Fic: Of Belonging to Another (SG-1)
Title: Of Belonging to Another
Rating: PG-13
Fandom and Spoilers: Stargate: SG-1; few specific spoilers, but knowledge of some or all of the following would probably be helpful: "In the Line of Duty," "The Tok'ra, 1 & 2," "Jolinar's Memories," "The Devil You Know," "The Curse," "Chimera," "Prometheus Unbound," "The Powers That Be"
Author's Notes: Written for the Thelma and Louise Do Outer Space Ficathon, for rydra_wong, whose requests included Sam, Vala, and Sarah Gardner-the Ex-Hosts Club.
There is an apparent contradiction in SG-1 canon regarding when Vala was freed from her Goa'uld. In "Prometheus Unbound" she tells Daniel that she was freed ten years before, but in "The Powers That Be" she says she was freed four years before. She may have been lying one or both times, but I'm inclined to think she would be more truthful on the latter occasion; in any case, four years of freedom rather than ten serves my purpose better, so I'm going with that.
Huge thanks to my patient and wonderful betas danceswithwords and dm_lunsford, as well as to thassalia and leadensky for organizing the ficathon.
Summary: A faint ache remains, like a memory of an old wound.
***
Sam is certain no one has actually given Vala clearance to read the mission briefings, but she gets her hands on them anyway. Daniel usually pretends to be outraged, and Sam rolls her eyes at his reaction. She remembers what genuine shock looks like on Daniel, has known him throughout his wide-eyed and naïve years; she thinks he wears this false indignation badly.
So she considers bolting when she sees Vala burst through the commissary door waving a classified file. She's nearly finished her lunch, and she'd rather not deal with the Daniel and Vala show just at the moment.
"There you are!" Vala exclaims, crossing the room to their table, and Sam realizes her window of escape is gone. "Daniel! Why didn't you tell me about her!"
Sam prepares to grimace at the "Vala, what have we discussed about the classified files" speech, but she is distracted by the expression on Vala's face: earnest and surprised rather than playful and devious. Vala is a good actor; nevertheless, there are isolated moments when she seems not to be donning a mask.
Sam can read Daniel with ease, and she knows from the tone of his "Where did you get this?" that whatever it is has touched a chord in him, too. His mouth is stretched thin as he looks up at Vala; he lowers the folder a bit, and Sam can read the label upside down. Sarah Gardner/Osiris.
"I heard Osiris was dead, Daniel, but I just assumed- You saved the host? And she's here? On Earth? Daniel, I want-"
"No," he interrupts.
"You didn't even let me ask-"
"No," Daniel repeats. "Whatever it is, no, especially if it involves Sarah Gardner."
Vala takes a breath and sits down at the table, idly snatching a carrot stick off Sam's tray. She reaches for the folder and flips toward the end. "Daniel, it says here that she's been upset. That she's been in hospitals. Now that can't be good, and I just thought that maybe I-"
"Absolutely not!" He grabs the folder back and tucks it under his arm. "She isn't well, and the last thing I'm going to do is inflict you on her."
"But I'm exactly the person who could help her!" Vala entreats.
"What, help her lead a life of crime and promiscuity?" he counters. "For the last time, absolutely not." He stands to go.
"Daniel, I knew her! Osiris was just back, trying to get on her feet, and Qetesh tried to help." She pauses, chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully. "Of course then Qetesh tried to have her murdered, and it didn't end so well, but still. Daniel, please-"
"Osiris knew Qetesh. You do not know Sarah. It's completely different and has nothing to do with you." He storms out of the room.
"You don't know anything about it," Vala replies under her breath.
Sam hadn't wanted to launch herself into the fray-Daniel wouldn't understand, and she could never explain it to him-but she knows where her loyalties lie in this one.
"Sarah Gardner is in Montana," Sam says quietly. "I'll take you. Don't mention it to Daniel. He gets especially touchy about Sarah."
Vala raises an eyebrow and appraises Sam for a moment. "That was touchy, was it?" she asks, pointedly avoiding mention of Sam's offer.
