Seven hours after swearing at O'Neill, Paul Davis was feeling just a hint of remorse. He had spent half the night staring at the crystal ceiling before admitting defeat, and had wandered back into the Tok'ra infirmary, seeking help. One of the healers had taken pity on him, giving him a foul tasting concoction, and mercifully it had done the trick. Now, thanks to a few hours of drug induced, almost restful sleep, he felt his body was on the mend. His mind however, was another story. He refused to even think about how long it was going to take to get over the emotional hurdle of his planet being annihilated.

He had managed to find his way back to the Tok'ra communal washroom, and was pleased to find it empty. He wasn't looking forward to sharing toilet facilities with, well, anyone else. He managed to finish up quickly just as Lt. Adams, one of the gateroom techs wandered in, looking somewhat sheepish. "I'm done," Paul said awkwardly. "It's all yours."

She didn't look any happier than he was about the situation, "Thanks, Major. Maybe we can organize a kind of schedule."

"Good idea, Lieutenant." O'Neill's voice rang out behind them. "I'll wait... out here."

"Thank you, sir." Adams called out to the corridor.

As O'Neill turned to stand outside the doorway, Paul took his chance. "About yesterday, Colonel"

"Forget it, Davis."

"Yes, sir." He knew an order when he heard one, and quickly dropped all pretense of apologizing. He was only offering it out of courtesy anyway, hoping it would smooth over their working relationship. With so few of them left, he couldn't afford to piss off his new commanding officer.

"You seen Carter this morning?" O'Neill asked.

Paul shook his head, "Not since last night."

"Surprise, surprise."

Davis pretended not to hear the Colonel's muttered words. Even with his limited visits to Stargate Command, he wasn't oblivious to the gossip concerning Colonel O'Neill and his second-in-command. The entire team was tight knit, and in part, that closeness allowed them to do the things they did so well. It was why they were allowed to remain a team for so long.

More than a few of his superiors had suggested that the flag team be broken up to help round out the units. But General Hammond had fought fiercely to keep them together, and Paul had been supporting the General's position to the Joint Chiefs for the last six months.

As to the truth of the rumors, he had no idea.

He knew that after everything SG-1 had been through in the last several years, that there couldn't help but be something between the two officers. What that might be, he didn't know and whether military regulations even applied anymore, he wouldn't hazard a guess.

The last week had proved that he wasn't exactly immune to Samantha Carter either and professional or not, he had felt his own jealous pang when he realized she hadn't come back to her quarters last night. Judging by O'Neill's behavior, he was feeling much the same way. The colonel made no secret of his feelings for the Tok'ra, and Martouf in particular.

"Major, how about you see what you can do about this little... facilities problem of ours?" O'Neill ordered.

"Yes, sir." Paul nodded, turning to leave.

"And if you happen to see Carter, tell her I need to talk to her."

"Yes, sir."

As he wandered through the base in search of someone to query about the bathroom situation, he found himself nearing the Tok'ra kitchen and cafeteria facility, and decided to begin his search there. He hadn't eaten much in the last two days and for the first time, he actually felt hungry. The large open area was filled with dozens of Tok'ra soldiers and other operatives including as he'd learned last night - scientists and civilians.

Well, not quite civilians he remembered, though he had been told that was the closest English word equivalent. The Tok'ra hierarchy was complex, and not as simple as branding one either a 'soldier' or 'civilian'. He would have to speak to Malek again to clarify a few points.

In amongst the Tok'ra, he spotted a group of SGC members including Doctor Fraiser, Lieutenant Astor, and several others. They were sitting together in a corner of the room not far from the entrance. Paul grabbed some breakfast from a long buffet table, and went over to sit with them.

"Morning," he said as he sat down. "Does anything pass for coffee around here?"

"Not that I've found yet Major," the petite doctor answered.

Several others chimed in with the required, "sir".

Everyone seemed almost as ragged as yesterday. The doctor looked as though she hadn't slept for a week, and her eyes were red and puffy. She had been forced to leave her adopted daughter behind, Davis knew. Everyone had been forced to leave someone behind, he was reminded brutally as his mind tortured him with images of his own family.

He still hadn't allowed himself the luxury of grief. The Tok'ra base wasn't very private, and he didn't want to let anyone share his pain. For that matter, he simply wasn't ready to accept the fate of Earth just yet. He knew the others were more or less in the same place.

He attempted to break through the almost unbearable silence, "I'm looking into some of the... differences that our group is going to need addressed. Shared washroom facilities, door coverings, that kind of thing. If anyone has any general or specific issues that need to be dealt with, let me know and I'll see what can be done about it."

"It's true, then? We're staying here with the Tok'ra?" Lieutenant Astor asked, her voice wrought with fear.

"For now," he explained per his conversation with Jacob earlier in the morning. "Their High Council is meeting this morning to discuss the terms and permanence. We should know soon."

"I will never, ever submit to being a host!" Astor exclaimed.

"Me either!" One of the marines bellowed. "No fucking way am I letting one of those things inside me." Two of his teammates backed him up with nods and thumps of approval.

The sudden outbursts began to attract attention from the nearby Tok'ra, and the noise level of the room rose quickly with thinly veiled disapproval. "The Tok'ra have a symbiotic relationship with their host," he started to explain.

