A/N: If you would like to see the hotel this one is sort of based on, Google "Vinoy Park Hotel" on Wikipedia. Before it was renovated a few years back, it had sat empty and rundown for a very long time. My brother and his buddies were once arrested for trespassing on the property when he was about 16. They were released on their own recognizance and told not to do it again or the cops would call mom. I wasn't able to find photos from that time though.

Many thanks to ladygris for giving this a read-through and commenting on various aspects. I'm especially thankful to have her as a Grammar Nazi. Being one myself, I'm glad to know I have company. And she always has great ideas…especially the sleep-bomb.

Thanks also go out to Skye Graham. One particular aspect of this story was her idea. Actually, I did have the idea a while ago but didn't remember it. Thanks for helping jog my aging memory and for that left ear, Skye!

FYI - This chapter is a crossover with NCIS.

Namaste,

Sandy

Not a Hero

Chapter 27

Some Things Just Happen

The wallpaper in the lobby was so faded that the original color had been lost. To the right of the door stood a grouping of sofas, armchairs, end tables, coffee tables and lamps. The furnishings were covered in tropical prints with shades of green as the dominant color, and were a bit threadbare in places but clean. Area rugs, also in a tropical design, covered strategic places on the hard wood floors, all worn by thousands of feet walking on them. To the left, the front desk stood out in the same light wood as the flooring. Behind it were the old fashioned cubbyholes with actual keys instead of electronic cards.

Straight ahead, a curved staircase led to the upper floors with a set of elevators to their right. If one continued past the elevators one would eventually encounter the dining room and bar. Or so the signs said. A hallway to the right of the front desk led to the first floor rooms, a vending area, the employee area and maybe even the pool. Again, according to the signs.

Snatching up his bag, John headed for the front desk, ignoring for now the blast from the past. "We need two rooms please."

"What're you fellas doing out in this weather?"

Lorne had joined John, his bag hitched over his shoulder. "Just passing through. Uh, rooms?"

"Oh, yeah." The brown haired man handed them each a card to fill out while he chose keys from behind him. He glanced at their names as he slid the keys across the desk. "Mr. Sheppard, you'll be in 402, and Mr. Lorne, 417. Normally we have a live band on the veranda but they canceled on us. Not that I blame them. Afraid the best we can do for entertainment is television, magazines, books, radios and some board games. TV and radios will only last as long as the generator holds out. Likewise the food situation. You boys can help yourself to whatever you want in the bar and kitchen. On the house."

With a smile, Lorne put the man's mind at ease. "Thanks. Gonna wait out the storm then be on our way."

"Good luck with that. My name's Waligorski. Me 'n the wife and our son live onsite. You need anything, just dial zero."

John turned for the stairs, his way blocked by one of the older men. Thankfully, not his former commander. This man was much older. He wore faded slacks with suspenders, a button down shirt that had seen better days but was clean and a fishing vest. "Come to fish, boys?"

Quelling the urge to just push the man out of his way as he once would have done, John mentally counted to ten, allowing his expression to turn amenable. "Sorry, old timer. We were headed north when the storm caught us off guard."

Grinning, the old man winked and tapped the side of his nose. "Oh, you're fishin' alright. But it ain't for tarpon, snook or redfish like me 'n my pals."

"What do you think we're here for, sir?" Lorne asked.

Leaning forward slightly, he made a show of sniffing the air. "You're cops. Federal, if I don't miss m' guess."

Exchanging a glance with Lorne, John made an imperceptible shrug. "What makes you think we're cops?"

"Huh! I can smell a fed from a country mile. Against the wind."

~~O~~

Jackson Gibbs had made the two young men at the door as soon as it closed and decided to have some fun. When they headed for the elevators, he got in front of them and just said the first thing that came to mind, pretending to be off his rocker and a little senile.

And they bought it. As soon as he'd accused them of being federal police they'd bolted for the stairs without waiting for the elevator. That meant he'd struck a chord they didn't like the sound of. Chuckling to himself, he rejoined Arthur and Sawyer.

