Stargate SG1: Collared: Sam/Baal [R]
Characters: Sam Carter, Baal, Vala, Cameron Mitchell
Pairing: Sam/Baal
Setting: Floating (S9/10)
Word Count: 7,543
Beta: morgynleri_fic
Summary: Sam is taken captive and finds herself in a cell with Baal. Faced with a badly injured Goa'uld wearing a collar inhibiting his symbiote's healing abilities, Sam takes a chance and decides to save him as well as herself.
As plans went, it could have gone better. It couldn’t have gone much worse.
Sam rubbed her arm and glared at the villager. Beyond him, and the bars, she could see her radio and gun on the rough wooden table. The man dropped the keys next to them.
“Pray for your soul, Tau’ri,” he advised her. “When the Prior comes, you shall burn.”
“Oh goodie,” she muttered.
The man scowled at her and stalked out, presumably to build the pyre. She waited until he was out of earshot, then bent to examine the lock.
“Believe me, I tried that.”
The low, all-too-familiar voice came from behind. Sam whirled. The cell was unlit and the shadows were deep. She edged in and let her eyes adjust to the darkness. Against the back wall was a rough bench and on it...
“Baal,” she spat.
Only he didn’t look quite as regal as he usually did. In actual fact, was that blood caked on his temple? She stepped a little closer. He glared at her from one eye, the other swollen shut.
“What the hell happened to you?”
“I walked into a door.” His sarcasm had survived the beating, even if his clothes hadn’t. “What does it look like?”
“Exactly what it looks like,” Sam replied and thumbed the side of her mouth. Being hit with one’s own gun was just embarrassing. “How long have you been in here?”
Baal shifted on the bench and winced. “Not entirely sure. Three, maybe four days.”
“And they did that first? Okay, so why hasn’t your symbiote healed you?”
He lifted a hand and touched something at his neck. Sam took another step and peered down. Around his throat was a torque-like metal collar. She blinked and sat down next to him in order to get a closer look.
“What is that?”
“No idea, but it renders my symbiote useless.” Baal coughed and groaned. “They put that on me and then... well, you can see what they did after that.”
She could, now her eyes were used to the lack of light. The gash to his forehead was deep. Untreated, it had eventually clotted, but not before he’d lost a fair amount of blood. His hair was matted with it, what was left of his shirt stained red.
“Let me,” she said, and undid his shirt. He made no move to stop her, perhaps because he couldn’t. His arms were a riot of purple and blue, and there was a nasty lump over the right side of his ribs. Fingering that brought a hiss of pain from his lips. “You’ve broken at least one rib.”
“Yes, I realise that. It is rather difficult to breathe.”
Sam pursed her lips. Baal had been both her enemy and ally, and was now a grey, unknown quantity. Still, it was rather difficult to look at what had been done to him and feel anything other than sympathy.
“Have you tried removing the collar?” she asked and got a glare for her trouble. “Okay, stupid question. I take it that there’s some sort of failsafe?”
“It causes pain if it’s tampered with.” Something dark flickered over his face. “Extreme pain.”
Ah. “I’m surprised that they didn’t bother with me.”
“You aren’t Goa’uld.”
Sam frowned and then sat back, crossing her arm. “Now, why would an Ori-worshipping village have a... an anti-Goa’uld device? What aren’t you telling me?”
“It’s very simple, even for a Tau’ri female.” Baal sniffed and gazed up at the ceiling, as if it was too far beneath him to even look at her. “This planet was once my domain. Then the Ori came.”
“So you’d thought you come by and reclaim it?”
He snorted. “Hardly. Why would I bother with one pathetic planet of farmers and sheep herders? No, I came to reclaim a personal possession.”
“Such as what?”
“Such as nothing to do with you.”
Sam lifted her eyebrows. “Did you want rescuing? I could just leave you here. To burn.”
He cringed. “Alright, it was a weapon. Small and hardly significant, but the power source... is possibly Ancient.” Looking at her, he shrugged a shoulder. “I did not believe it to be important. However I have lately found some text that suggest otherwise.”
“What does it do?”
“I have no idea.”
She put a firm arm on his arm. A shudder ran through him at the pressure and he gave a muted gasp.
“I don’t!”
“Then why bother?” she asked, letting him go. He rubbed his arm and shot her a baleful glare.
“I didn’t think it would be a bother,” he replied, his tone rueful. “I dressed down and came through the Gate, hoping to be taken for a pilgrim. Unfortunately, they remembered my face and things got distinctly ugly.”
“They collared and beat you,” Sam supplied. Goa’uld or not, it smacked of vicious, unnecessary cruelty. Especially since they’d not bothered to treat his wounds. “I’m surprised they didn’t kill you.”
“And miss the opportunity to burn me alive? You underestimate them, Samantha.”
She jolted at her name and glanced at him, startled. He offered her a tired, wry smile, looking suddenly very human indeed. It was easy to forget, when he was usually so arrogant and full of the usual bluster. Too easy, she thought. The host was still human and could still bleed. Still die.
“There’s not going to be any burning,” she announced, rising to her feet and going back to the door. “We’re getting out of here.”
“’We’?” he echoed.
“Yes, we. Call me a pathetic human or overly emotional, or whatever you like, but I’m not going to leave you here. Not even you deserve that sort of fate.”
“That’s very... generous of you.” His tone was startled. She glanced at him and caught the bemused expression. He frowned at her. “Surely it would be simpler if you did?”
“Simpler and easier,” she agreed. “But not right.”
“You’ll regret it.”
“More than likely.” She examined the hinges of the door and discounted them. Her eyes went to the lock. “Do you have anything metal on you? I need something fairly thin and pliable.”
“Unfortunately not.”
Sam sighed and went back over to him. “Up,” she ordered and heaved at one arm. He rose with a groan and wavered. She turned him so he faced the wall. “Move and I’ll kill you myself.”
“Why, what are you doing?”
“Nothing that you need to know about.” She undid her shirt and slid it off. Eyes on Baal’s back, she unfastened her bra, let it drop to the floor and then hastily donned her shirt again. “There.”
He turned and, seeing the discarded article, smirked. “Samantha, Samantha,” he drawled. “A prison is the last place for such modesty.”
“It’s the best place for it,” she corrected, concentrating on working a wire from one of the cups. Tugging it free, she gave him a triumphant grin before sobering. “Can you run? Because we’re really going to need to.”
“I’ll manage.”
“Baal-” she started, only to be waved into silence.
“Just... do it, Samantha.”
She hesitated, then nodded - there was nothing to be gained from talking about this - and crouched by the lock. Inserting the wire into the keyhole, she said, “We put a hideout on the outskirts of the village. If we-” She jiggled the wire. “-Get into the woods, we should be able to circle round to it. There’s a small phase-shift generator inside that’ll hide us until we can get help.”
“They’ll have the Gate guarded.”
“Yeah, I know, but since I haven’t checked in, the others will assume something’s gone wrong.” She tossed him a smile. “We’re not that stupid, Baal.”
He gave a grunt that might have been denial or agreement of that fact. Sam didn’t know and wasn’t going to ask, aware that he got under her skin like no one else could and not needing that right now.
Something clicked within the lock, loud in the silence.
She looked at Baal. He looked at her. Then hitched his shoulders marginally and nodded. Biting at her bottom lip, she gave the door an experimental push.
It swung open.
The temptation was to make a mad rush, but Sam took a deep breath, forcing herself to remain calm. She waved Baal over and edged out of the cell. Beyond the building, she could hear shouting as someone inflamed the righteous passions of the villagers further.
“We don’t have much time,” she said, picking up her gun and radio. She switched that off, not wanting any errant incoming message to alert the villagers. “Come on.”
She crept to the door and inched it open. The main route through the village ran at the side of the building, with the door opening onto a side road. The central area was packed with people, surrounding a pile of branches. Two study posts towered up, ready for her and Baal. She shivered.
A silence fell over the crowd.
“Prior.” Baal’s voice in her ear made Sam jump. She glared at him and then cast a nervous glance at the crowd. “We need to move,” he added.
“You think?” She couldn’t help the sarcasm, but she did venture out into the passageway.
Clinging to the side of the building, she edged away from danger. Her heart raced, the terror of what would happen if she were caught a metallic tang in her mouth. After an age, she reached the corner of the building. The wood was ten, maybe twelve paces away.
“On three?” Baal asked.
Nodding, she took another look down the passageway. Her blood ran cold as she caught sight of a staff tip.
She grabbed Baal’s hand. “Three.”
Her back itched as they bolted across the space. She fully expected to feel a blast between her shoulder blades, was startled to find herself amongst the trees and still in one piece. Well, that accounted for one of them.
Baal was doubled over, his breathing sharp and wheezing. He held a hand to his injured ribs. A shaft of despair laced down Sam’s spine; the dash had been twelve yards at the most - if he was like this after such a short run, then they had no hope of reaching the hideout.
She reached for the collar. He grabbed her wrist.
“No!” he gasped.
“We need to get that damn thing off,” she retorted. “God help me, but the only way we’re going to get out of this alive is with your symbiote.”
Baal released her wrist. “Just get me to the hideout.”
“You can barely move!”
“Then... leave me. Get to safety.”
Sam blinked. “O-kay,” she said slowly. “That blow to your head must have been pretty tremendous.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, make mock of the one time I choose to think of someone other than myself. That’s very big of you, Samantha.”
