Title: The Enemy of My Enemy
Author: MissAnnThropic
E-Mail: miss_annthropic@yahoo.com
Spoilers: pre-Meridian/Ascended Daniel
Summary: A mission goes wrong and Jack becomes a Tok'ra.
Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Stargate but my rabid fan behavior. Alas.

***

Of all the senses to come back first, it had to be smell. Jack O'Neill clawed his way up from the clutches of unconsciousness to the smell of battle. The stench of burned flesh and dying fires singed his nose hairs, and memories of a hundred battles swirled in his mind so quickly that his only recourse was to lie still, immobile, as he tried desperately to sort out which battle this had been. The smell of burning bodies and trees were not enough to distinguish this battlefield as remarkable from a dozen others he'd stood on, so he had to find something besides the smell to tell him where he was.

The second distinct sensation was pain. His chest, his throat... for a moment, he thought he had to be dying. When the seconds passed, crawled like eons, and he didn't slip back into darkness, he accepted that he wasn't going to die... not just yet. Even if he would live, it would be barely, because his pulse threaded weakly in his temples and neck, a tenaciously fighting beat, hollow in his sternum as it battled fatigue to keep him alive. His lungs labored to pull in the fire and smoke-tinged air. Whatever this battle zone was, however he had come here, someone had seriously screwed up, and if he lived he planned to raise all kinds of hell about this fubar operation.

Jack heard a sound, a horrid croaking, and the tickling urge to cough made him realize it was he who'd made that pathetic noise. Coughing burned in his throat and sent clutching grips of pain throughout his chest, seizing at his battered body. His heart hammered, helpless and scared, as he worked a good minute to pry open his closed eyes.

Light assailed him and he squinted. Tears blurred his vision as he forced himself to look again, this time focusing long enough to make out shapes. The tops of trees, the sky a deceptively peaceful shade of blue, the trails of curling smoke rising into the air.

He listened for sounds of the enemy, for the sound of friends, but there was only the crackle of dying fires and the utter stillness that hung over the recently slain. Neither side had stuck around, so it stood to reason no one had really won. Everyone had bugged out, drawn back, and where he now lay was no man's land where neither side dared venture to retrieve their dead.

'Is that what I am?' Jack thought, still unable to move, relegated to listening and smelling passively.

Jack felt a surge of panic, a terror that swelled toward him from no discernible direction. For a dead guy he had good reflexes, because the unspecified fear that had suddenly loomed galvanized him to move. Curling up on his side his first instinct was to cross his arms over his chest, cradling the white hot pain. He looked down and realized why the smell of burnt flesh had been so strong, it was literally right under his nose. The front of his BDUs were missing, burned into ash, and his raw skin underneath exposed, a sore of red and black where pink flesh should have been. His hands were red with angry wounds, too, fingers curled like the severed chicken's feet he saw in grocery store meat sections but never even considered eating.

Jack looked away from his body, afraid of what else he'd find if he continued his self-evaluation, and scanned the area where he lay. Bodies littered the ground, surrounded him. Jaffa, he recognized the clothing and large bodies. So they'd tangled with a Goa'uld and lost, but it still didn't tell him much.

Jack blinked then his eyes locked on the lifeless shape nearest to him. A sprawled figure, burned to a blackened crisp over half its body, what survived of the clothing pompous, its left hand impotently laid on the ground, ribbon device untouched by fire.

'Goa'uld,' Jack thought. Like a tidal wave fury roiled at him, consuming his thoughts. Jack felt the panic resurface in full force... the anger was not his for the Goa'uld, it was a foreign sensation, a source within his own mind that rose in fury at HIM.

Flinching away, Jack struggled to his knees. The higher vantage point was not encouraging. He spotted a few bodies clad in green fatigues, fellow SGC members who'd died here. He couldn't stop anger of his own to see his people killed, grief and regret flickering through his thoughts. The dead were everywhere, canvassing the land, and he found himself sick to think he was the only one alive among corpses.

'Why aren't I dead?' he thought, and again panic, sheer and unadulterated terror that demanded he pay attention to the threat, see the danger, rose and even though he searched, looked so hard, he saw only inert bodies.

Jack stumbled to his feet. He swayed but managed to stand to his own amazement. His weapon was gone, as were his dog tags, their absence around his neck like the loss of a limb. If they took his tags they had to believe he was dead. 'I should be,' he looked again at his chest. Dried blood stained the edges of what remained of his clothing, 'I shouldn't have bled this much and lived. Whose sick joke is this, anyway?'

The presence loomed again, pressed at him, and he couldn't stop the stab of horror it provoked within him. He spun to look for an attacker in the still field and fell to his knees when his head spun from the fast movement. His instincts screamed at him, knew something horrible he didn't, but he couldn't see what his senses did.

A sense of crowding filled his thoughts, moving closer, and his stomach lurched. The gag reflex kicked in, as though he had something lodged in the back of his throat, and he vomited. He heaved and folded against the pain but no amount of throwing up rid him of the foreign object.

Jack coughed, hugging his aching chest, and his thoughts whirled, 'What the hell is going on?'

He heard the words like a whisper, a voice he knew came from nowhere but his own brain, *Stop resisting...*

Jack jumped back, only to stumble and fall to the ground, heart racing and the panic response rushing through his every nerve. He was shaking, terrified because he was beginning to figure out what it was his body had known since waking, what malady had beset his broken form.

'It's not true, it's not real,' he chanted in a desperate effort to convince himself.

Again the sense of invasion, the utter lack of privacy within his own skull, *It is very real, Jack O'Neill.*

Jack turned on his side, writhed, clenched his eyes closed and prayed desperately for a way to escape from his own skin. His hands searched in vain for his weapon, the overpowering thought of putting a bullet through his own head just to kill the thing that had crawled into his brain consuming him, driving him mad with the need to have it gone.

'Get out of me! Get out, get out, get out!' he cried in his mind, sick at the thought of a snake in his head, enough to make him gag again, dry heaving in an attempt by any means to expel something that should not be in him.

The presence grew, like a dark figure stepping from a heavy fog, and he panicked and cried within the confines of his skin... and aloud, he screamed.

***

General George Hammond was furious. It had all gone wrong, and he'd lost people, damn good people. What galled him more than the Tok'ra's abject apologies for the botched mission, what made him fume and seethe like a mistreated circus lion, was that he might not be done losing people.

General Hammond stood outside the infirmary, unable to tear himself away from waiting for word on his people, and decided it was just as well. If he did move, try to do anything other than remain glued on that gray door, he might just pummel one of the Tok'ra wandering the base, and Hammond was pretty damn sure the Tok'ra/Earth alliance wouldn't weather a good beating too well.

"General Hammond?" a meek, tentative voice called out to the older man.

"What?" Hammond snapped. He looked over at the airman who stood a few paces away making his stance as unimposing and subordinate as he could. It was flavored with the sadness and anger that everyone at the SGC was feeling today. Everyone had lost friends, some people as close as family.

"President on the phone for you, sir."

Hammond knew it was the one thing that could pull him away from his post outside the SGC infirmary. "Thank you, Sergeant. Stay here and if Doctor Fraiser comes out I want you to come get me immediately."

"Yes, sir," the airman replied as he took up the stance of the immovable, not about to budge from that spot of vigil until there was a report from the good doctor or the general expressly asked him to move.

A path was opened and cleared by every errant person on the base as Hammond strode through the halls to his office. When he reached his destination he found the red phone sitting in wait atop the table.

"Mister President... Yes, sir... No, I'm afraid I have bad news; the joint Tok'ra/SGC mission to P78-294 to destroy the Goa'uld Montu was unsuccessful... Bad, sir. We lost all members of SG-13, two members of SG-9, one from SG-19 and 20, and Colonel O'Neill from SG-1... No sir, the remaining members of SG-1 are in critical condition. Teal'c is expected to survive, but there's no word yet on Doctor Jackson or Major Carter... I will, sir... Yes, Mister President."

Hammond hung up the phone, nerves on edge. Only this morning SG-1 had been sitting in the briefing room with him, safe, unharmed, all of them alive.

Hammond looked out his office window to the briefing room, barren now, oblivious to the disaster it had seen allowed to happen. Frowning, the general thought back to a mere matter of hours ago before this screwed up mission. He thought about the members of SG-1 and hoped the words they'd spoken then would not be the last memory of them he would have.

"Montu?" Daniel Jackson's eyes had widened, his eyebrows rising at the Tok'ra's words.

"You know this Goa'uld, Doctor?" Hammond inquired.

Daniel looked toward Hammond, fingers gesticulating as he answered, "No, but I know of the Egyptian myth of the Theban war-god Montu. He was supposedly a very powerful god."

The Tok'ra nodded, "He is in fact a Goa'uld of great power, a far greater military tactician than most of the System Lords. He is unusual in that he makes use of advisors and counselors, a technique rare among the Goa'uld and the very trait that makes it difficult for the Tok'ra to launch any attacks against him."

"How so?" Major Carter asked.

The Tok'ra man looked toward her, "With the Goa'uld we possess certain constants that we use to our advantage in our fight against them. Their arrogance, their egos, and their paranoia of other individuals. Montu is rare in the sense that he accepts the advice of a select number of advisors. Montu's strength lies in the versatility and skill of his advisors. Tok'ra operatives have found it difficult to get close to Montu because his counselors are very vigilant of their lord, and predicting his actions is difficult because rather than try to anticipate one individual's behavior we must take into account the input of his staff of advisors and counselors, a much greater task, as you might imagine."

Hammond frowned, "If he's so difficult to predict then why are you so certain will be on P78-294?"

"One of our operatives has been working within Montu's ranks for twenty years, gaining his trust and earning a position on the advisory staff. He communicated to us Montu's plans to stage a deception against the Goa'uld Seshat."

"The Egyptian goddess of writing?" Daniel queried.

The Tok'ra nodded, "Seshat and Montu have been rivals for many hundreds of years. Their intense personal conflict has been the reason that neither Goa'uld has become a larger concern for the galaxy... they have been at war with one another to the exclusion of nearly all else."

"Kinda like the McCoys and the Hatfields," Colonel O'Neill offered.

The Tok'ra gave Jack a blank look before turning his attention back to Hammond, "Recently there have been indications that Montu might be receptive to an alliance with some of the lesser Goa'uld lords. If this is permitted to happen he will undoubtedly succeed in finally defeating Seshat, and once she has been destroyed Montu will easily absorb the forces of the weaker Goa'uld he aligned with.."

"At which point he turns into everyone's problem," Jack finished.

The Tok'ra nodded. "Montu possesses great military skill and if that intelligence is turned against the enemies of the Goa'uld many will die."

"And what is this deception you are so certain Montu is about to pull?" Hammond asked.

"Our operative has communicated Montu's intention to send a large portion of his fleet to the distant border of Seshat's territory to draw the Goa'uld away from one of three primary planets within her territory where she mines naquadah. Montu intends to strike this planet and cripple Seshat's production of weaponry in preparation for the joint strike against her. While awaiting Seshat's pursuit of the decoy fleet, Montu and his closest confidants will be hiding on this world, the one you call P78-294. He will be sparsely accompanied and will not expect an attack. It is our best chance to strike against him."

Major Carter chimed in, "And why exactly have you come to us?"

The Tok'ra looked evenly at Sam. "The Tau'ri are more familiar with the kind of attack force that will be required for this operation to succeed. The Tok'ra operate by deception and subterfuge; a frontal assault of this manner is not a tactic at which we are skilled. There is also the matter that Montu's military predispositions means that you of the Tau'ri army are perhaps more equipped to anticipate his mind-set and actions than the Tok'ra. Also, the Tok'ra at the time do not have the numbers available to make up a formidable strike force such as this. In many ways your expertise and skill would be critical."

Jack glowered, "You know, I get a really bad feeling every time the Tok'ra start complimenting us."

Hammond turned to his second in command, "Colonel? What are your thoughts on this matter?"

Jack O'Neill eyed the Tok'ra at the end of the table dubiously, looked at each member of his team, then shrugged, "It reeks, General, but it doesn't seem we have much choice, the last thing we need is a Goa'uld military tyrant loose."

Hammond nodded, "I would have to agree. You and SG teams 9, 13, 19, and 20 will accompany the Tok'ra on this mission to P78-294."

"Yes, sir."

"General Hammond?"

Hammond was pulled from his thoughts as he looked toward the door to his office. Captain Rawlins of SG-9 was standing just barely in the office, her hands clasped together and face down-turned somberly. The pallor to her skin and sunken despondence in her eyes were signs that George Hammond had seen too many times before on the faces of good people throughout his years of service. Rawlins had lost her commanding officer and the team's second in command; Rawlins herself was the only member of her team to return relatively unharmed, the fourth of SG-9 coming back with a broken leg and internal bleeding. When Hammond got around to calling Doctor MacKenzie, Rawlins was his first concern; sometimes it was harder to be one of the few that survived than one of the ones who died.

"Come in, Captain," he said gently.