"Must you to do that, Jack? Leave those boys alone," the second of the older men admonished his friend.

"Now Arthur, I'm just having a little fun. What else is there to do until the storm passes?"

Arthur, the pastor of a non-denominational church in their hometown of Stillwater, Pennsylvania, huffed. "Watch television, read. There're books in the lounge."

"Reading puts me to sleep and I'm not ready for bed yet."

The cleric addressed the third man still leaning on the wall. "Help me out here, Sawyer."

The man, whose hair was still dark but with a streak of white in the front, downed the rest of his beer and pushed off the wall. "You're on your own, Artie. I'm going for a walk."

Peering at his friend, Jack could see something was wrong. He'd seen it the moment the taller of the newcomers had seen Sawyer. "This has something to do with those new guests, doesn't it?"

Making his face a blank mask, Sawyer set the empty bottle on the end table. "No idea what you're talking about."

~~O~~

The fourth floor, like the others and presumably the entire hotel, hadn't been renovated in at least twenty years. Tables in the hallways had silk flowers that had seen better days. Yet here, as in the lobby, everything was clean and cared for.

John opened the door, tossed his bag on the bed and went to stare out the window, thinking about the last time he'd seen Colonel Sawyer Hartley. John had been at the defendant's table and Hartley on the witness stand where he'd promised to tell the truth about his part in the events leading up to the chopper crash. And then he'd lied.

It had taken months for the evidence to be gathered and John had spent that time behind bars. At least he hadn't had to share with someone else. Or maybe he'd been given a private cell so he wouldn't be able to tell his side of the story to someone who'd believe him. Even his attorney hadn't, so why would anyone else? It had been the word of a Colonel against a Captain and the military court had chosen to believe the one with the impeccable reputation over that of a screw-up with several reprimands for insubordination on his record. He never did figure out how he'd managed not to spend the rest of his life in Leavenworth.

The crash of a tree breaking off in the high winds startled John back to the present, the sun having gone down while he'd been staring into space. His stomach growled and though he didn't feel like eating, he thought he should at least get something to drink. A beer maybe. Or not. Drinking wasn't the best course of action when you're feeling sorry for yourself. With the help of Doc Adams, Gamblers Anonymous and Angel he was learning to regulate the impulses that had controlled him in the past. And it was a good feeling. At least until today.

Using the stairs, he returned to the first floor. The two young women had gone as had Colonel Hartley, but the two older men, Jack and the other one, were playing cards.

John walked the dimly lit hallway that led to the restaurant coming first to the bar. It was empty as was the dining room. No bartender, no cashier and no servers. He went behind the counter, opened one of the coolers and took out a bottle of ginger ale. Twisting the top off, he took a long drink as he passed between the tables into the kitchen. It too was empty just as Waligorski had said.

Flipping the lights on, he opened the walk-in, took out sliced lunchmeat, tomato, lettuce, onion and spicy mustard. He carried everything to a silver table with a cutting board set against one wall. Above it, stuck to a magnetic holder, hung a selection of knives. He chose one and used it to slice the tomato and onion. That done, he hunted for and located bread. When his sandwich was made, he went to stand at the back door watching the storm while he ate. This part of the hotel faced away from the shore providing the rear with a small amount of protection.

Just as he'd taken the last bite he heard a noise behind him. Whipping around, right hand reaching for his weapon, he found Jack standing there holding a cup of coffee and munching on a cookie.

"Maybe I should reintroduce myself, son. Jackson Gibbs. I run the general store in Stillwater, Pennsylvania." He set the coffee mug down, brushing the crumbs from his fingers.

While they shook hands, John noticed the irrational glint that had been in his eyes was gone, replaced by wisdom, curiosity and humor. "Special Agent John Sheppard."

"Sorry about before, John. Pegged you and your partner as federal agents as soon as you walked in the door and thought I'd have some fun." He waited for John's response leaning on the counter, a cane hooked over the edge.