“Sorry.” She ran a hand through her hair, considering her options desperately. “You kind of took me by surprise. Look, we can’t exactly run through all this undergrowth anyway. Let’s just get on with it. Preferably before they find us and turn us into charcoal.”
“I’m with you on that one,” Baal said.
Sam pushed him ahead of her and they began to pick their way through the tangle of brambles and thick fern-like plants. The sky, when she caught sight of it between the branches, was the dull iron grey of early evening.
Time was definitely not on their side.
She watched Baal struggle, his movements getting gradually slower. Normally the symbiote did all the healing that the host body required, suppressing the natural ability. This returned when the symbiote was removed, but Sam had no idea if the collar made the same allowances. She rather doubted it, which meant that until she could remove the collar, Baal would not heal. The injures would remain painful and probably fester, eventually resulting in a long and agonising death.
“Shit,” she muttered and swallowed against the rise of bile.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Lost your way?”
And there she was worrying about him.
“No. I just realised that if I can’t get that collar off, you’re going to die.”
The sardonic smirk faded and something close to fear entered his eyes. “I am aware of that, yes,” he said, tone quiet and serious. “My apologies for being something of the proverbial albatross around your neck.” He winced. “Pun not intended.”
Sam couldn’t even smile. “What do I do?”
“Worry about that once we’ve gotten to safety,” he suggested. “If such a thing even exists.”
He was annoyingly right. She pushed herself into action, thankful that the hideout wasn’t too much further. Listening for anything beyond the crashing of their bodies through the undergrowth, she couldn’t hear anything. That seemed... weird - the villagers had to have discovered their escape by now.
A thousand “what ifs” came to mind, but Sam ignored them. She had to deal with problems as they happened, not dream up every worst possible scenario. Fortunately her worst fear, that the villagers had somehow found the hideout and were there waiting, complete with Ori Prior, turned out to be unsubstantiated.
She ushered Baal inside and went to the phase-shift generator. It took her mere seconds to power up the device. Static ran over her arms as she activated it and she let out a relieved sigh, bracing on the table as her knees buckled slightly.
“What a fascinating piece of equipment,” Baal said, then promptly keeled over. Sam swore and dashed to his side. His breathing was shallow, his skin grey beneath the tan and clammy to the touch.
She dug out the medical kit and rifled through it, then stopped. Field training hadn’t covered what one did with an incapacitated Goa’uld symbiote and she wasn’t sure what she could do. She looked at him helplessly. The practical part of her brain said that she should let nature take its course and that her life would be considerably easier for it. The emotional part informed her that she’d never be able to live with such a decision.
“Well, we came this far,” she said out loud.
Baal had managed to have the foresight to collapse more or less on the bed. She shifted his long legs onto the thin mattress and covered him over with a blanket. Going to the sink, she found a bowl and filled it with tepid water, grabbed a cloth and then returned to the bed.
She sponged the blood from his face, mindful of the gash at his temple. Dabbing the skin dry, she examined the cut. It was deep and she was amazed he’d not suffered concussion. Then remembered he’d been in the cell for a few days before her arrival and considered that he might have.
Removing what was left of his shirt, she fingered his ribs again. One was definitely broken. She’d bust a rib once. It had been hell on Earth. To have gone for so long without something to ease the pain... Sam shook her head, amazed at his fortitude.
Arnica salve had been included in the pack. She applied it to his numerous bruises with careful fingers. Patches of blue and purple stood out darkly on his tanned skin, layered one on top of another until it was impossible to count the number of blows. Yet he’d not limped through the wood. She pushed the leg of his trousers up. His shins were unmarked and Sam snorted - clearly the villagers had made sure their blows had landed where they’d be felt most.
Anger and disgust roiled in her stomach. It didn’t matter that this was Baal, her enemy, would-be destroyer of Earth. It didn’t matter that, had he come with guards and weapons, this place would probably be raised to the ground now - all she saw was a man who’d been disarmed and disabled, then beaten to within an inch of his life. By the same people who would have seen her burned alive just because she didn’t believe in their gods.
Sometimes Sam wondered why she bothered trying to save anyone.
Baal gave a deep groan and opened his eyes. She leant forward and stared into his eyes. They were hazy with pain but coherent.
“Welcome back,” she said.
“I feel as if I hit every damn tree in the forest,” he announced, then winced as he coughed. “Does this hideout come with something to drink?”
“Oh yes, and MREs. All the conveniences a hut should come with.”
He snorted. “Funny.”
“I thought so.” Sam grinned at him and then stood and retrieved a pack from under the table. Rooting through, she found a canteen of water and a couple of powerbars. She handed one and the canteen to Baal. “As good as you’re going to get for now,” she told him.
“Pathetically, it’ll do for now,” he replied as he sat slowly. “I’ve had nothing for the past three days.”
“And no symbiote to sustain you.” Sam sat on the bed, ignoring his indignant glower. “You set a high bar for sheer stubbornness.”
“Is that a compliment or an insult?”
“Take it as you like.” Sam chewed at the bar, eyes on the generator. “We should have enough power to sustain the field for a few days, though obviously I’m hoping the boys are going to pull a cavalry charge before then.” She looked at him. “Because a few days cooped up with you is going to try my patience.”
He wiped the mouth of the canteen and held it out to her. “Likewise.”
She couldn’t help it - she laughed. His lips twitched into a brief smile, which he hid by examining the wrapper of his powerbar. Sam took a long draft from the canteen and swallowed deeply. It was amazing how much a mouthful of tepid water could restore a person. She recapped the canteen and placed it on the floor, then dug in the medical bag again. Pulling out a couple of bandages, she turned to Baal.
“Lift your arms,” she instructed, “And I’ll wrap that rib. That should help with the pain.”
“I’m fine.”
He pushed her hands away. She poked his side and he grunted.
“So you are.”
“Fine.”
Lifting his arms, he sat there with a look of bare tolerance as she wrapped the bandages around his torso. It wasn’t a cure she knew, but still felt as if she accomplished something by it. Pinning the end, she sat back and admired her handiwork.
“Well?”
He took a breath and an amusingly startled look crossed his face.
“Oh.”
“See? This mere Tau’ri female does know a thing or two.” She gave him a smug grin, happy to return the oft-visited favour. Her eyes settled on the collar. “So with that in mind...”
“Samantha.”
“It’s Sam. The only person who calls me Samantha is my dad. When I’m in trouble.”
“Trouble, you? Aren’t you a paragon of virtue?” His voice was haughty, but she caught the tremble as she fingered the collar, felt him tense. “You’re certainly good at lectures.”
“Oh hush and let me concentrate.” There was a thin line where the ends connected and a design etched into the metal. “Is this all there is? Was there a control?”
“Not that I noticed, but since I was on the ground getting kicked, I might have missed something.”
Sam winced on his behalf, then looked closely at the collar. The swirls and curls almost... no, it was.
“The etchings aren’t just decorative, there are Ancient words hidden amongst them.” She read them and drew back. “’And the people shall deliver the wicked into your divine judgment’. It’s from the Book of Ori.”
Baal sighed. “So it is. Thoughts?”
“Well, no offense but I’m taking ‘wicked’ as meaning the symbiote.” Sam shook her head. “I don’t think the collar is coming off while it’s alive.”
“So what do you suggest?”
Sam considered the collar. “There is another possibility,” she said and took hold of the thin metal, then took a breath. “This might not work, you know.”
He stiffened. “Wait.”
“What?”
“The other possibility is that it doesn’t work on the presence of a symbiote, but the naquadah in my blood.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m going on.”
“There is naquadah within you.”
“I’m hoping the two will cancel each other out.” Sam frowned as she twisted the ends of the collar. “Or something.”
“The collar inflicts extreme pain. If you are right...” He paused and then pulled away. She stared at the unusual concern on his face. “You would subject yourself to that?”
“I can’t see another way of removing the damn thing.”
“It’s not doing any particular harm, except that my symbiote cannot heal my injuries.”
Sam ran a hand through her hair. “Your body isn’t healing itself, either. The collar has put you in a stasis between being Goa’uld and human. I can’t place a guess at how long you can survive in that state.” She pulled a face and shrugged. “And I’ve no idea if you can get off this planet with it still around your neck.”
Baal blinked rapidly and then turned his back to her once more. “On your head be it.”
“Thanks, I’m sure.”
Licking her lips, she took hold of the collar again. Pins and needles ran up her arms, increasing to a sharper pain as she twisted the ends apart. She gritted her teeth and pulled. Baal grunted.
“Sam.”
“Almost. There.” Her vision went white. Extreme pain indeed, she thought, fighting against the contraction of her muscles. “Just. A little. More.”
A soft click sounded at the ends of the collar parted. Sam dropped the device to the floor and sagged against his back, panting from the effort and pain. When the hut stopped spinning around her, she reached down for the canteen and took a drink.
“Okay?” she asked, passing him the canteen.
“Oh yes, that was just my idea of fun.”
“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” She shook her hands, trying to restore feeling. “Hurt like hell, though.”
“I did warn you,” he said. “Shockingly, that was a considerably lesser concentration that when I attempted to remove the device myself.”
Sam rubbed her arms. “How are you? Is the symbiote...?”
“Alive and well.” His voice carried the multiple tones that signalled the Goa’uld being in charge. “Your assistance is duly noted and appreciated.”
“Right.”
