9 - Writing

~*Malek*~

~Month 1, Day 4~

I just follow him one evening. He goes through another cloth door. I hesitate before following. The people behind us gasp. Apparently, Lantash has taken this area of the prison as well.

It turns out to be a very large room, and Lantash has taken to writing on the wall. I watch him for a moment. It's something to do. Most everyone else's something to do is hurt each other.

I hear muttering as I approach.

Martouf.

Oh, his beautiful voice. That's definitely him. I feel guilty for feeling relieved.

Can you read that? Amb asked.

No. I think it's his native language.

I step closer. "Martouf?" I don't want to startle him.

Martouf makes no response.

"What are you writing?"

He touches his neck before looking to me. Interesting. Similar gestures are often done by new hosts when we talk to them. I wonder when they lost their memories.

"The words. What is that?" I point to a particular word.

"Malek."

"Yes?"

He gestures. "That's what it says. 'Malek.'"

I grin as I step closer.

Without warning, he jabs at us. I deflect, but I feel a blade enter our stomach as Martouf's eyes flare. Lantash's expression is hard as he kneels down, and he immediately begins tending to the injury.

"What…?" I ask before retreating. I feel hurt. Betrayed.

Amb tears up, mostly because of me.

Lantash makes a bandage from his clothes before getting up to leave. He stops briefly, not looking at us.

"He didn't mean to… He just… He…he gets confused."

Amb and I both feel sick. Martouf.

"It was my fault. I let my guard down. I thought…" He shakes his head. "Stay here until you have healed. They cannot know you were injured. It will increase the chance of them trying to attack you." He walks away.

:.:.:

Lantash returns a few hours later with food and water for us, then retreats so that Martouf can continue writing.

~~Month 1, Day 5~~

"You're Amb?"

Amb wakes up. "Hello Martouf."

"Is that you?" He points to writing on the wall.

"I can't read that writing. I'm sorry."

"Amb." He points to the name near it. "Malek."

"That's probably me then."

Martouf sits by him, and I notice he doesn't have the knife on his belt anymore.

"Lantash says I stabbed you. I…don't remember it. I see it in his memories though." He looks over. "I do apologize. He's sorry too."

"We should have been more careful," he replies, not blaming either of them. We know it wasn't their fault.

"Lantash is going to reset our memories soon…after you have recovered from my…mistake."

"Reset?" Amb sits up. "He gave himself amnesia?"

"We wrote down records of past times. We were not sure if you were the same Amb and Malek that we wrote about. There is no physical description." He touches his head slightly. "We should talk. After the reset? I'll be…less confused then."

"We will," Amb promises.

Martouf. Lantash. My loves. I'm so sorry you had to go through this alone.

~~Month 1, Day 9~~

We watch as Martouf writes in a makeshift book, then close his eyes.

He looks different when he opens them. Lost. Confused. But for the first time, very Martouf. He immediately picks up the book and begins reading.

"You must be Malek." He smiles warmly.

"Yes. How do you feel?"

"I think better, but I don't remember." He frowns. "Did I stab you?"

"Yes."

"I do apologize."

"How often does Lantash reset your memories?"

Martouf refers to the book. "It varíes. As does his method. The first time, it was just my memories. He blocked them, but because of his ability to heal, they came right back. So he blocked both of our memories, but that just meant my memories came back much faster than his."

"That's bad?" I ask.

He looks to the book. "Apparently, that made me very violent."

"Oh."

"I didn't mean to be violent."

"I'm sure you didn't."

"In the end, he blocked his memories and wiped mine."

"Wiped?"

"I…lost everything. It's gone."

His life before blending. The Tok'ra. Jolinar and Rosha. Samantha…

"How long will it take for Lantash to remember?"

"Unfortunately, we first remember what is most recent."

"I understand why that would be a problem."

Martouf reads the book again. "He has never remembered life before."

"As I understand it, you are now highest in the prison and you are collected far less often. You are also no longer alone here. Perhaps, it would be best if he let himself remember. He has hundreds of years of good memories."

"What if I become confused?"

"I'll help you."

He tapped on the book. "You almost died just talking to me."

I frown. "Just consider it." He's right. "You told me that food was coming today," I add, changing the subject.

He hides the book.. "We have to go then." He helps me up, as Amb is only mostly healed. "You now carry knives."

"Only one is mine. The other is yours while…"

"I understand." He still has another knife on him, but the second longer it would take to grab it would give Lantash time to take control.

Which means he's on edge the entire time that Martouf's around people.

I can't imagine the stress. "Thank you."

He looks to me.

"I said it before, but you don't remember. I'd still belong to the prison if you hadn't rescued us."

"You probably would have killed a few by now."

"It's been a horrible, however long I've been here."

"Four weeks."

That's it?!

"That doesn't include the time Zar had you before the prison," he adds, seeing my alarm.

As we walk out, I see that people fear Martouf more than they had Lantash.

"Uh…" I say as we walk to our quarters. Martouf grabs a bag. "Am I the first person you have…recently…attacked unprovoked?"

Martouf frowns, looking away in shame. "No…and you are the only one who survived."

I'm not surprised. A deadly aim with a dirty knife.

"That's why we had to do the reset. I have less confusing moments after those." He frowns. "We should have told you, but…"

"I understand completely. Don't worry about it." I carefully take his hand. "Martouf…" I love you. I close my eyes. Now isn't the time to tell him.

