Paying the Piper

Author’s Notes: Many thanks go to Ann for preliminary feedback, and to Kim for the beta. This one’s Lantash’s POV throughout, and < > indicates internal conversations between Martouf and Lantash.

* * * *

Stepping out of the event horizon onto the gate ramp, I am avid with hope as I scan the faces of those in the gate room to see if Samantha has come to greet me. Instead, Doctor Janet Fraiser beckons me forward, smiling.

“Martouf, I’m glad you’ve finally arrived,” she says brightly, and as always, I find myself smiling in return, her vivacious manner infectious. Discretely, Martouf takes control, after gaining my reassurance that I don’t mind.

<The Tau’ri are more comfortable with you, Martouf. Besides, when I’ve spoken with them in the past, I haven’t always been able to control my temper, and they remember that!>

We share a quick internal moment of laughter, and Martouf accepts the transfer without argument. <Very well. But later, when we’re alone with her, you may be dominant, should you so wish.>

“Doctor Fraiser,” he greets her in turn. “My companion is Cayatan, the scientist whose assistance was requested.”

“Welcome to Earth,” she tells our companion politely, then gestures to a man standing close by. “This is Sergeant Siler. He’ll take you to Major Carter’s lab. She’s expecting you.”

Siler and Cayatan leave, and Fraiser turns to Martouf once more. “Doctor Jackson is in his office, waiting for your assistance on some translations, but I wondered if you’d have time for me to conduct some blood work in the infirmary before that. It shouldn’t take long.”

Martouf nods. “Certainly.” During our infrequent visits to Earth, Doctor Fraiser often tests our blood, along with other occasional tests, in her goal of learning more about the physiology of blended humans.

As we walk towards the infirmary, she fills us in on Samantha’s work these past two months. When the Edoran Stargate was struck by a meteorite, the naquadah in the soil formed a crude iris. In order to open it once more, Samantha and her team are working on creating a particle accelerator -- a piece of technology which the Goa’uld possess, but the Tok’ra do not. Nonetheless, Cayatan is one of our most skilled scientists, and he may be of some assistance in refining the approach to building the device.

Once in the infirmary, Doctor Fraiser quickly draws the required blood samples. After labeling them neatly and setting them aside for the moment, her expression grows more serious.

“Martouf,” she asks hesitantly, “I don’t wish to pry, but I was curious if you and Samantha are still seeing each other?”

<Such strange expressions they use,> Martouf teases me. <How can I see her when I am not in the same room with her?>

<True. I expect, however, that she’s curious as to whether or not Samantha is still our lover.>

“I am still quite fond of her, Doctor Fraiser,” Martouf informs her solemnly, firmly suppressing his mirth.

Her mouth quirks into a quick smile. “If she knew I was asking you this, she’d be angry at me, but--” she shrugs quickly. “I’m worried about her.”

“What is the matter?” Martouf asks quickly, as we both wonder what actions of Samantha’s could cause concern on the part of her friend.

“She’s working too hard,” Fraiser replies bluntly, frowning. “I know that the Tok’ra have greater stamina, Martouf, so the hours she works each day might not seem extreme to you, but Sam is constantly on the verge of total exhaustion.” She rubs her forehead, as though she is getting a headache. “It was her idea to evacuate the Edorans, and she feels responsible for getting them home as quickly as possible. Also, if Colonel O’Neill is still alive, he’s stranded there until she can get the gate open again. Anyway, she’s not eating regularly, she drinks so much coffee I expect her to go into orbit, and she doesn’t sleep enough. And she hardly ever goes home at all, she just sleeps here on base.”

Martouf frowns, and we confer quickly. We know well that Samantha’s is a driven personality. When faced with a challenge, she doesn’t wish to stop until she has conquered it. At the same time, it does sound as though she needs to relax, if only for a little while.

“What can I do to help matters?” he asks her.