There wasn’t much more she could say to that.
“Ah, Sam?” The symbiotic grate was gone. “Why is the collar glowing?”
It was, as well. She stared at it, then swore and grabbed it before making a wild dash for the door. Banging it open, she threw the collar as far as she could.
It exploded mid-air.
Sam watched the bright sparks fall and felt her stomach sink. Nothing could have signalled their location more. Closing the door, she went to the table and checked over the phase-shift generator.
“Power levels are steady,” she reported. “It should hide us, but… Well, they’re going to know more or less where we are. If the Prior has anything to detect the phase shift-” She shook her head, knowing finishing that sentence wasn’t necessary.
Baal stood and came over, his eyes on the generator. “Perhaps if we worked together, we can increase its capabilities.”
“Or we screw it up and have no protection whatsoever.”
He looked at her. “Are you happy entrusting your life to it unmodified?”
She rubbed the back of her neck. “I’d be happier if the Prior would just leave,” she replied sourly. “But since that’s not going to happen, yes. I think we ought to leave it alone.”
“Now isn’t that just like a Tau’ri female? So conservative, Samantha.”
Ignoring the gibe, she moved to the door and opened it by a margin. She could hear crashing in the woods and glimpsed a couple of bright spots.
“Oh, look, pitchforks and torches,” she said. “I knew today was just missing a good witch hunt.”
She glanced over her shoulder to see him opening the panel.
“Baal!”
“I was just looking!”
Yanking her pistol out of the holster, she pointed it at his head. “Put the screwdriver down and back away from the phase device.”
“Okay, okay.” He took a step back. Then the irritation on his face melded to something else, something she didn’t recognise. “Sam,” he said, voice low. “Come away from the door.”
She opened her mouth, but a cold shiver ran down her spine. Turning her head, she saw the Prior stood just inside the hideout. She lowered the gun, hands suddenly trembling.
“Come here,” Baal ordered in the same hushed tone. “Step very slowly.”
Heart pounding, she did as he’d asked. Drawing closer, she whispered, “Does he see us?”
“No, but I suspect he senses something.” He stepped around her, effectively blocking her line of sight and fire. She shoved at him, but he merely wrapped one arm around her waist. “Stay still.”
Sam breathed out and listened. Footsteps came closer, then stopped. The device: the Prior must be able to sense it. Should she have agreed to Baal’s suggestion of modifying it? It was too late for second guessing. It either sufficed, or they died. She shivered.
“Steady,” Baal murmured. “He’s heading out again.”
“They know we’re here.” The collar had lit the sky like a flare. “They have to.”
“Perhaps. They still can’t touch us whilst we’re out of phase though.”
He probably meant to sound reassuring, but it didn’t quite work, not when death stalked so close. It occurred to her that she was hiding from one enemy behind another and that was faintly ridiculous. As she shifted away, the Prior turned back. She froze.
Baal’s hand settled against her back. “If the field fails, run.”
“What?”
“If the villagers are all hunting us, it’s likely they’ve left the Gate unguarded.” His gaze was steady and oddly intent. “My symbiote will protect me to some extent from the Prior. You. Run.”
Sam was taken aback. Selflessness from a Goa’uld? Okay, now she had heard everything. Still, it wasn’t an offer she was about to refuse. She nodded and settled her gaze on the door.
The Prior moved closer, a puzzled expression on his scarred face. The blind eyes seemed to seek them out, to sense them despite the phase shift. Her breath caught. The pressure on her back was firm. She drew strength from that unshaking touch, still managing a moment of shock at how she could do that.
“Be ready,” Baal murmured. She jerked a nod.
A shout sounded outside. The Prior turned and walked away, stepping through a door that didn’t exist in his world. The shouting faded. They’d gone.
Whiteness blurred the room.
The next thing Sam was aware of was Baal’s arms holding her upright. She took a sharp breath in and let it out slowly. A hand trailed up and down her back. She wasn’t sure if he knew what he was doing or whether it was some deep, mostly-forgotten instinct. What she did know was it calmed her fraught nerves. However, it didn’t quieten the multitude of questions that tumbled through her head.
Hands against his bandaged chest, Sam looked into gold-flecked brown eyes. “You were prepared to sacrifice yourself for me,” she said and tilted her head. “Why?”
“For you? Hardly. No, it was a tactical move.” He smirked at her. “Though it pains my pride, I have to admit that the Tau’ri are far more likely to push the Ori from this galaxy than my forces. Since you are integral to that effort, I decided your survival was more the important, especially considering I have clones and you... don’t.”
Irritation flashed and she tried to pull away, but was held fast by the hands on her hips. She settled for glaring at him. “So we get to do your dirty work while you take over the galaxy?”
He grinned. “Exactly.”
“You do realise that’s not going to work, don’t you?”
“I can but try.”
“Oh, you’re very trying,” Sam retorted and plucked his hands off her.
Unsure why she felt so annoyed when she knew what he was like, what he was, she decided to check the generator again. If only to distract herself from the absence of his touch.
She put the tremble of her hands down to the remaining residue of fear, after all it wasn’t every day one was faced with execution, and the cold prickle down her spine down to the same. Nothing she felt had anything to do with the wide gap between her and the last surviving System Lord.
Like the reason her mouth dried as footsteps closed had nothing to do with his sudden proximity.
The room had gone dark. After a moment, Sam realised that was because she’d closed her eyes. Anticipating his touch. Oh for... she slammed a hand down on the table. Pain bloomed across her palm and up her arm, common sense following in its wake.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Venting my frustrations,” she snapped. “It was that or slapping you and, strategy or not, you did offer to save my life. I didn’t want to appear ungrateful.”
“Seems foolish,” he said, without clarifying what: in her current state of mind, it could have applied to several things. His hand curled around her wrist. “Is it usual Tau’ri practice to inflict damage on the body?”
Her palm was red, stinging from the impact. She flexed her fingers and felt the pull of tender skin.
“Sometimes,” she admitted. “It’s difficult to explain.”
“Pah, it is not - it’s just a lack of intelligence.”
Sam shoved him away with her hip, her rage hot and immediate. She knew she needed to calm down, but it’d been a hell of a day and just couldn’t quite keep her seething emotions in check. She spun, but the light grip remained around her wrist.
Her free hand dropped to her gun.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Baal drawled and she was yanked in, flailing against his greater strength. She realised, somewhat belatedly, that freeing the symbiote might not have been such a good idea.
Military training deserted her, replaced by instincts older and less proper. She kicked out, catching the instep of his foot with the heel of her boot. He twisted her arm behind her back. Ignoring the pain in her shoulder, she brought her knee up. Baal grunted, doubling over and loosening his grip. Sam drove a fist into his side. Bone grated on bone, the symbiote clearly not quite having healed that break yet.
“Bitch,” he ground out and shoulder-barged her.
Dark circles blotted her vision as her head impacted against the wall of the hideout.
She tried to catch her breath, but his weight crushed her chest. She scrabbled at his arms, gasping, desperate for air. Her vision darkened.
“As I said,” he panted, breath hot in her ear. “Lack of intelligence. Did you really think you could better me in a fight, Samantha?”
She couldn’t breathe. The world slid away, unconsciousness rushing over her in a smothering, black fog. Then the pressure was gone.
Warm air flooded her lungs. She opened her eyes. Baal’s were surprisingly close. Then she realised his lips were on hers, that he’d breathed into her and...
Heat pooled in her stomach. Even if she’d room to push him away, she was no longer sure she wanted to. He moved back, mere millimetres, but too far. She wet her lips, eyes locked on his. Her hands stilled on his arms, fingers curling around the corded muscles. He arched an eyebrow.
Sam shook her head. “Don’t,” she said. Her voice was hoarse, and she didn’t think it was from the effort of fighting with him. “Don’t say it.”
“You assume I was going to say anything.”
“Oh please, like you could resist crowing about how much better you are. Fine, I give. That good enough for you?”
“Hm.” He seemed to consider it. His gaze flickered to her mouth and then back to her eyes. “Not... exactly.”
She knew. She knew and she still asked. “Then what do you want?”
Baal smirked. Her eyes fluttered shut as his lips brushed hers, feather-light.
“Yield,” he murmured.
Like she hadn’t already.
“Baal.”
“Oh, now, yes. That I like. Sweet worship from sweeter lips.” His hands cupped her breasts and when the hell had he undone her shirt? She couldn’t think, couldn’t remember. “Samantha.”
Her back arched, hands sliding to his shoulders as his thumbs worked over her hard nipples. She gasped, only for the soft sound to be swallowed by his mouth. His tongue was hot, sweet from the powerbar, and God but she wanted more. Wanted him.
It was more than wrong. She endangered her life, her career. Cam would have a fit. Landry would so bust her ass. But as Baal’s lips grazed the side of her throat, Sam could not bring herself to care. How long had it been since someone had touched her like this? With such knowledge and... tenderness.
She’d expected violence and pain; a quick, hard fuck against the wall of the hideout. But his hands caressed, gentle and slow, giving as much pleasure as he took. Care replaced violence, every touch made her nerves sing, until she ached on a cellular level yet the desire was not blind. She knew who touched her, knew it with a sharp clarity, and still didn’t care.
Only she did, but didn’t care to stop. Didn’t want to stop.
“Sam.”
Breath rushed out of her lungs at his voice. It carried no Goa’uld arrogance, rather a very human, hungry need. Her blood ran cold and she pushed him away, looking up into his eyes.
