of both past and present grief, but the joy of our reunion and our daughter's birth tempers it somewhat. Dad continues humming softly to our daughter, Martina Samantha Carter. I wanted a name that reminded me of Martouf, and Lantesh insisted on my name as well. It's a good name, and as I surrender to sleep, I try not to dwell on the fact that life and a name may be all that we can give her.
* * * *
August 2001
I sit in my quarters, ensconced in the comfortable armchair, gazing down at Martina, who is a warm, slight weight in my arms. She sighs contentedly as she releases my breast, her belly full of milk. I'm slightly jealous -- if only all my cares and worries could be so easily fulfilled by a full stomach and a dry diaper. At four weeks old, she has grown just a bit. Her skin is now soft and pale, her eyes an inky grey, her scant downy hair pale blonde. As I watch, intent upon her, she burps, then her eyelids flutter closed. She's perfect, and I'm so in love with her that I can barely think straight. I haven't been in my lab for a month, and at the moment I don't miss it. We have visitors frequently -- my former team members come by, as well as Janet and General Hammond, and various other people in the SGC, all wanting to see us, all willing slaves of my daughter, who dozes peacefully in my arms.
Lantesh impulsively takes control, and so I stand up, taking Martina to her cradle, then sit down on my bed and stretch. I tease him mentally for his actions, and he scolds me in return.
His thoughts reaching towards mine are tentative, almost embarrassed.
He grumbles in frustration. He's silent a moment longer, then continues.
My cheeks grow flushed.
I close my eyes in anguish. My fists close in frustration as once again, in memory, I see Martouf dying on our bed. My eyes fill with tears, as they do so easily these days, and even the comfort of Lantesh's thoughts can't stop them.
He tells me, He sends me the mental picture of myself, walking towards him on our wedding day, and the overwhelming joy he felt.
I've taken his earlier advice to heart -- I haven't thought much of what the future holds lately. If I did, I'd spend all of my time being unhappy, and I need to keep this time pure, to guard against what will come.
He is once again hesitant.
His embarrassment and longing are agonizing now.
I do indeed feel a bit nervous, but I firmly squash that idea down inside of myself, into a place where Lantesh won't feel it. I walk to the door and lock it, then begin taking off my pajamas. Moving across the room, shivering faintly at the hard cool floor underneath my feet, I stand in front of the mirror. My body has changed since Martina's birth. I'm still about ten pounds heavier than before my pregnancy. My stomach is no longer perfectly flat and toned, but sags somewhat where skin and muscles were stretched to accommodate our child. My breasts are fuller, and there are a few faint stretch marks on them and on my abdomen. I look different than I did before, but when I think of my daughter, I can't mind the change.
I tease him.
At my assent, I move back to my bed and crawl under the covers.
Once again I sense his nervousness, then resolution. My hand runs over my face, caressing my cheeks, then moving sensually down my neck.
His desire for me washes through our thoughts.
Tears sting my eyes -- our eyes -- as we mourn what was lost with Martouf, not only himself, but his body. The three of us were entwined, two bodies and three souls, and with his death we are incomplete. Lantesh has become more restrained than before. When once he would have merely taken action, now he analyzes and debates such circumstances, not wanting to hurt me. What he wants is not wrong, and he's still my husband. I want to make him happy. Smiling, I wipe my eyes and feel myself warming with anticipation.
* * * *
May 2030
I look at the two of them, my mother and the man who raised me, and I try and contain the rising anger within. This isn't right. They're explaining the circumstances of my birth, why I needed to be kept safe, and I know that soon she's going to explain why she left me and went to live with the Tok'ra. Reasonably, I can understand her actions -- she gave me up to protect me. But right now I'm ready to launch myself across the table and throttle her, for leaving me, for never letting me know the truth until now. I feel like I'm about three years old instead of twenty-eight, ready to fling myself to the floor for an all-out tantrum.
Dad sees me clenching my hands. "Sam," he tells her gently, "I think we should take a break, okay?" At her nod, he turns his attention to me. "Marty, let's go for a walk and get you some lunch."
"I'm not hungry," I tell him tonelessly.
"Nonsense," he retorts, grasping my hand and pulling me to my feet. "You didn't eat breakfast, and I happen to know you just had a salad for dinner last night." At my protest, his eyes narrow in determination. "I'll make that an order if I have to, Lieutenant."
I say nothing, but incline my head once in assent, hoping I don't look like a sulky child. The buzz of the intercom startles us all, then my mother pushes the button on the phone.
"Yes?"
"Lantesh? There's a call for you. It's Dr. Jackson."
"Thank you. Please connect him." She picks up the receiver. "Hello, Daniel? Yes. Yes, he's really dead." She waves at us as we leave the room.
Once we begin walking down the hall, my father takes my hand and squeezes it. "You'll feel a bit better once you've eaten."
"I suppose," I reply, trying to calm myself. I curl my free hand into a fist so that it won't shake.
We wait at the elevator, and he turns to look at me directly. "Martina, I know this isn't easy for you, and hearing the whole story won't make it any better. But can I please ask you to do one thing?"
I look at him, at his serious face, still full of pain and sorrow. "Tell me what it is, and I'll do it if I can."
"Don't blame your mother. She didn't want to leave you."
"But she did anyway." I will not cry, not where everyone can see me.
"Yes. And that was Apophis's fault, not hers. Once we're through with lunch, I'll take you down to the morgue, and you can spit in his face if you want to. But Sam doesn't deserve your anger."
We step into the elevator, and I stare blankly ahead at the doors. "You loved her, didn't you?"
He doesn't react to the hardness in my voice. "Yeah. I did."
"And she left you as well, and you're defending her?"
"Damn right! We made the choices we did for valid reasons. Yes, I loved her, and I wanted her to stay with me. But she had to leave." He touches my shoulder, hesitant. "We couldn't share our lives, but she left me the most precious thing she had. You, Marty."
I blink rapidly, and I know there's no way that I can maintain my composure. The elevator doors open, and I scan the area, praying there's a bathroom somewhere.
"Look, I know it feels like stuff is coming at you from all sides, Martina. It isn't fair, you having to deal with this all at once. But please, don't blame her. When she left, she said it was better for you to grow up not knowing her, rather than risk Apophis finding you." He wraps one arm around my shoulder for a quick hug, then digs in his pocket for a handkerchief. I wipe my eyes and manage a shaky smile.
"I'll try," I whisper. "But it's so hard, Dad. I don't know her."
"She doesn't know you either, Marty. But she loves you anyway."
* * * *
There is a tiny body that lives its entire life inside our mind, The ultimate hermit, the chaste lover who stays For the sake of something that happened long ago, something.
We originally thought little about that has had consequences.
* * * *
November 2001
"I still can't believe you're really doing this."
I sigh. "Daniel, just lift that box up onto the table, all right?" We're in my lab, my former refuge, and Daniel is helping me pack things away, all the debris of my former life, the remnants of who I was. Martina is safely nestled in a sling, dozing fitfully. I haven't put her down for days, since Lantesh and I reached our decision. She sleeps in my bed at night.
"What about Martina? What are your plans for her?"
"They haven't been finalized yet. But Daniel, I would have thought that you, of all people would understand."
He frowns, rubbing at his eyebrows. "Why, exactly?"
"Because of Sha're's child. You left him with the best person to protect him."
"You're Martina's mother, Sam. She should be with you. She probably isn't even harsesis."
I ignore the spike of pain that shivers through me. "Apophis won't care whether she's harsesis or not. This is just a strike against us, for all the trouble we've caused him. She'll be safest here on Earth, and even safer if I'm not with her." The pain coursing through me as I bite down on the inside of my mouth is welcome. It's a distraction that's keeping me sane just now.
He shoves the contents of a file drawer into the box with a careless thud. "I don't want you to go, Sam."
I hold up a hand in appeal, the other one resting against my daughter. "Don't. You promised me that we wouldn't talk about this right now."
"Daniel." The voice is hard as steel, and we both turn around to see Jack standing in the doorway. "I'd like to talk to Sam alone for a moment."
Wisely, Daniel says nothing. He takes my hand in his for a moment, then nods at Jack and leaves.
"How long have you been standing here?" This is not how I wanted to tell him that I was leaving.
"Long enough." He steps into the room and slams the door shut. Martina startles at the loud sound, and I cradle her even closer. "You're leaving," he continues in that deadly voice. "Were you just going to head out without telling me? Or maybe leave a note on my desk?"
"I was going to tell you." My voice, thankfully, remains steady.
"Maybe after you'd told everyone else on the base? You told Daniel first?" He moves closer to me, face thunderous with anger.
"No. I told General Hammond first, yesterday, when I resigned my commission." I hold my ground, trying not to shake. It isn't easy when he looks at me like that, but I've been over this in my mind with Lantesh for days, and I know that I've come to the right decision. I just wish I didn't feel so sick about it.
"For crying out loud, Sam! Why?" He's trembling with rage, reaching out his hands to clasp my shoulders. "You're leaving, and not taking Martina with you? What the hell is the matter with you? You'll just leave us all? For what? The Tok'ra?"
Gently, I disengage his hands, hoping that he didn't leave bruises. If he did, Lantesh will heal them. "Yes. I'm joining the Tok'ra. Garshaw wants me to be her second in command." The fury on his face is subsiding somewhat, and he nods at me to continue. "The only way I can make things safe for Martina is to work against Apophis, and I can do that best in the Tok'ra. When Aris Bock was here all those months ago, he pinpointed where the goa'uld had tapped into our security cameras. We're going to destroy their bugs, but not before they see me leaving. I'll be carrying a bundle wrapped up like a baby, and they'll think that Martina isn't on Earth any more." I swallow, and stroke one hand across her soft cheek. "She'll stay here, where it's safe."
"Oh God, Sam," he mutters. "What a fucking mess." The rage is gone, replaced by sympathy and commiseration.
