Warning: This chapter contains heavy torture scenes. I'll try to have the next chapter out sooner than usual, since I know this is not fun reading. This is as dark as it gets.
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Chapter 60 - Torment
Life was torment when you waited with no end in sight.
Matthews had contacted the Alpha Site, but no one knew anything about Earth. SG-6 was advised to stay in their current location, assuming it was safe, and carry on with their mission if possible. The Alpha Site would check in with them, along with any other offworld teams that were stranded, every 24 hours.
"And that's that," said Matthews with a sigh.
They were all worried, possibly close to panic, but held it in. What if the Goa'uld had finally snuck past Earth's meager defenses? What if it was another hostile alien race?
No one thought about gate malfunctions as an option any more. Were the gate truly unoperational for this long, they would have brought in the Antarctic gate. No one mentioned this, because it meant that something probably disastrous had happened to their home planet. But it seemed like the only option.
Daniel focused back on an archaeology dig he had been prepared to leave. Sha're borrowed Thomas' few books on the subject, bouncing Shifu on one knee as she buried herself in the text. He knew the feeling all too well to question it in her.
Another day came and went, another night with Sha're and Shifu in his arms under the stars. Another check-up on the Alpha Site, and still no word.
There was almost nothing left to be archaeologically discovered. No more ruins or remains, and the ones they'd found already examined. Daniel had always regretted that SG-1 never had enough time to fully explore. Now he did, and there wasn't much there.
Thomas and Donald started work on their mission reports, Lewis and Matthews alternated between standing the required guard and wandering off to waste time. Daniel just looked at the artifacts, over and over, wondering if he could will himself to find something significant.
Another day, another night, another check-up. The Alpha Site had heard from SG-4, but no other team. According to the schedule, SG-10 was supposed to be out for another couple days, so it was possible that they hadn't checked back in. Other than that, though, they were all the people from Earth they could contact.
"At some point we need to contact our allies," said Matthews, relaying the information. "But especially the Asgard—the Nox and the Tollan if we can manage 'em. Sending a ship to Earth is the only way we'll know squat for sure."
"And if not?" Dr. Donald asked, more worry than challenge in his voice.
"Then we beg for asylum as refugees," Matthews said, jaw set.
It was only then that it hit Daniel that all his friends would have been on Earth. He was the only member of SG-1 to go offworld during that time frame. And not only SG-1, but Dr. Frasier, the Millers, Dr. Jordan, Sara O'Neill, and anyone and everyone he'd been connected to. All centered around his homeworld.
He held onto Sha're, feeling worried and weak, just holding her and feeling Shifu between them, the only sparks of life he knew. She knew how he felt, for her people were still out there. Skaara, still a host; Kasuf, a prisoner of another Goa'uld. Even though most of her people were safe, she still ached for those in slavery.
With Sha're at his side, Daniel started taking walks, moving so that his mind would not rest and be lost in the waiting. The waiting might kill him.
Another day, another night, another update, and still no one could contact Earth.
ooooooo
Life was torment when you waited with no end in sight.
Quetesh didn't ask questions at first. She let her hand device do the talking, its beam reaching into Sam and Jolinar's mind, twisting and muddling and blending any conscious thoughts they had. It still burned from the last time—now they wanted to scream, and yet couldn't. Sam felt like her mind would melt away; Jolinar dreaded because she knew it wouldn't.
Quetesh grew tired of the hand device and brought forward a Jaffa torture stick, and Sam gasped and collapsed forward in pain but it wasn't significantly worse when the forked ends of the stick was jabbed into their stomach. She cried out voicelessly, the pain ripping through her body, and her mind wanted to retreat into Jolinar's, except Jolinar's was writhing as well. In the world of pain, each new addition didn't hurt so much more, as long as they didn't have time to remember what no pain felt like.
Quetesh watched carefully, measuring with cold eyes the tremors and shakes and sweat, finally stopping as some imaginary limit was reached. Sam and Jolinar were bent over, unable to crumple fully on the floor due to the short chains. But they hung limply, forehead taking comfort in resting on the cold metal that soothed the burn.
Jolinar couldn't slow their heart, or even keep it at a steady beat. Sam was still in control, if she could think of it like that, but retreating back against Jolinar's consciousness in her mind. Her breaths came in ragged, uneven gulps, each one hurting as all her nerves were on fire. But the overwhelming pain that felt like death started to fade.