And froze.
The hungry she recognised and could deal with - after all, Baal had always made inappropriate sexual comments, liked to push those buttons and he did it well, she had to admit - but the soul-aching need and glimmer of vulnerability shook her and she gasped.
Touched his cheek with shaking fingers.
His hands stilled on her hips. Vibrations from his trembling, the effort to wait, rippled down his arms. Neither of them said anything, but Sam knew this was the moment that would make what happened next far, far harder to forget.
The sensible, sane, not-going-to-fuck-with-her-career option would be to push him away and pretend that the mere idea of this hadn’t even entered her head, never mind almost come to fruition. It was exactly what the rules and regulations and common sense told her to do.
Sam slid her hand to the back of his head, combed her fingers in his short hair, and pulled him in. Kissed him hard. Wound her other arm around his shoulders and pressed against him. When he groaned into her mouth, she knew all the rules and regulations in the galaxy couldn’t stop her from seeing this through.
Her fingers ran down his chest and unpinned the bandage. She tugged it free, dropped it to the floor. A quick touch told her the rib was well on the way to healing, a sharp reminder of what he was that did nothing to douse the heat between her legs. Rather she was thankful that he was what he was because it meant there’d be no impediments.
She undid the buckle of his belt and opened his trousers. He gave a hiss as she took his very evident desire in hand, his erection hard and hot against her palm.
“Sam,” he said, voice dark with a lust made her shake, even as she pushed the fabric of his trousers down over his ass.
He was leaner than the voluminous robes he usually wore had led her to believe, all wiry strength with no sign of either his age or the luxury he surrounded himself with. She undid her own belt, shedding the dirt-encrusted combat pants without a second thought. They pooled at her feet, further progress hampered by her boots.
She sat on the bed and yanked at the laces, managing only to tie more knots and frustrate herself further.
“Dammit.”
Baal chuckled and knelt between her legs, deft fingers making short work of untangling her mess. She sighed, resigned.
“Is there nothing that you don’t excel at?”
He pursed his lips, clearly having to think about it.
“No,” he said finally. “I don’t believe there is.”
“You’re not very good at modesty,” she pointed out, poking his shoulder.
“But I do excel at most things, so why bother pretend otherwise?” His expression was guileless, an attempt at innocence that didn’t quite sit right on his face. It morphed to the usual smug smirk. “Or did you want evidence at how brilliant I really am?”
“Well, I am a scientist. Any theory must be tested thoroughly.”
Baal pushed up and she shifted back on the bed, arms wrapping around his neck as he lowered her down. Her pulse skipped as he lay over her, his erection hard against her thigh. Yet he seemed in no particular hurry to actually connect them, preferring to caress her cheek with gentle fingers before teasing her nipples until she squirmed.
“Oh!” she gasped. “Oh God.”
“Yes, my dear?”
“Not. Funny.”
He chuckled, a low reverberation that juddered through her very marrow. She moaned as his lips brushed hers, her need sharpening at every passing second, every soft touch. She hooked one leg over his hip, leaving only one possible interpretation of what she wanted.
“Baal.”
Heat pushed against her, then slid inside. Deep, deeper, stretching her wider, filling her. She gasped at the exquisite bliss and arched towards him, hands clutching at his shoulders, arms; anything solid that she could hold onto. He shifted and she whimpered.
“You are so hot.” His voice was tinged with awe and when she opened her eyes, she saw the amazement reflected in his. “So... beautiful.”
And she couldn’t help herself, she had to say it. “I thought I was just a mere Tau’ri female?”
“Tau’ri, yes, and definitely female.” He grinned and caressed her breasts. “But ‘mere’? Oh, no, Samantha - you are not merely anything.”
The compliment was unexpected and unwanted, causing her cheeks to flush and her stomach to knot with embarrassment.
“Shut up and fuck me,” she groused.
He laughed, but captured her wrists, pinning them above her head as he thrust harder. That was better: more force and less gentleness, humanity and connection. Force was what she wanted, to feel nothing but the slide of his body against hers, inside hers.
Delicious tension curled through her gut and she strained against his hold. He chuckled and held her tighter trapping her legs between knees and feet, spreading her out beneath him so that she was helpless and at his mercy. She shuddered and moaned.
“Is that what you want, Samantha? To be held down and fucked? Should I make you beg?”
“Oh, God, yes.” She arched her back, hungry for whatever he wished to inflict on her. “Please.”
“Perhaps another time.” Baal’s tone was faintly regretful. “As it is, I believe we are running out of that allowed for this little encounter.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You will find out.” He pressed a brief kiss to her forehead. “For now, I want your attention on one thing and one thing only.”
Sam cried out as he drove in hard, leaving her with no doubt as to where he wanted her attention. As if she could think of much else, when he was moving like that. Her wrists were released, his hands sliding down her arms to knead her breasts and tweak her nipples.
He groaned as she dug her nails into his shoulders, scraped them down his back. She wondered vaguely how long it would take the symbiote to heal the scratches she left on his skin, whether he could choose for it not to heal. To leave himself so marked.
She rather hoped that he could, and would.
“You have... my attention,” she gasped, every breath sharp and shallow, every cell aching for the completion he held just beyond her reach. “You always had my attention.”
“Words many men would be happy to die for, I’m sure.” His tone was somewhat wry. “The word I want is my name, screamed in ecstasy.”
“Then make me.”
A dangerous challenge, perhaps, but he was driving her insane by keeping her at the brink. He took up the challenge and within moments, she was moaning, writhing, knotting her hands on the blanket or gripping his shoulders as wave after wave crested over her.
Sparks exploded across her vision and she cried out, screamed.
Then collapsed on the bed, sweaty and panting, a delicious heaviness seeping though her. Baal’s limbs entangling with hers, his breath rapid and hot against her neck. She wrapped her arms around him and just lay there, eyes closed, absorbing the weight of him, the damp warmth.
Seconds ticked by. Her skin cooled and her breathing evened out. And the cold hard reality became impossible to ignore: she’d fraternised with one of Earth’s greatest enemies, slept with a man who wasn’t quite human.
Worse was the fact that she still didn’t care. If fact...
“Baal,” she whispered. “Will... will there be a next time?”
“Don’t ask questions to which you might not like the answer, Samantha.” He propped himself on his elbows and gazed down, expression unreadable. “I can promise nothing. And your loyalties lie elsewhere.”
The truth was painful and she turned her head, hiding from it. Her normal life was a heartbeat away. If he asked her, she knew she would go with him.
Perhaps he knew that too, which was why he did not ask. Instead he gathered her into his arms and stroked her hair. The steady motion eased the ache, lulled her. She closed her eyes and sank into darkness.
“Sam? Sam!”
Vala’s voice roused her from slumber. Blinking awake, Sam found the blanket had been pulled over her naked body and her uniform folded in a neat pile at the foot of her bed. Of her companion, there was no sign. Not that she was surprised. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised.
“Vala? How did you get in here?” Sam glanced at the generator. The lights were dull. “Oh.”
“Yeah, we figured it ran out of power,” Vala said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Sam didn’t correct that notion, though she knew it must have been powered down by Baal. Whether that was to enable the team to find her or a more nefarious reason, she wasn’t sure. Didn’t really want to know, either.
She grabbed her knickers and fumbled under the covers. Vala got up and went over to the generator, examining it closely.
“So, are you okay? I tell you, Cam was having mittens when we had to leave you behind.”
“Kittens,” Sam corrected absently. She could smell Baal on her, was convinced the others would be able to as well and longed for the anonymity of a shower. “There was a Prior...”
“Hm, we know. He took the villagers’ inability to recapture you very badly.”
Sam winced, not needing more explanation than that. She pulled her shirt back on, glad that Vala didn’t see the fact that she was missing a bra.
“So you guys didn’t meet with any resistance? Or... see anyone?”
“Nope and nope.” Vala picked up one device then another. She frowned. “Hey, didn’t we have a personal cloaking device?”
Several things clicked into place, underlined by the sudden buzz of her radio. Clearly, Baal had taken the device to hide once the generator was powered down. Meaning he could still be nearby, making sure that the rest of SG1 reached her before any Ori Priors, since he wouldn’t be aware of what had happened in the village.
“I don’t think so,” Sam lied. “We had the phase generator, after all.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Vala bought the story, making Sam feel somewhat guilty for lying to a member of her team. Only somewhat though. She laced her boots and stood up, scanning the hideout for any slight glimmer of the cloaking shield. There was nothing, but as she loaded the generator onto a MALP, the area between her shoulders itched. She glanced over her shoulder.
“Sam!” Cam shouted. She turned to see him grinning from ear to ear. “Cavalry’s here.”
She shook off the odd feeling with a laugh. “I knew you would. It was just a matter of waiting.”
“I hope you didn’t get too bored.”
Oh, if only you knew...
“I kept myself entertained.” She shouldered the medical pack and looked at Cam. “Let’s get out of here,” she suggested. “I need a shower and a decent meal.”
“Shower we can do,” Cam grinned. “But you’re stuck with whatever passes for food in the canteen.”
“Cam, after a day of MREs, even canteen food sounds good.”
She didn’t look back as she followed the MALP to the Stargate. No promises, no goodbyes. No idea if or when she’d see him again, if he’d acknowledge what had happened or if they’d be right back where they’d started.
