Fic: The Raggedy Edge (7/9)
Title: The Raggedy Edge
Author: Annerb
Summary: During a rescue mission gone awry, Sam and Jack end up stranded in another galaxy where they find themselves passengers on a ship called Serenity.
Wordcount: 40,000+
Rating/Warnings: Older teens for swearing in multiple languages, violence, torture, and such.
Categorization: SG-1/Firefly Crossover, AU, Action/Adventure, Drama
Pairings: BOB. Sam/Jack established relationship, hints of Daniel/Vala, Kaylee/Simon, Mal/Inara, and Jayne/Everyone (at least in his mind).
Season: Post-BDM for Firefly, early season 9 for SG-1
Friends and Enemies
Mal woke to find his face pressed into a surprisingly plush carpet. Lying there, he couldn’t decide if his lingering dizziness was due to an injury or just the riot of colors swimming in front of him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he rolled over with a groan, making several facts clear with the move. One, his hands were bound in front of him. Two, the throbbing pain in his head probably had nothing to do with the nauseating carpet design.
Lovely.
Cracking his eyes open, Mal took in the luxurious office whose floor he was currently lying on. The walls were covered with books, large heavy wood furniture filling the space. Not exactly the sort of prison Mal was used to. He pushed into a seated position and noticed he wasn’t alone. A man stood by the door, his vaguely military clothing and sleek little pistol sheathed at his waist seeming to identify him as a guard.
Mal watched him for a few moments, but the guard didn’t seem to be paying him no mind, so he experimentally rolled to his feet, only to be brought up short by his restraints. He landed back on his ass with an oomph, and not even that stellar display of grace caught the guard’s attention.
Tugging on the restraints, Mal found that they were bolted to a ring protruding between two tapestries. “Now that just don’t go with the décor,” he noted.
He eyed the guard. Nothing.
“It’s enough to make a guy feel unappreciated,” Mal muttered.
Before he could completely dedicate himself to the game of Hurl Insults at the Guard, the door to the office opened. Sam strolled in then, her head held high as if the sheer amount of hardware currently limiting her to small shuffling steps didn’t bother her none. Three more guards in their bland military uniforms walked in behind her, two of them looking like they’d had a less than enjoyable afternoon. The first was sporting a broken nose and the beginnings of a shiner, the second walking with a slight limp, one hand held to his side as if nursing a busted rib.
It made the thick restraints on Sam’s wrists and ankles seem a tad less excessive.
Setting a plush armchair in the center of the room, all three guards manhandled her down onto it, as if they were scared to attempt it without vastly greater numbers.
“Oh, so she gets a chair and I get to sit on the floor like your pet dog,” Mal complained. “Real fair.”
Sam turned her head slightly to see him. She was a bit disheveled, but seemed in one piece more or less. “Ah. Still alive then, Reynolds?”
At least that sharp tongue of hers still seemed to function well enough.
The injured guards, having secured their prisoner, moved back towards the door.
“It’s been fun, boys,” Sam said to their retreating backs. “Maybe we can do it again sometime.”
They didn’t react, even though Mal was sure the other guards were going to give them a hell of a lot of shit later.
“Call me!” Sam shouted as the door closed. Settling back in her chair, she let off a string of startling insults under her breath, a few he wasn’t familiar with that he would have to be sure to ask what they meant later.
“Having fun?” Mal asked.
She flicked her hair back over her shoulder. “Tons. What have you been up to?”
Mal stretched his feet out in front of him, leaning back against the wall. “Being unconscious, mostly. You?”
One shoulder lifted. “Tea party.”
For some reason, he had the feeling she was completely serious. “Nice. They have those little sandwiches with the crusts trimmed off?”
She didn’t get a chance to answer because the door opened again then, a small man with deep lines in his face and silver hair wearing an impeccable black suit entering the chamber. He crossed the room to sit behind the enormous desk that should have dwarfed him but somehow managed to make him only seem bigger.
“Ms. Carter,” he said in greeting.
“Quincy,” she returned with an irreverent nod.
“You two know each other?” Mal asked.
Sam’s smile was grim. “Oh, we’re old friends by now.”
Quincy folded his hand on the desk. “You’ve been quite…uncooperative, Ms. Carter,” he said, his voice soft and layered with rebuke as one might use to speak to a misbehaving pet.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Sam dutifully drawled, perfectly matching his deliberate tone. “And here I thought we were getting along so well.”
Mal snorted in amusement, remembering the pathetic gaits of the wounded guards. He wondered exactly how many men it had taken to restrain her. It seemed Sam had a whole slew of talents she’d failed to mention.
Quincy continued to ignore Mal as if he weren’t there. “We just wish to know all about you, your planet, and that wonderful ship you arrived in. We don’t have to be enemies.”
Sam’s face didn’t even betray a flicker of understanding. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Quincy gave her a pitying look. “I understand you and your friends are a long way from home. You wish to return there, don’t you? I can make that happen.”
Sam raised an eyebrow, looking over Quincy with curiosity. “Shouldn’t you have horns and a tail to make an offer like that?”
Quincy sighed. “I can see that you cannot be reasoned with. No matter. I have been known to be persuasive when I need to be.”
Mal didn’t miss the threat there, despite the pleasant tone and polite words he’d couched it in. Sam picked up on it as well, but just pressed her lips together and managed to look very unimpressed.
“If you will not help us…” Quincy’s eyes slid over to Mal, acknowledging his presence for the first time. “Perhaps your friend would be more willing to share?”
“He doesn’t know anything,” Sam said, sounding almost…bored, like all of this was just old hat for her.
“How can we be sure?” Quincy countered and Mal got the feeling there was a spat of ‘persuasion’ in his immediate future. He hated that.
Sam laughed then, something short and abrasive. “Are you serious?” she asked, giving Mal a skeptical glance. “He’s not on our level now is he? He’s been out of his element since the first moment I met him.”
The guy nodded, as if that statement made any kind of sense. “In that case, we may as well kill him now,” he said, but Mal wasn’t ready to panic just yet, as for all the craziness of Sam, he still doubted she would drop him out the airlock just to save her own hide.
Sam stared straight back at Quincy and shrugged. “Sure, go for it.”
Or not.
Quincy seemed to spend an insanely long time considering killing him, but that might just have seemed that way to Mal. Quincy eventually sighed, long and drawn out and barely audible as he turned back to Sam. “If you will not cooperate, I am afraid we will simply have to take what we need.” He smiled. “I’m sure you understand.”
Sam did not smile back.
“Please fetch Dr. Deacon,” he said to one of the attendants.
Dr. Deacon, as it turned out, looked more like a mad scientist than a physician. He was almost comically tall when standing near Quincy, and beanpole thin. It was the flat, dead quality to the guy’s eyes and the Frankenstein machine he carted in with him that made him less amusing.
“Dr. Deacon specializes in psychoneurology,” Quincy explained. “It’s a fascinating field.”