"General Hammond's helping me arrange adoption papers for her, and when she's older, she'll be told that her birth parents are dead." I close my eyes, gaining strength from Lantesh, who whispers his love to me. "If we can ever eliminate Apophis, maybe one day I'll get the chance to know her." My voice trails off to a whisper, and the tears I swore I'd hold back well up in my eyes. I want Apophis dead now, not just in revenge for Martouf, but for what he's taking away from me, the chance to be a mother.
Jack wraps an arm around my shoulder. "Is Janet going to take her?"
Shaking my head, I look up at him, searching his face for reactions. "No. I had someone else in mind."
He hunts for a tissue on my desk, and hands it to me. "Who? Your brother and his wife?"
I take a deep breath. "I want you to be her father, Jack."
Pain spreads across his face, and I know he's thinking of Charlie. "Me? Sam, why would you ever think that I should take her? She'd be better off with Janet." In denial of his words, his eyes are drawn to Martina like a magnet, already possessive.
"I know Janet would love her, Jack. But..." I shake my head, trying to order my words. "I want Martina to be with someone who'll stop at nothing to keep her safe. That's you." Looking down at her, I shake with the enormity of what I'm doing. "And I know you'll love her as much as I--"
He says nothing, just holds me as I break down and cling to my daughter, weeping. I don't want to leave her. Damn Apophis, for forcing me into this situation, for killing Martouf, for making all my choices mere reactions against him. The only action I can take is to fight him. Garshaw knows my motives, and approves. We have big plans for the goa'uld. I'm going to make their lives into a hell ten thousand times worse than the situation they've put me in.
He strokes my hair and keeps his arms around me, careful not to press me against him too tightly in case he hurts the baby. I know he'll be a wonderful father. I've seen him with children, and if she can't have Martouf, Jack's a damned fine replacement.
"Sam," his voice is gentle. "I'll do it, okay? I promised Martouf that I'd keep the two of you safe, remember?"
"I know," I whisper, gulping back my tears. "Lantesh and I can take care of ourselves, but I think Martouf would be glad to know that you'll be her father."
His deep brown eyes are suspiciously rimmed with red. "When are you leaving?"
"On Thursday," I tell him. Five more days. Time to arrange papers, move her things to his house, and possibly comply with Lantesh's mad idea of an adoption ceremony.
He grabs another tissue, and tenderly wipes my eyes, although at this point it's an exercise in futility. Was it only a half a year ago that I never cried? He doesn't try and talk me out of my decision, for which I'm grateful. Having Daniel doubt me was hard enough, I couldn't stand it if he started doing the same.
"Can I hold her?" he asks tentatively. I look at his expectant face, and nod. He's held her lots of times before, and his is a familiar face, one she knows. But this is the first time he'll hold her with the full knowledge of who he'll be in her life. Gently, I ease her out of the sling, kiss her forehead as her sleepy eyes flicker open, and hand her into his arms.
He slowly sits down on the top of my desk, which is mostly cleared off now, all its usual clutter either thrown out or boxed away, and looks down at her in wonder. One of her tiny hands wraps around his fingers and she gurgles something at him as he holds her close. "Thank you," he whispers, not noticing that tears are streaming from his eyes. Choking back his breath, he looks up at me. "I never thought I'd get a second chance at this." He reaches out and clasps my hand, drawing me closer to them both. "I love you, Sam. I wish you didn't have to leave."
We stay that way for several minutes, both of us crying, unashamed. If he had said those words to me before, none of this might have happened. I wouldn't have married Martouf, and Apophis wouldn't have threatened our child. But looking at her, and knowing how much I love her, I can't regret what I've done. I loved Martouf with all my heart, and the months we had together were the sweetest I've ever known. We made a beautiful daughter, and since I must leave, I'm giving her to another man who loves me, who will keep her safe and cherish her, not only for herself, but for me, and in memory of the child he lost. Jack and I could have been so good together, but I can't think on that too much just now. It makes me feel so terribly guilty, that I could still care for him. The knowledge that either one of us could have spoken up before now is bitter.
I have to leave, and he knows it, and he won't stop me.
* * * *
I don't know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been doing all day. Tell me, what else should I have done?
* * * *
May 2030
For the third time, I knock on the door to my mother's quarters. Just as I am about to give up and turn back down the hall, a distracted voice tells me to enter.
"I hope I didn't wake you," I say quietly, staring at the multitude of boxes strewn around the room.
She shakes her head. "No, Lantesh and I were having a disagreement and I tuned everything else out."
I'm curious, but I don't think I'm ready to hear all the details of two people in one body debating each other, even if they are my parents. "What are all these boxes here for?"
"The SGC has kept them in storage for me, so I can look at them whenever I come to Earth." Her voice is once again soft and wistful, and she stares at me a moment, before sliding a disk into the video player. After a moment, the picture comes up, and I'm hearing my father's voice quietly narrating as he films my graduation from medical school. I look down at one of the boxes more closely, and it's full of pictures.
They're all photographs of me. At every age, in just about every activity I ever did. Here I am, a muddy three-year old, digging in the garden. At ten, flying a kite. Fifteen, in a school play. Sometimes I'm with friends, and quite often Dad is beside me, always smiling. I sift through the loose photographs and reach for the album at the bottom of the box.
My mother looks over at me. "I couldn't take any pictures of you with me, Martina. Jack always made sure I had some to look at when I came here." Once again, she stares off into space, and I have no idea what she's thinking. "We moved from planet to planet so often, that first decade. I wouldn't risk any of the System Lords knowing what you looked like."
I nod, only half listening, as I open the pages of the album. We're not at all comfortable with each other, but we each have stuff to hold our curiosity for the time being. These pictures are old -- several of them are of SG-1 before my mother married. There's a few pictures of what I assume must be her wedding. She stands beside a tall, slender man, with a long neck, dark blond hair, and grey eyes gazing at her besottedly. I study the pictures carefully, trying to see any part of myself in this stranger, then turn more pages. Here I am as a newborn, held in the arms of my grandfather, who I was told died not long after my mother. I suppose I'll be meeting him soon, too. Cassandra told me how he joined the Tok'ra.
I start sorting some of the loose pictures, then a letter catches my eye. It's in my father's handwriting. My mother is still watching the video, occasionally glancing at me, but content to sit silently for now.
I hold up the album again, and surreptitiously place the letter inside where I can read, unobserved.
It's a personal letter -- the first few lines give that away, and it's dated from four years ago. I suppose I should feel guilty about reading private correspondence, but right now I'm not. I want to find out what the hell is going on.
"...but you know what a heartless bastard I used to be, Sam. The first time we met, Kawalsky and Ferretti started in on you, and I joined in because I wanted to see what you were made of. Not the nicest thing to do, but you know me.
I said some harsh words the last time we saw each other, Sam, and I need to apologize. I really haven't been angry at you all the time these past twenty-four years, but it seems like I just need to see you and it brings everything back, what we've lost out on. I was so dead inside before Hammond called me out of retirement, and you and Daniel and Teal'c helped bring me back to life.
I've tried staying angry at you, but I never could manage to sustain it. It wasn't possible for me to hate you and love Martina so much at the same time. Have I ever really told you how much it meant, you giving her to me? You woke me up, Sam, but she healed me. I used to chase her around the house when she was a toddler, and the phrase, "I'm gonna get you!" could have her sprinting around for hours, but she was the one who caught me, who made me better. There wasn't any room for all of the bitterness and pain. I can remember Charlie, wondering what he'd think of his little sister, and Kawalsky, and Janet, and all the friends we've lost, and it doesn't hurt so much anymore. I can even remember you, and the one night we had before you left.
I guess it was a shock the last time you saw me? I'm getting old, and you're still so beautiful and young. I always thought I'd have all the time in the world to make you love me, then the next thing I knew, you were with Martouf, and then you were gone, and the time has flown by so quickly. Martina's a doctor, an Air Force officer, and I still remember the night you asked me to adopt her, how tiny she was, how helpless. It was strange to think that someone so little could change me so much. I think it's been for the better.
I do wonder if there will ever again be a time for us, Sam. Martina's grown up, and you're still fighting your war. I look at myself in the mirror and see an old man, but when I think of you, I feel like I'm sixteen. I know that you said it was too painful to see me, but I'm hoping that four years might have changed your mind.
Lots of things have changed over the years, Sam. How I feel about you isn't one of them. If you read this, contact me."
Swallowing hard, I close the album with the letter still inside, and place it back in the box. My mother is studying me, as if she could analyze every last inch of my body and soul, and I realize she knows exactly what I've been doing. This is ridiculous -- she's got me feeling like a three year-old again!
"Did that answer some of your questions?" she asks me gently, and I shake my head, angry at her, my father, the military, anyone I can think of.
"No, it just raised even more." I scowl at her. "I still don't understand this whole situation. My dad has been in love with you longer than I've been alive, and you abandoned him?" Her face grows very still, and she starts to speak, but changes her mind. "All my life I've been trying to imagine what you were like. Everyone told me how wonderful you were, what a great person, and that was something for me to live up to. Now I find out that you've all been lying to me, and you were alive all this time! I mean, logically, from what you've told me, I know why this happened, but--" I stand and start pacing in an attempt to calm my nerves. "As soon as I'm around you I feel like I'm a sniveling baby, and I just can't seem to wrap my mind around why..." I wipe my eyes, angry, and try not to cry again.
She reaches for the box of tissues, and hands me one. Standing, she begins wandering around the room in counterpoint to my pacing and sniffing. "I know this is difficult for you, Martina. I never thought it would take so long to defeat Apophis."