Rawlins moved to one of the chairs opposite Hammond's desk and sat down without a sound, instead staring vacantly at the items on his desk for a moment. She was still in shock, sighted wandering the base with a bewildered look on her face. Hammond had more urgent business to attend to so he allowed her to move through the halls of the SGC as she saw fit. He merely informed all the checkpoints to the surface not to let her leave the mountain. Rawlins was a trained soldier, a good officer, and was already starting to recover her self-control. Everyone on base would know she'd lost half her teammates, and wherever on base she might think to go she'd be watched after. During the worst tragedies Hammond found his pride in his people stronger than at any other time.

"I know this is a difficult time for you. If there's anything I can do..," Hammond offered.

Rawlins nodded, her military poise slowly but surely returning to her. "Yes, sir. I came to ask if we'd be returning to P78-294 to retrieve... the bodies."

Hammond felt himself recoil at the thought of his people lying sprawled and unattended on a planet millions of miles from home, bodies left to rot like vermin carcasses on a lonely highway. "I would like to see them brought home as much as you, Captain, but at the moment retrieval is not a viable option. The Goa'uld we went there to kill is still on the planet and if the Tok'ra," he tried not to spit the word, "intelligence is right he's planning on being there for at least two and a half more weeks. I couldn't even consider a mission back to P78-294 until we were assured Montu is gone. I'm not willing to risk any more people."

Rawlins went pale, lips pressed tightly, but she nodded and said in a flat voice, "Yes, sir." Hammond frowned because he could tell she knew what that time frame meant. Nearly three weeks... by the time they did return there wouldn't be much left to retrieve, much less anything they would recognize as their lost friends. At a point it would be harder to find them than leave them where they were killed.

"I'm sorry, Captain."

Rawlins nodded again, eyes trained on the carpet at her feet, then she slowly stood, "Thank you, General," then pausing, her hand dipped uncertainly into her pocket. When it withdrew Hammond recognized the very familiar jingle of standard issue dog tags. Without a word Rawlins stepped closer to the general's desk, reached out, and set the silver chain and tags on the desk top. Turning and exiting his office, she left Hammond to reach out and pick up the dog tags that were coiled and twisted in wait before him. They were stained, the chain and slips of metal both, with rust-colored dried blood and flakes of burned skin that chipped under Hammond's touch and fell to the paper atop his desk.

Hammond brushed his thumb over the tag to clear the name, expecting one of Rawlins's lost teammates. He swallowed his anger and his sadness.

'O'Neill, Jonathan USAF'.

Hammond curled the broken chain around his hand and pressed the tags into his palm as he cursed all snakes, Goa'uld and Tok'ra alike, for this day.

***

Jack wasn't sure at first if he was awake or asleep. Even as he opened his eyes to find himself lying on his side, face pressed to the gravel-ridden ground, he had doubts. Half memories whirled in his mind, disorienting him as he fought for clarity. He didn't remember ending up where he now lay, he didn't remember the dark of night shrouding him.

Jack blinked once and began to frown. Pain... he did remember pain, pain and terror.

Moving slowly, fearing the sharp reproach of wounds, Jack shifted only to find a numbness had settled over his body. It felt like he'd just been to the dentist, groggy and doped up from the novacaine gas. Movement felt sluggish and labored as he lifted his hand to his chest. He carefully touched the exposed skin. He could feel the tackiness of dried blood and the rough contours of ugly scarring but there was no biting pain under his fingers.

Jack slowly rolled on to his back and found himself staring up at alien stars. The hours he'd been unconscious had allowed time for the wind to clear the stagnant smell of death and combat, the night air almost sweet with the aroma of extraterrestrial flora. Jack took a deep breath. The chill air rushed into his lungs, invigorating after the suffocating stifle of smoke-laden air and a heavy chest wound.

'How long have I been lying here if I had time to heal?' he wondered. He tapped experimentally at his chest again, still failing to elicit any burning sensation of pain.

The first licks of panic started to lap at his consciousness and in a flood of recollection he remembered the sickening truth, the reason he'd blacked out.

'Oh god... NO,' he scrambled to his feet. Rocks and dried grass crunched underfoot, the only sound in the alien night. Jack felt his breaths start to gasp as his body flew into a horrified fight of flight response, bypassing cognitive input completely.

*I am here, Colonel O'Neill, I have been healing you. Please, do not panic again, it causes you to injure yourself further and weakens my ability to repair you.*

Staggering backward to no avail, Jack reflexively rubbed his hands against his head as one would if they were trying to knock free a bug entangled in their hair.

'Get out of me! Fucking snake! Get the HELL out of my head!' Jack heard his own thoughts rebut to the alien presence. His autonomic responses were racing again, heart and lungs seizing in terror, nervous system recoiling and demanding the thing in his body be purged, that the intruder be vanquished from his physical form. He felt himself feeling sick to his stomach again, the rising necessity to puke crawling up his esophagus.

The presence in his mind shifted, attention changed, and then a sensation like drinking warm chicken broth suffused his roiling stomach, and as it did it soothed and settled the impulse to vomit before it had climaxed into more dry heaves.

Spared that discomfort, some of the hammering fear drummed out by Jack's flailing heart eased. He had presence of mind enough to note that, while he was taken by a Goa'uld, he had control of his limbs, that his actions were at his behest.

*I am not a Goa'uld,* the presence in his mind chided almost sourly. *I am a Tok'ra.*

Jack shuddered in disgust all the same. He coughed in one more bodily ridding attempt and examined his surroundings. He was no longer in the battlefield, instead on a road between two patches of forest that bent into blackness to either side. He couldn't imagine who might have carried him here... the last look around he had turned up only dead bodies.

*I brought us here,* the Tok'ra in his mind answered his silent musings.

'Bull shit! You're a ten-inch snake, you telling me your scaly ass dragged me?'

Perturbation washed over him, caused O'Neill to rub in an irritated fashion at his eye socket with the heel of one hand, then the symbiote replied, *Very well, then, I had you bring us here.*

'You used my body, you god damned snake! Goa'uld bastard!'

Jack was suddenly on his knees, paralyzed, cringing at the venomous anger directed at him from the ever-present being circulating in his thoughts. *I am not a Goa'uld, Colonel O'Neill. As you have noted yourself you are still in control of your body, your thoughts. Were I a Goa'uld you would be as a prisoner within your own body.*

Gently, as one might release a butterfly from cupped hands, Jack felt the restraint on his limbs lift and control calmly returned to him. Jack jumped to his feet once again, just to be certain he was able. 'Fine, then, a damned Tok'ra, but pardon my obtuseness for not seeing a hell of a lot of difference.'

A probing silence ensued, eventually broken by, *I understand that you consider us very similar, but we are not.*

"I thought one of your golden rules was not to take an unwilling host," Jack spat.

*Don't speak aloud,* the Tok'ra admonished, *Montu's Jaffa may be nearby. And no, we don't take unwilling hosts.*

Jack reminded himself consciously not to verbalize his part of the conversation, 'Yeah, well, I can assure you that I wouldn't have agreed to this!'

A sadness not his own, a desperation of a different flavor, flashed unbidden in Jack's thoughts, then a soft reply, *This is so, Colonel O'Neill, and for my actions I can only ask forgiveness, but there was no other choice. My host was dying... I could not heal him... and you were near death, but your injuries, with effort, I knew I could repair. I have saved your life to save mine, so you see, for now, we owe each other.*

Jack grasped at his hair, unable to shake the sensation of crawling beneath his skull, and his thinking fell into a cacophony of disjointed thoughts, 'God, it's crawling, slithering in my brain... slimy, repulsive... get it out, I can't take this, rather die than be a snake... better off dead than this...'

His racing thoughts that seemed to be sending him spiraling toward madness were quite suddenly muffled, a deafening heaviness blanketing and buffering the ricocheting thoughts, and in its wake a hollow kind of peace engulfed him.

'Was that you?'

*Yes. Your erratic thinking was distressing to me.*

Jack took in a deep breath, startled at the sense of collection and control he could still maintain even having a snake in his brain. The sounds of the night were suddenly quite vivid in his ears, his eyesight sharper than he remembered his night-vision being.

*They are a symbiote's gifts to the host,* the Tok'ra responded to his sudden interest in his newly heightened senses.

'What happened to my people? Do you know?'

The Tok'ra backed away from his thoughts, in doing so allowed a few of the racing he'd restrained notions to freely bounce again, but they unable to completely distract Jack from the one answer he really cared to hear.

*Your people and mine abandoned the fight... Montu's forces surprised even me, I did not know he had so many Jaffa hidden away here. I am to blame for that, the disaster that befell both our peoples here today is my fault. Your people left through the Chappa'ai. They believed all those left behind were dead... they did not abandon you.*

Jack flared at the last, return remark indignant, 'You don't have to tell me something I know perfectly well, pal. Unlike you Tok'ra, we don't leave our people behind.'

The Tok'ra was quiet a time, perhaps chastised or maybe pensive, Jack wasn't sure which, before the voice surfaced again, *I apologize. I assumed you would need to be reassured you were not left behind, for when I blended with you you were quite near death, but you know your people better than I. Of course, the Tau'ri never leave their own behind.*

Jack felt inane comfort in having that fact acknowledged. 'Did you see my team? Sam, Daniel, Teal'c... do you know if they made it out all right?'

There was a strange pause, like an appraising silence, then the Tok'ra's response, *I did not see if they fled under their own power or had to be carried, but their faces are not among those that lay upon the battleground. In any case, they are not here, perhaps they live.*

'Damn well better live,' Jack thought to himself, not prepared to imagine his team dying on him. Still, he was put at some measure of ease to think his friends were safe and on Earth. It was top on his list of priorities, so if they were home then he could risk handling his own problems without worrying about the rest of his team, and did he ever have a problem to sort through.

'So, what now? I hope you didn't make any permanent plans to stay in my head, because my insurance policy doesn't cover this.'

The Tok'ra apparently made an effort to comprehend that flippant remark before giving up and replying, *Now there is a task we must complete, you and I.*

Canting his head, Jack dug into his ear with one finger like he was trying to dislodge trapped water. 'Yeah, and what would that be?'

*To destroy the Goa'uld Montu.*

***

Doctor Janet Fraiser had not slept in over thirty-six hours. She'd passed the point where coffee did her any good... she was now operating on will-power alone. She had only just managed to wash the last of the blood from her hands and discarded the clothes stained beyond hope. She would have to sleep soon but before she could rest she had to check in on her patients one more time. Nurses trolled the darkened infirmary with her. They watched her closely for any orders then slunk off to other bedsides, each patient checked on ten times over.

Janet found herself at Sam Carter's bedside as she looked at the young woman's deathly still form. The bandage on the major's thigh was beginning to soak through, the first spotting of bright red blood dotting the thick wrappings, but the bleeding was at last beginning to slow. The next time they changed her dressings the bandages could probably stay on much longer. Shrapnel damage. From reports of the conscious SGC team members that had come through, a staff blast had exploded a boulder near Sam and heated chunks of rock had ripped into her skin. It had been a tedious process in surgery to pick out all the slivers of stone. When the major did not wake up from anesthesia Janet had been concerned. She might have lapsed into a coma, but Doctor Fraiser wasn't ready to make that drastic a prognosis just yet.

Janet examined the bags of saline solution and antibiotic drips fed through tubes into Sam's arms, at last pulled out her penlight and leaned over the sleeping woman. She pried back one of Sam's eyelids and flashed the light at the major's pupil, watching the sharp contraction. Sam flinched and turned her head away from the bright light, groaning in malcontent.

"Sam?" Janet sat on the edge of the bed with her hand resting on her friend's shoulder.

"Ja'et?" she slurred.

"I'm here. You're in the infirmary. You took some damage to your right leg and we had to take you into surgery. You might feel a little nauseous from the anesthesia but you're going to be fine."

Sam rolled her head back to look at Janet, expression murky and confused. "What about the others?"

Janet rested her hands in her lap, "Teal'c was wounded in the arm by a staff blast but thanks to his symbiote he's making a rapid recovery. Daniel..." Janet stopped.

Sam forced herself to focus, "Daniel what?"

Janet sighed, "He's not doing so well. He was seriously injured, and he's not out of the woods yet. We have him in one of the isolation rooms right now under close observation."

"What happened?" Sam queried groggily.

"He was crushed by a significant weight of rocks... the boulder blast that wounded you caused a cliff to collapse... Daniel happened to get caught beneath. He broke four ribs on his right side and his lung collapsed. We have a chest tube in right now to reinflate his lung, and he's on a ventilator because he was having trouble breathing on his own. What has me concerned is the skull fracture and concussion. He has some brain swelling that we're watching very closely. Sam, do you remember what happened?"

Sam screwed her eyes shut, then she grimaced, "Goa'uld, um... mission went to hell."

Janet nodded. Reaching out, she patted Sam's shoulder, "I think your memory's fine. I am so sorry, Sam."

Sam swallowed thickly and forced open her eyes to ask, "The colonel?"

Janet looked down at her lap, "He's... he didn't make it."

"What?" Sam croaked thinly, face twisting.

Janet closed her hand around Sam's forearm and squeezed lightly, "He died, Sam."

Sam stared in disbelief at Janet for a moment, as though waiting for the doctor to admit she was mistaken, and when no such confession was forthcoming Sam turned her gaze up to the ceiling. Water swam in her eyes but she would not break down in tears, always trying to be the strong military officer.