"No one will ever be forced to be a host!" Major Carter broke in angrily from just inside the doorway. "It's what makes the Tok'ra different from the Goa'uld. You should all know that by now."

"But you didn't exactly volunteer to be a host, did you ma'am?" Astor challenged, rising to her feet.

He could feel the tension between the two women escalate as everyone - both human and Tok'ra - in the room turned to face them. The din of conversation came to a complete halt. He knew the situation was spiraling, and he felt decidedly responsible. "Lieutenant," he warned her.

"No sir, I won't keep quiet." Astor went on, her eyes wild. "Everyone knows what happened to Major Carter. What's to keep it from happening again to any one of us while we're here?"

"Stand down, Astor." Carter ordered.

"No, ma'am. I won't."

Her flat refusal infuriated him and he'd had quite enough. "Sergeant Wilder," he spat out as he stood up, dishes rattling as he put his plate down hard on the table. "Escort Lieutenant Astor to her quarters and confine her there until further notice."

"Yes sir," came the expected reply.

Davis was relieved when Astor went quietly. As soon as she was out of sight, he sat back down and continued with his breakfast, expecting the others to follow his lead. And one by one, they did. He wasn't used to giving commands, but that would have to change and quickly. Next to O'Neill, he was the ranking officer, if only by a few months, and he would have to get used to it. Though he suspected that the Colonel would continue with Carter as his second-in-command, but that didn't bother him. He knew where his strengths lay.

He watched as Sam and Martouf picked out something to eat, and he wasn't surprised when they chose to sit together alone. As soon as he finished his own breakfast, he walked over to their table, feeling the need to apologize to them both. Martouf's eyes flashed as he approached, and Paul knew when he spoke that it would be to the symbiote. He tried not to let his uneasiness show too much. "May I join you?"

"Please," the Tok'ra replied gesturing to an empty chair.

"I'm sorry about what happened earlier," he said to Lantash as he sat down. "Unfortunately, I think we've just scratched the surface with the topic of blending."

"It is to be expected," the Tok'ra answered, his voice reverberating. "Your world has fallen, your way of life exists no more. We do not require you to fall at our feet and offer yourselves as hosts. That is not our way."

"I understand," intellectually he added silently. "But some of our people aren't entirely convinced of that."

"It's going to take time," Sam explained quietly. "Probably a long time. And some of our people will never be comfortable with it."

"Such as O'Neill."

"I wasn't going to mention any names."

"You did not have to," Lantash said.

"Speaking of the Colonel," Paul said, though he was hesitant to bring it up. "He's looking for you, Sam. He... knows you didn't come back last night. Just thought I should warn you."

"I appreciate that."

"Anytime."

"I should go and talk to him," Sam said as she pushed away her plate away and stood up. Her resolve was clearly reflected in her eyes, but Paul didn't envy her next conversation with O'Neill.

"Is where you slept last night somehow a concern of his, Samantha?" Lantash asked heatedly.

"Of course not. It's what happened before that, that needs straightening out."

The Tok'ra exhaled loudly, "I see."

"It'll be fine," she assured them as she left the chamber. "I'll catch up with you later."

Paul watched her go, noticing they were both still wearing the Tok'ra uniforms they had been given last night. He felt more than a little awkward in them, mostly from the looks he been given from the other service personnel. He wondered if his Air Force uniform could be washed and repaired, or if he was stuck wearing the borrowed clothes. At least he still had his jacket.

"How well do you know Samantha, Major Davis?" Lantash suddenly asked him.

"Not very well, but then I'm stationed at the Pentagon." He thought about it for a moment, then corrected his mistake. "Was stationed at the Pentagon, I mean. It's a long way from Stargate Command. I was the liaison officer between the SGC and the leaders of our military. I've only worked with her on a few brief assignments."

"Including this past week."

"That's right."

"You're a diplomat."

"That's fairly accurate."

"She trusts you," Lantash stated.

"Well, we've been through a lot in the last couple of days," Paul explained. He found the Tok'ra's line of questioning confusing, and they made him feel as though he needed to defend himself.

"How do you feel about blending, Major Davis?"

"I understand that it's a partnership for the Tok'ra," he said neutrally. "That the host and symbiote share the host's body. And I will do everything I can to alleviate the mistrust among our people."

"A very diplomatic answer, though you evaded my question." The Tok'ra was staring hard at him, his eyes flashing.

"I'm not evading your question," Paul assured him. "I simply don't know the answer to it yet. If we're still here in three months, ask me again."

"Do not think I will forget."

"I'm certain you won't," he said, glaring back at Lantash. He was tired of feeling interrogated, and decided to push the conversation somewhere useful. "Can you direct me to whom I would ask about growing private bathing facilities for our personnel?"

"Cannot the men of the Tau'ri appreciate the female body without being embarrassed?" The Tok'ra asked, obviously amused. "Or losing control?"

"Actually, we see it as being an issue of respect," he said, refusing to let Lantash taunt him. Grateful for his background in negotiation, he realized that this was just the beginning of learning to live among the Tok'ra. He wondered if it was going to be his permanent home.

"Just out of curiosity," he asked. "How long are the days on the planet?"

"Twenty-nine hours."

Figures, Paul thought. It had already been one hell of a long day.