Visibly relieved, she smiles warmly once more. “I want you to take her back to her apartment for the evening. It’s probably a bit messy, but my shift is over in two hours, and I have a key. I’ll go clean things up and get something for the two of you to eat for dinner. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

“No,” Martouf reassures her. “My work with Doctor Jackson should only take a few hours today, and if Cayatan needs more time to study Samantha’s work, he can continue tomorrow morning. But I am curious, Doctor Fraiser. What of Doctor Jackson and Teal’c? I have often noted how close Samantha is to her teammates. Why are they not helping you in encouraging her to take better care of herself?”

<I’m wondering that myself,> I tell Martouf acidly. <But if all else fails, we can always drag Jacob here for a visit.>

The petite doctor looks down for a moment, troubled. “Sam, Daniel, and Teal’c are very good friends,” she says softly. “But they all miss Colonel O’Neill. They all want the team back together again. Daniel’s been doing lots of translations and cataloging, and Teal’c has been accompanying SG-3 and SG-8 on several missions. It’s not enough for them. In other circumstances, they’d be making sure she got some rest. But they want Colonel O’Neill home just as much as she does, and so they’ve been pushing her just as hard as she pushes herself. They don’t mean to,” she hurriedly tells Martouf, seeing his alarmed expression, “but that’s what’s been happening. I could order her to go home at any time, but if she’s alone, she’ll just keep working. If you accompany her, she’ll get some rest.”

<I wonder what Samantha thinks of this?> Martouf wonders.

<Well, we’ll have this evening to find out,> I reply. <She might not want to take a break from her work, but neither would she turn us away when we’ve come to see her.>

<True,> he concedes. <I just wish this didn’t seem so calculated.>

<Doctor Fraiser wants what is best for Samantha. She wouldn’t be taking action if she didn’t feel it necessary. And besides, we get to spend the evening with Samantha. If I recall correctly, when Garshaw told us we would accompany Cayatan, you spent the next several hours thinking of little else.>

Martouf flinches internally, and I must control the flow of blood to his cheeks to avert a blush. <You do have a point,> he thinks wryly, and we share a moment’s laughter.

“I thank you for your concern, Doctor Fraiser,” Martouf tells her gravely, turning towards the door. “If there is anything else you require of me, I will be in Doctor Jackson’s office.”

* * * *

Once again, we sit across the table from each other, and I struggle with the noodles on my plate. This food that Dr. Fraiser provided for us, spaghetti with meat sauce, is apparently one of Samantha’s favorites. I’m glad that she’s eating, but once again, the knife and fork are causing me some problems, so I’ve been partaking liberally of the loaf of bread between us.

Earlier, Sam greeted me with a smile, trying valiantly to hide her weariness, and readily agreed to going home for the evening. Perhaps she finally realized that she needed at least one night of relaxation?

At first, she eats mechanically, focusing on her meal only as a necessary fuel for her body, but when her appetite is close to being sated, she begins to speak. We talk of inconsequential matters: Doctor Fraiser’s daughter, my translation work with Doctor Jackson, and how Jacob and Selmac are doing on their missions.

Then, her meal finished, she props her elbows on the table, and with a desolate expression, tells me of the mission to Edora. Sorrow over her missing team mate, guilt that many Edorans are stranded here on Earth, and frustration with the lack of progress on the particle accelerator -- it all comes spilling out, and I realize that while Doctor Fraiser intuitively understood why she was upset, Samantha hasn’t spoken to anyone about her feelings.

It’s a heavy responsibility that has been laid upon Martouf and me this night, but I can’t imagine either of us turning away. Even when she’s expressing her unhappiness, the simply joy of being with her once more is astounding. I had teased Martouf about how quickly he became infatuated with her, but once he set his heart upon hers, I had little inclination to do anything but follow his example.

Leaning upon my own elbows, I abandon the remains of my meal, occasionally sipping the glass of wine to my right, and just look at her. The delicate skin under her eyes is darker than usual, and she gives the impression that she’s staying upright through sheer force of will. It doesn’t take much persuasion on my part to convince her to sit with me on the couch and gaze into the fire.

She’s a soft warmth against me, and I sigh with contentment as she idly mentions the theories she and Cayatan debated today.

