A/N: NEW TRIGGER WARNINGS for this Chapter:
#1 - Implied Rape of a minor character in the past. Nothing graphic is mentioned or described.
#2 - Current suicidal intentions and past suicide attempts of a minor character. Nothing graphic is mentioned or described, though measures to prevent further suicide attempts are carefully discussed.

The Goa'uld should be a trigger warning all their own. I have tried to deal with these topics sensitively. If you feel uncomfortable reading this chapter, please skip it. Leave me a comment or send me a message on Tumblr (bastet55), and I can give you a summary. This chapter is an interlude, so you will not miss anything significant plot-wise if you skip.


1st of Ea, 6546 A.S.
(January 22, 2000)
Uslisgas, Asteria

"Sujanha." A small hand shook her shoulder. "Sujanha. Ragnar is here to see you." It was a woman's hand and a woman's voice that roused Sujanha from sleep, though she had not even planned to fall asleep … earlier.

*Sujanha. Wake up.* Malek's voice fully brought her to consciousness. It was dark, but then she realized that her symbiote had control, so their eyes had not opened automatically, which was somewhat … strange. *Sha're's trying to wake you. I don't want to startle her.*

Sha're was learning quickly how to discern whether Sujanha or Malek was in control but still had occasional trouble differentiating between them, since they never made any physical sign of a switch in control (flashing eyes, modulated voices, or bowed head) when at home. (At work and with some of their allies, such measures still sometimes proved necessary or beneficial). It had been about a month since Sha're and Shifu had moved into the house, and though Sha're had adapted well to Malek's presence, given her previous … experiences with symbiotes, Malek still went to great lengths to never startle her. Sometimes she feared that using one of those methods to indicate control … like suddenly flashing their eyes or changing their voice … could inadvertently startle Sha're.

*Let me have control.*

Malek pulled back smoothly, and Sujanha slid into control, opening her eyes. She was half-lying, half-sprawled lengthwise across one of the couches in the living room. It had been a long, busy day at work, and she had just sat down to rest for a little while after dinner, warm, filling, home-cooked food that had made her sleepy. She had not even intended to fall asleep and had just wanted to listen to the story Daniel was telling Shifu about a sailor stranded on an island, a giant snake, a meteor, and a long list of trade goods.[1] (It was a very strange and somewhat depressing story in her mind.)

Her almost-son had a very soothing story-teller's voice, and she was utterly exhausted.

Sha're was standing by the couch, withdrawing her hand after shaking Sujanha gently awake. Her other hand kept her light shawl from slipping off her shoulders. "Your bodyguard Ragnar has come," she said softly in accented English. "I'm sorry to wake you."

"It's alright," Sujanha replied, remembering only at the last moment to not automatically reply in Furling but in English, instead. "Thank you for waking me."

What happened now?

The light in the room had been dimmed. Daniel and Shifu were still sitting on the other couch, but Shifu had fallen asleep in his father's lap since Sujanha herself had dozed off. His little head was pillowed on his father's chest, and Daniel had dragged the throw blanket closer to tuck around him. Out of the folds of the blanket peaked one edge of "Baba," the stuffed animal whose resemblance to Sujanha herself had earned her the same nickname. Daniel was reading a book, held awkwardly in his off-hand, his dominant hand wrapped around his boy, but he gave her a small smile of greeting as Sujanha pushed herself upright.

*I am back here for one day,* she mentally grumbled. *One night of peace with my family, can I not have that?*

After the explosion aboard the Diaogth had led to the very needed but still extremely disconcerting discovery of a widespread flaw in the neutrino-ion generators that powered the entire Furling fleet, the campaign against Bastet and Kali had … stalled … for a month and a half. Too much ground had been lost in their territories and across the galaxy more broadly as enterprising Goa'uld sat up and took notice of their enemy's weakness and took advantage of the temporary Furling withdrawal to start regaining some of their lost territory. The campaign against Bastet and Kali had restarted just days before, and there was much work to be done to regain the ground that the Furlings had lost, retaking the planets that were passing back and forth between Furling and Goa'uld hands like "ping-pong balls," according to Daniel. Sujanha had returned for one day to Uslisgas that morning to help coordinate and deal with some strategic matters in Asteria and Ida and was due to return to the front lines the next morning.

