Transitive

Defined as having or taking a direct object

Chapter One: Seventh Circle

A/N: Man, Sam gets hit on so much on other planets. It must be a nice ego boost. But also, creepy. So let's explore the creepy! But in a harmless way.

Enjoy!

And this truly had to be the seventh circle of hell. No, really. Of all the missions she'd been on in six plus years of going through the gate, this had to be the worst. Not only did she not get to blow anything up- no, that would've been fun. Instead, SG-1 had been ordered to stay on this rock for three whole days and learn with and about the natives. That was the exact directive, word for word.

"With and about, my ass." Sam grumbled, running her fingers through her hair for the billionth time. They were being anthropologists again and it was all Daniel's fault. Daniel who just had to go and beg the general for this mission because this culture was just so fascinating. Why though? There was nothing here they hadn't seen exactly thirty seven times before.

"You have such a beautiful smile." Sam stiffened, a single line appearing between her brows, and turned to face the voice that had so rudely interrupted her incredibly productive train of thought.

Before her stood a relatively short native man. He was wearing the traditional garb of a high court officer and the pompous smirk of the same rank. Wonderful. "I'm not actually smiling." Sam did her best to keep all tone out of her voice and judging by his smirk, he wouldn't have cared either way.

"Ah, you just aren't smiling yet."

Okay. No.

"Wow, this charred food….meat, just hit me. Gotta go." Giving her most dazzling smile, Sam turned and walked towards the center table, keeping towards the edge of the giant fire pit. Man these people really loved fire. Finally finding an empty space far away from any food meat, she collapsed gratefully onto the bench. Thirty more minutes and she could respectfully turn in. She would've avoided this party altogether, but as part of their directive, she had to "learn."

Actually, she was surprised the colonel hadn't put up a bigger fight about this party, let alone this mission. Sam frowned again. Now that she thought about it, he had given in really easily. Too easily. But before she could really let her suspicion sink in another voice interrupted her.

"I don't know how you can sit so close to that fire."

"Excuse me?" Sam turned and, with pride, noticed she actually sounded pleasant. Another man stood in front of her and though his face was half in shadow, he was less smug than the first. And taller. And younger.

Way. Younger.

"The fire, how can you sit so close?"

That little line appeared between her brows again, deepening when she realized all this frowning was going to give her wrinkles. Was their fire more volatile on this planet? Was it transitive? Because if it could move, this mission could quite possibly be salvaged from the seventh circle.

"Why not?" Her interest must have shown on her face because the stranger took a couple of steps closer.

"Because you are already so hot."

Haha. No.

Sam let a dangerous smile spread across her lips and let an even more dangerous laugh follow. Standing slowly, she took a few deep breaths, the colonel's earlier words tempering her response.

"Who knows, Carter, it could be fun."

"Yes, sir." Hey, she couldn't help it if she was doubtful.

"I mean it, Carter. Try to have fun."

"Sir-,"

"I'll make it an order." If she had been looking up, she would have seen the tiniest twinkle in his eye.

"Yes, sir."

"And Carter?"

"Sir?" This time she did glance up.

"Don't make the natives cry."

If she could have chucked something at him, she would have.

Right. No crying natives. Smiling tightly, she edged around the unintentional comedian. "No…thank…you…" The words came out oddly stretched and halting. She scrunched her face in an expression of pained awkwardness and bolted.

She was seriously done with this party.

But she didn't need to check her watch to know the colonel's imposed time minimum had not yet passed. Awesome.

A soft hand on her arm made her turn around. "Hello." A young woman stood shyly behind Sam, tugging at the braided belt she wore to cinch her white tunic. The dress led Sam to believe this girl was low royalty.

"Hi." She couldn't help but feel a little relieved. Maybe she'd found someone to at least use as a buffer.

"Come with me?" The girl had reached for Sam's hand, a shy smile still on her lips.

"Come with you where?" Sam moved her hand just out of reach.

The girl giggled and a high color rose in her cheeks. "A special place."

"Special." No question in her voice, just a statement.

"My…special place."

And then it hit Sam. Damn, was she wearing some sort of pheromone perfume? Never in her life had she been hit on this much in one night. Hell, in ten minutes.