“He had some good ideas about shortening the reactor coils, and I can make some adjustments on the computer model...” she frowns and nibbles on her lower lip, then shrugs. “It might help speed things up a bit.”

“Are you working against a deadline?” I inquire.

She nods, clearly troubled. “We’ve been in contact with the Tollan. They can arrange a ship for the refugees, but the journey would be at least a year. However, the ship in question won’t be ready for another four months. So as long as I can get the particle accelerator working before then, there’s a chance we won’t need their assistance. Besides,” she frowns once more, her brow creasing with distress, “we don’t even know what happened on Edora after Teal’c and I left. Meteorites were crashing down all over the place. We can’t be certain that anything or anyone survived.”

I hold her more closely, one hand reaching up to stroke her hair. “In order to survive so long after being abandoned by the Goa’uld, the Edorans must be a strong people. And O’Neill is quite resourceful, Samantha.”

“But that’s no guarantee,” she states blankly. “He could be dead now, and there’s no way we’ll know until we can open the Stargate again.”

I say nothing in response, merely continue running my fingers through her hair, and wonder why her attitude seems so familiar.

<Could it be you’re thinking of Anise when Ixtan was host? He was devastated when Marnin was lost on a mission, if you’ll recall,> Martouf supplies.

I consider carefully, remembering the sorrow I had seen in my colleague’s eyes as he labored for months to learn of his mate’s ultimate fate, and feel a growing sense of unease. <I believe you are correct, my friend.>

Samantha yawns, leaning against us more firmly, and Martouf suddenly gives an internal groan of frustration and despair. <Oh, by the short hairs of Sokar, Lantash, do you realize what this means? She’s in love with him!>

Quickly, I tighten my arm around her shoulders, and make certain I still have control over our body. <You can’t be certain of that,> I argue, even as I know he’s probably right. <She’s here with us tonight. She was happy to see us!>

<I know that! And yet I am sure it is so. I just don’t understand,> he says in despair. <How could she do such a thing? Their regulations don’t permit them a relationship, and aside from O’Neill’s usual hostile posturing, I’ve seen no evidence that he knows of her feelings. She’s placed her heart in the keeping of a man who is completely unaware!>

Suddenly, I feel as weary as the lovely woman half-asleep in my arms. <Yes. And have we not done the same, Martouf? She never gave us any indication that she loved us. Affection and desire, yes. But she never spoke of love. If we’re to blame her for foolish behavior, we’ll have to blame ourselves as well.>

Emotions swirl through our minds, mostly quite similar. Hopelessness, disgust with our self-delusion, depression that the one we thought would help assuage the pain of Jolinar’s loss instead has turned towards another. It doesn’t take long, however, before we realize that we don’t agree on what we should do for the rest of the evening.

Martouf wants to just let Samantha fall asleep and pretend the whole evening never happened. On the other hand, I am aware that even while she is fatigued, she has begun pressing herself more insistently against me, seeking the only comfort she can have. I want to pretend for one final time that all is well between us, that it is indeed me she loves.

Bending down towards her, I sigh as her eyes flutter shut just before our lips meet. She tastes of the wine we’ve been drinking, and her body is pliant and yielding in my arms. As always when I hold her, I feel a rush of warmth and desire, only to start in annoyance as Martouf protests loudly.

<I can’t believe you want us to go through with this farce, Lantash! She doesn’t love us!> His thoughts are filled with pain and anger, towards both Samantha and myself.

<You said I might have dominance this evening, you’ll recall,> I respond in irritation, knowing that I, too, am being needlessly argumentative. <Martouf, if I turn away from her tonight, she’ll know something’s wrong. She’s exhausted, close to a complete breakdown. If I can bring her a measure of comfort tonight, I will. You can just fade into the background if you prefer, but I won’t let you hurt her!>

His thoughts are clear -- he sees this as a betrayal on my part. <Lantash, she doesn’t love us anymore, if she ever did in the first place!>

<I know. But she doesn’t know that yet,> I state in her defense, and kiss her even more passionately as emphasis. In response, she begins working her hands under my shirt, clinging to me ever more urgently.

