Title: A Day In The Life
Author: Jewels
E-mail: jhantor@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: All publicly recognisable characters and places are the property of MGM, World Gekko Corp and Double Secret Productions. They're not mine, never have been mine, even though I wish they were.
Summary: Challenge response. A typical day in the life of a Tok'ra.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Nah.
Category: Humour
Date Completed: 22/04/03

Notes: Lantash might not be completely in character here, but, hell, in fanfic, what /is/ in character? We all have our own interpretation, and I have no freakin' clue where this one came up from. Hell, I have no idea where the whole thing came from. There's a lot of Earth-specific references, so on some levels, this doesn't quite scan. Just go with it. It's not a story you need to think too hard about. Although, I will admit I got a bit gleeful with Lantash's fascination with Sam. At least now I can yell: HA! It's canon!!

**

'Life is a tragedy when seen in close-up, but a comedy in long-shot.'
-Charlie Chaplin

**

There are many different sorts of days. There's your basic good days and bad days, and expanding on that you have your cheery days, gloomy days, rainy days, slow days, frustrating days, restless days, productive days, boring days, excrutiating days, purple days (yes, purple days), silly days, confusing days and many other such sundry days of all manner of shapes, sizes and colour. This began as an average day. And it started as all average days did.

With a screaming match.

Let's get something straight: my host, Martouf, and I have what I have affectionately termed the 'neighbours who exist only to turture and torment me by having loud four-way grudge matches at pre-dawn hours before making up in an even noiser and faintly more disturbing fashion before breakfast'. Martouf decided to borrow a phrase from Selmak and designate them the 'neighbours from hell'.

I think my version's snappier.

When the yelling first jolted us awake, Martouf simply groaned, pulling his pillow over his head in a vain attempt to muffle the noise that had, against all laws of reasonability, made it though two feet of sound-buffering rock and crystal to metaphorically claw at our ears.

'What day is it?' he enquired groggily, stifling a yawn.

'Wednesday,' I answered distractedly, while trying to work out if a strategically placed landmine would solve our early morning problems once and for all.

'Ah,' Martouf said, or more accurately: thought (It's rather hard to verbalise when you're trying to suffocate yourself to death with your own bedding). 'So they'll be rowing about how much sweetner she likes in her moss tea, and how he's a total beast and inhuman fiend for not remembering exactly the right temperature at which to serve it to her.'

'Or he didn't say, "I love you" enough times to her last night, and now she's beginning to doubt him,' I added cynically. Martouf snickered unkindly.

The noises from next door was rapidly changing in tone. No longer were the voices of our neighbours sounding confrontational, but they were certainly no less heated. Martouf hurriedly rolled out of bed, humming loudly to himself to try block out the noise before he managed to shrug into his clothes and rush out of the door. I wouldn't mind, except he was humming a song I really happened to like, and Martouf couldn't hold a tune to save his life. In fact, I believe that his tone-deaf nature was in fact the reason we once run for our lives from a group of extremely annoyed natives.

The Thandiri, for the record, are a people who have absolutely no sense of humour. I tried to tell them Martouf didn't mean to sound like that, but they did insist on throwing those spears.

'Stop butchering the classics,' I told him with a half-hearted snap in my mental voice. 'And make a note: we go see the quartermaster again.'

We keep trying to ask for reassignment to new quarters, but every time we go and see the staff in charge, we're confronted with the smirking bitch of a quartermaster and her gaggle of giggling twits. We often wonder what we did to earn their eternal resentment.

Martouf finished dressing (or at least finished dressing to the point where he was decent) and bolted out of the door, rapidly heading in the direction of the baths furthest away from our neighbours. I made a brief mental calculation and decided that from waking to actually leaving our chambers, we'd just set a new record for time.

Really, who needs alarm calls?

After our rather typical awakening, we proceeded to the next typical activity of our average day: heading for the baths and relaxing until it's actually time when we are /supposed/ to get up and start our day. I've always found the waters very soothing (as do all Tok'ra - I think it's something primative to do with the lakes on the original homeworld, Martouf thinks we're all just lazy swine that enjoy sitting in baths all day), and have never really been able to face the day properly without a trip to the baths first thing.

Often, there's a soothing scent of some oils that one of the women has brought back from a trading mission. None of the male Tok'ra like to admit to having a liking for it, but I've detected the telltale hint of lilac on Selmak too often to know that there's a conspiracy of silence among the male populace of this base. What I wasn't expecting was to enter the chamber and be hit by a smell that was some combination of effluent, rotting meat, spoiled vegetables, and something else that I couldn't identify and really didn't want to. The pools were no longer clear water, but a sort of murky green-brown colour with the consistency of lumpy porridge.

Martouf immediately withdrew to the back of his mind, leaving me at the forefront, and so dealing with the sudden sensory onslaught that was the baths.

'Coward,' I told him.

Martouf whole-heartedly agreed with me.

My eyes watered, and I could dimly make out a few techs in rebreather masks, and wondered if I'd accidentally wandered into refuse management. Turns out I wasn't too far from the truth.

"Sorry, fellows," The tech that approached me, as tall as he was wide (and that was with muscle), was looking down at me, and I thought I saw a frown. Maybe it was the fact that I was almost certainly turning purple from attempting to hold my breath. "Sewage line broke underneath the pools. Spewed its contents into the water. No bathing today. Guess we should have put a sign up." He laughed like it was the most hilarious thing to happen since Ra's wardrobe was invented, and pounded me on the arm jovially. I thought I heard something crack and almost fell over.

I choked out a reply that was incoherent even to me, and stumbled out the door, trying not to inhale. A human smells by detecting molecules of substances in the air and interpreting them to have a scent. At no point did I even want to consider molecules of /those/ substances entering my body in any way, shape or form. Unfortunately, while the smell from the room dissipated as I entered the corridor and the ventilation system swept away the offensive vapours, unfortunately, the smell still clung to my clothes. We headed back towards our quarters (rather sullenly, I might add) to get a change of clothes, only to find that the sounds of our neighbours 'making up' was audible all the way from the end of the corridor.

I decided not to expose myself to potential psychological trauma, (I'd rather not have to be forced to listen to someone screaming 'give it to me, big boy' at the top of their lungs unless I have to, or unless it's directed /at/ me) and simply headed for the mess hall.

I was almost there too, when I heard a sharp, "Martouf!" coming from one of the side corridors, and I skidded to a halt.

"Lantash," I corrected automatically, turning to see Selmak coming towards me looking in a bad mood.

Selmak is someone you never want to cross in a bad mood. It was bad enough when he was blended with a female, but I think in my unkinder moments that he's retained the cyclical temperaments of Human females in spite of his new host's gender.

"What do you call this?"

I blinked at him, then at the object he was brandishing at me. "A datapad."

"Damned right," he snapped, glaring at me.

I cleared my throat uncomfortably, fighting the urge to start backing up. "Selmak, while I can see how the datapad may have offended you-"

'Do you? I thought he'd finally snapped,' murmured my host.

"- I fail to see how it is my responsibility."

"Don't be an ass," Selmak said in a low growl, while I pondered how much Tau'ri slang the esteemed Councillor had managed to pick up. He thrust the datapad at my chest, hitting me and causing me to release my breath in a sharp 'whoosh'. "Do you see what's on the datapad?"

I took the datapad and tapped its screen to bring up whatever was in active memory. I blinked. "Er. Nothing."

"Exactly!"

I couldn't help but think that Selmak had completely, utterly and rather spectacularly lost his mind.

"I don't suppose I could speak to Jacob, could I?"

Selmak clouted me upside the head and I yelped, jumping back slightly. Not that I'm not used to Selmak doing that. Sarouche used to do it all the time to those 'insolent whelps' (as she referred to us junior to her... which was pretty much everyone), but I wasn't exactly expecting it that moment.

"Jacob's as pissed as I am." Selmak folded his arms. "Where, precisely, is the report from the Amanna mission?"

Oh.

Damn.

"Ah, well, you see, there was a slight problem," I said, trying to push Martouf to the forefront so that he'd have to deal with an irate Councillor. He was clinging to the metaphorical doorframe by his equally metaphorical fingernails. Finally I gave up with a heartfelt curse upon his parentage aimed in his direction.

"Problem?" repeated Selmak sceptically.

"There was this slight..." How to phrase this without getting committed for psychiatric evaluation. "Problem with ah... these big trees."

Selmak held up a quelling hand. "Hold it. You haven't filed a mission report because of a tree?"

"Yes..." I said slowly, gritting my teeth. "Well, it was a very convincing tree."

"Convincing." Selmak repeated. "The tree spoke to you two?"

"Yes."

"And you two are delusional, right?"

"Right." I said, tapping my fingers on the back of the datapad nervously. "I mean- No. We weren't delusional. The tree was. It's sort of a long story."

Finally, after an indeterminate length of time, Selmak just sighed and held out his hand. I replaced the blank datapad in it warily. "You know, that's just too ridiculous to be a lie. So I'll accept it for now. Go away."

"Thank you," I said, backing away, glad to have escaped, for now.

Selmak gave me an annoyed glance. "And change your clothes, you smell like you've been swimming in sewage."

"Not quite, but almost." I muttered, before turning and entering the residential sector of the base, in which the mess hall was located.

It was early on in breakfast, so there was neither much food nor many people. Irritatingly, what people were there gave me a wide berth as they caught a whiff of my tainted clothing. I took a seat at one of the smaller tables with my plate of small bite-size pastry... things (the cook is currently on a finger-food kick, which is a problem if your apetite is greater than that of a gnat) where Aldwin was already sitting, looking over a datapad.

