* * * * *
|| Samantha Carter ||
I knew that, sooner or later, I'd end up sleeping with Martouf.
Tok'ra or not, Martouf, the host, was human. And I was human, too, and having a hard time getting through a very difficult acceptance of Jack O'Neill's death. I certainly wasn't PLANNING on anything happening - I wasn't even sure I WANTED something to happen - but maybe he was, and maybe he did... and these things happened. I wasn't stupid.
What I could only assume were months passed uneventfully. I had no idea what my sleeping patterns were like, only that I crashed when I was tired and woke when I wasn't any longer. Jadae and Martouf and I would eat, and then wander around the tunnels, or talk, or brood, or wander around the storeroom. In a bizarre, detached way, sex seemed like just another method of passing the time.
Jadae made it clear that she had no romantic interest in Martouf, that he obviously loved me, that he'd always be there for me, that it wasn't all about Jolinar. Basically, she made it clear that the road was open, wide open, that this was even a great opportunity, one that I should run with. And as I had been telling myself for years, he was a very caring, intelligent, good-looking man. As Jadae had said, I should be flattered.
And in a way I WAS.
But I couldn't stop comparing him to the man I'd lost, forever. I'd never really thought to myself "Jack O'Neill is a nice, funny, very hot man." I'd never had to convince myself of any of that, I'd never had to talk myself into it. If anything, I'd had to talk myself OUT of some things. The way I saw it, this was a key difference.
But I couldn't have Jack. It was just the three of us, and Jadae spent most of her time exploring the tunnels anyway...
Sooner or later.
* * * * *
|| Jack O'Neill ||
"Everything BASICALLY went according to plan. There was just the slight problem that we didn't receive coordinates for all twenty-one ships."
"'Slight problem?'" hissed Samuels. "Thousands are DEAD because of that problem, GENERAL."
I resisted the urge to leap across the table and chew through to the man's jugular vein, or maybe mummify him in one of the SGC banners that adorned the room. Was there a genetic mutation that made people imperceptible to sarcasm? Or rational thought? "For crying out loud, Samuels, I have had it up to--"
A sharp look from Hammond and I snapped my mouth closed. Not behavior befitting a general, apparently.
I missed those colonel's eagles.
The President folded his hands on the tabletop. "I guess we're just lucky that the ship's targeting scanners had been thrown off, hmm? And that the Tollan were so close by. The Gou'ald were only able to get off a few shots, and none hit the metropolitan area."
His tone was carefully neutral, but I nonetheless felt as though I was being accused of something. "According to the Tok'ra, they sent all twenty-one sets of glyphs. According to the Tollan, they only received twenty."
"Miscalculation?" asked Davis.
"Or a technical malfunction," said Mya Coakley.
Or maybe the Tok'ra did it on purpose, I though, feeling the acid of irrational anger beginning to course through my veins once more. Maybe there was no spy on the twenty-first ship and they lied to us, just like they lied to us about Sam being on that mission, just like they're still lying to us and probably her father about her being dead...
"People bought the asteroid story initially," Samuels was saying. "Thanks to all the disaster movies these days. But then they started to look for remains and, of course, there aren't any. Someone's going to figure out that those three bursts were directed energy; we need a new story and we need it now. Something believable."
"How about the truth?" I muttered.
The President looked from Samuels to me. "How about it?"
The other man blanched, and even Hammond looked somewhat shaken. "You're kidding? You must be kidding, because this isn't something to be kidding about. Mr. President," Samuels added lamely. "Three-thousand, two-hundred and twelve people are dead, millions of dollars in damages... and you're going to blame it on aliens?"
"Not believable enough?" I snapped.
The President shook his head. "I imagine you've heard Senator Kinsey's proposal?"
I sighed. Yes, the old dog was still around, hounding us as effectively as ever, but at least he was off the appropriations committee. "The Pandora Act?" I spat. "Oh yeah."