Forget the seventh circle, this was a whole new dimension of uncomfortable hell.

"I'm okay." Sam back up a few paces, trying not to feel bad at the girl's fallen expression. "Thanks." Turning once again, Sam decided to hell with the colonel's order, she was going to bed.

Alone.

"Samantha." Sam grimaced. Her full name was never a good sign when it came to people offworld.

"Yes?" Sam plastered the fakest smile she could manage onto her face as she turned to face the only man she couldn't be rude to on the whole damn planet.

The goddamn king.

"You are looking very beautiful tonight." The king smiled pleasantly at her and spoke with the same tone as someone discussing the weather.

"So it seems." Sam pressed her lips together in what she hoped was a polite expression. "I'm sorry, I'm really tired. I think it's time I turn in." Hoping that would be the end of it, she couldn't help the slightly desperate noise she made when he called her back.

"Perhaps I could arrange more comfortable accommodations." Still casual.

"Our tent is plenty comfortable, your highness, thank you." Pressing her nails into her palms, Sam could practically feel her need to get away manifesting into an aneurysm.

"I insist, Samantha." And there went the casual.

Planting her feet, Sam did her best to lower her immediately raised hackles. "I prefer to stay with my team, your highness." The title grated against her teeth.

"And I prefer the company of my women."

Sam stood stockstill for a long moment, brain in total disbelief of what her ears were telling her. 'Be calm, be calm, be calm, be calm.' The words repeated over and over in her mind. 'You did not get to where you are by losing your temper at every misogynistic asshole who got in your way.'

Sam took a deep breath, ready to politely—but firmly—turn him down when he reached out his hand. "Come now." And gestured at her to follow him.

'Don't hit him!' The little voice in her head screamed and then her brain broke. She was pretty sure that aneurysm had manifested and was now breaking her brain. Breaking it into tiny little incoherent pieces warring with her own nature and her self control.

"I'm married." Yes. Her brain was definitely broken.

"What?" The king was taken aback, but didn't look incredibly concerned.

"What?" Though she wasn't quite sure to whom the question was directed at.

"You're married?"

"Yes. Yep. Married." Laughing awkwardly, Sam turned and began walking again, eyes wide. What the hell was she thinking? Married!

"I don't believe you." His mocking tone made her very skin itch.

"Well, it's true. Goodnight." Sam kept walking, her brain still trying to catch up.

"Prove it."

Sam froze. Well, damn.

"Prove it?"

"Yes. I see no ring upon your finger, no other adornment or decoration to suggest you are tied." The king patted his round belly proudly and cocked his head maddeningly at her.

"On duty. Can't wear jewelry." Why on earth was she justifying herself to this man?

"And you are out here, alone."

"No, he's here too." What?!

Real surprise stretched across the man's features and Sam had the sudden urge to laugh. Except her brain had just caught up. And now she was pretty sure she was going to puke.

"He came with you?"

"Yep. He's, um, on my team." Sam bit her lip and tried desperately to keep her eyes from squeezing shut against this increasingly awful situation.

"Which one is he?" Again, the sly smile crept onto his face. The little bastard didn't believe her! 'Well, that's because you're lying.' The helpful little voice reminded her.

"He's, um, he's over…" Sam trailed as she turned her head, looking for her imaginary husband. Teal'c! Yes! Teal'c was perfect! Huge, intimidating, and certainly not bad looking…and missing. Great. A quick sweep told her that the Jaffa had been smart and turned in early, heedless of the colonel's order. Okay…okay…Daniel! It was his fault she was in this mess anyway. "He's the guy with the…the ah…"

Sam bit down on her tongue when she finally caught sight of the archaeologist. He was sitting on top of one of the tables, gesticulating wildly as he told a surely fascinating tale to the gaggle of girls that surrounded him. Fine. She filed that image away to tell Janet later. Despite her current predicament, Sam smirked. Revenge would be sweet.

"My husband is…" And then her eyes landed on him. Well. Technically, this was all his fault too. And, technically, pretend married is not against the regulations. And, technically—ah hell. She was sure he owed her anyway. "Is that guy, over there." She pointed and, almost as if she'd shouted to him, his head immediately turned her way.

TBC

A/N: Part two up soon!