She clears her throat, and continues, and her incessant serenity is getting harder to take. "You don't know me. I can't force you to feel anything for me, and I wouldn't if I could." She stares at me again, and I wonder who she sees when she looks at me. Martouf? Herself? A young baby, not even old enough to sit up by herself? "I do want you to know that I'm glad you're here now." Pausing again, she scrutinizes me, and smiles slightly. "You have your father's eyes."
"No, Dad's eyes are brown."
She sighs, finally betraying a hint of impatience. "I was speaking of Martouf."
"I know," I tell her, knowing that I'm not being very nice, despite what Dad asked of me. "I just don't see how you can stand here and be so objective about all of this!"
She smiles bitterly. "I'm not, Martina. I've just had a long time to learn to pretend. Three decades of war plus a symbiote who's lived countless lifetimes is enough to give anyone a good veneer of stoicism."
"Whatever. All I know is that this morning, I expected to hear about your life, knowing that you were dead, because that's what Dad told me. Now you're here, I've got history lessons coming at me from all sides, and quite frankly, it was a lot easier dealing with a mother who was dead instead of one who abandoned me."
For an instant, her eyes are full of pain and sorrow, then they flash and shine gold. Her entire demeanor changes, becoming more imposing, more formal, more alien. "You are a grown woman, my daughter," she rumbles, and I realize that this is Lantesh speaking. "Surely by now you must know that parents must sometimes make difficult decisions." She raises a hand to keep me from interrupting. "We left you with O'Neill because you were safer with him, on Earth, than you would have been with us. A war base is no place to raise a child. Here, you had a normal life, a safe life, as Samantha wanted for you. It was not easy for either of us, but we did it regardless of personal cost. The danger from Apophis was too great. We are your parents, and we had the right. I won't apologize for that."
I stop pacing, the distance between us feeling like a buffer zone. "Lantesh?"
She inclines her head. "Yes. I was once Samantha's husband, and your father. Now, I am her symbiote." Once again, I feel as though I'm being taken apart and judged as she stares at me. "I am aware that discovering the truth has been a shock for you, Martina. It will take quite a while for us to learn about each other. Fortunately," she continues with a wry smile, "time is something of which I have an abundance. For tonight, however, I must ask for some privacy." Sensing my protest, she nods. "I am aware it is yet early by your clock, but Samantha has not slept for almost forty hours, and we wish to be rested when Dr. Jackson arrives."
Opening the door, I look back at her. "Good night."
Now that she's had her say, Lantesh withdraws, and it is Samantha, my mother, who touches my hand hesitantly, with a hopeful smile. "Good night, Martina. We'll speak more in the morning, and in the days to come."
I walk to the elevator, trying to remember where Dad was earlier. This place is like a maze, and I have no idea how I'm going to learn my way around. I follow a green line that I'm certain I saw earlier today, hoping that I'll remember where I am. All the while, a thought is tickling at the back of my mind, something that I read in Dad's letter. I sigh impatiently, knowing that I can't go back and look at the letter again tonight, and if I asked him about it, he'd go into paternal mode and demand to know why I read something not intended for me. I'm feeling childish enough at the moment without that, thank you very much. Finally, I see the infirmary, and walk towards its open doors. It is where I'll be working, and I haven't gotten near it yet today. Time to go introduce myself, and if no one has a clue where my quarters are going to be, I'll just grab a cot and crash, because I'm exhausted. Surely, the first day at work was supposed to be a bit more normal?
* * * *
November 2001
I stand in Jack's bedroom, staring at the corner where we've set up the crib and changing table, still finding it hard to believe that this is truly happening. I'm leaving Earth tomorrow, and Martina is staying here. This morning, Jack signed the adoption papers. She's his child now, legally. Janet signed a false death certificate for me, and after I'm gone, she's going to contact my brother with news of my demise, an accident during a training exercise.
The crib is new, the wood pale and gleaming. The sheet and quilt have teddy bears and stars on them, red and yellow. Soon, the bassinet I used on base will be too small for her. She's outgrowing the fuzzy sleepers I dressed her in to keep her warm within the cool confines of the SGC.
I'm leaving.
"Sam?"
I turn towards the door as Jack enters the room. "Yes?"
"Martina's asleep. I didn't want to move her, so I just spread a blanket on the floor and left her in the den for now." He states this as a matter of fact, not asking my permission, not wondering whether I'd prefer her to nap in her crib. He doesn't have to. She's not mine anymore.
I nod, and take a deep breath. "Good. There's one more thing we need to do."
He stretches his arms behind his back, then sits down in the armchair beside the crib. "What's that?"
I don't know what to do with my hands. I clasp them in front of me, then cross my arms, then let them hang at my sides. What an idiot I must look like. "Martouf's people had a specific ritual that they performed for adoptions, and Lantesh wants us to do it."
His mouth twitches into a lopsided grin. "Cultural rituals, huh? That's more Danny's area, you know." When I don't reply, he shrugs. "What does it involve?"
My fingernails are digging into my palm and I feel faintly queasy. "The adoptive parent and the birth parent have sex," I explain flatly. My symbiote doesn't bother replying. What recourse do I have?
"What?" Jack's eyebrows climb to alarming heights, and he looks at me, sputtering. "What kind of game are you playing here, Sam?"
I will not die of embarrassment. It just feels like it at the moment. "It's not a game, Jack. It's meant to establish a clear line of relationship to the child."
He rubs between his eyes as though he's getting a headache. "I'm probably going to regret this, but I need a better explanation."
My symbiote assumes control, and I observe. Lantesh takes on a lecturing tone. "In most cases, adoption takes place when one birth parent takes a new mate. The first act of intercourse after their joining is meant for the adoptive parent to claim their new mate's children for themselves. In this case, you and Samantha would be establishing and affirming your claim to Martina."
"I'm already her father, Lantesh, I signed the papers."
Lantesh sighs. "That is a legal matter, O'Neill. This is cultural and spiritual, and it was what Martouf would expect to be done."
Jack shakes his head. "This has got to be one of the strangest conversations I've ever had." He stares at his feet, and starts grasping at straws. "But what if both birth parents were dead? What would happen then? Sam's been declared legally dead, you know."
"That is subterfuge by your government. We are very much alive. However, to answer your question, the adoptive parent would lie down unclothed on the grave of the birth parent, or, if a mated couple adopted a child, they would make love on the grave. If there were no grave, the site of the birth parent's death, or their home would be substituted. The ritual has many variations, but all are acceptable."
He stares at us, completely shocked. "Sex on a grave? That's desecration!"
"By your culture's standards, perhaps. For Martouf's people, it was a spiritual matter." Lantesh pauses. "But I'm sure you must find it quite disturbing. I won't speak of it again."
"Thanks," he mutters weakly, trying not to look so disgusted. "Forget I even asked."
I take control again, and move to stand in front of Jack, placing one hand on his shoulder, and try not to react when he flinches, clearly uncomfortable. "Jack, I know this is a lot to ask of you."
"Damn straight," he mutters, not looking up.
"Martouf never knew his child," I try and explain. "This is the only part of him that I can give to her." I ignore the annoying prickle of tears, and the lump in my throat.
He looks up at me, finally. His eyes seethe with suppressed anger and hurt. "And it wouldn't be because you could have me this once, and then take off with no consequences, huh?"
Backpedaling across the room, I bump into the edge of the bed, and sit down, shaking. "Is that what you think of me, Jack? That I'd do that to you?"
"What am I supposed to think!" he rages. "You're leaving tomorrow! Who knows when I'll see you again?" He clenches his hands against the chair, and when he speaks again, the desolation in his voice is terrible. "Sam, I've been in love with you for years. You know that. But you stand here, asking me to be with you tonight. Then you'll go, and I'll feel even worse, knowing what I'm missing out on!"
I close my eyes, ashamed, knowing he's right. Will I never stop hurting him? "I know. And yes, that is what I'm asking of you." Guilt spreads through me, and I clench my fists, praying not to cry. For all of Lantesh's reassurances that he would not see this as unfaithfulness, my heart still burns with shame, because while I would never have brought this up to Jack without Lantesh's suggestion, I cannot deny that I do want him.
"God," Jack groans. "How the hell did we get into this mess?" He shakes his head. "No, I know. Apophis. That snaky son of a bitch."
I grip the blanket underneath my hands. "I'll leave now, if that's what you want. Just let me say goodbye to Martina, okay?" It's impossible to contain my tears any longer, and I stare straight ahead into nothingness, the anguish unbearable. I feel as though I'm going to melt into the bedspread, my limbs numb, unable to feel anything but this sensation of being crushed.
The bed springs creak as Jack sits beside me and wraps an arm around me, allowing me to rest my head against his shoulder and weep all over his shirt. After a few minutes, he sighs, digging into his jeans pocket for a tissue.
I accept it, finding a laugh somewhere within me. "Jack O'Neill, official Kleenex dispenser to Sam Carter." I wipe my reddened, sore eyes and swallow. "Maybe I should change my name to Niobe."
"No," his voice is soft and gentle. "Your name is perfect for you." I begin to stand, but he tightens his grasp on my shoulder, and clasps my other hand within his own. "You don't have to leave, Sam."
"You mean--"
He stops my question with a kiss, his hand moving from my shoulder to my neck, pulling me closer. I shiver, then open my mouth under his insistent tongue, reacquainting myself with his taste. Lantesh explores my memories of our mission to the Land of Light, curious, then subsides. After a few moments, we pause to catch our breath, and he smiles, one hand cupping my cheek. "I've always had a hard time refusing you anything, Sam." We both chuckle nervously, and he brushes his lips against mine. "Tell me," he murmurs, "does the ritual say whether we do this one time, or for one night?"
I look into his dark eyes, mesmerized by their dilation, and the longing I see within. "I'm not sure. I could ask Lantesh, if you'd like."
He shakes his head, and caresses my hair. "Why don't we make up our own rules as we go along, okay?"
* * * *
My last salutations are to them who know me imperfect and loved me.
