The Day's Still Ashes | Stargate SG-1
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Characters: Sam Carter, Baal
Prompts: #374 - Before the war [tamingthemuse], Depression [10_hurt_comfort]
Word Count: 1159
Rating: PG-13
Things go much better after Sam discovers one of the “bricks” is actually the cover hiding a rack of crystals. Without her tablet, she has to guess at the order to disable the anti-Goa'uld device, but thankfully Baal chooses to keep his mouth shut for once. It's easier to concentrate when he's not running commentary.
“All right, I think I have it. Just... don't rush it. I don't want to be picking you up off the ground again.”
She watches him reach a hand towards the entrance. Nothing happens. He takes a small step, then another. Nothing continues to happen. Baal squares his shoulders and steps inside. This time he stays there.
At least he can't moan at her now. She wanders after him and gets a better look at the Gateroom.
There's nothing left of the 'Gate other than a couple of stumps. Thick dust covers the dialling device and other consoles. Moss and dead leaves litter the floor. A spiral staircase leads to the other floors, but Sam isn't sure she'd risk trying to climb it.
“So what are we looking for?”
“Information.”
Well, that was enlightening. “What information?”
Baal frowned at her. What the heck had she said wrong now? Then he ran his gaze around the interior of the stronghold; his expression clearly indicating he was looking for something in particular. He stops facing one corridor, then strides off.
“This way,” he throws over his shoulder.
Sam rolls her eyes and trails after him. The corridor reminds her even stronger of Atlantis. She keeps that observation to herself - the last thing she needs is for him to know she's been there.
Baal opens a side door. Inside is a platform similar to the one in Atlantis' hologram room. Lights hum into life as the two of them walk over. He steps onto the platform but rather than a know-it-all Ancient woman, what fills the room is a series of ethereal squares, each containing type.
“They're files,” she says as the realisation hits. “This is what you're looking for.”
“Some of it, yes.” Baal moves a half-egg, turning the 'pages'. “I'm only interested in the data held on the Ori.”
“Do you really think there'll be something here that will help?”
“Sadly, I have no idea. Also sadly, I have little choice but to check.”
Yeah, it was like that. Sam sidles closer and peers at the 'pages'. It's an older dialect of Ancient than she's used to, so can only read the odd word. Baal doesn't seem to be having any difficulty. She refuses to ask about that.
Still, her gaze catches a word. “Wait,” she says, putting hand on his arm. “Go back one.”
“Why? It's nothing about the device, just details of some skirmish or other.”
Sam tips her head up to meet his eyes. “Please.”
Baal sighs, but back-pages anyway. “Huh. Seems like the stronghold was brought down by an Ori fleet some three hundred years ago.”
He taps at the bottom of the square. It flickers and then brings up a series of images. Though Sam's fought many a war, has killed more than she wants to think about, the graphic pictures make her turn away. The Ori showed no mercy in their attack. Not that she's surprised by that - she's seen villages with no means of defending themselves burnt to the ground.
Another picture flicks up as she glances back. It's the stronghold before the battle, in all its towering glory. Baal shakes his head and closes the square.
“You brought a severe plague upon this galaxy, Samantha.”
“It wasn't intentional,” she murmurs. “And at least we are trying to do something about it.”
“Granted.” He moves the egg again, flickering through more pages. “Ah, now this might prove to be more useful. Potted history of the Ori.”
Sam bites her bottom lip at such a human phrase coming from his mouth. “Those nine months you spent on Earth are showing,” she tells him.
“I know. I might never rid myself of that corruption.”
“Only you would consider humanity a corruption.” Bitterness tinges her tone and she winces. Arguing with him isn't going to get him on her side. “So what now?”
“Now we download this and get back to the castle.”
Sam looks at the shifting squares. “But all that information...”
“We don't have time, Samantha. Nor the resources.”
“But...” She stares up, wondering at the incalculable loss. “Who knows what more could be hidden amongst these files?”
Baal's half-smile is cold. “Such as a final solution to the Goa'uld? There are so few of us now. It'd be easy to finish us off.”
She holds his gaze without flinching. “There is more to the galaxy, to the universe, than the Goa'uld. Even than the damn Ori, or the Wraith. I'd rather find allies than enemies, Baal.”
The hard lines of his expression soften. He turns back to the console and moves the egg; across, down, up and across, then down again. The square vanishes. He moves the egg once more, flicks to a different square, then repeats the process.
The platform goes dark as he steps off, the silent broken by a faint whirring. A blue-grey crystal emerges from the top of the console. Baal picks it up, then almost cradles it in his hands, his eyes fathomless.
“Baal?”
“They had this information, yet they still lost. Everything.”
Sam steps closer and enfolds his hands in hers. “That was them, and we don't know how long they had it, nor the circumstances. All we can do is try. If we give up, we hand the Ori the galaxy.”
His eyes lift and a smile touches his lips. “Ah, the human race. Always so plucky. I think that's why I like you so much.”
Staring into those chocolate-brown depths, Sam is tempted to ask if that's a general “you” or if he's being personal. His skin is warm and his proximity fizzes the naquadah in her blood. And he's being... nice. Normal.
Human.
She's finding herself forgetting what he is, and she can't. It could never work, not in a million years. The IOA would have a fit. Not that she's considering flipping them the bird and doing it anyway. So she gives him a look and drops her hands. Creates a space between them.
“Come on,” she says, putting fake impatience into her voice. He cannot possibly be allowed to even suspect the kind of thoughts she's having. “Let's get back to that stupid castle of yours and decide what we're doing next.”
As Sam walks out of the stronghold, she can't help shake a sense of melancholy, that she's left something behind in the ashes.
