Jamora awoke slowly, in a cocoon of blue light and warmth. She was lying on her side, facing her coral reef "window." The undersea vista gradually insinuated itself into her awakening mind – while the sensation of Smoke's body warm against her back, his legs entwined with hers, seemed to float forward from her dreams. She could feel his soft, regular breath against her neck. She smiled, suffused by a sense of perfect well-being.
She and Smoke had had sex three times last night. The second and third times had been a little less frantic than the first, but no less intensely pleasurable. It was hard to believe how well it had all gone. How right it had felt. It was like some sort of dream. Smoke had followed her lead, and done so with good grace. He had seemed genuinely happy to Serve her, just as the Book of Ashora said that Redeemed males were supposed to feel. Had she really tamed him so quickly?
The only male she could compare him to was her husband, Lagash. He was the only other man she could remember having sex with – not counting them. And they didn't count, of course. She had thought that sex with Lagash was quite wonderful. He was virile and sensitive and, of course, properly submissive. Yet her husband had never made her feel the way Smoke had last night….
The thought brought a pang of guilt. It was as though she felt disloyal to Lagash, who had helped her so much during her struggle to rebuild her life. But that was silly! She was a Daughter of Ashora! She had every right to take a concubine if she wanted. "A woman's love is not diminished by being given to more than one male." That was what the Book of Ashora said. And Redeemed males knew that. They didn't suffer from the prideful, possessive jealousy that afflicted Unredeemed males. Hadn't Lagash already proven that? Lagash was truly a model Son of Ashora. She was lucky to have him!
As she was thinking that, she felt Smoke's breathing change. He stirred, and his arm tightened around her waist. Then he rubbed his cheek gently against hers. She could feel his stubble. "Good morning, beautiful," he said. The sound of his voice sent a frisson through Jamora's body, making her smile and snuggle against him. He had such a beautiful voice. She loved his voice. She loved him.
But that unbidden thought brought a stab of discomfort – perhaps even fear. Jamora's body grew still as she told herself that just because they'd had one night of good sex – okay, great sex – that didn't mean she was actually in love with Smoke. That was silly. She barely knew him. They'd made a good start, perhaps, but she didn't really know where this was going. She couldn't assume anything. She needed to observe him further.
Having reassured herself that she was in control of her feelings and had an appropriately rational attitude toward the situation, Jamora turned toward Smoke and wrapped her arms and legs around him. She found herself gazing into his warm brown eyes, and was taken aback by the impact that had on her. His hard face was relaxed, his mouth half turned up in a subtle smile. "Good morning, gorgeous," she told him.
His smile widened. A soft, almost shy expression came over his face. He looked down, the long lashes hooding his eyes for a moment; then he looked up and stroked her hair. "Can't believe you're really here," he said. And there was something in his voice that made Jamora's throat close up. For a moment, she felt as if the whole universe had shrunk down to just the two of them.
Suddenly, Smoke flipped her over and got on top of her. Jamora gave a little gasp. She could feel the strength in his arms and legs, the ease with which he handled her body's weight. Smoke was grinning, and part of Jamora wanted to start giggling. But she put her hand against his chest and said, "Smoke, wait! You have to ask permission!"
He froze. The grin faded away, leaving his face expressionless. He rolled off her.
Feeling bereft, Jamora turned toward him. He was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
"It's not that I don't want it," said Jamora. "It's just that I have to teach you proper sexual etiquette. It's part of my Ashoran duty toward you as my chattel-concubine."
He grimaced. "Proper sexual etiquette," he repeated, his voice dripping with scorn. "Chattel-concubine!" It was amazing the degree of disbelieving disgust he put into that word. He still hadn't looked at her. He was staring upward, at nothing. He closed his eyes for a moment. Then he said, "Last night, you were calling me Jack."
"Yes," she said. "You asked me to, and I did. Just that once."
He did look at her then. "Sam," he said, "you were calling me Jack all night!"
Jamora frowned. Had she really done that? She couldn't exactly remember what she might have called him in the heat of passion….
"Guess that's why I was kind of hoping," he said, his voice soft. He looked at her sadly. "But you still don't know me, do you? Not at all. Because if you did, you would know you don't have to worry about 'sexual etiquette.' I could never want anything that you didn't, Sam."
As Jamora looked into his sincere gaze, she felt a strange sort of pressure in her head. She gave her head a shake. "I think I believe you," she whispered. "It's just that out there, in the patriarchal universe, there are so many men who… who would.…" Jamora stopped, unable to go on. She was feeling more pressure in her head – almost a sort of buzzing – and it was a sensation she recognized. She turned her back on Smoke and curled into a ball, squeezing her eyes shut and willing those terrible images to stay away, stay out of her head.