One side of John's mouth lifted in a smile. "And you were right. ISA."

"You and your partner here to investigate the strange goings on?"

The way Jack phrased the question as well as his tone and the look in his eyes put John on alert. "Could be. Why don't you tell me your side of…" A strange squeaking sound reached them over the clamor of the storm. John cocked his head trying to locate it, turning to the back door when it came again. Jack put his hand on the doorknob while John's reached under the back of his shirt where his Glock was stuck in the waistband of his pants. He nodded and the door was flung open. Both relaxed in relief at the sight of a small water-logged cat sitting there. When it saw John, it lifted a paw, curling the claws into the screen of the outer door and crying louder.

Opening drawers, Jack found a towel and gripped it in both hands watching John expectantly. Belatedly John rushed to open the door and the cat stepped daintily into the warm dry kitchen. Wrapping the towel around the cat while it continued to cry, Jack picked it up and set it in the empty sink. He rubbed its body and head until the fur spiked then did the tail and each foot. John handed him a second towel when that one got too wet and a third when he finally finished.

"What're you gonna do with it?"

Jack cuddled the shivering animal in both arms. It worked one still damp paw free and reached in John's direction. "It is a she, maybe six months old, and she's chosen you."

"Me?" John stumbled backward when the bundle of towel and cat was shoved into his arms. "I've never had a pet before. What am I gonna do with a cat?"

"Start by getting her something to eat and drink. Warm up some milk."

"But…"

Taking his cane to lean on, Jack went to the walk-in and came back with a bowl of milk which he stuck in the microwave. It dinged and he tested the temperature before setting it on the counter. John put the cat beside it, she sniffed the contents then began lapping it up. While she did that, he cut up some of the lunchmeat and piled it on a small plate, setting it alongside the bowl. When the milk was gone, she scarfed the meat down growling in pleasure.

Now that she was mostly dry, John could see that her fur was black everywhere but her ears which were bright orange, resembling two glowing coals in a dying campfire. He bent down even with her face watching her lick one paw and passed it repeatedly over her face and ears, taking special care of her very long while whiskers. Her left ear was a little tattered as if she'd been in a fight that she had managed to win despite her small size. Standing up straight, he asked Jack. "So now what?"

"Take her to your room, shred some newspaper in a box for her to do her business in, and when you leave, she goes with you. And make sure she has a bowl of water at all times."

"But…" His voice cut off when he felt damp fur rubbing against his arm. Using his forefinger to scratch her forehead he didn't know what to say when her big green eyes closed and she began to purr. "Okay. Just until the storm's over and we can find you a real home." She seemed to like that idea and purred even louder. Scooping her up, towel and all, he carried her out to the front desk. Waligorski wasn't around so he took an empty copy paper box, set the cat in it, went to the elevator and rode up to the fourth floor. Just as he was getting out, Evan was coming from the other direction. "There's stuff for sandwiches already out in the kitchen. Be sure to clean up when you're done."

The door closed leaving Evan in the hall wondering what the hell his partner was doing with an empty box.

~~O~~

Sawyer Hartley paced from one side of his room to the other, rubbing the back of his head and neck. A rundown hotel in St. Petersburg, Florida was the last place he ever thought he'd run into John Sheppard. He was almost as surprised at seeing him in the company of Evan Lorne whom he remembered as one of the people calling for Sheppard's blood at the trial, albeit in a more restrained manner than the other family members. Or was Lorne keeping close to Sheppard in order to find out more about the crash?

He pulled the chair out from the small desk in the corner and sat down, hands folded together in front of him. Glancing down, he looked at the bare ring finger of his left hand. His wife had divorced him several years ago and he still missed her. They'd never had any kids and all his family was gone. Except for Jack and Arthur, he was all alone, just as he deserved to be.