Aldwin wrinkled his nose at me. "Where have you been? You smell like you've been swimming in sewage."

"Oh, shut up," I said sourly, and took a bite of my breakfast. Unfortunately, the smell of my clothes conflicted badly with the taste, and I ruthlessly squashed the reflexive urge to gag, swallowing it. Martouf forced me to leave the rest.

"So what're you up to today?" I asked, poking the finger-food around on my flat with an expression of deliberate disgust pasted on my face.

"Going to Alva to retrieve long range sensor data." Aldwin said, cheerfully consuming the tidbits cunningly disguised as food. "Should be back before lunch. Then I get to take it to Analysis. Not a bad day."

"Especially with Katan recently having taken a position in Analysis. I'm sure she'd be happy to provide you with a close analysis of all relevant data." I pointed out, eyeing him carefully. In the back of our mind, Martouf sniggered as the colour rose Aldwin's cheeks at the insinuation.

It's the small things in life...

"What about you?" Aldwin said, deflecting the topic.

I opened my mouth to answer, then frowned. "Haven't checked yet. One moment, can I take this?"

Aldwin made a noise of protest as I 'borrowed' his datapad, clearing the screen (after noting the title of the file he had been reading, 'Love Slave Saga: Torrid Tantilisation, Part Three', and filing it away as potential blackmail material for later) and pulling up my own schedule from the central database. Oh joy. Council duty. Three hours of standing next to a wall that I can't even lean upon for fear of impaling myself on the spikes that the Engineers thought would be a Really Good Idea to place there, listening to the Council argue about minutia until I really /do/ want to impale myself.

I wouldn't be feeling this cranky if I'd had my bath this morning.

I tossed the datapad back to my companion and pretended not to notice as he hurriedly scrolled through the text, trying to find where he'd been up to.

"Council duty." I said, with a trace of annoyance. "But then, there's somewhere I need to go first."

Aldwin rolled his eyes. "Quartermaster?"

"Quartermaster." I confirmed.

"They hate you down there, you know," he said.

I sighed. "Don't remind me." I looked at him quizzically. "Do you know /why/ they hate us?"

Aldwin gave me the same look he gave me after we'd gotten back from Thrandir. The sort of look that said he clearly thought I was obviously not entirely sane. "If you don't realise, then I really don't think I should be telling you."

"No, go on, tell me." I urged. "It's the only way I'll learn."

Aldwin gave me that look again and I sighed, relenting. For now. It's the same discussion we have every average day. One day I'll crack him like a nut.

In the nicest possible way, of course.

**

The Quartermaster's Office is basically a storeroom with a desk. But in the dark, dank shelves beyond which sight could reach, scuttled things that might have once been Human, but were now only part of the QM's inhuman army. An aging woman sat at the desk, the fabled Quartermaster herself, her withered hands searching through piles of datapads, consigning some to eternal oblivion, and passing the favoured others to her creatures in the back.

Alright, so I'm over-dramatising. But I did say before: they don't like me here. I feel I'm within my rights to not like them in return. Besides. The QM is getting on a bit. She must be at least thirty.

Bey, a newly blended young woman from Analysis, who was standing there filling in the requisition form for a triaxial scanner, frowned at me. "You smell like you've been-"

I brandished a finger at her. "Complete that sentence, and so help me I'll pull out your spine through your nose and beat you to death with it."

I'm lacking in social graces, this is something I freely admit. I'm not what you'd call a very charming person. Whenever we're doing diplomatic duties, Martouf tends to handle things, and when it comes time to run around strange planets killing things, well, I generally get a nice workout.

But when you're lacking in social graces, usually you can come up with more creative threats than that. It was the mark of me experiencing a sour mood when I couldn't come up with something scathing. As if to ram that point home, Bey smirked, and looked completely unthreatened.

"You know, if you got laid more often, you probably wouldn't be this grouchy."

Unable to trust myself to make a suitably witty retort, I merely glowered at her.

Bey passed off the form to the QM, who nodded briskly, speaking in a prissy accent that somehow matched the bun she had managed to scrape her hair into. "Come back tomorrow, and I should have it for you."

Bey left the room, and the QM turned to Martouf and I.

"Yes?" she asked, nasally.

I said that I was lacking in social graces, and Martouf was not. He's got the talking people around skill down pat.

Then there's the smiling thing. Martouf's always smiling. He thinks it puts people at their ease and makes him look charming. I think it makes him look like a sociopath.

He was smiling at the QM now, and just as I suspected, she was looking completely unimpressed. Although this may have been due to the fact that even the Council doing a song and dance routing would have failed to impress her as far as Martouf and I were concerned.

"Martouf," she said with a miniscule sigh of exasperation, looking down her nose at us. An impressive feat, considering we were standing and she was sitting. "The answer is no."

Martouf slid into the seat on the opposite side of her desk, still smiling at her. "You don't even know what I'm going to ask yet."

"I have a fairly good idea."

"Oh?"

"It wouldn't happen to be the same thing that has brought you to this office every morning for the past three months, would it?" The QM was looking at us with a pitiless, sadistic expression.

"How did you guess?"

"I'm psychic. It's one of my many and varied talents in addition to being drop dead gorgeous." The QM leaned forward, lacing her fingers together. "Forget it. I'm not giving you new quarters."

I took over, against my host's vocal protestations that I'd only be making the situation worse. "Look, Vimto, my dear-"

"Xinto." The QM corrected, her voice brittle.

I cleared my throat. It's generally a bad idea to get the name wrong of the person you're attempting to shamelessly butter up to. "Surely you can understand my predicament. My neighbours'... ah... discussions tend to keep me and my host awake at night. As well as awakening us at the early hours of the morning. All of us in this movement need to be well rested and refreshed-"

"There are no other quarters available," The QM said, folding her thin arms across her chest. "You'll have to make do."

I was about to give my opinion as to the veracity of that statement, but Martouf reminded me I was supposed to be trying to be diplomatic and that jumping up and questionning the woman's parentage in language that would not exactly be of the form used in polite company would not help matters.

"Vimto-"

"Xinto!" The QM hissed.

"Xinto," I restated, "All I'm asking is that you show a little mercy here to your fellow Tok'ra. Please?"

The QM's rictus grin said that she wanted to show us all the mercy that a vulture would to a particularly stupid, juicy lamb who'd just trotted into its territory wearing an overcoat of mint sauce.

Damn. I just realised I didn't eat nearly enough at breakfast. Food analogies make me hungry.

"Lantash, Martouf," She said, "The day I accede to anything you ask for is the day Jacob dresses in drag and kisses Korra. Now, get out." She finished, pointedly picking up a datapad and ignoring us.

I was about to walk through the door, when I turned back. I really, honestly, truly couldn't resist saying what I said next. I knew what the result would be, I knew that at some point in the future I'd pay, but I just couldn't help it. "By the way, Vimto. Don't suppose you're free for dinner, are you?"

"OUT!" The pad the QM had been holding went sailing through the air, impacting the place where my head had been only moments earlier, before I headed down the hallway at a sprint.

I still can't work out why they don't like us in there.

**

Martouf was singing again. And what's worse, he was doing it internally so I had no way of blocking it out.

I wonder: if I were to stop his heart and kill him, would that be considered murder or suicide?

Ponderings aside, I can't blame him for trying to come up with ways to try and occupy his mind. After all, we'd been standing near the wall in the Council chamber for-

'Two hours, seventeen minutes.'

Yes, thank you. A little over two hours. The three others who'd been assigned as runners for the Council that day were looking just as bored, and one had actually leant back a little too far and had accidentally poked himself in the backside with the crystal spikes.

The consternation his yelp of pain and his resultant swearing lightened up almost two whole minutes.

The two on the opposite side of the room were communicating silently, using the finger-twitching sign language taught to all Tok'ra operatives so that they could communicate inaudibly. To an outside, it looks simply like the 'speakers' are fidgeting. I neither wanted to contribute to or join in with the discussion, and neither did Martouf.

I'd caught some of what they were saying earlier, and it puts our neighbour's late night 'conversations' to shame.

After leaving the QM's office, we'd not had time to go back to our quarters and were, frankly, fearful of what we might find nearby, and so had simply run to the Council chambers, in time to find a disapproving Council already assembled. I could almost hear their estimation of our worth dropping like a stone. Jacob had obviously been spreading the 'delusional tree' story around. One of the Councillors coughed indelicately when the ventilation system blew in the wrong direction, and glared at us. We just glared back and eventually she just turned up her nose and carried on ignoring us.

Minutes passed to hours... hours passed to days... and days...

Well, you get the idea. Obviously the session didn't actually last for days. It was, in fact, that peculiar temporal distortion that occurs during meetings, where time elongates into infinity until you reach the point where you're ready to try and stab yourself to death with your lunch in an effort to escape the monotony.

So I was rather glad when there came a light tugging at our sleeve, though it took both Martouf and I a minute to realise it, so light and timid was the motion.

It was a messenger, and she whispered her message so quietly to us that we had to ask her to repeat it twice. Can't get the staff these days, really. When we finally grasped the entirety of the message, Martouf smile, nodded to the messenger to dismiss her, and approached the Council table trying not to look too jovial.

Martouf bent close to Garshaw, causing her to tilt her head slightly towards him as the conversations at the table continued. Martouf nearly wound up with a mouthful of her hair. "SG1, from the Tau'ri, Master Garshaw. The sentries just saw them arriving through the Chaapa'ai."

