Chapter 35 - Needs
Waking was a mixture of good and bad for Sam the next morning. It was not too early and she had slept well, feeling physically whole and strong. But the instant she tried to assess her mental state, she felt only foggy, muddied emotions still. It was as if the cauldron of yesterday had merely congealed overnight, not evaporated like she had planned.
~That failed,~ she sighed, not in private because Jolinar wasn't awake to hear.
Even so, Jolinar began to stir, and Sam wasn't ready for her. She wasn't ready for anybody; her father didn't quite trust the Tok'ra, the Tok'ra didn't quite trust her people, and she was caught somewhere in between with no neutral ally. Then her symbiote sighed and Sam had a reluctant curiosity. ~Something wrong?~
*Only yesterday's troubles,* Jolinar answered, murmuring.
~You didn't sound very upset yesterday,~ Sam said in an almost thoughtless remark.
Jolinar snorted.
It was ambiguous, but Sam took it as a reminder that Jolinar didn't always express herself openly. Leaving that alone, she sat up in bed and exhaled slowly, wondering how she was going to explain everything to those who would want to know when she didn't even understand it herself. And she would have to explain, that was a given.
*I cannot take this anymore.*
Sam stopped moving, Jolinar's voice coming to her as if from out of the blue. ~What?~
*I hoped that sleep would clear your mind—*
~Join the club,~ Sam put in, confused nonetheless.
*—but as it has not, this must stop. Now.*
~What on earth are you talking about?~ Sam asked.
*I am not going to sit by and silently take another day of your close-minded prejudice and emotional blackmail.*
Sam decided immediately that she wasn't going to continue whatever this conversation was like this, and stood up and marched over to the wardrobe. ~What the hell, Jol?~
The symbiote took a moment, but Sam had annoyance and confusion battling for priority, and so nothing to say in the silence.
*That was not the way to start, perhaps.* Jolinar's tone was decidedly more even, but Sam felt that it was a forced evenness.
~Damn right. Mind explaining yourself?~
*It is not a question of if I mind or not. It is a matter of your responsibility. I will grant you the trust you have earned, and say that you may not realize what a struggle it was to get through yesterday without calling you out on your behavior. But I will tell you now: it was. It still is.*
~So I'm not allowed to have conflicting emotions about...about all that?~ Sam asked, not so much curious despite her words.
*Conflicting, yes, overburdening, no. Samantha, you showed no restraint whatsoever; I could barely think with all your emotions. Do you not realize that we share that much at least? Do you not have self control?*
Sam bit back the first thought that came to mind, and channeled the new energy flowing through her into flipping through her choice of clothes with more force than necessary. ~Well, someone's snappy.~
Jolinar groaned. *Even now you maintain your being in the right; I should not have brought it up.*
~Oh no, don't try to drop it now,~ Sam pushed, tone dark but insistent. ~You can't just throw things out and let them hang. Tell me what I should have done, if you're so certain it was wrong.~
*Honestly? Not acted as if you were alone in a world where nothing existed but your pretty little troubles.*
Sam stood stunned, choice of clothes hanging in her hand. Never ask a question if you don't want the answer...especially not from Jolinar.
*Yes, maybe uncalled for...even now your mood is overwhelming. I understand your youth, Samantha, but this is beyond even that consideration. It is as if you have forgotten all we have accomplished together.*
~All right, Jol, and I never thought I'd have to say this, but I need you to explain in smaller, more distinct words,~ Sam said, jaw just a little tight. ~What is it?~
*I am not your caretaker,* Jolinar shot at her. *That clear enough? Did that go through your stubborn head and its cloud of feelings? I am not here solely to take care of your personal life, and certainly not to be your encourager alone. We're partners, and I don't deserve your treating me as if I owe you something.*
~You...you don't?~ Sam flung back, words failing her. ~Have you forgotten?~
*For this current mission, no, I have not forgotten anything. Just look at yourself. All the angst over what you should or shouldn't be feeling...*
~Oh yes, I'm sure it's all so simple to you.~
*Don't push me, Saman...yes, yes, it is. Your father is dying, your friends betrayed you, Sha're blames you for her troubles, your future is unsure, and you've been swaying between hurt and relief over yesterday and hating yourself for not choosing either. All that's clear as crystal when you do not even pause to consider keeping such feelings as close to you as possible.*
Sam hesitated to take a breath, clasping up her dress with ever-so-slightly trembling fingers. ~So now you want privacy too?~ she snarked.
