A/N: I started watching Stargate: SG-1 reluctantly when my Sanctuary cravings grew too strong. Once on, I was hooked and just finished the ten seasons (which explains my lack of updating stories like "Frozen", "Albeit Abnormal" and "Crippled". Also, I have my finals. The last written I had yesterday, and in-between finals I wrote this. Guilty as charged! Anyway, I've already started on two more stories in same series. This will be the more family one, but there will be suspense later, I promise you!
I have little experience with toddlers, except for the four-year-old granddaughter of my dad's girlfriend. She's an angel, despite having cut my finger into pieces last Christmas. Normally I don't like children but I guess female instincts kicked in. Also, keep in mind that this is sci-fi (reality sucks!). Let me know if I'm that bad.
This story started out as a footnote when I was watching seasons three and four. It was supposed to be romance between Martouf/Lantash and Sam/Jolinar, but I then realized that I'm a JA shipper by heart. I am currently watching Stargate: Atlantis in the hopes that I might continue this series as a cross-over (you'll get it later on). I have this thing planned out, but want to hear suggestions from you, too!
"Changing Priorities"
A Stargate SG-1 fan fiction
The sound of light footsteps across wooden floor trying to sneak noiselessly into a far larger bed is familiar to any parent; as she lies still, preparing to act surprised, she cannot help but smile secretly, the innocence not lost on her. She holds her breath like a child on Christmas Day, awaiting to be awoken, sleeping with one eye open. Her fingers curls around the pillow as she tries to be as still as ever. The sun shines slurry in her peripheral vision, blurred by sleep and near-awareness.
Small, eager hands grab the sheets, dragging the ruffles to the edge of the queen-size bed. A creature with a nimbus of light brown curls finally makes its way up, dressed in white PJs with clouds. Moments after, she is disturbed from her feigning of sleep by childish giggles. Wiggling her hips around, she now faces a three-year-old girl whose face is plastered with a grin.
"Good morning," the pretty-faced youngster greets, snuggling into her mother who wastes no time caressing the child's neck fondly.
"'Morning, princess," she replies softly, enjoying these moments before the real world is enforced on them.
The bedroom is beaming with sunlight through the man-sized windows, the wooden floor coated in its glory. Soon the bed is warm, too warm to be considered comfortable, and they both stir. Scooping her daughter into her arms, she laughs and begins to tickle her.
"Mom!" the girl responds, curling up in a ball to avoid the ticklish manner. She squirms, choking on laughter.
"Let's make some breakfast," she suggests, her blonde hair a porcupine like her daughter's. She tries to straighten the girl's curls, but must give up: stubbornly, it refuses to lie down, instead curling uncooperatively. She has always envied her daughter for her curly hair. The cinnamon-colored strands of hair are equally charming along with the light blue eyes. Sam has always thought her daughter looks like a princess from somewhere warm and fuzzy.
The three-year-old jumps out of bed as gracefully as she can muster, the white pajamas wrinkling in the process. Sam follows suit, slower than the energetic child who is already half-way to the kitchen. She can hear scrambling and knows that Ellie is finding her step stool, pushing it across the floor to the kitchen sink; she is well aware that washing her hands before making a meal is important, although Sam cannot remember telling her more than once.
The blonde retired Air Force officer throws a bathrobe over her camisole and cotton pajamas pants, quickly locating the path of her daughter. Yawning, she enters the kitchen, which is already a mess. Ellie is currently fetching a bowl from the upper cupboards, balancing on the slippery kitchen table. Sam is quick to offer support, putting her hands on the child's hips.
"Pan-cake!" Ellie insists, smiling her 1000 watt-smile, a smile that makes Sam go soft in her knees. The one that makes the refusal of parents evaporate.
"Alright," she agrees, placing Ellie on the counter with the bowl in grasp. Then she walks to the refrigerator, returning with the ingredients: milk and eggs. One of the drawers contains the rest, flour, sugar, baking powder and salt. Ellie pouts when she realizes the absence of her favorite ingredient.
"Ra'p-berry!"
Sam can only be grateful that her daughter isn't addicted to sugar, but instead over-fond of the pink berries – especially in her pancakes. Elara is healthy that way; but overly stubborn when it comes to plain pancakes. She hates syrup, for example. No, she is not like any other child Sam has known.
