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PART FOURTEEN

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Nuclear Facility

Janet's eyes were tired and burning, dry with exhaustion and itching with frustration. Cassandra's hand was hot in her own, two bright spots of colour burning on her otherwise pale cheeks. Someone's shoes scuffed against the concrete floor behind Janet, but she didn't turn around.

"Janet?"

"What are you doing up, Sam?" Janet asked quietly, gently stroking the back of Cassie's hands with her fingertips. The girl shuddered faintly on the bed, but other than that there was no change.

"What's wrong with Cassandra?" Sam demanded sharply, ignoring Janet's question.

"She's been stung," Janet said softly. "Timothy and I gave her a shot of what we hope is an adequate anti-viral about an hour ago, but there's been no change."

"Oh, God. Janet, I'm sorry," Sam whispered.

Janet heard Sam's boots moving toward her, and a second later Sam was standing next to the small cot, staring down at Cassie.

"She was devastated," Janet whispered, feeling her eyes burn with more than just exhaustion and fear. "Absolutely overwhelmed when you were accused and found guilty of the Colonel's death. She never believed it, you know."

"No," Sam said, "I didn't."

"Out of everyone, Cassandra is the only one who flatly refused to believe that on some level you were capable of setting that bomb. Me? I thought maybe they compromised you somehow, with a drug or with brainwashing or anything. But Cassie, she believed in you Sam."

Janet heard the hitch in Sam's breathing, but she continued before Sam could say something.

"When I saw you – yesterday, was it? The day before? I can't remember anymore. But when I saw you, you looked so cold and hard, Sam. That was the first time I really believed that you, Sam Carter, was capable of doing something like that."

"What's your point, Janet?" Sam asked coldly.

"I was wrong again," Janet whispered. "Blinded, because I suddenly realised that all along I thought you were guilty. God, Sam, I was the one doing your evaluations. You were scraping through the psychological components – some days, McKenzie and I should have failed you. You were a complete wreck, but we let you go. We let you go because you were the best and the SGC needed you. I blamed myself for letting you go so hard you snapped."

"But I didn't snap," Sam said quietly. "Three years in a fucking women's institution has fucked me up more than any number of years on the Stargate program."

Janet chuckled bitterly. "I know."

"Is this your guilt trip, Janet?" Sam asked suddenly. "The part where you break down and cry because you failed me, and it's your fault, and then I comfort you and tell you it's ok, that we're still best friends as though nothing happened?" The questions were asked calmly, normally, and Janet almost believed that Sam was okay.

Almost.

"No," Janet said. "This is the part where I tell you I'm not perfect. Where I tell you I'm capable of breaking friendships by not trusting, of making mistakes because I allow myself to be led to a solution that I find the easiest to understand. This is the part, Sam, where I tell you I don't know what to do. I'm as lost and confused as I was on the day you were sentenced and executed.

My daughter is lying on a bed and dying, because I failed to see through the lies woven around you by the enemy itself. I didn't trust you, and I should have spoken to you about your mental evaluations to put myself at ease, because I would have known you were ok. If I'd known that, I would have known for sure you couldn't have planted that bomb."

"Hindsight is twenty-twenty, isn't it?" Sam asked, her voice brittle. "I thought you of all people would have trusted me."

"Me too," Janet agreed. "I'm sorry, Sam."

Sam reached over and brushed a damp lock of hair away from Cassandra's face, her fingers trailing lightly over the hot skin.

"Take care of Cassie, Janet," Sam said quietly.

"Where are you going?"

"The Jaffa know where we are. I have to help Davis with the defences."

Janet nodded briefly. "I'll keep you informed," she said.

Sam nodded in return, the light tread of her boots fading quickly up the passageway.

---
Elcor – Resistance Homeworld

It was still raining heavily, but Teal'c had grown accustomed the steady downpour many months before. He stood outside and let the clean water from the heavens pour over him, watching as it mixed the blood and mud and washed it into the soil until he couldn't see where the blood ended and the earth began.

"How is Ishta?" Bra'tac asked quietly, also staring at the blood-soaked ground.

"She will recover," Teal'c said. "The Tok'ra have healed her, but she is still weak and will not regain her strength for a while yet."

"There could still be traitors among us," Bra'tac stated.

"I am aware," Teal'c agreed. "We must leave this world soon."

"What of the Tok'ra?" Bra'tac asked.

"We will not win this war alone, Bra'tac."

"They could be compromised."

"As could we."

"What are you thinking, Teal'c?" Bra'tac asked warily.

"O'Neill is right," Teal'c said.

"You will give him the poison." It was not a question.

"Yes," Teal'c said. "It is hard to believe, but not all our brother's would fight with us if given the choice, Bra'tac. They have been given a choice, and they have chosen their side."

"There is no honour in this, Teal'c."

"There is no honour in serving the Goa'uld and dying for a false god," Teal'c responded. "It is war, Bra'tac, and the only way which we will gather more followers is to prove we are right and we will win. This will help turn the tide in our favour."

"I pray you are right, my friend," Bra'tac said quietly. "It is a large sacrifice to make if it proves to be wrong."

Teal'c nodded.