*No, I do not,* Jolinar snapped back. *Every day is a torment so long as your mind is deafeningly silent, when all I wish is to hear the thoughts that I know you want hidden from me. But if I must not know them, may I at least be given release from the temptation of feeling the overflow of your heart. The longings, the pains, the fears...it is too much, Samantha, and I will go mad with the tease of intimacy.*
Sam didn't answer. Jolinar—damn her—had given her focus enough to pull back all her emotions, leaving what she hoped was an empty husk for Jolinar to feel. She wasn't conflicted now, not while this was happening; hidden behind the wall between them, she knew exactly what she felt. Guilt.
Jolinar couldn't help but be affected by her...what was that like? Jolinar didn't have strong emotions often, so even Sam's relatively limited ones must feel like an invasion of self. Like having Jolinar in your head, only on a much visceral level. If there was no closeness between the two minds, how horrible must that feel?
~I'm sorry.~
*No, you're guilty; don't act as if you know nothing of yourself,* Jolinar answered wearily.
~Fine, then.~
There was silence.
Sam gave a pained smile. Of course this would happen in the morning, when Jolinar was her least tactful. But the smile faded, leaving only the pain. Jolinar's words had been full of bitterness, coming from building frustration over who knows how long. And it hurt Sam to acknowledge, because she felt it too. They had been working so well, but had it been a cover? Was the tactical disaster a catalyst for their personal breakdown?
Sam's stomach growled, and she finished dressing so she could deal with it. Hunger did things to even the most blissful people.
ooooooo
Daniel was feeling considerably better by the time he dozed off during kel'no'reem, and was grateful to Teal'c for limiting comments on how long he'd managed to last to eyebrow movements. He woke up with strange marks on his skin from where his BDU's thick seams and buttons had pressed into him as he slept. There was a slight crick in his neck too, but Teal'c adjusted it for him before he had any time to be startled.
After a yawn, a shower, and breakfast, he was feeling much more at peace. Then again, Jack hadn't come into work yet. He was walking down the halls, however, when he saw Janet coming the other way.
"Dr. Jackson," she nodded, stopping as they passed. "I was going to look for you."
"What is it?" he asked, brow creasing.
"Your Dr. Mckay," she said, small mouth in a firm line. Daniel felt a sudden twinge of guilt for forgetting him. "He only knows from hearsay what happened yesterday," she continued. "And as much as he won't admit it, he's getting restless about all of you. I think a visit would be welcomed."
Daniel nodded. Janet gave him a quick smile, comforting in its intent, and they went their separate ways. Daniel's, however, had changed. As he expected, Mckay was not only up early but had a dozen papers spread out on his hospital bed. There was a shade of worry on his face, though, and Daniel instantly regretted not bothering to check in with him earlier.
"Hey," he said, neutrally.
"Hey," Mckay answered.
"I suppose you heard about yesterday," Daniel commented, hands in his pockets in an uncomfortable/comfortable stance.
"Yeah, not a surprise, unfortunately," said Mckay, looking as if there was a nasty taste in his mouth. "It was to you?"
"I'm not sure now," Daniel admitted. "But it doesn't matter, does it?"
"No, not really," Mckay agreed tonelessly.
"How's your hand?" Daniel asked, nodding towards it.
"Painful," Mckay winced. "I can't think with the painkillers, so I told her to take me off them."
"Bad plan?" Daniel guessed.
"I don't know, why don't you decide? Discovering that your genius ideas under medication are nonsense unworthy of a preschooler, or getting random blasts of jarring pain?"
"Sophie's choice," said Daniel, nodding in painful sympathy. Mckay shrugged, and Daniel wondered if he got the reference. "So, still don't know if you're going to stay on the team?"
