EPILOGUE for Divide and Conquer
When the dark wood fell before me
And all the paths were overgrown
When the priests of pride say there is no other way
I tilled the sorrows of stoneI did not believe because I could not see
Though you came to me in the night.
When the dawn seemed forever lost
You showed my your love in the light of the stars.Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me...
Martouf is dead.
He died by my hand, with my name on his lips.
Unfortunately, the ridiculously melodramatic sound to that is doing little to keep my tears at bay. I taste salt in the hollow of my throat as I furiously blink them back. I sit as stone, his head cradled in my hands, staring at his still chest, dotted with bloody holes from Secret Service bullets. The colonel aimed low, not to kill, and I'm grateful to him for that. I stroke Martouf's hair in a regular soothing motion, until two of the Tok'Ra guards gently move my arms and take him from my lap. I reach out and touch his hair one more time. "Forgive me," I whisper as his body is lifted away beyond my grasp.
I swallow hard and blink as fast as I can. I can't cry, not here. Not on the floor of the gateroom, surrounded by aliens and airmen.
On your feet, Major. But my lower half won't quite cooperate. Teal'c large hand encloses my upper arm, and he effortlessly swings me to my feet. I shrug him off -- I can take it from here. Right, left, right left. I'm on autopilot, a wooden soldier rigidly going through the motions.
Except, there are no motions for me to go through. The action has gone, and left me behind. The Tok'Ra are gone, the Secret Service are gone -- to get the real President and bring him to the summit that was planned without my help, without the need for my presence, as I was determined to be a Zaytarc -- a mind altered Goa'uld killing machine -- targeting the President, the Tok'Ra High Councilor or both. At the moment the two leaders were to meet I was supposed to be either undergoing Freya's what could only loosely termed "treatment," or sedated into oblivion.
I'm not supposed to be here, and the gateroom is eerily quiet. The regular patrols eye me warily from their posts at the sides of the room. Maintenance personnel move about, sweeping up the scattering of debris that is the remains of the firefight. I walk uncertainly toward the door, then stop and turn back to face the Stargate. I'm not sure what I'm expecting. Maybe for it to open and a miracle to walk through. Miracles are not without precedent -- Daniel has walked through the gate when we thought him dead. The colonel has walked through when we thought him dead, when we thought him lost to us, and when we thought him a traitor. It's almost routine. Perhaps Martouf will walk through now, and greet me with his brilliant smile. There was a sarcophagus hidden, a time travel causing energy surge, a mirror to an alternate universe where he was able to overcome his programming and I didn't need to fire that second, fatal Zat blast...
"Major Carter."
Startled, I turn to see Freya standing there. She bites her lip as she looks at me, head at an angle, sympathy and curiosity mingling in her dark, luminous eyes. A warming flash of anger at the interruption of my fantasy passes through me, then vanishes abruptly, leaving me shivering.
"Yes." My voice sounds as cold as I feel.
Her eyes widen slightly. "I have asked your Doctor Frasier to assist me in examining Martouf. Since he was prevented from detonating the explosive, the neural matter of both host and symbiant are intact. Study should prove valuable toward my research into the mechanics of the Zaytarc programming, but we must begin immediately, as the symbiant's tissue will soon begin to break down --"
Oh, God.
She's talking about slicing into Martouf's brain. The joined brain of Martouf and Lantesh -- the minds that ceased to exist after a shot from my hand. Preserved by me for this research, to be coldly dissected and studied as if they were never one, two living, breathing, thinking beings.
A hot, sour taste rises in my throat. My heartbeat throbs in my ears, drowning out the rest of Freya's words and all other sounds.
I can't breathe. I need air. It's so hot, so stuffy in this room, this whole underground prison maze...
I run through the tight, narrowing corridors to the elevators that will take me to the surface, to fresh, live air, blue sky and numerous green living plants.
Blocked. The elevator area is swarming with Secret Service, and I haven't nearly the patient state of mind to try to get through them. Where else can I go? My chest is really tight now and if I don't get air soon I know I'll die.
I run away from the infirmary, away from the labs. Away from the rooms where the dignitaries are gathering, where Daniel is finally getting to play out the role he has been preparing for weeks...
Daniel. Daniel's study.
It's not locked -- of course, it never is. I push to the back of the cluttered room, through piles of dusty books, boxes of even dustier artifacts -- tools, bowl, pots, and objects that can only be described as rocks.
A neglected looking pot of ivy sits perched precariously on the edge of a table against the back wall, its lone tendril dangling beseechingly toward me, begging for water, light, attention, anything. I gave him that plant -- as a joke from one intellectual to another. Right now it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and I bend over it, inhaling deeply of the oxygen its leaves give off.
I press my back to the wall next to the table, and slide heavily to the floor, wrapping my arms around my legs. Finally I'm alone. Safe and hidden in a place where I don't have to be Major Doctor Carter, and can just be Samantha -- a woman to whom more has happened in the last couple hours than any woman can be expected to handle without some at least small sort of emotional outburst.
Mine is anything but small.
The sobs are painful, tearing through my stomach, my chest, my throat -- bursting from my eyes, my nose, my mouth. The knees of my fatigues are thoroughly soaked in a matter of seconds. As I gasp for air, images flash before my eyes:
Martouf holding my/Jolinar's hand and kissing me in the sunset of a world I've never seen but can remember the sights, sounds and smells of.
The colonel kissing my alternate self on the other side of the mirror.
Martouf holding my hand as we wait anxiously to see if Selmac and my father will live.
The colonel, wet and shivering, crushing me against him. "I'm me. I'm me..."
Jolinar's agony burning through my body as the Ashrak sucked the life from her.
The colonel lying on the ice, bleeding to death inside, telling me to go.