Garshaw nodded slowly. "They're early. Please go to the surface and escort them."

Excellant. Early pass out of the Council session and a visit by Samantha as well. My day's looking up already.

Oh, and the rest of her team. Let's not forget them.

**

I winced as the hot desert air hit my skin as the transporter rings released me onto the surface, and quickly retreated to allow Martouf to the fore of our shared consciousness. There were several reasons for this, one of the most important being how much I despise deserts. For creatures that are designed to inhabit lakes, hosted by creatures who like temperate climates, the Tok'ra demonstrate a baffling choice of desert planets for our bases. I really don't like it. The sand gets everywhere every time you walk for more than ten seconds on the surface, storms can sweep up out of no where, and every so often you get these horrendous rainstorms that turn the whole ground to mush. Although the last time that happened was really quite fun. Really, I mean how often do you get to watch Garshaw attempt to pick her way through ankle-deep mush, skirt held high, before falling face-first in the ground two feet away from the transport rings? Although I could have done without the knowledge of her underwear.

The second most important reason I let Martouf take over was so that I wouldn't have to look that smug sod Jack O'Neill in the face.

Alright, as Martouf reminds me, that's not very diplomatic. But I just don't like him, and the feeling's definitely mutual. Plus he keeps giving Samantha these looks that I really don't trust. I know for a /fact/ that the Tau'ri have rules against the sorts of things he's probably thinking about. Pervert.

Green clad figures were hanging around by the dialling device, apparently having a low voiced conversation. Martouf sighed, then promptly started coughing on the mouthful of sand he inhaled. Unfortunately that attracted the attention of the Tau'ri, and in an effort to try and retain his dignity, Martouf held his breath as we came closer to them. They were the unit designated as SG1.

Let's review.

SG1. The best the military of the Tau'ri has to offer. Or so they tell us. It's not like we've had an opportunity to see the armed forces of their world in their entirety, so we sort of have to take their word on that front.

Colonel O'Neill. Human. Rather greying. Bears a peculiar grudge against all things ophidian and persists in calling Martouf, 'Marty'. Good soldier, not that I'd say such to his face. Bad conversationalist. Doctor Daniel Jackson. Excellant conversationalist, to the point where you can't get him to be silent. And Teal'c. Who's just... well... Teal'c. Nice guy.

And then there's Major Samantha Carter. Sam to most of her friends, but neither Martouf nor I can get past the fact that 's-aam' means something unspeakably obscene in Martouf's native language. So, to us, she's Samantha. She's a technical genius, the daughter of Selmak's host (and by association, rather respected), the former host of a Tok'ra near and dear to my heart, an officer in her planet's military, and the woman who unraveled the secrets of the Chaapa'ai and took her world to the stars.

Damn, she has pretty eyes.

Martouf's talking. Rather fortunately, that means no-one will have realised that I'm lurking back here staring. It's rather hard to be caught staring when you don't have eyes. It's rather hard to stare at all, actually.

"It's good to see you again!" Martouf called over the howl of the desert wind.

Samantha, I was gratified to see, gave us an adorable smile.

"Yeah, well," O'Neill said, with that smarmy look on his face that I was so familiar with by now, "We were just in the neighbourhood and thought we'd pop by. Sorry for not calling first, but I think you're not in the service area."

I didn't understand a word of that. The Tau'ri can be really strange at times.

Martouf was thinking along the same lines, obviously, as he just blinked. "This way," he said after a moment, beckoning to the team.

I got some small measure of satisfaction from seeing O'Neill glancing around uncomfortably as we escorted them over to the point where the rings were buried within the sand. If it weren't for the fact that I know Samantha would never forgive me, I'd make sure that O'Neill positioned himself just so that when the rings rose up, they'd catch him right between the-

A brilliant flash of light obscured sight for a moment, and as we rematerialised in the tunnels below the surface, Martouf tried to surreptitiously remove sand grains from his ear.

We took them into the Council chamber, which had already been vacated, leaving only Jacob, leaning casually against the edge of the table. He spread his arms open wide and greeted his daughter cheerily as she walked in. Samantha just laughed and embraced him happily.

I felt like pouting. How come I didn't get a greeting like that?

Martouf's response that my idea of a 'greeting' would probably get us arrested on most civilised planets was pointedly ignored. Just because most people in the galaxy are prudes doesn't mean I'm at all wrong in my way of thinking. Even if I have heard several unkind comments from other Tok'ra about Egeria putting all her libidinous thoughts into only one of her offspring, i.e. me.

Pfft. That's all I say on the matter.

"So!" O'Neill clapped his hands together, startling both myself and my host out of comparing what we thought to be 'appropriate' greetings. "Where's this new toy you've got for us, then?" He looked between myself and Jacob expectantly.

Bloody Tau'ri. They're only after us for our technology. I feel dirty.

"Martouf, go and fetch the cell. Sam'll need to check it over before we take it to Earth." Jacob grinned at his daughter. "Don't want to haul it all the way there and find it doesn't work. Besides, I gotta find an excuse to spend more time keeping you here."

Samantha chuckled. "Well, maybe I like visiting you for a change. I hardly get invited any more." She contrived to look hurt. I contrived not to grab her and kiss her adorably pouty lips.

Really, I have to clamp down on that sort of impulse. It's those sort of urges that led Jolinar to hit me over the head with a shovel when I first started approaching her over a century ago. Three times. I think she only finally agreed to start seeing me socially when the Healers told her that if she didn't stop giving fellow Tok'ra concussion, they'd use her as a training cadaver.

O'Neill was staring at us.

"Hey Marty, what have you been doing?" He asked as my host started to turn away, waving a hand before his face with a grimace. "Smells like you've been swimming in sewage."

Martouf grit his teeth (that smile not letting up) and left, while I devoutly wished there were doors to slam. In the absence of that, we settled for leaving scorched ego in our wake.

Feel that scorched ego.

We were half-way to following Selmak's orders, when we passed the science division corridor. I got an idea. Martouf immediately voiced the fact that he wouldn't wish that fate on anyone. I promptly ignored him, and took over, moving us down the corridor, towards one very specific lab.

"Freya?"

Freya/Anise looked up from a microscopic scanner, looking at us in puzzlement. I wasn't surprised at that confusion, after all, usually neither Martouf nor I give Freya or Anise the time of day, unless it's to hurl progressively more creative insults across the mess hall. We haven't gotten along ever since that mission to Thrandir. Yes, the one with Martouf's singing. Anise and Freya were only involved in the part of the mission with the feathers, though.

Ugh. Great. I've been trying to block that memory out for six years.

But today, I tried to paste a reasonable facsimile of a smile on my face, to which Freya reacted to with startlement. I really don't get enough practice at the smiling thing. I should probably just leave it to Martouf, suppressed sociopathic tendencies or not. "Just thought you might like to know," I told her, "Colonel O'Neill's here."

I've never seen anyone perk up so fast. I also didn't think it was possible for her to try to display her breasts any more prominently in that outfit than she already was. What can I say? I can be wrong on occasion.

On very rare occasions.

I spun on my heel, walking back to my original destination, whistling jauntily. Setting Freya on someone who, by her own admission, she'd like to pin to the wall and ravish like the world would end tomorrow is probably classed as cruel and unusual punishment somewhere.

I feel an evil laugh coming on.

**

Part Three

**

After getting the device Samantha needed from the Engineers, we returned to our quarters. Thankfully, the loud-mouthed pair in the adjacent quarters were silent. Either they had returned to duty, or they'd managed to exhaust themselves to the degree they were no longer capable of speech. I was sort of hoping for the latter. Maybe they'd just drop dead on the spot. So Martouf managed to locate a spare uniform and get changed with the minimum amount of fuss, and thankfully we no longer smelled like a waste treatment plant.

That this was the highlight of my day so far says something for my average days.

The sensor cell was easily portable, one advantage to Goa'uld technology being its compactness. It was simply a standard sized carrying case that we took back to the Council Chambers, where SG1 and Selmak were standing around, having a subdued conversation.

Colonel O'Neill was looking rather rumpled and out of breath. And I was almost certain I heard him muttering something about "Bad touches," under his breath.

I fought the urge to laugh maniacally. Fear me, for I can be a pitiless bastard when I feel like it.

"That it?" Jacob asked, as I lifted the carry case on to the table that took up most of the chamber.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes at him and claim that it wasn't, rather instead being a carry case full of wild rabid rodents. I know Jacob hates them; the way he yelled and jumped on the council chair last time a mouse got into the base put any claims of machismo he had to rest. "It is. Samantha, if you would care to inspect it?"

Samantha approached, the rest of her teammates watching on in abstract interest. Very abstract. In fact, I'm pretty certain that as far as they cared, the case could have contained wild rodentia. Luddites. They all managed to lose interest before she'd even started reaching for the fastenings of the case, going back to speaking with each other and Jacob.

The sensor cell, an octagonal piece of what to the naked eye looked like plain orange-tinged crystal inset into a piece of lightweight circuitry was in fact a little more complicated. From what I'm told, the crystals are forced to grow around a specific nanomesh, creating, essentially, a computer within the crystal's structure. It means that you can pack a lot of processing power into a very small space. Very impressive. Of course, if it's not plugged in then it can be used as a very attractive paperweight.