As though it were timed, O'Neill appeared in the doorway of what was once Teal'c's hut. Teal'c watched the Tau'ri as he walked toward them, noting the stiffness of his movements and the strain on his face.

"O'Neill is growing old," Bra'tac said softly.

"Before his time," Teal'c agreed, still watching. "But he is alive, Bra'tac, and a powerful ally to have. He is also a friend."

Bra'tac didn't reply, and as O'Neill picked his way toward them, Teal'c was again struck by relief and awe that O'Neill was alive. Bra'tac touched his arm as O'Neill approached, and disappeared into a tent to get the poison.

"Doesn't the rain ever stop in this place?" O'Neill demanded. If O'Neill was growing old, his apparent sense of humour and wit had not changed at all.

"No," Teal'c said simply. "Maybourne and the girl, Bek?"

"Maybourne's going to be ok, apparently," O'Neill said, grimacing in distaste. "He hasn't woken up yet, but the Tok'ra have done their stuff and pronounced him well on the way to healing. Bek is… Bek is ok," he finished.

"Garshaw?"

A small smile touched O'Neill's lips but it was bitter and mocking. "Quiet," he said simply.

Teal'c nodded. "The Tok'ra will spare you a Tel'tac," he said, "and we will give you the poison."

O'Neill's eyes widened, and he stared at them. "Teal'c?"

"Not all our brother's will join us in our fight, O'Neill. Those who do not are the enemy," he said.

O'Neill nodded. "Thank you, Teal'c."

Teal'c nodded again. "Bra'tac is retrieving the poison," he said. "The Tok'ra Tel'tac is situated in those trees, there. Garshaw will agree to let you take the Tel'tac – it will be the easiest and quickest."

"Hey, Teal'c?" O'Neill said hesitantly. Teal'c raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue. "When this is over and we've saved Earth again, come and have dinner with us one night."

"As long as I do not have to go fishing," Teal'c agreed.

O'Neill grinned, and nodded. "Thanks, T. I owe you one."

"No," Teal'c said. "You are a friend, O'Neill, and it is enough to see that you are alive."

"Don't go getting all sappy on me!" O'Neill warned.

"I will not."

"Good. Oh, how is Ishta?"

"Ishta is recovering," Teal'c said.

"She will bear many sons yet," Bra'tac added wickedly as he reappeared, and Teal'c was almost ashamed to feel heat on his cheeks.

O'Neill merely grinned.

"Here, O'Neill," Bra'tac said solemnly, holding out a small package wrapped in an oilskin cloth. "Take care."

"Good luck, O'Neill," Teal'c added quietly.

O'Neill nodded, and swallowed. "Thanks, Teal'c. Bra'tac."

With a final salute and smile, O'Neill turned and walked back to the dwelling where Maybourne and Garshaw were recovering.

Bra'tac and Teal'c were silent as the rain continued to fall, and Teal'c felt a small smile touch his lips. "I will not be sorry to see the end of the rain when we leave this world," he said.

Bra'tac chuckled. "You are right, my friend."

---
Nuclear Research Facility

Her ribs ached and burnt with pain each time she moved, but she knew they weren't broken. Only bruised. Sam drew a deep breath in slowly, savouring the splintering pain as it lanced jaggedly down her right side. Pain. It felt real and alive and so much better than the empty grayness of square cells and routine and shower cubicles with cold water and prying eyes.

It felt like a distant memory now, she thought as she lay on her stomach in the dirt with a P-90 in her hands and grenades at her side. It felt like a bad dream which still bothered her with lingering images she couldn't quite recall but which had disturbed her so deeply and profoundly she felt compelled to do something.

Between the cracked concrete pillars and encroaching forest, she could see glimpses of the sky. It was burning a hazy orange, thick clouds with bruised purple shadows hanging ominously. She hadn't seen a sunset in a long, long time, and she stared up at it silently.

Slowly the orange faded red and then purple until it was a deep velvet blue and the clouds were black and dark, hiding the cold star studs in from her sight.

"Think it's going to rain?" Paul Davis asked next to her, his voice unnaturally loud despite whispering.

The air crackled with electricity and anticipation; waiting. For what?

"Maybe," she said, nodding. Her head throbbed with the movement, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

"You okay?" Davis questioned.

"Fine," she said shortly.

Fine. She was always fine.

Her fingers tensed on the P-90 as a dark object swooped like a bat across the velvet sky. "Here they come," she whispered. She licked her lips anxiously. They were dry and cracked and she imagined she could still taste the salt of his skin faintly, and she felt a sudden pang of regret at what they'd done.

Why had they done it?

She wasn't sure, and she wondered if whatever had broken inside her could possibly be fixed.

"Boys, the snakes are landing," Davis whispered into his radio. "Maintain radio silence for now; we don't want to give away our positions yet."

Her breathing sounded loud and forced in the sudden silence around the facility. A gentle hum that rose in pitch and volume indicated the arrival of several death gliders; she watched them swoop past and disappear into the dark sky around them.

"Here we go," Davis whispered next to her.

And in a sudden moment of clarity, Sam realised that she didn't want to die broken and bitter with regrets.

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