Sam gives her an understanding half smile. "It isn't so much Sarah herself," she says. "I mean, Daniel does care about her, but it's more that he's afraid if Sha're had been saved, she would have been as messed up as Sarah."
"Daniel's understanding of the host-symbiote relationship is far too simplistic. There are variables, and people react differently."
"That may be the first time anyone's called Daniel's understanding of anything 'simplistic,'" Sam chuckles. "But I suppose his experience with former hosts is relatively limited. And no offense, but I'm not sure knowing you has done much for his idealism."
"Darling, I'm not so easily offended," Vala laughs, stealing another carrot. Her face grows more thoughtful as she chews. "He's known you all these years, though. A well-adjusted former host to balance the nut-cases." She examines the carrot. "You don't have any of that white sauce to dip this in, do you?"
Sam passes the ramekin of ranch dressing as she tries to process the first part of the statement. Of course Vala would have read her file as well. And the naquadah in her blood would have recognized the naquadah in Sam's, just as Sam's own veins tingle familiarly when Vala is near. Still, she is surprised.
"I-it was just a Tok'ra. And only for a short time. It doesn't really count." She knows the words are a lie. They're the lie she's taught herself to believe, following the lead of those around her. There wasn't time, all those years ago, for dealing with the fallout from Jolinar. Her head was so crowded, Sam and Jolinar mixed up, inseparable, confusing, unwanted, and she still hasn't sorted it out.
Vala opens her mouth and then closes it, watching Sam closely. "It counts," she says after a pause.
The two women are quiet a moment before Vala leaps up. "Oh!" she exclaims. "I'm late. Teal'c and I are watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer." She starts to leave then turns around again. "And you'll let me know about Sarah?"
"Yeah," Sam replies, smiling faintly.
***
Sam waits a week in hopes that Daniel will have forgotten the incident. General Landry gives her a few days off and permission to take Vala with her, as long as she promises to keep her out of trouble. He doesn't ask many questions, and Sam doesn't offer many answers.
She overhears the guys speculating: Teal'c claims he has heard of this 'girl time' of which Colonel Mitchell speaks, but he had never suspected Colonel Carter of engaging in such behavior. But perhaps under the influence of Vala Mal Doran…
Daniel chokes on his coffee before Teal'c gets to finish the sentence.
They have to drive because Vala still doesn't have proper ID for a commercial flight. ("Well, not official identification, no. But you'd be amazed what you can find on your internet.") But Sam's just as happy to make the road trip up through the breathtaking scenery of Colorado, Wyoming, southern Montana.
"All of this on your planet, and you all spend so much time locked up in that windowless cave?" Vala says repeatedly. Sam is a little surprised that Vala's so impressed, given the breadth of her travel, but she has to admit that the mountains, open vistas, and brilliant sky are spectacular. And she does spend so much time on base that she too often forgets this whole world is out there-this world that she's worked so hard to save without taking the trouble to enjoy.
They stop for the night at an Econo Lodge on the outskirts of Billings. Sam comes out of the bathroom to find Vala flipping idly through the TV channels and looking vaguely disappointed.
"Your movies and television programs always talk about 'room service,' but when I phoned for it, the young woman simply laughed at me," she complains petulantly.
Sam can't suppress a small chuckle of her own. "I'm afraid the Econo Lodge isn't quite high-class enough for room service; only more expensive hotels have it," she explains. "But if you're hungry there's still food in that bag from the car."
Vala blinks once. "Who said anything about food?"
***
The figure is ahead of Sam, always just out of sight, leading her down a narrow passage that she recognizes but can't place. She is injured, the tremendous pain of a staff blast in her leg, and she's exhausted. If she can just stop, heal, she will be fine, but there is no time, and sounds behind her, pursuing her, are growing louder. Something is terribly pressing, something she can't quite recall, and she knows she'll never be able to save Earth-except it isn't Earth-if she can't stop to think, to heal. Yet the unseen guide presses on, their pursuers are faster, and the pain is blinding-
She wakes with a start, sitting in confusion, her eyes trying to focus in the dark of the unfamiliar motel room. A narrow beam of silvery streetlight streams through a chink in the curtains. Montana, she remembers. She slows and calms her breathing. Her leg is uninjured, though a faint ache remains, like a memory of an old wound.