Janet squeezed Sam's arm one more time and carefully stood. She left her friend so the newly conscious major could absorb all the information and give her a chance to silently cry alone.

***

Jack O'Neill awoke to an unending panic just beneath the surface of his thoughts. His body was aware it was under siege, possessed, and at every unguarded moment it made him afraid for his sanity, his individuality, his autonomy. This time, though, he didn't at once try to run, try to throw up the foreign presence. He let his heart skip and cry bloody murder, let himself nearly hyperventilate in fright, but managed with great effort to hold his body still so that he rose from sleep afraid but outwardly doing quite well to look like he was in control.

*But I feel your fear, Colonel O'Neill, I am in here, not out there.*

Jack felt a cold chill run up his spine to hear the symbiote's ghostly words in his mind. He clenched his eyes shut futilely. He didn't give the Tok'ra the courtesy of a direct response, just let it patter around with the incomplete, rude thoughts that were flickering in his brain.

Jack opened his eyes again and proceeded to look around the small cave where the Tok'ra had directed him the night before. It was sparsely furnished but had enough of what was necessary. There was a small pallet on the floor to sleep on, stores of water and even some half-way decent food to eat. Jack had eaten without any prodding but when it came time for rest Jack had balked. He was in enemy territory, he shouldn't take the luxury of sleep.

*I can hear and see while you are sleeping, Colonel O'Neill, you will be safe to rest, and if you are sleeping I can heal you more quickly,* the Tok'ra had intoned. Eventually Jack had crawled into the bedroll for a few hours sleep, not because he trusted the snake in his head but merely because he had a snake in his head he figured things couldn't get much worse. If a Jaffa patrol snuck up on him in the middle of the night and decided to roast him for dinner it would be one way to solve the snake in his brain problem.

Jack was almost surprised to wake up, having fully expected to meet his end while he let his guard down during the night.

*I am sorry that you are disappointed to still live,* the Tok'ra chimed in with a stirring of bitterness.

'My, aren't you pissy in the morning,' he snarled back, then pushed the bed pallet cover off him and slowly sat up. He stopped at once and looked down at his chest. The numbness that had before replaced the fiery pain was gone now as well, and upon inspection of his bare torso he could see unbroken, unmarred skin. The only sign he might have been seriously injured was a bright red discoloration, like a bad sunburn where he used to be charred. He touched it in fascination, amazed to think that yesterday he'd been near death and today he could hardly tell he hadn't just fallen asleep on the beach.

*You're welcome,* the Tok'ra replied, his tone more amused and patient than annoyed or put off.

Frowning, Jack kicked away the rest of the blanket and looked around the cave with the benefit of dawn's light coming through the entrance to light the previously shadowed corners. It was smaller than it had appeared in the dark, little more than an alcove carved into the stone face of the mountainside.

*We have much to do,* the Tok'ra pressed to Jack's wandering thoughts.

Jack, bristling at what nearly sounded like an order, snapped, 'What makes you think I'm going to help you kill this Montu guy, anyway?'

The Tok'ra was furious, Jack could feel it. Not at Jack or even at his obstinate behavior but absolutely loathsome at the very mention of Montu. Jack shifted closer to one of the walls of the cave to press the cool stone against his back as the snake damn near rattled his hatred within the confines of Jack's cranium.

*Montu must die.*

Jack scratched at his temple and glowered at the internal monologue, 'Look, I'm all for killing the Goa'uld, but don't drag me into your personal vendetta. I expect to go home and for you to find someone else to jump into. End of story, thank you for your business, don't call us, we'll call you, period.'

There was no answer from the Tok'ra. The snake remained quiet, like a stalking predator lying in wait, then a brusque, *How do you intend to get home, Colonel O'Neill? I know of the Tau'ri defenses... you cannot merely dial your planet and step through the Chappa'ai, you would be killed by the... the 'iris'. Your device to transmit the code was either taken from your body when your people thought you dead or destroyed in the battle. How have you chosen to overcome this detail?*

Jack clenched his jaw, bitter at the thought, 'I haven't figured that part out yet, but confidence is high.'

Jack was creeped out to feel like something inside his head was smiling at him.

*Colonel O'Neill... I have a proposition for you.*

'Dealing snakes, there has to be some warning from a biblical text about this.'

The Tok'ra continued undeterred, *I know the current location of the Tok'ra base. Help me kill Montu and I will take us there; I can acquire a new host, and you may return home using the iris code transmitter your people provided to the Tok'ra council.*

Jack thought for a long moment. He took his time and made the snake wait, just to see how patient it could be, making a fair go at annoying the symbiote. The snake was unfortunately right, Jack was as good as stranded on this planet because his GDO transmitter was gone; he wasn't particularly interested in the idea of becoming radiation particles on the backside of the iris.

'What if I refuse?'

*Then we shall remain here for a very long time as one.*

Jack cringed at the idea... trapped on a planet with only a snake in his head for company. He was starting to feel manipulated and he didn't like it one bit, his ire began rising on principle.

*Do not think I wish to do this,* the Tok'ra said calmly, *it is not my desire to force your cooperation, but I have dedicated forty years of my life and the life of my previous host to the destruction of this Goa'uld. You cannot underestimate my wish to see him pay for the crimes he has committed. This is the best chance the Tok'ra have had yet to strike directly against Montu, despite the blunder yesterday that cost so many lives. I will do anything to see him fall.*

'Anything including taking over my body like I was just a tool to you? Sounds Goa'uldish to me, snakey.'

The Tok'ra was hurt by that, and Jack was startled to learn they could have their feelings hurt. *If I were willing to stoop to those measures I would not be negotiating with you, Colonel O'Neill. I won't use you like the Goa'uld would, even if it means Montu escapes and slaughters hundreds of thousands of people. I will, however, never forget your allowing it to happen.*

Jack rubbed at his forehead; he was starting to feel decidedly schizophrenic.

*I am asking for your help, Colonel O'Neill. Please. Tell me you do not also desire revenge for your companions who have died at Montu's hands.*

Jack thought of the human bodies on that field, SGC personnel, and his anger boiled over.

'All right, you have a deal. I help you get this guy, you get me back to Earth sans the extra personality.'

The Tok'ra's relief bled over into Jack's consciousness as the symbiote answered, *I give you my oath. Now... we don't have much time, and there are some things that must be done.*

Jack got to his feet, forced to remain bent at an awkward angle to avoid the low ceiling, 'All right, tell me what you want me to do.'

****

Jack found himself back on the battlefield where yesterday he'd lain dying. It was untouched from last he saw it, the bodies still scattered in haphazard disarray, the air still thick with the smell of death. Jack looked over the scene, trying to remain detached. It was not the first battlefield he had seen, not even the first span of corpses he'd seen, and there were times he'd looked upon the bodies of people much closer to him than those that now represented the force of the SGC.

Jack blinked. In his mind he saw another field, one he didn't recognize and yet knew down to the smallest detail. There were Tok'ra slain, dead by the dozens on the shores of a lake. The water lapped at their bodies, it carried wisps of blood out with the tide, and there was a maelstrom of grief, sadness, rage.

Stepping back, Jack shook his head to clear his vision and once again looked at the battle zone HE knew, the one that he recognized from yesterday.

"What the..?" he began to question.

The Tok'ra came back, apologetic, *I am sorry, Colonel O'Neill, my mind wandered.*

'That's what happens when your mind wanders? Well, do me a favor and keep your eye on the ball, huh?'

*I could ask you to do the same.*

'Excuse me?'

The Tok'ra was silent for a moment before answering carefully, *Your thoughts have wandered many times since I joined with you... you are more assassin than the Tok'ra believe.*

Jack tensed, 'Stay out of my memories and I'll stay out of yours, okay?'

The Tok'ra did not respond to Jack's spurious remark, instead urged, *My former host is to the left.*

Jack mentally narrowed his gaze at the Tok'ra then started across the field toward the burned body that yesterday he had mistaken for a Goa'uld. Half-way there his eye caught a flash of olive drab and he stopped. He found himself looking down at the motionless form of Lieutenant Colonel Thomas of SG-9. Jack knelt beside the body as he loked down at the lifeless, cold stare in the lieutenant colonel's green eyes. There was cool detachment from the event, a disconnection from the reality of this body once having been a person. He'd seen too many die to feel the crush of another's mortality, beyond being crippled, desensitized to its effects... besides, Thomas was not someone he'd known well. He was a good soldier, but not a friend. He shouldn't have died, certainly not like this, but better him than Sam, Daniel, or Teal'c.

Jack stood back and continued toward the Goa'uld body, stopping when he reached the burned black form. It was another enemy shape to him, but from the creature in his mind a great sadness raked through his consciousness, making Jack mourn by association the person at his feet that he did not know.

Jack frowned in annoyance, uncomfortable with the emotions saturating his brain, put there by an unwelcome guest. He almost waited for some remark from the snake since it seemed the symbiote couldn't manage to leave Jack alone for more than ten minutes, but instead echoing silence descended.

Jack bent down and removed the ribbon device from the corpse's hand. He tucked one finger of the contraption into his belt so it hung at his side. Standing back he waited for something from the snake, some direction, but still there was only sad silence, so Jack turned his face up toward the sun in an attempt to gauge the time of day.

'Hey... Tok'ra,' he finally relented to calling for the symbiote's attention.

*Yes, O'Neill?*

Jack was taken aback by the somberness in the Tok'ra's voice, the melancholy in the emotions Jack could feel from him. Unintentionally, an image of Major Carter popped into the colonel's mind. She was at the table in her lab, bent over something Jack could never in a million years hope to understand, taking the time to look up at him and laugh at one of his stupid jokes. He felt the same stomach flutter of self-satisfaction and pleasure that Sam's rare, sincere smiles could give him, and like a counter-agent it pushed away the sadness coming from the snake.

The Tok'ra at last spoke, his voice not as despondent, *You must trust in our arrangement for what must come next, Colonel O'Neill. I have to convince Montu that I am still his loyal advisor, that I have survived the battle by taking a new host and returned to continue my service to him. It is the only way we can be close enough to him to kill him.*

Jack sighed, 'Well, this is your area, so whatever you say.'

The Tok'ra hesitated, *For this deception to work I must take control, you do understand that.*

Jack cringed, 'Look, I just want to go home. If I've got to take a backseat to my own body then fine, but I'm telling you right now I'm not going to like it, so don't expect me to be in a good mood about it.'

*Never,* the Tok'ra replied, and Jack grew wary with the suspicion that the snake was laughing to himself.

Jack groaned to himself in surrender, 'So lead on, do your take over thing, let's get this over with.'

The Tok'ra's presence loomed, grew in his mind, but just as the panic reflex started to stir in Jack again that would evoke the feeling that he needed to flee from himself, the Tok'ra seemed to back away, becoming less dominating, *We have a distance yet to go before we reach Montu's hide-out, you may retain control until we are closer.*

'How generous of you,' Jack grumbled and started off toward the distant Goa'uld hide-away, a destination he just found in his mind when he chanced to look for it. He was hoping for silence from the snake, a little peace and quiet (which the symbiote seemed more than willing to provide) but not even two minutes into their hike Jack found himself asking, 'Who are you?'

The Tok'ra seemed a little surprised at the question, *My name is Aetom.*

'Well, Aetom, what was up with that thing back there? Why the hell was I SAD about that dead Tok'ra? I didn't even know the guy.'

Aetom hesitated before answering, *You were experiencing my grief for my former host. I'm sorry if it upset you. I am trying to shield myself from your thoughts because I know you do not like me here, but it is a demanding effort and some things get through.*

Jack wanted to be angry about that because it had been disconcerting, but Aetom's honesty made it hard to stay mad. Instead he settled on irritated, put upon by an uninvited visitor in his own body.

*Although I thank you for Major Carter.*

Jack's step faltered, 'What?!'

Aetom explained, *In my despair you showed me something that gives you happiness... it helped. Thank you.*

Jack was nearly aghast, 'That wasn't for you! I was just, well I had to do something to get rid of that bad mood you'd given me.'

Aetom urged Jack to keep walking while he answered, *Perhaps you did not realize what you were doing would comfort me. Even so, it... made me feel better.*

'Yeah, well, just don't start expecting it on regular basis.'

*Are the Tok'ra really so distasteful to you? Our two peoples have been allies for some time now, and it has been a beneficial relationship for both parties.*

'Look, this isn't the time for a philosophical debate. We're here to kill this Goa'uld so I can get you out of my head and go home. Let's just stick to that, keep it nice and simple.'

*If that is what you wish, Colonel O'Neill,* and Aetom's voice went silent as he seemingly backed away, as though going into some form of hibernation, which left Jack to trudge over an alien planet's surface with only his own thoughts for company. Considering his traveling companion as of yesterday, it was a solitude that he was going to take advantage of while he had the chance.

***

"How is he, Doctor?"