Sam was still under the Doctor’s touch as he attached about a dozen small circles to Sam’s head along her hairline; each one topped with a thin filament that lead back to the machine on the cart.
“The brain is an amazing thing,” Dr. Deacon said as he stood over Sam, his voice low and paper-thin. “With the proper stimulation, the human brain is capable of rendering untold agony onto the body, without the need of any…physical mess.”
He leaned in closer to Sam, his mouth near her cheek as he spoke. “Would you like to see?”
Sam, for her part, didn’t betray even the tiniest flicker of fear or distaste, merely stared back at the man in a way that made Mal absolutely certain this was not the first time she’d been threatened with torture.
Deacon looked up at Quincy as if for permission.
“You may begin.”
Mal didn’t know what the machine did, just watched the way Sam’s jaw clenched, sweat working its way down her face as her body twitched from some unseen impulse. Watched the way she fought back against letting even the tiniest sound escape her.
Mal learned to keep his damn mouth shut after his first outburst only resulted in Deacon turning up the intensity.
For almost two hours Quincy sat at his desk and watched Sam writhe and fight against the pain, the stoic look on his face never slipping even as she remained stubbornly silent, leaving his numerous questions unanswered.
At precisely nine o’clock a gilded mantle clock delicately rang and Quincy finally held up a hand. “That will do for now,” he said.
Deacon nodded, turning off the machine with a soft click that left Sam listing against the chair, her breath coming out short and fast.
“We will give you some time to rest, Ms. Carter, and hopefully find some new perspective.” With a flick of his hand, one of the attendants immediately appeared at Quincy’s side, leaning in close to hear his master’s words. “Please have them moved them downstairs, and take blood samples from each.”
“Of course,” the attendant answered, his head bowing.
They were removed to a small chamber in the basement, and rather that putting up a fight, this time Sam practically had to be carried by the guards.
“This is more like it,” Mal said, looking around the small chamber.
The walls were a drab beige cement color with no windows and one hard bench lining the back wall. That was where they dumped Mal, linking his heavy manacles on his wrists and ankles through solid loops on the walls.
Sam, being the special specimen she was, got her own cot. They rolled her onto it with little care. Mal tried his best not to notice the drain in the floor, or the heavy metal hooks in the ceiling, but thankfully the guards simply left them alone, the day’s quota of brutality apparently filled.
Mal watched Sam for a while, but didn’t want to bother her, as she seemed to have dozed off (or more likely lost consciousness, but he was really hoping it was just sleep). If anyone had earned a little rest, after all, it was Sam.
Testing the boundaries of his restraints, Mal shifted around and tried to find something resembling a comfortable position on the bench to catch a little shut-eye himself. He’d finally wrestled something resembling repose when Sam spoke.
“Mal?” she said, her voice thin.
He lifted his head. “Yeah?”
Her eyes cracked open to peer across at him. “If it makes you feel any better,” she said, the sweat still cooling on her brow, “I knew he wouldn’t kill you.”
Damned if he didn’t believe her.
+++
Sam was driving their captors insane.
That didn’t surprise Mal none, having been someone on the other end of trying to keep her in line. No, the surprising fact was that now that they were clearly on the same side, he was actually kind of fond of her. And wasn’t that just a kick to the head?
They’d been moved yet again, this time to a room with pristine surfaces and glass shelves holding objects like some fancy museum. Mal didn’t know much about these Ancients Sam had mentioned, but he knew enough to recognize that this collection of artifacts was similar. He skimmed the objects, wondering if any of these things could get them the hell out of here, remembering the one back on Serenity. Being invisible might come in handy right about now.
Quincy didn’t attend them himself today, no doubt having many important evil overlord things to take care of, sending a thickset, eager acolyte by the name of Cyrus in his place with Dr. Deacon.
When it became clear that they were going to simply pick up where they left off the night before, Mal did his best impression of a pain in the ass, but rather than deflecting any attention from Sam, he just earned himself some more quality unconscious time.
They had her hooked up to the damn machine again by the time Mal swam back to consciousness.
“You know what these are,” Cyrus said, one hand sweeping towards the displays.
Sam looked them over, no overt sign of recognition visible. “Toasters?” she guessed.
Cyrus nodded to Deacon, who apparently ramped the machine up because Sam snapped her mouth closed over an unsteady gasp.
Cyrus moved closer to her, looking down with cold disdain. “Do you really think we don’t know what you are? Where you come from?”
Sam didn’t answer, just dug her fingers into the arm of her chair.
Cyrus watched her twitch for a few minutes before gesturing to Deacon. From the way Sam’s body sagged forward, Mal assumed he’d finally turned the thing off.
He leaned into her, his voice lowering to a whisper. “We’ve been waiting for you, Samantha Carter of Earth.”
Her eyes darted to his and it was the closest Mal had ever seen her to panic. Cyrus saw it to, to judge from the smile on his face. Cyrus turned his attention to Mal. “Who do you think, my dear Captain, commissioned you to retrieve the item from Shanxi in the first place?”
Mal felt his stomach do a little a quick little jig, trying not to let any of his surprise show. Exactly how long had these wang ba dan been manipulating things?
The soft words, when they came, were from Sam. “Only someone with knowledge of the Ancients could have interfaced with the security system,” she said, her head rolling back against the chair behind her. “Damn. I really should have seen that coming.”
Mal whistled. “That’s quite the twisty plan you guys came up with. You must be smarter than you look.”
As usual, Cyrus barely spared him a glance. His inability to take their attention off of Sam for a moment was beginning to bug the hell out of him. Wasn’t he worth torturing too? It was enough to give a guy an inferiority complex.
“Not that all went perfectly to plan,” Cyrus said, his voice hardening. “Your friends were not supposed to abscond with Dr. Jackson. We underestimated them. We won’t make that mistake again.”
Mal laughed. “You think they’re coming back?” he asked. “Even they ain’t that stupid.”
He hoped.
Cyrus seemed unconcerned by the proclamation though, instead gesturing to a guard. “Release her restraints.”
Mal couldn’t help but think of those beaten guards from the first day as they moved across the room to free her. He really, really hoped this was them underestimating her. But then Sam tried and failed to get to her feet and Mal was forced to realize just how weak the machine was making her.
He wondered how much more of this she could take.
At Cyrus’ command, the guards dragged Sam to her feet, moving her across the room to stand next to the first display table holding one of the strange objects.
“Touch it,” Cyrus ordered.
When she didn’t move fast enough for his taste, he grabbed her hand and pressed it down on the device.
Mal wasn’t sure what he expected, but released a breath of relief when long moments passed with nothing happening. Cyrus looked distinctly unhappy though, letting go of her hand with a sound of frustration, a high color building in his cheeks. Clearly he had been banking on a different outcome.
“If she isn’t the one who activated the Ancient ship, then it must have been her companion,” Cyrus said, sounding like he was talking to himself out loud.