"This doesn't go any further then this room, but personally, I think it's bunk. I have a lot of respect for you people, and I don't think making every military document public is going to solve any problems. But what it would do is virtually convince everyone that this is for real. The Gou'ald, the Stargate. I don't want you thinking that I want to go down as the President in office when we found out there was life on other planets, but this is a major discovery."
"I agree, sir," said Mya, blushing a little. "We've been withholding this from the people for so long. I think in a way they deserve the truth."
Samuels stared at all of us as though... well, as though our eyes had just glowed. "I don't believe what I'm hearing. We have gone to great lengths to keep this story from leaking, and you're all ready to blow it open? To the public? You might have that kind of trust in the people, but I don't. You know what you're going to have? Mass suicides, total panic, hoarding, dissolution of our entire society. But if you want to go down in history as the President who let all hell break loose, by all means, go ahead!"
"First of all," said the President, eyes glittering. "Shut the hell up. Second of all, the House is really pushing this bill. Truth or otherwise, they won't let me get anything done if I won't pass at least some version of it. Whether or not they deserve it, they're going to get it."
"The public's become disturbingly apathetic to the military," Hammond deadpanned. "Maybe knowing we've saved the world's collective ass a few times will brighten things up."
"Or maybe it'll do just the opposite," cautioned Davis.
"Politics?" I asked the President, scowling.
"Something like that," he sighed.
* * * * *
|| Daniel Jackson ||
"Basically, we never got the coordinates for the twenty-first ship, and we don't know why. It fired three times on the D.C. area, missed the White House, the whole capital, but still killed more than three-thousand people. At the same time, the Tok'ra spies from that ship gated in; they seemed totally surprised that we hadn't received the whole transmission. A few minutes later, thank God, the Tollan showed up and were able to blow the damaged mothership pretty easily. We all partied for a couple minutes. End of story."
"What does Jack think?"
"Oh, he's worked up a couple of nice conspiracy theories. My favorite is that the Tok'ra planned for that twenty-first ship to make it, and shoot us up, and make the whole program public. And that the spies gated to Earth rather than another planet so they could lie to us."
Cassie smiled tiredly. "He doesn't trust them."
"Not any further than he could throw them," I agreed. "And I know that's because of Sam."
Cassie sat down on the bed, next to her suitcase. "Because of Jolinar? How I thought she was a Gou'ald?"
"That, and how they lied to us about the mission Sam was killed on."
"You really think she's dead?" the girl asked, dismayed. Not so much a girl anymore, I reminded myself. Practically a woman now. Cassandra Frasier was growing up.
I shrugged. "It's just that... we're the good guys. They're the good guys. The good guys don't lie to each other."
"They don't get each other killed, either," Cassie pointed out.
"Now you're starting to sound like Jack."
* * * * *
|| Janet Frasier ||
Daniel had offered to take Cassandra to the airport, and I was so grateful to him for that. It wasn't that I didn't want her to leave... but no, that was exactly what it was. It hadn't sunk in yet that she was a teenager, and brilliant, and by not letting her go off to college I would only be hurting her and her chances for greatness. It seemed impossible that it had been YEARS since SG-1 had brought a thin, silent, traumatized little girl back from a ravaged planet. Since I'd taken her in, despite my better judgement, because although she and Sam were much closer, there was no way Sam could care for a child, not with her hours. Since I'd absolutely fallen in love with Cassandra and the maternal instincts she engendered in me.
And now I had to let my little girl go.
I looked up at the rattling of keys in the lock: Daniel. He let himself in, closed the door behind him, and smiled at what must have been a rather desperate expression. "She's going to California," he reminded me gently. "Not the moon."
I nodded.
"You know the sooner she's a multiple Ph.D., the sooner she can come back and show everyone at the SGC a thing or two," he continued comfortingly, and my shoulders tightened as I realized how, in a way, Cassie would be a replacement for Sam. That day was years from now, of course, but in any case...
Daniel sat down next to me on the couch.