Janet Fraiser turned to the gentle timber of General Hammond's voice as he stepped quietly into the darkened observation room overlooking Daniel Jackson. Right now, technically, it was overlooking Daniel Jackson and Samantha Carter. Janet had tried to argue with Sam at first, insisting she wasn't well enough to be sitting with Daniel, but in the end the doctor had relented. It frightened her, actually, how that acquiescence had come about. Sam had barely been able to sit up on her own when she asked to go to Daniel and when Janet persisted in denying her request Sam just went quiet, sullen. She gave up, which was so unlike Sam Carter to do, so much so that it scared Janet. She felt like the only thing she could do was allow Sam to see Daniel; in hindsight she berated herself for trying to refuse the request in the first place. Sam had just lost her good friend, her commanding officer; she NEEDED to see Daniel, to hear him breathe and watch him sleep. She had to know she'd not lost him, too. That first relent became Sam's constant vigil at the archaeologist's side, and against her better judgment Janet allowed it.

Janet watched the general emerge from the shadows to look down at the two in the isolation room. Sam was propped in a chair on Daniel's left side, thankfully his left because the major had fallen asleep with her head half-resting on Daniel's stomach, her arms folded possessively if unconsciously around Daniel's left arm. She didn't want to lose him too, so in sleep she held him. If the young linguist so much as stirred Sam would know.

Janet crossed her arms, "Little change, sir."

Hammond frowned, "It's been five days, Doctor... shouldn't we be seeing some improvement?"

Janet frowned, her soul heavy, "Yes, sir. I would have hoped he'd have at least waken up by now. General... we might have to consider the possibility that this coma could continue indefinitely." Shaking her head, Janet mused to herself, 'to think, it was Sam I had been worried about slipping into a coma and then it happens to Daniel'.

Hammond sagged. His eyes dropped then rose again to look at his two friends, sleeping the unfit rest of the wounded in the gray room. "Is there any chance the Tok'ra could help him, they have that healing device.."

Janet took a breath and held it, finally shaking her head, "I've thought of that, sir, and to be honest I've even discussed it with one of the Tok'ra last time we were in communication with them, but the fact is that while the healing device is great at healing body wounds it's next to useless for neurological problems. The brain is just too complicated to fix with a wave of anyone's hand."

Hammond tapped his knuckles anxiously against the monitor table as he asked in a softer voice, "What about Major Carter? How is she holding up?"

"Her wounds are healing nicely. With any luck she'll be able to walk around with a little assistance by the end of the week."

Hammond looked directly at her, "You know I don't mean her leg, Doctor."

Janet momentarily closed her eyes, "She's as well as can be expected, sir. She acts well... if Daniel doesn't pull through.." Janet stopped; she refused to let her mind walk that path.

Hammond softly touched her shoulder, effectively pulling Janet's attention back to him. "Doctor Jackson is going to make it, Doctor Fraiser, believe that."

Janet gave a wane smile, "I thought I was the medical expert here."

Hammond smirked then dropped his hand and looked back at the two members of SG-1. "Teal'c's been requesting permission to leave the SGC, some cock-eyed notion of joining the Tok'ra's efforts against Montu. I'm afraid he's taking Colonel O'Neill's death personally."

"Aren't we all?" Janet asked rather sharply.

Hammond didn't deny that, only continued, "He's got some warrior concept of revenge, and I'm not here to dictate his cultural ethics, but I don't want to see him run off trying to make some Goa'uld pay for what happened on that planet. I want to see Montu dead as much as the next person, but I don't want to lose more people needlessly to do it."

"All due respect, sir.." Janet began, but got nothing more out before Sam's voice suddenly called out, "Janet!"

Doctor Fraiser and General Hammond both looked toward the isolation room. Sam was sitting on the edge of her seat, right leg, bandaged and stiff, stuck out to the side as she leaned toward the bed, her hands clutched around Daniel's as she peered closely at his face. She looked up toward the observation room at Janet and Hammond, face sleep-mused but alert, "I think he's waking up!"

Janet was out the door faster than Hammond had ever seen a woman in heels move.

Janet hurried into the room, at once at Daniel's right side while Sam had struggled out of her chair to stand over her friend, one hand still holding his while the other smoothed over his forehead. "Daniel? It's Sam... can you hear me?" Daniel's face remained still.

Sam looked up at the doctor, "I swear, Janet, I saw him move."

Janet's soaring hope started to diminish, "It's not unusual for coma patients to make small movements, like a person in their sleep... it doesn't mean they're coming out of it."

Sam absolutely glowered at Janet and shook her head, looking again at Daniel as her fingers stroked through his hair, "Daniel... Daniel, listen to me... if you can hear me squeeze my hand." Both women looked desperately at Daniel's limp hand cradled in Sam's. Nothing. Just when Janet was about to look away there was purposeful movement, Daniel's fingers curling around Sam's, squeezing tightly.

Sam challenged, "Do coma patients do THAT?"

Janet leaned toward Daniel, "No, they don't," and pulled up one of his eyelids. His blue iris skirted away from the light, intentionally evasive. "Daniel. Doctor Jackson, I need you to open your eyes."

"Come on, Daniel," Sam whispered, still holding his hand fiercely.

Daniel's brow knit in a wince then he barely opened his eyes. Blue hints peeked between dark lashes as he tracked blurry vision first to Sam, then to Janet.

"Hello, Daniel," Janet smiled, "you gave us all quite a scare."

Daniel blinked, disoriented, then licked his lips, voice hoarse from disuse as he muttered, "Sorry."

Sam laughed uneasily.

"Uhh, what...?" Daniel began, still looking around in confusion.

"You've been in a coma for the past five days, since the mission to P78-294. Do you remember any of that?"

Daniel's face screwed in concentration, "I remember, um... we were under attack, the Tok'ra.." then his eyes flew open, "Jack!"

Sam and Janet exchanged quick, painful looks.

"It's all right, Doctor Jackson," Janet tried to soothe in a carefully trained voice.

"No, you don't understand, Jack was hit, I saw him. Is he okay?" Daniel tugged on Sam's hand as he looked between the women frantically.

"We can talk about that later, Daniel," Janet pushed back on his shoulder to keep him lying down, knowing her most frequent patient well enough to know any second he'd try to struggle out of bed, particularly if he thought one of his friends was in trouble, "right now you need to rest."

"But..." Daniel started to mutter.

Giving Sam a curt shake of her head, Janet smiled as gently as she could at Daniel, "I need to inform General Hammond of your condition. I'll be right back, okay?" she patted Daniel's shoulder with maternal affection and turned to leave the room.

Sam moved closer, voice strained, "It's good to have you back," and she leaned down to kiss him on the forehead. Daniel's eyes were wide and innocent as he looked up at her, questioning. Sam tried to hide the truth, she did, but Daniel read people too well, understood Sam far better than she liked at the moment.

"Jack's... gone, isn't he?" Daniel whispered.

Sam felt a cry lodge in her throat but she refused to let it break free, instead only pressed her lips together and gave a teary nod.

Daniel blinked at her, childlike in his open need for comfort, his need to be told the monster under his bed wasn't real. Sam could offer no such reassurance, only touched his face softly, needing to feel him alive and warm beneath her touch.

"How..?" he croaked.

Sam looked away, swallowing heavily before she said, "He was killed on P78-294. We lost a lot of people that day... Colonel O'Neill.." Sam frowned and took her free hand away from his face to press at her lips. When she looked back at her friend a tear had tracked down the side of his face, his eyes locked on her. Even if Sam wouldn't cry Daniel had no reservations, a man whose friendships were worn on his sleeve, his bond to the late colonel always undenied in the young man's blue gaze.

Sam brushed the tear dry with her thumb. From the depths of her reserves she mustered a weak smile, "I'm just glad you're awake, Daniel."

Daniel blinked heavily. Another tear trailed down his temple as a glistening pool collected in the corner of his other eye, trapped from falling by the angle of his turned head as he looked at Sam.

When Janet finally returned to the room she knew at a glance that Daniel knew Jack was dead. Sam was trying to hold herself together and Daniel was crying. Janet ached for all of them, wishing she could have been there on P78-294, perhaps done something in the heat of the moment, maybe even enough to save his life.

Janet sighed and moved slowly toward the pair, resigned to the fact that people were lost in battles, and Jack O'Neill had been added to that painful list.

***

Jack O'Neill cast a curious reflection in the elongated mirror within the underground hide-out of the Goa'uld Montu. The hunter green shirt he wore wrapped its lavishly excessive tail around his waist once then curled and flipped through a blue and gold belt, thoughtfully made to match the blue and silver pants, which of course had to go fantastically with the silver and green shoes that looked like they belonged on a court jester. The real coupe de gras, of course, was how the green in his shoes perfectly matched the coloring brushed into the hair at his temples. Outwardly his image gave no reaction to the ensemble besides to appraise its coordination with imperial approval, but inwardly Jack O'Neill was cringing.

*Don't approve of the style?* Aetom asked, the barest hints of teasing in his tone.

Jack looked again at himself in the mirror, horrified at his appearance, and retorted, 'I swear, every Goa'uld is gay.'

Aetom's querulous reaction to the remark prompted Jack to toss out, 'Take a gander at Elton John and tell me I'm wrong,' and purposefully brought an image of the flamboyant entertainer to mind for Aetom's edification. The external facade of Jack O'Neill gave away nothing but callous superiority, but mentally Aetom chuckled. Jack gave an inward smirk, letting Elton John fade back into his cache of abstract memories, glad it had made Aetom laugh. When he got used to the sensation of Aetom's laughter inside his thoughts Jack stopped likening it to having earthworms dumped into his skull and instead admitted that it wasn't all that bad a feeling. Kind of like tickling. He would never in a million years confess that to anyone, especially Aetom, but the crux was that since Aetom was in his head and seemed to be able to read any thought Jack had the bastard snake probably already knew.

Jack and Aetom were getting used to each other. They weren't turning into fast friends, but neither were they swearing blood feuds against one another, which in all honesty was more than Jack had expected even taking a positive outlook. After a week Jack O'Neill was just beginning to get used to not having control of his own body. He didn't like it, but he was getting used to it, reminding himself constantly that it was a necessary evil (a phrase, because of its insinuation, that Aetom didn't particularly care for).

At first it had driven him crazy, watching his arms move without his express permission, hearing his mouth form words that he didn't plan to say and more times than not with which he didn't agree. He felt like a captive finch inside his own head, watching himself doing things and saying things with no control, fluttering to and fro in his cage uselessly. He'd started to resent Aetom for what he had to do, his mind a restless pit of uneasy energy in the Tok'ra's thoughts. Then, two days ago, the blow-up Jack had expected from day one.

Jack had been testy, his usual unpleasant self when he was in a bad mood as of late, and Aetom had just snapped, actually yelling at him to stop fidgeting, to quit his distracting fuming over his predicament and constant poking to see if he could manage to overtake control of a hand here, a foot there, before they were both caught out for the impostors they were. Jack had been cultivating a lot of anger for days, and when Aetom declared it open season the colonel let his new Tok'ra free-loader have the full barrel. They spat at each other, snapped and barked like Middle Eastern countries at a summit meeting, and in the end, though Jack still wasn't sure how it had come to such occasion, Jack and Aetom had ended up both laughing at themselves. Their 'spat' had occurred in the main food court of Montu and his advisors during evening meal... the entire time the persona of 'Gornam', Montu's loyal advisor, risen from the fields of battle in a new host to serve his lord, sat passively without a hint of the internal conflict raging. Just as Jack and Aetom had resorted to some interesting exchanges of cross-cultural name-calling one of Montu's slave girls had been giving Gornam a lap-dance.

Jack could sense Aetom glancing at his memories of that pivotal night and felt the Tok'ra give a small, imaginary smile. After dinner the night of the eruption when Gornam had retired to his quarters, Aetom and Jack had had a long talk about the terms of their arrangement for the duration of their forced time together. Ground rules were set, fences mended, truces established, and since then they'd settled into a respectful understanding of each other. Jack accepted that, until the mission was over, he would have to let Aetom pretend to be this Gornam, using Jack's body for the deception. In deference to Jack's insistence that he taste the freedom of owning his own limbs, at night, Aetom would give him control. He could never do much more than pace his own bedroom or wander the halls, required only to give snide looks at passing servants up at such odd hours, but it was a relief valve for the colonel and things were much calmer in the head that had two people jockeying for control.

Jack watched, still sneering in revulsion, as Aetom smoothed his hands over the clothing they wore. While Jack's opinion was still out on Aetom, Gornam was a complete ass. To his credit, and sometimes Jack's chagrin, Aetom played the part well.

*I have been doing this for a long time,* Aetom pointed out to his host's consciousness as bodily he took a proffered cup from a servant and tasted the wine with affected disinterest. Inside the crowded cranium, two very different reactions were warring. Jack rather enjoyed the Goa'uld wines, but Aetom found them repugnant, as he did all alcohol.

Aetom turned to the servant, his resonant voice condescending as he barked, "That is all, slave, leave me."

The slave hastily did as bade, slipping from the room and leaving Aetom to give one last glance at his appearance in the mirror and allowed a small frown as he did so. Jack was more than wrapped up in his own difficulties adjusting to the Tok'ra in his mind, but he was not entirely oblivious to Aetom's experience of the same conditions. He could feel the Tok'ra mildly startle when he caught sight of himself in the mirror and did not see his old, familiar host. Aetom knew his physical reflection was wrong, and whether Jack was meant to read that or not, he could sense it from Aetom every instance. Each time Aetom came face to face with the image of his new host there was a gaping sadness, the sense of loss for someone Jack had never seen besides burned to a crisp.