Sam lifted her face then, and Mal was surprised to see the disdain there, the stubborn gleam in her eye not even remotely dulled. “Have you ever considered that these Ancients didn’t want you messing with their things?” she asked, leaning hard on the table to keep her equilibrium. “That they saw you as little more than rats running through a maze? That you aren’t worthy of their secrets?”
“You will be quiet!” Cyrus exclaimed, his voice tinged with an edge of hysteria. Then, to Mal’s complete surprise, he emphasized the order with a backhand to Sam’s face, nearly knocking her to the floor.
Sam swayed dangerously, but managed to keep her feet, looking back up at Cyrus with something like satisfaction in her face as if pleased to have finally made one of them lose their composure. “Temper, temper,” she said, clucking her tongue in disapproval.
Mal had to admit that it was pretty nice to see their normally cold-to-the-point-of-sinister hosts show an actual emotion other than self-satisfaction, he just wasn’t sure Sam getting herself beat up was really worth it.
Cyrus seemed to consider raising his hand to her again, only to take a deep breath, both hands smoothing down his suit. “Return them to their room,” he said, and Mal could hear the tremor just underlying his voice. “That will be enough for today.”
Back in their cell, Mal watched Sam struggle to find a comfortable position on the cot. “I know this probably sounds funny coming from me, but do you really think it’s such a good idea to goad them?”
Sam let out a huff, only to press one hand to her side with a hiss. “Maybe not. But it’s so much more fun this way.”
Mal shook his head. “You may just be the craziest damn woman I have ever met, and that’s saying a lot.”
Sam grimaced, nodding. “Yeah. It’s possible I’ve spent a little too much time around Jack.”
Her expression faltered then and Mal hated it, the way she suddenly looked every inch the exhausted victim she was. “You actually think they’re going to come back for us,” he said, just to get a reaction.
She looked up at him, any hint of exhaustion or weakness gone beneath the gleam of absolute certainty. “Don’t you?”
Yeah, he really did. They were just that kind of stupid.
+++
The device they were using reminded Sam of a slightly milder, but more invasive version of the Goa’uld hand device. Worse on some levels because it was an internalized pain extending to every part of her body that she just couldn’t move away from, no matter how hard she tried. It didn’t quite make her brain feel like it was liquefying though, so that was a bonus. She imagined they wanted the pain with none of the lingering effects to the brain.
They needed her intellect intact. She didn’t know if that was a comfort or not.
She understood that look on Vala’s face now though. The one she wore when she spoke of the day their questions ceased to be quite so polite. Maybe the solitary confinement had been the kinder of the two.
Cyrus was back again today, only this time with one of his friends and Sam wondered if maybe he’d gotten in trouble for hitting her yesterday. Quincy and his followers seemed to abhor physical violence of any kind, which had been the main reason she’d goaded him into it. They seemed to believe their control was absolute. She wanted to remind them that control is an illusion.
Maybe because of her exhaustion, it took Sam a while to notice that something was different today, something beyond the small outburst yesterday. Cyrus was flustered, moving about the space with agitated motions and listless focus as if he couldn’t quite decide what to do next. She watched them as Deacon hooked up the torture machine, Cyrus and his friend arguing back in forth in whispered conversations.
“You’re panicking,” Sam observed. “Has something changed?” Time between torture sessions seemed to have decreased rapidly, so either they just didn’t like her very much, or they were feeling pressured. Running out of time maybe?
Sam ran through everything she knew about these people, from Vala, from what she’d witnessed herself. What could they possibly fear enough to put such obvious cracks in their previously seamless facades? Was this the real underlying reason she’d been able to get a rise out of Cyrus the day before?
“Is it the Alliance?” she guessed, seeming to hit pay dirt when the smaller one’s face flushed.
Behind her, she heard Mal tug against his restraints. “Let me guess,” he said, picking up on the thread and gleefully jumping in. “In your haste to capture Sam and her friends, you clued the Alliance in, didn’t you. It was Alliance ships that almost nabbed us off of Shanxi, not you guys.”
“Ignore them,” Cyrus ordered his companion, but his voice wasn’t completely steady, and Sam felt a smile on her face for the first time in days.
Sam turned to Mal. “I imagine the Alliance wouldn’t be too happy to realize they have some fanatic fraternity poisoning the ranks,” she observed.
Mal laughed. “They kept their little enterprise secret for how long? Ages? Only to blow it because they got a little too impatient.” He shook his head.
“That’s got to be embarrassing.”
“Don’t it just,” Mal agreed.
“You will be quiet!” Cyrus exclaimed then, apparently forgetting his own orders. He strode forward, pushing Deacon aside and slamming his hand down on the controls of the torture device.
Sam bit back a groan as the far too familiar pressure began to build.
“Where is Jack O’Neill?” Cyrus demanded.
“Go to hell,” Sam ground out.
He twisted the dial, and Sam couldn’t quite hold in a cry of pain this time, tears building in her eyes. “Oh, God,” she gasped, aware that Mal was shouting something in the distance, but not quite able to make out his words.
She tried to breathe through the pain, focusing in on a point in the distance just past her interrogator. She stared hard at that spot, pushing her entire will into keeping her mouth shut, not giving them whatever they want just to make. it. stop.
It wasn’t until something shifted-lights and color where a moment ago there hadn’t been any-that she realized she was staring at an Ancient phase-shifter. And it was active.
Cyrus asked her something again and she just shook her head, staring hard at the phase-shifter.
Please, God, she thought as the pain ratcheted up yet again, and who knew there could be more?
Mal was hollering again, and Sam’s vision began to blur. She barely noticed the flash of light through her agony, the chaos of sound and movement around her, but sharp words barked in a familiar voice penetrated the haze of her mind.
“Turn it off. Now.” Then the distinct sound of a weapon arming. “Or I blow your goddamn head off.”
And then, miraculously, the machine shut off, taking with it the majority of the pain. She sagged forward, only the restraints keeping her in the chair. There was the sound of what might have been zat fire, but she was too busy trying not to throw up to give it too much thought.
Her restraints released, and she didn’t have the energy to hold herself up, but Jack was there, breaking her fall, his arms solid around her as she slid to the ground. She felt the slight pull against her skin as he ripped the devices off her.
She let out a shaky breath as her head came to rest against his chest. “Perfect timing,” she mumbled.
His fingers brushed her cheek, cool and comforting against her flushed skin. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
Swallowing hard against the pain, she blinked the tears out of her eyes and nodded up at Jack, doing her best to ignore the impulse to just stay here, melted into him. She knew they were far from home free.
Suck it up, Carter.
“I’ll live,” she said, trying to shift her weight to her own feet. Looking past Jack’s shoulder, she noticed the man standing behind him. “Oh. Hey, Daniel.”
Daniel smiled down at her, and it was like no time had passed since she last saw him. “Hey, Sam,” he said, his voice gentle, and she could almost pretend this was just any other of a million missions spent together.
“As sweet as this little reunion is, do you think someone could maybe get me out of these?” Mal demanded, rattling his restraints.