"Sam," he said. "What is it? What's wrong?"
His voice was so soft and gentle, but Jamora couldn't answer. She just hunched her shoulders. When she felt his hand on her back, she flinched a little. Being touched by a male sometimes brought on the flashbacks. But she didn't break contact with Smoke. Somehow, the warmth of his hand on her back was okay.
Smoke didn't say anything, but after a little while he moved closer. He gradually, gently, wrapped his body around hers. Jamora felt her eyes stinging. Then tears began to fill them and fall down her face. But the tears felt cathartic. The touch of Jack's body wasn't threatening, it was comforting. And though he didn't say anything, Jamora felt his sympathy as palpably as the warmth of his flesh. She took his hand and cradled it against her cheek. It wasn't rational, but his closeness somehow made her feel very safe.
After a little while, her tears subsided. They lay quietly together. Then she said, "It was the Atrosians."
She felt his body stiffen. "Bastards," he breathed. The word was just a whisper, but there was tremendous venom in it.
"I was with a small expedition on an unexplored world. We didn't know the Atrosians had that Stargate address, but they did. The Atrosians captured me and took me back to Atrosia as a slave. They do terrible things to new slaves, especially women. I was beaten and sexually assaulted. I only have a few fragmented memories of what they did, but they're enough to give me flashbacks sometimes. And nightmares. My doctors say I was beaten more than once, but the last time was really bad. I sustained serious head injuries. If a search party hadn't found me when they did and rushed me back to a hospital on Ashora, I would have died. As it is… well, I've lost a great deal. It just kills me that the only memories I have, from before waking up in the hospital, are those awful, jumbled memories of being hurt."
Smoke's body grew still, and a flash of panic went through Jamora as she realized what she had said. What she had revealed!
He propped himself on an elbow and said, "You mean you don't have false memories, Sam? You don't have any memories?"
Jamora pushed herself out of his arms and out of bed. She stood and faced him. "Stop it!" she said. "Don't you dare start that again! How could you? And stop calling me Sam! My name is Jamora." To her dismay, Jamora discovered that her voice was unsteady. Her whole body was unsteady. She was shaking! She crossed her arms and clenched her jaw, trying to get a grip on herself. She couldn't let him see her weakness.
Smoke swung his legs around and sat on the edge of the bed. He looked at her and said, "No, it's not. Your name is not Jamora." He spoke with a quiet authority that Jamora found very disturbing.
Your name is not Jamora. The words seemed to echo in Jamora's mind, filling her with agitation, making her dizzy. For eleven months she had struggled to fill the void in her head, to re-learn all the things she should have already known, to heal from her trauma and become, once again, the strong Ashoran woman she was told she had been. And now, just when she was beginning to feel some sense of security, this wild male was trying to take everything away again!
"Shut up!" she cried. And she hit him with a Warning command, making him grimace. Jamora knew the Warning caused only a quick and relatively mild stab of pain, but she felt her own head start to pound and her stomach to churn. Goddess, but she hated to hurt him….
And Smoke didn't seem intimidated. He stood up and faced her, his expression unflinching. "Sorry," he said. "Can't do that. Can't shut up. 'Cause I'm telling the truth." His calmness was in marked contrast to Jamora's agitation. "Your name is Samantha Carter, and you are not an Ashoran. You were born on Earth, like me. You're my second-in-command. We're both part of a team that looks for ways to protect Earth from the Goa'uld. We explore other planets through the Stargate. That story you told, about being part of a small expedition when you were captured…" His mouth thinned into a grim line. "That's pretty much what happened. Only you weren't part of any Ashoran expedition, Sam. You were with us."
Jamora felt a flare of rage at his words. "You think because I've lost my memory, that makes me stupid? I have a ton of evidence to prove who I am! I've seen holographs of myself from before I was hurt. I've seen my birth certificate and a mountain of other documents. And I know people who knew me from before – my friend Neshi, my house-servants, my husband Lagash!"
Smoke's face lost its calm expression. His eyes narrowed. "Your what?"
"My husband," repeated Jamora. "My Ashoran husband. We've been married for twelve years!"
Smoke's expression darkened ominously. "Whoever this guy is, he's a lying bastard," Smoke ground out.
For some strange reason, Smoke's reaction made Jamora feel a little steadier. "I suppose you're jealous of him," she said. "Typical patriarchal male!"