"Why, do you need me for something?" Mckay asked, slightly suspicious.
"No," Daniel answered, then sighed. "Yes. Maybe. Do you have an answer to the question?"
Mckay eyed him. "Assuming you aren't expecting me to be the buffer between you and O'Neill."
Daniel shook his head. "Jack and I—we'll get through it, eventually."
"Well, eventually's when I'll be back, unfortunately," said Mckay, leaning his head back against the pillow.
"Well, until then, we'll just have to bring our scientific disasters to the infirmary to nearly explode," said Daniel with faux cheer.
"That's not a joke, you know," said Mckay. "You'll need me."
Just as Daniel was about to think of some kind of answer to that, there was a commotion behind them and Daniel turned.
"Oh no," murmured Mckay.
"Hello, Daniel," said Clara Dixon, Abby in one arm while the other snatched for Bobby as the boy stretched out an arm to touch the nearest cool-looking thing in the infirmary. Heart-faced, with a solid torso that showed that she'd been in the army for four years in college, Clara was a strange mixture of power and friendliness. To her children, she was an iron fist; to the rest of the world, an ally who hid her strength under an optimistic smile.
"Didn't expect to see you here," said Daniel, with a real smile at the home-like picture.
"We came to see Mr. Mckay!" piped up Bobby, who stopped trying to pull away from his mother's grasp on his wrist.
"Dr.," corrected his mother. Abby twisted in her arms until Clara let her down, where she ran past Daniel to climb up Mckay's bed like a monkey. "Abby!" Clara called.
"Doctor Rodney!" Abby squealed, hugging Mckay's right arm.
Beside him, Daniel heard Clara stifle a laugh, and to be certain Mckay's face was the stuff of amusement.
"Uh, hi?" the uncomfortable scientist offered.
"We missed you," Abby said.
"Hey baby girl, he's hurt, so you shouldn't hug him unless he says it's okay," Clara advised. "So Rodney, we were all worried when Dave told us what happened, so the kids and I put together a little get well gift."
"Really?" Mckay asked, looking surprised and a little relieved now that Abby was just sitting on the side of the bed, swinging her short stubby legs off the edge.
"James is at school, but he made this for you," Clara said, opening her large purse and handing Mckay an envelope.
Daniel noted with interest at how efficiently Mckay got it open with only his right hand.
Unfolding the paper, Mckay stared at it, a half frown on his face. "He spelled pie wrong?"
Daniel was about to roll his eyes at the lack of tact, but Clara grinned and said. "No, he was trying to be funny...kids and puns, you know."
"Oh, he knows math?" Mckay asked, looking less confused and maybe a little appreciative.
"He tries," Clara shrugged with a smile.
"Interesting," Mckay said. Daniel, hands still in pockets, tipped his head to one side to look at the paper. It was the work of an eight-year-old—decently drawn pie divided into roughly three-and-a-bit pieces, with "I love pi" surrounding it in red crayon. The smiley face on the tri-colored pie was a nice touch, Daniel thought. Mckay seemed to be fighting with the critical side of himself, but he won, or at least called a truce, and didn't say anything.
"Now it's our turn!" said Bobby, jumping up and down and pulling on the hem of her shirt. "Come on, mom!"
"Hold on, yo-yo," said Clara, and she reached into her purse.
"I want to give it!" piped up Abby. "I made them too!"
"You already gave him your present," objected Bobby, taking a mysterious brown paper bag from his mom and walking over to Mckay's bed.
"But he didn't even like my hug," protested Abby with pathos.
Mckay looked uncomfortable again. "I didn't hate it," he muttered, but loud enough that Abby heard him and didn't say anything more.
"Mom and Abby and me made these for you," said Bobby, handing Mckay the bag.
Mckay sniffed. "Is that—are those peanut butter cookies?"
"Do you like peanut butter?" asked Abby curiously, looking up at him.
"Uh, yes, of course," said Mckay in an obvious tone, opening the bag and eyes lighting up.