Jack looked back at Daniel, his voice light even as his hands still gripped her as if scared to let go. “I can’t remember. Did Zoe want us to bring him back?”
Daniel shrugged. “She looked pretty happy to have her own ship.”
Sam snorted, feeling something like warmth fill her stomach at the familiar banter. It’s just enough to shove the pain back far enough to get to her feet, Jack’s grip on her arm keeping her steady. “Play time’s over,” she said.
Jack tossed Daniel a set of keys while Sam took a moment to look around the room. Cyrus and his friend were collapsed in a tangled little heap; Deacon collapsed half over his sick little machine.
Leaning on Jack, Sam took a few wobbling steps closer, reaching out and shoving Deacon to the ground. “Zat?” she asked, holding her hand out to Jack.
He passed the zat over, holding her steady as she fired the zat at the machine, once, twice, the thing sizzling and short circuiting in a satisfying shower of sparks. A third blast and it was as if it never existed.
“Better?” Jack asked, his arm squeezing her waist.
“Much.”
He helped her over the first table where she grabbed the edge and was able to take her own weight. Things seemed just a bit more doable now that Deacon and his toy were out of the equation.
“I’m good,” she said to Jack, who seemed a bit reluctant to let go of her, but after another long moment of looking at her, he did. She watched Jack cross the room to turn the phase-shifter off. There was no way they were giving these bastards even a tiny hint about this technology.
“Not that I’m not all kinds of thankful,” Mal said, now moving freely through the display cases rubbing at his wrists. “But how exactly did you get here?”
Jack clapped Mal on the shoulder. “A friend of yours was nice enough to give us a lift in her fancy shuttle.”
Mal’s face blanched a bit, his head swiveling around the room as if looking for someone else. “She’s not--.”
“No,” Jack said quickly, giving Mal a look Sam couldn’t quite interpret. “She’s safe.”
Mal nodded, looking relieved. “Okay.”
Jack shot him his smug bastard smile then. “Just be sure to thank her when we get back.”
Mal’s eyes narrowed.
Frankly, Sam didn’t have the energy to dissect the byplay. Instead, she looked down at the table in front of her. She’d had long hours to study the contents and unerringly reached for a small rectangular pad. Catching Jack’s eye, she tossed it to him and the thing hummed quietly into life at his merest touch.
“Nice,” Jack said, looking down at the life signs detector. “This should make things easier.”
He took a step towards her, as if to help her, but beyond the very valid point that he was still injured himself, she knew they needed him to lead them out, so she turned to Daniel.
“Hey, Daniel,” she said, holding out her arm to him. He looked up from the artifact he was studying. “Give a girl a hand.”
“Of course,” he said, stepping up next to her, his arm wrapping around her waist.
Sam looked over at him, trying to reassure herself that they had actually finally found him. She tugged at the scruff wreathing his jaw. “Nice beard.”
He shrugged. “Seemed the thing to do.”
“I bet,” she said, trying to smash down the raw relief she felt at standing there with him reassuringly solid next to her. “I’m really glad you’re okay, Daniel.”
“Thanks for coming.”
She smiled, because even though abandoning him was never an option, the whole thing had been an intergalactic pain in the ass. In honor of that very valid point, she took a moment to pinch him hard on the arm. It was a good one, the one she learned from her brother that could leave tingling numbness for hours.
Daniel dutifully yelped, rubbing at his shoulder and frowning at her. “What was that for?”
She leaned in to him. “For making us worry.”
Mal glanced between them. “It’s sort of comforting to know she treats everyone this way.”
“Come on, kids,” Jack interrupted. He handed Sam and Mal each a weapon. “Time to go.”
Sam reached for the pistol gratefully. “Exit strategy?”
“We figured out where your ship is,” Daniel supplied. “Thanks to those inventories you took from Shanxi.”
“Ah,” Sam said. “Their own meticulousness coming back to bite them in the ass. I like it.”
Daniel grinned. “I think there’s a parable in there somewhere.”
“Wait,” Mal interjected. “Why do we need another ship?”
Jack glanced over at Mal with a smirk. “Oh, trust me, Reynolds. You’re gonna like this ship.”
With one last glance back at her, he led them out into the hall.
Between the lifesigns detector and Daniel’s knowledge of the layout of the complex, they moved swiftly through the corridors. That was their weakness, these bastards with their obsession with the Ancients. They revered the technology, but had no idea what it was capable of. And now it was coming back to bite them in the ass.
Just when Sam was fairly certain she couldn’t go another step, they pulled up outside a large metal door.
“I’ve got four people inside,” Jack said, his voice quiet. He held the detector out so they could all see the position of the guards. “Daniel, you stay here with Sam.”
Jack’s eyes darted to her, as if expecting an argument, but Sam just nodded her agreement. She would just get in the way at this point.
“Okay,” Jack said, giving her another worried glance. “We’ll be right back.”
Mal and Jack disappeared inside, and less than a minute or two later, alarms of some sort went off, lights and sound filling the hallway with an eerie wail. “So much for plan A,” Daniel muttered, pulling his weapon and reaching for the door panel.
“Plan A never works,” Sam said, trying to take as much of her own weight as she could. If they were going to have to fight their way out of here, there was no way she was going to be dead weight.
Before they could duck inside though, Mal appeared, pulling Sam’s free arm over his shoulder. “That wasn’t us, I swear.”
Sure enough, inside the hangar was quiet, the few guards and researchers sprawled on the floor. Mal and Daniel rushed her across the floor to where the puddle jumper sat, ramp open and waiting for them.
“Strap in!” Jack yelled back at them as they entered and Sam moved forward to take the empty seat next to him.
He looked over at her. “I sure hope they haven’t messed with anything or this is going to be a short trip.”
“I’m not worried,” she said, crossing her fingers for luck out of sight. As far as she was concerned, they’d earned things finally going their way for once.
He held her gaze just a moment longer before turning his attention completely to the ship, and it surged to life around them. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”
“Um. Anyone else notice the distinct lack of exit?” Mal called out.
Jack just smirked, his hands tightening around the controls. From their precious hoard of drones, two burst out, arcing up into the large metal doors in the ceiling, the blast of impact rocking the entire complex.
“I believe that’s our cue,” Jack said.
The ship darted forward, weaving in between pieces of falling debris until Sam caught sight of long rolling lawns and a flash of blue sky. Once clear, the ship shifted, sliding into invisibility as they raced for open space and Sam let her head fall back against the headrest with a sigh of relief.
Breaking atmo, they unexpectedly came face to face with an orbiting Alliance cruiser. Jack reacted instantly, the ship swerving through a few daredevil maneuvers to avoid collision until they slid smoothly under the belly of the hulking ship, the Alliance none the wiser for the close encounter.
In the following silence, Mal let out a low whistle. “Not bad, O’Neill.”
Jack grinned, looking over at Sam. “Like riding a bicycle.”
She reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his, squeezing gently.
Daniel found, ship retrieved, all alive and accounted for-mission accomplished, she thought as her eyes closed.