"Are you telling me I've actually got something to be jealous of?"
Jamora raised her chin, feeling on firmer ground. "Of course not," she said. " 'A woman's love is not diminished by being given to more than one male.' Lagash understands that, because he's a Redeemed male. In time, you'll come to understand it too."
Smoke's mouth had dropped open. His expression managed to combine an almost comical look of shock with an intimation of serious menace. "Are you telling me that you and this character have actually…" His arm made a flinging gesture, as if trying to get rid of something, and his brows drew down. "And you're actually telling me that you still…" He grimaced. "You're planning to…." He stopped, his expression growing even more disbelieving.
"If you're asking whether I have a sexual relationship with my husband," said Jamora, "of course I do. And, naturally, that will continue. He is my husband." She didn't think it pertinent to mention that she had only resumed sexual relations with Lagash four months ago. It was the trauma she had suffered that had at first made her feel too… uncomfortable with him.
There was a flash of hurt in Smoke's eyes. Then his expression became very controlled. "Sam, you are not married to some Ashoran bozo! These people are taking advantage of you!"
Jamora stiffened. "My husband, Lagash," she said, "is a wonderful man! He's helped me tremendously throughout my recovery process. He's been unfailingly supportive and understanding. I won't allow you to speak of him with disrespect!"
For a moment, there was a look in Smoke's eyes that frightened her. Then he looked away, visibly reining himself in. He took a breath and shifted restlessly, clenching his fists. When he turned his gaze back to her, his eyes were full of banked fire. "Look," he said, "you might not actually remember anything about your old life – your real life – but I think you feel something. Something down inside somewhere. 'Cause what about," and he gestured between them, "this? Does this feel like we just met yesterday?"
Jamora found herself taking a step back. But then she crossed her arms again and said, "Feelings aren't proof."
He gave her a look that was full of annoyance – yet tinged with affection. "Okay, Scully," he said. "Then let's take a hard look at the facts. Seems to me a society this high-tech could fake all the holographs and documents it wanted. And as for people – they can always lie."
Jamora was incredulous. "That's what you call looking at the facts? Do you really expect me to assume everyone I know is a liar and every bit of evidence around me is faked just because you tell me some crazy, unsubstantiated story?"
Smoke seemed unfazed. "You're right," he said. "My story is totally crazy – considering you didn't tell me at first that you've lost your memory. Why would I make up such a crazy story without knowing that?"
Smoke's words had an odd effect on Jamora. She took another step back and turned away from him abruptly. She felt almost as though she were dodging a blow.
"And there's something else," she heard him say. "Something that doesn't seem right. 'Cause I'm no expert, but I've been around people who've gotten knocked on the head, had really bad experiences, all that stuff. And when somebody loses their memory due to a trauma, the trauma is the first thing they forget. How come it's the only thing you remember? Don't you think there's something fishy about that?"
Jamora looked back into his face. "What are you implying?" she asked.
His mouth tightened. "Wouldn't that sort of memory be just the thing to make you accept the way things work around here?" He raised his eyebrows. "Maybe this world isn't as far along on memory implant techniques as some of the other worlds we've been to. Maybe they can't fake a whole life – but that doesn't mean they couldn't manage a few strong memories. Strong but jumbled. Isn't that what you said?"
A sickening wave of anxiety swept over Jamora. He was implying that Ashorans – Ashoran women – had given her those terrible memories! He was telling her that everyone she thought had been helping her – her doctors, her friends, her husband – had all been hurting her instead! Jamora felt herself shaking her head. "You are evil," she whispered.
"No, Sam!" He made a sweeping gesture with his arm. "They are. They've stolen something that belongs to you. Something very important. Your true identity!"
Jamora felt a kind of pressure building inside her. "My true identity," she said. "As your subordinate, of course!"
"That's not the point, Sam!"
"Isn't it?" she shouted. She felt ready to explode. "I refuse to listen to any more of this! And stop calling me Sam!"
He looked straight into her eyes and said, "Sam. Come back."
Jamora felt as if she were being pulled into his dark, intense gaze. The world began to spin. She closed her eyes and gave her head a shake. He was trying to dominate her! She found herself breathing rapidly, almost panting. She felt trapped, suffocated…
…and she was back there once again, in some dim room on a primitive, patriarchal world. She felt the suffocating, revolting sensation of male hands touching her and hitting her, male bodies violating her. The memories were jumbled and jagged, but she remembered the feelings. Her sense of shame at not being strong enough to defend herself. Her horror at the wrongness of it, at the evil of those men. Her white-hot rage. Then she felt a flash of excitement. An opportunity! She lashed out. She felt something fleshy breaking beneath her hands. And she heard a man's strangled cry of pain. For a moment she was filled with grim satisfaction.
