Stargate SG1: Flipside: Sam/Baal [PG]
Fandom: Stargate SG1
Pairing: Sam Carter/Baal
Rating: PG
Word Count: 860
Written for: 12_stories
Table: 8
Prompt: 9 - Caring
Summary: Sam looks after an injured Baal (expansion of the scene in Collared)
Sam sees Baal collapse and, for a moment, just stands there and stares at his prone form. She’s accustomed to the Goa’uld’s ability to heal the host and, even though she knows these gods can die, it’s still a shock to see this one brought down.
Training over-rides shock and she’s at his side, fingers at the pulse point of his neck. His pulse is sluggish, his breathing shallow. Under the tan, his skin is grey. It’s clammy beneath her palm as she cradles his cheek gently.
Unconscious he looks... lesser, somehow, as if he’s diminished without the force of his personality. More human, she supposes, but he never really looks that alien, never sounds it either. The symbiote only takes over when it needs to, or it gets angry, and it’s so very different to everything else that she knows about the Goa’uld.
Her gaze shifts to his temple and the deep gash that runs along his hairline, then takes in the bruising and the swollen flesh that closes his left eye. Despite what he is, she cannot help the wave of sympathy, the urge to do something to help him.
So she fills a small bowl with water and uses a scrap of his shirt to clean the blood from around the wound, then carefully dabs it dry. The medical kit includes a pack of thin adhesive strips, which she uses to draw the gash closed before covering it with gauze. She taps that down and then cleans up the rest of his face.
As she wipes the cloth across the edge of his cheek bone, it occurs to Sam that Baal is really rather handsome. Not that this has gone unnoticed before, but being this close makes it harder to ignore, to deny.
Instead she removes his shirt.
Necessity dictates this, since she needs to have a better look at what state his torso has been left in. He has one broken rib, and severe bruising across his chest and stomach. His skin is purple and blue and she guess that he also has internal injuries, can’t imagine how he could have avoided them, really.
She hopes to hell that he’s not bleeding internally, because this tiny hut isn’t suitable for surgery, even if she was capable of it.
His survival has become important to her, and she doesn’t know why. It’s not like she owes him anything, and God knows her life would be easier without him in it, but something inside rebels at the thought of just letting him die. Yet there’s not much that she can actually do, beyond cleaning him up and treating the external injuries.
With the gash dealt with, Sam considers his battered body. Rooting in the medical pack again results in her finding a tube of arnica salve. She twists off the lid and dollops some into her palm, then transfers the gel to his numerous bruises and gently runs it in.
The bruises are layered, one on top of another, making it impossible to count the blows he’s taken. They anger her in a way she can’t put into thoughts, just feels a helpless, raging fury at those who have inflicted this damage on him. She can’t imagine any crime justifying such a severe beating, such a slow and painful death.
Because she knows he will, without proper medical attention or the symbiote to heal him. She needs to get the collar off, but doesn’t dare touch it. He says it causes pain and she’s no reason to disbelieve him, no idea what that will do to him in his current state.
Sam has to admit that she’s worried for him: a lot more than she should be, and certainly more than he deserves. She puts it down to the fact that she’ll be alone here, if he dies, and she really doesn’t want to be alone. Not with a Prior on their tail, not to mention a yammering mob hungry for their blood. She... needs him, because he knows more than she does, and they’ve always worked well together. When they’ve not been arguing, that is.
He moans softly and she leans forward as his eyelids flutter. Open. His eyes are hazy with pain, but coherent. This close to him, she again notices that they’re not a solid brown, but flecked with gold. She’s not sure if this is natural or something caused by the symbiote, but the outcome either way is that they entrance her.
Baal smiles. It’s tired and worn, but it curves both side of his mouth, unlike his customary sardonic smirk. He looks much more handsome for it and she wishes he’d smile like this more often.
“Welcome back,” she murmurs, and touches his cheek again.
Something flickers in his eyes: surprise perhaps, or acknowledgement of what she’s still trying to avoid. His gaze is intense, piercing her very soul, but she holds it steadily.
Then he says, “I feel as if I hit every damn tree in the forest,” and though his voice is rough, the wry humour in it makes her smile and believe that, somehow, everything is going to be alright.