Long moments pass in silence as Samantha stretches out on the couch, pulling me down on top of her. We whisper endearments to each other as clothing is loosened and pushed out of the way to facilitate our roaming hands, sinking further into mutual desire.

Finally, a quiet, begrudging voice sounds in my mind. <You’re certain this is what you want to do?> my host asks me softly.

<It is. I’m sorry, Martouf.> We disagree so seldom, and the divergence of opinion is painful.

<Very well. I’ll stay out of the way.> The touch of his thoughts is lighter than air, and I sense him retreating into the recesses of his mind.

Retiring into Samantha’s bedroom, she and I disrobe, and I pull her against me, gasping at the warmth of her skin on mine. It doesn’t take long for me to notice that although she desires me, she is quite tired, and much more inclined to let me take the lead than usual. Carefully, I press her against the soft bed, slowly tracing my lips down the line of her neck.

“Lantash,” she sighs softly, her arms wrapping around me to hold me close. “I missed you. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Raising up on my elbows, I look down into her clear blue eyes. “Truly?” I ask, glad that I can speak past the sudden lump in my throat.

She nods solemnly, her eyes brimming with tears. “I’ve been so lonely,” she whispers, then pulls me down for another kiss.

Even as our bodies flare into arousal, my mind mocks me that I am just a substitute for whom she really wants. Strangely enough, I find that the irritation only spurs me into greater desire. This is likely the last time she and I will ever make love, and I have no intention of satisfying her quickly. I’m vain enough to want her to remember this night long afterwards, and how I made her feel. My pride won’t allow for anything less.

Slowly and with great deliberation, I explore her body, committing every sense to memory: the taste of her skin, the feel of her hands and mouth upon me, every scent and sound that comes forth. Paying no heed to her pleading, I take her to the brink of ecstasy repeatedly, always keeping her on the edge until every breath is a gasp and she is drowning in sensation.

Ignoring the demands of my own body, I tease my tongue across her breasts while my fingers slowly flicker between her legs. She trembles beneath me, and as I feel her muscles quiver, I suspect that neither of us can hold back much longer.

Samantha’s whispered demand confirms my thought. “Don’t make me wait,” she groans, raising her hips against my hand.

Rolling on top of her, I carefully position myself, waiting until she guides me into her body. In unison, we both give voice to our satisfaction. For several seconds, I pause above her, concentrating on the beauty of her face and form, and her soft damp warmth enclosing me so completely.

Then, just as I begin to move within her, I feel the lightest brush against my mind. Without saying anything, Martouf comes forth from his earlier retreat. He doesn’t attempt to take control of our body, but subtly lets me know he is with me, sharing this final experience. I can’t control a sudden surge of love, both for Samantha and for him, for this man who has been my constant companion and host and dearest friend for so many long years.

Wrapping her arms around me, Samantha slowly rises to meet my thrusts, our mouths joining from time to time, leisurely giving and taking pleasure from each other. The act of love is gentle and sweet, sensation gradually intensifying as the long minutes pass. I maintain control as best I can, but at last, I can feel her legs start to tense around me, and move my hands down to hold her hips still, driving myself as deeply within her as possible. After one final surprised gasp of my name, she climaxes; her eyes wide open, as startled and innocent as a child’s.

Burying my face against her neck, I surrender to my own passion, trembling violently as release overwhelms me with sensation. Still joined, we roll onto our sides, embracing each other tenderly while we catch our breath. Finally, I open my eyes again, only to see her staring intently at me, her expression one of mingled fatigue and satisfaction.

Her lips tempt me closer once more, and after a soft kiss, I run my fingers through her hair, wishing that the reality of our ending relationship were not the truth.

“What are your thoughts, my love?” The endearment escapes my lips before I can stop myself. She just smiles gently, and yawns.

“Nothing, really,” she admits, sounding surprised. “It’s so peaceful...” Snuggling closer into my arms, she closes her eyes, the embodiment of contentment.