I smiled encouragingly at Samantha as she opened the case, giving it a quick check over to see that it had all the standard Goa'uld access ports, interfaces for which I knew she had designed in order to use other purloined technology. The faint natural luminescence of the crystal served to light her face and give it a soft, lambent glow and as she checked it over, she attempted some casual conversation.

"So, how have you been recently?"

"Oh," I said, attempting non-chalence and coming off goofy. "Can't complain." Because the Council'd probably have me shot.

"I'm curious," She said, her eyes meeting mine. Those pretty, clear, crystal blue-

Ok. Focus. At least I wasn't looking at her breasts.

"About what?" I asked, looking at her with a faint crease in my brow.

"Well," She paused, confusion showing. "What exactly do you do around here? I mean, I've seen you work as a diplomat, a council aide, a field agent... I was just wondering what your job was precisely?"

I opened my mouth to answer, and closed it again.

Actually, that's a damned good question.

Apparently to stop me from gaping like a fish, Martouf took over the conversation on our end and smiled placating at Samantha. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

She laughed, effectively distracted, at the joke, and Martouf joined in with a chuckle.

That was close. I nearly looked like a total loser.

"All set?"

I looked up as Colonel approached, and quietly snickered to myself as he shifted uncomfortably at being smiled at so broadly by Martouf. Samantha was suddenly all business again, snapping shut the equipment case and quickly latching it. Martouf didn't have the heart to tell her that she'd managed to catch his fingers in the lid before he'd pulled his hand away.

"I think so, sir," She said, hefting the case with ease and moving to sling the strap over her shoulder.

"Great!" O'Neill clapped his hands together loudly. "Then we can head back and start to play with the new toys." He started to head towards the exit, even as Jacob turned back and said to us,

"Coming?"

Martouf stared for a moment. "Hmm?"

That was articulate.

Jacob rolled his eyes faintly. "You're coming with us to the Tau'ri."

"I am."

Shortest possible grammatically correct sentence in that language. Or at least so I'm told. I never quite got the intricacies of the Tau'ri language. They have some really bizzarre rules. Such as words which are spelt the same, pronounced the same, but have different contextual meanings.

Wait a minute.

We're supposed to be going to the Tau'ri?!

"Yes. You are. Now come on."

I looked at Jacob curiously from behind Martouf's eyes. Last time we went to the Tau'ri, Jacob threatened me with grievous bodily harm if I made any sort of move on his daughter, and now he's suggesting we come along?

Something's not quite right here.

Still, neither Martouf nor I were going to pass up a chance to get out of these stifling tunnels into... well, alright, into another set of stifling tunnels. I should probably be grateful I'm not claustrophobic.

As we stepped up beside Samantha, Martouf plucked the case from her grip and swung it over his own shoulder, ducking his head slightly at the smile she offered him in thanks for taking the heavy object.

Aww. And they say chivalry is dead. Or at least on its last tortured, hacking, breaths.

**

Every time the Tok'ra go to the Tau'ri, SG1 is always there. As far as I understand, they're pretty much a scouting party, and yet they're always around. We're starting to think that they don't have homes to go to, and invite themselves to our meetings for the coffee. And the free doughnuts.

Selmak had declared once that neither he nor Jacob would engage in reasonable diplomatic discourse until they had at their immediate disposal an entire box of doughnuts. I said how hormonal Selmak gets on occasion, and that was one of those times. Under the threat of tantrum, General Hammond bought the doughnuts. So now there's always a box there for our meetings, and an extra one to take back.

I'm especially partial to those ones they have with the pink icing and the multicoloured sugary sprinkles.

In a blending, whether the mind in question is that of the host or symbiote, whoever is not in control of the host body doesn't tend to receive the full impact of sensory experience. It's like standing several meters outside a theatre, trying to follow the plot. Takes practice. I like doughtnuts. I didn't want a second hand experience of their taste, dammit.

What would anyone else do? I engaged Martouf in a battle of wits, involving my guessing him a number he was thinking of, him accusing me of plucking the number straight out of his head, and entertaining barrage of increasingly personal insults from both sides, before he eventually just gave up and let me take over, with my promising he could have the next one. Honest. I reached for the doughnut of the variety I was most fond of.

Must keep drooling in check.

I was halfway through biting it when I noticed O'Neill looking at me strangely. He does that a lot. It's really very annoying.

"What?" I said, a little more harshly than I intended, around a mouthful of baked goods.

O'Neill was looking at the doughnut. "Pink?" was all he asked, mouth twitching.

I paused, doughnut halfway to my mouth. "What precisely is wrong with it being pink?"

O'Neill looked like he was desperately trying not to burst out laughing. "Oh nothing." Samantha was giving him a reproachful look, to which he responded with a utterly innocent expression.

Bastard.

And I'm not just talking about the doughnut thing.

I gave Martouf back his body and metaphorically went to sit in the corner of our mind and sulk.

I paid little attention as the group talked amongst itself, eventually talking amongst itself about vaguely important things as General Hammond walked in. I kinda like Hammond. Well, I like him more than O'Neill, which is saying something. But even respecting the Tau'ri commander won't get me to contribute to a tech discussion.

I shudder to think I've just realised a commonality between myself and the Colonel.

"And what does Lantash think?"

Martouf paused, mouth half open, as he tried to think of a way of stalling until I could figure out what the heck they were all talking about. That'll teach me to do the metaphorical equivalent of filing my nails around the Tau'ri.

"He thinks it's an excellant idea." Martouf finally said, while I scrabbled futilely through his short term memory.

Darn right I do. About whatever it is.

"Then it's settled," General Hammond said, getting to his feet, the rest of the room following suit. He looked to Jacob saying, "We'll return you to your base as soon as you wish."

"If you don't mind," Jacob said, breaking off a piece of doughnut in his hand. "I need to return immediately. I'm afraid there are things that need attending to."

Was it just me or did he just throw me and Martouf a sidelong glance there?

"Of course," Hammond said, gesturing for one of the guards to go down and talk to the people in the control room. As the woman disappeared, the group broke up. Samantha gracing us with a smile before she turned and walked off.

Martouf walked slowly beside Jacob as we returned to where the Chaapa'ai was housed. Dimly the sound of the dial-out sequence could be heard, the clanking of chevrons locking in. They seemed to be talking about Samantha's technical skills and how she'd be able to handle the crystal sensor cell. Fascinating, really, but I was still trying to find out what they had been talking about while I hadn't been paying attention.

You want to know why I was having such a hard time? Imagine a warehouse-sized building filled with little three by five index cards, each of which holds a particular bit of information. Now imagine that these index cards have been almost randomly scattered in little boxes throughout the warehouse. You know there's a system in here somewhere, and if you can just crack it you'll be able to find what you want. In the meantime, you just have to keep searching until you find what you're looking for.

That's how hard it is trying to find five minutes worth of conversation inside your average Human brain. Ugh. I really should pay more attention.

Jacob, meanwhile, was continuing blithely, "And I'm sure you'll have a great time here. Try the pie. I hear it's excellant."

"Wait," I brought Martouf to a screeching halt, taking over his voice before he could complain. I had just found the memory I needed. Samantha had mentioned she could use some help with the sensor cell, Jacob had suggested Martouf and I, and Martouf had told everyone I thought it was a jolly good idea.

"We're staying behind on the Tau'ri?!"

Jacob turned and offered a serene smile, "Yes. To assist in the installation of the Goa'uld sensor cell. Why? Weren't you paying attention at the briefing?"

"Of course I was," I said, quickly and defensively. Jacob just smirked. "I'm just curious as to why we have to stay behind. Why couldn't you send a tech?"

Jacob looked at me, and after a moment sighed. "Luc'in Dava is arriving in a few hours-"

"Oh." I said sourly. "That's why."

"-And the Council thought it was best if you were... out of the way." Jacob finished.

I sniffed and tried to act offended. "We weren't deliberately trying to kill her." Although the thought has crossed my mind a few times since then. "It was an accident."

"Tell that to Luc'in Dava," Jacob said. "It took her three months to get enough confidence back up to leave her rooms."

"Wuss," I said, sourly.

"It's only for a few hours," Jacob said, in exasperation. "You'll be back before teatime, no worries."

I blinked. "'Teatime'?"

"That's it." Jacob started up the ramp, moving towards the blue rippling energy of the wormhole. "Have fun."

I watched the Chaapa'ai close after Jacob and suppressed the urge to sigh. Once again I'm stuck on the Tau'ri.

Typical.

**

Part Four

**

My clothes were squeaking.

I was almost certain of it. And I was equally certain they hadn't been doing so before. Either I had a mouse hiding in my uniform, or there was something else going on. I shifted my shoulders, reaching up to my collar and overtunic to try and resettle it. And stopped as I realised my Tau'ri escort was looking at me funny. I belatedly realised that looking like my clothes were giving me a severe skin irritation was perhaps not the best way to inspire awe in the natives.

"Problem?" I asked, arching both eyebrows.

"Not at all, sir." The guard continued looking at us oddly, and I fought the urge to drop my hands to my sides, instead pointedly finishing straightening my collar and continuing to walk.

"How much further?" I asked, ignoring his expression as I smoothed down my sleeves.

"Just down this hallway, sir," The guard gestured and resumed leading the way. I didn't tell him I already knew the way. I didn't want him to feel unimportant after all.

He gestured to the third door along, indicating that we should preceed him into the lab. I gave him a curt nod and walked in, immediately finding Samantha sitting hunched over the sensor cell, which was held in some sort of delicate clamp, while a variant on a microscope, obviously trying to peek at the fine layers of the crystal, set up over the top of it. She looked up as we walked in and smile, twisting a bit further on her stool to address the Tau'ri behind us.