"So simple," Quetesh murmured above them. She reached down a hand, pulling their head up by the hair, looking into Sam's pain-ravaged face. "So fragile, and yet always forgetting and taking pride."
Sam couldn't open her eyes to look at her, could barely feel the ends of her hair protesting as Quetesh twisted tighter, and as Sam's neck could barely support her own head. And when she couldn't look up in defiance, all she could do was listen, and the words made it past the confusion in her mind. This was their fault. It was all their fault. Why couldn't they have been more careful, more discreet? Why did they think luck was so much on their side that they could risk so much? Why did they think they could manage it all?
Jolinar was a small presence in her mind, curled in on herself before Sam even tried to shrink back into her. Her thoughts were tight and fast, and Sam couldn't understand them. But her emotion was guilt, and it wracked Sam physically almost as much as the pain. They had failed.
And then, as the pain mellowed, her body fell back from the limits Quetesh had pushed it to. Then, just before any wait would have been a reprieve, Quetesh jabbed the stick into Sam's collarbone, and they were gone again.
"Do you think you deserve this pain? All those who you claimed allegiance to, but you led me to them. Is this not yours to take for many centuries, one for each life I stole because of your deeds?"
Sam could barely remember what Quetesh's words even meant, what error Jolinar had made that nearly led the Goa'uld straight to the Tok'ra. The operative she'd discovered had been tortured to insanity, villages in Quetesh's path wiped off the face of their planets. Jolinar ached at the memory, and Sam could not handle it right now. She cried out for that aching pain.
And then Quetesh granted her more immediate pain, over and over, the cruel jabs eating away at their life until it was too dangerous. Jolinar helpless to heal, at Quetesh's mercy whether to live or be tortured to death. But she backed off, letting the pain dissipate just enough, letting the heart and breathing recover adequately. All the while just standing and waiting for the moment to start again.
Another two cycles of this, and Sam barely noticed as Quetesh turned away from them. Weary of this game, and perhaps knowing it couldn't go on forever, she passed out of the room. The cell door slammed shut, and the Jaffa took their place again.
Sam kept her mouth clamped shut, not wanting to whimper for their benefit. With tight, short movements, she tried to find a way to relieve any of the pressure on her aching body. Slipping a little, she lay down on her back on the cool floor. Her arms were suspended in the air, manacles barely starting to chafe.
Eyes shut, she found Jolinar, or rather saw her more clearly. She had always been there, feeling and holding tight. But with every fresh wave of pain, Sam had felt like she was slipping away with the rest of her mind.
*I am so sorry.* The words were like gasps, even though just thoughts.
Sam felt everything, and a lump in her throat rose unbidden.
*I did not want you hurt.*
~I could take it,~ Sam admitted, struggling with the thought. ~I thought she might break you.~
*No, not even—no.* These words were steady, fiercely honest. Sam felt all of Jolinar reaching for her, enveloping her in a being only slightly less in pain. *But the more I tried to protect it from you, the more I could not ease the control you bore. I am sorry. I was lost.*
~I don't think it mattered,~ Sam admitted wearily. The cool metal of the floor was starting to lose its charm already, the chill wearing away and taking its place was the chafing against the burning still in every limb. There was no relief.
*Do you want to be protected?*
Jolinar felt Sam drifting out of focus, and Sam welcomed it, but she tried to answer the question. ~I don't even know what that means anymore.~
And because she truly didn't, Jolinar knew what to do. *You cannot fade without hope, Samantha. Your mind will not allow your body to heal if there is no hope. I cannot help this now, only you can. You must stay yourself.*
Jolinar pushed her feelings on her, tried to make them clear. Sam thought she could grasp onto something. ~Were you protecting your past from me?~
*Protecting you from my past,* Jolinar corrected. *I did not want you to bear it. But I do not know if facing the real pain alone was right.*
~Jolinar, I need to rest,~ Sam said, knowing that Jolinar knew. ~But I want to hear. I need to hear. I can't face this in the dark.~
*I know,* Jolinar said. *I will not make you.*
A tear leaked from Sam's eye, and she shut them tighter, felt the sting. In all of this, she had not felt such reassurance, such words she somehow knew and felt to be true. But she needed any kind of healing rest allowed, and so she let the world turn black around her as she faded into unconsciousness.
ooooooo
She woke to a jerking on her arms, as a Jaffa pulled her upright by her chains, locking them higher on the wall. Sam had just enough strength to keep from hanging.