Definitely time for a nap.
:: next::
Author: Annerb
Summary: During a rescue mission gone awry, Sam and Jack end up stranded in another galaxy where they find themselves passengers on a ship called Serenity.
Wordcount: 40,000+
Rating/Warnings: Older teens for swearing in multiple languages, violence, torture, and such.
Categorization: SG-1/Firefly Crossover, AU, Action/Adventure, Drama
Pairings: BOB. Sam/Jack established relationship, hints of Daniel/Vala, Kaylee/Simon, Mal/Inara, and Jayne/Everyone (at least in his mind).
Season: Post-BDM for Firefly, early season 9 for SG-1
Friends and Enemies
Mal woke to find his face pressed into a surprisingly plush carpet. Lying there, he couldn’t decide if his lingering dizziness was due to an injury or just the riot of colors swimming in front of him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he rolled over with a groan, making several facts clear with the move. One, his hands were bound in front of him. Two, the throbbing pain in his head probably had nothing to do with the nauseating carpet design.
Lovely.
Cracking his eyes open, Mal took in the luxurious office whose floor he was currently lying on. The walls were covered with books, large heavy wood furniture filling the space. Not exactly the sort of prison Mal was used to. He pushed into a seated position and noticed he wasn’t alone. A man stood by the door, his vaguely military clothing and sleek little pistol sheathed at his waist seeming to identify him as a guard.
Mal watched him for a few moments, but the guard didn’t seem to be paying him no mind, so he experimentally rolled to his feet, only to be brought up short by his restraints. He landed back on his ass with an oomph, and not even that stellar display of grace caught the guard’s attention.
Tugging on the restraints, Mal found that they were bolted to a ring protruding between two tapestries. “Now that just don’t go with the décor,” he noted.
He eyed the guard. Nothing.
“It’s enough to make a guy feel unappreciated,” Mal muttered.
Before he could completely dedicate himself to the game of Hurl Insults at the Guard, the door to the office opened. Sam strolled in then, her head held high as if the sheer amount of hardware currently limiting her to small shuffling steps didn’t bother her none. Three more guards in their bland military uniforms walked in behind her, two of them looking like they’d had a less than enjoyable afternoon. The first was sporting a broken nose and the beginnings of a shiner, the second walking with a slight limp, one hand held to his side as if nursing a busted rib.
It made the thick restraints on Sam’s wrists and ankles seem a tad less excessive.
Setting a plush armchair in the center of the room, all three guards manhandled her down onto it, as if they were scared to attempt it without vastly greater numbers.
“Oh, so she gets a chair and I get to sit on the floor like your pet dog,” Mal complained. “Real fair.”
Sam turned her head slightly to see him. She was a bit disheveled, but seemed in one piece more or less. “Ah. Still alive then, Reynolds?”
At least that sharp tongue of hers still seemed to function well enough.
The injured guards, having secured their prisoner, moved back towards the door.
“It’s been fun, boys,” Sam said to their retreating backs. “Maybe we can do it again sometime.”
They didn’t react, even though Mal was sure the other guards were going to give them a hell of a lot of shit later.
“Call me!” Sam shouted as the door closed. Settling back in her chair, she let off a string of startling insults under her breath, a few he wasn’t familiar with that he would have to be sure to ask what they meant later.
“Having fun?” Mal asked.
She flicked her hair back over her shoulder. “Tons. What have you been up to?”
Mal stretched his feet out in front of him, leaning back against the wall. “Being unconscious, mostly. You?”
One shoulder lifted. “Tea party.”
For some reason, he had the feeling she was completely serious. “Nice. They have those little sandwiches with the crusts trimmed off?”
She didn’t get a chance to answer because the door opened again then, a small man with deep lines in his face and silver hair wearing an impeccable black suit entering the chamber. He crossed the room to sit behind the enormous desk that should have dwarfed him but somehow managed to make him only seem bigger.
“Ms. Carter,” he said in greeting.
“Quincy,” she returned with an irreverent nod.
“You two know each other?” Mal asked.
Sam’s smile was grim. “Oh, we’re old friends by now.”
Quincy folded his hand on the desk. “You’ve been quite…uncooperative, Ms. Carter,” he said, his voice soft and layered with rebuke as one might use to speak to a misbehaving pet.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Sam dutifully drawled, perfectly matching his deliberate tone. “And here I thought we were getting along so well.”
Mal snorted in amusement, remembering the pathetic gaits of the wounded guards. He wondered exactly how many men it had taken to restrain her. It seemed Sam had a whole slew of talents she’d failed to mention.
Quincy continued to ignore Mal as if he weren’t there. “We just wish to know all about you, your planet, and that wonderful ship you arrived in. We don’t have to be enemies.”
Sam’s face didn’t even betray a flicker of understanding. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Quincy gave her a pitying look. “I understand you and your friends are a long way from home. You wish to return there, don’t you? I can make that happen.”
Sam raised an eyebrow, looking over Quincy with curiosity. “Shouldn’t you have horns and a tail to make an offer like that?”
Quincy sighed. “I can see that you cannot be reasoned with. No matter. I have been known to be persuasive when I need to be.”
Mal didn’t miss the threat there, despite the pleasant tone and polite words he’d couched it in. Sam picked up on it as well, but just pressed her lips together and managed to look very unimpressed.
“If you will not help us…” Quincy’s eyes slid over to Mal, acknowledging his presence for the first time. “Perhaps your friend would be more willing to share?”
“He doesn’t know anything,” Sam said, sounding almost…bored, like all of this was just old hat for her.
“How can we be sure?” Quincy countered and Mal got the feeling there was a spat of ‘persuasion’ in his immediate future. He hated that.
Sam laughed then, something short and abrasive. “Are you serious?” she asked, giving Mal a skeptical glance. “He’s not on our level now is he? He’s been out of his element since the first moment I met him.”
The guy nodded, as if that statement made any kind of sense. “In that case, we may as well kill him now,” he said, but Mal wasn’t ready to panic just yet, as for all the craziness of Sam, he still doubted she would drop him out the airlock just to save her own hide.
Sam stared straight back at Quincy and shrugged. “Sure, go for it.”
Or not.
Quincy seemed to spend an insanely long time considering killing him, but that might just have seemed that way to Mal. Quincy eventually sighed, long and drawn out and barely audible as he turned back to Sam. “If you will not cooperate, I am afraid we will simply have to take what we need.” He smiled. “I’m sure you understand.”
Sam did not smile back.
“Please fetch Dr. Deacon,” he said to one of the attendants.
Dr. Deacon, as it turned out, looked more like a mad scientist than a physician. He was almost comically tall when standing near Quincy, and beanpole thin. It was the flat, dead quality to the guy’s eyes and the Frankenstein machine he carted in with him that made him less amusing.
“Dr. Deacon specializes in psychoneurology,” Quincy explained. “It’s a fascinating field.”
Sam was still under the Doctor’s touch as he attached about a dozen small circles to Sam’s head along her hairline; each one topped with a thin filament that lead back to the machine on the cart.