Lifting her chin, Sam stepped through the event horizon.
Pairing: Sam/Baal
Setting: Floating (S9/10)
Word Count: 7,543
Beta: morgynleri_fic
Summary: Sam is taken captive and finds herself in a cell with Baal. Faced with a badly injured Goa'uld wearing a collar inhibiting his symbiote's healing abilities, Sam takes a chance and decides to save him as well as herself.
As plans went, it could have gone better. It couldn’t have gone much worse.
Sam rubbed her arm and glared at the villager. Beyond him, and the bars, she could see her radio and gun on the rough wooden table. The man dropped the keys next to them.
“Pray for your soul, Tau’ri,” he advised her. “When the Prior comes, you shall burn.”
“Oh goodie,” she muttered.
The man scowled at her and stalked out, presumably to build the pyre. She waited until he was out of earshot, then bent to examine the lock.
“Believe me, I tried that.”
The low, all-too-familiar voice came from behind. Sam whirled. The cell was unlit and the shadows were deep. She edged in and let her eyes adjust to the darkness. Against the back wall was a rough bench and on it...
“Baal,” she spat.
Only he didn’t look quite as regal as he usually did. In actual fact, was that blood caked on his temple? She stepped a little closer. He glared at her from one eye, the other swollen shut.
“What the hell happened to you?”
“I walked into a door.” His sarcasm had survived the beating, even if his clothes hadn’t. “What does it look like?”
“Exactly what it looks like,” Sam replied and thumbed the side of her mouth. Being hit with one’s own gun was just embarrassing. “How long have you been in here?”
Baal shifted on the bench and winced. “Not entirely sure. Three, maybe four days.”
“And they did that first? Okay, so why hasn’t your symbiote healed you?”
He lifted a hand and touched something at his neck. Sam took another step and peered down. Around his throat was a torque-like metal collar. She blinked and sat down next to him in order to get a closer look.
“What is that?”
“No idea, but it renders my symbiote useless.” Baal coughed and groaned. “They put that on me and then... well, you can see what they did after that.”
She could, now her eyes were used to the lack of light. The gash to his forehead was deep. Untreated, it had eventually clotted, but not before he’d lost a fair amount of blood. His hair was matted with it, what was left of his shirt stained red.
“Let me,” she said, and undid his shirt. He made no move to stop her, perhaps because he couldn’t. His arms were a riot of purple and blue, and there was a nasty lump over the right side of his ribs. Fingering that brought a hiss of pain from his lips. “You’ve broken at least one rib.”
“Yes, I realise that. It is rather difficult to breathe.”
Sam pursed her lips. Baal had been both her enemy and ally, and was now a grey, unknown quantity. Still, it was rather difficult to look at what had been done to him and feel anything other than sympathy.
“Have you tried removing the collar?” she asked and got a glare for her trouble. “Okay, stupid question. I take it that there’s some sort of failsafe?”
“It causes pain if it’s tampered with.” Something dark flickered over his face. “Extreme pain.”
Ah. “I’m surprised that they didn’t bother with me.”
“You aren’t Goa’uld.”
Sam frowned and then sat back, crossing her arm. “Now, why would an Ori-worshipping village have a... an anti-Goa’uld device? What aren’t you telling me?”
“It’s very simple, even for a Tau’ri female.” Baal sniffed and gazed up at the ceiling, as if it was too far beneath him to even look at her. “This planet was once my domain. Then the Ori came.”
“So you’d thought you come by and reclaim it?”
He snorted. “Hardly. Why would I bother with one pathetic planet of farmers and sheep herders? No, I came to reclaim a personal possession.”
“Such as what?”
“Such as nothing to do with you.”
Sam lifted her eyebrows. “Did you want rescuing? I could just leave you here. To burn.”
He cringed. “Alright, it was a weapon. Small and hardly significant, but the power source... is possibly Ancient.” Looking at her, he shrugged a shoulder. “I did not believe it to be important. However I have lately found some text that suggest otherwise.”
“What does it do?”
“I have no idea.”
She put a firm arm on his arm. A shudder ran through him at the pressure and he gave a muted gasp.
“I don’t!”
“Then why bother?” she asked, letting him go. He rubbed his arm and shot her a baleful glare.
“I didn’t think it would be a bother,” he replied, his tone rueful. “I dressed down and came through the Gate, hoping to be taken for a pilgrim. Unfortunately, they remembered my face and things got distinctly ugly.”
“They collared and beat you,” Sam supplied. Goa’uld or not, it smacked of vicious, unnecessary cruelty. Especially since they’d not bothered to treat his wounds. “I’m surprised they didn’t kill you.”
“And miss the opportunity to burn me alive? You underestimate them, Samantha.”
She jolted at her name and glanced at him, startled. He offered her a tired, wry smile, looking suddenly very human indeed. It was easy to forget, when he was usually so arrogant and full of the usual bluster. Too easy, she thought. The host was still human and could still bleed. Still die.
“There’s not going to be any burning,” she announced, rising to her feet and going back to the door. “We’re getting out of here.”
“’We’?” he echoed.
“Yes, we. Call me a pathetic human or overly emotional, or whatever you like, but I’m not going to leave you here. Not even you deserve that sort of fate.”
“That’s very... generous of you.” His tone was startled. She glanced at him and caught the bemused expression. He frowned at her. “Surely it would be simpler if you did?”
“Simpler and easier,” she agreed. “But not right.”
“You’ll regret it.”
“More than likely.” She examined the hinges of the door and discounted them. Her eyes went to the lock. “Do you have anything metal on you? I need something fairly thin and pliable.”
“Unfortunately not.”
Sam sighed and went back over to him. “Up,” she ordered and heaved at one arm. He rose with a groan and wavered. She turned him so he faced the wall. “Move and I’ll kill you myself.”
“Why, what are you doing?”
“Nothing that you need to know about.” She undid her shirt and slid it off. Eyes on Baal’s back, she unfastened her bra, let it drop to the floor and then hastily donned her shirt again. “There.”
He turned and, seeing the discarded article, smirked. “Samantha, Samantha,” he drawled. “A prison is the last place for such modesty.”
“It’s the best place for it,” she corrected, concentrating on working a wire from one of the cups. Tugging it free, she gave him a triumphant grin before sobering. “Can you run? Because we’re really going to need to.”
“I’ll manage.”
“Baal-” she started, only to be waved into silence.
“Just... do it, Samantha.”
She hesitated, then nodded - there was nothing to be gained from talking about this - and crouched by the lock. Inserting the wire into the keyhole, she said, “We put a hideout on the outskirts of the village. If we-” She jiggled the wire. “-Get into the woods, we should be able to circle round to it. There’s a small phase-shift generator inside that’ll hide us until we can get help.”
“They’ll have the Gate guarded.”
“Yeah, I know, but since I haven’t checked in, the others will assume something’s gone wrong.” She tossed him a smile. “We’re not that stupid, Baal.”
He gave a grunt that might have been denial or agreement of that fact. Sam didn’t know and wasn’t going to ask, aware that he got under her skin like no one else could and not needing that right now.
Something clicked within the lock, loud in the silence.
She looked at Baal. He looked at her. Then hitched his shoulders marginally and nodded. Biting at her bottom lip, she gave the door an experimental push.
It swung open.
The temptation was to make a mad rush, but Sam took a deep breath, forcing herself to remain calm. She waved Baal over and edged out of the cell. Beyond the building, she could hear shouting as someone inflamed the righteous passions of the villagers further.
“We don’t have much time,” she said, picking up her gun and radio. She switched that off, not wanting any errant incoming message to alert the villagers. “Come on.”
She crept to the door and inched it open. The main route through the village ran at the side of the building, with the door opening onto a side road. The central area was packed with people, surrounding a pile of branches. Two study posts towered up, ready for her and Baal. She shivered.
A silence fell over the crowd.
“Prior.” Baal’s voice in her ear made Sam jump. She glared at him and then cast a nervous glance at the crowd. “We need to move,” he added.
“You think?” She couldn’t help the sarcasm, but she did venture out into the passageway.
Clinging to the side of the building, she edged away from danger. Her heart raced, the terror of what would happen if she were caught a metallic tang in her mouth. After an age, she reached the corner of the building. The wood was ten, maybe twelve paces away.
“On three?” Baal asked.
Nodding, she took another look down the passageway. Her blood ran cold as she caught sight of a staff tip.
She grabbed Baal’s hand. “Three.”
Her back itched as they bolted across the space. She fully expected to feel a blast between her shoulder blades, was startled to find herself amongst the trees and still in one piece. Well, that accounted for one of them.
Baal was doubled over, his breathing sharp and wheezing. He held a hand to his injured ribs. A shaft of despair laced down Sam’s spine; the dash had been twelve yards at the most - if he was like this after such a short run, then they had no hope of reaching the hideout.
She reached for the collar. He grabbed her wrist.
“No!” he gasped.
“We need to get that damn thing off,” she retorted. “God help me, but the only way we’re going to get out of this alive is with your symbiote.”
Baal released her wrist. “Just get me to the hideout.”
“You can barely move!”
“Then... leave me. Get to safety.”
Sam blinked. “O-kay,” she said slowly. “That blow to your head must have been pretty tremendous.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, make mock of the one time I choose to think of someone other than myself. That’s very big of you, Samantha.”