"Wasn't there a meeting at the base today?" I asked. "With the President?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Managed to weasel my way out of that one." He paused. "It's not that I'm afraid of getting chewed out by him or something. He knows and I know we did everything we could do, that what happened was just a mistake, some kind of technical error with the transmission..."
"Was it?"
Daniel regarded me warily. "Not you, too."
I shrugged, moving closer, resting my head against his shoulder and remembering, with a tiny smile, that we were alone in the house. Choosing my words carefully, I said "You know that saying 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend?'"
"Of course."
I hesitated, not sure what this would sound like, if he would think that I was insinuating something. Because I didn't believe Jack. Sam was dead, she had to be, because otherwise why hadn't she returned? Where the hell was she? A prisoner of the Gou'ald, trapped, hurting... No. It was just easier to tell myself that she was dead, in a better place, somewhere where the Gou'ald couldn't even touch her.
I licked my lips. "I'm just wondering if that's true."
* * * * *
|| Samantha Carter ||
Slowly, I dipped my head further into the water, running my fingers through the wet strands. The air was cold on my back and arms, and my submerged lower half was only slightly warmer. Back home, I'd lived for hot, scalding, steaming, blistering showers, the kind that made the air so humid it was nearly impossible to breathe. Now, I was reduced to lukewarm baths, and the knowledge I should be thankful for them altogether. I'd always wondered what practical applications were served by the shallow pools randomly adorning the Tok'ra bases; now we'd discovered at least one.
My washcloth was a scrap torn from a blanket, my towel a large rectangle of fabric sitting on the ledge an arm's length away. If there was one thing that really disturbed me about the Tok'ra, it was their whole policy on no doors. No doors, no secrets... no privacy. Sure, maybe it worked to deter spies and maybe that was just how they lived... but I was uncomfortable with it. Reason number one being that Jolinar had been PERFECTLY comfortable with it.
Back in the base, back before the whole botched strike on Deault's planet, I'd never really thought much about Jolinar. Most of that was intentional, but still, I'd managed to keep her out of my conscious thoughts. Unconscious thoughts were quite another matter, and of course I had no control over them, just a faint sense, like an aftertaste, that told me what I was thinking or feeling was being tinged by her emotions and experiences.
Now, for some reason, that telltale tingle came more often than ever; sometimes the sensation that she was here with me, in me, in my head, was so overwhelming that I was crushed by a panic not unlike claustrophobia. Jolinar had been an intelligent... woman, loving and loved by many, and I knew somehow that Rosha had been much the same: smart, clever, beautiful. But sometimes their memories, all the lives that Jolinar had lived in different hosts - especially her time with Martouf - were stifling. Sometimes I couldn't shake the perception that I was living out her existence, and not my own. The life that she would have lived, had things turned out differently. Martouf didn't help matters, although I knew that wasn't his fault. He either loved me or he'd deluded himself into believing he did.
It was a difficult situation, to say the least.
With my back to the door, shivering violently, I stood in tepid turquoise water up to my knees and groped for my towel. Hurriedly, I wrapped it around my body, making sure to keep the hem dry. I sat back on the ledge of the pool, swiveled around, and dropped to my feet on the cold ground.
"Oh, God."
The exclamation burst from me involuntarily. I didn't do anything silly like gasp or put my hand to my mouth; instead, I held the suddenly scanty swatch of fabric closer to my body and blushed furiously.
Martouf, standing in the shadows of the doorway, also looked obligatorily embarrassed, although I knew his being here was no accident. And, okay, maybe that was the slightest bit flattering, that he'd dropped the pretense and was now trying to win me over, no holds barred. I knew there'd be no retreat unless I demanded it, no apology unless it was coerced from him. I KNEW this, though it might have been Jolinar telling me so.
"In this light," he said haltingly, his words surprisingly unsteady. "You looked like... like..."
Like her. I tried not to show my disappointment, but that hadn't been what I had wanted or anticipated hearing. I'd expected for him to at least make a conscious effort to disassociate me from HER, I reflected, stiffening. "This is what I was talking about," I said quietly, hoping Jadae was out, far out, on one of her tunnel excursions. "This is what I was afraid of. I'm NOT her, Martouf. I never will be."