Nuzzling the sweet scent of her hair, I hold her close. It’s only a few minutes later that I realize she’s fallen sound asleep. Gently withdrawing from her, I roll her onto her back, propping her head up on a pillow and pulling the covers over us both. Then, not yet in the mood for sleep myself, I brace myself on one elbow and stare down at her in silence.

<And what are your thoughts?> Martouf eventually asks me.

<I was thinking that perhaps when we return to Vorash, we should take that long-term surveillance assignment Garshaw mentioned. She needs a volunteer, and it would occupy us for at least five months or more.> Removing the potential for further contact with the Tau’ri sounds like a good idea just now.

My host’s response is uncharacteristically harsh and caustic. <Are you sure you don’t want to remain here and hold Samantha’s hand every step of the way?>

I close my eyes for a moment, realizing how angry and hurt he is. <No, that’s not what I want. You are not the only one in pain here, Martouf. Don’t you know that?> Tonight, I’ve been doing my best to keep sorrow at bay, knowing that displaying my grief would only hurt Samantha further. But with only Martouf as company, the barriers have fallen, and I can’t help but let him know how desolate I feel.

With the sharing of our thoughts comes the sharp sensation of remorse. <I’m sorry, Lantash. That was unkind of me,> he says, chastened.

Something I told Samantha when we first met comes to my mind. <We love as one, Martouf.>

<And we mourn as one,> he replies in anguish. <Lantash, why doesn’t she love us? It hurts. I never thought I could hurt this way again.>

This pain isn’t as overwhelming as when Rosha and Jolinar were lost to us. All the same, our attachment to Sam was the first time since our mate’s death, and it stings to know that our affection for her was far greater than her reciprocation. <The ways of the heart are an eternal mystery, Martouf. How else could we have spent so long with Jolinar and Rosha? Before she changed hosts, Jolinar had been my friend for centuries, nothing more.>

<True,> Martouf admits with a trace of humor. <And Rosha irritated you beyond enduring when first we met her.>

<I remember,> I reply gently as memories flow between us.

I stare into the darkness for a long time, the room only faintly lit by the dim lights past the open bedroom door. Eventually, Martouf assumes control again, wanting to lie down. He burrows into the covers, pressing against Samantha to share her warmth, and wrapping an arm around her.

<I am glad you’re here with me, Lantash. I wouldn’t be able to do this alone.>

My melancholy is lifted for a moment at the comfort of his words. I will never be truly alone, not when he is with me. <Nor I, my dearest friend.>

Lying awake for some time before succumbing to fatigue, I contemplate the woman sleeping beside me, and marvel at how our lives became so entangled. A host surviving the death of its symbiote is extremely rare; a host coming to the Tok’ra in search of answers was unheard of before we met Samantha.

She is brave, strong, forthright, and extremely intelligent. Nonetheless, she is so young, and deep within me, perhaps I always knew a romantic relationship with her would have to prevail against strong odds. At the very least, I can look back and tell myself that had circumstances been different, we would have been successful. It’s cold comfort, but it’s better than nothing.

I can’t continue to love her like this. She won’t permit it. Instead, she has given her affection to someone her superiors tell her she cannot have, someone who may in fact be dead. She is usually so strong, but in her desperation to learn of O’Neill’s fate, she is strangely vulnerable. I won’t reproach her for what her heart did against her will, and I won’t let Martouf do it either.

And indeed, there are reasons why I’ll be ever grateful to her. After Jolinar’s death, Martouf and I despaired of ever being able to open our hearts to love once more. Being Tok’ra, it is easy to withdraw solely into duty; to let our lifelong mission be the only purpose for continuing on. But giving up on love and laughter and affection and even pain takes away so much of what makes our journey worthwhile, and I’m glad that we have regained our capacity to feel, which seemed for a time to have withered completely away.

Martouf presses a brief kiss against Samantha’s temple, smiling as she murmurs in her sleep, then closes his eyes. <Sleep now,> he encourages me, and oddly enough, I’m happy to acquiesce.

