Hello everyone! My very first (published) foray into the world of fanfiction! I am so excited! This is part of a much longer (think novel-length) story I've been writing for about a year. I'm stuck, but I thought this little piece could stand on its own as a oneshot. Hope you like it! Please, please, please review! Flames accepted!

Akaylah - Formerly SG4ever!

Jolinar stepped through the wormhole and onto the Tok'ra base world. As always, there were no visible signs of life in the desert immediately around the chappa'ai, but that was deceiving. She walked slowly toward where she knew the rings would be.

She was excited to finally be going home to her people after so many months, but she hated the news she was bringing. She knew very well that, with her missing, Martouf and Lantash would not have taken another mission; they would be waiting for her, or word of her, eagerly devouring every available scrap of information from the Goa'uld rumor mill (such as it was). Rosha's death would hurt them deeply, and she could find no way to soften the blow. There was little comfort for the loss of a mate. Jolinar was very thankful that she, at least, could be there for them – she cringed at the thought of them finding out that both their mates had died. If that ever happened, neither of them would ever be the same, only mere shells of the passionate, loving people she knew. Rosha would never forgive her.

Her new host stayed quiet, merely offering steady support as she listened to Jolinar's half-verbalized thoughts. She herself was greatly affected by Jolinar's sadness and nervousness, but her own apprehension bled slightly through their shared connection. Jolinar took a moment to assure her new host that such feelings were natural but completely unnecessary. Karal smiled and thanked her, merely returning to her quiet vigil.

They arrived. Jolinar rounded the last dune and placed herself within the center of the ring of guards, which she could sense but not see. She waited calmly as they jumped out – that is, until she saw Martouf among them. Long practice kept her from betraying her emotions outwardly, but inside she was getting more upset by the second.

[Of all the days for them to take guard duty,] agreed her host, attempting to make herself a steady, calm rock Jolinar could draw strength from. It was hard, because she felt the emotions too.

Finally the dreaded words came. "Identify yourself."

Karal quickly suggested that she withhold her exact name, but Jolinar replied with a negative. That course of action would most likely result in a staff weapon wound and an extended stay in an uncomfortable cell. "Greetings, Cordesh, Anak, Folth, Ner'tash, Kelesh, Lantash." She took a deep breath, her eyes wandering against her will to Martouf's face. There was a flicker there of mingled anticipation and dread, with dread quickly winning over. She held his eye. "I am Jolinar of Malkshur."

Martouf's entire body tensed, though it was likely that no one except her could have noticed it. His eye grew sharp. "Your previous host?"

She couldn't keep the anguish out of her face, and she did not try. It was useless to conceal it from him. Her eyes dropped to the ground as they filled with tears. "Rosha is dead, Martouf," she choked. Heavy silence descended. With difficulty, she forced herself to look up at him. His face registered shock and disbelief. She looked away again.

[It's not your fault. None of it,] said her host quietly. Jolinar didn't respond, but Karal knew it helped her a little.

"Come, then. We will escort you to be questioned," spoke Kelesh gently. Jolinar merely nodded as he and Anak moved forward into the rings. Slowly, Martouf moved to join them, looking like he was recovering from a shock grenade. The others waited for him before pressing the ring control.

As they moved toward the testing lab, Martouf walked beside her. Jolinar spared him a sad smile, grateful for his presence. He seemed to be almost in a trance. She had to say something, anything, to help them. "Martouf – "

"We have arrived,"said Anak from behind her. As she reluctantly moved away from her mates, Martouf just stood where she left him, in the middle of the corridor.

He was numb. They were numb. For some reason they felt nothing. No sadness, no joy, no energy, no weariness. It was as if the world had become cold and quiet.

"Martouf!" Malek's voice barely made an impression on them. Gradually they became aware of strong hands on their shoulders, steering them toward the wall. "Martouf, what is wrong?" asked Malek gently.

Martouf blinked and saw Malek in front of him, hands still on his shoulders, eye full of concern. He did not answer immediately, as his gaze wandered to the chamber. Jolinar's voice sounded strange coming through the throat of a different host. Foreign. He lowered his head again. "Jolinar has returned," he said softly.

Malek was silent for a while. If Jolinar was back, then why did Martouf look like he had just lost them? He listened to the voice inside, and then it hit him. Martouf did not mention Rosha. He winced, tears coming to his own eyes. Rosha had been a good friend of theirs. "I am sorry, Martouf," he murmured finally as he pulled his friend into a hug. Martouf responded slowly, as if in a daze. Telt commented that he probably was.

"Martouf, come," said Jolinar, gently touching his arm. Malek let him go and bowed formally to her. She nodded back as she steered Martouf and Lantash toward their couples' room.

It was not far – Lantash had insisted that he have a room close to his labs, and Jolinar had known better than to bother objecting. It was not particularly private, but at least marginally so; the hallway could not be seen from inside. She guided them out of view of the door, and as soon as she let them go they stopped again, staring blankly ahead.