“The brain is an amazing thing,” Dr. Deacon said as he stood over Sam, his voice low and paper-thin. “With the proper stimulation, the human brain is capable of rendering untold agony onto the body, without the need of any…physical mess.”
He leaned in closer to Sam, his mouth near her cheek as he spoke. “Would you like to see?”
Sam, for her part, didn’t betray even the tiniest flicker of fear or distaste, merely stared back at the man in a way that made Mal absolutely certain this was not the first time she’d been threatened with torture.
Deacon looked up at Quincy as if for permission.
“You may begin.”
Mal didn’t know what the machine did, just watched the way Sam’s jaw clenched, sweat working its way down her face as her body twitched from some unseen impulse. Watched the way she fought back against letting even the tiniest sound escape her.
Mal learned to keep his damn mouth shut after his first outburst only resulted in Deacon turning up the intensity.
For almost two hours Quincy sat at his desk and watched Sam writhe and fight against the pain, the stoic look on his face never slipping even as she remained stubbornly silent, leaving his numerous questions unanswered.
At precisely nine o’clock a gilded mantle clock delicately rang and Quincy finally held up a hand. “That will do for now,” he said.
Deacon nodded, turning off the machine with a soft click that left Sam listing against the chair, her breath coming out short and fast.
“We will give you some time to rest, Ms. Carter, and hopefully find some new perspective.” With a flick of his hand, one of the attendants immediately appeared at Quincy’s side, leaning in close to hear his master’s words. “Please have them moved them downstairs, and take blood samples from each.”
“Of course,” the attendant answered, his head bowing.
They were removed to a small chamber in the basement, and rather that putting up a fight, this time Sam practically had to be carried by the guards.
“This is more like it,” Mal said, looking around the small chamber.
The walls were a drab beige cement color with no windows and one hard bench lining the back wall. That was where they dumped Mal, linking his heavy manacles on his wrists and ankles through solid loops on the walls.
Sam, being the special specimen she was, got her own cot. They rolled her onto it with little care. Mal tried his best not to notice the drain in the floor, or the heavy metal hooks in the ceiling, but thankfully the guards simply left them alone, the day’s quota of brutality apparently filled.
Mal watched Sam for a while, but didn’t want to bother her, as she seemed to have dozed off (or more likely lost consciousness, but he was really hoping it was just sleep). If anyone had earned a little rest, after all, it was Sam.
Testing the boundaries of his restraints, Mal shifted around and tried to find something resembling a comfortable position on the bench to catch a little shut-eye himself. He’d finally wrestled something resembling repose when Sam spoke.
“Mal?” she said, her voice thin.
He lifted his head. “Yeah?”
Her eyes cracked open to peer across at him. “If it makes you feel any better,” she said, the sweat still cooling on her brow, “I knew he wouldn’t kill you.”
Damned if he didn’t believe her.
+++
Sam was driving their captors insane.
That didn’t surprise Mal none, having been someone on the other end of trying to keep her in line. No, the surprising fact was that now that they were clearly on the same side, he was actually kind of fond of her. And wasn’t that just a kick to the head?
They’d been moved yet again, this time to a room with pristine surfaces and glass shelves holding objects like some fancy museum. Mal didn’t know much about these Ancients Sam had mentioned, but he knew enough to recognize that this collection of artifacts was similar. He skimmed the objects, wondering if any of these things could get them the hell out of here, remembering the one back on Serenity. Being invisible might come in handy right about now.
Quincy didn’t attend them himself today, no doubt having many important evil overlord things to take care of, sending a thickset, eager acolyte by the name of Cyrus in his place with Dr. Deacon.
When it became clear that they were going to simply pick up where they left off the night before, Mal did his best impression of a pain in the ass, but rather than deflecting any attention from Sam, he just earned himself some more quality unconscious time.
They had her hooked up to the damn machine again by the time Mal swam back to consciousness.
“You know what these are,” Cyrus said, one hand sweeping towards the displays.
Sam looked them over, no overt sign of recognition visible. “Toasters?” she guessed.
Cyrus nodded to Deacon, who apparently ramped the machine up because Sam snapped her mouth closed over an unsteady gasp.
Cyrus moved closer to her, looking down with cold disdain. “Do you really think we don’t know what you are? Where you come from?”
Sam didn’t answer, just dug her fingers into the arm of her chair.
Cyrus watched her twitch for a few minutes before gesturing to Deacon. From the way Sam’s body sagged forward, Mal assumed he’d finally turned the thing off.
He leaned into her, his voice lowering to a whisper. “We’ve been waiting for you, Samantha Carter of Earth.”
Her eyes darted to his and it was the closest Mal had ever seen her to panic. Cyrus saw it to, to judge from the smile on his face. Cyrus turned his attention to Mal. “Who do you think, my dear Captain, commissioned you to retrieve the item from Shanxi in the first place?”
Mal felt his stomach do a little a quick little jig, trying not to let any of his surprise show. Exactly how long had these wang ba dan been manipulating things?
The soft words, when they came, were from Sam. “Only someone with knowledge of the Ancients could have interfaced with the security system,” she said, her head rolling back against the chair behind her. “Damn. I really should have seen that coming.”
Mal whistled. “That’s quite the twisty plan you guys came up with. You must be smarter than you look.”
As usual, Cyrus barely spared him a glance. His inability to take their attention off of Sam for a moment was beginning to bug the hell out of him. Wasn’t he worth torturing too? It was enough to give a guy an inferiority complex.
“Not that all went perfectly to plan,” Cyrus said, his voice hardening. “Your friends were not supposed to abscond with Dr. Jackson. We underestimated them. We won’t make that mistake again.”
Mal laughed. “You think they’re coming back?” he asked. “Even they ain’t that stupid.”
He hoped.
Cyrus seemed unconcerned by the proclamation though, instead gesturing to a guard. “Release her restraints.”
Mal couldn’t help but think of those beaten guards from the first day as they moved across the room to free her. He really, really hoped this was them underestimating her. But then Sam tried and failed to get to her feet and Mal was forced to realize just how weak the machine was making her.
He wondered how much more of this she could take.
At Cyrus’ command, the guards dragged Sam to her feet, moving her across the room to stand next to the first display table holding one of the strange objects.
“Touch it,” Cyrus ordered.
When she didn’t move fast enough for his taste, he grabbed her hand and pressed it down on the device.
Mal wasn’t sure what he expected, but released a breath of relief when long moments passed with nothing happening. Cyrus looked distinctly unhappy though, letting go of her hand with a sound of frustration, a high color building in his cheeks. Clearly he had been banking on a different outcome.
“If she isn’t the one who activated the Ancient ship, then it must have been her companion,” Cyrus said, sounding like he was talking to himself out loud.
Sam lifted her face then, and Mal was surprised to see the disdain there, the stubborn gleam in her eye not even remotely dulled. “Have you ever considered that these Ancients didn’t want you messing with their things?” she asked, leaning hard on the table to keep her equilibrium. “That they saw you as little more than rats running through a maze? That you aren’t worthy of their secrets?”