"Leave," Quetesh ordered the Jaffa, and in a few seconds they were alone together in the locked cell. Quetesh looked the same, only with her long hair drawn back out of her face so that it wouldn't get in her way. She leaned close, running her long nails along the welt across Sam's collarbone that the torture stick had left. "Such a waste for this body," she murmured, eyes flashing.
"Go to hell," whispered Sam sharply, pulling herself upright with all she had.
"Perhaps I will send you there first," said Quetesh, raking a sharp fingernail up Sam's neck and watching trickle of blood follow. "But oh, Jolinar, I should have known that you would hide behind this pale shadow of a host." She flicked out a small knife.
Jolinar burned from the back of their mind, Sam feeling her utter outrage. She had no strength, but she wanted it so strongly to bite back.
"Do you tell yourself that you hide to protect yourself from breaking and giving me what I want?" Quetesh asked, dragging the tip of her small blade along Sam's arm as she hung there.
Jolinar wasn't shrinking away. She was itching with anger, defensiveness. With all that in her mind, she and Sam barely felt when Quetesh flicked the point of the blade along their forearm. The shallow cut burned from some kind of substance on the blade, but it didn't burn stronger than their anger. Anger at being helpless like this, but more anger at Quetesh for existing.
"Oh, but I know your true mind," Quetesh said, her grin wide and malicious. "These bodies are so replaceable. You think if you retreat, I will have to break this one to get to you." Her free hand pushed Sam's body against the wall, lingering on her hip for a second. "But this is such a good host. No, I will not kill her. It would be easier for you, to escape this body and all the scars that will come with it. But no, I will not let you abandon her."
Sam felt a growl escape her throat, and then Jolinar was in control. Her eyes flashed, and even bound by chains she moved towards Quetesh, longing to be released so she could break her neck.
"Jolinar," Quetesh acknowledged, a vague humor on her face.
"As always," Jolinar hissed to her, eyes glaring through her.
"Don't act so fierce," Quetesh rebuked, moving closer to Jolinar, pushing her back until the wall prevented a further retreat. Her hand still held the knife to Jolinar's arm, the tip pressing against the skin with light pressure. "It would not be an invalid assumption. How many times before have you left a host just when it grows...difficult?"
Jolinar gritted her teeth, but didn't answer. Quetesh had done nothing yet, but a jab of pain shot through Jolinar's mind. She had never regretted her choices in that matter, but now as Quetesh dared think her a coward and detached from her host—she had no evidence but her own thoughts to defend her. Maybe her thoughts were delusional.
Quetesh went back to physical pain, slicing another mark in Jolinar's arm and letting the blood drip slowly to the cell floor.
Jolinar couldn't consider herself emotionally uncompromised. Sam didn't believe any of it, and Jolinar didn't ask her to—but it lurked at the back of their minds, the emotional distress sending waves of nausea through their body again.
Quetesh didn't look at them again, slowly carving small scratches along Jolinar's arms, drawing closer to her neck. They burned as if with poison, but that was no promise of relief.
*She won't kill us, even if she used the sarcophagus,* Jolinar said, forcing her mind away from this pain before Quetesh decided to make it overwhelming. *She doesn't want my kalmach to become cold and hard.*
Sam knew what was behind those words, the acknowledgment that the more tender the emotion, the more Quetesh could twist it to hurt.
"I remove the option of abandonment from you," Quetesh said, voice smooth and low, gazing over her handiwork. "And I give you what you hate to desire. Penance for the lives lost, feeling their pain for as long as possible."
*I do not need—I do not have so much self hate.* Thoughts coming brokenly, the physical burning intensifying. Neither could read just how much denial might be in those words.
Jolinar's eyes were still opened, even as her jaw clenched to deal with the pain.
Quetesh drew within a few inches of her face. There was no gold of emotion in those wide grey eyes, only sharp determination. She whispered, "And you want it to break you."
She stepped back, and then snapped her hand in a small arc, cutting a stripe down Jolinar's cheek and neck. "I am sometimes generous," Quetesh said, nodding to the Jaffa to come back in.
Jolinar choked back a cry, and as the Jaffa lowered her chains to their original length, she fell to her knees and clasped a shaky hand to the blood spilling from this deeper cut, pressing the now-stained fabric of her tunic against it.
"Do not worry, Jolinar," Quetesh said, as the Jaffa locked the door between her and Jolinar. Jolinar barely had the strength to keep her hands putting pressure on the wound; her eyes stayed lowered, but her ears caught Quetesh's last words. "I will give you what you want."