"You are stubborn, missy," Sam grins, mixing the recipe by heart. Ellie helps by putting roughly the right mount of each ingredient in the blend.
Being as isolated as they are serves a purpose. Her being retired isn't just because she now has a child. Or maybe it is, but not the sole reason. Glancing at her beautiful daughter, Sam cannot help but to weigh the pros and cons.
Elara, as her name is, is more than just her daughter. If the Air Force knew... Sam blinks and looks away; she mustn't think those things. However, it is true that her former employer doesn't know about her interstellar dalliance which gave her Elara. Ultimately it wasn't a forced decision to leave the SGC and the Air Force. It was the only thing, the only option she could see herself taking. After all, Elara isn't a hundred per cent human.
The scary thing is, she knows this better than anyone. She is way smarter than a three-year-old should be, human or otherwise. Sam hasn't dared to perform an IQ test on her, fearing the results. She has never feared Ellie; never. She comprehends things on another level of intelligence, but she is still her daughter. And, Sam has to admit it, has always been slightly prophetic. It sounds insane – and she has no scientific explanation – but it has to be her genetic memory. Embedded in her blood lies the knowledge of a symbiotic life. It makes Sam shiver to think about it, so most of the time she focuses her energy and thought stream on the wonder that is Elara.
"Ellie, be careful," she instructs once they pour the dough into the pan. The raspberries look like dark pink suns in the light dough.
Ellie shies away like she understands the purpose, her fingers curling up impatiently like she is dying to taste the pancakes.
Sam enjoys these moments of pure familiarity. It outweighs anything she has done with the Stargate program. Even though there is five miles to the nearest large town, and a good run for the next-door neighbor. The house is southernmost, hidden by large trees. The frame house is larger than anything she had originally thought she was able to afford, but she had surprised herself. Pine Lake Drive in Colfax, California, has been their home for the past three years, almost four in Sam's case. Her pregnancy hadn't been easy; physiologically, somewhat normal, but during the nine months, only two in the SGC, her abilities from her experience from Jolinar's brief blending were highlighted. She had been able to sense things she normally wouldn't.
Which is one of the reasons their lot on Pine Lake Drive is so isolated. She sought that when she moved here; isolation. While Sam is well aware that Ellie will have attend school (already having skipped daycare and preschool) in a few years, she wants to be sure the child understands the risks of telling people the information her mind holds. The fact that Elara knows things she shouldn't, and Sam doesn't, is her ability to possess the memory of her Goa'uld father. The thought has never calmed Sam; only the small comfort that Lantash isn't Goa'uld, but part of the Tok'ra. She has never been sickened to think of Ellie as a hybrid; because she is. Nobody else knows that.
Minutes later, they are eating fresh raspberry pancakes and drinking orange juice. Ellie's tangled hair has been tamed into a horsetail with a scrunchie. The grandfather clock in the living room has revealed that it is little past nine in the morning – something Sam should have known. Ellie never sleeps in, as much as Sam likes to. Energetic is a word to describe her daughter.
The brunette is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen – and it has nothing to do with having given birth to her, although she is biased on the matter. She brings a gleeful element into Sam's life, something she never considered before having children.
"Sam? Ellie?" a male voice calls out, alerting Sam who tenses, but not Ellie who responds by smiling and jumping down from her chair, a half-eaten pancake left on her plate. Sam tightens her hold on the silk bathrobe, making herself decent before following her daughter.
"Andy," she greets when she sees the six-foot-seven man with Ellie launched at him like a tissue paper clinging to the broad-shouldered man. Sam smiles; Andy Kellogg is one of the kindest men she has known and almost an uncle to Ellie. "Wanna have a pancake?"
Andy looks conspiratorially at Ellie. "Raspberries?" he asks to which the girl nods violently.
"Then I'll gladly have one," Andy replies, again facing Sam. Ellie sits familiarly on his hip, clinging to his flannel pattern shirt. His scruffy beard indicates he has been hunting. Ellie grimaces, poking at it. Sam reaches out to stop her, even opens her mouth, but Andy stops her. He is good with Elara, the kind of father figure a three-year-old needs when she starts asking questions about who her father is. Except, in Ellie's case, she knows that her father is Martouf (Lantash, really) of the Tok'ra.