"Do you still have the dreams often?" a soft voice asks. Sam turns in surprise to see Vala propped on one arm in the other bed, watching her. The crack of light just catches Vala's face, which is as serious as Sam has ever seen it.
"No," Sam replies. "Not that often anymore. I suppose I've just been thinking about her more recently."
"Mm-hmm."
"What about you?" Sam asks. "Do you dream of Qetesh?" She's been intensely curious about Vala's experiences as a host, about her motivations for this trip, but there hasn't really been an appropriate time to ask.
"All the time," the other woman answers without hesitation. "A little less recently, maybe, but now the nightmares are the Ori. At least Qetesh is familiar." Vala sits up, leaning against the headboard and hugging her knees to her. Sam can't see her face anymore and looks instead at the streetlight creating stark contrasts of light and shadow on Vala's long, white arm.
"I was a host for nearly fifteen years," she continues, her voice uncharacteristically subdued. "After all that time, it gets harder and harder to tell it all apart-what's me, what's Qetesh. Some memories I want to believe are too terrible to be mine. Others are too good to be hers, things from my home planet, ages ago, when it was only me. But mostly it's all mixed up." She laughs, sharply and ironically. "It's all right, though. What I learned from Qetesh has taught me how to survive without her."
She's quiet, and Sam tries to imagine having lived with Jolinar for fifteen years. It's not so difficult. "They don't understand," Sam says softly. "Daniel and General O'Neill. You can remove the symbiote, but it's never really gone. Not completely."
"It terrifies Daniel, and from what I've read in the files, your General O'Neill is even worse," Vala observes. "Why?"
Sam sighs. "I don't know. The general just likes to be in control; having something else in control of his mind and body is probably his greatest fear. But Daniel is more complicated."
"Because of his wife."
"Yeah."
"So I suppose they weren't much help to you, after your Tok'ra-what was her name?"
"Jolinar," Sam answers. "And they tried, in their own ways. But it was hard for them to understand. Sympathy always tinged with revulsion."
Vala is quiet for a while, and Sam wonders if she's fallen asleep, even though she's still sitting up. "Well," she says at length, "at least you had friends who tried."
Sam isn't sure how to answer, and Vala lies down again, rolling away from Sam to face the opposite wall.
She doesn't dream of Jolinar again that night.
***
They nearly miss their checkout deadline the next morning because of the length of time Vala spends in the bathroom. Wet towels, cosmetics, and clothes are strewn from one end of the small room to the other. Sam is amused by the contrast between her own immaculately packed bag and Vala's clutter; she has so little experience with this sort of stereotypical female behavior.
She catches herself wondering about Vala in light of their conversation: how much of what she thinks of as Vala's personality comes from Qetesh? Her love of excess? Of the outrageous? And she wonders if any of Jolinar lingers in herself. Do personalities take fifteen years to blend, or do traces remain after just a few days?
Vala makes no reference to their little heart to heart as she flits around the room. "You know," she comments loudly as they're walking out to Sam's car, "I think that's the first time I've spent the night in a cheap rented room and not gotten any sex."
Sam coughs as a passing elderly man overhears and looks truly shocked. Vala grins at him and winks, linking an arm through Sam's. "Don't worry," she says in a loud mock whisper to the man. "We've made up now. I have high hopes for tonight."
***
Sarah Gardner lives on a little ranch in the middle of nowhere, the land bought with compensation money from the government. She has hired a neighbor, a middle-aged widow, to help with the horses and the grounds, but is otherwise alone. She has chased away government psychologists with a shotgun and has threatened the NID with worse than that.
Sam knows this, yet she declined to call Sarah in advance of their arrival. Even on a bad day, Sarah hasn't actually shot anyone, and Sam has a gut feeling that she'll see them-at least assuming she gives Sam a chance to explain.
Vala waits in the car while Sam knocks on the front door. Sarah answers with the shotgun.