* * * *
The event horizon shimmers and fills the Gateroom with its blue shadows. I clasp the bundle closer to my chest, Martina's decoy, and look at my friends, standing beside me, ready to say farewell.
Jack's eyes are shadowed, his face tight. We didn't get much sleep last night, and Martina woke up at four in the morning. The three of us lay in bed as I nursed her, and he just watched us, occasionally stroking her hair, or clasping my hand in his, saying nothing to disturb us.
My breasts ache fiercely, full of milk. I suppose in a few days they'll dry up. I try not to think of my daughter. She's safe. Jack dropped her off an hour earlier. She'll stay with Sergeant Lewis's wife when he's at work, and Deborah has a son the same age. Her first playmate.
I turn to smile at Daniel, Teal'c, and Janet. We've already said what was private earlier, and hopefully we'll remain composed. General Hammond clears his throat, and I stand at attention.
"Safe journey, and good luck, Major Carter," he tells me solemnly. "Give my regards to Jacob."
"Yes, sir." We shake hands, then salute each other, as I try not to drop the doll that's wrapped up in Martina's blanket.
Janet's eyes glisten with unshed tears, but she salutes me crisply. "Take care of yourself, Sam, okay?"
"I promise. Tell Cassandra I love her."
She nods stiffly, and finally I turn to my former team. Teal'c is as stoic as ever. He is perhaps the only person here who accepted my decision to leave without question. Daniel frowns, not wanting to say goodbye to yet another friend, his brow pinched and his eyes suspiciously red behind his glasses. I quickly hug them both, then turn to my former commanding officer.
Jack stares ahead at the Stargate, his body rigid and unyielding, and a look of resignation on his face. I look at him, trying to find any trace of the man I was with the previous night. Coming to attention, I salute him, and after a brief pause, he returns the gesture, then takes my free hand in his own.
"Sam," he says softly.
His face is closed off, emotionless, and I memorize it, knowing it may be years before I see him again. I bite down on my lower lip, then sigh. Whispering quietly so no one else will hear, I tell him, "I love you."
His mask cracks in surprise and his hand tightens convulsively over mine before I turn away. All last night, he kept telling me that, saying those words as if by repeating them enough he could bind me to him, convince me to stay, and I remained silent, using my body and my passion to speak to him, afraid of what I felt, unable to admit anything even to myself. But now, I have nothing to lose, do I?
Drawing a shaky breath, I start up the ramp to the Stargate, and pause in front of the event horizon. Looking back one last time, I gaze around at the concrete walls, the control room, every place where I spent so much time these past five years. The SGC was home, and I'm leaving. The people at the bottom of the ramp are my family, but I can't keep them safe if I remain. My new family awaits, and I pray that this is worth it. Arris Boch once told me that defeating the goa'uld was an insurmountable task, and even though I know that nothing is impossible, my mission will be long and difficult. How many years will it take until I can see my daughter again? Will the task even be close to completion in her lifetime? Standing right where the goa'uld surveillance bug will notice me, I hold the doll close to me, praying they'll believe it's Martina. I do this because I must. I have no other choice, if I'm to keep her safe. "Goodbye," I tell my former comrades, then step through the gate.
On the other side, a young woman is waiting for me. "Samantha Carter?" she asks me. I nod. "I am Soren. Come, the Tok'ra are eager to great you and Lantesh."
I fall in step beside her as we walk across the sand to the transportation rings, and Lantesh assumes control. "I have no memory of ever meeting you, Soren."
She smiles and nods, gliding gracefully across the rough terrain. "I have spent the last several years undercover, working against the goa'uld Nirti. When her domain was divided between Cronus and Yu, I had to go into hiding for some time. I am certain that I will receive a new assignment quite soon, but for now it is good to be home with my people." A blush spreads across her cheeks. "As well, in ten days, Marat and I will perform the joining ceremony."
Lantesh smiles exuberantly. "Truly? This is wonderful news, Soren, I am so happy for you. I know Marat has been alone since Takia's death, well over two hundred years."
"Kalten died six years ago, his new host is Harran. He is most handsome," she says mischievously.
"Good fortune to you both," Lantesh tells her. "It is well that Marat shall have a new mate. To be alone for so long is not good."
* * * *
April 2002
The sun is entirely too bright today, and I wearily squint my eyes, wishing that I hadn't lost my sunglasses. Ever since Martina's learned to crawl, I'm forever losing things, since I forget to put them out of reach. Who knows, somewhere at home she must have an amazing treasure pile, but I'm damned if I know where it is.
My charming little thief giggles as the spring breeze ruffles her blonde hair, and I duck forward to give her a quick kiss before putting the rest of the groceries in the trunk. Slamming the trunk closed, I groan with exhaustion, wishing that we could have slept in this morning. She's getting in lots of teeth, and we were awake for three hours last night, her sobbing and sucking down ice chips, and me bouncing her around and listening to depressing country music. It's not fair, being this tired without having the excuse of a wild party, not that I get to many of those anymore.
I pick her up out of the grocery cart and settle her on one hip as I return the cart to the corral. "You," I scold her, "are a little menace." She babbles in agreement, and I continue my loving tirade. "Just because you're the most beautiful baby in the world, you think you can keep Daddy awake half the night, huh? Well, let me tell you, we're going home, and we're both going to take a nap, and there's not a damned thing you can do to change my mind, all right?"
"Jack?" an incredulous, familiar voice asks me, and I turn around to see my ex-wife. "My God, Jack, I thought that was you!"
I gawk at her a moment, then notice the man standing beside her, radiating possessiveness and faint hostility. "Sara. I thought you were in Denver."
She nods, staring at Martina. "Yes, but Eric and I are in town for a wedding." She turns to her husband, and introduces us. "Eric Andersen, this is Jack O'Neill."
We shake hands neutrally, and he stares me up and down before pasting a smile on his face. "I've heard a lot about you," he tells me, and his tone implies that most of it isn't very nice.
"I didn't know you'd remarried, Jack. How old is your daughter?" Sara looks at Martina, trying to hide the pain in her eyes at seeing me with another child.
I have to bite back my immediate instinct to promise her that I'll keep this child safe, that I won't fail again. "No, I'm still single. I adopted Martina a few months ago, after her mother died." The lie is smooth and practiced now. Sam is dead to me. The last time she came to the SGC, she asked everyone to call her Lantesh, and I never had a chance to speak with her in private before she left again.
Sara and I both are burning with curiosity about what the other has been up to, and so within minutes she's sent Eric off to shop for a present for his daughter, and she and I walk back to a small coffee shop next to the grocery store. I pay for our coffee, noting that we've both ordered decaf, and when we sit down I look at her waistline a bit more carefully.
"So when are you due?" I ask her, taking a sip of my coffee, being careful to hold it well out of Martina's reach. For decaf, it's not bad. I've developed a taste for the stuff whenever I'm off work, since I don't want anything that will keep me awake if there's the slightest chance I can catch a quick nap.
She looks startled, then smiles bashfully. "You know me too well, Jack."
"Any time you pass up on caffeine, there has to be a reason. Congratulations, Sara. You must be very happy."
"Yes. I'm due at the end of August." She looks down at her stomach and laughs softly. "It's amazing. I'm forty-one years old. I never thought I'd have another child." We both sip our coffee, the ghost of Charlie between us. "Eric's daughter, Bianca, is so excited."
"That's great," I tell her sincerely. I did so many terrible things to Sara during our marriage, the worst being how I withdrew into my guilt and grief after Charlie's death. She deserves someone who can make her happy, and anything else she could possibly want. I run one hand across Martina's hair as she smiles and giggles, gnawing on a teething cracker.
"What about this little beauty?" Sara asks me, tickling her fingers in Martina's direction, who squeals on cue and buries her face against my shirt. "You must have been good friends with her parents."
"Yeah," I agree, trying to keep my voice calm. "Her mother was part of my unit, my second in command. Her father died before she was born, and when Sam knew she was going to die, she asked me to take her."
"Oh, Jack, that's terrible." Her face is full of well-meaning sympathy. She was a military wife, she knows how close we get to those we work with.
"I know," I say tonelessly. "You met her once, during... well, you know what I'm talking about."
She nods once, eyes widening at the memory of our dead son's duplicate. "I know enough not to ask any questions. You're still working in a classified operation?" I nod, and she rests her chin on her hand, thinking. "That tall woman in fatigues, blonde and pretty? That was her mother?"
"That was Samantha." I take a final sip of my coffee, then push it away. "I miss her. We all do."
We both sigh, remembering past events as Martina laughs and bangs her hands against the table, grabbing a spoon to play with.
She finishes her coffee, and pushes back her chair. "I should go find Eric. It was good to see you again, Jack."
"You too, Sara." I smile at her, holding on to Martina like she's a life preserver. Proof that I'm not a total failure, not if I can keep her safe.
Sara bites down on her lip, then wipes her eyes before any tears can start. "I know we messed a lot of things up, Jack--"
"I messed them up," I correct her. "None of it was your fault."
"I'm not so sure about that," she replies, eyes downcast. "I didn't exactly stick around to work things out. But I wanted to let you know how glad I am to see that you're okay. There's no more blame, Jack. I forgave you long ago."
"I know. I hope you'll be happy, Sara."
She bends to kiss my cheek and clasp my hand. "I already am, Jack. And I think you'll be the same way."
I sigh, looking at my perfect daughter. "Yes. I never thought I'd have a second chance at this, you know? How often does that happen, that someone as screwed up as me has the opportunity to do something good again?"
Before leaving, she looks at me one last time, her face radiant, and I can see now where her body is softening and growing with her pregnancy. Her smile is as sweet and kind as the first day I saw her, and the lack of blame in her eyes soothes my heart. We loved each other, but the bitterness and recrimination are gone, and we'll part today knowing that we wish one another well. "I think she's lucky to have you," she tells me softly, then walks away, smiling.