"Malek?"

"Let's get the food."

He nods, and we head to the arrival room.

"Food is served once a month," Martouf explains. "However, they sometimes skip months."

As we wait, some of the weaker people without protection attempt to make last minute bargains for food. More people arrive.

"Is this the entire prison population?" I ask. It's surprisingly small. Only about a hundred people.

"Yes. Most people are killed immediately after they are sent down. The ones who usually survive are…" His expression furrows in disgust. "…prettier."

Ew.

"Everyone gathers for what some call, the great feast. It is a day of hope."

Food arrives in a huge pile. Jerky. Dried fruits and vegetables. Bread. The containers that hold salt, supplements, and oil. Whatever is on the bottom is laying on the filthy floor.

Surprisingly, no one goes for it.

Martouf gestures for me to come, and we gather. I gather as much as he does, putting it in his bag. It is a few days more than we need for the next month, and I suspect he has more in a hidden storage.

After, Martouf leaves, but I stay and watch. No wonder they all fight and kill each other. There is a definite hierarchy in collecting food…and not enough food.

The second group takes more than their fair share, enough to last them all two months. Based on appearances, this group is one leader, five subordinates, and a dozen slaves. Mostly women.

Yuck.

They leave, and now another group gathers food. One leader. Five subordinates. Ten slaves.

That's the group that attacked us, Amb thinks.

I suspect they moved from second to third when Lantash killed their leader.

The groups dwindle to those who cannot offer protection in exchange for "services," but they are still strong enough to defend themselves.

Then the rest fight over a few pieces of bread and jerky. The weak man that wanted protection is killed.

I feel guilty.

Take his clothes, Amb thinks.

He just died.

You are not this naïve. Assert your authority and take his clothes.

I approach as they begin to strip him. They look like they might fight back.

"Move away," I order with my best Goa'uld impression. They immediately back away. I take the prison gown that he wore. I feel horrible as I do. Amb is right though. We could make use of this.

:.:.:

Lantash is pleased with the rags.

"It was from the man who wanted protection."

"At least, he died quickly after being rejected." He eats some dried fruit.

"Why couldn't we protect him?"

He glares.

"I understand you couldn't do so alone, but there are two of us now."

"Don't you mean four?"

"We tend to refer to one Tok'ra as both host and symbiote."

"That's confusing."

I shake my head. "It doesn't matter. "They're violent. I understand that, but how many of them started out that way?"

"Do you realize that many of the slaves now were previously masters? That many of the slaves still abuse other slaves?"

"And many are just being abused. They are victims of the Goa'uld, the same as us, and you are angry at them, but…"

Lantash glares.

"What if we could just help one of them?"

"They are violent." Lantash sighs. "You don't know the risk you are asking us to take. They would have to live with us. We would have to provide them with food. Anyone who touches them has to die. And they gain power by attacking us, by killing us. I have seen it over and over."

"What does Martouf think?"

He glares with flaring eyes. Wrong question. Definitely the wrong question!

"He's tired of being erased. He's tired of realizing he just attacked someone for no reason. He's tired of having to write on the fucking wall!" He points. "They did that! Every day, Zar would send his Jaffa for us. Torture us. Throw us back down here, where they-" He jabs his finger in the air to emphasize his point. "-killed us. Not…quickly!" Angry tears fall. "Wipe out your host. Make him nothing. Then fucking tell me to protect them."

My heart breaks. "Martouf isn't nothing."

"My life will be remembered in time. His won't be. I took that from him. I… I had to. He begged me to. I erased him."

I approach him.

"I erased my host," Lantash says in tears.

I take his hands. "You have been together for over a hundred years. You have his memories. They are in there. In your DNA."

"It's not the same."

No. It wouldn't be.

He leans into me.

I brush hair behind his ear. It's a little longer than usual. "You are doing the best you can under horrible circumstances. Sometimes alone."

"That's not his fault," he snaps.

"I'm not blaming him. I'm telling you that you both have done remarkably well."

Lantash frowns.

"It isn't your fault either."

"You're wrong. It was entirely my fault."

"No. You both sacrificed yourselves to save others, then ended up here. Now you are surviving, both of you. I'm sorry for pushing…" I sigh.

"You are afraid of becoming like me."

I hadn't fully realized it, but he's right. I can't bring myself to look at him. That fear. After everything he has done for us. It's shameless.

"I fear losing myself as well, and I probably have to an extent that I don't even realize." He touches my hair and a tingle moves through my scalp.

I kiss him.

He flinches.

"I'm sorry."

"That felt good," he slowly realizes.

I grin. "I have missed you."

He kisses me gently, then smiles. "I like this."

"How do you like…" I reach for the back of his neck.

He stiffens.

"Do you want me to continue?"

He considers it. "Yes."

I rub along his spine. He gasps, shuddering as he looks surprised.

"Oh, you are going to be fun."

He blushes.

I laugh. "I didn't know you could blush." I kiss him again, parting his lips gently. He lets me take lead. I pull away. "Is this too fast?"

"No?" He sighs. "I have no memories of being…harmed. That may change tomorrow, but…you have been…quite recently."

"Which is why this is as far as we are willing to go."

He nods.

"What do you remember about us?"

"The book said that we were mates once, three hundred years ago, and that we recently fell in love again."

I grin. "I didn't know you knew. I was going to tell you after your mission, but…"

"You lost us."

"Yes."

To be continued…