Title: Poison
Author: Adi (dz_crasher@yahoo.com)
Archive: Email me we'll talk.
Category: Alternate Universe, Angst.
Pairings: None, really... smidgen of Sam/Daniel, you can ignore it if you want.
Spoilers: None
Season/Sequel info: None
Rating: PG-13
Content Warning: Some suggestive thoughts, AU character death, AU murder...
Summary: She was good at what she did. She knew this because she was still alive.
Disclaimer: Stargate Sg-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.
Beta Thanks: The readable state of this fic is due more or less exclusively to Denise and Cassie (take a bow girls). They've been great.
Author's Notes: To Beth (demon faith) for your outstanding grades on your GCSEs, you deserve it. You wanted slow dancing and H/C, you're getting this. :D
She was good at what she did. She knew this because she was still alive, though she tried not to get a big head about it. A big head could get you killed in this business. It could make you lower your guard, and it only took a second to lose your life. As far as she was concerned, however, if you let down your guard, you deserved to die.
Her mother died when she was thirteen; her father resigned his commission to spend more time at home. It was hell. He resented them for being the reason he left his beloved Air Force, and he didn't know how to be a civilian father. Two weeks after her fifteenth birthday she ran away. At first she lived with her brother Mark, who left home as soon as he turned eighteen, but he started to become like Jacob, so she left.
She was smart; before her mother died she had been top of her class despite of their constant moving. Her grades dropped afterwards and she just didn't have the energy to care about it too much. Still, her sharp mind was her greatest asset after she left her brother. She managed to get a job and a dingy apartment that could be called a studio or just something that didn't have any internal walls. It was small, very small, and old. It was freezing in the winter, broiling in the summer, and the wiring was bad, but it was hers.
The first time she killed, it was by accident. Some guy tried to jump her in the street one night and she had to defend herself. Even then she didn't feel as bad as she thought she should have. It was all downhill after that, and although it didn't happen overnight, she eventually became one of the most highly skilled assassins around.
She did some work for the government, even though she didn't really want to. It was less a job offer as it was extortion. They couldn't prove she had done anything, she was far too careful, but they could make her life difficult. So when she couldn't get out of it, she found herself an unofficial government employee. The government had secrets, and that would be fine if it weren't for the fact that the government was comprised of people, and people were vulnerable. Inevitably, there would be a point where someone would know too much, whether they stumbled across it, investigated it, or simply did their job and outlived their usefulness, and need to be eliminated, and that's where she came in.
She wasn't sure what the case was here. She didn't really care, she had a job to do, and she would do it. The man in question was a scholar who went by the name of Daniel Jackson. Though she had read in his file that his parents had originally named him something else, something foreign and strange. He'd had his name changed by his foster family after his parents died. She didn't know why the government wanted this man dead. He had been laughed out of the academia years ago by crying 'aliens!' and had been wallowing in self-pity more or less since then. There was a year missing from his life, and she guessed that there lay the reason for his imminent death, but she didn't really care.
The bar had a low ceiling and even lower lights, which she guessed was to hide the state of the old wooden furniture. The bar stool she was sitting on had one short leg and she had to stay very still so as not to wobble. The jukebox in the corner supplied the music, though it was hardly ever used. She had been coming here for the past few days, staking out the assignment. He would come in every day after he finished teaching at a local college. Sometimes he would be hyperactive, talking quickly and at length about various subjects to whoever would listen, or himself, sometimes he was morose and would sit and not talk to anyone except to order more drinks. She had never seen his eyes, but she thought he was probably taking drugs.
Today he was hyperactive, talking about some ancient culture to the man passed out beside him. This was good, and would suit her purposes. She went to the jukebox and inserted a couple of quarters. A few buttons later and the bar was, if not filled, then supplied with music. She sauntered, yes, sauntered - she knew how to get a man's attention - up to him and put on her most alluring smile. She was dressed in her tightest jeans and a shirt that showed more flesh than it concealed. This week she was sporting short blond hair, and since she wasn't wearing any contacts her eyes were blue, this week.
"Hi," she said to him. "Wanna dance?"
