6 - The Prison

~**Malek**~

~2006~

~Day 12 in Prison~

Lantash does not look friendly. He looks angry, and the blood on his hands, some splattered across his face, doesn't help. He stares down at us.

"Can you walk?"

My beloved struggles to get up. Due to the head stomp, the room now spins for both of us.

"Good. Come." He turns and walks off.

Amb struggles to follow as people stare at us. He limps heavily, falling behind. He uses the walls to steady himself. We see Lantash stop to wait, his expression no less friendly. He walks off before Amb reaches him. We finally cross a cloth door that Lantash passed, and he is thankful that we are in some sort of makeshift home. He falls to his knees, grimacing. I wish I could help more.

We can feel Lantash studying us. If Amb's body wasn't so badly injured, he'd give me control.

"The bed is mine."

Amb sees a pile of rags. I'm guessing that's his bed.

This isn't the Lantash we know, Amb thinks.

I noticed, but we have barely glimpsed what he has been through.

"Who are you?" Lantash finally asks.

Amb gasps slightly. "Your memories."

Lantash glares.

"I'm sorry. Amb. I'm Amb. Blended with Malek." His voice weakens as he speaks.

He frowns.

If he doesn't remember us, we're lucky he rescued us.

"We thought you were dead," Amb adds.

Lantash tilts his head. "Stay here." He leaves.

:.:.:.:

Lantash is gone for a long time. For hours. We are tense the entire time, worried about being attacked. I'm healing him as best I can.

Amb jumps when someone comes in, then sees that it is Lantash. He is carrying rags.

"Do you remember your name?"

"Lantash."

Amb nods. "What do they have against the Tok'ra?"

"They don't like me."

"Do you remember being a Tok'ra?"

"No." He approaches, then drops the rags by him. "Your bed."

Amb begins arranging them before realizing that Lantash also has water and jerky. He accepts it.

"Thank you."

Lantash lays down in his rags, then closes his eyes.

Amb drinks the water and eats the jerky. I test both. The water is dirty, but there's nothing harmful in it. The same is true of the jerky. He finishes both after I've determined this.

Amb lays down, feeling himself drift off to sleep.

I take over, too afraid to sleep. I push him back further so that I can open his eyes without disturbing him. I look to the doorway. We're protected by a thin rag. That's it. I hear footsteps pass us, so close.

I shift slightly to look to Martouf. Stress and malnutrition has had a physical effect on him. His hair is graying. He has a few lines that he didn't have before. He's much thinner, looking almost frail, though the fight earlier proved otherwise. Host bodies don't usually change so quickly in less than four years, not at his age.

He's also scarred. Burns and old cuts. I fearfully wonder what is the longest that Lantash has been unconscious while Martouf suffered.

I see no signs that either is awake and aware.

I lay back down, then reluctantly retreat. They must know what they are doing, and I can heal my beloved faster when I'm retreated, especially when he is asleep.

:.:.:.:

I jerk to the sound of yelling and fighting. It's out there, somewhere. Someone is getting beaten very badly.

They attack each other at night, Amb thought.

Lantash is asleep.

Once we determine that the fight isn't coming in our little hovel, Amb chides me for having not slept.

Go to sleep, Malek. I'll take watch.

I need to heal you.

You need to sleep. He closes his eyes to make it easier. The sounds of the beating fade as I do a full retreat.

:.:.:.:

The next morning, I wake up to the smell of a fire. I look to see Lantash stirring a pot suspended over the fire. Various meats. Mushrooms. I can smell it. He stops to add a generous amount of salt from a gray container, then pours oil from a black container.

He ladles soup into a bowl. I see that everything must have been made down here. The pot is made from a container, as well as the ladle and the bowl he now drinks from.

I sit up.

"I only have one bowl. You may eat after me."

I nod. "I don't mind waiting."

He eats three generous servings before giving me a bowl of soup.

"Thank you."

It smells horrible. It tastes worst. It's salty and oily. Martouf is usually better at cooking than this. Then again, he usually has his memories.

I smile slightly as I remember him making food for my beloved after we first blended. It wasn't his job. We have cooks. He did it just to make Amb feel welcomed.

I detect that the salt isn't just salt, but it contains a number of vitamins and minerals.

After three bowls, I am full. It feels good. Zar starved us.

:.:.:.:

It takes many days for us to recover. Lantash leaves every evening. Amb and I take shifts. He's awake at night. I'm awake for the day. It slows my ability to heal him, but we don't feel comfortable even looking asleep. They rob each other. They attack each other. They murder each other. Usually at night. Those not attacking each other are passing the time with lots and lots of sex.

Even without Lantash there with us though, no one comes…which means he really terrifies them.

I have been so busy healing that I realize it's been several days, and…where is Martouf?

"How is Martouf?" Amb asks.

"He was enjoying the quiet until you spoke," Lantash snaps.

Amb withdrawals.

Amb, I can heal you better when you are in control.

He's crying though. Inside, and he doesn't want Lantash to know.

"Lantash," I say.

He leaves.

What if that isn't Lantash?

It is.

~Day 19~

Amb ventures out when he can walk without a limp. People scurry away from him, but we can hear them muttering in anger and fear.

The body of the man who had been killed is still there, rotting. His body has been stripped of clothes and…and Amb realizes where his bed came from.

"Oh."

One very thin man does approach. He bows before us. "I am no longer favored by my master. I beg you to consider taking me."

This makes me feel very Goa'uldish, but I take control because that is probably safer.

"What?" I demand. I cannot look weak here.

"I'll fetch for you. Clean for you. You can do whatever you want with me. I am quite…skilled."

Ew.

For a second I say I'll talk to Lantash, but then realize even that would make me look weak.

"No."

"Please, Master, you are strong. Immortal."

Immortal?

At least he didn't call you a god.

"As is your mighty host, of course." He giggles nervously. "I must be able to please at least one of you."

He knows about Amb, so he must know about Martouf.

"You can do whatever you want to me. All I ask is for a small bit of food."

I walk away, feeling horrible.

He begins crying.

:.:.:.:

"We don't own people, Malek."

"Obviously, that's not what I mean."

"We can't protect him." He walks away.

To be continued…