Jack O'Neill cast a curious reflection in the elongated mirror within the underground hide-out of the Goa'uld Montu. The hunter green shirt he wore wrapped its lavishly excessive tail around his waist once then curled and flipped through a blue and gold belt, thoughtfully made to match the blue and silver pants, which of course had to go fantastically with the silver and green shoes that looked like they belonged on a court jester. The real coupe de gras, of course, was how the green in his shoes perfectly matched the coloring brushed into the hair at his temples. Outwardly his image gave no reaction to the ensemble besides to appraise its coordination with imperial approval, but inwardly Jack O'Neill was cringing.

–Don't approve of the style?– Aetom asked, the barest hints of teasing in his tone.

Jack looked again at himself in the mirror, horrified at his appearance, and retorted, 'I swear, every Goa'uld is gay.'

Aetom's querulous reaction to the remark prompted Jack to toss out, 'Take a gander at Elton John and tell me I'm wrong,' and purposefully brought an image of the flamboyant entertainer to mind for Aetom's edification. The external facade of Jack O'Neill gave away nothing but callous superiority, but mentally Aetom chuckled. Jack gave an inward smirk, letting Elton John fade back into his cache of abstract memories, glad it had made Aetom laugh. When he got used to the sensation of Aetom's laughter inside his thoughts Jack stopped likening it to having earthworms dumped into his skull and instead admitted that it wasn't all that bad a feeling. Kind of like tickling. He would never in a million years confess that to anyone, especially Aetom, but the crux was that since Aetom was in his head and seemed to be able to read any thought Jack had the bastard snake probably already knew.

Jack and Aetom were getting used to each other. They weren't turning into fast friends, but neither were they swearing blood feuds against one another, which in all honesty was more than Jack had expected even taking a positive outlook. After a week Jack O'Neill was just beginning to get used to not having control of his own body. He didn't like it, but he was getting used to it, reminding himself constantly that it was a necessary evil (a phrase, because of its insinuation, that Aetom didn't particularly care for).

At first it had driven him crazy, watching his arms move without his express permission, hearing his mouth form words that he didn't plan to say and more times than not with which he didn't agree. He felt like a captive finch inside his own head, watching himself doing things and saying things with no control, fluttering to and fro in his cage uselessly. He'd started to resent Aetom for what he had to do, his mind a restless pit of uneasy energy in the Tok'ra's thoughts. Then, two days ago, the blow-up Jack had expected from day one.

Jack had been testy, his usual unpleasant self when he was in a bad mood as of late, and Aetom had just snapped, actually yelling at him to stop fidgeting, to quit his distracting fuming over his predicament and constant poking to see if he could manage to overtake control of a hand here, a foot there, before they were both caught out for the impostors they were. Jack had been cultivating a lot of anger for days, and when Aetom declared it open season the colonel let his new Tok'ra free-loader have the full barrel. They spat at each other, snapped and barked like Middle Eastern countries at a summit meeting, and in the end, though Jack still wasn't sure how it had come to such occasion, Jack and Aetom had ended up both laughing at themselves. Their 'spat' had occurred in the main food court of Montu and his advisors during evening meal... the entire time the persona of 'Gornam', Montu's loyal advisor, risen from the fields of battle in a new host to serve his lord, sat passively without a hint of the internal conflict raging. Just as Jack and Aetom had resorted to some interesting exchanges of cross-cultural name-calling one of Montu's slave girls had been giving Gornam a lap-dance.

Jack could sense Aetom glancing at his memories of that pivotal night and felt the Tok'ra give a small, imaginary smile. After dinner the night of the eruption when Gornam had retired to his quarters, Aetom and Jack had had a long talk about the terms of their arrangement for the duration of their forced time together. Ground rules were set, fences mended, truces established, and since then they'd settled into a respectful understanding of each other. Jack accepted that, until the mission was over, he would have to let Aetom pretend to be this Gornam, using Jack's body for the deception. In deference to Jack's insistence that he taste the freedom of owning his own limbs, at night, Aetom would give him control. He could never do much more than pace his own bedroom or wander the halls, required only to give snide looks at passing servants up at such odd hours, but it was a relief valve for the colonel and things were much calmer in the head that had two people jockeying for control.

Jack watched, still sneering in revulsion, as Aetom smoothed his hands over the clothing they wore. While Jack's opinion was still out on Aetom, Gornam was a complete ass. To his credit, and sometimes Jack's chagrin, Aetom played the part well.