'If the boys back at the SGC saw me like this I would NEVER live it down,' Jack groused at his deplorable reflection, 'I look like a Sherwood Forest reject.'

Aetom was indulgent as he took the distraction as opportunity to set aside the goblet of wine, saying, *You must endure this masquerade for only a short while longer, Colonel O'Neill.*

Jack sighed. Truth of the matter was that he found parading as a Goa'uld incredibly boring, and Aetom was becoming all too aware of the well-known fact at the SGC that Jack O'Neill did not suffer boredom well.

*It is not nearly so sedentary under normal circumstances, but lying in wait as Montu does now does leave a great deal to be desired as far as adventure goes.* Aetom picked up the ribbon device waiting atop a small table, the last of his wardrobe to be donned, and began to put it on his left hand with disconcerting familiarity. Jack tried to ignore the procedure, put ill at ease by the Goa'uld device. When once Aetom had asked Jack about his unfavorable reaction to the tool the colonel had only clipped, 'Been on the wrong end of those things one too many times not to get the willies, pal.'

Jack perked up at Aetom's comment, curious and making a concerted effort to not linger on the golden torture device the Tok'ra was affixing to their hand, 'Didn't know the Tok'ra had a sense of adventure.'

Aetom stepped out into the hallway once finished dressing. He appeared focused and unreachable while the entire time half his attention was on his host's mind, *Is it so surprising to you that such things are gone from the Tok'ra now? We are an old race, Colonel O'Neill, and many of us have spent hundreds or thousands of years witnessing Goa'uld oppression. Such things tend to make one's 'spirit of adventure' wane.*

Jack mused on that, reluctantly coming to agreement with Aetom. He could imagine hundreds of years in the thick of fighting the Goa'uld would tend to suck out the fun from life. It also elucidated a fact that Colonel O'Neill had always noticed in the Tok'ra but misinterpreted. Most of the Tok'ra he'd met he'd pinned as prudish and curt, but in truth each and every one of them was tired. He tried to imagine being at war with the Goa'uld for as long as the Tok'ra had been and easily pictured himself becoming wearied by the endless fighting. He would probably get short-tempered and impatient, too. Of course, it didn't discount the possibility that some of the Tok'ra were just pricks by nature, but it certainly helped soften his harder opinions of some of the milder Tok'ra.

Aetom heard Jack's musings on the Tok'ra and at the colonel's rather harsh assessment of some of the Tok'ra he actually smiled in agreement rather than take offense.

'So at one point the Tok'ra did have a sense of humor?' Jack prompted.

Aetom seemed to consider Jack from an askance point of view, *We still do have a sense of humor, O'Neill, a very refined one at that compared to the Tau'ri's. As to our adventurousness... once, long ago, yes. As we say, there was a day when Tok'ra played.*

Jack smirked, fully cognizant of the fact that Aetom was taking intentional pot shots at Jack's sense of humor. It had become a source of congenial taunting, because in fact, once he got used to its intricacies, Aetom was starting to enjoy Jack's peculiar sense of humor.

'Are you sure about this plan of yours?'

*I know Montu's moves very well. I have spent twenty years studying him and his advisors to know what will happen in a situation such as this. When he decides to move from his position on this planet those accompanying him will depart in two waves, so that confusion as to which group he travels with will offer a measure of protection against attacks. Then we have our best chance of killing Montu... he will be more isolated, chances for aide fewer. It will not be much longer, rest assured, Colonel O'Neill, soon you and I will both have revenge for the colleagues we've lost to this snake.*

***

"DanielJackson, it is good to see you on your feet once again," Teal'c said to his teammate as he stopped in the hall when he came across the young archaeologist. Daniel was doing the infirmary shuffle, and though he was, for the first time in two weeks, wearing actual clothes as opposed to a hospital gown, he was still obviously walking wounded.

Daniel reached out a hand to steady himself on the wall. As he did so the towering Jaffa moved closer and gently took Daniel by the arm, helping him down the hallway at the snail's pace Daniel was comfortable with. "Thanks, Teal'c," he winced and touched his chest lightly.

"Are you in great pain?" Teal'c asked.

Daniel huffed, "It's not so bad, my ribs still ache from that damn chest tube they had stuck in me, makes it hard to catch a decent breath." Both lapsed into a hanging silence, the reason for their quiet the proverbial white elephant tap-dancing in the corner.

Daniel barely whispered, "I... missed the memorial service."

Teal'c's hands held Daniel ever so slightly tighter and the Jaffa's jaw clenched, "Indeed, but DoctorFraiser was correct that you were not yet fit to leave her care."

Daniel stopped to catch his breath, face pale, and Teal'c stopped alongside him, prepared to wait forever until Daniel felt well enough to move again. Frowning, Daniel looked down, "I should have been there."

Teal'c touched Daniel's shoulder, making a good show of sounding supportive and strong, "ColonelO'Neill would have understood your absence. Had he in fact been present, he would have insisted you remain in the infirmary."

Daniel gave a weak smirk, "Yeah... but then if he'd been here I wouldn't have had any reason to go in the first place." Daniel grimaced, "Wait, no, that's not right. A lot of other people died on that mission... I would have gone for them, too, I would have..."

"It is all right, DanielJackson... I am aware of your meaning, and I believe you are correct."

Daniel momentarily swayed, complexion ashen, and Teal'c stepped in closer to his friend in case the young man started to fall. Instead Daniel recovered himself, one hand anchored on the wall, "I miss him, Teal'c."

"As do I and MajorCarter."

Daniel's face screwed, misplaced anger marring his gentle features as he hit the wall once with the heel of his hand while he took strained, ragged breaths. His impotent anger did not entirely fade, only diffused as Daniel looked down the corridor, lips pinched.

Teal'c said nothing, only stood close, tactile reassurance and comfort to his mourning teammate.

Their quiet companionship was shattered by flashing alarm lights and the wail of a by-now familiar siren. "Unscheduled off-world activation!"

Daniel managed only a sigh. He reached out for Teal'c's shoulder and asked wearily, "Help me to the briefing room?"

Teal'c dipped his head in affirmation and took Daniel's arm once more. He let the human lean on him as they both made their way toward the briefing room amid scurrying airmen.

***

"Sam... I'm so sorry, I just found out," Jacob Carter moved across the room to take his daughter in a hug, not even five minutes having passed since he stepped through the stargate. Sam held perfectly still, making no move to return the embrace when Jacob wrapped his arms around his little girl. Instead, she only answered stiffly, "Hi, Dad."

Jacob pulled back, looking closely at his daughter. She was frayed, there was no question about that, but there was something guarded and hostile in her eyes as she stared back at him. She must have sensed it, too, because quite abruptly she looked away.

Jacob frowned, confused, "I was on a mission when it happened, if I could have been there.."

Sam shook her head, "It's okay. Probably wouldn't have changed what happened." Sam limped toward the briefing room table to ease herself into a chair, conveniently out of range of another hug.

"You're hurt," Jacob stepped toward her, worried.

"It's nothing... Daniel's worse off than I am."

Jacob couldn't make heads or tails of Sam's aloofness, her inexplicably chill reception of her own father. "Let Selmac help," he began to offer, but Sam looked up sharply at him, eyes flickering blue fire. She had the presence of mind to look away again, even looked shameful for reacting so overtly, but it was enough for Jacob to understand. It wasn't him Sam was displeased to see, it was a Tok'ra.

Jacob took the seat beside Sam, reached out for her hand, "Sam, listen to me. I know we screwed up, but what happened to Jack O'Neill is not the Tok'ra's fault."

Sam tried once to pull her hand free, which Jacob would not allow, then she looked down at her lap and sighed sadly, "I know... it's just, I'm so mad and I don't know who else to blame."

Jacob rubbed her hand gently, "Blame the Goa'uld. Montu is going to pay for this, I promise you, Sammie. He's messed with the wrong species."

Sam gave a weak, humorless smile, then looked up carefully at her father and said lowly, like an illicit secret she was repentant to know, "General Hammond's mentioned me taking command of SG-1."

Jacob nodded, "He's a smart man to do so... you're a fine officer and you know the job better than anyone. I think you deserve command."

Sam took a wavering breath, "I don't want.." then she stopped, looking up toward the ceiling then down at the table.

Jacob brushed back the blonde locks of hair on her forehead, "I know, you don't want to take his place. Trust me, kiddo, I know what you're going through and exactly how you feel right now. But we all have to move on... you know that. Besides, if not you then someone else would be assigned command, and I don't think you want someone else doing Jack's job."

Sam nodded and finally gave her father's hand that clasped hers an affectionate squeeze. Jacob patted her hand gently, "For what it's worth... Selmac's sorry about what happened. Come on, let Selmac heal you; we can at least ease the pain."

Sam started to say something, from her expression something on the rude side of unpleasant, but before the words could slip her mouth she stopped, collected her thoughts, then said, "Take care of Daniel first."

Jacob thought better than to argue, "All right, we'll heal you both," and he tugged his daughter to her feet with a steadying hand on her back just as Daniel Jackson and Teal'c hobbled into the briefing room. From the wary, wavering looks both cast Jacob when they saw him, the general realized that Sam was not the only one bearing a grudge against the Tok'ra for what happened on the mission to destroy Montu that cost the SGC and the Tok'ra so many valuable lives.

***

Jack's eyes flew open as a panic not his own pulsed through him. He cast furtive eyes around the darkened room, seeing nothing in the shadows of Gornam's quarters to cause alarm, but still an irrepressible fear was surrounding him, pressing from all sides. His first instinct was to jump from the bed, confront the hidden foe that his sensory danger detectors were convinced was there, but after two weeks with a Tok'ra symbiote he had learned to gauge before action whether stimulus asking him to move and fight came from the environment or within his own mind. Jack tried to calm the fluttering fright crowding against him enough to seek Aetom.

He discovered a whirl of thoughts, disjointed and unclear, as though his only perspective was in a fun house mirror. Like memories of a life he'd never led, images came to him. He was someone else, his face unrecognizable and yet him... he was afraid. A whip cracked against the exposed skin of his back and Jack physically arched on the bed, feeling the welts burn between his shoulders as though the scene was real. Fire and smoke filled his lungs with hot air, choking. He was running... he was captured, the terror cycling again and again.

Jack, pushing half off the bed with arm locked, tried ineffectively to escape the torment, at last thinking beyond the terrifying images to yell, 'AETOM!'

As a twig snaps in two the images stopped, ebbed into nothingness as the Tok'ra's salient presence rose from the void of Jack's unconscious. Jack was shaking, gulping breaths of cool air, shuffling slowly and carefully back on the bed until he was sitting precariously near the edge, poised to jump into action but from what or against what he couldn't say.

*O'Neill?* Aetom ventured cautiously.

Jack swallowed, eyes still flickering restively around the empty room, 'What the HELL was that?!'

Aetom's emotions stained him, touched him with regret and despair, *I am sorry.*

Jack was able to calm his trembling, his breathing no longer rushed and desperate. 'Just... what was that?'

Aetom thought a moment, *I suppose you would call it a nightmare.*

'Tok'ra dream?' Jack was taken off guard by the notion.

*Sometimes... our dreams are not as yours, more accurately we relive things, we remember. I'm sorry I woke you.* Aetom faded, withdrew from Jack, and in doing so left him as alone as any host to a symbiote could ever be.

Jack looked back at the bed and knew sleep was out of the question.

'Aetom?' he called.

Aetom reemerged from the blackness. His presence felt decidedly haggard, *Yes?*

Jack thought back to the images of torture he'd seen, the feeling of leather laying open the skin of his back, and Aetom shied somewhat when he understood Jack was asking about the content of the nightmare.

*Once I had been a captive of Apophis,* Aetom responded and offered nothing more as unease drifted through Jack's mind.

'How long did you have to go through that?'

Aetom didn't answer at first, quiet so long Jack thought the Tok'ra might be refusing to answer, then he heard, *A month. One of our Tok'ra operatives was working within Apophis's ranks when I was a prisoner... she abandoned her mission, freed me, and together we escaped.*

Jack felt Aetom's relief at being released from Apophis's clutches, and before he could stop himself he was empathizing. Understanding rose to accept Aetom's past, the memories, and Aetom startled at Jack's reaction. *How can you..?*

Jack wasn't sure he meant to share the truth, uncertain about opening his past to a snake, but before he could stop his own thoughts he growled 'Iraq,' and there were memories. Four months in a dark cell, beaten, starved, tortured for information that he would sooner die than divulge and then discovering he was too ignorant to spare himself any of the pain, anyway... Jack shared with Aetom the fear he had never confessed to another soul, shared the pain and terror because with a symbiote in the thick of his thoughts he could not stop the exchange of private emotions. The rush of memories ended in a bitter reel, and Jack found himself sitting, mind quiet, troubled by Aetom's utter silence.

Jack felt the memories of Iraq coming forth again, not called into mind by him but pulled from the recesses by Aetom. Aetom had never before actively tried to retrieve any of Jack's personal memories. Jack nearly asked the Tok'ra to stop, unwilling to remember again, but before he could mount a protest a strange sensation overtook him. The Iraqi cell loomed and then was insulated, a sense of protection and strength interposing itself between him and that terrible time in his past, and suddenly he could see it and remember it but it couldn't hurt him.