And she was gone again. Quetesh's drug had damaged Jolinar's ability to keep control of her limbs, and she wavered before Sam took it back, applying the right pressure. It was the only thing either of them could do to stop the bleeding, and Jolinar hated it.
~She's right, isn't she?~ Sam asked. ~You hate yourself.~
*I hate what I've done. There is a difference.*
~Is there? Jolinar, it's not just what happened with Quetesh. There's something else, something you were protecting me from. I need to know now.~
Jolinar neither said nor felt anything for a moment. Sam felt the affects of so many fresh wounds laced with some aggravating chemical, and the pain and physical shock started to overwhelm her mind. Light-headed, she leaned against the wall again, her back thankfully unmarked.
*Before I entered the court of Apophis, I failed in my role in the court of Sokar.* At first only words came, Jolinar's emotions lacking. *He is lord of an inescapable prison of neverending torment, the moon of Netu. He only considered me a faulty servant, and did not discover that I was a Tok'ra spy, so he did not interrogate me. Only sentenced me to eternal punishment at the hands of his more faithful servant. Bynarr.*
Jolinar did not want to bring up this memory, not after she'd hidden it for all this time. And as Sam started to feel the never-expressed emotions rising, she could only brace herself. But it wouldn't be enough, she realized as Jolinar couldn't pull only the facts forth. The memory itself was coming to life in their mind.
Jolinar's thoughts stopped, as the memory overcame them both. Sam tried to shut her eyes mentally, blocking the visions so that she might feel the least impact. But soon she felt the heat of Netu, the cold grip of Bynarr's hand on Jolinar's thigh, the violating closeness of his body, the heavy breathing in her ear and on her neck. She felt Jolinar tremble, and it didn't matter that it was Rosha's body, because it might as well be Sam's that felt compromised.
That cell on Netu swirled in full color in their mind, and a mutual shiver ran through them as Jolinar stepped from the bed in the memory, pulling the thin white dress up over her shoulder again. A hand wiped on the dress, but only symbolically—there was too much to just wipe away.
And then Jolinar escaped. Her physical injuries masked everything else when the Tok'ra found her, and she tried to keep it that way. Martouf and Lantash didn't know, and Jolinar never wanted them to. Like with Sam, she hadn't wanted them to live with that pain. But more, she still wasn't sure it was worth it. All logic told her it was, that it was more important to escape and live, and the tactics she used were nothing but cold strategy—they didn't mean anything. Emotion told her otherwise, and emotion shaped the lingering self-doubt and distress that she buried beneath everything else.
Sam thought she'd be the one going, "Oh, it's not so bad." And she could feel that Jolinar had counted on it, just assumed that Sam would give it an optimistic and not-quite-understanding treatment. Sam didn't say anything, though, and couldn't feel anything but the pain Jolinar had reluctantly given her.
It didn't make things better. Neither of them could have truly expected that. But they were now on the same page. In the throes of pain, every position uncomfortable and the manacles still chafing, somehow it was easier to be just one whirlpool of—everything. Not better, but easier.
~I don't want to die,~ Sam whispered, clamping her eyes shut as another pulse of pain shot through her whole body.
Not optimistic, but Jolinar had never been so close. Exhausted sleep found them, one mind reeling in the dark of a Goa'uld cell, glad for the respite.
ooooooo
By the time Quetesh started asking the serious questions, they hardly understood them. Dehydrated, pain-worn, and hungry, that would have been distraction enough. But she brought in the torture stick again, and they could only embrace the agonizing oblivion of its beam because they couldn't think of how to find strength to fight it.
Quetesh didn't expect them to answer the questions. She didn't wait for answers before wracking their ever-more-fragile body. Jolinar wasn't sure she even knew them, but it wasn't what mattered. Over and over, the words were the only thing they could hear above the ringing and roar of the torture stick, blinding all their senses. They were meant to absorb the questions; the questions were meant to fill the pain-induced emptiness in their mind.
Jolinar knew all this, and yet could not stop the questions from repeating. Where is the Tok'ra home-world? How many operatives are among the Goa'uld? Which System Lords do you have targeted? They crowded the half-dreaming sleep Quetesh left her in for a few hours.
She pushed too hard, though, and Sam and Jolinar lost consciousness. They didn't know for how long, only that when they came to they dared not open their eyes. They could hear Quetesh right there, waiting, and they couldn't bear to give her a sign.