* * * *
December 2003
I dip the potato chip into the hot sauce once more, open my mouth, and savor the burning sensation. Most of the food that the Tok'ra prepare is bland. Nourishing, but nothing fancy. The SGC has gotten used to me asking for spicy food when I come to Earth, and I'll enjoy it despite Lantesh's strident complaints. Closing the bag of potato chips, I sigh, contentedly full.
Within moments, I hear a knock on the door. "Enter."
Jack strolls into the room, a box in his arms. "I brought some pictures for you to look at."
I paste a bright smile onto my face, trying to push down the burning jealousy. He gets to raise Martina, and I get to look at pictures of her. "Thanks. I'll see them in a few minutes."
Uninvited, he grabs a chair, straddling it and resting his arms against the back. "That was a pretty interesting debriefing you gave there. Recruiting unblended humans? What does Garshaw think of that?"
Shrugging carelessly, I stretch, trying to work the kinks out of my back. "She finally agreed it was necessary. I've detailed several areas where we need to be more ambitious. Keeping the goa'uld's advancements at bay is one thing, actually defeating them is another. We cannot succeed if we do not have more allies. Speaking of which, is there any recent news from the Asgard?"
He grins, nodding. "They're beginning to make some headway against the replicators, but it's going to be a long fight. I've met with Thor three times since you were last here."
"Have you gone through the Stargate recently?" He shakes his head and I frown in commiseration. "It must be quite a change, having a desk job."
"It gets me home in the evenings, most of the time. And my knee wasn't going to take much more punishment, anyway." He affects nonchalance, pretending that being removed from the action doesn't bother him. On the other hand, it lets him actually be a father, rather than just letting Martina spend all her time with nannies.
"Hmm. When Anise comes to meet with Janet, I'll ask her to have a look at it."
"Anise?"
I smile, picturing the reaction Anise is going to provoke when she arrives at the SGC. "One of our operatives. Her specialty is archaeology, but a previous host had an extensive medical background, so I've assigned her to working on how to break the rashna addiction. I'll make sure she brings a healing device to use on your knee, if you don't mind."
"Rashna? That's the stuff Boch uses, right?"
"Yes. At the moment, she doesn't know how to detoxify adults, but she has a theory that a vaccine can be developed. If administered at the moment of birth, the child may grow up free from the addiction." Leaning forward, I smile, enthusiastic at the chance to help a people and gain more allies. "After this generation, they may no longer need the goa'uld's supplies. As it is, their agents are providing invaluable information."
"That's good." He looks me up and down. "You're turning into quite the tactician, Sam." He shakes his head, his expression inscrutable. "You're looking different, too."
Tossing my head, I laugh at him. "The Tok'ra don't go in for BDUs, Jack. Besides, Lantesh wants to explore our femininity." My appearance is quite different than when I left Earth. I've let my hair grow longer, freed from the USAF guidelines of keeping it above one's collar, and Lantesh has discovered a liking for cosmetics. Once she decided that it was time to let go of being in male hosts, she embraced all manner of customs. The SGC personnel are used to seeing me in military clothing, not a low-cut dress. I do have to keep a tight reign on her when we're around Anise, since her host, Freya, has extremely unusual opinions on what constitutes appropriate garb. The more formal the occasion, the less clothing her culture wore. The first time she addressed the Tok'ra High Council, she wore only an ornamented loincloth and an elaborate necklace, and I swear you could hear the jaws dropping ten rooms away. I almost wish I could come with her when she visits Earth. Almost. The way Jack is looking at me is one reason to stay away.
"Really?" His voice is low and tense. "I gotta say, it works for me." Standing up, he crosses the room to stand by my side, taking my hand. "I've missed you, Sam." I start to turn away, but he cups my cheek with one hand, leaning in towards me.
In a panic, I turn control over to Lantesh. "Do not kiss me, Jack," she commands him brusquely.
He smiles, eyes smoldering with restrained desire. "I wasn't going to, Lantesh. I was going to kiss Sam."
"You misunderstand me. Samantha has been eating some of that dreadful hot pepper sauce that she likes. Kiss us, and you're going to scorch your lips."
Eyeing the bag of chips and the Bottled Hell, he smirks. "Point taken. Thanks for the warning." His voice softens even more, wicked intent in his eyes. "I'll just have to kiss your neck, then."
Biting my lip, I groan as his mouth trails down my throat towards the low collar of my gown. It's been two years since he touched me like this, and he can still stir me with just his voice and his intentions. Then, before I can stop it, the memory of Martouf floods my mind, and I push him away, cheeks burning with shame and guilt.
Lantesh subsides, and I speak to him, voice rough and unsteady. "Don't, Jack. Please."
Lines of confusion and irritation crease his face. "Why? The few times I've seen you since you joined the Tok'ra, you run hot and cold. What's going on, Sam?"
I can't look at him. "The adoption ritual was necessary, Jack, but I can't have such a relationship with you on a continuing basis." Lantesh scolds me sharply, and I ignore her. "We see each other perhaps a few times a year. It won't work."
He scowls at me. "And of course, you're not willing to give it a try, are you?"
"No, I'm not." I turn away, clenching my fingernails into my palm until the pain distracts me. "We'd just be holding on to an illusion, pretending that we even ever had a relationship of that sort. We didn't, Jack. It was just that one night."
His hand clamps down on my shoulder in a bruising grip. "That's a pathetic excuse and you know it, Sam. Why? The real reason, damn it!"
"Fine!" I shout, turning to glare at him. "Every time I see you, I'm reminded that you're Martina's father, now. You get to live with her, and see her grow up, and it makes me so jealous that I can hardly bear it!" Biting the inside of my cheek, I then continue more quietly. "As far as a physical relationship, Jack, I'm not ready for anything like that. The minute you touch me, I feel like I'm being unfaithful to Martouf."
"Sam, Martouf's dead." He tries to embrace me, but I stand stiff and unyielding within the circle of his arms.
"I know that!" I tell him, struggling for calm. "I know it's not logical, but Jack, even realizing that he would have approved of the adoption ritual, I feel so ashamed."
He drops his arms and backs away from me. "Ashamed of me? Gee, thanks," he mutters, closing himself off from me.
"You don't understand," I tell him hopelessly. "Ashamed of myself, that I'd sleep with someone else, only six months after he died..."
Dropping onto the bed, I open the box of photographs, numb and detached, avoiding Jack's eyes. "I shouldn't have stayed. I should have left as soon as the briefing was over." I pick up a picture of a smiling toddler, holding it away from me so my tears don't fall onto the paper.
He stands in front of the door, undecided whether to leave or stay. Finally, he sits down on the other side of the box, shoulders slumped, and takes out another picture. "You should see this one, Sam. We went to the park with Cassie, and Marty found the biggest mud puddle in the state of Colorado...."
For well over an hour, we sit, talking about my daughter, pretending that things will be all right between us, spinning the fantasy that any relationship between us wasn't doomed before it could begin, ignoring the nagging feelings of defeat, and refusing to look at each other's eyes. We can feign diffidence, now all we have to do is make ourselves believe.
* * * *
May 2030
Finally surrendering to the yawn that wants to split my face in two, I then stretch my arms behind my back and smile. Daniel has enveloped Sam in a huge bear hug and she's teasing him about his hair -- or rather, the lack of it.
I saw Martina earlier as I was heading back from breakfast in the commissary. She's accepted the fact that things are rather hectic around here at the moment. Therefore, she managed to find her base quarters and the infirmary, leaving the rest of us to whatever we're doing at the moment while she gets on with her job. She's confident that she'll eventually be told everything she needs to know. I have seen some members of current SGC teams looking around in bewilderment, like it's old home week here, but considering that Apophis is dead and the remaining System Lords are in chaos, they're willing to let some things slide.
Teal'c hands Sam a hanky, and she wipes her eyes, laughing. I think back to when I first met her, and how unlikely the idea of her being teary-eyed would have been. Martouf's death and her blending with Lantesh changed her more than I was willing to admit at first. She doesn't keep all her feelings so hidden away anymore. Sam was so wrapped up in being the perfect officer for so long, the one who never showed any fear or pain, and I liked who she was just fine, but who she's become is also wonderful. She might cry more easily now, but it certainly hasn't made her weak. She joined the Tok'ra to become Garshaw's second in command, but she's a powerful woman in her own right, having orchestrated the downfall of over a dozen system lords. She gave the Tok'ra the collective kick in the ass they needed, to stop merely working in the shadows and instead launch an all-out war again the goa'uld. Perhaps she had a bit more incentive then they did?
Daniel and Teal'c are talking quietly, Sam standing close by, happy just to be with them. When she catches my eye, she smiles brilliantly. It's been eight years since all of us were last together, and I sigh, wishing that Hammond and Janet could both be here with us, that things could be the same as they were before we got so damned old.
Hammond had a good run. He lived long enough to finally retire and spoil his great-grandchildren before quietly dying in his sleep a few weeks after his eighty-seventh birthday. General Simmons does a great job as the commander of the SGC, but George? He's a legend around here, rightfully so. I wish he could have known all that we've accomplished.
And Janet? Oh, that memory is so bitter, that old Doc Fraiser didn't see her best friend reunited with her daughter, or see her own daughter become the alien cultures expert at the SGC. I used to tease her unmercifully about how tiny and cute she was, knowing that she'd probably sell her soul to be about five inches taller. It didn't matter -- she filled a room with the sheer force of her personality, and watching her slowly waste away from pancreatic cancer was so cruel.
That's when Sam was last here, just after Janet died. She'd come to see us, flush with the victory of having captured Heru-ur, and turning him to the Tok'ra cause, a project that had eaten up two years of her time, arriving only to learn that Janet had died the previous day. We held a memorial here in the SGC, but Sam couldn't go to the funeral, since there would be too many people there who'd recognize a supposedly dead woman, Martina among them.