"What are you doing here?" she asks coldly. Sam and Sarah have only met a handful of times, but it is clear Sarah recognizes her.
"I just wanted to see how you were," Sam replies. She knows the explanation sounds implausible, even if it is the truth.
"I'm not giving anyone any information," Sarah says, clearly disbelieving Sam's professed motives. "I have been extremely clear on that point. I don't care what is at stake. I want to be left alone."
"I don't want information. I'm not here in any official capacity."
Suddenly, Sarah's eyes dart over Sam's shoulders, and she steps back, startled. The gun flies to attention at her shoulder. "She-I know that woman," she gasps. "She's a Goa'uld."
"No, no, she's not," Sam reassures as calmly as possible. She glances over to see Vala paused midway in her traverse of the yard and silently curses her for leaving the car. "She's not a Goa'uld anymore," Sam says.
Sarah blinks and re-focuses her attention on Sam. The gun lowers slightly, shaking in her hands. "Not anymore," she repeats.
"That's right. She wanted to come see you."
Sarah looks from Sam to Vala and then back to Sam. Her eyes are large and alarmed, and she is terribly pale, a smattering of freckles standing out starkly on her nose. Finally she nods, slowly. "Okay," she whispers.
***
Vala is fascinated by the horses. She's never been around them before, and her awe is almost childlike; nevertheless, Sam doesn't miss the purposeful resolution in her eyes. Sarah and Vala slip into the roles of hostess and guest, and Sarah seems increasingly comfortable as she guides them around her farm, ordinary Earth manners overcoming her trauma. Sam remains on guard. She wishes she could pretend this is just an afternoon with girlfriends, but she knows it isn't. Besides, she's never been good at having girlfriends, hasn't had any at all since Janet died.
"You really should trade those creatures through the stargate," Vala tells Sam as they all return to the house. "They'd be right at the technological level of so many planets, and for others, think of the entertainment value. Not to mention the profit. I know of a fantastic little world that would be just the place to race these horses. Great gamblers there, especially now that Baal doesn't have the resources to pay attention to it." Vala continues to ramble about exporting the horse industry, but Sam can see Sarah tensing up at the casual mention of the stargate, of Baal.
Sarah leads them to the shade of the porch and doesn't ask before pouring them all tumblers of bourbon straight up. She stands backlit by the strong afternoon sun, and Sam thinks of the first time she saw this woman, in the deserts of Egypt. She seems so much smaller now.
The whisky is warm and smooth, and Sam welcomes its burn as she swallows. It would be so easy, she thinks, to run away like this, to solitude and open sky. It's a familiar fantasy. The world might end without her there to save it, but she doubts it.
Sarah has finished her drink and is pouring another. "I drink too much now," she says flatly.
"Does it help?" Vala asks curiously, swirling the amber liquid around the bottom of her glass. "I've never had much of a taste for it."
"It helps a little." Sarah studies Vala for a moment. "It-Osiris-couldn't tolerate alcohol. So this belongs to me."
Vala nods and takes a sip of the drink. Sam laughs when she makes a disgusted face and sets down the glass. "I prefer sex," Vala admits with a grin. "Tastes better."
Sam recognizes their respective opiates, their coping strategies. Sarah ran away and has built a small world that she can control. Vala adapts, taking in all that has been done to her and making it her own. And Sam ignores, works, tries to forget. It all helps a little.
"Do they ever go away?" Sarah asks softly. "The memories?" Much to Sam's surprise, she's looking at her instead of at Vala, and it's only then that she realizes she's the veteran among them.
She wonders how much Sarah knows about Jolinar, whether Daniel has told her details, or whether she has drawn her own conclusions based on Sam's naquadah and her presence here today.
"No, they don't go away," Sam answers honestly. "But they fade some." When there are worse things to take their place, she adds silently, thinking of Replicators, Wraith, and Ori. Vala catches her eye, understands, nods faintly.
They're quiet, sipping bourbon and watching the sun approach the mountaintop, the distant snow glittering gold. "We are the lucky ones, though," Vala murmurs. "We've survived."
"I suppose," Sarah replies ambivalently.