–I have been doing this for a long time,– Aetom pointed out to his host's consciousness as bodily he took a proffered cup from a servant and tasted the wine with affected disinterest. Inside the crowded cranium, two very different reactions were warring. Jack rather enjoyed the Goa'uld wines, but Aetom found them repugnant, as he did all alcohol.

Aetom turned to the servant, his resonant voice condescending as he barked, "That is all, slave, leave me."

The slave hastily did as bade, slipping from the room and leaving Aetom to give one last glance at his appearance in the mirror and allowed a small frown as he did so. Jack was more than wrapped up in his own difficulties adjusting to the Tok'ra in his mind, but he was not entirely oblivious to Aetom's experience of the same conditions. He could feel the Tok'ra mildly startle when he caught sight of himself in the mirror and did not see his old, familiar host. Aetom knew his physical reflection was wrong, and whether Jack was meant to read that or not, he could sense it from Aetom every instance. Each time Aetom came face to face with the image of his new host there was a gaping sadness, the sense of loss for someone Jack had never seen besides burned to a crisp.

'If the boys back at the SGC saw me like this I would NEVER live it down,' Jack groused at his deplorable reflection, 'I look like a Sherwood Forest reject.'

Aetom was indulgent as he took the distraction as opportunity to set aside the goblet of wine, saying, –You must endure this masquerade for only a short while longer, Colonel O'Neill.–

Jack sighed. Truth of the matter was that he found parading as a Goa'uld incredibly boring, and Aetom was becoming all too aware of the well-known fact at the SGC that Jack O'Neill did not suffer boredom well.

–It is not nearly so sedentary under normal circumstances, but lying in wait as Montu does now does leave a great deal to be desired as far as adventure goes.– Aetom picked up the ribbon device waiting atop a small table, the last of his wardrobe to be donned, and began to put it on his left hand with disconcerting familiarity. Jack tried to ignore the procedure, put ill at ease by the Goa'uld device. When once Aetom had asked Jack about his unfavorable reaction to the tool the colonel had only clipped, 'Been on the wrong end of those things one too many times not to get the willies, pal.'

Jack perked up at Aetom's comment, curious and making a concerted effort to not linger on the golden torture device the Tok'ra was affixing to their hand, 'Didn't know the Tok'ra had a sense of adventure.'

Aetom stepped out into the hallway once finished dressing. He appeared focused and unreachable while the entire time half his attention was on his host's mind, –Is it so surprising to you that such things are gone from the Tok'ra now? We are an old race, Colonel O'Neill, and many of us have spent hundreds or thousands of years witnessing Goa'uld oppression. Such things tend to make one's 'spirit of adventure' wane.–

Jack mused on that, reluctantly coming to agreement with Aetom. He could imagine hundreds of years in the thick of fighting the Goa'uld would tend to suck out the fun from life. It also elucidated a fact that Colonel O'Neill had always noticed in the Tok'ra but misinterpreted. Most of the Tok'ra he'd met he'd pinned as prudish and curt, but in truth each and every one of them was tired. He tried to imagine being at war with the Goa'uld for as long as the Tok'ra had been and easily pictured himself becoming wearied by the endless fighting. He would probably get short-tempered and impatient, too. Of course, it didn't discount the possibility that some of the Tok'ra were just pricks by nature, but it certainly helped soften his harder opinions of some of the milder Tok'ra.

Aetom heard Jack's musings on the Tok'ra and at the colonel's rather harsh assessment of some of the Tok'ra he actually smiled in agreement rather than take offense.

'So at one point the Tok'ra did have a sense of humor?' Jack prompted.

Aetom seemed to consider Jack from an askance point of view, –We still do have a sense of humor, O'Neill, a very refined one at that compared to the Tau'ri's. As to our adventurousness... once, long ago, yes. As we say, there was a day when Tok'ra played.–

Jack smirked, fully cognizant of the fact that Aetom was taking intentional pot shots at Jack's sense of humor. It had become a source of congenial taunting, because in fact, once he got used to its intricacies, Aetom was starting to enjoy Jack's peculiar sense of humor.

'Are you sure about this plan of yours?'

–I know Montu's moves very well. I have spent twenty years studying him and his advisors to know what will happen in a situation such as this. When he decides to move from his position on this planet those accompanying him will depart in two waves, so that confusion as to which group he travels with will offer a measure of protection against attacks. Then we have our best chance of killing Montu... he will be more isolated, chances for aide fewer. It will not be much longer, rest assured, Colonel O'Neill, soon you and I will both have revenge for the colleagues we've lost to this snake.–