Just before she returned to the Tok'ra, we'd talked, and I'd asked her to stay with me for a while. Martina was starting medical school, and having an empty house once more was so lonely. She wouldn't, of course, claiming that her work had to take priority, although I was welcome to visit the Tok'ra at any time. Then finally she confessed how hard it was seeing all of us age and die, how it reminded her of how different her life was now, and that she thought it best if we didn't see each other again until it was absolutely necessary.
We said some terrible things to each other that night, angry bitter words that I don't want to remember. Maybe she was a coward to break away from us, like I claimed. Or maybe I was just too damned stubborn to get over a love affair that really only existed in my mind, and didn't see that what she was doing was more important than how we felt for each other. I'm beginning to think that the old arguments just don't matter all that much to me anymore. She's here now, and she's seen Martina. That's what's important.
Daniel teased me once that when he got too old and frail, he'd offer himself up to the Tok'ra as a host, because he just couldn't bear not having an extra lifetime to explore and learn. It's a big change from how he felt so long ago, the knowledge of Sha're's imprisonment so strong in his mind. I suppose that having Sam and Jacob in the Tok'ra has made them more kin to us than we'd have ever thought possible. Over the years, a few members of the SGC have become hosts when the happenstance of a debilitating illness or injury coincided with a Tok'ra symbiote needing a new host. Hell, maybe one day I'll want to do that myself, although I almost always reject that thought out of hand the instant it occurs to me. Sam teased me once, when learning of the brief romance between Anise and me, about how I must have been scared that every time I kissed her, the symbiote was going to jump bodies.
There have been a few other women. Not many, and never anything lasting, because honestly, I never really felt the lack. I had a daughter, and watching her grow into an honorable, beautiful young woman was more important than having someone in my bed every night. Besides, Sam was always with me in memory, that one night fueling my fantasies ever since.
I look at her, so happy to be here with us, and wonder once again the same thing that I wrote to her four years ago. Will there ever be a time for us? Or am I just an old fool, closing in on my three score and ten, still wanting what I never had?
But whether or not I could keep her, I have my love for her, and in the end, that's not such a bad thing.
Is it?
* * * *
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
* * * *
The bronze vase is cool in my hands as I turn it over and over, tracing a finger across its smooth surface. The ashes inside rasp as they shift back and forth, the sound hypnotic.
Martouf's ashes. The one thing I've always kept with me, no matter how often we've had to change planets when the goa'uld came after us. Anything else could be abandoned and left behind, but I've held onto his funeral urn for almost three decades now, the last tangible part of him that I could keep. Our daughter has grown up to be a young woman I think I'll be glad to know, but I could only hold her in my heart and memory, a soft, warm, illusory weight that I cradled against me when the nights were too long and I couldn't sleep.
The ashes and sorrow have been my constant companion, as has Lantesh.
I ask.
We each know what the other means, and the guilt and shame rise within me again, now more from habit than any true sense of wrongdoing.
We've had this discussion infinite times, but never with this sense of urgency on my symbiote's part..
Before, I've always managed to divert this conversation towards our war with Apophis. But he's dead now, and I'm running out of excuses.
As always, Lantesh knows my thoughts.
Acceptance and comfort suffuse my mind while I continue running my hands over the urn as though I could conjure up Martouf alive and well before us.
I admit, feeling uncharacteristically helpless. Give me a system lord who's a threat, and I can think up a plan to bring him down, but ask me to sort out my personal life and I turn into a weeping wreck. What if he rejects me, as I did him so long ago? What if I'm too late?
Laughter bubbles up between us as I can't help but smile through my tears.
I bite down on my lip, knowing she is right.
Standing up, I wipe my eyes, and quickly check in the mirror to see that my hair is straight, and my robes not too crumpled from sitting so carelessly. I pick up the urn once more, checking that the seal can be broken, and walk towards the door.
* * * *
Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind...
In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind.
* * * *
We stand in the middle of a field, the funeral pyre piled high, the body resting atop, looking strangely peaceful. Even now, I find myself wondering if he'll sit up and commence wrecking havoc. Nonetheless, this ceremony is for the host, not the being that captured him so very long ago.
Jacob stands close to his daughter, and occasionally takes her hand, but Sam stands tall and proud as Daniel recites a service for the dead in ancient Egyptian, stopping a few times to consult a note card, and adjusting his glasses. His voice trembles once, then steadies, as he casts incense onto the body.
Next, Garshaw steps forward, looking terribly frail. Her host, Yosuf, must be reaching the end of her life, for it is only in the host's final years that the aging cannot be stopped. Nonetheless, her voice is still clear and strong as she speaks, the words incomprehensible to me. Sam and Jacob and all the other Tok'ra assembled here chant in response, and at Garshaw's nod, Sam and Daniel step forward and light their torches. They press each other's hands momentarily, then move to opposite sides of the bier, and lower the flames to the wood.
As the fire catches and spreads, Martina takes my hand and subtly leans against me, and I look down, smiling at her. She's still confused about some things that have happened, and I know she's bewildered by the ceremony. She's also still a bit irritated about having been kept in the dark for her entire life, but she's coming to terms with things. Like her mother, she's always had an insatiable curiosity. I can't know how she'll react to everything, but I can be here for her, and at the moment, that seems to be enough.
The group takes a few steps back as the flames grow hotter, keeping vigil, yet not looking too closely as the body of our enemy is consumed by fire. The wood crackles and pops, and when I glance over at Sam, her face is expressionless. Still, tears stream down her face, and her eyes are filled with grief. I know she's thinking of Martouf, just as Daniel is lost in memories of Sha're.
Looking more closely at Garshaw, I realize that if Martouf had lived, he too would be approaching the end of his life. He and Rosha were mates for over a century, and he'd been with the Tok'ra for some time when they met. If Sam had remained unblended, their life spans might have matched one another, instead of being so terribly uneven.
But now, Sam could expect to live for at least another hundred and fifty years. Whereas I've got another ten to twenty if I'm lucky. I do wonder if at the end, the fear of death will outweigh the apprehension of sharing myself with another mind; if, like Daniel, I'll feel that one lifetime isn't enough?
Assuming I have someone to share it with, of course.
After long silence, the group begins to disperse. When Martina begins to head back to the waiting cars, however, Jacob comes forth to stop her. He quietly speaks to her, and leads her up a slight rise. Daniel slowly follows them, leaning on Sam for support, and as I start to question what is going on, confused, Teal'c indicates with a tilt of his head that I should come as well.
Stopping first to test the direction of the wind, Sam withdraws a small urn from a pocket of her robes, and breaks the seal. Placing one hand on Martina's shoulder, she explains gently, "These are Martouf's ashes. The time has come to scatter them. Will you help me?"
Speechless, my daughter nods and holds out her hands. Sam slowly pours part of the urn's contents into Martina's hands, then turns and does the same for Jacob, saving a small portion for herself. Closing her eyes for a moment, she takes a deep breath and begins moving her hand back and forth, the ashes sifting across her palm and then escaping onto the breeze. Jacob bows his head, then begins singing a low chant. After a moment, Teal'c joins him, their voices reverent and surprisingly agreeable.
Martina clenches her hand in a fist for a moment, then copies Sam and Jacob's actions. The three of them stand against the horizon, three generations saying goodbye to the man who brought them together, who helped bring Jacob back into Sam's life, and then gave her my daughter. She looks at me pleadingly, grey eyes filling with tears, an expression of astonished surprise on her face that she's being affected by this ceremony.
When all the ashes are gone, Jacob hands Martina a piece of cloth with which to clean her hands, and he and Sam use it in turn, then by unspoken agreement, we walk back down to the funeral pyre. Sam tosses the cloth into the flames, where it is quickly consumed.
"Daniel?" Her voice startles all of us.
"Yes, Sam?"
She hands him the urn. "I thought you could use this for when you take the host's ashes to Egypt," she says calmly.
He's shocked. "Don't you want to keep it, Sam? Martouf--"
She shakes her head, still serene, and presses her hand against her heart. "Martouf is here, Daniel," she then points to her head, "and here." Then, eyes alighting on Martina, she nods in her direction as well. "He is all around us now. That urn is just a piece of metal." Her smile is wistful and sweet. "I don't need it anymore."
Then, turning gracefully, she takes her father's hand and walks towards the waiting cars.
* * * *
and thus we live for the if of ever wondering always whether
we have failed again...
* * * *
Strolling down the hallway, I nod to people in passing, occasionally returning salutes although I'm not in uniform or even here in an official capacity. My faded khaki pants are wrinkled and worn, at least ten years out of date, and I didn't even bother to tuck in my rumpled black T-shirt. Besides, I'm going to go talk to Sam, and she's seen me look a lot less presentable in the past.
Knocking on her door, I'm surprised to hear Martina's voice directing me to enter. She and her mother are sitting in the none too comfortable armchairs that are military issue in VIP quarters, and at my entrance, she stands up and smiles at me.
"Am I interrupting?" I ask them, glad to see the two of them talking again. Martina informed me earlier of her first blowup at Sam, but I figured it couldn't have been too bad. As angry as she was over not being told the truth, I still know what kind of person my daughter is, and I also know that Sam would likely forgive her anything.
"I had to leave in a few minutes, anyway," Martina explains. "I'm meeting Captain Kelly and Lieutenant Sisko in the commissary for dinner, and then I have a late shift in the infirmary." She stands and smoothes her uniform, then lightly touches Sam's arm. "We'll talk more in the morning, okay?"
Sam nods, grinning at her daughter with one of those brilliant smiles that I love to see. "Good night, Martina." She gestures to a chair, and as I sit down, her eyes glow.
"Hello, Lantesh," I tell her.