Sam looks at these women, at the setting sun, and dares to hope for more than just survival.
Rating: PG-13
Fandom and Spoilers: Stargate: SG-1; few specific spoilers, but knowledge of some or all of the following would probably be helpful: "In the Line of Duty," "The Tok'ra, 1 & 2," "Jolinar's Memories," "The Devil You Know," "The Curse," "Chimera," "Prometheus Unbound," "The Powers That Be"
Author's Notes: Written for the Thelma and Louise Do Outer Space Ficathon, for rydra_wong, whose requests included Sam, Vala, and Sarah Gardner-the Ex-Hosts Club.
There is an apparent contradiction in SG-1 canon regarding when Vala was freed from her Goa'uld. In "Prometheus Unbound" she tells Daniel that she was freed ten years before, but in "The Powers That Be" she says she was freed four years before. She may have been lying one or both times, but I'm inclined to think she would be more truthful on the latter occasion; in any case, four years of freedom rather than ten serves my purpose better, so I'm going with that.
Huge thanks to my patient and wonderful betas danceswithwords and dm_lunsford, as well as to thassalia and leadensky for organizing the ficathon.
Summary: A faint ache remains, like a memory of an old wound.
***
Sam is certain no one has actually given Vala clearance to read the mission briefings, but she gets her hands on them anyway. Daniel usually pretends to be outraged, and Sam rolls her eyes at his reaction. She remembers what genuine shock looks like on Daniel, has known him throughout his wide-eyed and naïve years; she thinks he wears this false indignation badly.
So she considers bolting when she sees Vala burst through the commissary door waving a classified file. She's nearly finished her lunch, and she'd rather not deal with the Daniel and Vala show just at the moment.
"There you are!" Vala exclaims, crossing the room to their table, and Sam realizes her window of escape is gone. "Daniel! Why didn't you tell me about her!"
Sam prepares to grimace at the "Vala, what have we discussed about the classified files" speech, but she is distracted by the expression on Vala's face: earnest and surprised rather than playful and devious. Vala is a good actor; nevertheless, there are isolated moments when she seems not to be donning a mask.
Sam can read Daniel with ease, and she knows from the tone of his "Where did you get this?" that whatever it is has touched a chord in him, too. His mouth is stretched thin as he looks up at Vala; he lowers the folder a bit, and Sam can read the label upside down. Sarah Gardner/Osiris.
"I heard Osiris was dead, Daniel, but I just assumed- You saved the host? And she's here? On Earth? Daniel, I want-"
"No," he interrupts.
"You didn't even let me ask-"
"No," Daniel repeats. "Whatever it is, no, especially if it involves Sarah Gardner."
Vala takes a breath and sits down at the table, idly snatching a carrot stick off Sam's tray. She reaches for the folder and flips toward the end. "Daniel, it says here that she's been upset. That she's been in hospitals. Now that can't be good, and I just thought that maybe I-"
"Absolutely not!" He grabs the folder back and tucks it under his arm. "She isn't well, and the last thing I'm going to do is inflict you on her."
"But I'm exactly the person who could help her!" Vala entreats.
"What, help her lead a life of crime and promiscuity?" he counters. "For the last time, absolutely not." He stands to go.
"Daniel, I knew her! Osiris was just back, trying to get on her feet, and Qetesh tried to help." She pauses, chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully. "Of course then Qetesh tried to have her murdered, and it didn't end so well, but still. Daniel, please-"
"Osiris knew Qetesh. You do not know Sarah. It's completely different and has nothing to do with you." He storms out of the room.
"You don't know anything about it," Vala replies under her breath.
Sam hadn't wanted to launch herself into the fray-Daniel wouldn't understand, and she could never explain it to him-but she knows where her loyalties lie in this one.
"Sarah Gardner is in Montana," Sam says quietly. "I'll take you. Don't mention it to Daniel. He gets especially touchy about Sarah."
Vala raises an eyebrow and appraises Sam for a moment. "That was touchy, was it?" she asks, pointedly avoiding mention of Sam's offer.