* * * *

Standing in the doorway of Samantha’s lab, I watch as she sits in front of a computer, tapping instructions on the keyboard. I clear my throat a few times before she realizes I am here.

When she awoke this morning, she hurriedly showered and ate, then sat down with a pad of paper and began taking copious notes -- she’d been inspired by one of Cayatan’s theories, she explained, filling nine pages before she felt she could drive us back to Cheyenne Mountain with her attention on the road ahead of us instead of new equations and designs.

Once at the SGC, Cayatan joined her for another few hours of debate and exchanging ideas until she at last declared herself satisfied and sent him on his way with effusive thanks.

“Martouf, Lantash,” she smiles, standing and walking over to us. “Is it time for you to leave?”

“It is,” I reply, touching her shoulder gently. She moves forward into my arms, embracing me tightly.

“I’m so glad you came to see me,” she murmurs softly, then pulls back just enough to kiss me. It takes considerable control not to cling to her as tightly as possible.

“I, too, am glad,” I say, brushing her hair out of her eyes, then caressing her cheek. “It will be a long time before I see you again, Samantha. Upon my return to Vorash, I am taking an assignment that will likely keep me occupied for many months.”

Her face darkens with disappointment, but after a moment she nods in acceptance. “I understand,” she tells me. “Take care of yourself. I don’t want my father to have to come and tell me that you’ve gotten into trouble.” Her eyes gleam with unspoken fear, and I realize that she’s afraid that she will lose me as well. “I--” she shakes her head and frowns quickly. “Be careful,” she reiterates, only smiling once more as I assure her that I will be as safe as possible. We both know that’s little guarantee against the System Lords.

I hold her close one more time, breathing in the warm scent of her skin and hair, wishing that our lives could be rearranged so I could keep her with me always. It isn’t going to happen. “I must leave now,” I tell her, glad that she can’t recognize the roughness in my voice.

Nodding once more, she returns to her desk and after a moment’s hesitation, begins tinkering with her computer model once more.

I love you, I think, but do not say, as I watch her from the doorway. I love you for who you are, for the alliance you have brought forth between our people, for helping me begin to let go of Jolinar. Our association has changed, and my love for you will invariably change with time, but it will never cease to be as long as I draw breath, Samantha.

She is utterly engrossed in making her creation perform according to her specified needs, and doesn’t look up as I turn and head towards the gate room.

* * * *

The hot sands and dry air of Vorash are a welcome change from the cool confines of the SGC, and I breathe deeply as Cayatan and I begin our walk towards the transportation rings. I have always liked the desert, and I’d do well to enjoy it while I can, since I know the assignment I’ll receive from Garshaw will be taking us to a very cold, snowy environment for the foreseeable future.

<I like snow,> Martouf teases me.

<You’re not the one who has to increase blood flow to your extremities to avert frostbite,> I say in return.

With the mingling of our minds comes a familiar emotion: pain. We are both saddened by the revelations of the last day, but at least we have each other with which to commiserate. It will take more than depression over a relationship that ended badly to conquer us. At the same time, I am very glad that it will be many months until I see Samantha again. I may have the objectivity that comes with long life, but I also love her, and being with her only to witness her affections for another would be bitter.

After we’ve walked in companionable silence for a time, Catayan begins to talk. “I had never met with the Tau’ri before, Lantash. It was an enlightening experience.”

“Indeed?”

“Truly. I was unaware that they were so advanced. And Major Carter was most intriguing. I believe I was able to help her confirm some of her theories. She’d even discovered a few applications of Goa’uld technology that I hadn’t yet even thought of!”

I restrain a grin. Catayan is passionately devoted to his technology and gadgets, and for him to speak so of Samantha is high praise. “So it was an educational conference?”

“Very much so. Although,” he says in unconscious arrogance, “I expect I was more helpful to her than she to me. Aside from the new technology applications, I didn’t come away from the meeting with much that I didn’t already know.”

His words strike a bitter chord within me, and Martouf winces internally. “I understand. My evening was much the same.”

fin.