Concerned, Jolinar placed herself within his gaze. "Martouf," she whispered, putting a hand on his arm.

His eyes focused on her, then he slowly reached out to touch her face. It was true – there was no mistaking her naquedah signature, just a tiny bit different from anyone else's. Rosha was gone, truly gone.

Jolinar watched as slowly his numb expression crumbled, replaced by pain, pain that she shared. Something broke loose inside of her as he pulled her into a familiar, powerful embrace. She sagged against him, unable to keep her grief inside any longer, burying her face in his shoulder. He wept with her as they clung tightly to each other. Martouf rested his head on top of hers, feeling the strong naquedah signature of the mate he had feared dead. The joy was buried, though, by their grief for Rosha. Lantash wept with him, mingling with Martouf in their anguish until they no longer knew who was in control of their body – not that they thought about it or cared. All they could think of was Rosha, as she was all those months ago when they left on her last mission.

Her lovely golden hair was tied up and weighted down with so many gems and adornments that it was hardly visible. Her eyelids were covered in hideous, shimmering green. Her lips were painted an unnatural, revolting peridot. Her face was covered in white powder that made her look whiter than the cold light of a ring transport. Her green, filmy dress, covered in various glittering substances, was something that, in his younger days, Martouf would have blushed to see on a harlot. She finally finished strapping the gem-studded shoes and stood tentatively up, tugging self-consciously at the dress, avoiding his eyes. He gently put a finger under her chin and lifted her head, giving her an encouraging smile. She finally met his eyes, and seeing the understanding and love in them, smiled herself. Her sea-blue eyes softened and brightened as she continued to gaze at him, drawing strength from his comfort.

She was beautiful, so absolutely beautiful. Beautiful with the kind of beauty that Cronus could never hope to comprehend.

"I love you," he whispered, his hand going up to touch her face.

Rosha smile turned wry as she gently batted his hand away. "If you disturb my face-paint, it will take me a long time to reapply," she warned, bending over to fasten a truant strand of hair into the complicated web of thread and emeralds.

His smile took on a hint of devilishness as his rebuffed hand went lower instead, smoothing playfully down her exposed side. "It might be worth the additional labor," he teased, his grin widening at the small hitch in her breathing he could just barely feel under his fingertips.

Still working to fasten her hair back, Rosha reached down and deftly caught the errant hand with one of hers. Martouf smiled at the way she could catch his hand without even looking down. She knew everything about him, right down to his unconscious habits of movement. The wonder of such an intimacy never faded, even after one hundred and two years. He laced her fingers together with his own.

Rosha let out a mildly frustrated sigh. "Martouf, I need both my hands to finish this."

He sighed unconsciously as he felt her warm hand slip away from his loosened grasp. As she turned her back more fully to him, he noticed one hook awry on her dress. He came closer, gently unfastening it from the gauzy material to twist the connected strap around the correct way.

She smiled at him in the mirror. "Thank you."

He smiled back, not taking his eyes off his delicate task. "I will ask you to do the same for me the next time I wear a dress for a mission," he joked.

Rosha smirked mischievously. "I hear that Kali prefers her male underlings to wear kilts."

His and Lantash's instant disgust must have shown in their faces, because she laughed suddenly at his reflection. She had a laugh to match her face – beautiful, fair, and sweet – belying the strong will underneath. The will strong enough to take this mission, considered to be the most dangerous infiltration mission currently in progress, and laugh even as she was about to leave.

Rosha, ever vigilant to her mates' swiftly changing moods, turned around to look them directly in the eye. "You are afraid for us," she stated bluntly.

He lowered his eyes. He could never hide anything from her. "Cronus knows we are trying to infiltrate him. He has already caused the death of two operatives." Martouf paused, sighing. "We do not wish you to go," he admitted.

Rosha's eyes glowed briefly. "We are the most skilled Tok'ra available," said Jolinar, gently. "If we did not go, we would put another at higher risk, for someone would be forced to go in our place."

Martouf sighed heavily. Lantash had lost this argument with them before, and he had no wish to spoil their remaining time before the mission. "I understand, my love," he replied. "I merely wish it were not necessary."

Rosha was back. "So do we," she replied softly, pulling him down for a kiss.

He leaned forward eagerly, then stopped at the last moment, his face an inch from hers. "You do not wish to spoil your face paint," he reminded her, painfully aware of her warm breath gently moving across his face.

She locked eyes with him, her smile turning mischievous again. "It might be worth the additional labor."

He smiled devilishly as he closed the tiny distance between them.

For as long as he lived, he would cherish the memory of that kiss . . . that last kiss.

So there it is! Did you like? Not like? Please review! Any kind of review, anything at all, is accepted! Critical reviews would be awesome!