Sam gives her an understanding half smile. "It isn't so much Sarah herself," she says. "I mean, Daniel does care about her, but it's more that he's afraid if Sha're had been saved, she would have been as messed up as Sarah."
"Daniel's understanding of the host-symbiote relationship is far too simplistic. There are variables, and people react differently."
"That may be the first time anyone's called Daniel's understanding of anything 'simplistic,'" Sam chuckles. "But I suppose his experience with former hosts is relatively limited. And no offense, but I'm not sure knowing you has done much for his idealism."
"Darling, I'm not so easily offended," Vala laughs, stealing another carrot. Her face grows more thoughtful as she chews. "He's known you all these years, though. A well-adjusted former host to balance the nut-cases." She examines the carrot. "You don't have any of that white sauce to dip this in, do you?"
Sam passes the ramekin of ranch dressing as she tries to process the first part of the statement. Of course Vala would have read her file as well. And the naquadah in her blood would have recognized the naquadah in Sam's, just as Sam's own veins tingle familiarly when Vala is near. Still, she is surprised.
"I-it was just a Tok'ra. And only for a short time. It doesn't really count." She knows the words are a lie. They're the lie she's taught herself to believe, following the lead of those around her. There wasn't time, all those years ago, for dealing with the fallout from Jolinar. Her head was so crowded, Sam and Jolinar mixed up, inseparable, confusing, unwanted, and she still hasn't sorted it out.
Vala opens her mouth and then closes it, watching Sam closely. "It counts," she says after a pause.
The two women are quiet a moment before Vala leaps up. "Oh!" she exclaims. "I'm late. Teal'c and I are watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer." She starts to leave then turns around again. "And you'll let me know about Sarah?"
"Yeah," Sam replies, smiling faintly.
***
Sam waits a week in hopes that Daniel will have forgotten the incident. General Landry gives her a few days off and permission to take Vala with her, as long as she promises to keep her out of trouble. He doesn't ask many questions, and Sam doesn't offer many answers.
She overhears the guys speculating: Teal'c claims he has heard of this 'girl time' of which Colonel Mitchell speaks, but he had never suspected Colonel Carter of engaging in such behavior. But perhaps under the influence of Vala Mal Doran…
Daniel chokes on his coffee before Teal'c gets to finish the sentence.
They have to drive because Vala still doesn't have proper ID for a commercial flight. ("Well, not official identification, no. But you'd be amazed what you can find on your internet.") But Sam's just as happy to make the road trip up through the breathtaking scenery of Colorado, Wyoming, southern Montana.
"All of this on your planet, and you all spend so much time locked up in that windowless cave?" Vala says repeatedly. Sam is a little surprised that Vala's so impressed, given the breadth of her travel, but she has to admit that the mountains, open vistas, and brilliant sky are spectacular. And she does spend so much time on base that she too often forgets this whole world is out there-this world that she's worked so hard to save without taking the trouble to enjoy.
They stop for the night at an Econo Lodge on the outskirts of Billings. Sam comes out of the bathroom to find Vala flipping idly through the TV channels and looking vaguely disappointed.
"Your movies and television programs always talk about 'room service,' but when I phoned for it, the young woman simply laughed at me," she complains petulantly.
Sam can't suppress a small chuckle of her own. "I'm afraid the Econo Lodge isn't quite high-class enough for room service; only more expensive hotels have it," she explains. "But if you're hungry there's still food in that bag from the car."
Vala blinks once. "Who said anything about food?"
***
The figure is ahead of Sam, always just out of sight, leading her down a narrow passage that she recognizes but can't place. She is injured, the tremendous pain of a staff blast in her leg, and she's exhausted. If she can just stop, heal, she will be fine, but there is no time, and sounds behind her, pursuing her, are growing louder. Something is terribly pressing, something she can't quite recall, and she knows she'll never be able to save Earth-except it isn't Earth-if she can't stop to think, to heal. Yet the unseen guide presses on, their pursuers are faster, and the pain is blinding-
She wakes with a start, sitting in confusion, her eyes trying to focus in the dark of the unfamiliar motel room. A narrow beam of silvery streetlight streams through a chink in the curtains. Montana, she remembers. She slows and calms her breathing. Her leg is uninjured, though a faint ache remains, like a memory of an old wound.