He shook his head earnestly, coming further into the room. "Jolinar and I did make many fond memories together, Samantha, I know you're aware of that. But I know she is gone, and I know I... I want you. I want to make memories with YOU."
I crossed my arms defensively over my chest. "Make memories? Here?" I looked around. Nothing but cold floors and hard crystal and soft, silver-blue lighting.
"It's a good a place as any," he pointed out, and he happened to be right about that. If I'd had the foresight to act on my feelings toward Jack O'Neill, the circumstances wouldn't have been any more romantic than this. My place or his. Barracks. Maybe a sleeping bag on the ground. I'd never expected red roses and satin sheets from anyone, not even Jonas. I was practical; I was my father's daughter.
Before I could react he was standing in front of me, his warm hands placed on my cold, wet arms. His blue eyes flickered across my face, dipping lower now and then, and his voice was gentle. "Samantha... I wish I knew what was holding you back. What was keeping you... keeping us..."
I let his hands push my arms down, let him intertwine his fingers with my own. I can honestly say that I made no move toward him, made no gesture that could possibly give him the impression that this was what I wanted... except I didn't push him away.
Not even when he kissed me.
Like so many months ago, it seemed an inevitable thing: of course I would let him kiss me, of course I would return it. I should feel flattered, after all. I should feel damn lucky. I should want this man as much as he obviously, OBVIOUSLY wanted me.
Abruptly, the kiss went deep and firm, and despite my own misgivings and the unreality of the situation, I opened my eyes. And found myself staring into a face that was most certainly not Martouf's.
The entire world was fuzzed, hazy, like we'd been plunged underwater, or thrown onto some planet where the air was more viscous than not. I pulled away just enough to free my lips, enough to ask, in a bleary and slightly reverberating voice: "Jack?"
He opened his eyes and smiled at me. He was as confused as I was, I could tell, but he also wasn't planning on sitting down at talking out what was happening. As much as I wanted to tell him - that I was all right, that I was with Martouf and Jadae, that I LOVED him - I also wasn't going to waste these gifted moments with words. I could tell him things, alright, but I could tell him in a way that didn't involve speaking.
Our surroundings were a blurry blend of grays, but I didn't give them more that a cursory glance before returning my attention to where it belonged. To Jack, to his lips and hands, to his arms when they lifted me and then lowered me. The coolness of the sheets and the yield of the mattress were secondary; every one of my five senses - or would that be six, now? - were captured by him, by the silent way he moved with me, not making one small sound and by doing that capturing the intensity and intimacy of the moment with absolute perfection. Exclamations thronged in my throat, but I swallowed them, investing every bit of energy and vitality into prolonging this sweet torture, in letting him know in the most beautiful of non-verbal ways thatI was sorry for what had happened and desperate to repair the damage.
I'd always dreamed of knowing someone so well that the physical aspect - frankly: sex - was merely an afterthought, and until now I'd never known such a thing truly existed. The one serious relationship I'd allowed myself to enter had been with Jonas. Of course, OUR entire relationship hadn't been based on sex; our entire relationship had mostly been based on HIM. I'd mulled over it long after the death of the relationship and then HIS death. I'd been looking for acceptance from my father at that point, and I'd seen a 'father figure' in Jonas, someone who could and would tell me what to do, and who would hopefully commend me when I triumphed. I'd recognized my own MO early on, and had been more than prepared when I'd met Jack O'Neill for the first time. I'd been aware of my own disposition towards people in power, towards men in power... yet that awareness hadn't seemed to make a bit of a difference. Maybe that was still my MO, my weakness. And hell, was that such a bad thing? I'd grown to know Jack, if not inside out, than at least out. What I hadn't known before I did now, through whatever strange and unnatural method turned out to be the culprit. Maybe this wasn't the most honest, true, pure love in the universe, but it was love. And it was a healthy lust, too. Maybe, I decided, I should stop thinking about it, stop wishing for the ideal lover, and just be deliriously happy with the one I held in my arms.