“Sorry.” She ran a hand through her hair, considering her options desperately. “You kind of took me by surprise. Look, we can’t exactly run through all this undergrowth anyway. Let’s just get on with it. Preferably before they find us and turn us into charcoal.”
“I’m with you on that one,” Baal said.
Sam pushed him ahead of her and they began to pick their way through the tangle of brambles and thick fern-like plants. The sky, when she caught sight of it between the branches, was the dull iron grey of early evening.
Time was definitely not on their side.
She watched Baal struggle, his movements getting gradually slower. Normally the symbiote did all the healing that the host body required, suppressing the natural ability. This returned when the symbiote was removed, but Sam had no idea if the collar made the same allowances. She rather doubted it, which meant that until she could remove the collar, Baal would not heal. The injures would remain painful and probably fester, eventually resulting in a long and agonising death.
“Shit,” she muttered and swallowed against the rise of bile.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Lost your way?”
And there she was worrying about him.
“No. I just realised that if I can’t get that collar off, you’re going to die.”
The sardonic smirk faded and something close to fear entered his eyes. “I am aware of that, yes,” he said, tone quiet and serious. “My apologies for being something of the proverbial albatross around your neck.” He winced. “Pun not intended.”
Sam couldn’t even smile. “What do I do?”
“Worry about that once we’ve gotten to safety,” he suggested. “If such a thing even exists.”
He was annoyingly right. She pushed herself into action, thankful that the hideout wasn’t too much further. Listening for anything beyond the crashing of their bodies through the undergrowth, she couldn’t hear anything. That seemed... weird - the villagers had to have discovered their escape by now.
A thousand “what ifs” came to mind, but Sam ignored them. She had to deal with problems as they happened, not dream up every worst possible scenario. Fortunately her worst fear, that the villagers had somehow found the hideout and were there waiting, complete with Ori Prior, turned out to be unsubstantiated.
She ushered Baal inside and went to the phase-shift generator. It took her mere seconds to power up the device. Static ran over her arms as she activated it and she let out a relieved sigh, bracing on the table as her knees buckled slightly.
“What a fascinating piece of equipment,” Baal said, then promptly keeled over. Sam swore and dashed to his side. His breathing was shallow, his skin grey beneath the tan and clammy to the touch.
She dug out the medical kit and rifled through it, then stopped. Field training hadn’t covered what one did with an incapacitated Goa’uld symbiote and she wasn’t sure what she could do. She looked at him helplessly. The practical part of her brain said that she should let nature take its course and that her life would be considerably easier for it. The emotional part informed her that she’d never be able to live with such a decision.
“Well, we came this far,” she said out loud.
Baal had managed to have the foresight to collapse more or less on the bed. She shifted his long legs onto the thin mattress and covered him over with a blanket. Going to the sink, she found a bowl and filled it with tepid water, grabbed a cloth and then returned to the bed.
She sponged the blood from his face, mindful of the gash at his temple. Dabbing the skin dry, she examined the cut. It was deep and she was amazed he’d not suffered concussion. Then remembered he’d been in the cell for a few days before her arrival and considered that he might have.
Removing what was left of his shirt, she fingered his ribs again. One was definitely broken. She’d bust a rib once. It had been hell on Earth. To have gone for so long without something to ease the pain... Sam shook her head, amazed at his fortitude.
Arnica salve had been included in the pack. She applied it to his numerous bruises with careful fingers. Patches of blue and purple stood out darkly on his tanned skin, layered one on top of another until it was impossible to count the number of blows. Yet he’d not limped through the wood. She pushed the leg of his trousers up. His shins were unmarked and Sam snorted - clearly the villagers had made sure their blows had landed where they’d be felt most.
Anger and disgust roiled in her stomach. It didn’t matter that this was Baal, her enemy, would-be destroyer of Earth. It didn’t matter that, had he come with guards and weapons, this place would probably be raised to the ground now - all she saw was a man who’d been disarmed and disabled, then beaten to within an inch of his life. By the same people who would have seen her burned alive just because she didn’t believe in their gods.
Sometimes Sam wondered why she bothered trying to save anyone.
Baal gave a deep groan and opened his eyes. She leant forward and stared into his eyes. They were hazy with pain but coherent.
“Welcome back,” she said.
“I feel as if I hit every damn tree in the forest,” he announced, then winced as he coughed. “Does this hideout come with something to drink?”
“Oh yes, and MREs. All the conveniences a hut should come with.”
He snorted. “Funny.”
“I thought so.” Sam grinned at him and then stood and retrieved a pack from under the table. Rooting through, she found a canteen of water and a couple of powerbars. She handed one and the canteen to Baal. “As good as you’re going to get for now,” she told him.
“Pathetically, it’ll do for now,” he replied as he sat slowly. “I’ve had nothing for the past three days.”
“And no symbiote to sustain you.” Sam sat on the bed, ignoring his indignant glower. “You set a high bar for sheer stubbornness.”
“Is that a compliment or an insult?”
“Take it as you like.” Sam chewed at the bar, eyes on the generator. “We should have enough power to sustain the field for a few days, though obviously I’m hoping the boys are going to pull a cavalry charge before then.” She looked at him. “Because a few days cooped up with you is going to try my patience.”
He wiped the mouth of the canteen and held it out to her. “Likewise.”
She couldn’t help it - she laughed. His lips twitched into a brief smile, which he hid by examining the wrapper of his powerbar. Sam took a long draft from the canteen and swallowed deeply. It was amazing how much a mouthful of tepid water could restore a person. She recapped the canteen and placed it on the floor, then dug in the medical bag again. Pulling out a couple of bandages, she turned to Baal.
“Lift your arms,” she instructed, “And I’ll wrap that rib. That should help with the pain.”
“I’m fine.”
He pushed her hands away. She poked his side and he grunted.
“So you are.”
“Fine.”
Lifting his arms, he sat there with a look of bare tolerance as she wrapped the bandages around his torso. It wasn’t a cure she knew, but still felt as if she accomplished something by it. Pinning the end, she sat back and admired her handiwork.
“Well?”
He took a breath and an amusingly startled look crossed his face.
“Oh.”
“See? This mere Tau’ri female does know a thing or two.” She gave him a smug grin, happy to return the oft-visited favour. Her eyes settled on the collar. “So with that in mind...”
“Samantha.”
“It’s Sam. The only person who calls me Samantha is my dad. When I’m in trouble.”
“Trouble, you? Aren’t you a paragon of virtue?” His voice was haughty, but she caught the tremble as she fingered the collar, felt him tense. “You’re certainly good at lectures.”
“Oh hush and let me concentrate.” There was a thin line where the ends connected and a design etched into the metal. “Is this all there is? Was there a control?”
“Not that I noticed, but since I was on the ground getting kicked, I might have missed something.”
Sam winced on his behalf, then looked closely at the collar. The swirls and curls almost... no, it was.
“The etchings aren’t just decorative, there are Ancient words hidden amongst them.” She read them and drew back. “’And the people shall deliver the wicked into your divine judgment’. It’s from the Book of Ori.”
Baal sighed. “So it is. Thoughts?”
“Well, no offense but I’m taking ‘wicked’ as meaning the symbiote.” Sam shook her head. “I don’t think the collar is coming off while it’s alive.”
“So what do you suggest?”
Sam considered the collar. “There is another possibility,” she said and took hold of the thin metal, then took a breath. “This might not work, you know.”
He stiffened. “Wait.”
“What?”
“The other possibility is that it doesn’t work on the presence of a symbiote, but the naquadah in my blood.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m going on.”
“There is naquadah within you.”
“I’m hoping the two will cancel each other out.” Sam frowned as she twisted the ends of the collar. “Or something.”
“The collar inflicts extreme pain. If you are right...” He paused and then pulled away. She stared at the unusual concern on his face. “You would subject yourself to that?”
“I can’t see another way of removing the damn thing.”
“It’s not doing any particular harm, except that my symbiote cannot heal my injuries.”
Sam ran a hand through her hair. “Your body isn’t healing itself, either. The collar has put you in a stasis between being Goa’uld and human. I can’t place a guess at how long you can survive in that state.” She pulled a face and shrugged. “And I’ve no idea if you can get off this planet with it still around your neck.”
Baal blinked rapidly and then turned his back to her once more. “On your head be it.”
“Thanks, I’m sure.”
Licking her lips, she took hold of the collar again. Pins and needles ran up her arms, increasing to a sharper pain as she twisted the ends apart. She gritted her teeth and pulled. Baal grunted.
“Sam.”
“Almost. There.” Her vision went white. Extreme pain indeed, she thought, fighting against the contraction of her muscles. “Just. A little. More.”
A soft click sounded at the ends of the collar parted. Sam dropped the device to the floor and sagged against his back, panting from the effort and pain. When the hut stopped spinning around her, she reached down for the canteen and took a drink.
“Okay?” she asked, passing him the canteen.
“Oh yes, that was just my idea of fun.”
“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” She shook her hands, trying to restore feeling. “Hurt like hell, though.”
“I did warn you,” he said. “Shockingly, that was a considerably lesser concentration that when I attempted to remove the device myself.”
Sam rubbed her arms. “How are you? Is the symbiote...?”
“Alive and well.” His voice carried the multiple tones that signalled the Goa’uld being in charge. “Your assistance is duly noted and appreciated.”
“Right.”
There wasn’t much more she could say to that.
