Title: STASIS
Author: Heather Anderson
Email:
Rating: pg-13
Pairing: Sam/Martouf
Archive: please ask.
A.N.: see author page
Summary: When Martouf woke he had no idea where he was, how he got there — or even what had happened to Lantash. From there things only got worse. A Martouf and Sam adventure.
Spoilers: early Tok'ra eps.
Status: complete.
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Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, GM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. I have written this story for entertainment purposes only and no money whatsoever has exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the authors. Not to be archived without permission of the authors.
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One
Awakening
Timeless for so long. Images of gold chambers, gold hallways and dark lights. Flashes of sunlight, bright green meadows, and dirt paths in between true memories. New images for seconds, no more. Something was there, always there in the back of his mind. Or in the front? Martouf didn't know or wonder at all.
One day the light came back. It flooded through turning the darkness red. He rose off the hard cold floor, sitting and opening his eyes. Colours slowly bled through the blinding white. When he had enough of them the room before him was clear. He recognised the gold chamber – must have caught a glimpse of it while he was resting. He got to his feet and moved forward to where a mirror hung on the wall.
My face. Not my face. That is (not) my face!
He looked into it seeing, once again, the face that had always belonged to him. The calm expression in his light eyes. Not transformed. Not…malicious.
He stared for a second more then turned around and searched within himself for Lantash.
Nothing.
He frowned and searched once more.
Something else.
He stepped back – felt it again. That Someone… else. He searched the room fast for some clue as to where he was. It was no use. Merely ordinary living quarters. He stood at a loss, in the centre of the room, waiting in defeat for the thing inside of him to rise and take control.
Then, in an instant, he shook himself and decided to use the time he had. He left the room and made his way quickly down the gold halls, knowing that if he just kept moving he might have a chance.
He had to find Lantash. The thought that he would already be dead churned within him.
Room after empty room. Where was everyone?
For a Goa'uld's fort this is unnervingly peaceful and empty, he thought.
He skipped the rest of the rooms in the halls, finally stopping dead at a grand set of doors.
As he looked up at them he felt the seconds of time hit him as they fell. He took a deep breath and activated the door.
There was no one there. He let out his breath and surveyed the chamber. A large table, all sorts of information devices scattered around, weapons too, beautiful collections of them in alcoves. He entered one and lifted two zat'nik'atels off the wall, one for each hand, wound a protective fabric around his torso under his clothes and a added holsters: taking the chance that the thing in his mind was nicer than whatever else was around.
He backed out, turning slowly by some mirrors, as was his habit before any mission. He froze, seeing in the mirror in front of him the reflection of another mirror behind. He reached his fingers back to wipe the back of his neck. His hand came back red. That was what he had thought he had seen. He tested it again, higher this time. His heart pounded into his ribs. There was a break in his skull. He fell to his knees slumping his head forward. He had to touch it again. He had to see if the thing was still in there. He was going to black out if he didn't breath. Black haze swirled around his face until he forced himself to.
He lifted his right hand, just looking at it a while. It seemed steady enough. Without thinking he pressed his pointer and middle finger through the break and poured his focus into them alone. All soft but for a few tiny fragments.
He sat back on his heels. The serpent had left. He didn't care why. He could still move, every second counted. It took a few tries but finally he was on steady feet again. He walked towards the door. As he opened it a glimmer caught his eye from the side. He turned eyes, then body towards the source, a shelf of Canopic jars.
He walked closer to it to see what the labels said, picked one up in his clean hand but it fell from his shaky grasp and smashed over the floor. Amongst the pieces a dark form came to life and slithered around reaching for his ankle. He jumped back, watching it die in the air like a fish and frowned. The system lords had never kept larvae like that.
That was too old for a larva.
He looked up at the shelf, this time turning a jar in its place. If he could find a name that meant something…
Rettaw of Akemba
Destar of Angqet
Ilniy of Arfor
He checked a lower shelf.
Sivkhet of Miitedur
He knew that name. Somehow he knew she had been a sholva. He repeated that word to himself. It felt like ice in his mouth. These simbiotes had all been 'traitors' to the Goa'uld. Then he remembered how he had gotten there. The last mission, the failure.
He walked around the shelf. The jars had been ordered by home planets and Lantash had never known his. At the end of the third shelf were the jars with only first names. He was crushed to find Lantash was not among them. He looked again, three and four times. He stood and walked around the other side again to start from the beginning. Whoever this place belonged to might have thought they knew where he came from. He quickly glanced around the chamber to see if he'd missed any more shelves.
Martouf's gaze stopped on a solitary alabaster jar on top of a few maps on the table. He rushed forward but tension tightened and slowed his muscles. It is, or it isn't, he thought, trying to make it simpler. He turned it around.
Lantash of Tok'Ra.
Blood raced through his body all too fast. He didn't know what to do. The Last one had been alive when he broke the jar, would Lantash be if he simply opened this one? He looked back at the shelves, considering opening one with someone else in it. He couldn't do that, though. He had already killed one of them.
He didn't risk holding the jar in his hands to open it. There was a chair Nearby and he moved it to the table and sat down. He slid the jar towards him overthe tabletop and took hold of the lid. A wave of panic had to be fought back quickly. He could still feel the cold and wetness trickling down his neck.
Last chance, he told himself and turned the lid around and around until it lifted off. Peering inside he saw the serpent starting to move, starting to swim in the liquid filling the jar. It looked up at him with its black eyes and knew what to do.