"O'Neill," she counters. "I'm sure you would much rather speak with Samantha than me, but..." she shrugs and smiles at me, respect and affection in her expression. "I wanted to tell you this -- Martouf would have been very grateful to know that you raised his daughter so well. She is a remarkable individual, and we are in your debt."
"No, Lantesh," I shake my head, thinking on how much Martina means to me, how she kept me hopeful, kept me alive, how caring for her turned me into someone that I actually like. "She and Charlie are the best gifts I ever got. There's no debt. If there were, it would be on my part."
Sam shifts in her chair, bringing her denim-clad legs up under her. She's changed out of her formal robes into an outfit that she hasn't worn for decades -- jeans and a sweatshirt. Her shoulder-length blond hair is pulled back into a careless ponytail, and she doesn't look old enough to have a twenty-eight year old daughter.
Me, on the other hand? I still have a hard time accepting that the scraggly old man in the mirror is actually me. I try and tell myself that I look distinguished, but the truth is I'm a wrinkled, grey-haired, skinny old man and no amount of flattery will change that. But my God, just looking at her, seeing how beautiful she is, and remembering how much I've loved her makes me feel like a young man, shy and nervous.
"I'm glad you're here," she tells me softly. "It's been a long day."
It is only 1900 hours, but I don't disagree. "Yeah," I sigh, settling against the unforgiving cushions, "I'm glad it's almost over."
She stares at her hands, glances up at me, then lowers her gaze again. "There was something else I wanted to talk about with you, Jack."
"What's that?"
"I have to head back to the Tok'ra tomorrow," she explains as my veins freeze and my heart plummets to the floor. "There's still lots of work I have to do. Just because Apophis is dead doesn't mean that the goa'uld are defeated." She reaches over to take my hand, and I let her, my fingers numb. "I was hoping you'd come with me, for a visit."
Somehow, I manage to control my breathing, and not have a heart attack right in front of her. "A visit?" She nods hopefully, and the corners of my mouth twitch. "What grand attractions can a visit with the Tok'ra offer?"
"I could always use your advice on tactical matters. I'm not going to be busy every moment of each day, but I can't just take a lot of time off right now." She smiles mischievously. "I'm sure you'd find some things to do, and you could always bring some books with you. It's possible that you could even bring a television and some of your favorite hockey disks."
"You know me too well."
Pensive, she rests her chin on her hand. "I used to, at any rate, Jack. I've missed that."
"And in between reading and hockey disks and using those wonderful Tok'ra group bathing facilities, would I get to spend any time with you?"
"That would be the point of the visit, yes." Her smile gains more than a hint of wickedness. "If you didn't have anything else to do, you could be my bed warmer." She stops suddenly, looking stricken, and groans. "Just forget I said that, okay? I can't joke about this, Jack. It's too important to me."
We suffer through a minute's uncomfortable silence, then I squeeze her hand tightly. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"I guess I am."
I sit and wait, raising my eyebrows at her. "Maybe you could tell me, then?"
Expressions of exasperation and hope move across her face. "Don't you know already, Jack?"
I press her hand to my lips. "Yeah, I know. But this once, it'd be great if you could say it first."
She stares at me seriously, blue eyes gleaming with emotion. "That's fair, I suppose." Taking a deep breath, she steels herself, since like me, she's not always comfortable speaking of her deepest feelings. "I love you, Jack. I want you to come back with me, not just for a visit, but to stay. It's probably too little, too late, but now that Martina knows the truth, you could be with me, and we could come back to see her, and..." Her voice trails off and she rises from her chair and kneels before me, resting her hands on mine. "Before, I always felt so guilty about Martouf, and you had to stay here to keep Martina safe. But Apophis is gone now, Jack. I want there to finally be some time for us. I want you with me. Please?"
Before the words have even fully registered in my mind, I'm pulling her upwards into my arms, embracing her tightly. "I don't know, let me think about it for a minute," I joke, burying my face against her neck. "God, Sam, I love you." Raising one hand to her cheek, I wipe away her tears, leaning in to kiss her soft lips. "Yes."
I can't look away from her face, from the joy in her eyes. "I'm sorry this took so long," she chokes, running her hands across my face. "The way things were for us--" She shakes her head. "Lantesh has never had a host as muddled about relationships as I am. I loved you, and I loved Martouf, and trying to make sense of everything..."
Kissing her again, I then place a finger against her lips. "It's okay, Sam. Martouf was smarter than we were, back then. We worked at finding excuses for why we couldn't love each other. He just went ahead and did it." I sigh, remembering how terribly jealous and heartsick I'd been, all those years ago. "Who knows how much time we'd have wasted, before we finally had the guts to admit what we felt?"
"And now?" she whispers. "There's time now? I didn't wait too long?"
A memory returns to me, sudden and sharp. "Sam, when Martouf was dying, I heard him tell you that forever wouldn't have been enough time to be with you. I don't know how much time we'll have, but we have some. It might not be enough, but it never would have been anyway." She gasps back a sob, smiling tremulously. "So I'm not going to worry about it anymore. I'm just going to love you for as long as I can, if you can stand having me around."
She shifts against me. "I think I can manage it." Looking down at her precarious perch on my lap, she stands and reaches out her hand to me. "These chairs aren't really big enough for this." I don't protest as she leads me to the bed, where we lean against the pillows and wrap around each other.
This has been my prayer for years, that she'd eventually make her way back to me, and I know that soon I'll want to make love with her, but for now, just holding her against me is so sweet. I could do this forever. "Hey," I murmur lazily, breathing in the smell of her perfume, "maybe I'll end up taking a symbiote of my own, so I can keep bugging you even longer."
She props herself up on one elbow, a faint smile on her face. "If any of them would have you," she retorts, and I laugh with her. She's got a point. "That's a decision you'd have to make for yourself, Jack. I'd never push you in that direction. You know that, don't you?"
Looking at her, I realize that it's true. I don't doubt that she'd be happy if I became Tok'ra, joining her not just as her lover, but as a member of the new group to which she holds allegiance. But knowing our past, knowing that we've each been taken as hosts against our will, she'd never try and influence my decision. Even if it means that she must watch me die of old age, she wouldn't push. "Yeah," I tell her, loosening her hair from its clasp. "And I'm not saying I want to do that right now. But, in the future? Maybe. Who knows?"
She murmurs her assent and wraps her arms around me more tightly, sighing with contentment. It might not be the most romantic of thoughts just now, but I could really go for a nap. Just lie back and sleep in her arms, knowing that we yet have time to love each other. My eyes flutter shut, and my mind idly lets go of consciousness, this time not worried, knowing that she'll be here when I awaken, that the waiting is finally over.
* * * *
or have somehow earned
what was always there to begin with.
* * * *
The event horizon ripples and shimmers as I stand at the foot of the ramp, looking upwards in awe. "Wow," I say, wishing for words a bit more erudite, more expressive of what I mean, but nothing immediately comes to mind. "Wow."
My father smiles indulgently. "It's pretty cool, huh?"
"Oh yeah." I'm almost a bit disappointed that I won't be going through the gate myself, but there's always the future. General Simmons did say something about me going to visit my folks on occasion. But for today and the foreseeable future, my job is still that of a doctor.
Captain Kelly did assure me that I likely won't be as busy as Cassandra's mother used to be when she was the chief medical officer here. Apparently, the combined forces of the Tok'ra and the SGC have the goa'uld on the run these days. The last time SG-15 met up with some Jaffa -- the creme de la creme of the goa'uld armies -- the dangerous warriors turned tail and ran like scared bunnies.
I'm not concerned that I won't have enough to keep me busy. Although the goa'uld are no longer quite as dangerous as they were when my mother worked here, they're still a threat, all the more deadly for being the underdog in this fight. I don't really want to learn how to treat staff weapon blasts, but I'm sure I will. Also, there's just enough of Murphy's Law ruling the universe that once the goa'uld become less of a threat, something else will become more so.
Even so, I think I'm going to like working here. I still have a lot of catching up to do. Cassandra and Teal'c never did get a chance to fully brief me, and I'm sure I'll have several days of reading to do whenever I'm off-shift, although Terrence Sisko made it a point to let me know I'll be expected at SG-7's card game tomorrow.
My mother grins mischievously, and swats my father lightly on the shoulder. "You've seen that reaction before, Jack."
"What's that?" I ask in curiosity.
Dad rolls his eyes. "Sam's first time through the gate was when we returned to Abydos to contact Daniel. We were the last two to go through the gate, and she just stood at the top of the ramp, jaw dragging on the floor, playing with the ripples in the event horizon, and talking technobabble."
"Hmm. That reminds me, payback's a bitch. And so am I, when I feel like it." Her expression is more than a bit wicked, but my father doesn't seem concerned.
"What are you talking about?" I wonder if it will always be like this when I'm around them, being confused over decades of in-jokes and things I don't understand.
"I, um, well, you see, we needed to get going, and Sam would have stood there for at least an hour, and well--"
"He pushed me into the wormhole," she finishes, laughing.
The two of them stand shoulder to shoulder, hands clasped. Things certainly have changed in a hurry around here, but maybe that's not such a bad thing.
I stopped by my mother's quarters this morning after breakfast. I'd been working in the infirmary all night -- as the most junior doctor, I'll probably have the night shift for at least the next few months -- and thought we might have a bit more time to talk before I returned to my quarters to sleep, or maybe even went back into town to Dad's house. I'll need to do that later tonight, to get some personal items.
Knocking on the door, I waited for an answer. I called out her name, but when the door didn't open, I began to turn away. Instead, it opened just a fraction, and she peeked out. "Martina?"
"Yes. Can I come in?" Instead, the door closed again, and from within I heard her quietly telling me to wait. Within a few minutes, she came back out, hastily dressed, with hair sticking out in several different directions.
"What did you want?" she asked me, smiling radiantly.
I tilted my head and scrutinized her. What was that on the side of her neck? Faint bruising of the epidermis, radius matching the dimensions of a human mouth... oh.