"Good, 'cause there's lots," said Bobby, grinning and bouncing on the balls of his feet.
"And mom said we couldn't eat any of them," said Abby. She eyed him disconcertingly, and Daniel actually couldn't tell what Mckay would do.
But after a pause—"You could share a cookie I guess..." he muttered.
"Yes!" said Bobby, pumping the air.
Abby looked ready to squeal as Mckay reluctantly handed her two halves of a broken cookie, and she wriggled off the bed to give one to her eager brother.
"What do you say?" Clara said, giving them the look.
"Thank you, Doctor Rodney!" said Abby, crumbs at the corner of her mouth all that was left of the cookie even after this short time.
"Thanks," echoed Bobby.
"Oh no, did he save our lives again?" groaned Dixon, looking in as he passed by.
"Daddy!" squeaked Abby, darting in an unstable toddler run across the infirmary and attempting to tackle Dixon's knee.
"Hey Dad, we brought cookies," reported Bobby, holding up the bitten piece in his hand.
"Uh uh uh uh," corrected Dixon, shaking his head and giving them the eyeball. "Not Daddy. What did I tell you about work?"
Abby was lost for words, but Bobby sighed. "Work is too cool for Daddy."
"And don't you forget it," advised Dixon, a seriousness that was too obviously playful on his face. He tossed a quick glance and nod to Daniel and Clara, where they stood, then returned his attention to his children. "Now, did you have something to say?"
"Yes, sir, Major," said Bobby, snapping to a grinning salute. "We brought cookies to Dr. Mckay, Major sir."
"Good to hear, airman," said Dixon, returning the salute with care. "And this monster is?" he added, looking down to where Abby was still mounting an attack on his lower leg.
"A girl, sir," said Bobby. Abby giggled, looking up at Dixon and waiting for his reaction.
"Ah, deadly stuff then," said Dixon, bending down and scooping Abby up with one arm as he walked into the infirmary. "I think we'd better put her into the proper hands, don't you?"
"No, not Mommy," protested Abby, squeezing her arms around his neck as if they would lock her in place. "I want to live here forever!"
Clara chuckled, prying her daughter from Dixon's neck. "You can't live here, you don't have clearance."
"I wanna know what Daddy does," Abby said, pouting.
"Tough luck, munchkin," said Dixon, flicking the tip of her nose and shrugging.
"Well, we'll just be going," said Clara, turning back to Daniel and Mckay. "You all keep safe, you hear?"
"I thought they were supposed to use up all the bad luck so I'd be fine?" said Dixon.
Clara glared at him, giving him a swipe with her giant purse-bag. "You knew what I meant..."
Dixon's family made their way out of the infirmary, Bobby grabbing for a souvenir as he went, only to have Clara get the pudding cup out of his hand and back on the tray without even looking.
Daniel had been watching the proceedings, smiling, but it was almost bittersweet. Technically his regrets were only for an imaginary family like this, but sometimes it felt like there had been more. He squashed those feelings when he could, knowing that Jack counted on it, even as each time felt like part of the slow destruction of Daniel Jackson.
Shaking his head slightly, though, he looked to Mckay. He was focused on his work, a cookie hanging from his mouth as he tapped a pen on the edge of his notebook while reading through his papers, possibly having missed most of the interaction. Daniel had to doubt it though; uncomfortable around children and family was not an understatement with Mckay, but even at the team's night out he had appeared to have a strange fascination with them.
And then Daniel noticed that he hadn't thought about yesterday in a good ten minutes. Nodding to himself, he left Mckay in peace to go to his work, knowing for sure this time that the team was good for him.
ooooooo
Sam chewed her breakfast slowly despite her hunger, dreading the knowledge that any moment would bring either Larys or Martouf and Lantash. Probably both. It was an ironic feeling, given the many times she had partially resented Jolinar's loner personality. But she had her reasons.
Jolinar remained darkly quiet, not giving any input on their breakfast or anything else for that matter, leaving only the fading bitter taste of discord in Sam's mind. Wasn't it only yesterday that Jolinar had been her only ally among those who distrusted her? Why did she have to go and ruin that one thing? As unfair as Sam suspected that thought was, it was the most prominent one. And part of her wanted to keep it that way, keep her focus.