Reaching into the duffle bag on the floor, he took out a black Netbook and powered it up, spending the next few minutes organizing his thoughts. The cancer that had invaded his body was too far advanced for surgery. Chemo had extended his life by a few months, but that was all. Before he died, he needed to scrub his conscience clean. Or at least tidy it up a little.

Opening a new document, he did a quick save-as, giving it a name that would be certain to pique the curiosity of anyone who found it after his death, and began to type.

He typed long into the night, leaving out nothing.

Eventually his strength, no longer what it had once been, gave out. He saved the document, got undressed. Fatigued, he fell asleep quickly.

~~O~~

Evan let the water out of the sink, rinsed it out and dried his hands on a towel he found in a drawer. Hanging it over the faucet to dry, he checked there was no trace of the mess his partner had left, switched out the light and carefully weaved between the tables and chairs to the hall that led to the front of the hotel. Just as he reached the entrance to the bar, also in darkness, he heard voices speaking softly. The deep echoing quality, as well as their tone, told him they were Goa'uld. He ducked back around the corner when they came his way, trying to see who the hosts were but they were gone before he could make them out.

When the coast was clear, he hurried to the fourth floor, jogged to Sheppard's door at the end of the hall and knocked. It opened on his shirtless partner drying his face with a hand towel.

"You bring your Zat?"

"Yeah. Why?" Sheppard had started with an annoyed expression but switched to alarmed when Evan explained the reason for his late visit.

"Goa'uld. At least two. Couldn't see the hosts' faces."

"Why would they be here?"

"No idea, but it can't be good." Evan glanced at his watch. "Not much we can do about it tonight. Almost everyone's in their rooms or asleep. Even the Goa'uld."

Sheppard nodded. "We should call Woolsey."

His cell phone already out, Evan held it up. "Did that on the way up. Said he'd send reinforcements if we need 'em. I…" He stopped speaking when a demanding yowl came from inside. "Um…"

"It's a cat. Found it-her at the kitchen door nearly drowned. I fed her and now she won't leave me alone."

Evan grinned. "A girl in every port, huh?" The yowl came again, louder. "Better not keep her waiting, Sheppard." A moment later, he chuckled when the door slammed in his face.

~~O~~

Stripping down to his boxers, John watched the cat playing with a piece of paper she'd taken from the trash can under the desk after dumping it over and spreading the contents across the floor. Every time he put it back, she dumped it out again so he just left it. Before that, she'd investigated the dresser, desk, armoire where the television and radio were hidden, his duffle bag, the closet and the bathroom. She batted the paper under the bed then chased it, rolling around on the floor and growling, using her hind claws to disembowel it. When it had been beaten into submission and shredded all over the floor, she lost interest, coming to stare up at him.

"Now what?" She meowed, yawned and scratched her torn ear, arching her whiskers forward. "If you're saying its bedtime, I agree." He took a towel from the bathroom, laid it in the bottom of the paper box and lifted her into it. The top had been put in the bathroom with shredded newspaper. "You can sleep here the next couple of nights. We'll find you a home after the storm's over, okay?"

She stared up at him for a few seconds, stretched, turned in a circle and lay down, seeming to go right to sleep.

John climbed into bed covered himself with just the sheet, switched out the light and lay on his back. Just as he was about to drop off, he heard a small thump and a moment later, the cat had jumped onto the foot of the bed. She walked up the side, greeting him with a purr. He reached out to run a hand down the soft fur feeling her back arch in response. She purred even louder then curled up against John's side under his arm, and in less than five minutes, cat and human had gone to sleep.

~~O~~

Morning came and the storm had calmed though no one ventured farther than the end of the veranda as they knew it was the eye and not the end. At 0801 Evan knocked on John's door carrying a tray with two covered plates, a carafe of coffee, two cups, toast and a small bowl of fruit. It was opened by his partner dressed in nothing but a pair of boxers and yawning as if he'd just gotten out of bed. "What?"

"You just wake up?"