Malek was sympathetic. As a former base commander and operative, she knew the annoyance of unexpected call-ups and subordinates needing things at odd hours, which usually coincided with rest breaks. *We were able to get this much, at least.*

*True enough,* Sujanha replied and pushed herself to her feet with a muffled groan. The brief nap had felt good, but after being sprawled out on the couch instead of in bed, she felt old and creakier than normal. At least they had gotten these few precious hours with her new little pseudo-family, but now there was work to be done. Her duty came first. Leading the Fleet had always meant sacrifices.

Ragnar was standing in the hallway, leaning heavily against the wall. He looked as tired as she felt but half-straightened as she appeared.

"What happened now?" Sujanha asked. (Behind her, she could hear a low murmur of Abydonian flowing from the living room. Sha're was still somewhat more comfortable in Abydonian than English and required a translator for anything in Furling.) She glanced at the chronometer on the wall. I was asleep for about three hours. It was almost the 22rd hour. No wonder Shifu had fallen asleep. It is far past his usual bedtime, though asleep in Daniel's lap, asleep in bed … both are still sleep.

"An urgent message for you, Commander," Ragnar replied before trying to muffle a face-breaking yawn behind one paw. "Jaax forwarded it to me maybe … fifteen minutes ago." And woke you up, it looks like? When they had parted at Headquarters, it had been his plan to go eat dinner and then promptly collapse into bed until duty called the next morning and back to Avalon it was.

"What is Jaax doing at headquarters at this hour?" Sujanha asked as an aside, frowning. It's late, and we'll be leaving early tomorrow. He needs to sleep as much as the rest of us.

"Working." There was a slight smirk on Ragnar's face. It was slightly ironic, Sujanha admitted, for her to be concerned about the hours her aids kept when she was not there, given the hours she had kept even before the war had begun.

As the Midgardians say, do as I say, not as I do.

Malek snorted wryly in her mind.

Sujanha scrubbed her paws across her face, trying to wake herself up, and shifted her weight more onto her left leg. Her nap had helped the tiredness, but the position had not helped the throbbing aches and nerve-prickling in her other leg. "What happened? An issue in Avalon?" High Commander Algar was there, was more than capable of managing everything in her brief absence. If something had happened that he could not handle … there have been enough disasters these past months. Please, Maker, not another.

Ragnar shook his head. "No, no, Commander, a message from Ardea. There's been an issue with one of the recently freed hosts. They're asking for you to come."

They want me to come?

What?

Now Sujanha felt even more confused. Ardea was one of the prison worlds where captured Goa'uld were held until judgment was declared and their hosts were freed. Each prison world had a large complement of guards from the Army, capable of handling anything conceivable—and the Furlings could conceive of many potential problems—that might occur. If there was a problem that would require military support, it would be Elder Brother's problem or, more likely, one of his High General's problems, since Anarr was currently in Avalon.

A problem with a freed host, though … Why do they want me, not a healer or a mind-healer?

"An issue? What kind of issue?" Sujanha asked, prompting him for more details. Ragnar is usually more forthcoming with information. "Why does this require my oversight?"

"Because the host claims to be Tok'ra, so they are hoping Malek can come and confirm her claim." A Tok'ra host and a Goa'uld symbiote? What? How?

Malek roused at that, her mind whirring through possibilities and odds of this being real. *Are there any other details on the host? Ragnar said 'her claim,' so a female host. Whom was she host to?* To Sujanha, she seemed somewhat skeptical, somewhat surprised, and … a tinge hopeful. There were Tok'ra who had been captured and then disappeared into the depths of a Goa'uld's territory never to be seen or heard from again. If there was a chance that a missing host might make it home …

"Host to whom?" Sujanha asked.

"Kryse, Underlord to and daughter of Cronus."

*I know the name but very little about her. It would be a strange set of circumstances, but it is not out of the realm of possibility,* Malek replied, her mind still whirring.

*Are you willing to go?* Sujanha asked.

*Of course.*

"They sent word to me, though they need Malek?" Sujanha confirmed, annoyance rising.

Ragnar nodded.

"Malek and I are two separate beings. If our military would like Malek's help or advice on a matter, then they need to send word to her." Sujanha stressed that last word. "If they wish to send their respects to me, that is perfectly acceptable, but there is no need for me to play intermediary."

"Of course, Commander."

Sujanha scrubbed her hands across her face again. "Go to Headquarters and tell Jaax to go to bed. I'll meet you at the Stargate shortly."

Ragnar nodded, saluted, and then went outside. There was a flash of light as he was beamed away. Sujanha picked up her gauntlets from the table in the hallways and started fitting them on, blinking tiredly. Sha're appeared then, carrying a still sleeping Shifu off to bed, and Sujanha murmured a good night to them both. Daniel appeared a minute later, took their tea glasses into the kitchen, and then joined her in the hallway.