Maybe I couldn't call this an afterthought quite yet, I thought, feeling my body approaching its breaking point. But I could see it, at one point, being just that.
At that moment, as the blurred gray started to splinter gratifyingly around us, it occurred to me that this was... weird. That I had been with someone else, another man, not long ago. That we had been on the verge of--
And then all reasonable thought left me, ALL thought left me, and all there was left was feeling, to which I was a exhilarated victim.
* * * * *
|| Jack O'Neill ||
Trying to mask my trembling with vigorous movements, I wrenched on the water faucet and stepped under the spray. It was icy and I cringed, gritting my teeth until the water heater caught up. Under other circumstances, a cold shower might have been a damn good idea. In this case, well, it was a little too late for that.
I could still feel her, I realized, watching the water swirl around the drain at my feet. More vivid than any dream, I could still taste her mouth; her scent still filled my nose. Underneath the pads of my fingers I could still feel her perfect skin, as though I was touching it right that very moment. I could even hear her, a slight rustle against crisp sheets. It could have been worse, I tried to tell myself. This whole episode could have come on while we were still in conference with the President.
Shaking water from my face like a mutt caught in a deluge, I ended the shower, toweling dry and dressing in record time, and then dashing for the phone. I found Danny exactly where I'd expected to find him - at Janet's - and made what had to seem a rather strange request.
P2C-260.
The water whirled in the drain, like a shallow
* * * * *
|| Samantha Carter ||
whirlpool or tiny eddy. Around, around, around... almost hypnotically... never all vanishing down the metal pipe... its own tiny, unending current...
Jack, I thought, smiling and flushing a little, trying to imagine how we were going to explain this to Hammond and the others. Would we even have to? Could we keep it a secret, our own private little classified mission? Because there was no way in hell I was ever going to give this up, not because of court martial or reassignment. They could do what they wanted with me, but--
I opened my eyes. Bad move.
The smile dropped from my face faster than a sinking Stargate. The pleasant thoughts vanished from my mind with an electric jolt.
Silver blue crystal, glimmering in the dim light, stared back at me accusingly.
Every atom in my body turned to lead, making sitting up while keeping the blanket clutched to my chest extremely difficult, but I managed. Slowly, and with the greatest of hesitation, I took in my nightmare-like surroundings. Nightmare. That had to be it. This was some weird ass dream, and any minute now I was going to wake up, comfortable and content in Jack's arms.
I was naked, this much was apparent, but then again, I didn't recall dressing. I also didn't recall coming here. I didn't recall a lot of things, but still, they were obvious. Like the reason I was sitting in an unfamiliar bed, and why Martouf - obviously equally nude and very asleep - lay beside me.
* * * * *
*hides under desk*
Coming soon... The Act
The more feedback I get, the more I write... the less feedback, the more evil I become
Story Notes: Title: The Ardor
Author: Alli (alli@ecis.com)
Rating: PG-13 for content
Category: Future story, SJR, angst
Archive: SJA and Heliopolis
The Andromeda Series
1. The Assignment
2. The Aide
3. The Afterglow
4. The Arising
5. The Allusion
6. The Attack
7. The Accident
8. The Anger
9. The Alien
10. The Archaeologist
11. The Absence
12. The Advance
13. The Adversary
14. The Ability
15. The Allies
16. The Aberration
17. The Ardor
Author: Alli (alli@ecis.com)
Rating: PG-13 for content
Category: Future story, SJR, angst
Archive: SJA and Heliopolis
The Andromeda Series
1. The Assignment
2. The Aide
3. The Afterglow
4. The Arising
5. The Allusion
6. The Attack
7. The Accident
8. The Anger
9. The Alien
10. The Archaeologist
11. The Absence
12. The Advance
13. The Adversary
14. The Ability
15. The Allies
16. The Aberration
17. The Ardor
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 ]