Rubbing his eyes, John yawned again, looked at his watch not hiding his surprise at the time. "Yeah. Best night's sleep I've had in a long time." Standing out of the way, John let Evan in then went to his bag, pulling out clean clothes.

"The cat sleep with you?"

Nodding, John headed for the bathroom.

"She's a sleep-bomb." At John's blank expression, he explained. "A sleep-bomb is a purring cat that sleeps with you. Better than drugs any day of the week." He set the tray on the desk. "We can discuss how to handle the situation while we eat."

Evan poured himself a cup of coffee. As he took a sip, an imperious meow came from the direction of his feet. He let the cat sniff his fingers and when she'd determined he was acceptable, she cried again. "I bet you're hungry." Uncovering one of the plates, he removed the toast from the small plate and broke up a few pieces of sausage then set the plate on the floor. It had barely touched down when she dived into it, finishing the offering in record time. Pouring some of the milk into the same plate, he watched her lap it up missing the cat he'd had as a kid.

While the cat performed her post-breakfast ablutions, he went to the window. Pulling the curtain aside, he watched emergency vehicles making their way slowly down Gulf Boulevard maneuvering carefully around the debris in the street. The skies were still filled with dark clouds and the wind was beginning to pick up again signaling the approach of the other side of hurricane Neville.

Hurricanes were rare on the west coast so Evan's experience with them was minimal. John too, both of them having grown up in California. They had basic knowledge but that was it.

The shower shut off and a few minutes later John came out of the bathroom, his hair once again defying gravity. Evan rolled his eyes wondering if the man ever combed it after toweling it dry. Dismissing it as unimportant, he poured coffee and handed it to John followed by the second plate of food.

~~O~~

John used a foot to turn the desk chair so he could sit while he ate and still talk to Evan who was leaning against the wall next to the window holding his own plate and munching on a sausage link. Glancing around, he didn't see the cat expecting her to be at his feet demanding breakfast. "Where is she?"

"I fed her then she got up on the bed and went to sleep."

John ate a few bites, avoiding his partner's gaze. "Sparky."

"Sparky?"

"That's her name. Well, the one I gave her." John waved his free hand at the sides of his head. "The ears. They kinda look like…never mind." He bit into a piece of toast without butter or jam then followed it with a bite of scrambled eggs. "This is pretty good. Did the cook make it in or did Mrs. Waligorski do the cooking?"

"Neither. I made enough for everyone." Just as he said it, the lights flickered and went out. "Guess that's it for the generator."

"Should make it easier to find the snake-heads. The eyes and the voices."

"Provided the Goa'uld's in command at the time."

They spent the next few minutes working out a basic plan, but without knowing whom the Goa'uld had taken as hosts, they'd have to wing most of it.

When he'd finished eating, John put on his socks and shoes, checked that Sparky was still sleeping, shoved his Glock into the back waistband of his pants and the Zat into a pocket then met Evan at the door. They took the stairs down to the first floor. If the owner wasn't around, they planned on going through the guest list to see if anything leapt out at them that would point to which of the guests or staff might be Goa'uld.

Just as they reached the last flight of stairs, Evan stopped John with a raised fist and signaling for quiet. He peeked around the corner and pulled back, pointing to his eyes. Both men put their hands on their Zats, counted to three and made a leisurely descent to the lobby.

The host, a young woman in black pants and a uniform top, saw them, turned and ran. The men chased her down the hall leading to the pool area. Knowing there was nowhere to go, John and Evan was certain they'd catch her quickly. But it was not to be. She ducked into the stairwell, her footsteps echoing.

The men hit the door seconds behind her, sharing a grin because she'd gone up, the same mistake made in every horror slashfest in the last forty years.

When they reached the top floor, the door was just closing. Exiting, they found the Goa'uld going through the roof access. Evan reached the door first, almost falling when John ran into him as they entered the darkened boiler room. Across from the door between one huge boiler and another smaller one, a window stood open. John leaned out but he didn't see anyone.