…and then she was back in her bedroom, and she saw him. He was writhing on the floor, his face twisted in agony. He cried out again.
Jamora looked down at Jack's torment and realized she was responsible. She gave the mental command for the Punishment to stop – and then ran for the bathroom, reaching the toilet just in time to be violently sick. When Jamora straightened from her retching, she caught a glimpse of movement beyond the bathroom door. She used her neural implants to command the door to close and lock.
The bathroom door rattled. Jamora ignored it as she splashed water on her face. Then she sank down on the floor, feeling sick and drained. She had hurt him so much. She had Punished him, at full intensity, and hadn't even known she was doing it. She had totally lost control!
"Sam?" came his voice. "Are you all right?"
Jamora did not reply. He was asking if she was all right. After what she had done to him!
Well, she wasn't, actually. Her stomach still churned, and her head was splitting. Did that mean she couldn't even Punish him without making herself sick? That would mean she had lost control of him, too. What sort of weak-hearted woman am I? she thought, lost in a fog of confusion, anxiety, and physical misery.
"Sam." His voice again. It was soft, but it carried.
Jamora said nothing. She didn't know what to say. She felt empty again – hollow. The way she had felt in the hospital, all those months ago. A hollow woman. With nothing but a few razor-sharp fragments of trauma to rattle around in her empty mind and cut her up inside.
"Look," he said, "it was my fault. I shouldn't have pushed you so hard."
Jamora wrapped her arms around her knees and kept silent.
"Sam?" he called, his voice a little louder. "Jamora? Anybody?"
Jamora didn't respond, but she was listening. She listened to the timbre of his beautiful voice. It was so surprisingly calm and strong.
"You had a flashback, didn't you?" he went on. "I saw your face just before you zapped me. I could tell you were checking out." There was a pause. "I'm sorry. My fault." His voice was still calm, but she could hear an undertone of pain in it. "I should have thought a little more about what it must have been like for you. Waking up on a strange world, with no memories except a few really bad ones. Not knowing your own name. Having to rely on other people to tell you who you are. And I know how hard you must have worked to get back on your feet again. To feel like you're in control of your life again."
Jamora listened. He was describing her feelings with uncanny accuracy.
"And then along I come, this guy you don't remember. This strange man from a man's world, right? And I pull the rug out from under you. No wonder you lost it."
There was a pause. "Sam," he said, "you're not really going to make me do all the talking, are you?" He rattled the door again. "Come on, say something. Give me a sign. Please. I need to know you're all right."
Jamora stood and padded over to the bathroom door. She took hold of the door handle and slowly moved it up and down, though she didn't unlock it.
"Okay," he said. "So you're alive. And you know where the door is. How about actually opening the door?"
Jamora said nothing. But when he started jiggling the door handle, she pressed down from the other side and resisted his movements.
"Okay," he said. "I think I get it. Not that you aren't being weird. But I guess everything's been pretty damn weird, hasn't it? It must have been very weird for you all these months." She heard him sigh. "I'm so sorry for everything you've been through, Sam. I'm so damn sorry it took us so long to find you. But at first, we didn't know who had kidnapped you. We didn't even know the Atrosians existed. We knew the attackers carried you away through the Stargate, but we didn't actually see them leave. We had no idea what address they dialed. Teal'c caught a glimpse of them, but he said he'd never seen anybody like them before. We had him look through photographs of every kind of people we'd ever encountered through the 'Gate, but none of them matched. So for a long time," he said, his voice bleak, "we couldn't even search for you, because we had no clue where in the galaxy to even start looking.
"All we could do was stake out that 'Gate, and hope whoever-they-were came back through. But the days went by, and then the weeks – and there was nothing. Zilch. There was no activity on that 'Gate at all – except ours. Finally, General Hammond ordered SG-1 back to regular duty. That's us, Sam. Our team. You, Daniel, Teal'c, and me.
"So Daniel and Teal'c and I went back to trying to do our jobs. 'Cause soldiers can't stop fighting just because somebody goes missing in action." There was a pause, and Jamora put her ear against the door. It was smooth and cool against her cheek. "General Hammond started trying to assign somebody to replace you. But nobody worked out – 'cause I made sure they didn't. Which was damn unprofessional of me, I know. But I couldn't help myself. I kept telling everybody we'd find you. I kept telling myself that." There was a long, pregnant pause, and Jamora found herself leaning her whole body against the door.