She just didn't want to resent Jolinar.
And when she looked up to see Martouf making his way across the hall, she decided there was only one thing to do. She fell back, leaving control free for Jolinar. But she didn't take it. For a moment Sam had a feeling like when you forget about the last step at the bottom of a staircase, and find yourself falling suddenly, only to catch yourself with a clumsy jerk. After catching herself by some weird automatic bodily reaction to no active neural commands, Sam put a hand to her chest, heart having leapt a beat.
~Oh, that was mature,~ she couldn't help but comment. And then, she wondered in the lack of an answer that followed, if maybe Jolinar didn't feel calm enough to take the lead.
"Something wrong?" Martouf asked, taking his seat.
Sam noticed the lack of food in his hands, and knew her dread was confirmed and he was aware of what had happened. "I don't know, why don't you ask Jolinar?" She took a sip of drink, muttering afterwards. "Can't guarantee an answer, but what the heck..."
"Mm, very wrong," Martouf said, settling himself in his seat for a long stay.
"Don't ask for an explanation," Sam implored, looking up at him. "I truly don't know what to say."
"Something to do with Jolinar, though," Martouf guessed, looking more concerned.
"Yes," Sam confirmed, succinctly. Her guilt coiled coolly in her stomach, even as she ate neatly and deliberately.
Martouf nodded, watching her face closely. His entire expression said, 'And?'
Sam didn't want to answer the unspoken, but a part of her insisted that she should, that it was unfair to leave it to Jolinar. Jolinar hadn't truly started this, not really. "Unfortunately, there are issues with the blending," she finally said, putting down her utensil with finality. "A lack of communication might describe it."
Martouf nodded slowly, expectant of more but unsurprised. It caught Sam off guard, and she wondered how much else he noticed.
"And at this point I don't know what I think about it," Sam finished. "Jolinar, apparently, has been thinking about it for quite some time, so I wish she would just come and say what it is." Sam eased back, waiting, feeling for it. And then, that flicker, and Sam let Jolinar come forward with relief.
"Samantha is not wrong on that point," Jolinar opened grimly. "We began this journey under the assumption that only minimal blending occur, for convenience's sake when it would end. But with all the trials and obstacles since now and then, it has become a burden more than a convenience. And frustratingly, though thoughts were controllable, emotions were not."
"So you feel her emotions but cannot see her thoughts?" Martouf asked, puzzled by the very idea.
"Only those thoughts which are loud enough to qualify as inner speech," agreed Jolinar with a sigh. "While every emotion is now as vivid from her as if she was fully blended; I have tried to keep my own secluded, but with the deluge from her I have not been fully successful. We are teetering on the brink."
Martouf shifted, resting his elbows on the table and clasping his hands in front of him. He dipped his head for a moment, looking back up straight at Jolinar. "I did not expect to have this conversation," he said with a twisted smile.
Sam felt a twinge of conviction. And true, this conflict had come seemingly out of nowhere, even as it was so closely connected to all that had occurred.
"Neither did I," Jolinar answered. "It is—frustrating."
"Have you talked with her before?" Martouf asked.
"No, I was hoping it would not continue to be an issue," said Jolinar. But Sam felt that, off Martouf's answering look, she realized the error in that.
But Sam had to wonder...what would she have said? ~What do you really want?~ she asked. ~You never really said.~
Jolinar grimaced, jaw clenching down on nothing. Martouf's eyes narrowed in confusion and dark curiosity, but he held his tongue.
~You know, don't you, you just don't want to tell me,~ Sam guessed, not sure exactly what her own words signified, just that they were true.
*Samantha, please, you pushed me to this but I do not wish to go further.*
~I'm sorry, that isn't going to cut it anymore. Remember last time?~
*It is nothing like that, I assure you.* Jolinar's tone was clipped.
