*
*
*
Sam's first thoughts upon seeing her employer were purely superficial: she just didn't look like a Goa'uld.
The lack of gaudy clothing, preposterous jewelry, was one reason for Sam to be at a loss. However, more probably, it was the fact that she was wearing Earth clothes. After all, Hathor hadn't looked like a Goa'uld when she'd been dressed in BDUs. This Goa'uld, dressed in some designer women's tux, looked the epitome of a fashionable businesswoman. An Earth businesswoman.
Which was just... wrong.
''Ms Clorel. It's a.... pleasure.'' A hand was extended - long, tapered fingers, neat French manicured fingernails and a thick gold ring on her right third finger with an inscription Sam couldn't make out. The ring was the only piece of jewelry the woman was wearing.
Instinctively, Sam reached out and shook hands with the Goa'uld, Mut. ''It's Sam, please. And thanks for hiring me, Ms Vautour,'' Sam said, trying to sound as bright and ignorant as any employee of Mut's would be.
Pale, almost golden brown eyes swept Sam from top to bottom. The Goa'uld adjusted her stance and the straight sweep of blonde hair slid over her shoulder smoothly. ''Your qualifications were... appealing.''
Sam fidgeted deliberately, trying to give off the impression that she wasn't used to such scrutiny. Which she wasn't - she was just used to ignoring it and her body's reaction. Samantha Clorel - a clueless human - would react unknowingly.
Ms Vautour's accent, at least, was impressive. Ever-so-slightly foreign. Sam was no good at languages, but the way Mut spoke was almost too good, too perfect. No doubt Daniel would be able to pin the accent, but he wasn't here. She wondered whether the host had an accent originally - or if the symbiote had introduced it. If so - hadn't the staff noticed? It was possible that the Goa'uld had replaced all of the old staff - possible and probably the most likely scenario. She'd have to ask some discrete questions.
''I expect Estelle has briefed you fully on your duties?''
'Duties'. Sounded like she was a slave, or a servant. Which was probably the whole point.
Sam nodded obediently. Presumably 'Ms Buckingham', the woman who had trained Sam for the past four hours, was Estelle. Glancing at the woman now, Sam noted that she'd lost all of her earlier poise and businesslike attitude. The dark eyes were wide and alert. Afraid. Her fingers were twiddling with one of the buttons on her shirt.
And if that wasn't a hint, Sam didn't know what was. She wondered, nervously, what exactly the Goa'uld in front of her had been doing here.
''You understood the paperwork?''
Sam raised her eyebrows, expression still light. ''Well, I didn't really read it all...''
Ms Vautour smiled very, very slightly. In fact, it wasn't really a smile at all. The reddened lips just moved a little. The sharp, pale cheekbones didn't even shift with the effort. ''You understand, we have some exclusive clients. The contract means you will be unable to speak about our clients outside of Luxur.''
Sure, *that* was the reason.
Sam nodded and smiled. ''Sure. That sounds fine. Maybe I'll meet some famous people.''
''Maybe you will.'' Still watching Sam closely, Ms Vautour gestured to Estelle. ''Take Sam,'' she pronounced Sam's name with considerable distaste, ''to the uniform room. See that she is properly attired. Then, that is all for today. We will see you tomorrow night.'' She nodded tightly to Sam and then walked off, winding through the already laid tables towards the iron spiral staircase that led up to the second level.
''That's her office, up there,'' Estelle said, as they both watched Ms Vautour make swift work of the staircase. ''It's strictly prohibited to everyone but her and the, ah, bodyguards.''
''Guards?''
''Um,'' she looked around, then pointed to a man who was leaning against the bar, casually reading a newspaper. ''There's one of them.''
Looking to where Estelle was gesturing, Sam smiled slightly. Her intense surveillance of Ms Vautour had meant she hadn't surveyed the room as thoroughly as she ought to have done and had therefore missed an important discovery. Colonel O'Neill would be so disappointed.
A Jaffa was leaning against the bar.
''Surreal,'' Sam murmured helplessly.
''Yeah. They're big guys,'' Estelle responded, thankfully misunderstanding Sam's comment. ''Don't know where she picked them up. When I first started working here, she only had two - now there are eight in total. I don't quite know what she needs them for.''
Quite.
Sam would, of course, need to get closer to find out if he was an actual Jaffa or just some tall, broad guy with a charcoal symbol on his forehead. The symbol being, of course, the vulture. The same symbol that was on all the business cards for Luxur, on the headed paper, on the napkins, the bottom of the plates, the cutlery and the backs of the chairs.
No doubt it would be somewhere on the 'uniform' as well.
Obviously aware that she had yet to follow her boss's orders through, Estelle seemed to snap to attention. ''Let's get you to the uniform room. No doubt you want to get home as soon as possible. Come with me.''
*
The Colonel's first response to her uniform was the biggest, most entertained grin Sam had ever seen on his face. He put down his beer and stood up. ''Well...'' he managed, his voice shaking.
''Don't say it.'' She pulled off her shoes, threw them violently against the wall and then dropped the bag full of her 'normal' clothes onto the ground. She stalked over to her duffel back - she'd yet to unpack - and found her jeans and a T-shirt. ''Not a word,'' she muttered, going into the bathroom to change.
She heard him laugh. She *definitely* heard him laugh.
The little skirt got folded up, the little top as well. The pantyhose were rolled up neatly. Then she changed into real clothes as quickly as possible.
By the time she made her way out of the bathroom, the Colonel had got his face under control. Or he did until he saw her. Then he grinned again. ''Not your style, Carter?''