"God, I missed you." It was just a whisper, but Jamora heard. Her eyes began to sting. "It was so damn hard," he went on. "Not knowing if you were alive or dead. Not knowing what was happening to you, if you were alive." His voice had a choked quality. She knew he found it difficult to get the words out. "I tried not to think about it, but I kept imagining all the terrible things that might be happening to you right at that moment. And I couldn't even do anything about it. I couldn't even search for you. All I could do was pray that one day something would turn up, so we could start looking. Or that maybe, even if that never happened, you were really okay. Yeah, I actually tried to tell myself that. Not that I believed myself, of course. I just don't have the optimist gene."
There was another pause. Then he said, "Somewhere along the way, I realized if I ever actually found you again, I wouldn't be able to go back to the way things were before. Regardless of the consequences. I realized if God ever actually gave me another chance, I had to try to be with you for real."
Jamora didn't even know what he was talking about when he said "the way things were before," but she found herself listening with her heart in her throat.
"I love you, Sam. And I want to be with you for the rest of my life. If you'll have me."
Jamora unlocked the door and opened it. He was standing just on the other side. She found herself facing him, riveted by his poignant gaze. She felt powerfully drawn to him, yet still full of confusion and fear. Her mind seemed to be splitting into two opposing halves.
A sense of déjà vu came over her. Hadn't she stood like this before? Facing him, mesmerized by the passion in his gaze, overwhelmed by the emotions churning within her. And yet there was some barrier between them, something that made it impossible to truly reach him…
"I'm sorry I hurt you," she said. "I didn't mean to."
"I know that," he said.
Jamora took a deep breath. "I remembered something," she told him.
His eyes lit up. "You did?"
"During that flashback, I experienced something that's never come back to me before. I think I remembered killing one of the Atrosians. I think I broke his neck."
"Good for you!" he said. "And that shows you can remember more, doesn't it?"
"You said it never happened at all!" she accused. "You said my Ashoran sisters put those awful memories in my head. Memories of being raped." As she said it out loud, Jamora's outrage grew. That was such an appalling thing to suggest! How could she ever have considered believing it? He was a wild male, and all wild males were malicious liars. Everybody knew that.
"I said maybe. I don't know exactly what happened to you, Sam. I only know you were missing for twelve months. And two weeks. And three days. And that these people are lying to you."
She crossed her arms and looked at him, her mouth tight.
"Look," he said, "maybe the Ashorans have nothing but the best intentions. Maybe they rescued you from the Atrosians and nursed you back to health. Maybe trying to make you believe you're somebody you're not is just their crazy idea of helping." His tone made it clear how likely he thought that. "But they're definitely lying, Sam. You do know that now, don't you?"
As Jamora looked into his compelling eyes, she found her outrage fading. It was on the tip of her tongue to say yes. But then she thought of Lagash. Had he really been deceiving her all this time? Along with Dr. Lishet, and Neshi, and everyone else? Jamora turned away from Smoke and stared at the wall, idly tracing a tiny blemish.
"Okay, Sam," he said. His voice was gentle. "I'm not going to try to push you anymore. I've said my piece. And you're the scientist. I know you'll figure out how to determine the truth. When you're ready."
She sighed and looked at him. His words made her feel more relaxed. He smiled at her, and she became aware that he was still naked. They were both still naked. Goddess, but he had a powerful effect on her! She was beginning to feel that magnetic pull again…
Then Jamora's mind did another abrupt shift, and she suddenly felt she had to get away from Smoke. She couldn't think straight around him, and she needed to feel in control of her own thoughts again. She tried to scoot past without touching him, but he put out his arms and stopped her.
"Let go," she said. Her voice had gone hard.
He surprised her by dropping his arms immediately. His face was very controlled – but there was a hint of worry in his eyes. "Need to think things through?" he asked.
That surprised her again. She bit her lip and nodded. She turned and walked slowly to the other side of the room. And then, she used her neural implants to suddenly open the bedroom door. She immediately jumped through it, and shut it again behind her.
"Hey, wait a minute…" she heard him shout. The locked bedroom door rattled behind her. "Goddamn it, Sam!" he barked. "Open this goddamn door!"
Jamora winced at the tone of command in his voice. "I'll be back soon," she told him.
"No, Sam!" he cried. "Don't do it! Don't confront them!"
But Jamora was already hurrying down the hallway. She practically ran down the stairs. She had to do something to resolve the terrible split in her mind. She needed to speak to Lagash – alone.
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