A hickey. And I just bet I knew who put it there. My initial reaction was to cringe, just like when Dad first explained where babies came from. Then, I laughed out loud. Yes, she was my mother, and she'd spent last night having sex with my father, but so what? Dad's catch phrase came to mind, the one he used when I teased him about scoping out women: I may be old, but I'm not dead.
She looked at me curiously, a faint blush warming her cheeks. "What?"
I inclined my head towards the door, firmly closed behind us. "Is Dad still asleep?"
She was amazed, until I pointed at her neck, then finally she laughed as well. "Um, yes, he's still asleep. Do you want me to wake him up?"
I shook my head. "No. It can wait. I need to go get some sleep myself. Can I meet with you later?"
"Of course. However, I am going back through the gate this afternoon, probably around 1700 hours."
I stared at my hands. "Oh. I thought you'd be staying here a bit longer."
She shook her head. "There's still many things that I need to oversee back on base. Garshaw has already returned, but she's not in very good health, and she can only do so much. But we will have the chance to visit frequently, Martina." She paused for a moment, then continued. "Jack is coming with me."
We spoke a few minutes more, then I returned to my quarters, head spinning at this new bit of information, certain that I would never be able to sleep. Instead, within minutes of lying down, I was peacefully snoring and drooling into my pillow. If earning my medical residency didn't make me able to sleep at any possible chance, I don't know what would. I awoke around 1400 hours, and spent a few hours with my parents, talking.
Right now, they're staring at the gate; my grandfather and a few of the Tok'ra waiting behind them. There's some movement at the door, then Dr. Jackson and Teal'c walk up to us, both exuding good cheer.
"Same old Daniel," my father drawls. "You'll be late to your own funeral."
Dr. Jackson just smirks, the teasing something he's lived with for years, something he knows is evident of the affection they all share. "I certainly hope so!" he quips, and his smile grows wider.
I look at the four of them, and wonder if I can ever truly know what it was like, the years of striving to protect Earth, searching for allies, and being torn apart by circumstances out of their control. Probably I won't know. But I'll find out as much as possible. They are, after all, my family now too.
My mother turns her head to gaze at me, her innate serenity now tempered with a healthy dose of irrepressible happiness. It's going to be a lot of work, getting to know her. But I have the sneaking suspicion that I'm up to the task. After all, according to her, I housebroke Dad. Whipping a recalcitrant mother into shape shouldn't be too difficult, even if she does have a symbiote.
"We'll come back to see you as soon as we can, Martina," she promises me.
"Or as soon as the Tok'ra get tired of Jack's smart ass remarks and sling his butt back through the gate," Daniel mutters, earning a dirty look, then a laugh from my father.
"We do have a lot to talk about," I agree, then straighten my posture at General Simmon's approach.
The general smiles benevolently, then bows his head towards the Tok'ra. "Selmak, Marat, Jieung, and Lantesh, I hope we'll hear from you soon." They all return his courtesy, and then my grandfather escorts the other two through the gate, leaving my mother with the former members of her team.
"Sir." Dad stands up ramrod straight and snaps off a salute as tight as a new recruit intimidated by everyone he sees. It's only marred by the sarcastic grin on his face.
Simmons returns the salute and snorts. "Retiring off-world. God help the universe, Jack, with you out there running loose."
"I'll keep him in line, Graham," my mother replies solemnly, pokerfaced.
Simmons just shakes his head in mock sorrow. "Yeah, right. You'll just encourage him. Try that line on someone who hasn't known all of you as long as I have." He then turns to Daniel and Teal'c. "The two of you will be back in a few days?"
"Yes. Daniel Jackson wishes to catalog several important rocks that his excavation team found on P7Y-992," Teal'c says in his soothing monotone.
"Artifacts, Teal'c," Daniel corrects him, with the air of long habit.
"Very well," General Simmons says, gesturing towards the gate. "SG-1, you have a go."
They all stare at him in surprise, then laugh or smile in turn. My father reaches out and pulls me into a quick hug. "I'll see you in a month or so, Marty, okay? And don't trash the house! That's an order!"
I toss off a mocking salute. "Yes, sir! Does that mean that my offer to host SG-7's poker night needs to be withdrawn?" He just rolls his eyes at me and says nothing. "Love you, Dad."
Before she can start up the ramp, I touch my mother's arm. "Take care of him," I tell her, knowing that she will, but wanting an excuse to say something to her before she's gone again. She merely smiles, then quickly embraces me as well. I stiffen momentarily, then relax, her strong arms hugging me tightly. Before she lets go, I press my arms against her back, tentatively returning the embrace. Stepping apart, I look at her, considering, hoping I can actually talk without tripping over my tongue. "Have a safe journey, Mother."
She nods, then takes my father's hand, and joins Daniel and Teal'c at the top of the ramp. Pausing only a moment, they then step through, and in a few more seconds the wormhole disengages. I stand there, staring, lost in thought that such a thing is possible, that a step through the gate can take them across the galaxy.
"Lieutenant?"
I startle, as General Simmons speaks to me. "Sir. Uh, sorry, sir, I sort of--"
"Forgot where you were for a moment?" He nods as I agree. "Most of us were that way when we first came here. You'll get used to it, eventually. Though I doubt any of us ever take it for granted."
"Yes, sir. Permission to be excused? I go on duty in forty-five minutes."
He examines me again, a measuring, considering look. I stare back, wondering who he sees when he looks at me. My mother? Martouf? Dad? Mentally, I shrug, not particularly worried. Maybe my appearance favors my mother. Perhaps I have a bit of an attitude, like my father. Eventually, people will see me for myself. He smiles, the stern expression turning to one of amused respect. "Certainly, Lieutenant. Dismissed."
--fin.
June - September 2000
Story Notes: Email: acheek@home.com
Status: complete
Category: Sam/Martouf romance, Sam/Jack romance, heavy angst, drama, character death
Rating: PG-13 (violence, sexual situations, death)
Archive: SJA, all others contact me for permission first.
Season/Sequel Info: follows canon up to 4th season, then diverges
Spoilers: yes, pretty much everything until Small Victories.
Author's Notes: Huge amounts of thanks go to Jacquie, for beta-reading above and beyond the call of duty. She encouraged me, corrected my spelling and grammar, gave me ideas for clarification, and put up with my constant impatient emails of, "Have you edited this part yet? Huh? Have you?" Her help was absolutely invaluable. Dedicated to E, because I love him more than anything, even more than my cable modem. *grin* This story contains many mature themes, and may be disturbing to some readers. Nothing is terribly explicit, but if childbirth, sex, or death bother you, you should probably find another story to read. Feedback is not optional. Loved it? Hated it? Let me know. This story is copyrighted to A. Cheek, September 2000.
Status: complete
Category: Sam/Martouf romance, Sam/Jack romance, heavy angst, drama, character death
Rating: PG-13 (violence, sexual situations, death)
Archive: SJA, all others contact me for permission first.
Season/Sequel Info: follows canon up to 4th season, then diverges
Spoilers: yes, pretty much everything until Small Victories.
Author's Notes: Huge amounts of thanks go to Jacquie, for beta-reading above and beyond the call of duty. She encouraged me, corrected my spelling and grammar, gave me ideas for clarification, and put up with my constant impatient emails of, "Have you edited this part yet? Huh? Have you?" Her help was absolutely invaluable. Dedicated to E, because I love him more than anything, even more than my cable modem. *grin* This story contains many mature themes, and may be disturbing to some readers. Nothing is terribly explicit, but if childbirth, sex, or death bother you, you should probably find another story to read. Feedback is not optional. Loved it? Hated it? Let me know. This story is copyrighted to A. Cheek, September 2000.
End Notes: End Notes
The poems quoted in this story all come from the book "Light-Gathering Poems," edited by Liz Rosenberg, copyright 2000, published by Henry Holt and Company. All poems were used without permission, but no copyright infringement was intended. If by some strange chance, the copyright holders on these poems actually read this story and wish their poems removed, they should contact me and I will do so at once. The poems are cited in order of their appearance.
1. "The Summer Day," by Mary Oliver.
2. "A Poem Ending in the Preposition "With,"" by Michael S. Glaser.
3. "Fireflies," by Rabindranath Tagore.
4. Glaser.
5. "Bei Hennef," by D.H. Lawrence.
6. "What the Living Do," by Marie Howe.
7. "The Red Dress," by Vickie Karp.
8. Oliver.
9. Tagore.
10. Oliver.
11. "Ode on Intimations of Immortality," by William Wordsworth.
12. Glaser.
13. Glaser.
If anyone is confused by the Niobe reference, look it up in a mythology book.
*************************************
Proud owner and wielder of the Clue-by-Four acheek@home.com
The poems quoted in this story all come from the book "Light-Gathering Poems," edited by Liz Rosenberg, copyright 2000, published by Henry Holt and Company. All poems were used without permission, but no copyright infringement was intended. If by some strange chance, the copyright holders on these poems actually read this story and wish their poems removed, they should contact me and I will do so at once. The poems are cited in order of their appearance.
1. "The Summer Day," by Mary Oliver.
2. "A Poem Ending in the Preposition "With,"" by Michael S. Glaser.
3. "Fireflies," by Rabindranath Tagore.
4. Glaser.
5. "Bei Hennef," by D.H. Lawrence.
6. "What the Living Do," by Marie Howe.
7. "The Red Dress," by Vickie Karp.
8. Oliver.
9. Tagore.
10. Oliver.
11. "Ode on Intimations of Immortality," by William Wordsworth.
12. Glaser.
13. Glaser.
If anyone is confused by the Niobe reference, look it up in a mythology book.
*************************************
Proud owner and wielder of the Clue-by-Four acheek@home.com
DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc, are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters and plots are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended. ... [ read more ]