“Ah, Sam?” The symbiotic grate was gone. “Why is the collar glowing?”
It was, as well. She stared at it, then swore and grabbed it before making a wild dash for the door. Banging it open, she threw the collar as far as she could.
It exploded mid-air.
Sam watched the bright sparks fall and felt her stomach sink. Nothing could have signalled their location more. Closing the door, she went to the table and checked over the phase-shift generator.
“Power levels are steady,” she reported. “It should hide us, but… Well, they’re going to know more or less where we are. If the Prior has anything to detect the phase shift-” She shook her head, knowing finishing that sentence wasn’t necessary.
Baal stood and came over, his eyes on the generator. “Perhaps if we worked together, we can increase its capabilities.”
“Or we screw it up and have no protection whatsoever.”
He looked at her. “Are you happy entrusting your life to it unmodified?”
She rubbed the back of her neck. “I’d be happier if the Prior would just leave,” she replied sourly. “But since that’s not going to happen, yes. I think we ought to leave it alone.”
“Now isn’t that just like a Tau’ri female? So conservative, Samantha.”
Ignoring the gibe, she moved to the door and opened it by a margin. She could hear crashing in the woods and glimpsed a couple of bright spots.
“Oh, look, pitchforks and torches,” she said. “I knew today was just missing a good witch hunt.”
She glanced over her shoulder to see him opening the panel.
“Baal!”
“I was just looking!”
Yanking her pistol out of the holster, she pointed it at his head. “Put the screwdriver down and back away from the phase device.”
“Okay, okay.” He took a step back. Then the irritation on his face melded to something else, something she didn’t recognise. “Sam,” he said, voice low. “Come away from the door.”
She opened her mouth, but a cold shiver ran down her spine. Turning her head, she saw the Prior stood just inside the hideout. She lowered the gun, hands suddenly trembling.
“Come here,” Baal ordered in the same hushed tone. “Step very slowly.”
Heart pounding, she did as he’d asked. Drawing closer, she whispered, “Does he see us?”
“No, but I suspect he senses something.” He stepped around her, effectively blocking her line of sight and fire. She shoved at him, but he merely wrapped one arm around her waist. “Stay still.”
Sam breathed out and listened. Footsteps came closer, then stopped. The device: the Prior must be able to sense it. Should she have agreed to Baal’s suggestion of modifying it? It was too late for second guessing. It either sufficed, or they died. She shivered.
“Steady,” Baal murmured. “He’s heading out again.”
“They know we’re here.” The collar had lit the sky like a flare. “They have to.”
“Perhaps. They still can’t touch us whilst we’re out of phase though.”
He probably meant to sound reassuring, but it didn’t quite work, not when death stalked so close. It occurred to her that she was hiding from one enemy behind another and that was faintly ridiculous. As she shifted away, the Prior turned back. She froze.
Baal’s hand settled against her back. “If the field fails, run.”
“What?”
“If the villagers are all hunting us, it’s likely they’ve left the Gate unguarded.” His gaze was steady and oddly intent. “My symbiote will protect me to some extent from the Prior. You. Run.”
Sam was taken aback. Selflessness from a Goa’uld? Okay, now she had heard everything. Still, it wasn’t an offer she was about to refuse. She nodded and settled her gaze on the door.
The Prior moved closer, a puzzled expression on his scarred face. The blind eyes seemed to seek them out, to sense them despite the phase shift. Her breath caught. The pressure on her back was firm. She drew strength from that unshaking touch, still managing a moment of shock at how she could do that.
“Be ready,” Baal murmured. She jerked a nod.
A shout sounded outside. The Prior turned and walked away, stepping through a door that didn’t exist in his world. The shouting faded. They’d gone.
Whiteness blurred the room.
The next thing Sam was aware of was Baal’s arms holding her upright. She took a sharp breath in and let it out slowly. A hand trailed up and down her back. She wasn’t sure if he knew what he was doing or whether it was some deep, mostly-forgotten instinct. What she did know was it calmed her fraught nerves. However, it didn’t quieten the multitude of questions that tumbled through her head.
Hands against his bandaged chest, Sam looked into gold-flecked brown eyes. “You were prepared to sacrifice yourself for me,” she said and tilted her head. “Why?”
“For you? Hardly. No, it was a tactical move.” He smirked at her. “Though it pains my pride, I have to admit that the Tau’ri are far more likely to push the Ori from this galaxy than my forces. Since you are integral to that effort, I decided your survival was more the important, especially considering I have clones and you... don’t.”
Irritation flashed and she tried to pull away, but was held fast by the hands on her hips. She settled for glaring at him. “So we get to do your dirty work while you take over the galaxy?”
He grinned. “Exactly.”
“You do realise that’s not going to work, don’t you?”
“I can but try.”
“Oh, you’re very trying,” Sam retorted and plucked his hands off her.
Unsure why she felt so annoyed when she knew what he was like, what he was, she decided to check the generator again. If only to distract herself from the absence of his touch.
She put the tremble of her hands down to the remaining residue of fear, after all it wasn’t every day one was faced with execution, and the cold prickle down her spine down to the same. Nothing she felt had anything to do with the wide gap between her and the last surviving System Lord.
Like the reason her mouth dried as footsteps closed had nothing to do with his sudden proximity.
The room had gone dark. After a moment, Sam realised that was because she’d closed her eyes. Anticipating his touch. Oh for... she slammed a hand down on the table. Pain bloomed across her palm and up her arm, common sense following in its wake.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Venting my frustrations,” she snapped. “It was that or slapping you and, strategy or not, you did offer to save my life. I didn’t want to appear ungrateful.”
“Seems foolish,” he said, without clarifying what: in her current state of mind, it could have applied to several things. His hand curled around her wrist. “Is it usual Tau’ri practice to inflict damage on the body?”
Her palm was red, stinging from the impact. She flexed her fingers and felt the pull of tender skin.
“Sometimes,” she admitted. “It’s difficult to explain.”
“Pah, it is not - it’s just a lack of intelligence.”
Sam shoved him away with her hip, her rage hot and immediate. She knew she needed to calm down, but it’d been a hell of a day and just couldn’t quite keep her seething emotions in check. She spun, but the light grip remained around her wrist.
Her free hand dropped to her gun.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Baal drawled and she was yanked in, flailing against his greater strength. She realised, somewhat belatedly, that freeing the symbiote might not have been such a good idea.
Military training deserted her, replaced by instincts older and less proper. She kicked out, catching the instep of his foot with the heel of her boot. He twisted her arm behind her back. Ignoring the pain in her shoulder, she brought her knee up. Baal grunted, doubling over and loosening his grip. Sam drove a fist into his side. Bone grated on bone, the symbiote clearly not quite having healed that break yet.
“Bitch,” he ground out and shoulder-barged her.
Dark circles blotted her vision as her head impacted against the wall of the hideout.
She tried to catch her breath, but his weight crushed her chest. She scrabbled at his arms, gasping, desperate for air. Her vision darkened.
“As I said,” he panted, breath hot in her ear. “Lack of intelligence. Did you really think you could better me in a fight, Samantha?”
She couldn’t breathe. The world slid away, unconsciousness rushing over her in a smothering, black fog. Then the pressure was gone.
Warm air flooded her lungs. She opened her eyes. Baal’s were surprisingly close. Then she realised his lips were on hers, that he’d breathed into her and...
Heat pooled in her stomach. Even if she’d room to push him away, she was no longer sure she wanted to. He moved back, mere millimetres, but too far. She wet her lips, eyes locked on his. Her hands stilled on his arms, fingers curling around the corded muscles. He arched an eyebrow.
Sam shook her head. “Don’t,” she said. Her voice was hoarse, and she didn’t think it was from the effort of fighting with him. “Don’t say it.”
“You assume I was going to say anything.”
“Oh please, like you could resist crowing about how much better you are. Fine, I give. That good enough for you?”
“Hm.” He seemed to consider it. His gaze flickered to her mouth and then back to her eyes. “Not... exactly.”
She knew. She knew and she still asked. “Then what do you want?”
Baal smirked. Her eyes fluttered shut as his lips brushed hers, feather-light.
“Yield,” he murmured.
Like she hadn’t already.
“Baal.”
“Oh, now, yes. That I like. Sweet worship from sweeter lips.” His hands cupped her breasts and when the hell had he undone her shirt? She couldn’t think, couldn’t remember. “Samantha.”
Her back arched, hands sliding to his shoulders as his thumbs worked over her hard nipples. She gasped, only for the soft sound to be swallowed by his mouth. His tongue was hot, sweet from the powerbar, and God but she wanted more. Wanted him.
It was more than wrong. She endangered her life, her career. Cam would have a fit. Landry would so bust her ass. But as Baal’s lips grazed the side of her throat, Sam could not bring herself to care. How long had it been since someone had touched her like this? With such knowledge and... tenderness.
She’d expected violence and pain; a quick, hard fuck against the wall of the hideout. But his hands caressed, gentle and slow, giving as much pleasure as he took. Care replaced violence, every touch made her nerves sing, until she ached on a cellular level yet the desire was not blind. She knew who touched her, knew it with a sharp clarity, and still didn’t care.
Only she did, but didn’t care to stop. Didn’t want to stop.
“Sam.”
Breath rushed out of her lungs at his voice. It carried no Goa’uld arrogance, rather a very human, hungry need. Her blood ran cold and she pushed him away, looking up into his eyes.