"Problem?" He asked, taking his glasses off to polish them on his shirt. It seemed to be a nervous gesture, at least sometimes.

"An issue with a recently freed host on Ardea. She claims to be Tok'ra. The hope is that Malek might recognize her and be able to confirm her claim."

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "Wow." Then he frowned thoughtfully. "Wait, she was host to a Goa'uld? How does that work?"

"Yes, to Kryse, an Underlord of Cronus. And I don't know. It is puzzling," Sujanha admitted.

"That was over 6 months ago." Daniel grimaced. Six months by Furling measurements. Longer by Midgardian standards. "If she is Tok'ra …" He shook himself. "Ooof. Well, be careful. Do you expect to be back before you return to Avalon?"

Sujanha shrugged. "I do not know for sure, but I expect not unless she is not what she claims to be." If this unnamed woman was truly a missing Tok'ra host, back almost from the dead, so to speak, this was going to be a very long night with much to be done.

"Well, safe journey then. I guess I'll see you when I see you."

What a strange Midgardian phrase. True … but still strange.


Unlike Idroth, which was an ice-planet and unpleasantly cold for anyone not belonging to the Azhuth or the Iprysh, Ardea was a temperate world with rolling hills and sprawling forests, idyllic scenery that was in sharp contrast to the prison system far below the surface. Not feeling it necessary for a full complement of bodyguards for a visit to a Furling-controlled planet in Asteria of all places, Sujanha stepped through the Stargate, with only Ragnar at her side. The night-cycle had fallen, and it was dark with no moons shining in the sky. There was a chill in the air that made Sujanha shiver slightly, even underneath her heavy jacket.

Her blood had always been thin after growing up on Drehond.

A woman stepped forward out of the shadows and saluted sharply as soon as the wormhole disappeared, taking with it almost the only light. She was tall and thin with large hands and feet. Those physiological differences because of environmental conditions on their homeworld Aquileia combined with the pattern of braids in her black hair and the pattern on her garments, both just barely visible in the low light, marked her clearly as Boii. "I am R'Danatek, Supreme Commander. Our base commander, Ovisek, asked me to meet you and escort you." Those naming conventions were two more characteristics of the Boii. All female names either began with S' or R', and all male names ended in a k sound.

There would be other guards nearby, the usual number for a night-time shift. Sujanha thought she might hear them—emphasis on the might. There were some vaguely sentient noises carried on the wind—but they were well-hidden in the darkness. Even those noises could be mistaken for other things by those less experienced or less familiar with this world.

"My thanks, R'Danatek." Sujanha inclined her head shallowly. "Please lead the way."

The tunnel system was much brighter, though the lights were modulated given the time of day. Working constantly underground with no visible sun—unless one was a Dovahkiin on Drehond and rose, slept, and worked largely on a schedule fit for yourself alone without care for the time determined by a sun that was invisible and useless in the tunnels—could cause problems medically for circadian rhythms among other issues, so said the healers. The same problems could occur during long-term duty onboard starships. As Furling bases and starships kept to Uslisgas time consistently, the problem could be alleviated somewhat by dimming the lights during the night-cycle. It was not a perfect solution, but it helped.

R'Danatek led them through the winding halls with their unexpected turns and random choke points, all designed for defense, until they reached the healers' halls. Most of the healers were Boii—given those they had passed, much of the staff of this base seemed to be Boii, which was probably helpful for interacting with the Zukish hosts before and after they were freed—but Risa, a Rhuzk and one of the chief healers attached this project, was also present, her back half to the door, frowning at an expansive array of holographic charts stacked in front of her. A female Boii healer was standing beside her, lips moving silently, her attention half-caught between the charts and what looked to be security footage of an isolation room.

"Oh, good, you're here," Risa spoke first, looking up from her charts. She was largely Lapith in appearance, and whatever Furling blood she had was not strong enough, perhaps too distant, to have had much effect on her appearance. Only her golden eyes and lack of a tail marked her as Rhuzk and not a full-blood Lapith.

"Ragnar told me that Kryse's host claims to be a Tok'ra. Can you tell me anything more?" Sujanha asked at Malek's request.