~Dorieth must be safe, or she'd use it against us,~ Sam said.
*And Martouf and Lantash. She has kept us under the radar, in case she doesn't get anything. She doesn't want anyone to know.*
~It'll make it easier for them, not having any choice to make.~
*It is easier for us.*
Alone, without hope of rescue. Sam never thought she'd be glad of it. But knowing Quetesh, any attempt would have been fraught with danger, and it was better to have no conflicting loyalties for Quetesh to threaten with. No lives to hang over their head but their own. And no way for them to feel alone with each other near, even as the distinction started to blur, becoming identity instead of companionship.
Their deception only lasted a few seconds.
"Perhaps you are weary of this?" Quetesh said, falling to one knee by them in a mock-sympathetic stance. "And yet you know it will not end, do you not?"
She had her spiked coat on again, and used the end of the sleeve that reached down to the back of her hand, pushing the spike under Jolinar's chin to force her to use her strength to lift her head.
"But you also know that it is of no matter to me," Quetesh said again, smiling crookedly. "I have seen you break under pressure, become something else. Something weaker. I shall do it again, eventually. You cannot go against your nature; soon you will break, and your weaker mind will not care what information it gives."
Jolinar gritted her teeth. "I gained strength by joining the Tok'ra," she whispered, voice too cracked for anything else.
"Is that so," Quetesh said, enunciating each word correctly, and then throwing a cold laugh back. "Admit it, Jolinar—it takes less strength to give in to a host. Pitiful things that they are. Is yours even there? Or do I have your mind to myself?"
Sam was sick of this attempt at manipulation, and she didn't have time to think. She acted, pushing herself past Jolinar's consciousness, grabbing control. She jerked her head back off the spike Quetesh was holding against her throat, using what leverage she had in her chains to slam it down on the cell floor before Quetesh could react.
"It is you who look weak now," she forced out, looking straight into Quetesh's eyes. The Goa'uld was stunned for a moment, her hand still pinned against the floor. "Your mind is shallow, and so you make up for it with strength, but you forget that you know nothing. You should be afraid, Quetesh—there are not two minds to break separately, but something bigger than even the strongest mind on its own. I'm not going down until Jolinar does—and she's not either. We're bound together, and you'll have to break that."
Sam lost it, her arm collapsing and her body sinking again. "That is the strength of the Tok'ra," she murmured, as the world spun from the exertion. Jolinar was still there, surprised at the sudden control, but feeling as if words had finally said what she could not express through emotions. And that was greater strength than physical.
Quetesh made no sound despite Sam's hopes. She wanted the words to sting, to provoke a reaction. Jolinar knew better.
They felt Quetesh's hand grip their throat, and then slam them back against the wall. They saw stars, and then couldn't catch their breath, Quetesh's grip closing off their air.
"The only undefeatable strength is in power, ultimate power," Quetesh said, her voice low but dripping with bitter disdain. Sam barely kept her eyes open as she tried to gasp for breath. "And the Tok'ra are powerless," Quetesh finished, joyous hatred in her eyes.
With her other hand she reached for something, and Sam didn't have time to see before Quetesh thrust the knife up under her ribs.
Sam gurgled, choking on the jabbing sensation in her abdomen, the invasive feeling of the knife almost worse than the pain. Quetesh let go of her throat, ripping the knife free with a terrible sound. But as Sam doubled over, gasping in breaths that were now painful, the Goa'uld's hand trailed to Sam's. She scooped the hand that had pinned hers, long nails gently raking over the shaking fingers.
Sam heard the snap of bone before she felt it, as Quetesh broke her little finger. But she couldn't scream.
"Powerless," Quetesh said again. Another crack, another finger on the offending hand broken. "Powerless."
Jolinar pushed out with her mind, trying to shield Sam if at all possible, cursing Quetesh's drug for her failure.
"Powerless," Quetesh whispered in her ear, and broke the third finger.
Sam fell forward, darkness enveloping her.
ooooooo
"You know," said Lewis, the flames of the campfire getting rid of only the physical shadows on his face. His voice was empty.
Daniel looked up, sitting on the ground with Sha're leaned back in his arms, warmth and closeness taking the place of words.
"You know," repeated Lewis, poking a stick into the fire. "Someday we're going to have to accept that Earth is destroyed, and we're just lost in a hostile galaxy."
Daniel swallowed. "No," he said, almost low enough to be a whisper. "Not yet."