He motioned Evan one way while he went the other around the huge device. Once their eyes adjusted, they could see a little better. A maintenance area filled the far end of the room with tools, tables, parts and lots of dust. There were few places to hide and she was nowhere in sight.

The sound of breaking glass swung them around as the host emerged from her hiding place behind the smaller of the boilers. When they reached the open area in front of the door, the Goa'uld had one foot out the window, her hands holding the sides. Where she was going they had no idea unless she planned on using the fire escape.

She brought that foot back inside and turned to face them, seeming unafraid for someone who'd been running for her life just moments before. In fact, she even smiled, Evan immediately recognizing the arrogant smirk of a Goa'uld as opposed to the benevolent smile of a Tok'ra.

Just like her brethren, she wasted no time on small talk. "You will allow me to leave."

To Evan, John whispered, "It's really creepy seeing and hearing it in person."

"No kidding."

"I am Nabirye and you will speak only to me. Not to each other!"

The anger and superiority ticked John off, not to mention that smile he was already beginning to despise. "Take out your weapon and toss it over here."

"I have no weapon."

"Well we are armed to the teeth and have you trapped so you've got things a little backward about who's in charge here."

"That is where you are wrong. Did you think that I would be so stupid as to leave myself totally unprotected?"

Evan didn't like the sound of that according to the small quick intake of breath and that put John's already heightened senses on full alert. "It's two to one. How had you planned on getting away?" Nabirye just smiled, glancing over their shoulders and allowing Evan to think it through. "Uh-oh."

"What's uh-oh?"

"We forgot about someone."

The door opened and from behind them came the order, "Drop your weapons."

To keep Nabirye and the newcomers in sight, John and Evan stood back to back, John keeping an eye on Nabirye while Evan kept watch on the other two. Over his shoulder, John whispered, "Who?"

"The cell phone junkies from the lobby."

With a heartfelt groan and without taking his eyes off Nabirye, John said, "Oh, crap!"

~~O~~

Resigning himself to yet another day of no fishing and being confined to the hotel, Jack Gibbs combed his hair, checked his teeth and adjusted his suspenders. Satisfied that he looked the best he could under the circumstances, he grabbed his cane and headed down for breakfast thinking it'd probably be cold now that the generator had gone out.

He'd just closed his door when he heard people talking at the end of the hall near the roof access. Some of the voices sounded odd, reverberating as if through an alteration program like the ones his son's co-workers used in their work.

The door stood ajar and from within he could now discern John's voice and that of his partner as well as three others. He pushed the door open bumping someone who'd been standing behind it. Two loud booms came in quick succession, the unmistakable sounds of a shotgun being fired not once but twice. The weapon clattered as it hit the cement floor and barely a second later two young women shoved him out of the way. He stumbled against the wall nearly falling.

John followed, stopping long enough to give him a terse order. "Lorne's been injured. Call an ambulance and stay with him. And whatever you do, don't go near the woman." He squeezed his shoulder to make sure he had the older man's attention. "I mean it." And then he was gone, ducking into the stairwell across the hall.

As his eye adjusted, Jack could see Lorne on the floor, gasping at the amount of blood as he knelt beside him. "I'll call the paramedics." He whipped out his cell phone but couldn't get a signal. Not that he expected to though he had to try. As he turned around, he saw movement on the floor. Flipping his cane so he was holding the straight end, he swung at what looked like a snake crawling toward Lorne, gasping when it leapt into the air.

~~O~~

The wind and rain again battered the old building, strong gusts slamming the water against the outside so hard Evan thought the windows might break. In the dim lighting coming from the hall and the window, he could see the two young women who'd been in the lobby when he and John had arrived. The blonde held a Magnum and the brunette, guarding the door, a short-barrelled shotgun. Both weapons could inflict considerable damage, especially within the confines of the boiler room not only to the individuals present, but the machinery as well. Neither would be good.