He blinked a few times and nodded, holding out his hand. He was already on his third drink and not too steady on his feet. This too suited her purposes. Carefully she led him out to the dance floor; or rather the place on the floor where there were fewest tables, put her arms around his neck and pulled him close. After a few moments of swaying to the music, he started talking again, slowly at first then gaining speed and intensity. They were so close he was talking into her ear, but his hands never strayed south, and though she could feel him against her thigh, he never made a move, or a suggestion they go outside. That, she hadn't been expecting. A true gentleman. They danced for a few songs before her money ran out, and since he wouldn't, she suggested going outside, taking a walk. He agreed.
"One more song though?" she whispered into his ear. He nodded and reached into his pocket for a quarter.
He held her tightly during this last dance, more sure then before. They swayed to the music and once again he was silent. She could see his eyes now, they were glazed with alcohol but had none of the strange light of those who used narcotics habitually. His face was aged prematurely; worry lines around his mouth, grief in the wrinkles around his eyes. The hands on her back weren't smooth like she expected a scholar's to be. He had calluses, and the skin was tough and leathery.
She pulled him closer and rested her head on his shoulder. Sliding the needle out from between the layers of her wristwatch band, she carefully moved it to the base of his skull and feeling out his spine with her fingertips she gently, oh so gently, pricked him. His reaction was immediate and predictable.
"Ouch." he said, moving back and reaching behind him to feel the area punctured.
"What's wrong?" she asked, sliding the needle back into her watch with one hand.
"I think this place has fleas... Ready to go?"
She took him out to his car, the agent was already going through his blood stream. Soon his vision would blur and he would lose control of his limbs, eventually his heart would give out, but he would be brain dead long before that. Afterwards she would scatter some empty and mostly empty liquor bottles in his car, and throw the needle into the gutter. The autopsy would confirm what the detectives would assume, alcohol poisoning, and if she did her job properly, no one would look deeper.
Right now though, she held his hand and let him kiss her clumsily but eagerly, and let herself pretend, just for a moment, that she was someone else. Someone he cared for. Someone not named Samantha Carter.
Author: Adi (dz_crasher@yahoo.com)
Archive: Email me we'll talk.
Category: Alternate Universe, Angst.
Pairings: None, really... smidgen of Sam/Daniel, you can ignore it if you want.
Spoilers: None
Season/Sequel info: None
Rating: PG-13
Content Warning: Some suggestive thoughts, AU character death, AU murder...
Summary: She was good at what she did. She knew this because she was still alive.
Disclaimer: Stargate Sg-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.
Beta Thanks: The readable state of this fic is due more or less exclusively to Denise and Cassie (take a bow girls). They've been great.
Author's Notes: To Beth (demon faith) for your outstanding grades on your GCSEs, you deserve it. You wanted slow dancing and H/C, you're getting this. :D
She was good at what she did. She knew this because she was still alive, though she tried not to get a big head about it. A big head could get you killed in this business. It could make you lower your guard, and it only took a second to lose your life. As far as she was concerned, however, if you let down your guard, you deserved to die.
Her mother died when she was thirteen; her father resigned his commission to spend more time at home. It was hell. He resented them for being the reason he left his beloved Air Force, and he didn't know how to be a civilian father. Two weeks after her fifteenth birthday she ran away. At first she lived with her brother Mark, who left home as soon as he turned eighteen, but he started to become like Jacob, so she left.
She was smart; before her mother died she had been top of her class despite of their constant moving. Her grades dropped afterwards and she just didn't have the energy to care about it too much. Still, her sharp mind was her greatest asset after she left her brother. She managed to get a job and a dingy apartment that could be called a studio or just something that didn't have any internal walls. It was small, very small, and old. It was freezing in the winter, broiling in the summer, and the wiring was bad, but it was hers.
The first time she killed, it was by accident. Some guy tried to jump her in the street one night and she had to defend herself. Even then she didn't feel as bad as she thought she should have. It was all downhill after that, and although it didn't happen overnight, she eventually became one of the most highly skilled assassins around.
