Tittle: The Fifth Member
by Tiffany May Harrsch
Summary: This series is my attempt to get into the head of the oft used but seldom seen fifth member of SG1.

Spoilers: Various episodes up to and including Firing Line.
Set: Season 1 (so far)
Rating: PG1 3
Spoilers: Goa'uld back history. Bloodlines, Bane
Status: Each story is complete. I haven't seen all the episodes, in fact I haven't seen much beyond S3 or 4, so there is a good possibility the series may be a wip.
Credits: Thank you to Ivanova for betaing for me.

Thus far I four part/stories. You'll find them as a separate chapters here on Fanfiction.net.
The Unwilling Symbiote (Date: 27 June 2000), Loneliness (Date: 27 June 2000), Naming (Date: 31 July 2000), Bane (Date: 31 July 2000)

Disclaimer: © 2000 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.

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The Fifth Member:
The Unwilling Symbiote

I still have nightmares of the day I was kidnapped.

I frolicked with my siblings in the soothing water of our room. Outside the glass, we could see the clear sky, the scenic grounds, and the path that led from our place of play. We watched the large, tall creatures come and go as was their wont, speculating amongst ourselves about their intents and purposes. Fanciful stories of the young did not to prepare me for their coming.

One group, carrying a long rod with a container hanging from it, stopped outside. One removed the lid of the container as another lifted the protective covering from our home. The tall ones carefully added a cousin to our domain.

We were excited and asked many questions of the newcomer. Where had he gone? What had he done? What were the tall ones up to? The excitement of yet another group of tall ones drowned any answers.

There were only two of the new ones. Their coverings were very different, not brown and flowing as we were used to seeing. They carried many more tools, which sparked a fervent bout of speculative debate. They did not have the familiar markings on their heads, though one had circles on or over its eyes. One of my siblings immediately disliked them, and another was frightened because they did not approached us in the usual reverential manner. They acted as if they did not belong.

They stopped outside our home. The one with the eye markings held out an object, thick, round, and long, but not as long as me. The other looked down at us for a moment before it struck.

I had a brief glimpse of a foreign appendage dirtying up the water while I swam with my siblings in a circle of panic. I was jerked to a standstill by a sudden pressure on my middle. The grip tightened with every squirm I made until it hurt to move.

The next few moments lingered in a disorienting rush. I remember coming into contact with dry, cold air. The object the tall one held became larger and smaller at the same time. I was forced into a hole barely larger than my body. A quick clank, a screech, and I was encased in darkness.

It was a darkness unlike anything I had ever known. Nights were never as black. Or cramped. I was curled up on myself, barely able to move. The water merely made the walls slick.

I screamed. I was suffocating. I panicked and writhed and tried to force my way out somehow, certain I was going to die in the tiny prison. The walls were too cold, too hard, and too close. And the water became too stale too quickly.

My tomb moved jarringly, then paused. Through the stillness, through the walls of that horrible place, I felt as well as heard a distant rumble. A quick, jabbing, tap-taping thunder, followed by a softer sound I had never heard before. I knew instantly what it was and what it meant.

I stopped my struggles. I wanted nothing more than to die with my family.

I have no idea how long I was in that tiny, hard place. I paid little attention to all the movement and the soreness it caused. I made no attempt to decipher the strange sounds that filtered through the walls. Apathy vied with terror. There was no room for curiosity, no room for movement, simply no room.

An interminable time later, the jarring stopped. The long pause was followed by a terrible screeching. Relative silence accompanied a blinding light from a small opening in one end of my cell. I fell through cold air, was caught by something warm. I recognized the grip of my abductor, or one like it.

With a gentleness I did not understand, I was deposited into a cave.

The cave was warmer than home, but also very comfortable. The fluid was not entirely water but refreshing nonetheless. It was tiny and cramped compared to the place I had shared with my brethren, but vast compared to my transport. The walls, though strong, were soft and giving. I could move with relative freedom without bruising myself against hard confines.

I was too tired to test the flaps which covered the exit. I feared that if I peeked outside, if I tried to escape, I would find something worse than what I had already been through.

The heat finally penetrated my lethargy. My body started to tingle, as did something in my memory. Without knowing where the information came from, I knew that this place had been made for me. The pouch I mistook for a cave had been designed into the tall ones to hold, shelter, and nourish those such as me while we grew. In return, we gave the host health and longer life.

The tingle grew into an itch. I came to an awful realization. This host, this being whom I now resided within, was dying. It waited for me to heal it.

The itch became painful in its intensity. I tried to ignore it. I did not want to heal anyone. I did not want to be a part of this… thing. The ones who took me, the creatures that killed my siblings, they must have known about the relationship between us. They must have known I could help this one. Which meant this one forced them into helping it, and they killed my cousins and siblings in retaliation.

That made it my enemy.

I would rather have died than help my enemy. I restrained myself from giving what was needed until the itch-like pain became so great I could no longer think. Then I fell victim to instinct.

Ironically, the body fought my intrusion even as it craved me. Some small part of it remembered not needing another intelligence to keep it alive and functioning. That remnant warred against me and lost; it did not remember how to function without my help. Our addictiveness and the body's memory failure was also bred into the host - a sure way to keep the host wanting us. Whether it, or we, liked it or not.

The healing took more energy out of me than I thought I had. Healing always leaves me drained. This host gets into trouble often, frequently leaving me exhausted. Those are the times I hate it most.

I often wish I could exact revenge on it by not healing it. Or avenge my siblings by injuring it somehow. But instinct always takes over despite my best efforts.

My frustration is made sharp by anger and nightmares and random moments of terror. There is nothing I can do to immediately express my displeasure. And to truly scheme, one needs imagination. I can be imaginative… when I have facts to imagine with. Alone in my host, with only my emotions to distract me, I use the frustration to put an edge on my senses. I am determined to learn all I can of my host, its life and comrades and slaves. Someday, I will learn enough to make a move against it.

Assuming it does not get us both killed first.

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