The blonde came forward, the Magnum held in a rock steady grip, her empty hand extended, fully expecting Evan and John to just hand over their weapons. What she didn't know, but would soon find out, was that these two men were no ordinary cops.

Glancing over his shoulder at John, he was surprised to see his partner looking back. They nodded, each seeming to know what the other was thinking. But before they could put action to their thoughts, the brunette stumbled forward, accidentally pulling the trigger twice, the blasts nearly deafening in the confined space.

Evan felt incredible pain just below his sternum, the impact spinning him around as his body crashed to the floor with a thud. The fingers of his right hand went lax, the Zat rolling a few inches away. On his side, he could see that the second blast had hit Nabirye in the chest, creating a huge hole in the front and a gaping hole in her back for the exit wound. His view of the storm was now obscured by the blood, tissue and flecks of bone spattered over the window panes and surrounding walls.

Aside from the death of an innocent woman, how it came about didn't matter because somehow the symbiote had survived and was crawling toward him.

Unable to move, Evan's breathing became labored, he forced his head to move and saw a pool of blood forming in front of him coming from the wound in his chest. It spread so fast he knew he wouldn't be making it out of this alive. His only regret was not knowing the full story of Lee's death though now he believed that Sheppard was not as guilty as the military court had convinced him he was. And now he'd never get a chance to tell him.

Evan's eyes widened, terror like he'd never know before slashed through him as he tried desperately to force his dying body to move away from the symbiote as it crawled across the dirty cement floor. Except for his right hand twitching, it refused his instructions rendering him powerless to defend himself when the Goa'uld leapt into the air, landing on his neck.

It crawled around to the back of his head and a second later the pain in his stomach paled in comparison to that inflicted by the intrusion of the symbiote as it entered through the back of his neck. He could feel it wrapping itself around his spine, control of his mind and body slipping away as tendrils wound their way into his brain. He tried to call out, make some sort of sound. Jack wouldn't be able to help him but he made the attempt anyway. A moan that came from deep in his throat barely made it to his lips.

Evan didn't know how long he lay there as the pain in his head and stomach gradually became less and less. He'd been dying and now wished it were true because he'd rather depart from this life than become a host to a Goa'uld. But he wasn't given the option. The thing now inside him dominated, suppressing almost without effort all those bits and pieces that made up Evan Lorne has he'd been less than fifteen minutes ago. It healed his body, damaged beyond human technology's ability to repair it. But turning over control of everything that made him who was, well the price was just too great.

Inside his mind, he screamed in rage and frustration as his body stood, feeling the wound in his stomach healing the longer the creature was inside him. His hands and arms flexed as if the symbiote were testing the new reflexes as he retrieved the Zat.

The female symbiote now in full command of "their" body ignored Jack Gibbs and the corpse of her former host as she moved out into the hall, gaining physical strength with every step until she broke into an easy jog.

~~O~~

Nabirye smiled as she chased the other human male who'd gone after her companions, ignoring for now the older human who'd tried to stop her.

Oh, yes, she liked the new host better than the last one though it was the first time she'd ever been in a male. The woman had consumed too much food with very little exercise aside from work to offset it making her about thirty pounds overweight. At least in the beginning. Once the symbiote had taken over, she'd made changes to the body's wants and needs, forcing her to eat healthier and exercise more until she was closer to her ideal weight at the time of her death.

But this body was in much better shape, stronger and faster than any other host she'd ever been in. She'd be able to keep this one a very long time.

She slowed as she neared the first floor coming to a stop on the landing just before the carpeted stairs curved around and down. Inside, Evan was trying to take back what he considered his without success. She pushed back, reasserting her power.

Pulling the Zat from her pocket, she made her way down to the empty lobby. Listening carefully, she heard the voices of her companions and the other one, coming from the hallway past the elevators, Evan's mind supplying the name. Extending the arm holding the Zat, she turned the corner, aiming at the back of the dark head.

"It is time for you to die, John Sheppard."

TBC