And froze.
The hungry she recognised and could deal with - after all, Baal had always made inappropriate sexual comments, liked to push those buttons and he did it well, she had to admit - but the soul-aching need and glimmer of vulnerability shook her and she gasped.
Touched his cheek with shaking fingers.
His hands stilled on her hips. Vibrations from his trembling, the effort to wait, rippled down his arms. Neither of them said anything, but Sam knew this was the moment that would make what happened next far, far harder to forget.
The sensible, sane, not-going-to-fuck-with-her-career option would be to push him away and pretend that the mere idea of this hadn’t even entered her head, never mind almost come to fruition. It was exactly what the rules and regulations and common sense told her to do.
Sam slid her hand to the back of his head, combed her fingers in his short hair, and pulled him in. Kissed him hard. Wound her other arm around his shoulders and pressed against him. When he groaned into her mouth, she knew all the rules and regulations in the galaxy couldn’t stop her from seeing this through.
Her fingers ran down his chest and unpinned the bandage. She tugged it free, dropped it to the floor. A quick touch told her the rib was well on the way to healing, a sharp reminder of what he was that did nothing to douse the heat between her legs. Rather she was thankful that he was what he was because it meant there’d be no impediments.
She undid the buckle of his belt and opened his trousers. He gave a hiss as she took his very evident desire in hand, his erection hard and hot against her palm.
“Sam,” he said, voice dark with a lust made her shake, even as she pushed the fabric of his trousers down over his ass.
He was leaner than the voluminous robes he usually wore had led her to believe, all wiry strength with no sign of either his age or the luxury he surrounded himself with. She undid her own belt, shedding the dirt-encrusted combat pants without a second thought. They pooled at her feet, further progress hampered by her boots.
She sat on the bed and yanked at the laces, managing only to tie more knots and frustrate herself further.
“Dammit.”
Baal chuckled and knelt between her legs, deft fingers making short work of untangling her mess. She sighed, resigned.
“Is there nothing that you don’t excel at?”
He pursed his lips, clearly having to think about it.
“No,” he said finally. “I don’t believe there is.”
“You’re not very good at modesty,” she pointed out, poking his shoulder.
“But I do excel at most things, so why bother pretend otherwise?” His expression was guileless, an attempt at innocence that didn’t quite sit right on his face. It morphed to the usual smug smirk. “Or did you want evidence at how brilliant I really am?”
“Well, I am a scientist. Any theory must be tested thoroughly.”
Baal pushed up and she shifted back on the bed, arms wrapping around his neck as he lowered her down. Her pulse skipped as he lay over her, his erection hard against her thigh. Yet he seemed in no particular hurry to actually connect them, preferring to caress her cheek with gentle fingers before teasing her nipples until she squirmed.
“Oh!” she gasped. “Oh God.”
“Yes, my dear?”
“Not. Funny.”
He chuckled, a low reverberation that juddered through her very marrow. She moaned as his lips brushed hers, her need sharpening at every passing second, every soft touch. She hooked one leg over his hip, leaving only one possible interpretation of what she wanted.
“Baal.”
Heat pushed against her, then slid inside. Deep, deeper, stretching her wider, filling her. She gasped at the exquisite bliss and arched towards him, hands clutching at his shoulders, arms; anything solid that she could hold onto. He shifted and she whimpered.
“You are so hot.” His voice was tinged with awe and when she opened her eyes, she saw the amazement reflected in his. “So... beautiful.”
And she couldn’t help herself, she had to say it. “I thought I was just a mere Tau’ri female?”
“Tau’ri, yes, and definitely female.” He grinned and caressed her breasts. “But ‘mere’? Oh, no, Samantha - you are not merely anything.”
The compliment was unexpected and unwanted, causing her cheeks to flush and her stomach to knot with embarrassment.
“Shut up and fuck me,” she groused.
He laughed, but captured her wrists, pinning them above her head as he thrust harder. That was better: more force and less gentleness, humanity and connection. Force was what she wanted, to feel nothing but the slide of his body against hers, inside hers.
Delicious tension curled through her gut and she strained against his hold. He chuckled and held her tighter trapping her legs between knees and feet, spreading her out beneath him so that she was helpless and at his mercy. She shuddered and moaned.
“Is that what you want, Samantha? To be held down and fucked? Should I make you beg?”
“Oh, God, yes.” She arched her back, hungry for whatever he wished to inflict on her. “Please.”
“Perhaps another time.” Baal’s tone was faintly regretful. “As it is, I believe we are running out of that allowed for this little encounter.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You will find out.” He pressed a brief kiss to her forehead. “For now, I want your attention on one thing and one thing only.”
Sam cried out as he drove in hard, leaving her with no doubt as to where he wanted her attention. As if she could think of much else, when he was moving like that. Her wrists were released, his hands sliding down her arms to knead her breasts and tweak her nipples.
He groaned as she dug her nails into his shoulders, scraped them down his back. She wondered vaguely how long it would take the symbiote to heal the scratches she left on his skin, whether he could choose for it not to heal. To leave himself so marked.
She rather hoped that he could, and would.
“You have... my attention,” she gasped, every breath sharp and shallow, every cell aching for the completion he held just beyond her reach. “You always had my attention.”
“Words many men would be happy to die for, I’m sure.” His tone was somewhat wry. “The word I want is my name, screamed in ecstasy.”
“Then make me.”
A dangerous challenge, perhaps, but he was driving her insane by keeping her at the brink. He took up the challenge and within moments, she was moaning, writhing, knotting her hands on the blanket or gripping his shoulders as wave after wave crested over her.
Sparks exploded across her vision and she cried out, screamed.
Then collapsed on the bed, sweaty and panting, a delicious heaviness seeping though her. Baal’s limbs entangling with hers, his breath rapid and hot against her neck. She wrapped her arms around him and just lay there, eyes closed, absorbing the weight of him, the damp warmth.
Seconds ticked by. Her skin cooled and her breathing evened out. And the cold hard reality became impossible to ignore: she’d fraternised with one of Earth’s greatest enemies, slept with a man who wasn’t quite human.
Worse was the fact that she still didn’t care. If fact...
“Baal,” she whispered. “Will... will there be a next time?”
“Don’t ask questions to which you might not like the answer, Samantha.” He propped himself on his elbows and gazed down, expression unreadable. “I can promise nothing. And your loyalties lie elsewhere.”
The truth was painful and she turned her head, hiding from it. Her normal life was a heartbeat away. If he asked her, she knew she would go with him.
Perhaps he knew that too, which was why he did not ask. Instead he gathered her into his arms and stroked her hair. The steady motion eased the ache, lulled her. She closed her eyes and sank into darkness.
“Sam? Sam!”
Vala’s voice roused her from slumber. Blinking awake, Sam found the blanket had been pulled over her naked body and her uniform folded in a neat pile at the foot of her bed. Of her companion, there was no sign. Not that she was surprised. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised.
“Vala? How did you get in here?” Sam glanced at the generator. The lights were dull. “Oh.”
“Yeah, we figured it ran out of power,” Vala said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Sam didn’t correct that notion, though she knew it must have been powered down by Baal. Whether that was to enable the team to find her or a more nefarious reason, she wasn’t sure. Didn’t really want to know, either.
She grabbed her knickers and fumbled under the covers. Vala got up and went over to the generator, examining it closely.
“So, are you okay? I tell you, Cam was having mittens when we had to leave you behind.”
“Kittens,” Sam corrected absently. She could smell Baal on her, was convinced the others would be able to as well and longed for the anonymity of a shower. “There was a Prior...”
“Hm, we know. He took the villagers’ inability to recapture you very badly.”
Sam winced, not needing more explanation than that. She pulled her shirt back on, glad that Vala didn’t see the fact that she was missing a bra.
“So you guys didn’t meet with any resistance? Or... see anyone?”
“Nope and nope.” Vala picked up one device then another. She frowned. “Hey, didn’t we have a personal cloaking device?”
Several things clicked into place, underlined by the sudden buzz of her radio. Clearly, Baal had taken the device to hide once the generator was powered down. Meaning he could still be nearby, making sure that the rest of SG1 reached her before any Ori Priors, since he wouldn’t be aware of what had happened in the village.
“I don’t think so,” Sam lied. “We had the phase generator, after all.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Vala bought the story, making Sam feel somewhat guilty for lying to a member of her team. Only somewhat though. She laced her boots and stood up, scanning the hideout for any slight glimmer of the cloaking shield. There was nothing, but as she loaded the generator onto a MALP, the area between her shoulders itched. She glanced over her shoulder.
“Sam!” Cam shouted. She turned to see him grinning from ear to ear. “Cavalry’s here.”
She shook off the odd feeling with a laugh. “I knew you would. It was just a matter of waiting.”
“I hope you didn’t get too bored.”
Oh, if only you knew...
“I kept myself entertained.” She shouldered the medical pack and looked at Cam. “Let’s get out of here,” she suggested. “I need a shower and a decent meal.”
“Shower we can do,” Cam grinned. “But you’re stuck with whatever passes for food in the canteen.”
“Cam, after a day of MREs, even canteen food sounds good.”
She didn’t look back as she followed the MALP to the Stargate. No promises, no goodbyes. No idea if or when she’d see him again, if he’d acknowledge what had happened or if they’d be right back where they’d started.
Lifting her chin, Sam stepped through the event horizon.