Martouf enclosing us in the pods that will take us to Sokar's hell to rescue my father.
The colonel awkwardly inviting me to go fishing with him.
Jolinar's revulsion as she used her body to get the key from her jailer.
The colonel pounding helplessly at the forcefield, refusing to leave me.
Martouf telling me softly that beyond the memories I carry, he's grown fond of me.
The colonel forced to confess in front of Teal'c, Janet and Freya that he cares about me "a lot more than I'm supposed to."
Martouf calling my name, his eyes locked on mine, pleading with me to fire...
The tears suddenly give way to an urge to laugh hysterically. This is crazy. I must be losing my mind. My brain has been scrambled, without the help of Freya's oh so wonderful machine. I feel as though I'm part of an intricate dance, one which pattern Daniel could decipher, if only we found it drawn out on an ancient stone wall.
The door to the study opens. Tears and laughter both freeze in my throat. Of course I didn't lock the door. For a girl "way smarter" than most of the guys on base, I can be pretty dumb sometimes.
Footsteps. Please, God let it be Daniel. I can show my face to Daniel.
Of course it'll be Daniel. After all this is his study. He probably forgot some papers, one of his notebooks that he'd meant to bring with him to the summit. He needs his spare glasses. Or tissues. There's no reason at all that it wouldn't be Daniel. That it would be the colonel.
A throat clears. "Carter?"
It's the colonel.
"Carter, I know you're in here."
I press my face close to my knees, so that I can barely breathe. Footsteps draw closer, pause at the sound of a falling book and a muffled "damn," then closer until they stop beside me. His boots squeak as he slides down to sit on the floor next to me. I hear his breath just above my head, feel his warmth just inches away. He pats me awkwardly on the back, and then lets his hand rest there lightly, barely touching. I can't move yet, and we stay like that for what seems like hours -- him silent, and me trying not to let my sobs make any sound.
Finally I feel that it's safe to try to speak. I lift my head, keeping my face averted, and ask, "What are you doing here?" My voice is amazingly steady.
The hand leaves my back, and a large box of tissues is gallantly pushed in front of my face. I certainly came to the right place. I take a handful and scrub at my cheeks. "I mean, why aren't you at the negotiations?"
Out of the corner of my eye I see him shrug. "Negotiation isn't really my thing. Protocol, compromise, tact and subtlety, all that."
I have to smile at that. The colonel does generally have the tact and subtlety of an elephant when dealing with dignitaries.
"Besides, Daniel did all the work -- this is his moment to shine. And the General seems to be handling the President all right."
Martouf worked just as hard as Daniel did. He should be there, sitting next to his High Councilor.
I thought I was finished, but at that thought fresh tears leave my eyes. I rub at them angrily, impatient with my weakness. I shouldn't be doing this. I'm a major in the United States Air Force, for crying out loud.
"No pun intended?" The colonel offers, a trace of amusement in his voice.
I look at him, startled as I realize I said that out loud. Now I've shown him my face too. I start to turn away again, and he catches my chin in his hand, keeping my face toward his.
"It's okay," he says softly. He drops his hand, and I drop my eyes but don't turn away. I take more tissues and twist them between my fingers.
"It's not fair," I whisper.
"It rarely is," he agrees, a faint hesitation in his voice -- as if a little afraid of what I think is unfair.
"Martouf should be there," I clarify. "He should have lived another hundred years. And Lantesh should have lived forever, and carried his memories to another host." As I have Jolinar's. She died for me, and now what's left of her will die with me.
"I liked Marty," the colonel says, relieved to be on firmer ground. "Aside from Jacob, he was the one sn-- Tok'Ra I came closest to trusting." A large concession. "I'll miss him."
So will I -- his gentle strength, his earnestness, his warm blue eyes filled with tenderness, with love for me -- but no, that memory is Jolinar's. For me, Samantha, there was only affection -- with the possibility of something more. And it's too hard to sort my feelings from Jolinar's -- the feelings for Martouf clash with the feelings for --
No, I can't go there.
But maybe I have to.
I lift my head. The colonel is watching me intently, his expression tender. He winces as I meet his gaze, but doesn't look away.
I take a deep breath. "Colonel --"
"Sam --" he says at the same time.
I wait for him to speak.
"You did what you had to do," he tells me, and his dark eyes tell me the double meaning behind that -- what I did to him, and what I did to Martouf.
"I know." I answer. And I do. But it doesn't make it any easier. I need to mourn Martouf. I'm responsible now to keep the memories of both him and Jolinar alive. And I have one more responsibility. I need to let the colonel know that I share and understand what must remain unspoken and unacted upon. And I'll need to mourn that as well...
"Sir," I say softly. "This day has been very... confusing."
Startled, his eyes widen and his lips part and close. Then he smiles. He understands. "C'mere," he says gruffly, holding out his arms.
I move into them, and close my eyes as I lay my head on his shoulder. It feels so good to be held tightly against his chest. But I can't stay there. One last hug and we part. He gets to his feet and helps me up.
"By the way, sir," I ask. "How did you know I was in here?"
He shrugs. "I'd looked everywhere else."
He smiles. I smile.
"We're okay?" he asks.
"We're okay," I answer.
And I will be.
Though we share this humble path alone
How fragile is the heart
Oh give these clay feet wings to fly
To touch the face of the starsBreathe life into this feeble heart
Lift this mortal veil of fear
Take these crumbled hopes etched with tears
We'll rise above these earthly caresCast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me
© February 2001 The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp. The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names, titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author.
Author's Note: The song lyrics are from "Dante's Prayer" by Loreena McKennitt, which I listened to on continuous loop while writing this via headphones to the gratitude of my roommate and neighbors...