'Did you do that?' Jack wondered, almost awed to look upon his imprisonment for the first time and not feel stabs of terror, swells of panic and pain.

*Yes.*

Jack blinked, still befuddled, then said honestly, 'Thank you.'

Aetom risked to engulf Jack in his presence, and instead of flying into a panic Jack waited and was surprised to find that it almost felt like a strong embrace enclosing him. It was a strange feeling of safety that he let happen.

As quickly as he had enfolded Colonel O'Neill Aetom backed off again, easing away from Jack's consciousness, and stated merely, *It is one of many things a symbiote and host can provide one another... you gave me that tonight, and I considered it my duty to return the favor.*

'I did that to you?' Jack questioned.

*You did, when you saw my pain and did not turn away. I thank you, Colonel. Sleep now, O'Neill, tomorrow will come soon.*

Jack slowly laid back down on the bed. He made an honest effort to go back to sleep but was still too wired and confused. He stared into the darkened room, distracted by his own mind. 'Aetom?'

*Yes?*

Jack rolled on to his back, uncomfortable with the question nagging at him but consumed to learn the answer, 'If a symbiote and its host can share the bad memories and have them come through so strong... is it the same way with the good ones?'

Aetom smiled gently, for the second time reaching out the barest of touches to comfort Jack, not a full-blown 'hug' as before but the whispered hints of the same effect. *Yes, it is.*

Jack left his query at that and turned back on to his side and closed his eyes, deciding that if he couldn't actually go back to sleep he could at least fake it. Aetom did not entirely pull away from his host; he lingered at the edges of his perception, reminding Jack of being on a mission with SG-1, the familiar sensation of having a pair of eyes at his back as he bedded down the for the night. He was unguarded, exposed to the slightest thoughts from Aetom, letting the raw connection between them remain.

He was attentive, intrigued, when another thought not his own came to the forefront of his mind. It was a child, the daughter of Aetom's former host. The memory was simple, a glimpse of the girl sleeping. The moonlight bathed her serene face in pale light, slivers of dark blue shining in her black hair, the blankets of her bed drawn up around her tiny shoulders. Peace and content were bound to her, tied to the child like a physical tether, and Jack could feel it. As he laid in Gornam's room, feigning sleep, he broke into a faint, easy smile.

Aetom smiled with him, shared love for a girl that had belonged to neither of them, and held her memory vigil in honor of the Tok'ra who had died weeks ago.

As he drifted toward sleep, relaxed again, Jack thought of Charlie. He remembered holding his newborn son, the details of his tiny face captivating as the child's small hand curled around his father's finger. Jack felt the pride and love overwhelm him at the memory of holding Charlie's tiny body in his hands for the first time.

As Jack drifted off to sleep the memory lingered, an evanescent peace from a time so long ago, and slowly he sensed another being with him in the hospital room of his memory, someone familiar. Aetom, as though standing at Jack's shoulder, as if there on the day of Charlie's birth, just as proud of the newborn child as the boy's father.

Jack's mind flared for a moment, stirred to resist and defend that precious memory against the creature in his mind, but at the last instant he let go of the rising anger. Instead, he let Aetom share the joy, experience through him one of the best days of his life, and allowed it to carry him back into sleep.

***

The Goa'uld Montu was a pompous bastard with a penchant for green. Blame obviously rested on him for Colonel O'Neill looking like he'd rubbed grass stains into the sides of his head. Jack watched, a bystander to the things his own body did as it stood before the Goa'uld, but he could and did keep up a running commentary if for the soul purpose of entertaining himself. In two and a half weeks he'd learned to walk the fine line between keeping himself occupied and being a considerable distraction to Aetom.

"Gornam, you have been a steadfast advisor to me for many, many years," Montu said lowly, the gold tips of the ribbon device that was trapping his left hand made clicking sounds as he fingered the emeralds inlaid in his clothing.

"Yes, my Lord," Aetom bowed his head while at the same time commiserated with Jack as the colonel made an internalized face of repulsion.

"You have fought back from an inferior host cut down in battle to take another and return to me."

Aetom's fury flared for Montu's remark about his former, much-loved host. Jack carefully edged closer to his symbiote's consciousness as he intoned, 'Easy there, fella.' Aetom simmered, but by no means let go the insult to Kurya.

"You are a just and powerful master, my Lord, I am honored to serve you."

Montu turned to look at Aetom, glare critical. Jack felt uneasy at the close scrutiny but Aetom, so much better at meeting Montu's challenges from decades of experience, did not flinch. Montu trailed his eyes once up and down Jack's body, the way one appraised livestock, then his lip curled derisively. Jack ruffled at the Goa'uld's expression which seemed to suggest the replacement host Aetom had found was substandard compared to his last. Jack didn't like to think of himself as vain, but he couldn't be worth all that sneering.

*Easy, fella,* Aetom took a brief instant to return Jack's previous statement, an effort that went a long way to settling Jack's temper.

"You have proven yourself, Gornam, and for this I would have you hear me and speak your mind on a matter of grave importance."

Aetom bowed his head again, "As you wish, I will do all that you ask."

Montu nodded and his eyes moved to consider the entrance to his private room a moment before speaking. "I fear my advisory council has been diseased, blackened and spoiled by the Tok'ra scourge."

Jack quickly sought Aetom's thoughts, trying to read if this was a tactic he'd been expecting, trying to assess how much danger they might be in. Aetom was surprised by the remark as well but he maintained his poise and in doing so betrayed nothing, "Lord Montu, you are a strong ruler but even more dangerous enemy, who among your counselors would dare to work against you?"

Montu watched Aetom a long moment, unblinking, then spoke, "This I do not know, but it is an infestation I cannot permit. The vermin Tok'ra must be driven from my council and destroyed for its insolence. You, Gornam," Montu turned away deliberately, "are of a select few among my advisors I know are loyal to me."

"No one is more loyal than I," Aetom groveled. In regards to his host, he sensed Jack within his thoughts start to stand down from high alert.

Montu turned back to Aetom with a goblet in hand and cut an imperious look at the disguised Tok'ra, "Perhaps this is so. I have summoned you for this very loyalty you purport so strongly. Two days time I will leave this wretched planet to at last enjoy my defeat of Seshat, and at the same moment I will pull from my side the thorn that is this Tok'ra spy."

"Whatever I may do to aide you, my Lord."

Montu lifted one brow at Aetom, calculating. "You will accompany me on the second fleet to leave this planet, a chosen few among my counselors, Gornam."

"I am honored, my Lord."

Montu continued with a sneer, "I will send as the first party each of my advisors for whom I harbor doubt. They will fly to the false safety of my fleet, where they will be destroyed, the Tok'ra rouge along with them. Already my fleet awaits them, prepared to deliver death by my order. You will gain a position of greater power at my service when I have done this, Gornam."

"I understand, my Lord."

"Know this... if you are maddened by the scent of power I will cut you down with a single stroke. The loss of so many advisors will not weaken me, it will make me stronger. I will not be defeated from within my own forces."

"Never, my Lord."

Montu took a drink, idly turned the green and gold cup in his hand, then dismissed Aetom with a flicker of his fingers, "Leave me, Gornam, and think of what I have said. Two days."

"I will, my Lord."

***

Jack could feel anticipation thrum through his body, spurred to excitement by his Tok'ra symbiote and flowing in his veins like a euphoric adrenaline rush. It infected him, bled into his own emotional state and made him almost giddy to think today would be the day Montu met his death. For the immediate moment, even finding a way back to Earth became secondary to the long-awaited satisfaction of seeing Montu broken and bleeding at his feet. The night before he had dreamed of the Goa'uld begging for mercy, and in his dreams Aetom was there, beside him, like a twin with green sideburns, united with Jack as he watched the life ooze from the Goa'uld tyrant. Jack awoke on a battle-high, ready for the final confrontation, figuratively frothing at the mouth.

Jack had picked up Aetom's hatred for Montu as one might a cold, and after a time the feelings were as though his own. In the last three days, because it was easy to slip and forget to protect against things spawned in his own head and because he demanded to know everything the Tok'ra did, any tactical detail that might give them an advantage against the Goa'uld they would be facing, Jack had let Aetom's mind bleed into his, thoughts twining like vines until some aspects were no longer solely the property of one individual or the other.. including Aetom's loathing for Montu. It became theirs. Jack hated Montu, adopted the feeling with relish because it was no task for him to detest a snake, and today would be a very gratifying day for both. All the Tok'ra and people from the SGC that had died because of this snake would at last rest easy, their murders avenged.

Aetom and Jack were outside the underground complex, watching the first fleet of ships carrying doomed advisors to Montu arch into the sky and away from the planet. It was a lovely day, which struck a chord of morbid amusement in Aetom that Jack at once picked up on.

'Something funny? Care to share?'

Aetom blinked into the sky, *Colonel O'Neill... this will either be a good day to live or to die, and we may do either.*

Jack had to wonder a moment that the Tok'ra would find that at all amusing. He would never understand the Tok'ra sense of humor, and in fact was mildly incensed that they had the nerve to say HIS sense of humor was off-center.

*Being blended with you... there are a few worse things I have endured,* to which a fleeting image of being tortured by Apophis flitted through their collective brain.

At that Jack did smirk and deftly returned, 'Yeah, well, never what I had in mind either, if you'll pardon the pun, but as far as Tok'ra go...'

*I will take that in the spirit in which it was intended.*

'Look, this is getting too cliche, last-speechy for me... you think we could just get this show on the road?'

Aetom turned from the retreating ships and made his way back toward the door to the underground compound, respecting his host's wishes and offering nothing more of concrete thoughts or words.

***

Major Carter had always embraced the concept of getting right back on the horse after falling off. Her father had taught her to confront her misgivings, her fears, and a career in the Air Force had reinforced that policy of owing up to uncertainty without hesitation. Even so, as she stood at the bottom of the ramp leading up to the stargate she couldn't still the anxious butterflies in her stomach that had not troubled her composure since her first trip through the gate. She was, privately, scared out of her mind.

"Major?" a female voice ventured carefully as the fifth chevron locked.

Major Carter blinked out of her petrified thoughts to look over at Captain Rawlins, who stood at her side in full field gear, P-90 at the ready across her stomach. The woman was watching her with sympathy in her warm gaze, sadness still never far behind for the teammates she'd lost. For a second Sam wanted to smile and quip 'first command jitters,' to establish a bond to one of the few other women on the base, gain some measure of friendship, but Sam had to settle for only a nod and professional, "As you were, Captain." Sam was commander of SG-1 and a great deal of command was appearance, how her team saw her. She couldn't admit to butterflies in front of her team, not when they had to be able to place faith in her decisions in the heat of battle. She had to come off as unflappable.

Captain Rawlins nodded and turned to watch the sixth chevron engage, saying faintly as it glowed orange, "I'm a little scared to go through again, ma'am."

Sam was relieved she wasn't the only one, and even more grateful to General Hammond for making the new SG-1's first mission out a standard survey... she'd like to know she could handle watching Daniel study rocks before she had to lead anyone into a fire fight.

"Gotta get back on the horse, Captain."

"Yes, ma'am."

From the control room: "Chevron seven locked."

The blue eruption of the establishing event horizon rushed into the embarkation room like a tidal wave then retreated, leaving at its source a shimmering, bright blue liquid light.

"SG-1, you have a go," General Hammond's voice came over the intercom.

Taking a steadying breath, Sam hoped her voice didn't crack, "All right, people, move out."

Rawlins took the first step toward the event horizon, grim face set in determination, and Sam was already proud of her. In time she might belong with this new SG-1; she was definitely made of stern enough stuff.

Teal'c went after Rawlins, then Sam felt Daniel at her side and looked over at him. He was watching her, blue eyes compassionate to everything Sam was feeling, even the things to which she would never admit. She was hopeless to hide anything from him, standing before him feeling naked, and wondered if Colonel O'Neill had ever stood like this, a rock to everyone else but transparent as glass to Daniel.

The thought of Colonel O'Neill rushed at her, a radiating ache that, nearly a month after his death, was still crippling if she gave in to its force. For that very reason she couldn't give in, holding her defenses at all costs.

"You okay, Sam?" Daniel asked softly and reached out to touch her arm.

Starting them up the ramp, Sam clasped her hand on Daniel's shoulder and ferried him forward, "Fine. Let's go... we still have a job to do."

If Daniel noticed the forced bravado in her voice he didn't call her out on it. He only gave her a thin, friendly smile, consenting without a word of resistance to her slide into command of SG-1. Daniel stepped through the wormhole event horizon before her. It left Sam one last second to silently hope to god she didn't screw up before following her team out of the SGC and to a distant point in the galaxy.

***

"I will have you ripped apart for this betrayal!"

They were bold words from a helpless man. Montu was crumpled on the floor, splayed on his knees, left arm cradled to his chest as blood stained his skin and clothes. Where moments ago he had possessed a ribbon device and personal body shield, indeed where there had been a hand, was now a bloody stump, spilling forth the precious blood of the hapless Goa'uld host. His eyes flashed white as still, even near defeat, he challenged his attacker.

Aetom lowered the staff weapon that had dashed the hand from the Goa'uld, his own eyes glowing as he glared down at Montu's enfeebled form. Jack was looming in his mind like a thunderstorm, an urging force, a restless spectator, chanting without words for Montu's death.