Sam looks into Andy's nut-brown eyes and suddenly becomes aware of her state of undress – or, rather, her lack of a bra underneath the camisole. Tightening the robe, she is thankful that he doesn't notice, his attention on Ellie.
In the two years she has known Andy, he has never made a move on her. She doesn't know if he even considers her attractive, but he helps her immensely, and it's wonderful.
Ellie goes off to get a drawing she has made for him, leaving them alone in the kitchen. He sits at the dining table, pancake in mouth, while she leans her lower back against the kitchen table, knuckles white.
"You make the best pancakes, Samantha. Well, you and Ellie," the grand-sized man says. She nearly blushes, but stops herself. She has grown more confident in the past years – and the years before that – and subsequently more feminine. In the Air Force she always had to be fierce and aggressive as a female, proving her worth to the guys, but now she is more gentle, more intuitive. Less stressed. For one, she has grown her hair out. It now reaches the top of where her shoulder blades meet. Of course, now it's untamed, stirred by her nightmares.
"Oh, Andy, you know you're always welcome," Sam says, putting Ellie's plate in the sink. She means what she says: Andy is welcome by both Ellie and herself. While she knows how to defend herself (and suspects Ellie does, by default), she is comfortable having another around. Unfortunately, the ever-smiling huntsman/accountant can't know about Ellie's parentage. He just knows that she is very gifted intelligent-wise. He cares about her; that is all he needs to know, although it pains Sam to lie to such a wonderful man.
In another lifetime, she might have been attracted to Andy. After all, he possesses all the right qualities: he's kind, thoughtful, caring, lovable and will, someday, be a wonderful father because of his love of children. The way he plays with Ellie, his patience.. It's – admirable. However, Sam has seen things he can't even begin to understand. And he deserves better than someone like her, a national security risk single mom.
"They say a storm is coming in town," Andy reveals, sipping the freshly brewed cup of coffee she has provided him with. She knows his preference by heart by now.
"I hadn't heard," Sam responds, thinking about the shut-off television in the living room. While Ellie shares the habit of watching morning cartoons like the rest of children her age, she turns off the television once she decides to surprise her mother in bed.
"Do you need me to fix anything as precautionary?" he asks. She looks down at her toe nails. She walks around barefooted at home.
"I think we're going to be fine. I was planning on taking Elara to my brother's next weekend, so I haven't been watching the weather forecast," she admits sheepishly.
"Andy! Look!" The girl in question shrieks, shoving a drawing in Andy's direction. Sam is familiar with it; it displays a pony and two figures that are meant to be Andy and Ellie. She has talked about the visit for days. Andy took her to a market to buy eggs and groceries, and there were pony rides offered.
While Ellie and Andy fall into chat, she thinks about her current situation. Having escaped the attention of the Air Force, she still fears that something alien will come to grab Ellie and take her away because she was conceived elsewhere. The term earthling has only been a thought of hers since Elara was born. She has a birth certificate, but one that is hidden from the United States Air Force.
A thin layer of dust has gathered on the oakwood dining table. The grained steel door on the refrigerator gives off a sharp reflexion of the light, marred by a drawing on its otherwise perfect surface. She lets her fingertips travel across the rough paper, feeling the grease the crayons has left behind in the creation of a sweet picture: a green field with two figures, one with blonde hair, a smaller dress-wearing girl with brown braids. At first glance, it is childishly gleeful, but at the second glance, it arouses suspicion and complexity rather than simplicity. Despite its colorful motif, over the drawing are letters, spelling words that might normally say 'Mom' or 'Dad' or 'Me', maybe incorrectly, but instead, there is something spelled in an otherworldly language (literally). Only she can recognize it for its flawless Goa'uld.
"Tau'ri," she hears from the table and turns around to see Andy's startled expression morph into amusement. He writes it off as grammatical errors, prone to children Ellie's age. But Sam stiffens, all-too well recognizing the word for earthling. A word she can only have recalled from her genetic memory.
She almost drops the coffee mug she is holding, but manages to feign a hand tremor. She is aware that it is becoming too natural for Elara to use her Tok'ra knowledge.