She swore at him and threw the clothes onto the bed. ''God - I wish I'd opted for changing there.''
''How was it?''
''The waiting tables stuff is normal. I can handle that. It's the... niceties I can't handle. Oh, and she's definitely a Goa'uld. Ms Vautour.''
''Vulture.''
''Huh?''
''Vautour,'' he said, looking uncomfortable. ''It's French. For vulture.''
She stared at him.
''What? I can't know French?''
She continued to stare at him.
''Carter. Get on with your report.''
Sam shook off the surprise - she supposed she ought to get used to these spontaneous bits of random information. He had, after all, traveled a lot in his career. ''Okay - so I guess she must have changed her name. She's indescribably creepy, of course. The reaction of her staff.... She has these guards - big guys with the vulture symbol in the middle of their foreheads. I couldn't get close enough to find out if they were actually Jaffa, but that's definitely the whole idea.''
''If they're Jaffa - you gotta wonder where the symbiotes came from.''
''Exactly. I suppose... she could be another one of those... Hathor-type Goa'ulds. A queen.''
He made a face. ''Don't get too close to her.''
''No, I don't think that's a problem. The men I came in contact with seemed afraid of her. The women too. But Hathor's own brand of persuasion could be just that - her own brand. This Mut may have another trick up her sleeve.''
The Colonel nodded and then bent down to pick up a pad of paper and a pencil. He held them out to her. ''Show me about the layout. I want to know everything - windows, skylights, exits, stairs, rooms. Everything.''
*
Day eight in the Goa'uld palace, Sam thought as she opened her eyes to face the morning. She reached up and rubbed at her face before rolling onto her stomach and just lying there.
Boredom had set in, for Sam, approximately three days after they'd figured out how to decrease the addictive properties of the machine. Her interest in the translation of the text in the palace had waned as soon as it had stopped being useful in relation to figuring out the Goa'uld technology. Daniel, however, spent most of his time with his nose pressed to a wall and a notebook in hand.
''You awake?''
She grunted into the pillow, and then managed a, ''Sir.''
He sighed. ''What do you want to do today, then, Carter?''
''I oughtta go for a run. All that ice-cream yesterday....'' She lifted her head and made a face at him on her right.
Colonel O'Neill continued to stare up at the ceiling. ''Daniel got up about two hours ago - went back to work.''
Sam managed to look at her watch. ''He only came to bed three hours before that.''
He nodded. ''You know Danny...''
''There's got to be something to do here.''
''Twister?''
As soon as he said it, she saw him tense up.
They'd played Twister yesterday - and it had resulted in the two of them falling into a decidedly overly-intimate position. Of course, they'd flung themselves away from each other as fast as possible but if she thought about it, she could still feel the imprint of his body over hers.
''Bad idea,'' he murmured.
''Yeah,'' she replied.
The Colonel turned to look at her, and she felt her heart skip. There was just *something* about him that was almost painfully appealing. 'Painfully' because she couldn't have him. ''But it was fun.''
She smiled. ''It was,'' she said softly. While things were by no means back to normal between the two of them, it was steadily getting closer, even if she no longer knew what was normal for them. She guessed they were getting used to it. They'd certainly had a lot of setbacks in the last few months.
'Setbacks' being the understatement of all time.
''Did you mean what you said?''
''About it being fun?''
''No. That day... on the beach.''
''Which day? We've been on the beach every....''
''When you said... when you said you wouldn't keep this,'' he gestured between the two of them, ''up if we lived here forever.''
Sam blinked. She'd really thought this was going to be another thing they didn't talk about ever again. ''Um...''
''I mean, you were talking about...'' He winced and shook his head. ''Never mind, Carter.''
''I was.'' It seemed important, suddenly, to get this out into the open. If it was the only time they ever did it. ''I mean, I was talking about... the title thing,'' she managed, uncomfortably.
''Right. That's what I thought.''
''But you were having none of it, as I recall.''
''I was in withdrawal.''
''So? Does that mean you agree with what you said on the beach, or you didn't?'' She just wanted to have that point clear in her mind. Had he adjusted to there being no chance for them? Because it certainly had sounded like it.
''It means... I was in withdrawal.''
Sam smiled bitterly. ''Right. That's what I thought.'' She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the camp bed. ''Well, I think I'll go and get something to eat.''
''Sure. You do that.''
She walked off, bare feet slapping against the floor of the palace. And distinctly heard him swear.
*
The light turned on.
Scrunching up her eyes defensively, Sam complained. ''Hey, turn that off.''
''Carter. Get up.''
Shielding her eyes from the light, Sam managed to pry one open. Then, all thoughts of sleep vanished as she took in the room. Colonel O'Neill had clearly been the one who'd turned on the light, because his right hand was still on the lampshade. However, his left hand was wrapped around his sidearm. Which was aimed, perfectly steadily considering it was his left hand, at Maybourne.
Who was standing in the middle of the room, smiling.
''Oh, hey,'' Sam managed, somewhat bemused. She'd known Maybourne would have to turn up sooner or later, she just hadn't expected it to be this... sneaky.
''Major, Colonel.'' He nodded genially at the both of them, then fixed Sam with a look. ''If I'd known you were going to be having guests, I would have arranged for you to have a bigger apartment.''
She didn't know what to say - she realized she would have to explain her CO's presence, she didn't know how to put it. ''Well, um, he was kind of... unexpected.''
Maybourne looked at the Colonel, the smile broadening to a grin. ''I suppose it was inevitable, really, wasn't it? Good morning, Jack. Comfortable?''