"Thanks, Airman," Samantha said, and the man nodded, turning sharply and exiting the lab, leaving us alone in a room that smelt faintly of oil and melted metal.

"Make yourself at home," she said, waving vaguely at the lab.

Samantha's lab was interesting to say the least. All sorts of panels on the walls were lit up with flashing multicoloured lights. The surfaces were littered with a variety of plans and half-built or half-disassembled machines. Some I recognised as Goa'uld, and some looked like nothing I'd seen before. Idly I wondered if the Tok'ra would come across civilisations or planets that would offer up this sort of technological yields if we had more time to devote to exploration bar a few expeditions to retrieve intelligence, rather than focussing all our efforts on Goa'uld technology.

Then I found something more interesting that my musings. A sort of metal lightweight container that rattled when picked up. I turned to Samantha. "What's this?"

She glanced up, and a faint smile creased her face. "WD-40." She said, and she must have read the puzzlement I felt, as she blinked and added, "Er... machine lubricant."

"Oh," I said, taking a closer look at the language I couldn't read. I wonder if it could help silence squeaking leather uniforms. I wonder who decided that the Tok'ra uniforms should be leather. I mean, it's not like it's an all-weather garment; one rainstorm and that's it, the outfits are done for.

I'm secretly convinced, in my heart of hearts, that Egeria was a leather fetishist.

I dropped the can, thinking that perhaps Samantha might think I was more than a little strange if I started spraying my clothes with lubricant.

"So," Samantha said, looking up from fixing the cell into place.

I wondered if she had caught me giving the can a thoughtful look and raised an eyebrow at her, walking around to stand next to her. "So?"

She smiled, shaking her head. "So, how about you give me a brief overview of what this thing does?"

"Briefly?" I leaned back against the edge of the lab bench she was working at, pulling the information up from memory. "When powered in the appropriate fashion, the cell emits high frequency ik'ro waves, capable of penetrating through solid matter, energy fields, and nearly everything else besides, to varying degrees. The absorption of the waves is analysed, allowing a picture of nearly anything to be detected at a distance of point three two lightyears. But only in a fixed arc. Which is why one needs several of these linked up in series to form a proper sensor grid."

Well done, me; I just plagiarised an entire speech from the head of the Tok'ra Technical Division.

I could almost see the cogs turning inside her head. "Really," she said,

"But you have to make sure you run the power through the buffer circuitry," I said, pointing at the exposed metal around the edge of the crystal. "Otherwise you'll burn out every tiny nanopath."

Samantha was looking at us curiously for a moment. "I didn't know you were so well versed, technically, Lantash."

I cleared my throat, offering what I like to think was a winning smile. She gave me the exact same look Jolinar used to when I tried that. The smile fell, and I just gave my mouth a wry twist. "It's one of my many hidden talents."

"Or have you been memorising..." Samantha broke off, eyes narrowing as she tried to dredge up the information. "... Naneth's? speeches again?"

I was rather pleased that she was making use of Jolinar's memory's in this fashion. Remembering the names of people Jolinar had known, willing to talk about then. But this time, when I smiled, it was somewhat sad. "Naneth died a few weeks ago. She was placing a buoy on a scouting mission and was found by a party of Jaffa."

Samantha looked rather embarrassed at having mentioned it. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault, and you couldn't have known." I perhaps said that a little harsher than intended, as she looked away and back to her microscope, fiddling with the wires that extended from the large power pack she had set up on her bench to the sensor cell.

I rocked forward, peering over her shoulder at what she was doing. "Before you link it up, don't forget to test the potentials between the nanomesh layers. That's where you get the most faults."

Samantha chuckled. "Tell me something I don't know."

My mouth twisted wryly as I leaned back from the workbench and spoke in a low tone. "Martouf was the one who fell in love with Jolinar, not me."

Samantha's head jerked around. "What?"

Oh hell. That wasn't supposed to come out.

"Oh nothing," I said quickly.

Samantha seemed to doubt whether she'd heard correctly as she just gave me a suspicious glance before turning away again. At the back of my mind, Martouf bitchslapped me. I deserved that.

"So, what are you doing?" I asked, rather eager to divert attention from my slip of the tongue.

"I'm just going to make some observations of the device in various modes. Offline, online, power saving mode, and stuff like that. If it all works out, we'll be shipping it off to Area 51 for further testing." She said, leaning back and nodding, almost to herself. "Ok, I think that's all set up properly." She put down the small tool and reached for the power pack, pausing briefly to turn to me and say with a grin, "You want to turn it on?"

I backed off fairly sharply. "Oh no, you go ahead." Last time I did anything in one of the labs, there was what we shall simply term a minor explosion. Martouf is far more technically inclined than I am, I'm afraid.

Samantha's amused expression spoke volumes about how much of that incident she remembered, and how much Rosha had teased me afterwards, and flipped the switch on the side of the power pack. There was a faintly musical humming, and the crystal sensor cell lit up with a diffuse amber glow.

No explosion. That's always good.

Samantha made a sound of excitement that can only be produced by a scientist, and bent down to peer into the microscope, one hand holding a pencil and scrawling awkward notes on a pad of paper by her side. I stood there for a moment or two, only the soft scratching sound of the pencil breaking the silence.

"Need any help with anything?" I eventually asked, somewhat awkwardly.

Samantha didn't look up from whatever so entranced her in the microscope's viewing lense. "No, that's fine..." she answered, somewhat distantly.

I nodded slowly, and, after standing there a few moments longer realised she wasn't going to say anything else, decided to go find the guard assigned to me and see if I could persuade him to help me raid the kitchen for anything baked and pastry-like.

**

I have an addictive personality, I'm fairly certain of this. I can also be fairly sadistic when push comes to shove. And it is in the kitchen where these two sides of me meet.

I poked at the little pink marshmallows that floated in the top of my coffee, two Tau'ri foodstuffs which I have come to consume in vast quantities whenever I am present on this crowded little planet. They bobbed in all their artificially puffy goodness and I laughed. "Drown, my pretties," I murmured, and allowed myself another cackle.

Martouf was listing, in a loud singsong voice in the back of our head, those aspects of me he thought qualified me as a criminal psychopath. The taking of delight in the torture of insentient gooey confection being number six on the list.

I ignored him, and tried to pinch the life out of one of the larger pieces of marshmallow. This almost makes up for not being able to find any more doughnuts down here.

I suppose, in a way, it was rather nice to get a break from the hustle and bustle (ha!) of the Tok'ra base. Whenever we go to the Tau'ri, it's like a mini-holiday. We get to do whatever job the Tau'ri needed us for for ten or so minutes, and have to stay around until whatever they needed us for in the first place is resolved, and they usually do so without our help. Which does leave me with a lot of free time. By now, I like to think I can find my way around the base, and I'm even on first name terms with that lovely lady in their mess hall who serves the food. Last time I was here, she even saved me extra chicken nuggets because Martouf complimented her on her hair net.

I was halfway through my sip when a loud blaring startled me, and I nearly choked on the liquid. Only the fact that I didn't really fancy healing the first degree burns that would result if I started spitting hot coffee over the place managed to stop me from doing so. I put the cup down, glancing around in confusion.

A neutral feminine voice kept repeating, "Base lockdown," along with a series of orders to various personnel, lights were strobing and I wondered if these noises and lights ever tended to cause migraines among the soldiers on the base.

"Sir," The guard poked his head around the door to the kitchen. There was a second guard there, apparently having delivered some news to my escort. "I need to take you back to your quarters."

"What's going on?" Martouf asked, taking over as the other guard ran off, looking worried and not a little bit trigger-happy.

"There was some sort of anomalous power surge in the lab," The guard reported. Idly, I tried to differentiate him from the guard that had been there before. For the life of me, I couldn't think what the differences were, even though I knew he had to be a different man. These Tau'ri all look alike. "The lockdown is just a precautionary measure."

"Of course," Martouf said politely, sighing softly. He plucked one of the marshmallows out of the coffee and popped it into his mouth, but none of my exortions would get him to take the whole cup with him.

**

I'd been escorted back to my quarters twenty minutes earlier, and both Martouf and I had exhausted any possible avenues of entertainment. We had started to count the number of holes on the ventilation grates, but that particular activity came to an abrupt halt when Martouf cheated and did the old 'counting the holes across the top and down the side and multiply them together' trick. The guy can be such a spoilsport sometimes.

So we wound up sitting in one of the chairs provided by the Tau'ri, staring at the wall.

It was a very nice wall. Could have used a fresh coat of paint.

There was a knock at the door, and before we could call for whoever it was to enter, the door swung open and Samantha appeared, faintly silhouetted in the light from the corridor. I firmly squelched the urge to make a comment about how we could have been naked in here, and how people really should wait to be granted entrance before walking in.

Probably because I wouldn't have been able to stop myself from adding how I wouldn't have minded her walking in on us like that too much.

"Samantha," Martouf said, faintly surprised. "I would have thought you would have been working on interfacing the sensor cell."

She shook her head, smiling and wrinkling her nose as she did so in a way I can only describe as 'cute'. "There was a power surge. Went right through the cell, which, incidentally, is fine, but it did fry most of my equipment. Needs to be replaced before we can go back to working on it."

Martouf nodded slowly. "Ah," he said, "I suppose our services are no longer required?"