"Very little unfortunately," the Boii healer, who then introduced herself as R'Kimix, responded. "She has been terribly traumatized by her ordeal. Except when she dreams, she barely speaks, has not spoken to us since she identified herself as Tok'ra and begged to be taken home. Though … I am not certain that she knew us. It took nearly a week for her to even speak at all. She will let us near her to bring her medicine or food, but otherwise …" She shook her head sadly.

Sujanha nodded, understanding what the healer was and was not saying. This woman, whether a Tok'ra or not, had been a prisoner inside her own body for only the Maker knew how long, perhaps years, perhaps decades, perhaps centuries. Alone only with her own thoughts, forced to watch her body being puppeted into doing indescribable acts. It was a terrible fate.

Among the Goa'uld, even death might not be an escape with their sarcophagi, those perverted things that upended the laws of nature itself. Alone, there was no one to lean on, no friendly faces, no hand to grasp yours through cell bars, no whispered words. No one. Even those who had lived and died at the Great Enemy's camps had not been alone, for what little comfort that was. Having your body, your mind violated, forced to do unspeakable acts, even the hardiest would be traumatized.

Malek's thoughts were just as dark, and she was resolutely blocking those memories from seeping across to her host. They both had dark memories, enough for more than a lifetime of nightmares. Sharing only brought more pain.

"Which chamber is she in?" Sujanha asked.

R'Kimix pointed towards the correct room, hesitated, and then added verbally, "Just … do not take your bodyguard with you, Commander. She might not be able to distinguish the gender differences in your forms—your voice should make that clear, Commander—but … she has not reacted well to the presence of male guards or healers."

Sujanha stamped down the urge to flinch at the implication of what those words mean. On top of all that she had suffered … to have been brutalized, as well? Is there no end to their evils? The Commander nodded and turned for the door.

The woman was curled up in the corner of the isolation room as they entered, her back to the wall, face buried in her knees, which were pulled tightly to her chest. A large blanket was wrapped around her shoulders and tucked around in front of her. Strands of brown-hair, sun-bleached lighter in sections, were visible, but given the angle of her body and the fall of her hair, not her face. The female Boii healer sitting silently on the floor by the bed rose as Sujanha entered and slipped out, leaving the other two women alone in the room.

Corner seat … back to the wall, defensive posture.

Knees to the chest, protecting vital organs.

Blanket, cold from mental-trauma induced shock, perhaps.

Or just the lack of a symbiote messing up your body's systems.

Her posture is too stiff for sleep, but she hasn't looked up. … The angle her head is at, she probably can see us, study us before she visibly reacts.

*What are those … things on her wrists?* Malek suddenly asked. *Not cuffs, surely?* Part of the host's right hand and wrist had emerged from beneath the blanket as it slipped slightly.

Now Sujanha did flinch … minutely.

Those things were not cuffs but a variant of the gauntlet technology, used only on those so traumatized or life-weary that they were deemed a danger to themselves. They enclosed the arms from just below the base of the hand (or paw) to just above the elbow (or sometimes further) in thickly padded metal, protecting the vulnerable blood vessels in the wrist and elbow from injury. (There were joints at the elbow to allow one to use their arms while wearing them.) Gauntlets only had padding underneath. These had thick padding on both sides to prevent somewhere from causing harm to themselves by tearing at them with their fingers. Only the healers could authorize the use of such devices, and only the healers could put them on or remove them. In more extreme cases, there were variants that could protect the veins in the neck and legs.

Malek read those thoughts from her mind without her having to speak them to her directly, saving Sujanha from having to explain.

Sujanha added verbally, *They also have sensors to detect if any blood is drawn elsewhere on the body. They're for her own safety, and they take away less bodily autonomy than sedating her against her will if she becomes frantic or tries to hurt herself. That's also why they had a healer in here close-by.* Former prisoners-of-war needed structure, but they needed to be able to make choices, even just little ones at first.

*A useful invention,* her symbiote noted, mental voice tightly controlled. It was terribly sad that there was even a need for such devices, that there was so much cruelty from external or internal factors that someone might be driven to such choices. To think death is preferable …

Finally, the woman looked up, and an icy chill swept across Malek's mind as the former host's features became visible. Shoulder-length brown hair was swept back from her broad forehead, sections still held back in braids that were falling apart. Her eyes, set above sweeping cheekbones and thin cheeks, were haunted and wide with fear.

Horror replaced shock. Malek was swearing in a variety of languages, cursing all the Goa'uld to any dark fate imaginable. If she had been in control, her voice would have been breaking with tears of utter devastation if she could have managed to speak at all.