"Do you still have the dreams often?" a soft voice asks. Sam turns in surprise to see Vala propped on one arm in the other bed, watching her. The crack of light just catches Vala's face, which is as serious as Sam has ever seen it.
"No," Sam replies. "Not that often anymore. I suppose I've just been thinking about her more recently."
"Mm-hmm."
"What about you?" Sam asks. "Do you dream of Qetesh?" She's been intensely curious about Vala's experiences as a host, about her motivations for this trip, but there hasn't really been an appropriate time to ask.
"All the time," the other woman answers without hesitation. "A little less recently, maybe, but now the nightmares are the Ori. At least Qetesh is familiar." Vala sits up, leaning against the headboard and hugging her knees to her. Sam can't see her face anymore and looks instead at the streetlight creating stark contrasts of light and shadow on Vala's long, white arm.
"I was a host for nearly fifteen years," she continues, her voice uncharacteristically subdued. "After all that time, it gets harder and harder to tell it all apart-what's me, what's Qetesh. Some memories I want to believe are too terrible to be mine. Others are too good to be hers, things from my home planet, ages ago, when it was only me. But mostly it's all mixed up." She laughs, sharply and ironically. "It's all right, though. What I learned from Qetesh has taught me how to survive without her."
She's quiet, and Sam tries to imagine having lived with Jolinar for fifteen years. It's not so difficult. "They don't understand," Sam says softly. "Daniel and General O'Neill. You can remove the symbiote, but it's never really gone. Not completely."
"It terrifies Daniel, and from what I've read in the files, your General O'Neill is even worse," Vala observes. "Why?"
Sam sighs. "I don't know. The general just likes to be in control; having something else in control of his mind and body is probably his greatest fear. But Daniel is more complicated."
"Because of his wife."
"Yeah."
"So I suppose they weren't much help to you, after your Tok'ra-what was her name?"
"Jolinar," Sam answers. "And they tried, in their own ways. But it was hard for them to understand. Sympathy always tinged with revulsion."
Vala is quiet for a while, and Sam wonders if she's fallen asleep, even though she's still sitting up. "Well," she says at length, "at least you had friends who tried."
Sam isn't sure how to answer, and Vala lies down again, rolling away from Sam to face the opposite wall.
She doesn't dream of Jolinar again that night.
***
They nearly miss their checkout deadline the next morning because of the length of time Vala spends in the bathroom. Wet towels, cosmetics, and clothes are strewn from one end of the small room to the other. Sam is amused by the contrast between her own immaculately packed bag and Vala's clutter; she has so little experience with this sort of stereotypical female behavior.
She catches herself wondering about Vala in light of their conversation: how much of what she thinks of as Vala's personality comes from Qetesh? Her love of excess? Of the outrageous? And she wonders if any of Jolinar lingers in herself. Do personalities take fifteen years to blend, or do traces remain after just a few days?
Vala makes no reference to their little heart to heart as she flits around the room. "You know," she comments loudly as they're walking out to Sam's car, "I think that's the first time I've spent the night in a cheap rented room and not gotten any sex."
Sam coughs as a passing elderly man overhears and looks truly shocked. Vala grins at him and winks, linking an arm through Sam's. "Don't worry," she says in a loud mock whisper to the man. "We've made up now. I have high hopes for tonight."
***
Sarah Gardner lives on a little ranch in the middle of nowhere, the land bought with compensation money from the government. She has hired a neighbor, a middle-aged widow, to help with the horses and the grounds, but is otherwise alone. She has chased away government psychologists with a shotgun and has threatened the NID with worse than that.
Sam knows this, yet she declined to call Sarah in advance of their arrival. Even on a bad day, Sarah hasn't actually shot anyone, and Sam has a gut feeling that she'll see them-at least assuming she gives Sam a chance to explain.
Vala waits in the car while Sam knocks on the front door. Sarah answers with the shotgun.
"What are you doing here?" she asks coldly. Sam and Sarah have only met a handful of times, but it is clear Sarah recognizes her.