The laptop lies abandoned on the kitchen counter. It is plugged in to the charger, logged off for the purpose of security. Whereas she has completely retired in most senses of the word, she still handles sensitive material and is sometimes allowed access to national servers. Her doctor degree in astrophysics hasn't changed because of her retirement. She is frequently contacted and hired on independent contract as a freelancing consultant on the Stargate program. It is the best possible outcome even though she feels pangs of guilt hitting whenever she catches a flash of former colleagues when she visits Cheyenne Mountain. Her main contact is a man by the name of Brian Malcolms, a scientist within the division of SGC. She has never worked with him during her time as a stargate traveller and doubts that he even knows how many times she has stepped through the event horizon.
"Ellie, aren't you supposed to be feeding Bree?" Sam reminds her subtly, smiling at Andy as she does so. The lovable Beagle is practically a house resident, having accustomed herself to stay with Ellie and Sam if Andy is out on business or hunting.
Elara lights up, remembering the dog and the promise she made to take care of it (although Sam has helped; while Bree almost never tightens her leash, an abrupt interest in something too far for the leash to take would bring the three-year-old dragged behind the Beagle).
"If you keep sending her away, I might think you want to get me alone, Samantha," Andy jokes, finishing his pancake and raising to put it in the sink.
"True," Sam admits, smiling. "Or to keep you two from conspiring against me."
"Who else would she conspire against? Or with," he points out. "But you're right; she's good with Bree. Ever thought about getting a pet for her?"
"Oh, Andy, be quiet. I would never be able to get the idea out of her head. Besides, with my work..," she trails off, but senses a need for further excusing upon seeing the look on Andy's reproachful face. "It wouldn't be fair. I bring her to Mark's all the time, and I couldn't expect him to take a dog in, too, just because I was required elsewhere."
Andy shivers deliberately. "'Required elsewhere'. That sounds so cloak and dagger. Oh, wait. Carter – Sam Carter," he says, feigning a British accent. Sam snorts in laughter.
"If only. Numbers, Andy, it's merely calculations," she lies, sticking to half-truths.
"Well, miss genius, have they ever heard of a calculator. Little thing, small, very practical, nearly invincible," he teases.
"Oh Gosh, I hope not," Sam responds, playing along.
After a moment passes, she hears Andy sighing. "You know, I could let you in on a secret.."
"Oh, really, and what's that?" Sam asks, doing the dishes. The soap water is hot to the touch, but quickly becomes lukewarm, so she keeps going; she has worked under worse circumstances.
"What your brilliant daughter is planning.." After one look, he surrenders. Whispering, he lets her know, "She is plotting the best way to con you into buying her a pony for her upcoming birthday."
Sam rises a brow, unsurprised. "Upcoming? It's in two months' time, Andy. And you are to blame for putting the pony idea into her head."
"Me?" Andy feigns shock. "Never!" he responds devilishly.
A wagging tail disturbs them, followed by quick child steps. "Done, Mom!"
"Have you made your bed?" she inquires. When she is rewarded with a proud nod, she smiles. "Then you may take Andy and Bree for a walk. But remember to go change, missy!"
x STARGATE SG-1 x
After they have said their temporary goodbyes, Sam is left to clear the table. She glances at the laptop, knowing that a report is due by Monday. Tuesdays are the weekly meeting with SGC scientists, surveyed by Brian Malcolms himself. She sighs mentally, reminding herself instantly that he is better than Rodney McKay; a tiny bit. She supposes her air of authority – at least with the scientists on base – has been rendered useless since she quitted the Air Force.
Noticing a drawing next to the tempting laptop, she leans closer to study it. It's not Ellie's usual style, if she has one. She uses soft colors, pastels, and uses all utensils she sees fit to create a better perception. Sam has caught her drawing deserts and otherworldly landscapes more than once; soft, like through a looking glass, the picture presents itself, then takes the viewer deeper into the fascination of details. Others would suppose Ellie as a prodigy, a young artist to be hallowed and awed. Sam hides the best of the drawings in a binder, afraid of exactly that sort of attention.
This drawing is eerie; it makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand out. Hues of black and gruesome red mixed in, striking her first as Netu, the hell moon of Delmak. She is surprised she still remembers, but then again, how would she be able to forget? It was one of her more challenging missions as a member of SG-1. Only, at the bottom of it is a stargate address. Netu does not have a stargate, Sam knows that. She doesn't recognize it, the combination of the six chevrons and the point of origin.