Aetom took a step closer, chin upturned, "You are defeated, Montu. You have sent to death those who might have fought for you, locked within your walls your greatest enemy, the Tok'ra fiend you tried so hard to find. I stand before you, Montu, your fatal mistake."

Montu snarled and blood dripped to the floor between his legs, "I was not fool enough to send away all but you, Tok'ra filth! Advisors still fill these halls, you will be destroyed for this!"

Aetom allowed a very self-satisfied smirk, "Your advisors lay dead, Montu, poisoned for their foolery to think one of their own could be trusted, drunk from the cup of the Tok'ra resistance. You are alone, Montu, as you will die."

Montu tried once, out of sheer force of will and by drawing on fury, to rise to his feet. Jack watched through his own eyes, unable to contain his anger, his blood-lust, his determination that Montu die now... right now.

Aetom purposefully lifted his left hand, his eyes flashed, and Jack could feel something within him building up force, igniting each thought with fire. In an instant if felt as though the Tok'ra wrapped around his brain stem and spinal cord had become an electric eel, wriggling and coiling like lightening. It burned white with fury, murderous rage, and when it seemed the wildfire would consume his sanity there was an outlet. The ribbon device leapt to life, angry tendrils reaching toward Montu.

The Goa'uld gasped, gargling as he fought to no avail, trapped, fated at that second.

Jack could have turned himself into liquid energy just to channel himself through his own hand. The fury coursed through his body, a siren's call in the center of his palm heralding all the anger, expelling it from his own body only to focus it on Montu. At first there was only the release of uncontrollable anger, catharsis, then there were sensations crawling their way back through the device. Jack embraced them, thrilled by them. He could feel the victim's fear, the pain, the heat of the Goa'uld within being cooked alive. Aetom was oblivious to Jack for the first time since they were blended, focused with dogged determination on Montu's demise. For the first time in his life, Jack would have described himself as a cheerleader, screaming from the sidelines and shaking his pom poms.

Jack bathed in Aetom's dark joy in at last, after so long, seeing Montu broken and near death before him. Boiling... Montu was writhing in fire-born agony, moments from death... Jack could taste it, the sweetest flavor, an intoxicating elixir. He watched his own hands do this, dispense death upon a Goa'uld with nothing more than will and the wave of his hand, and he liked it.

Montu gave one last strangled scream then collapsed to the floor.

The river of fury that Jack had ridden with alacrity suddenly vanished, the rapids of vengeance at once bone dry. Order returned, coolness amidst the pockets of white fire. Jack blinked, unsteady at the sudden shift, part of his mind looking for the wild rivers of fire, longing to ride them forever.

*Colonel O'Neill,* a tired voice pulled at him, dragging him away from the futile search, *it is done.*

Jack looked down at the motionless form of Montu, disappointed for a fleeting moment that it was gone so soon, but quickly common sense took hold. 'What about that sarcophagus thing? Can't they revive him?'

Aetom was slow to answer. He lowered his left hand and reached for the lavish folds of his shirt, *Not once he has been ripped from his host,* and his hands came away brandishing a blade. Aetom looked at the sharp edge, unmoving.

Jack did not understand the sudden reluctance, unwillingness, that brushed through his thoughts, their source Aetom. He pressed forward for control and took the knife from Aetom without the weapon ever really changing hand. Aetom deferred to Jack, passed off command of their single body, and the colonel basked in the relief that always came when he could move his hands as he chose, the little spark of elation that he was still himself.

Jack moved quickly to the fallen Goa'uld's side. He rolled the body on to its stomach and without batting an eyelash plunged the dagger into the back of the host's neck. There was very little blood, even less resistance, and when Jack saw the gray-white hint of the symbiote he reached in with his bare hands, took hold, and pulled. With a fast tug the snake came loose, slipping from the gash in the host's neck and lying limp in Jack's grip. The jaws of the finned serpent were pink and gray with bits of human brain tissue, the long body slick with red blood that welled between Jack's fingers.

There was a transient urge to puke, and this time it wasn't from Jack.

The colonel set the dead Goa'uld on the floor, reclaimed the knife and quickly sawed through the parasite's neck. When it came free he picked it up and tossed the severed head against the far wall and finally stood, looking down at his stained hands. He waited for a psychotic whisper in his ear, direction, but there was a dead silence.

'Aetom?'

Jack felt a disquieted stirring in his thoughts, reluctance, then, *We must flee, O'Neill. Montu's Jaffa will not be gone long; we must not be found here.*

Tucking the knife back into his clothes, Jack stepped over the corpse and moved toward the door, on his way casting a glance down at his left hand. The ribbon device called to him, a tool of alluring power, and he flexed his fingers, watching the gold catch the light, and allowed a small smile.

***

General Hammond looked at the people gathered around the briefing room table. To his left were two Tok'ra representatives, sitting with solemn and unrushed poise. They had come through the stargate only ten minutes ago, dispensing with the few pleasantries that the Tok'ra allowed for diplomacy and promising Hammond they had some very good news. They had also requested the presence of SG-1.

Hammond looked to his right and took in the postures and expressions of his people. Immediately beside him was Major Carter, her blue gaze unwavering as she pinned both Tok'ra with a hot look. A quiet intensity had settled over her since assuming command of SG-1. She had become the leader Hammond knew she was capable of being, but there were the bitter hints about her person that lingered any time someone's promotion followed on the heels of a friend's death, apparant in the mannerisms she adopted with her new command. Daniel Jackson was beside her, slumped back in his chair and giving the Tok'ra a rather unpleasant scowl, brows drawn over blue eyes, corners of his mouth worth a thousand words. To Daniel Jackson's left was Captain Rawlins, sandwiched between Daniel and Teal'c, performing just as well as her teammates at giving the Tok'ra unwelcome stares. Hammond was relieved to see Rawlins placed within the team, not tacked on the end at Teal'c's right side. Instead, with Sam and Teal'c on either end, the two youngest members of SG-1 were afforded a measure of protection and support from the Jaffa and their CO. Teal'c's stare was steady as he sat with hands folded atop the table, attention riveted like a stalking pit bull.

Hammond suspected if he didn't speak up this staring contest could go on until the second coming. "SG-1, your presence has been requested because the Tok'ra have informed me that they have some intelligence to report."

Sam shot a short but pointed look at General Hammond, a look that said 'not again, sir, we're not heading out on intel given to us by the damned Tok'ra,' but in the next second she looked back calmly at the Tok'ra representatives.

The first Tok'ra nodded to General Hammond then shifted to sit nearer the table, "The Tok'ra council believed you would all be interested to learn that the Goa'uld Montu is dead."

Startled surprise replaced evil looks for everyone on SG-1. Each looked at one another to make sure they'd all heard the same. Sam turned back to the Tok'ra, sounding doubtful, "Dead?"

The Tok'ra nodded as his lips flickered a very infinitesimal smile.

Sam frowned dubiously, at which point General Hammond jumped in, "What makes you certain that Montu is dead?"

The Tok'ra replied calmly, "Yesterday we received a communication from the operative we had within Montu's advisory council, Aetom. We assumed him lost in the battle, but he reestablished contact with the Tok'ra to tell us he had succeeded in his mission and Montu was dead."

"Was this operative able to relay to you the means by which Montu died?" Teal'c asked lowly.

"Unfortunately he was able to tell us very little. While he had confirmed the death of Montu he was himself still at risk of being discovered by the Goa'uld's Jaffa; he was necessarily forced to keep his communique brief, but the Tok'ra council believed you would like to know that Montu has been destroyed."

No one on SG-1 made any response. In fact, they were all staring alternately at their hands, laps, or the table top.

"That is excellent news," Hammond took it upon himself to say and nodded to the Tok'ra.

Nodding in return, the Tok'ra pushed back from the table, "You will forgive our briefness, General, but it is vital we return as quickly as possible."

"Of course," Hammond nodded, stood, and gestured toward the door. "Again, we appreciate you making the effort to inform us."

As the Tok'ra were led down the hallway toward the gate room, leaving a stunned and silent SG-1 in the briefing room, one of the Tok'ra turned to General Hammond, "Forgive us, but SG-1 did not seem pleased to hear of Montu's death."

Hammond gave a grim, forced smile, "They were all hoping to have that pleasure themselves."

"Surely the death of a Goa'uld is cause for celebration regardless the means by which he has died?"

Hammond sighed, "I agree with you, and so will SG-1 when they get used to the idea they won't be avenging their friends' deaths personally."

***

Jack tossed the long-range Goa'uld communication orb in the air, catching it then tossing it again as he sat propped against a tree trunk on P78-294. His manner suggested unawareness, disinterest in his surroundings, but in fact he was on the alert for any sign of enemy Jaffa. They'd whiled away two days evading capture, he and Aetom, melting into the forest while Montu's Jaffa patrolled like scurrying lost ants. They were workers without the queen bee, running circles without direction; it was only a matter of time before they gave up... hopefully.

Jack tossed the orb once more, rolled it in his hands, and looked up through the sun-spotted tree canopy. For being hunted and snaked, it was turning out to be a fairly decent vacation. Hiding in the woods was almost like going up to Minnesota for a weekend, minus the cold and mosquitoes. After they had fled into the forest there was no longer reason for Aetom to continue his act as Gornam, so without fanfare he returned to Jack full control of his body. He had not asked command again but for a brief ten second communication to the Tok'ra council, otherwise giving Jack all the freedom an un-snaked human enjoyed. All things considered and given the circumstances, Jack was in a pretty good mood.

Jack set the ball down in the grass beside him, threaded his fingers around his bent knee and asked, 'How long will they keep at this?'

*Not for much longer. They will realize their god has been slain, not to rise again, and escape through the Chappa'ai, most likely to ingratiate themselves into the service of another Goa'uld.*

Jack nodded to himself. He looked over the terrain he'd navigated earlier that morning to come to this little patch of alien Eden. The grove of trees and grass he'd found and temporarily claimed was nestled inside a miniature valley, as though set in the depression of a fault line, craggy faces of stone rising from the south and west.

'Noticed something... my knees don't ache like they used to.'

*They wouldn't,* Aetom answered, *Tok'ra don't have arthritis or lingering old injuries.*

Jack flexed his knees, pleased to feel no creaking or stiffness, 'Will this go away when you're gone?'

Aetom almost seemed to sigh, *Not at first, but when I am not here to maintain your condition chronic problems will probably return.*

Jack stood and wiped grass from his pants. He bounced up on the balls of his feet a couple of times, feeling like the six-million dollar man. He'd not felt so young or strong for a long time, perhaps even never felt quite this untouchable in his life. He could certainly see some of the perks to having a Tok'ra symbiote. 'Shame... maybe I could borrow you every six months for a tune-up.' Jack meant it in jest, expecting an indulgent, long-suffering retort, but instead there was only pointed silence.

'Aetom?'

*Yes?*

Jack picked up the scattered items around the tree in preparation to depart. He slung the canteen and food pouch over his shoulder, tucked the dangling ribbon device into his belt, and palmed the communication orb as he asked, 'What's with you? You've been moping since we killed Montu. Don't tell me you MISS that snake.'

Aetom at once flared, emotions stirring from affected flatness at the remark, *Of course I don't.*

Jack started off through woods, as he made his way cocking his head left and right, listening for signs of Jaffa, his hearing enhanced and acute to the point he could swear he'd hear a dog whistle if the Goa'uld slaves had one. He almost wished they did... that would just be cool. 'Well, we'll be off this rock and with the Tok'ra soon enough and you can find a new host; you HAVE to be happy about that, I know I am.'

*I won't take that personally.*

'Hey, lighten up.' Aetom did not respond, prompting Jack to quip, 'I'm not going to ask what crawled up your ass since technically you're the one who kinda crawled up mine, but seriously, the mood is starting to grate.'

Aetom didn't reply and Jack frowned. Granted he hadn't been host to this symbiote for very long, a few weeks, but in that time he'd gotten to expect certain things from Aetom, one of which was answers to any question. Any time Jack asked something, even something personal, Aetom would answer without expecting the same courtesy in return.

'Come on, I'm sorry, all right?' Jack tried, figuring hell had to have just frozen over for him to apologize to a snake.

Aetom fumed darkly and Jack hastily amended, 'Didn't mean that, force of habit, I don't mind apologizing to a Tok'ra, but it WOULD be a cold day in hell before I apologized to a Goa'uld.'

Aetom's mood, at last, seemed to brighten a little and Jack pushed his way through the brush, still waiting for Aetom to tell him what was wrong.

When Aetom finally spoke, it brought Jack to a physical stand-still. *You scared me.*

Jack stood stock-still, thrown. 'I what? Scared you? How'd I do that?'

Aetom hesitated, reluctant to answer, but as always he finally spoke, *When we killed Montu... you were happy.*

Jack rolled his eyes and took a second to look around for movement of enemy soldiers then began walking again as he answered, 'What, and you weren't? Damn right I was happy, that snake got what he deserved.'

Aetom faltered, *You were not happy for him to die, you were happy to kill. There is a difference.*

Jack slowed to a stop again, beginning to understand. 'Look, Aetom, I thought you knew me well enough to have figured that part out. I never said my mind was a pretty place, I've never even claimed to be a good guy; you'd have to jump into Daniel to find that.'