"I just wanted to see how you were," Sam replies. She knows the explanation sounds implausible, even if it is the truth.
"I'm not giving anyone any information," Sarah says, clearly disbelieving Sam's professed motives. "I have been extremely clear on that point. I don't care what is at stake. I want to be left alone."
"I don't want information. I'm not here in any official capacity."
Suddenly, Sarah's eyes dart over Sam's shoulders, and she steps back, startled. The gun flies to attention at her shoulder. "She-I know that woman," she gasps. "She's a Goa'uld."
"No, no, she's not," Sam reassures as calmly as possible. She glances over to see Vala paused midway in her traverse of the yard and silently curses her for leaving the car. "She's not a Goa'uld anymore," Sam says.
Sarah blinks and re-focuses her attention on Sam. The gun lowers slightly, shaking in her hands. "Not anymore," she repeats.
"That's right. She wanted to come see you."
Sarah looks from Sam to Vala and then back to Sam. Her eyes are large and alarmed, and she is terribly pale, a smattering of freckles standing out starkly on her nose. Finally she nods, slowly. "Okay," she whispers.
***
Vala is fascinated by the horses. She's never been around them before, and her awe is almost childlike; nevertheless, Sam doesn't miss the purposeful resolution in her eyes. Sarah and Vala slip into the roles of hostess and guest, and Sarah seems increasingly comfortable as she guides them around her farm, ordinary Earth manners overcoming her trauma. Sam remains on guard. She wishes she could pretend this is just an afternoon with girlfriends, but she knows it isn't. Besides, she's never been good at having girlfriends, hasn't had any at all since Janet died.
"You really should trade those creatures through the stargate," Vala tells Sam as they all return to the house. "They'd be right at the technological level of so many planets, and for others, think of the entertainment value. Not to mention the profit. I know of a fantastic little world that would be just the place to race these horses. Great gamblers there, especially now that Baal doesn't have the resources to pay attention to it." Vala continues to ramble about exporting the horse industry, but Sam can see Sarah tensing up at the casual mention of the stargate, of Baal.
Sarah leads them to the shade of the porch and doesn't ask before pouring them all tumblers of bourbon straight up. She stands backlit by the strong afternoon sun, and Sam thinks of the first time she saw this woman, in the deserts of Egypt. She seems so much smaller now.
The whisky is warm and smooth, and Sam welcomes its burn as she swallows. It would be so easy, she thinks, to run away like this, to solitude and open sky. It's a familiar fantasy. The world might end without her there to save it, but she doubts it.
Sarah has finished her drink and is pouring another. "I drink too much now," she says flatly.
"Does it help?" Vala asks curiously, swirling the amber liquid around the bottom of her glass. "I've never had much of a taste for it."
"It helps a little." Sarah studies Vala for a moment. "It-Osiris-couldn't tolerate alcohol. So this belongs to me."
Vala nods and takes a sip of the drink. Sam laughs when she makes a disgusted face and sets down the glass. "I prefer sex," Vala admits with a grin. "Tastes better."
Sam recognizes their respective opiates, their coping strategies. Sarah ran away and has built a small world that she can control. Vala adapts, taking in all that has been done to her and making it her own. And Sam ignores, works, tries to forget. It all helps a little.
"Do they ever go away?" Sarah asks softly. "The memories?" Much to Sam's surprise, she's looking at her instead of at Vala, and it's only then that she realizes she's the veteran among them.
She wonders how much Sarah knows about Jolinar, whether Daniel has told her details, or whether she has drawn her own conclusions based on Sam's naquadah and her presence here today.
"No, they don't go away," Sam answers honestly. "But they fade some." When there are worse things to take their place, she adds silently, thinking of Replicators, Wraith, and Ori. Vala catches her eye, understands, nods faintly.
They're quiet, sipping bourbon and watching the sun approach the mountaintop, the distant snow glittering gold. "We are the lucky ones, though," Vala murmurs. "We've survived."
"I suppose," Sarah replies ambivalently.
Sam looks at these women, at the setting sun, and dares to hope for more than just survival.