“You will be quiet!” Cyrus exclaimed, his voice tinged with an edge of hysteria. Then, to Mal’s complete surprise, he emphasized the order with a backhand to Sam’s face, nearly knocking her to the floor.
Sam swayed dangerously, but managed to keep her feet, looking back up at Cyrus with something like satisfaction in her face as if pleased to have finally made one of them lose their composure. “Temper, temper,” she said, clucking her tongue in disapproval.
Mal had to admit that it was pretty nice to see their normally cold-to-the-point-of-sinister hosts show an actual emotion other than self-satisfaction, he just wasn’t sure Sam getting herself beat up was really worth it.
Cyrus seemed to consider raising his hand to her again, only to take a deep breath, both hands smoothing down his suit. “Return them to their room,” he said, and Mal could hear the tremor just underlying his voice. “That will be enough for today.”
Back in their cell, Mal watched Sam struggle to find a comfortable position on the cot. “I know this probably sounds funny coming from me, but do you really think it’s such a good idea to goad them?”
Sam let out a huff, only to press one hand to her side with a hiss. “Maybe not. But it’s so much more fun this way.”
Mal shook his head. “You may just be the craziest damn woman I have ever met, and that’s saying a lot.”
Sam grimaced, nodding. “Yeah. It’s possible I’ve spent a little too much time around Jack.”
Her expression faltered then and Mal hated it, the way she suddenly looked every inch the exhausted victim she was. “You actually think they’re going to come back for us,” he said, just to get a reaction.
She looked up at him, any hint of exhaustion or weakness gone beneath the gleam of absolute certainty. “Don’t you?”
Yeah, he really did. They were just that kind of stupid.
+++
The device they were using reminded Sam of a slightly milder, but more invasive version of the Goa’uld hand device. Worse on some levels because it was an internalized pain extending to every part of her body that she just couldn’t move away from, no matter how hard she tried. It didn’t quite make her brain feel like it was liquefying though, so that was a bonus. She imagined they wanted the pain with none of the lingering effects to the brain.
They needed her intellect intact. She didn’t know if that was a comfort or not.
She understood that look on Vala’s face now though. The one she wore when she spoke of the day their questions ceased to be quite so polite. Maybe the solitary confinement had been the kinder of the two.
Cyrus was back again today, only this time with one of his friends and Sam wondered if maybe he’d gotten in trouble for hitting her yesterday. Quincy and his followers seemed to abhor physical violence of any kind, which had been the main reason she’d goaded him into it. They seemed to believe their control was absolute. She wanted to remind them that control is an illusion.
Maybe because of her exhaustion, it took Sam a while to notice that something was different today, something beyond the small outburst yesterday. Cyrus was flustered, moving about the space with agitated motions and listless focus as if he couldn’t quite decide what to do next. She watched them as Deacon hooked up the torture machine, Cyrus and his friend arguing back in forth in whispered conversations.
“You’re panicking,” Sam observed. “Has something changed?” Time between torture sessions seemed to have decreased rapidly, so either they just didn’t like her very much, or they were feeling pressured. Running out of time maybe?
Sam ran through everything she knew about these people, from Vala, from what she’d witnessed herself. What could they possibly fear enough to put such obvious cracks in their previously seamless facades? Was this the real underlying reason she’d been able to get a rise out of Cyrus the day before?
“Is it the Alliance?” she guessed, seeming to hit pay dirt when the smaller one’s face flushed.
Behind her, she heard Mal tug against his restraints. “Let me guess,” he said, picking up on the thread and gleefully jumping in. “In your haste to capture Sam and her friends, you clued the Alliance in, didn’t you. It was Alliance ships that almost nabbed us off of Shanxi, not you guys.”
“Ignore them,” Cyrus ordered his companion, but his voice wasn’t completely steady, and Sam felt a smile on her face for the first time in days.
Sam turned to Mal. “I imagine the Alliance wouldn’t be too happy to realize they have some fanatic fraternity poisoning the ranks,” she observed.
Mal laughed. “They kept their little enterprise secret for how long? Ages? Only to blow it because they got a little too impatient.” He shook his head.
“That’s got to be embarrassing.”
“Don’t it just,” Mal agreed.
“You will be quiet!” Cyrus exclaimed then, apparently forgetting his own orders. He strode forward, pushing Deacon aside and slamming his hand down on the controls of the torture device.
Sam bit back a groan as the far too familiar pressure began to build.
“Where is Jack O’Neill?” Cyrus demanded.
“Go to hell,” Sam ground out.
He twisted the dial, and Sam couldn’t quite hold in a cry of pain this time, tears building in her eyes. “Oh, God,” she gasped, aware that Mal was shouting something in the distance, but not quite able to make out his words.
She tried to breathe through the pain, focusing in on a point in the distance just past her interrogator. She stared hard at that spot, pushing her entire will into keeping her mouth shut, not giving them whatever they want just to make. it. stop.
It wasn’t until something shifted-lights and color where a moment ago there hadn’t been any-that she realized she was staring at an Ancient phase-shifter. And it was active.
Cyrus asked her something again and she just shook her head, staring hard at the phase-shifter.
Please, God, she thought as the pain ratcheted up yet again, and who knew there could be more?
Mal was hollering again, and Sam’s vision began to blur. She barely noticed the flash of light through her agony, the chaos of sound and movement around her, but sharp words barked in a familiar voice penetrated the haze of her mind.
“Turn it off. Now.” Then the distinct sound of a weapon arming. “Or I blow your goddamn head off.”
And then, miraculously, the machine shut off, taking with it the majority of the pain. She sagged forward, only the restraints keeping her in the chair. There was the sound of what might have been zat fire, but she was too busy trying not to throw up to give it too much thought.
Her restraints released, and she didn’t have the energy to hold herself up, but Jack was there, breaking her fall, his arms solid around her as she slid to the ground. She felt the slight pull against her skin as he ripped the devices off her.
She let out a shaky breath as her head came to rest against his chest. “Perfect timing,” she mumbled.
His fingers brushed her cheek, cool and comforting against her flushed skin. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
Swallowing hard against the pain, she blinked the tears out of her eyes and nodded up at Jack, doing her best to ignore the impulse to just stay here, melted into him. She knew they were far from home free.
Suck it up, Carter.
“I’ll live,” she said, trying to shift her weight to her own feet. Looking past Jack’s shoulder, she noticed the man standing behind him. “Oh. Hey, Daniel.”
Daniel smiled down at her, and it was like no time had passed since she last saw him. “Hey, Sam,” he said, his voice gentle, and she could almost pretend this was just any other of a million missions spent together.
“As sweet as this little reunion is, do you think someone could maybe get me out of these?” Mal demanded, rattling his restraints.
Jack looked back at Daniel, his voice light even as his hands still gripped her as if scared to let go. “I can’t remember. Did Zoe want us to bring him back?”