Characters: Sam Carter, Baal
Prompts: #374 - Before the war [tamingthemuse], Depression [10_hurt_comfort]
Word Count: 1159
Rating: PG-13
Things go much better after Sam discovers one of the “bricks” is actually the cover hiding a rack of crystals. Without her tablet, she has to guess at the order to disable the anti-Goa'uld device, but thankfully Baal chooses to keep his mouth shut for once. It's easier to concentrate when he's not running commentary.
“All right, I think I have it. Just... don't rush it. I don't want to be picking you up off the ground again.”
She watches him reach a hand towards the entrance. Nothing happens. He takes a small step, then another. Nothing continues to happen. Baal squares his shoulders and steps inside. This time he stays there.
At least he can't moan at her now. She wanders after him and gets a better look at the Gateroom.
There's nothing left of the 'Gate other than a couple of stumps. Thick dust covers the dialling device and other consoles. Moss and dead leaves litter the floor. A spiral staircase leads to the other floors, but Sam isn't sure she'd risk trying to climb it.
“So what are we looking for?”
“Information.”
Well, that was enlightening. “What information?”
Baal frowned at her. What the heck had she said wrong now? Then he ran his gaze around the interior of the stronghold; his expression clearly indicating he was looking for something in particular. He stops facing one corridor, then strides off.
“This way,” he throws over his shoulder.
Sam rolls her eyes and trails after him. The corridor reminds her even stronger of Atlantis. She keeps that observation to herself - the last thing she needs is for him to know she's been there.
Baal opens a side door. Inside is a platform similar to the one in Atlantis' hologram room. Lights hum into life as the two of them walk over. He steps onto the platform but rather than a know-it-all Ancient woman, what fills the room is a series of ethereal squares, each containing type.
“They're files,” she says as the realisation hits. “This is what you're looking for.”
“Some of it, yes.” Baal moves a half-egg, turning the 'pages'. “I'm only interested in the data held on the Ori.”
“Do you really think there'll be something here that will help?”
“Sadly, I have no idea. Also sadly, I have little choice but to check.”
Yeah, it was like that. Sam sidles closer and peers at the 'pages'. It's an older dialect of Ancient than she's used to, so can only read the odd word. Baal doesn't seem to be having any difficulty. She refuses to ask about that.
Still, her gaze catches a word. “Wait,” she says, putting hand on his arm. “Go back one.”
“Why? It's nothing about the device, just details of some skirmish or other.”
Sam tips her head up to meet his eyes. “Please.”
Baal sighs, but back-pages anyway. “Huh. Seems like the stronghold was brought down by an Ori fleet some three hundred years ago.”
He taps at the bottom of the square. It flickers and then brings up a series of images. Though Sam's fought many a war, has killed more than she wants to think about, the graphic pictures make her turn away. The Ori showed no mercy in their attack. Not that she's surprised by that - she's seen villages with no means of defending themselves burnt to the ground.
Another picture flicks up as she glances back. It's the stronghold before the battle, in all its towering glory. Baal shakes his head and closes the square.
“You brought a severe plague upon this galaxy, Samantha.”
“It wasn't intentional,” she murmurs. “And at least we are trying to do something about it.”
“Granted.” He moves the egg again, flickering through more pages. “Ah, now this might prove to be more useful. Potted history of the Ori.”
Sam bites her bottom lip at such a human phrase coming from his mouth. “Those nine months you spent on Earth are showing,” she tells him.
“I know. I might never rid myself of that corruption.”
“Only you would consider humanity a corruption.” Bitterness tinges her tone and she winces. Arguing with him isn't going to get him on her side. “So what now?”
“Now we download this and get back to the castle.”
Sam looks at the shifting squares. “But all that information...”
“We don't have time, Samantha. Nor the resources.”
“But...” She stares up, wondering at the incalculable loss. “Who knows what more could be hidden amongst these files?”
Baal's half-smile is cold. “Such as a final solution to the Goa'uld? There are so few of us now. It'd be easy to finish us off.”
She holds his gaze without flinching. “There is more to the galaxy, to the universe, than the Goa'uld. Even than the damn Ori, or the Wraith. I'd rather find allies than enemies, Baal.”
The hard lines of his expression soften. He turns back to the console and moves the egg; across, down, up and across, then down again. The square vanishes. He moves the egg once more, flicks to a different square, then repeats the process.
The platform goes dark as he steps off, the silent broken by a faint whirring. A blue-grey crystal emerges from the top of the console. Baal picks it up, then almost cradles it in his hands, his eyes fathomless.
“Baal?”
“They had this information, yet they still lost. Everything.”
Sam steps closer and enfolds his hands in hers. “That was them, and we don't know how long they had it, nor the circumstances. All we can do is try. If we give up, we hand the Ori the galaxy.”
His eyes lift and a smile touches his lips. “Ah, the human race. Always so plucky. I think that's why I like you so much.”
Staring into those chocolate-brown depths, Sam is tempted to ask if that's a general “you” or if he's being personal. His skin is warm and his proximity fizzes the naquadah in her blood. And he's being... nice. Normal.
Human.
She's finding herself forgetting what he is, and she can't. It could never work, not in a million years. The IOA would have a fit. Not that she's considering flipping them the bird and doing it anyway. So she gives him a look and drops her hands. Creates a space between them.
“Come on,” she says, putting fake impatience into her voice. He cannot possibly be allowed to even suspect the kind of thoughts she's having. “Let's get back to that stupid castle of yours and decide what we're doing next.”
As Sam walks out of the stronghold, she can't help shake a sense of melancholy, that she's left something behind in the ashes.