*Rosha. It's Rosha,* Malek whispered, horror-stricken, once the torrent of curses died away. *She was supposed to be dead, at peace. Oh stars, it's Rosha.*

Rosha. Once host to Jolinar of Malkshur, one of the few Goa'uld who had learned the error of her way and joined the Tok'ra. Jolinar of Malkshur, who had taken Daniel's friend Carter as a host and died years earlier on Midgard.

*It brought Martouf and Lantash a little comfort after news of Jolinar's death was brought by the Tau'ri to know that they were at peace beyond the reach of the Goa'uld, but all this time …* Rosha had still been alive, suffering at the hands of the Goa'uld. For a moment a faint feeling of nausea swept through their body before Malek pulled the reaction back under control.

*She has survived. That speaks much to her strength,* Sujanha replied. Her mind flew to those prisoners who had been rescued from the clutches of the Enemy, from the dark, dank depths of their camps during and after the wars. The memory of seeing the horrors that they had suffered visible in their eyes was not one she would ever forget. Healing took time. Unfortunately, the Zukish, especially those of Avalon, had much less time in which such healing could be affected.

Sujanha took a step closer to the bed, empty hands spread to either side, claws retracted, and then lowered herself to a seated position on the floor, making herself smaller and less visibly threatening, very necessary given her height and appearance. Malek slipped forward into control. "Hello, Rosha," she said quietly in Goa'uld, the only language that they had in common now.

Rosha flinched—at the greeting? At their presence? Appearance?—and drew sharply backwards, eyes wide. "How do you know my name?"

"I am Malek, Rosha. I lost Loknu died some months ago in an earthshake. This is Sujanha, my new host. Her people are enemies of the Goa'uld, the one who defeated Cronus … and Kryse."

"Why should I believe you?"

For a former prisoner, it was a very reasonable question. The Goa'uld would certainly not be the first to use decoys, claiming the name and identity of a friend to get close to a prisoner to get information. But … Rosha had identified herself as Tok'ra and asked to go home. That would indicate she knew that she was no longer in Goa'uld hands … one would think, but suspicion and mistrust were outgrowths of such terrible trauma. Though, given what Risa had said … isolation could do terrible things to the mind. Figments of the past that might bring a little comfortable … hallucinations … for someone as traumatized as her, it would not be unexpected.

Despite Rosha's initial suspicion as to their identity, Malek was eventually able to convince her that she was indeed Malek, through some combination of the way she spoke and her knowledge of events that only she could have known. Rosha went quiet for a long time after that, but finally … in a very quiet voice, she asked about Jolinar and about Martouf-Lantash. Malek, circumspectly, replied only that Jolinar was dead, her death confirmed by allies of the Tok'ra, and that her mates did, however, still live. Given the time since Rosha's disappearance, for operatives like Martouf-Lantash, their continued survival was not guaranteed.

Sometime later, the healer returned, bringing medicine and some food that she tried to coax Rosha into eating. Feeling sick at heart and terribly sad, Sujanha retook control and quietly slipped from the room. Ragnar and the healers were still in the outer ward where she had left them, and they all looked at her as she returned.

Sujanha nodded, confirming the question that was clear in all their places. "She is Tok'ra, as she claimed. Her name is Rosha, and she was once host to Jolinar of Malkshur."

Ragnar started slightly, probably recognizing the symbiote's name. "What now then?" He asked, his gaze cutting toward the isolation room door for a moment. "Do we notify the Tok'ra? Does she want to see them?"

"Yes, we need to notify the Tok'ra," Sujanha replied. "Whether she wants to see them, we did not get that far. It took most of the time we spoke just to convince her that Malek is whom she says that she is. She is extremely wary and afraid."

R'Kimix agreed but cautioned them, saying, "The Tok'ra should be notified, especially any of her friends or family among them, but I will not allow any interrogations for intelligence of any kind, no matter how time sensitive, while she is in my care. She … Rosha … is much too fragile for any questioning."

Stir up terrible memories of the past … that would not end well. She was already life-weary. No one wanted to push her over an edge that might require more extreme protective measures than just those gauntlets on her arms.

Sujanha nodded. "She might not be strong enough, mentally or physically, to return to the Tok'ra for some time, if ever, though from what Malek knows of her, she could surprise us all. She has already proven herself to be a Survivor. Depending on the length of her stay among us, it might be worth offering to take her to Ilea for peace."

*Ilea?* asked Malek.