Daniel shrugged. “She looked pretty happy to have her own ship.”
Sam snorted, feeling something like warmth fill her stomach at the familiar banter. It’s just enough to shove the pain back far enough to get to her feet, Jack’s grip on her arm keeping her steady. “Play time’s over,” she said.
Jack tossed Daniel a set of keys while Sam took a moment to look around the room. Cyrus and his friend were collapsed in a tangled little heap; Deacon collapsed half over his sick little machine.
Leaning on Jack, Sam took a few wobbling steps closer, reaching out and shoving Deacon to the ground. “Zat?” she asked, holding her hand out to Jack.
He passed the zat over, holding her steady as she fired the zat at the machine, once, twice, the thing sizzling and short circuiting in a satisfying shower of sparks. A third blast and it was as if it never existed.
“Better?” Jack asked, his arm squeezing her waist.
“Much.”
He helped her over the first table where she grabbed the edge and was able to take her own weight. Things seemed just a bit more doable now that Deacon and his toy were out of the equation.
“I’m good,” she said to Jack, who seemed a bit reluctant to let go of her, but after another long moment of looking at her, he did. She watched Jack cross the room to turn the phase-shifter off. There was no way they were giving these bastards even a tiny hint about this technology.
“Not that I’m not all kinds of thankful,” Mal said, now moving freely through the display cases rubbing at his wrists. “But how exactly did you get here?”
Jack clapped Mal on the shoulder. “A friend of yours was nice enough to give us a lift in her fancy shuttle.”
Mal’s face blanched a bit, his head swiveling around the room as if looking for someone else. “She’s not--.”
“No,” Jack said quickly, giving Mal a look Sam couldn’t quite interpret. “She’s safe.”
Mal nodded, looking relieved. “Okay.”
Jack shot him his smug bastard smile then. “Just be sure to thank her when we get back.”
Mal’s eyes narrowed.
Frankly, Sam didn’t have the energy to dissect the byplay. Instead, she looked down at the table in front of her. She’d had long hours to study the contents and unerringly reached for a small rectangular pad. Catching Jack’s eye, she tossed it to him and the thing hummed quietly into life at his merest touch.
“Nice,” Jack said, looking down at the life signs detector. “This should make things easier.”
He took a step towards her, as if to help her, but beyond the very valid point that he was still injured himself, she knew they needed him to lead them out, so she turned to Daniel.
“Hey, Daniel,” she said, holding out her arm to him. He looked up from the artifact he was studying. “Give a girl a hand.”
“Of course,” he said, stepping up next to her, his arm wrapping around her waist.
Sam looked over at him, trying to reassure herself that they had actually finally found him. She tugged at the scruff wreathing his jaw. “Nice beard.”
He shrugged. “Seemed the thing to do.”
“I bet,” she said, trying to smash down the raw relief she felt at standing there with him reassuringly solid next to her. “I’m really glad you’re okay, Daniel.”
“Thanks for coming.”
She smiled, because even though abandoning him was never an option, the whole thing had been an intergalactic pain in the ass. In honor of that very valid point, she took a moment to pinch him hard on the arm. It was a good one, the one she learned from her brother that could leave tingling numbness for hours.
Daniel dutifully yelped, rubbing at his shoulder and frowning at her. “What was that for?”
She leaned in to him. “For making us worry.”
Mal glanced between them. “It’s sort of comforting to know she treats everyone this way.”
“Come on, kids,” Jack interrupted. He handed Sam and Mal each a weapon. “Time to go.”
Sam reached for the pistol gratefully. “Exit strategy?”
“We figured out where your ship is,” Daniel supplied. “Thanks to those inventories you took from Shanxi.”
“Ah,” Sam said. “Their own meticulousness coming back to bite them in the ass. I like it.”
Daniel grinned. “I think there’s a parable in there somewhere.”
“Wait,” Mal interjected. “Why do we need another ship?”
Jack glanced over at Mal with a smirk. “Oh, trust me, Reynolds. You’re gonna like this ship.”
With one last glance back at her, he led them out into the hall.
Between the lifesigns detector and Daniel’s knowledge of the layout of the complex, they moved swiftly through the corridors. That was their weakness, these bastards with their obsession with the Ancients. They revered the technology, but had no idea what it was capable of. And now it was coming back to bite them in the ass.
Just when Sam was fairly certain she couldn’t go another step, they pulled up outside a large metal door.
“I’ve got four people inside,” Jack said, his voice quiet. He held the detector out so they could all see the position of the guards. “Daniel, you stay here with Sam.”
Jack’s eyes darted to her, as if expecting an argument, but Sam just nodded her agreement. She would just get in the way at this point.
“Okay,” Jack said, giving her another worried glance. “We’ll be right back.”
Mal and Jack disappeared inside, and less than a minute or two later, alarms of some sort went off, lights and sound filling the hallway with an eerie wail. “So much for plan A,” Daniel muttered, pulling his weapon and reaching for the door panel.
“Plan A never works,” Sam said, trying to take as much of her own weight as she could. If they were going to have to fight their way out of here, there was no way she was going to be dead weight.
Before they could duck inside though, Mal appeared, pulling Sam’s free arm over his shoulder. “That wasn’t us, I swear.”
Sure enough, inside the hangar was quiet, the few guards and researchers sprawled on the floor. Mal and Daniel rushed her across the floor to where the puddle jumper sat, ramp open and waiting for them.
“Strap in!” Jack yelled back at them as they entered and Sam moved forward to take the empty seat next to him.
He looked over at her. “I sure hope they haven’t messed with anything or this is going to be a short trip.”
“I’m not worried,” she said, crossing her fingers for luck out of sight. As far as she was concerned, they’d earned things finally going their way for once.
He held her gaze just a moment longer before turning his attention completely to the ship, and it surged to life around them. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”
“Um. Anyone else notice the distinct lack of exit?” Mal called out.
Jack just smirked, his hands tightening around the controls. From their precious hoard of drones, two burst out, arcing up into the large metal doors in the ceiling, the blast of impact rocking the entire complex.
“I believe that’s our cue,” Jack said.
The ship darted forward, weaving in between pieces of falling debris until Sam caught sight of long rolling lawns and a flash of blue sky. Once clear, the ship shifted, sliding into invisibility as they raced for open space and Sam let her head fall back against the headrest with a sigh of relief.
Breaking atmo, they unexpectedly came face to face with an orbiting Alliance cruiser. Jack reacted instantly, the ship swerving through a few daredevil maneuvers to avoid collision until they slid smoothly under the belly of the hulking ship, the Alliance none the wiser for the close encounter.
In the following silence, Mal let out a low whistle. “Not bad, O’Neill.”
Jack grinned, looking over at Sam. “Like riding a bicycle.”
She reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his, squeezing gently.
Daniel found, ship retrieved, all alive and accounted for-mission accomplished, she thought as her eyes closed.
Definitely time for a nap.
:: next::