Reading below the drawing, before the stargate address, is, in fluent Goa'uld dialect, the name of a meeting place, stating its function as a Tok'ra stronghold and research facility.
She sighs, massaging the bridge of her nose. The drawing is eerily accurate, the black and gray mixed in with reds. It frightens her that her daughter could have drawn such a thing without being scared out of her mind. Ellie would have come to her, had she been scared. Therefore, she mustn't have been, which, frankly, scares Sam as a mother. More than anything she wishes that Elara never had access to that kind of information; that she could just cuddle her daughter and pretend everything was normal, okay. But it isn't.
She remembers the first time she discovered Ellie's prophetic abilities.
"Ellie?" she called out, putting the briefcase on the coffee table, keys next to it. She was returning from a long day of work elsewhere.
"Yeah?"
Tracing the sound from the parlor, she quickly found the shape of her three-year-old daughter, the cause to her retirement, sitting with her legs swinging, pen in hand, paper tucked between her elbows, drawing intensely.
Sam leaned down over her, caressing the back of her neck as she did so, placing a kiss on Elara's forehead. "Good afternoon."
"Good afternoon," she replied in return, her eyes never leaving the paper although her voice changed from distant to happy.
"What are you drawing, sweetie?"
Her daughter looked up, the blue eyes so wisely staring at her, an expression too mature for a three-year-old to make, as her lips formed the word. "Destruction."
And now she will have to expose her daughter, relaying the message of the drawing to the SGC; fore while she is retired, the righteousness within her makes her wish to warn the SGC of what the Tok'ra has kept hidden.
Sam has always been in a tough place when it comes to her brother. While she loves Mark with all her heart, he didn't approve of her joining the Air Force and following their father's footsteps. Although they have since reconciled, their father, too, it has been hard to become brother and sister again. After all, Mark is married with children. So when Sam came to him three and a half year ago, pregnant without a partner, the situation was more than peculiar and awkward. After a month of intense prying by Mark and his wife, Julie, they decided to stop bugging her about who the father was, besides that he "wasn't going to be a part of this".
Since she gave birth to Elara, their relationship has improved immensely. Perhaps it has something to do with resigning from the Air Force, but Mark is the first place she goes for help. She cannot count the times Ellie has been babysat by Mark and his family. He has also reluctantly agreed not to tell their father about Ellie's existence, although it required fierce persuasion and a promise from her that it wasn't out of shame.
A single call to Mark solves the situation about where Ellie will go when she travels to Stargate Command via McCarran Airport in Las Vegas, Nevada. Lisa and David are already looking forward to their cousin's visit, if Julie is to be trusted. And she is.
Sam keeps a bag packed at all times in her bedroom closet. It has all the things she needs, papers, clothes, makeup and essentials. She quickly dresses in something more, say, decent, which means a bra, jeans, a white t-shirt, socks, and sneakers. She styles her hair and puts on fairly little makeup in less than two minutes, leaving plenty of time for her to e-mail Malcolms of her recent discovery. However, as she tries to write it down, she realizes that he will not understand. Therefore, she decides to e-mail General Hammond, using the excuse that is the memories Jolinar the symbiote left in her subconscious mind. It is possible; that memories of the Tok'ra would resurface with time.
Sam groans aloud, formulating the e-mail so that it sounds half as crazy as now. She knows that she will not have the opportunity to go off-world herself; nor does she wish to, with risking not to return to Ellie, but it bugs her to be forced to explain it so that SGC personnel will understand.
Elara and Andy returns, Bree in tow, minutes later. Sam adds a collared shirt to the t-shirt and keeps her smile plastered on, having checked the flight scheduled for Nevada departing from San Diego. Mark lives three hours away, so she will have to pack an overnight bag for her daughter.
x STARGATE SG-1 x
The house is lovely with its white picket fence and the baby blue paint job. The lawn is mowed and every neighbor she has ever encountered there has been polite and the impersonation of loveliness. A suburban neighborhood with everything a near-perfect society offers, educationally and intellectually. The playground is new, the traffic rules clear, and Sam doubts there has ever been a neighbor feud in the time the neighborhood has existed. It seems like one of those perfections you see on television; everyone is smiling, laughing and inviting each other for barbeques. Ellie loves it here, although she was tentative at first glance. Sam was intimidated, too, but her daughter quickly overcame the wariness once she got to know David and Lisa, Mark's children.