~Let me just repeat you, then: I can't take anymore of this. Is there some kind of Tok'ra code about being secretive about everything, even to your own hosts?~
Her hand gripped the edge of the table before sending an answer back to Sam like the arrow from a bow. *Damn it! A code of stubbornness among the Tauri must certainly exist.*
Sam felt the sting but it was almost a pleasure. It was so easy to strike out, use words and sharp emotions to mask everything else. Logically, she didn't wish to acknowledge it, but with all the confusion she didn't know where her logic had gone. All that was left was bad instincts.
And yet, it was only in the barest part of a moment, and yet she felt afraid. Of herself, of Jolinar...and she knew in that instant where it all came from. Jolinar's temper and impulsiveness, mingling unconsciously with Sam's snark and producing a deadly combination, to be followed by Jolinar's urgent, open fear of what all this was leading to.
Sam only recognized it just after Jolinar, but to ease them both, as Martouf still sat patiently, Jolinar spoke quietly aloud.
"I have never been so separated from my host as a Tok'ra. Disjointed, unwanted...it was better when at times I was able to hide so well as to be invisible. But the more hiding, the more release of emotion made me feel like an intruder, and worse. I share in her emotions, but must ever worry about my own. Not only that she not be forced to share them, but what might happen if my thoughts sent us both down a path too dark."
Jolinar looked down at her hands as she spoke, clenching and unclenching her fingers until she looked up at Martouf for her last words. A flash of pain crossed his face, followed by sadness and sympathy.
Sam only felt the darkness. Perhaps Jolinar had forgotten this time, or perhaps it was all too clear to be frustrating. A deep hurt filled her heart.
"And you kept this silent all this time," Martouf murmured, closing his eyes for an instant. "Lantash—does not trust himself to speak. He is wounded."
"It was not intended to be this long," said Jolinar in a voice so low as to almost be a reminder to herself than something to say to them.
~I didn't want to hurt you,~ Sam whispered to her. ~I didn't...~
*I didn't wish for you to need to know. You wanted privacy; I wanted to give it to you.*
~Oh Jolinar, this isn't privacy. You don't understand, maybe you can't after all these years, maybe you don't want to. Maybe I don't want you to have to know. I don't know anymore.~
Jolinar closed her eyes, lowering her head, but saying nothing. A second passed, and then they both felt a warm touch. It was a conversation that perhaps he should not have had to bear witness to, but they felt the comfort all the same. And Jolinar brought her other hand to rest on Martouf's, letting him know.
*Samantha, you honestly asked to know what my wish for you is. I wish that you would be at ease with a full blending. With our mission so uncertain in its length, I feel sick at heart at the prospect of facing it as only half a Tok'ra; a mere mockery, perhaps. And I know that you think it is selfish of me to ask this, but if I am not to keep secrets—and such is not my desire—then this is the truth. I need only your answer in all honesty.*
Sam felt like she should be stressed; her heart beginning to pound, breaths coming faster, adrenaline rushing to her system, tensing all her muscles for some immediate action if she could just make up her mind. But her body was calm, and only her mind was left. She didn't, she hadn't, she couldn't, could she? Jolinar was already so close...but being that close was not a small step.
~Jolinar, how can I do this now?~ she answered. ~My father, Quetesh...what kind of idiot would I be to add something new? I can't; something has to be resolved, anything, before I can even think straight.~
*Just give me your decision, whenever you are ready,* said Jolinar. She took a deep breath and lifted her head.
"Is Samantha well?" Martouf asked, concerned.
"Neither of us are very well at the moment, my love," said Jolinar with resignation on her face. "But we have decided to work towards it, whatever it may be."
Martouf nodded, sitting up and gently withdrawing his hand. "I would imagine that this is no longer the time to address my original purpose in seeking you out?"
"This was not even the time for what we have just discussed," said Jolinar. "No, Samantha and I have much to do, but the less talking about it for now is for the better."
And Sam couldn't disagree with that.
They parted, harmony still intact between the two pairs, leaving only one side struggling. There was only one need: to do something, anything, before thinking and feeling confused about it all again. And thankfully there was much to do.