She was only ever the old Colonel; stone-faced, cold-hearted, and a total bitch. The summons to General Hammond's office had taken me by surprise, caught me off-guard — Hammond behind his desk and the Colonel standing stiffly in her over-starched uniform, looking down her long nose at me.

Then he walked in. General Hammond had said his name was Maybourne – Colonel – but then a look had passed between him and the old Colonel which suggested something more. The easy smile with which Hammond had welcomed me turned sour, and the old Colonel's thin-lipped grimace almost cracked her face. I stood at ease, eyes front, as Hammond and Colonel Maybourne exchanged not very pleasantries, re-opening old wounds. But when the Tok'ra inside Colonel Maybourne spoke, I almost jumped out of my skin.

I'd heard Tok'ra and Goa'uld speak before — but usually on tape. Of course there was the old training device, and I'd even exchanged a few words with Selmak, but Colonel Maybourne's Tok'ra... his voice resonated so deep inside me I almost forgot where I was.

Perhaps that was almost just as well. I'd thought I'd got used to being spoken about as if I wasn't there, but the two Colonels dissected me, discussing my fitness for what they wanted, my skills and abilities, my disciplinary record and my lack of height as if I was a piece of meat.

Finally, General Hammond actually apologized. "Whatever they want you to do, you can turn it down," he said. "You can walk out now, or after, and nothing will leave this room." He glared at both Colonels. "If, after all they tell you, you accept the assignment – and the choice is yours – you will remain under my command. Anything – and I mean anything – untoward, and you come to me." Then he left the room.

For hours the old Colonel kept me standing while grilling me about my life, my religion, my politics, picking me apart at the seams so thoroughly but telling me nothing of what they wanted me for.

Then the Tok'ra asked me questions — disjunct, philosophical, and so far removed from anything I could have imagined even remotely relevant to any assignment. Then I saw the pattern and found myself enthralled discussing abstract convolutions of general metaphysics — until the old Colonel tired of it and interrupted us.

The old Colonel told me what they were going to do with me, how they were going to use me. As far as General Hammond was concerned, I was to be a liaison for Colonel Maybourne. As far as they were concerned, I had the raw skills to make myself useful in other areas.

Of course I'd have to be trained first, and she took a deliberate delight in telling me precisely and graphically what the training would involve. She watched me closely for the slightest flinch as she rattled of a list of the rigors I'd have to go through to improve to an acceptable standard. Even the Tok'ra had looked uncomfortable at the prospect.

Whatever else happened, the old Colonel had said at the end, at least I'd come out of it with a promotion. It was the last thing on my mind then.

To this day, I don't know if I said yes to prove her wrong, or to prove myself to him, to Erragal.

It's the last thing on my mind now.

The first thing Colonel Maybourne said when we emerged from the stargate was "Call me Harry." There wasn't much to like about him; and even less as he told me his history. But Erragal was different. We could talk about anything, everything.

What had disturbed Erragal wasn't the punishing training they were to put me through, but what they had in mind when I completed it. Still, I'm glad Harry didn't have the balls to tell me himself. Propositions don't come my way very often — not unless whoever wants a broken jaw.

Erragal wants to blend with me as well as Harry. He wants me to know all that he is so that I can understand him, because of who is and what he was before the Tok'ra came into existence.

Over four thousand years ago he had more than a little power of his own. As Ra came to dominate in ancient Egypt, Anu dominated in Sumer, and the Goa'uld around them struggled amongst themselves as they've always done.

Erragal was young and proud and disrespectful, and for his discourtesy he was banished to the underworld — only to take the goddess who ruled there as his consort. They were worshiped as gods, but when the end came he fled. He trapped his consort in a stasis jar and fled, denouncing what he once was, he hid amongst the Tok'ra.

He wants to blend with me so that I can trust him. So that when the time comes, when we find her, I will be her host. I've been given the morning during target practice to think it over.

For centuries he'd lived thinking her to be lost to him forever. But now, with Doctor Jackson's research – and Harry's knack for ferreting out secrets – she is within his reach again.

The choice is mine. I'm going to say yes.

"Here, try this one. Robar SR-60."

I was trying out new rifles.

Four hundred meters away a dozen Jaffa were pinned out on crosses. I squeezed the trigger four times while Harry watched through binoculars.

"You got the elbows, but you were a little low on the left knee." He handed me another rifle. "This one's Russian. I picked up a couple of these when I was out in Kazakhstan."

I moved on to the next Jaffa. The rifles were from Harry's own personal collection, ones that he'd stashed away against a rainy day. Washington still didn't trust him completely, but he fed them intel, and in return I'd come back with these and a few more useful items. My own rifles were custom-fit for my arm and shoulder; mine were bolt-action, with a free barrel channel to reduce the harmonics, firing 168 grain slugs.

"Hah! Perfect!" Harry almost shouted. "Do you want to try going for his wrists and ankles?"