Now, as she pulls over to the curb, shutting off the engine by taking the key out of the ignition of the car, she feels a little sad over the fact that she is dropping her child off like some bad, careless mother. She has to convince herself that she is doing this for Ellie, too, and that her daughter knows she has two homes, one is just her home away from home at Uncle Mark's.
"Ready, Ellie?" she says over her shoulder, grabbing the overnight bag with pink ponies on it. It is lightweight, packed loosely with the necessities, but she insists on carrying it for her, knowing that with Ellie's easily distracted mind (when it concerns the Carter-Samuels residence and its residents), the bag will not move from the lawn on its own accord once Ellie is otherwise preoccupied.
"Yes," the toddler replies, beginning to unlock the child seat belt once the car has come to an halt.
Julie comes out with the children, David especially whom Ellie has taken a fondness to. They are not the same age, him being six and Lisa eight, but he accepts the wonder that is Ellie as a challenge.
"Julie," Sam greets fondly as the children do their own hellos. The brunette smiles back at her sister-in-law, pocketing her hands. She is wearing a striped t-shirt with collar and worn jeans. Even then she manages to look so full of life and free-spirited (despite being a lawyer).
"Sam, good to see you," Julie responds, hugging the blonde whole-heartedly. "Mark is inside helping Lisa with her Math homework. I hope you don't mind."
Sam blushes mildly, awkward, feeling slightly bad. "Am I interrupting terribly?"
"As if you ever, Sam. I've told you, Ellie is welcome to stay here, anytime. She is hardly any trouble. Sometimes she behaves better than Davy and Liz," Julie jokes, smiling incredibly. Her dimples show, making her green eyes narrow horizontally and unintentionally. She really does possess that midwestern charm that has worked its magic on Mark; Sam envies him that sometimes. As far as domestic partners go, Julie must be Wonder Woman herself.
"I don't know about that," Sam discredits, laughing. "Maybe she just behaves better here than at home."
"You don't expect me to believe that, do you?" she questions rhetorically, motioning to the brown bulb of curls that is Ellie. "She's an angel from the above."
They walk inside slowly, trailing the path of the children. Sam has thrown the duffel bag across her shoulder, balancing it masterfully on her wrist. She is uncomfortable with the similarities to the truth; yes, Ellie did indeed come from the above. Swallowing, she engages in normal, casual conversation.
"I'm just glad you were able to babysit her on such short notice. I hate to just drop by and drop everything on her, but this could be important.."
Julie looks at her understandably. "It's gonna be fine, Sam. You should see David with Ellie; he's playing the role of a big brother. Something I am sure you know everything about being on the receiving end of," she points out.
Sam laughs. "Well, yeah, but I guess the annoying part hasn't kicked in yet. Trust me, it was there between Mark and I."
"I don't see how anyone could find you annoying," Julie responds. "But, I am sure Mark will convince me otherwise," she adds devilishly. "As adorable as your gene pool may be."
As it turns out, the Math is simple once Lisa dismisses Mark over Sam. Sam has never thought explaining subtraction and multiplication to an eight-year-old would be so easy (since she has had trouble explaining far more complex things to far smarter people in the past) and feels an equal success in accomplishing the task of teaching Lisa. Mark stands smirking once she is done, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Sammy, Sammy," he says amiably. "You're always here when needed."
"Oh, you would have gotten the hang of it in time," Sam teases back, enjoying a round of sibling banter.
"Not everyone has a degree in astrophysics, but I manage on a daily basis, sis, and I did so before you came along," he argues to no end.
"Of course," she replies softly, smiling genuinely, shrugging the pony duffel bag off her shoulder. "The infamous overnight bag. Everything should be there."
"Amazing. Well, we'll call you if anything goes awry. Which it won't, Sam, so please go off doing..?" Mark trails off, looking at her questioningly.
"... deep space telemetry," she supplies. "On a consultant basis. It's what they make you do when you quit," Sam says, jokingly.
"Hail the Air Force," Mark bits sarcastically but grins at her rolling eyes.
Reviews? You like. I promise it'll only get more exciting from now on! I am posting longer chapters in the hopes of quicker completion.
What do you like, whatcha don't?