Aetom returned, *You... are a contradiction.*

'Am not.'

Aetom, for the second time, reached into Jack's mind forcefully, drawing out two memories, presenting them juxtaposition for Jack to see. One was Special Forces, black ops Colonel O'Neill, raking a knife's edge through a man's throat on the leeward side of a desert dune in a Middle Eastern land, the other was Jack, Charlie's doting father, playing baseball with his son in the backyard and laughing.

'Stop,' Jack spat, pushing both images aside harshly, quickly growing angered by the course of the conversation, 'listen, I know who and what I am. Maybe that little episode with Montu shocked the pants off of you, but it didn't surprise me. I've done some really awful things; I'm capable of doing even worse things, I know that, too.'

*My fear was not for what you can do but for what causes you would commit such acts.*

'Oh, for crying out loud, is that all? Well, I can tell you right here and now, so break out the pen and paper. My country, my friends, my planet... not necessarily in that order. Sometimes Daniel gets me to tack on the defense of humanity in any pigeon-hole of the universe we find, and sometimes Carter makes me do it for the advancement of science, but just me, Jack O'Neill, it's a short list. I'm a simple guy.'

Aetom's answer felt like a smile as he said, *I can attest from personal experience that you are not a simple human, Jack. I was startled by what I felt from you when we killed Montu because it is against all that I had come to think of you.*

'Oh yeah, and what's that?' Jack asked in irritation.

Aetom moved away from the shadows he'd tucked into for two days, at once a disturbing but comforting presence, *That you are good.*

Jack had no immediate response to that, which gave Aetom time to continue, *You are an incredibly irritating, stubborn, obstinate human being, but a good one despite your many faults.*

Jack tried to think of a response, failed, then just blurted, 'Don't think you can sweet-talk your way into moving in permanently.'

Aetom laughed and Jack smirked in reciprocation, sensing the Tok'ra's mirth even as the somber disposition began to melt away.

*Rest assured, Colonel O'Neill, I would not want your company for the next hundred years.*

'Aww... I'm not that bad,' Jack teased in a mocking tone.

*You called me a tune-up.*

Jack snorted, 'Well, it makes me a Buick, so we're even. Hey, Aetom?'

*Yes?*

'Since we've survived and everything, guess I should thank you for saving my life.'

*No more than you saved mine, O'Neill. We worked well together.*

'Yeah... guess we did.'

***

Selmac wove her way through the scurry and bustle of the Tok'ra tunnels, avoiding her fellow Tok'ra only most of the time. Crates and boxes were being stacked and shuffled around, their massive weight hitting the tunnel ground heavily and causing strange echoes throughout the crystal tunnels. When the Tok'ra decided it was time to move their base, even when the only impetus was having been in one place too long, there was an urgency and rush to their actions. The Tok'ra did not like to be in flux, clinging to a base of operations, no matter what planet on which it was located, like a child clinging to a security blanket.

"Selmac," a reverberating voice called out, halting the Tok'ra in her tracks and she turned to face the direction of the address. Counselor Garshaw hurried to her, expression harried... Jacob wondered to his symbiote if the woman ever looked anything other than harried. Selmac had no response; even her memory was not that old.

"Yes, Garshaw?" Selmac answered when the Tok'ra woman was at her side.

Garshaw took her arm, primarily to be certain they were not jostled apart in the passageway by Tok'ra brushing by with boxes and containers. "Friend, we have just received word from the surface that Aetom has arrived on the planet. Would you please go up and meet him for me? I cannot be taken from my duties now."

Selmac nodded, "It would be no trouble."

Garshaw released her arm and nodded, "Thank you, Selmac, and please tell Aetom that his report on the destruction of the Goa'uld Montu will have to wait until the Tok'ra base has been established on the new planet... time simply cannot be spared at the moment though his words are important."

Selmac nodded again, almost more of a bow, "He will understand the necessity, Garshaw, and I will meet him as you ask."

Garshaw disappeared in the moving fray again, leaving Selmac to move toward the nearest ring transport alone. For both she and her host, the arrival of this Tok'ra brought disquiet. It was the mission against Montu that his information spurred, undertaken under his advisement, that had cost the lives of not merely Tok'ra but Tau'ri as well. Selmac could not calm to satisfaction the unhappiness that fact brought out in her host, Jacob Carter. Long into the night since learning of the tragedy they spoke of the ill-fated mission. Selmac tried to ease the anger and disappointment in Jacob, but the human was, within his own thoughts, inconsolable, incapable of being deterred from his furious displeasure. There was anger Selmac knew would have to fade with time. Jacob took the blow to the Tau'ri personally... and understandably so. Jacob had had Tau'ri friends among those slain against Montu, and in the aftermath his daughter was in pain. The last hit Jacob hardest of all, made him bitter and mad to see his child suffering.

Selmac reached the transport rings but was made to stop to wait for a load of crates to be taken up before she was able to have her turn, then having to wait again to give the Tok'ra on the surface time to move the boxes out of the transport platform. Jacob was a roiling pit of discomforting thoughts in Selmac's mind. He was hesitant to meet Aetom face-to-face. The Tok'ra had been gone for a very long time; it was always awkward when an operative embedded among the Goa'uld for so long finally returned to the ranks, but it was especially unnerving to see the Tok'ra whose information (through no fault of his own) had been the reason so many good people had died.

Selmac did her best to ease Jacob's worries. She knew Aetom from a time before the Tok'ra in question had left to infiltrate Montu's circle of advisors and could vouch for the symbiote's character. Selmac's reassurances, however, were more or less falling on deaf ears. Jacob himself had never met this Tok'ra, and he knew he would not be able to shake on first meeting the knowledge that he had accidentally led friends of Jacob's to their deaths.

Selmac moved into the transport circle and nodded to a Tok'ra at the wall to the transport room and the heavy rush and mechanical hum of rings surrounded her, white light glaring. When next Selmac was able to see she was on the surface of the planet. Tok'ra near her looked up briefly but then returned to their duties, bent to their work. Selmac turned and walked over the sand in the direction of the Chappa'ai.

The sounds of the packing and moving Tok'ra were a muffled buzz in the distance when Jacob first saw a lone figure moving across the dunes from the direction of the stargate. There was an odd familiarity with the easy posture and movements adopted by the lanky form as it trudged toward Jacob, hands tucked into the folds of clearly Goa'uld clothing as though improvising pockets. When the shape grew closer, slowly but steadily, the gray hair sparked recognition, face coming into range and proving impossibly familiar.

Selmac backed away from her suddenly surging host, unable to have remained in control without resorting to commandeering actions, preferring to simply take a backseat without protest as she was rudely shoved aside by a stunned Jacob Carter.

"Jack?!"

Jack O'Neill sauntered up to Jacob. One of his hands pulled out of the green shirt folds to wave once, "Hi, Jacob."

Jacob gaped, stared. Jack came to a stop in front of Jacob and cant his head slightly to one side, squinting in the midday sun with cavalier ease, strange smirk playing over his lips as he watched Jacob's expression.

"What are you doing here?" Jacob blurted.

Jack shrugged mischievously as brown eyes scanned once over the waves of sand that comprised the current Tok'ra base world, "Thought I'd drop in, see how things were going; love what you guys have done with the place."

"But... you're supposed to be dead."

"Ahh... yes, well, reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated."

Jacob's shock was dissipating, quickly replaced with demanding curiosity, "Jack, what happened? We were told you died three weeks ago in the fight against Montu."

Jack's teasing smirk at last faded and his expression grew serious, "That's kind of a long story; you mind if we talk about it somewhere else, though? And PLEASE, give me something else to wear that won't make me seasick."

Jacob began flatly, "I'm supposed to be greeting.." then he trailed off, suspicions leaping through his mind and apparently evident by the look on his face.

Jack tapped his temple with one finger and gave another shrug, "Like I said, long story."

"You mean... you have a Tok'ra symbiote?"

Jack barely nodded then his eyes glazed, seemingly a million miles away as he was momentarily caught up in an internal dialogue, then abruptly his attention melted back to focus on Jacob, "That's pretty much the abridged version, yeah. And before you think I've sustained brain damage, no, I didn't sign up for this." His eyes lost focus again, only briefly, then snapped back to Jacob's face, "But I did consent to it eventually," he held up a finger for emphasis, making his next point paramount, "under very explicitly understood conditions." Jack's eyes dropped to his feet, frown creasing lines in his brow, then he sighed, "Look, ah... Aetom wants to talk to you, so... um... ahh, for crying out loud," he took a relenting breath, closed his eyes, and when his head tilted up again his mannerisms were off-center for Jack O'Neill. Not to mention the timber of his voice when he spoke, distinctly inhuman.

"Jacob Carter... Colonel O'Neill has told me of you. I understand you are now host to Selmac. I am honored to meet you."

"Sure.." Jacob muttered, still preoccupied with seeing Jack O'Neill speaking and moving like a Tok'ra, getting the distinct feeling he was looking at an oddity of nature, a two-headed piglet preserved in a jar.

"Colonel O'Neill is correct that I initially took him as a host against his wishes; had I not we both would have died. He agreed to assist me in destroying Montu with the understanding that I would find a new host as soon as possible so that he may return to the Tau'ri. I must speak immediately with the council about procuring a new host."

Jacob felt like he used to when his wife was poking him repeatedly in the ribs for attention and finally had to acknowledge Selmac, reluctant to step back from what was unfolding before him but under duress acquiescing to Selmac's vie for control. He closed his eyes and stepped away, Selmac in command of his voice and body when his eyes reopened.

"It is good to see you again, Aetom."

"And you, old friend, it has been far too long when neither knows the other's face."

Selmac motioned for Aetom to follow her toward the Tok'ra base, the latter falling into unhurried step beside Selmac. "Finding you a new host will not be immediately possible, I'm afraid. We are in the middle of relocating to a new base."

Aetom was quiet a moment then said, "Colonel O'Neill is not pleased to hear that."

Selmac nodded, "From what I know of Colonel O'Neill I can imagine his response to such news. I am sorry to ask him to remain a host beyond the private arrangement made between the two of you, and I am very sorry that you must stay in an unwilling host, my friend."

Frowning, Aetom looked out over the desert, in conference with his host, then looked back at the trail they walked as he answered, "We are both willing to remain blended a short time longer."

"Colonel O'Neill has consented to the delay so readily?"

Aetom gave a small smile, "We have learned in our time together to tolerate one another with a minimal amount of discord. Tell me, where will the Tok'ra go?"

"A small moon in the Pelnami system. It is in fact only a temporary settlement before we have chosen a secure location on the planet itself to build our tunnels. The moon does not possess a Chappa'ai... I regret to tell you that your host will not be immediately able to contact his people; I know that will be a prime concern for Colonel O'Neill."

Aetom nodded grimly, "It is, and in fact he has already asked a number of times since our arrival to communicate with the Tau'ri." Aetom went quiet, expression intense and inwardly turned, then he sighed, "If there is nothing to be done then that is how it is. Tell us what we might do to help."

Selmac touched Aetom's shoulder, "There is much to do, and the sooner it can be done the nearer the time you and your host might find peace. Come, help the others and myself load the tel'tacs."

***

Jacob lost sight of Jack shortly after returning to the Tok'ra base. The wayward Air Force officer folded into the teeming tide of the shipping and moving of personnel and materiel and Jacob soon lost track of him. Jacob had looked for the colonel when he and Selmac could spare the time, but the truth was that those searches consisted mostly of quick looks around between tasks. Jacob's inclination was to stick close to Jack, reluctant to leave him adrift in the mass of Tok'ra with no idea of what he should be doing. Selmac had to point out that while Colonel O'Neill might not know what to do, Aetom would. In any instance, Jack would not be wandering the Tok'ra tunnels like a lost puppy; he'd be helping just as every able body of the Tok'ra force was, guided by his own knowledgeable Tok'ra companion. Still, Jacob didn't let that logic stop him from trying to catch sight of the fellow Earth native as he worked, to no avail.

Jacob did not see Jack O'Neill again until the following day, when all the crates and boxes were stowed on their small fleet of tel'tacs and Tok'ra were beginning to abandon the tunnel network and board ships for the trip. Jacob walked into one of the open rooms of the underground caverns to find Jack O'Neill standing before a mirror, considering himself. He was dressed in the simple tan clothes of the Tok'ra. Though it should have been ridiculous to see Jack O'Neill, of all people, dressed like a Tok'ra the gray-haired colonel didn't look half bad in the brown shirt and pants. It was a change to see him in anything other than olive green or Air Force blue, sparing that garish ensemble he'd shown up in yesterday. Colonel O'Neill, it turned out as he stood there in Tok'ra clothes, could carry the style quiet well.

"Nice threads," Jacob quipped, knowing that even if Jack was sporting the tan and beige with grace the colonel probably wouldn't approve.

Jack turned to Jacob, looked down at his attire, and returned, "I rather like them myself." There was a distinct lack of flippancy in Jack's tone.

"Really?"

Jack's answer was quick, "Hey, after the king of seaweed green even the Tok'ra fashion statement is a sight for sore eyes. We going? