On some level she heard Lantash calling her. Though it was usually Martouf who addressed her by her full given name, she could count the number of times he had done so on one hand, so infrequently did they have contact with the Tok'ra and Martouf in particular. In fact, she was sure she could count the number of times Lantash had said her name on one finger. She stopped and turned around to face him, not in a mood to chat.
"What?" she grumbled at him.
"You still have not eaten."
"I'm not hungry."
"You cannot care for your people if you do not care for yourself," he insisted. "You must eat something and then rest."
"Lantash" she started.
"You may consider it an order if you wish."
"Excuse me?" she said, absolutely indignant. "I don't take orders from anyone except Colonel O'Neill, and as you can see at the moment... I'm not too keen on that either." Never in her life had she screamed at her superior officer and certainly she had never, ever walked out on him. Maybe she had acted like a child, but he had jumped to one hell of a conclusion. She hoped both were squarely the result of exhaustion. Still, right or wrong, the guilt was already starting to bubble in her brain.
"Jacob charged me with ensuring that you eat and get at least four hours of sleep before allowing you to do anything else." The Tok'ra stated curtly.
"Allowing me?" she repeated slowly, not liking at all where this was going.
"Yes," he pressed. "He wished me to remind you that as an Air Force General, he is still your superior officer and to relay this as his order if you objected."
Lantash's eyes flashed deep yellow, yet she knew it wasn't a change from symbiote to host. From the memories Jolinar left in her mind she knew they also shone when the Tok'ra was angry, impassioned or amused. She kicked herself as she finally clued in and recognized the look on his face. He was teasing her, attempting to lighten her mood. Yes, he was most definitely amused, she thought. She wondered why she hadn't seen it before.
"You know what I hate most?" she asked, trying to respond in kind.
"That he is right?"
"Yes," she nodded. "And that you're conspiring with him."
"Only because it shadows my own agenda," he said.
"Which is?"
"To get you into bed."
She chortled and staring hard into his dancing eyes, it dawned on her. "You're flirting with me."
"This surprises you?"
"Yes," she admitted.
"Why?"
"Well, aside from your questionable timing, it's a side of you I haven't seen before," she explained. "At least in my memory."
"That is simply the lack of time we've had together, Samantha." He was smiling openly at her now, and despite her current state of exhaustion, she found it hard not to return the gesture.
She knew he had followed her to calm her down and to do exactly as her father wanted, but she also believed that he did care for her. At least on some level. Without further thought, she surrendered to his demands. "Which way to the kitchen?"