"Well, the surge also locked the iris closed. It's a safety precaution. So until the technicians finish checking everything over and resetting the system, no one's going anywhere for the time being." She pauses, glancing around the room before asking, "Pretty boring in here, huh?"

I smiled ruefully, taking over. "Unfortunately, I must agree." Although when Martouf asked the guard for some sort of entertainment, he disappeared for a few minutes and came back with an armful of boxes, all containing shiny discs of some sort. He said to watch them and enjoy, the whole time snickering. Either he meant to stare at the discs until they started dancing or we're going to have to ask him what we're supposed to do with them.

"Want to go for a walk? We have the best view of concrete tunnels this side of NORAD."

I could have asked what she meant by that, what NORAD was and so forth, but I had a feeling cold fusion would take less time to explain. So I just nodded, smiled and got to my feet, saying, "I would be honoured, Samantha."

If either Martouf or I were expecting something spectacular as we were walking the corridors, we would have been sorely disappointed. Really, the reason I happened to be enjoying myself was that I was rather liked having Samantha keeping us company. She had even dismissed the guard. A few Tau'ri I recognised nodded to us as we passed, and enjoyed the quiet, meaningless conversation that passed between us.

All that was a shame was that she was still retaining her Tau'ri discomfort with the changeover between host and symbiote. In truth, we don't need it. But the Tau'ri get so unnerved when two speak as one, so one tends to speak for the both of us. Usually, Martouf talks to her. But I wanted a chance to speak for a change. Words hadn't passed between us for a long time, since we had been returning from Naetu, in fact.

I wasn't really paying attention to the topic of conversation. She seemed a little distant as we spoke, and I put it down to a scientist worrying about her experiment, or the lack of progress with it. The conversation was something to do with her father, but I noticed when she abruptly broke off, and at my side, I could hear a grunt of pain. I caught sight of a flash of blue as Samantha moved her arm, reaching up to her head with a hand. I stopped and turned to face her, and I know that I was frowning, worried.

"Are you well, Samantha?" She was clutching the side of her head, pausing in the hallway. I couldn't help but reaching up, resting my hand underneath her elbow in order to catch her should she fall. She swayed, leaning into my grip.

Samantha swooning into my arms. Didn't imagine it being accompanied by skull-splitting pain, I must admit, but I'll take what I can get.

"Yeah," she said, after a moment, blinking rapidly and shaking her head. I recognised the signs of someone trying to shake off visual distortion. I've had Martouf do it enough times, after all. He does it far too often. I'm beginning to think he's not listening when I tell him that shaking your head like a wet dog when you have someone wrapped around your neck and plugged into your skull isn't very pleasant for the one wrapped around said neck.

"Um..." she seemed to be trying to recall what she was saying. She made a vague gesture to her left. "Did you want to see the geology lab? SG8 brought back some crystal samples, and I was wondering if you could give your opinion on them."

I narrowed my eyes at her. As much as I would love to spend time with her in an empty lab, don't make the mistake of thinking that my interest in her is completely purile and adolescent.

I...

I care for her.

Maybe even more than that.

Hmm ...

I wonder ...

"You should go to the infirmary, perhaps." I said, my hand still gripping her arm gently. "Pain like that isn't normal."

She smiled at me, and I can't help but admit that I melted. "It's probably just a tension headache," she said breezily. "Staring at the computer too much."

"Tau'ri technology is rather distressingly primitive," I said, faintly condescendingly, trying to dispell my concern for her breezily.

She laughed, giving me a faint thwap on the shoulder and preceeding me into the lab. I took a deep breath and followed.

**

It's a bad thing that I care for her so much, I'm sure.

The last person that I cared for was Jolinar.

Jolinar died.

Shit like that happens to me.

**

The lab was cold, dark, and smelled faintly of dirt. Oddly enough, it smelled like Freya's lab.

I caught Samantha lowering her hand. Apparently she'd had it raised to her temple before I'd entered the room. I said nothing, and looked around the lab. All stainless steel and cold artificial stone (this concrete that Samantha refers to, I presume), with a few pieces of equipment dotted around the place.

"The crystals are in that cabinet." Samantha gestured to the other side of the room.

I stepped towards the indicated area, having to step around what looked like an inflatable pool filled with mud. Presumably it was some sort of soil sample, or some sort of experiment, but unfortunately whatever bizarre Tau'ri mind came up with it was a little beyond the realm of what I would consider sanity, and I could not work out what that experiment might be.

"Interesting," I said, pulling out a tray full of clearly labelled (unfortunately, labelled in a language I couldn't read) crystals and pulling out a few of them to turn over in my hand. "They look like early precursors to the crystals the Tok'ra use in tunnelling."

"Really?" If I'd been paying more attention, I might have noticed how little thought she put into the response. But the word was what I would expect Samantha to say, so I didn't realise at first.

"Yes. I will have to show these to Jacob or one of the tunnellers at some point."

"Where did my father go to, anyway?" She was coming closer by the sound of her voice.

"Back to the homeworld," I told her, glancing at a couple more crystals. Odd. If you look at it at the right angle, the orange crystal looked exactly like Chancellor Per'sus. "There was 'urgent business'."

"Sounds like he takes his work very seriously."

I made a slight noise that would have been a snort if I hadn't been me as I moved to replace the crystals in their trays. I refuse to believe I can make such a sound as a snort. Besides, it doesn't sound right with the whole voice distortion thing. "Unlikely." I said, mockingly scornful. In retrospect, I wonder if she knew I was teasing. I'm not good at the joking thing. "He's probably gone to race back to Garshaw. She and Selmak have had this thing going for three hundred or so years, and the things I could tell you. For example, about fifty years ago-"

Also in retrospect, referring to her parent's sex life was probably a bad idea. Humans get awfully touchy about that sort of thing.

You'd think with all the experience I'd had with Jolinar, I'd have developed some sort of seventh sense about when someone is approaching me with deadly intent while holding a tool usually used to dig up soil. I should really have seen it coming. I didn't, unfortunately, and I turned around just in time to see Samantha hit me over the head with a shovel, a determined, and rather frightening, glint in her eye. She's far stronger than she looks, by the way. The impact on the side of my head turned me partially around and caused me to nose-dive towards the inflated pool.

The last thing I thought before I went face-first into the mud was, 'Oh dear, I'm going to squish that little worm with my nose.'

Then, rather mercifully, I became unconscious.

**

The world was grey tinged, and I could swear it smelled of turpentine.

"Is he okay?" It was Jack O'Neill's voice, and the sound of it caused Martouf to groan. Whoever was standing over us probably thought we were in pain. Yeah. Mental pain. Jack O'Neill caught us unconscious in mud. How embarrassing.

"We'll see in a minute, Colonel," It was a female voice, authoritarian in its manner. Even if I hadn't known it belong to Doctor Frasier, I would have recognised the 'I'm a healer, back off or I'll perform many varied and painful tests on you' tone anywhere. It's one of those universal constants.

Then a smell suddenly shot right through our brain and Martouf's head reflexively jerked away, eyes beginning to water. What torture could the Tau'ri have devised to cause such a reaction?

I finally managed to kickstart Martouf's brain, and he blinked rapidly, the world acquiring edges and delineation. Martouf blinked through the tears to see Doctor Frasier pocketing a vial of small crystals, while muttering something about, "Good old fashioned smelling salts."

Note to self: kill Frasier.

"What... happened?" Martouf's voice was gravelly. And I mean that literally. He'd apparently swallowed some dirt. That's just too disgusting for words. I don't even want to know where the worm went.

"Sam's been taken over by something again, we've got her under restraint now."

"Again?" I think Martouf's ear's still ringing. "This happens a lot around here, does it?"

"You'd be surprised," O'Neill said, in a sage manner.

Martouf started to sit up, the world swayed precariously and suddenly we were lying back down on the sterile white sheets that cover the beds in the Tau'ri infirmary. For such a petite woman, that Frasier is freakishly strong. "You," she said sternly. "Are not going anywhere until I know for a fact that you don't have any lasting damage."

"I assure you, Doctor, Lantash is perfectly capable of healing any damage."

Damn straight.

When I feel like it. It's kinda funny to watch through Martouf's eyes when he gets concussion, the room goes all wavy and he looses all balance. Bit like it does when he's drunk. But I'll be honest: the room hasn't spun this badly since Malek challenged me to match him drink for drink and we both woke up the next day in Garshaw's chamber.

Oddly enough he requested reassigment to another cell around that time.

"Uh-huh," Frasier was saying, in a voice that proclaimed to all and sundry that she'd heard it before and wasn't buying it.

"Besides," Martouf said, blinking rapidly in an attempt to focus. Ok, now the waving's making me nauseous, and I don't even have a stomach. "I already have a penguin."

That was nicely done. If we ever have to stand and give our own defense in a mental competancy hearing, I'm doing the talking.

"Uh-huh," Frasier repeated. Strangely, she looked as if she'd heard far worse.

**

Part Five

**

There are certain Universal constants, I've found. Lunch will always be last night's dinner warmed over with a little extra sauce, people like Colonel O'Neill with no immediately apparent diplomatic skills will be put into positions where those very skills are required, and one doe-eyed look from Martouf will send most women scrambling to help him. I don't know how he does it, really I don't. And if anyone should know, I should.