These were all semi-automatic, but beautiful nonetheless. Eventually, I'd modify them; my favorite 10-power Leopold Mk 4 scope was out of the question for the practice drills, but I'd fine tune myself so that I'd be equally competent left- and right-handed, prone, upright — even running.

"Doesn't Erragal disapprove of this?" I'd never thought to ask before. Until now, all we'd had access to was standard issue rifles and staff weapons, shooting live rounds at live Jaffa for practice and to prove I could do it under any conditions.

"Erragal is quite intrigued, actually." He paused as I let off four more rounds. "Sickened and disgusted, but intrigued. That's why you have me for company. Here..." he gave me another rifle. "Israeli. Not as accurate, but I like it. Head shot, on the first one." I frowned as the Jaffa's head exploded. "Nice, eh?" Harry chuckled. "Shame he can't grow it back, but there's still plenty left to aim at."

I studied the remains of the Jaffa. A fountain of blood shone brightly from his neck in the morning sun. I knew the head-shot was intended to provoke a reaction in me and not the remaining Jaffa. Still, it was a harmless distraction watching their reactions as their companions died slowly and painfully; if they were allowed to die at all. Unfortunately there wasn't an endless supply, so they were usually allowed to regenerate.

And Harry liked to think that practice made perfect. I'd run a marathon and I'd shot Jaffa; I'd been tortured and I'd shot Jaffa; I'd been beaten, electrocuted, cut open... and I'd shot Jaffa to ease my pain, to learn to be effective through my own torment.

Yesterday... Yesterday I'd had my first hot shower in weeks. Yesterday Erragal had cleaned up my cuts and sores, purging my body of the lice and worms. Yesterday, Erragal had brushed my hair, had stretched me out on the softest bedding, had given me a massage that I'd dreamt about all night.

I turned to Harry, lowering the rifle a fraction. He took a swig of the warm beer he always had with him and looked up at me. I smiled as I squeezed the trigger without taking my eyes off him. "You're sick, Harry, you know that?"

He couldn't resist looking. "You don't have to prove anything to me, Hailey, I know you've got what it takes; and you don't have to prove it to yourself, either. Between us we're going to do things that will have consequences so far reaching that we have to be certain of absolutely everything. One weakness... one weakness is all it takes." Harry crossed his legs. "Nice shot, by the way."

"You're still holding out on me." I knew what Erragal wanted from me, but not what Harry hoped for.

"Would you believe I have a heart?"

"After all that you've done to me? Those damned devices may put me back together, but the memories don't go away. Oh, it gets less intimidating after a while, but if you had one, and I could rip it out? Try stopping me."

He laughed, clutching at his chest, pouting like an old drama queen. "Had they known – had they trusted her – Hammond could have saved Jolinar." I groaned as Harry returned to the the failings of General Hammond and the SGC. But it always boiled down to trust. "It will mean there are no secrets between us. It will mean..."

"I get to know every despicable, detestable, disgraceful..." I'd lifted the rifle back up, squeezing the trigger as I spoke, obliterating hands and feet. "Disgusting..." I looked him up and down — I'd already emasculated the dead Jaffa. I looked at him, desperately hoping to keep the pity out of my voice. "The answer's yes, Harry," I said. "But it's Erragal I want, not you."

To his credit, he kept his chin up. Then he snorted on his beer, a wide grin split his face and he laughed. "Y'know," he said. "No one's ever wanted me for my body."

Back at the SGC, when Hammond had warned me, and when Erragal had looked at me, I knew there would be a greater price. I'd had no idea then how great it would be; and neither had Harry nor Erragal.

Harry closed his eyes for a second, but I saw the glow, I saw the other persona emerge. "Jennifer?"

His voice shook me as it always did, but the way he said my name – my name – almost broke me. I was young, I was proud, I was disrespectful; I was not going to be a host to be used. "The answer is yes," I repeated. "But I want to know you as I am now." I put the rifle down; I knelt beside him and took his hands in mine. "I want to know you first.

I was young, I was proud, I was disrespectful — I was a virgin.

There really was no turning back. He caught the emphasis; he understood it. I laughed weakly at Erragal's surprise. Everything had been leading to this moment.

Almost.

On a white canvas beneath a white canopy, under a white sun on an alien world with an ancient parasite, I was supposed to share my body not just as a host but also as more than a lover.

I learned then the differences between the little deaths I allowed myself and the true pleasure that could be shared. The morning became afternoon, the afternoon gave way to twilight as the sun set, as we lay together.

And yet all this was a prelude, anticipating the moment of blending, the certainty of knowing another as deeply as ones own self. I had seen a glimpse of it, but nothing could prepare me for the reality.

Our lips touched for the briefest of moments. Myriad epiphanies shattered like crystal – I closed my eyes as Erragal spoke to me – a kaleidescope of dazzling fragments – the pain and suffering of generations of hosts – needles of ice lacerating my mind – Goa'uld atrocities even the SGC couldn't know – piercing my heart the ache – the complex ideology of the Tok'ra – at soul's center of – his love – kindred desire awakening.

Then he showed me who he really was and what we could achieve together...