Pairing: Sam Carter/Baal
Rating: PG
Word Count: 860
Written for: 12_stories
Table: 8
Prompt: 9 - Caring
Summary: Sam looks after an injured Baal (expansion of the scene in Collared)
Sam sees Baal collapse and, for a moment, just stands there and stares at his prone form. She’s accustomed to the Goa’uld’s ability to heal the host and, even though she knows these gods can die, it’s still a shock to see this one brought down.
Training over-rides shock and she’s at his side, fingers at the pulse point of his neck. His pulse is sluggish, his breathing shallow. Under the tan, his skin is grey. It’s clammy beneath her palm as she cradles his cheek gently.
Unconscious he looks... lesser, somehow, as if he’s diminished without the force of his personality. More human, she supposes, but he never really looks that alien, never sounds it either. The symbiote only takes over when it needs to, or it gets angry, and it’s so very different to everything else that she knows about the Goa’uld.
Her gaze shifts to his temple and the deep gash that runs along his hairline, then takes in the bruising and the swollen flesh that closes his left eye. Despite what he is, she cannot help the wave of sympathy, the urge to do something to help him.
So she fills a small bowl with water and uses a scrap of his shirt to clean the blood from around the wound, then carefully dabs it dry. The medical kit includes a pack of thin adhesive strips, which she uses to draw the gash closed before covering it with gauze. She taps that down and then cleans up the rest of his face.
As she wipes the cloth across the edge of his cheek bone, it occurs to Sam that Baal is really rather handsome. Not that this has gone unnoticed before, but being this close makes it harder to ignore, to deny.
Instead she removes his shirt.
Necessity dictates this, since she needs to have a better look at what state his torso has been left in. He has one broken rib, and severe bruising across his chest and stomach. His skin is purple and blue and she guess that he also has internal injuries, can’t imagine how he could have avoided them, really.
She hopes to hell that he’s not bleeding internally, because this tiny hut isn’t suitable for surgery, even if she was capable of it.
His survival has become important to her, and she doesn’t know why. It’s not like she owes him anything, and God knows her life would be easier without him in it, but something inside rebels at the thought of just letting him die. Yet there’s not much that she can actually do, beyond cleaning him up and treating the external injuries.
With the gash dealt with, Sam considers his battered body. Rooting in the medical pack again results in her finding a tube of arnica salve. She twists off the lid and dollops some into her palm, then transfers the gel to his numerous bruises and gently runs it in.
The bruises are layered, one on top of another, making it impossible to count the blows he’s taken. They anger her in a way she can’t put into thoughts, just feels a helpless, raging fury at those who have inflicted this damage on him. She can’t imagine any crime justifying such a severe beating, such a slow and painful death.
Because she knows he will, without proper medical attention or the symbiote to heal him. She needs to get the collar off, but doesn’t dare touch it. He says it causes pain and she’s no reason to disbelieve him, no idea what that will do to him in his current state.
Sam has to admit that she’s worried for him: a lot more than she should be, and certainly more than he deserves. She puts it down to the fact that she’ll be alone here, if he dies, and she really doesn’t want to be alone. Not with a Prior on their tail, not to mention a yammering mob hungry for their blood. She... needs him, because he knows more than she does, and they’ve always worked well together. When they’ve not been arguing, that is.
He moans softly and she leans forward as his eyelids flutter. Open. His eyes are hazy with pain, but coherent. This close to him, she again notices that they’re not a solid brown, but flecked with gold. She’s not sure if this is natural or something caused by the symbiote, but the outcome either way is that they entrance her.
Baal smiles. It’s tired and worn, but it curves both side of his mouth, unlike his customary sardonic smirk. He looks much more handsome for it and she wishes he’d smile like this more often.
“Welcome back,” she murmurs, and touches his cheek again.
Something flickers in his eyes: surprise perhaps, or acknowledgement of what she’s still trying to avoid. His gaze is intense, piercing her very soul, but she holds it steadily.
Then he says, “I feel as if I hit every damn tree in the forest,” and though his voice is rough, the wry humour in it makes her smile and believe that, somehow, everything is going to be alright.