There was a swelling on the side of Martouf's head, and when he asked for something to help, the nurse disappeared for a moment, and when she came back, she was holding a small plastic bag filled with crushed ice. She held in her other hand a checkered tea-towel and wrapped it around the ice before handing it to us with a disturbingly frank and, dare I say it, scandalous look that would have left us both feeling rather violated if I hadn't been secure in the knowledge that a quick suckerpunch to the face and a sprint for the Gateroom could save us.

Of course, O'Neill would then shoot us for having attacked a nurse. But I think he contemplates 'friendly fire' every time we meet anyway.

"Sir?"

It was a green-clad guard, looking at us in vague concern at the expression of discomfort on Martouf's face. "General Hammond asked me to escort you to the briefing room."

I don't know why Hammond thought we needed it. We've been here so often now that I know how to find the mug I always use in the kitchen. The one that says 'kiss the alien' on the side in rather hackneyed Goa'uld. I think it's Teal'c's.

Still, Martouf just nodded to the guard, slipping off the bed and following the guard out of the door.

SG1 was assembled when we arrived. There was no sign of any doughnuts.

"How's the head?" O'Neill said as Martouf took the seat indicated to him, looking pointedly at the icepack in his hand.

"I will recover, thank you," Martouf said, courteously. "I am more concerned regarding Samantha's state of health."

"Major Carter's under sedation," That was the voice of their Doctor, speaking as she walked into the conference room.

"So, what's going on with her, Doctor?" Hammond demanded, turning his chair to keep the Doctor in sight.

Frasier sighed heavily, plucking a remote control from the table surface and using it to turn on the screen. A mere 2D representation. I fought the temptation to roll my eyes. These Tau'ri are so behind the times.

"Major Carter's blood is teeming with these microscopic crystalline parasites," Frasier said as she turned back, and the screen behind her showed small multifaceted insects, next to a blood cell for a comparison in size. It was dwarfed by the aforementioned cell. "They seem to be affecting her hormone balance. Creating intense aggression, for example, when she was in the geology lab with Martouf." Here she look in our direction, so did everyone else.

I could feel Martouf's ear going numb from cold.

When they received no reaction from neither myself nor my host, they looked back towards Frasier. "It also seems to affect her neural pathways in some way we can't determine. We're working on a way to try and figure out how the little monsters work, but it's slow going."

"We believe the parasites came from the internal workings of the sensor cell provided by the Tok'ra," Teal'c said, giving me a sharp look.

"We were unaware of any problems with the cell. It passed our sensor inspections." Martouf said, "We would never cause Samantha harm knowingly."

"Of course you wouldn't," O'Neill said in that annoying 'tell me another one' tone of voice he has. "You know, this is what happens when you buy wholesale."

Bastard.

"The trader on Suha Devi has always been reliable in the past." I said, as Martouf allowed me use of his voice and body. "Of course," I added, "We'll have to kill him now."

The look that O'Neill gave us was satisfyingly unnerved, as if he didn't know whether we were joking or not. Neither do I. Depends on how pissed off Jacob gets when he finds out what happened to his daughter. Or he may skip that part and just kill Martouf and I for not protecting her.

I continued, "It is entirely possible that the power source you used, different from that of the Tok'ra and Goa'uld, caused these creatures to come out of dormancy. You cannot, however, hold us to wrong for the primitive resources you have at your disposal."

Attack on their technological inferiority. Score one for the snake.

"We can, however, hold you to wrong for not conducting a thorough scan," Teal'c said, in his usual deep tones.

Attack on the Tok'ra in general, with justification. Score two for the Jaffa.

Bastard!

I inclined my head slightly in concession, and said nothing further.

Realising perhaps that I had temporarily withdrawn from the discussion, the others turned back to face Frasier.

"Can you tell what they're trying to do?" Hammond said, "There seemed to be some sort of purpose behind her... attack."

Teal'c inclined his head slightly, "The guard who restrained Major Carter did say she seemed to be most agitated at being interrupted."

"Unfortunately, knowing what a thing is made of doesn't always give you an insight into its motivations," Frasier said this with the faint air of one who feels put-upon to explain something utterly obvious to technical idiots. I tried not to smirk at the tone. It's one that I hear used by quite a few people around here: the medics, the engineers, the scientists, the Tok'ra...

"Right now, I don't care what they're trying to do. Just that they don't do it." Hammond said, "Doctor Frasier, get to work with the science teams on a way to get rid of those parasites."

Got to love command. Hand out 'stating the bleeding obvious' orders and leave everyone else to work out the details. I'm beginning to think being in command isn't such a hard job. And because everyone is subject to the chain of command, they merely respond with:

"Yes, sir." Said Frasier.

"Anything you need us to do?" I asked solicitiously, shifting my grip on the ice pack.

Hammond shook his head. "Thank you, but no. This is something we can deal with ourselves."

I shrugged, having received the answer I expected. Just another typical day.

**

One might think that our being sidelined into roles where we essentially do nothing would be somewhat unusual, that my host and I lead full and productive lives in service of the Tok'ra.

In a word: no.

Anyone who's ever really interacted with us will note that we're always doing something different. One day we might be an aide to the council, the next we might be a diplomat, a scout, a healer, running interference for the Council so they don't have to deal with Anise, so on and so forth. Martouf and I wondered for a long time why this might be, and eventually, after much thinking about the situation, we broached it with Garshaw. Who better, after all, than the leader of our cell?

Suffice it to say, the response was less than enthralling.

"So," Martouf said, "You're telling me we do the jobs everyone else is too important to do?"

Garshaw shifted uncomfortably where we'd cornered her. We'd blocked her into a little niche in one of the corridors. The only way she was getting away from us was if she decided to impale herself on the spiky crystals. "Well... in a way..."

We went through all the stages before we came to terms with this rather upsetting piece of information. There was shock:

"What? Are you serious?"

Denial:

"No! We're useful members of the movement, we can contribute. You let us contribute, you're lying, aren't you?"

Fear:

"You're lying! Right? RIGHT??"

Anger:

"Why you little-!"

Bargaining:

"There's got to be some way we're useful around here. What if we let you in on where the cooks keep the rainbow berries, huh? Huh??"

And then, finally, acceptance:

"Oh well. If we're not doing the important jobs, that means no one can blame us when we mess it up."

All of this occurred within about twenty seconds. I have never see a High Councillor of the Tok'ra run away so quickly when we finally let her go. I think we scared her.

**

It was nearly a full half-day later when the lockdown was lifted. I'd spent the time between the staff meeting and then catching up on past episodes of some program called 'Wormhole X-Treme' (the entire series so far being available from the base library and that being in fact what the guard had brought us earlier - dee-vee-dee's he called them), wondering when Major Stacey Monroe was going to get over her latent feelings for the self-obsessed Colonel Danning and start going out with that rather ruggedly handsome alien rebel her team had met last series, and in the meantime munched on these extremely sugary colourful little bits of confectionary smaller than the size of a fingernail with the letter 's' printed on each of them.

At the pounding on the door, I scrambled to turn off the screen and hurriedly throw the remaining candies under the covers of the bed I had been lying on, grabbing a book that had been lying on the table and sitting down and attempting to look as if I had been doing something studious. "Come in!"

The door swung open to reveal a rather tired looking Samantha, dressed in fatigues so unwrinkled that they must have been newly donned.

"Samantha," I said, and almost wanted to hit my head how faintly adoring I sounded. Could I possibly be a little more obvious?

"Hey," she said, entering. She opened her mouth, as if trying to think of something to say. Finally, she said, "What're you reading?"

"I..." Uh-oh. I forgot. I can't read Tau'ri. "A book."

"You realise you're reading it upside down?"

Damn.

"And why've you got a squashed skittle stuck to the front of your uniform?"

Double damn.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, skillfully avoiding the issue.

"They found a way to tempt the parasites out of my bloodstream," Samantha said, dropping herself into the chair opposite. "They infected me when we activated the sensor cell. They stayed because of the naqada in my blood. Must have been why I attacked you, they wanted to infect you as well."

"Then we are fortunate that no such thing happened."

I heard Martouf thinking along the lines of 'little crawly buggy parasites - ew!'. I'm guessing he wouldn't have liked to be infected.

"Colonel O'Neill tells me you're heading back to the Tok'ra now the lockdown's lifted."

I frowned. Damned O'Neill, trying to get me off planet as soon as possible. "It's been lifted?" I enquired politely.

"Well, it will be in about ten minutes. They just need to run a last sweep of the base to make sure there aren't any parasites hiding anywhere."

"I see."

Sam smiled faintly. "Ironically, you know those crystals I asked you to look at? Those were the crystals we eventually used to tempt the parasites out."

I quirked an eyebrow. "Fascinating." If I didn't know better, I could have sworn that my looking at them was some sort of foreshadowing.

But we all know life doesn't work like that.

Martouf plucked the skittle off the front of our uniform non-chalently and said, "I'm presuming you've been given time off work now."

"Yeah. But not very long. In any other line of work, possession by an alien lifeform would probably granted you as much leave as you wanted. Here, it's back to work on monday."

Martouf chuckled appropriately and reached up with his free hand to unconsciously to rub at the slight lump that was still present. I was still working to reduce the swelling, but then the body does know what it's doing to a certain degree, so I simply try to help the Human body along in the healing process, rather than subsuming it completely. After all, if I did that, and then had to leave Martouf for any reason, I leave him with an immune system suddenly trying to reassert itself. And that wouldn't be too wonderful for him.

Samantha watched him, wincing slightly, "Sorry about that," she said, indicating his head.

Martouf smiled, "I know it wasn't your fault. You need not apologise for actions over which you had no control."