She did some work for the government, even though she didn't really want to. It was less a job offer as it was extortion. They couldn't prove she had done anything, she was far too careful, but they could make her life difficult. So when she couldn't get out of it, she found herself an unofficial government employee. The government had secrets, and that would be fine if it weren't for the fact that the government was comprised of people, and people were vulnerable. Inevitably, there would be a point where someone would know too much, whether they stumbled across it, investigated it, or simply did their job and outlived their usefulness, and need to be eliminated, and that's where she came in.
She wasn't sure what the case was here. She didn't really care, she had a job to do, and she would do it. The man in question was a scholar who went by the name of Daniel Jackson. Though she had read in his file that his parents had originally named him something else, something foreign and strange. He'd had his name changed by his foster family after his parents died. She didn't know why the government wanted this man dead. He had been laughed out of the academia years ago by crying 'aliens!' and had been wallowing in self-pity more or less since then. There was a year missing from his life, and she guessed that there lay the reason for his imminent death, but she didn't really care.
The bar had a low ceiling and even lower lights, which she guessed was to hide the state of the old wooden furniture. The bar stool she was sitting on had one short leg and she had to stay very still so as not to wobble. The jukebox in the corner supplied the music, though it was hardly ever used. She had been coming here for the past few days, staking out the assignment. He would come in every day after he finished teaching at a local college. Sometimes he would be hyperactive, talking quickly and at length about various subjects to whoever would listen, or himself, sometimes he was morose and would sit and not talk to anyone except to order more drinks. She had never seen his eyes, but she thought he was probably taking drugs.
Today he was hyperactive, talking about some ancient culture to the man passed out beside him. This was good, and would suit her purposes. She went to the jukebox and inserted a couple of quarters. A few buttons later and the bar was, if not filled, then supplied with music. She sauntered, yes, sauntered - she knew how to get a man's attention - up to him and put on her most alluring smile. She was dressed in her tightest jeans and a shirt that showed more flesh than it concealed. This week she was sporting short blond hair, and since she wasn't wearing any contacts her eyes were blue, this week.
"Hi," she said to him. "Wanna dance?"
He blinked a few times and nodded, holding out his hand. He was already on his third drink and not too steady on his feet. This too suited her purposes. Carefully she led him out to the dance floor; or rather the place on the floor where there were fewest tables, put her arms around his neck and pulled him close. After a few moments of swaying to the music, he started talking again, slowly at first then gaining speed and intensity. They were so close he was talking into her ear, but his hands never strayed south, and though she could feel him against her thigh, he never made a move, or a suggestion they go outside. That, she hadn't been expecting. A true gentleman. They danced for a few songs before her money ran out, and since he wouldn't, she suggested going outside, taking a walk. He agreed.
"One more song though?" she whispered into his ear. He nodded and reached into his pocket for a quarter.
He held her tightly during this last dance, more sure then before. They swayed to the music and once again he was silent. She could see his eyes now, they were glazed with alcohol but had none of the strange light of those who used narcotics habitually. His face was aged prematurely; worry lines around his mouth, grief in the wrinkles around his eyes. The hands on her back weren't smooth like she expected a scholar's to be. He had calluses, and the skin was tough and leathery.
She pulled him closer and rested her head on his shoulder. Sliding the needle out from between the layers of her wristwatch band, she carefully moved it to the base of his skull and feeling out his spine with her fingertips she gently, oh so gently, pricked him. His reaction was immediate and predictable.
"Ouch." he said, moving back and reaching behind him to feel the area punctured.
"What's wrong?" she asked, sliding the needle back into her watch with one hand.
"I think this place has fleas... Ready to go?"
She took him out to his car, the agent was already going through his blood stream. Soon his vision would blur and he would lose control of his limbs, eventually his heart would give out, but he would be brain dead long before that. Afterwards she would scatter some empty and mostly empty liquor bottles in his car, and throw the needle into the gutter. The autopsy would confirm what the detectives would assume, alcohol poisoning, and if she did her job properly, no one would look deeper.
Right now though, she held his hand and let him kiss her clumsily but eagerly, and let herself pretend, just for a moment, that she was someone else. Someone he cared for. Someone not named Samantha Carter.