Sujanha brought to mind a picture memory.[2] Her vantage point in the memory was on the slope of a tall hill, where unseen behind her was the Stargate. Spread out below here were rolling green fields and large forests stretching down the hill beyond. At a much greater distance were mountain peaks, the tallest of which were covered in snow. Clouds hung above a valley, half-hidden behind trees far down the slope. The sun was shining so brightly that one could almost feel its warmth, even in the memory.

*A rest world, primarily for our military. Those who received serious injuries with longer recovery times or those who may never heal often go there or are sent there for a time. Some choose to live out their days there. It is very peaceful with good weather.*

"Worth considering, for certain," R'Kimix replied.

Sujanha turned to Ragnar. "To save time since it is the middle of the night here"—the chronometer on the wall said that it was now the early hours of the 2nd—"Ragnar, would you object to taking word to the Tok'ra?"

We are in Asteria on a Furling-controlled world. You can safely leave me.

It's like we would be returning home to bed, anyway.

"No, Commander, I don't mind. To Martouf-Lantash?" (She noted idly that he looked more awake than he had back at the house.)

"Or to Jacob-Selmak if they are absent," Sujanha replied. "Use your best judgment whether to tell them there or once you return here." The rest of the Tok'ra would need to know eventually, but at first, privacy might make this easier for Martouf-Lantash's sake. This would be staggering news.

Ragnar nodded. He pulled up a screen on his gauntlet and made a couple of notes and then pulled up another screen with a gate address. "This is the correct gate address for Nistra, yes?"

The destruction on Vorash had been widespread enough that the Tok'ra had decided to move their homeworld, instead of moving the Stargate and rebuilding elsewhere on the continent. Nistra was the planet to which they had moved their forward operating base. Its address, which the Furlings had provided, was not on the Abydos cartouche but came from the Ancient database in the Asgard's possession. The more vulnerable members like scientists and elderly host-symbiote pairs as well as vulnerable experiments and the like had been moved to a separate base on a Furling-controlled world called Vestra.

If one base is lost, not all are lost.

Sujanha and Malek both scanned it and then confirmed that those symbols were the correct address. Ragnar bowed to them and then, politely (and more shallowly), to the healers and departed. Sujanha was shown by another guard to a waiting area, and then it was time to rest. Perhaps, if the seat was comfortable enough, they could even nap a little until Ragnar returned.


Sujanha did sleep, but when she awoke again, she found herself not in that same little room but back in the main healer's hall with Jacob-Selmak at her side. Malek was, obviously, in control and talking to them softly in Goa'uld, but she stopped mid-sentence as Sujanha awoke.

*Several hours have passed.* Malek recapped the situation briefly. *Martouf-Lantash are in the isolation room, sitting with Rosha. Jacob-Selmak accompanied them … for 'moral support.' You were tired, so I didn't wake you.*

Aloud, Malek continued after her abrupt pause. "Forgive the interruption. Sujanha awoke, and I was updating her on the situation."

*That's fine. Where's Ragnar?* Sujanha replied mentally.

*Resting, I believe, until you need him again.*

*Good. How are Martouf-Lantash … and Rosha … taking all this?* Sujanha asked. *And Jacob-Selmak?*

Malek gave the mental equivalent of a grimace. *From what the healers have said—given the potential emotional upheaval from the reunion and Rosha's fragility, they are overseeing things—Rosha seems even less convinced that her mates are real than we were who we said we were.* Somehow she was managing to keep her conversation ongoing with Selmak simultaneously, a feat that Sujanha did not think that she could have managed.

*She thinks they are hallucinations.* Sujanha realized the implication of her symbiote's statement. *Or might be, at least. Given what she must have suffered before being taken over by Kryse … sometimes a figment of our minds is all the comfort there is.* Rosha had gone back and forth, while they were will, in seeming … with it … and not.

Malek agreed sadly. *Martouf-Lantash was … shocked beyond words … by Ragnar's news, though overjoyed, of course, that at least one of his mates was spared. They are shaken, Martouf especially, and struggling in their own ways. Selmak was very close to Jolinar and Rosha. He agrees that Rosha should probably stay here for now. The Tok'ra mean well, but tact and … careful handling with 'kid gloves' … is not always our way. Much of that intelligence that she might have been able to provide about Cronus and his domain is unneeded now, anyway.*

*She has sacrificed much. All of your people have. Some injuries never fully heal, but for her, I hope they will. You all deserve peace.*


[1] A/N: The Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor.

[2] A/N: See A03 for the accompanying picture.