"I guess this wasn't exactly a wonderful trip for you," she said.

Martouf shrugged faintly. "It had its moments."

Like Samantha bludgeoning us over the head with a gardening implement. A memory I shall treasure for all time, until I have to relate it to a psychiatrist.

"Although I must admit," Martouf continued, trying to lighten the tone a little. "After being relegated to these quarters," ('Again,' he said to me.) "I believe I am becoming very familiar with their layout."

Samantha chuckled. "It's not like you've seen much of Earth outside these tunnels. Sorry I can't show you the surface, I would've liked to. It's really quite lovely this time of year."

"I'd have liked to do that with you, Samantha."

Actually, I'd have liked to bend her over backwards and whisper, 'Let me ravish you here on the table, my cute little Tau'ri'. Martouf has no imagination.

"Maybe next time?"

"Maybe."

Samantha appeared to be thinking about something hard, and eventually she looked up from the surface of the table, meeting our eyes unswervingly.

"Lantash, can I ask you something?"

I took over from Martouf and absently-mindedly popped the skittle he'd been toying with into my mouth, crunching it between teeth that were beginning to feel distinctly furry. "Certainly."

Samantha hesitated, then continued with, "What did you mean before? When you said that Martouf fell in love with Jolinar first?"

I nearly choked on the skittle. That would have been the height of ignominy: to fight the Goa'uld, to survive capture, torture and bad hair days, only to be felled by a small alien sweet. I eventually managed to swallow and cleared my throat rather awkwardly, "You heard that, then."

Samantha indicated that she had.

I tried to think of a way to get out of this conversation in a suitably rapid manner. "I did love Jolinar," I eventually settled on.

"But you weren't the one who fell in love with her."

I fought the urge to clench my jaw. "No." She was still watching carefully, and Martouf wasn't stopping me from speaking, so I finished the explanation in as broad terms as possible. "Martouf fell in love with Jolinar. And may I add, he's hopeless at making a first move; I had to do all the work."

Samantha was quiet. "So you and Rosha...?"

"We also felt love," I told her, and she turned those lovely blue eyes on me, curiousity visible.

There was sadness there too. "Have you ever fallen in love?" she finally asked.

Not a question I want to answer. Ever. That way lies sleepless nights and broken hearts.

Damned if it didn't hurt not to tell her, though.

**

In all the time I have lived, I have shared my life with many hosts, and have borne witness every time to a lifetime of memories and experiences. In my mind, encoded into my very DNA, I remember what each Host decided to share with me, to let me experience. I have seen hundreds of thousands of Human cultures, their works of art and grandeur, but it is something from Martouf's homeworld that I think of now.

There was a girl on their world. They called her the 'Little Goddess'. Not because she was a Goa'uld. Not because she was a great object of worship, and not even because of her stature. They called her that because within her words was contained such wisdom and unspoken knowledge that it seemed as if she must be a small part of something larger, divine. She had lived thousands of years earlier and had been instrumental in the overthrowing of the System Lords on that world.

Her books and writings were passed on throughout their time, and Martouf still has a few in his quarters. But I remember one phrase more than others. I remember the Lord of Martouf's home city reciting it to the class he was teaching, though Martouf to this day does not understand its significance, having banished it to that part of his mind relegated for those boring childhood classes.

But I think I understand.

The Little Goddess wrote: "Who admits to love? Is it not the greatest of Human weaknesses? When we are in love, our lover knows our strengths, our weaknesses. We meet our lover and the blood pounds in our ears and hearts, our skin betrays us with sweat and flushed colouration. We may be brought to our knees by this feeling. We cannot fight it, and even the hardest of hearts may succumb. Perhaps this is why we hide it. The Goa'uld, I think, understand this paradox better than we do. After all, we have two words: love and hate. They need but one. When we hate, and we meet the object of our hatred, we conceal it behind false smiles and friendly platitudes. And the lover who knows their love unrequited puts on the mask of friendship, and plays a role better than the greatest of the dramatists."

I find it a great sorrow that the Little Goddess died at the scant age of nineteen, in the arms of the OverLord of Martouf's Homeworld, a man who later confessed to having loved her, though never telling her that she possessed him, heart, mind and soul.

**

When the transporter rings dropped me into the tunnels below the surface of the Tok'ra Homeworld, I was surprised to hear a virtual cacophony resonating through the tunnels. It sounded like a combination of someone singing a very bawdy, and loud, drinking song translated into strained ren-Et, along with what sounded like most of the security division shouting variations on:

"One more word and I'm so shooting you. I mean it this time."

Curious, I poked my head around the archway to find a crowd having gathered in the crossway. There was much giggling and snickering going on amongst the crowd, and I struggled to see what was going on. I was just in time to see several burly security personnel manhandle someone around the corner and into an abandoned cell.

"Who was that?" I asked plaintatively.

"Jacob." Someone answered. The crowd was so thick I couldn't tell who.

"Jacob?" I glanced about in confusion. "What did he do?"

"What didn't he do?" Someone else said, provoking widespread giggling as the crowd started to break up, their entertainment having been confined to the cell where he was starting to lay in on some of the classics that Martouf regularly butchered. I winced.

Frustrated at the lack of clear answers, I grabbed the nearest person. Which happened to be Bey, the young woman who'd made that rather unsavoury remark about my sex life earlier in the day. Never mind that it had been dead on accurate; my dignity had been insulted.

Well... if I'd had much in the way of dignity to start with it would have been.

"Bey, darling," I said, twisting her around and gripping her in what anywhere else would have been called a flawlessly executed dance move, finished with a dramatic dip. It had the added advantage of holding Bey completely off-balance and at my mercy.

Uh-oh. Evil laugh coming on.

"I know you care about me deeply-" Bey snorted, but silenced herself quickly when I loosened my grip slightly and she nearly fell. "And while I feel the same way about you, I fear I must presume upon our close relationship when I ask you for information."

I leaned closer, and she squeaked.

"And if you don't tell me what's been happening, I'm going to make sure the Council finds that secret stash of 'herbal tea' you keep for special occasions."

So Bey told me what had gone on in my absence.

Inspiration hit. Although why it had to hit so hard was beyond me. A gentle tap on the shoulder would have been fine.

I started laughing. Actually, it was more of a demented giggle, which doubtless contributed to the expression of vague fear that crossed my colleague's face.

I asked Bey, "We have security sensors throughout the compound, right?"

Bey gave me a look that clearly showed she thought I'd been into the pharmacy supplies again. "You know we do."

"You know how to pull the video, right?"

"You know how to do that."

"Yes, but it's really better if I don't use my own system ID. Come with me."

Time to finally get me some new neighbours.

**

The QM was pale. I didn't think it was possible to turn that shade of white without being clinically dead, but Vimto-

'Xinto.'

/Thank/ you, Martouf. Anyhow, 'Xinto' had managed it.

"When did this happen?" she asked, having to clear her throat midway through her sentence as she started out with a distinct squeak.

"About an hour ago." I said, then added solicitously, "You've probably been on duty the whole time, which is why you've not heard yet. Although I'm surprised, considering how fast rumours spread around here."

The QM closed her eyes, resignation starting to creep in.

I leaned in. "Remind me what you said this morning?"

Perfect recall is just one of the attributes of a symbiote, and it looked like the QM was beginning to rue that fact.

"I said," she said, sighing heavily, "That 'the day I accede to anything you ask for is the day Jacob dresses in drag and kisses Korra'."

"Now let's review," I said, speaking to her as if I were speaking to a moderately retarded child. It made her go a lovely shade of red in annoyance. Well, it's better than the white. "What was Jacob attired in?"

The QM sighed again. "It appeared to be one of Garshaw's old dresses. Specifically, a two piece affair from when Yosef was a lot younger. And he doesn't suit electric blue, by the way."

"And exactly who did he kiss?"

"M'zan."

"And...?"

"Garshaw."

"And...?"

"Freya."

"And...?"

"Aldwin?"

"Aldwin? I didn't see that one."

"Bottom right corner of frame, time index six two three."

I rechecked the video file and smirked. "What do you know?"

The QM looked faintly ill at having to watch that again. Granted, it looked like Jacob was trying to do a lot more than just kiss Aldwin, which probably explained the man's traumatised expression last I saw him.

"Ok. And who else?"

The QM was beginning to sound like a blustery gale. "Korra," she mumbled.

"Absolutely. So do I get my new quarters now?"

The QM's mouth twitched. "What happened to him anyway?"

"He went to Amanna," I said, idly. "He'll be fine in a few hours, but he did make the mistake of talking to a delusional tree while he was there."

The QM gaped. "How..." she hesitated. "How do you even do that?"

I told her.

The QM was quiet for a long moment. "I'll sort out those new quarters," she said, in a very quiet voice, barely audible and sounding like she was fearing leaving her storeroom ever again.

I leaned further across the desk, deliberately invading her space and dropping the tone in my voice. The vocal distortion made it purr nicely. "And," I said, "What about that dinner?"

The QM whimpered.

'I think you broke her mind,' Martouf commented, sounding somewhat amused.

My work here is done.

**

Four hours later, after having resettled Martouf and my's admittedly scant belongings into our new quarters, I was reclining in the newly repaired baths. They had been thoroughly cleansed with some of the most powerful antibacterial agents known to human- (and Tok'ra-) kind and I thought I smelt the hint of lilac on the air. The tension drained away from the muscles of my host, and I heard him sigh contentedly.

Sometimes our average days come off just fine.

-The End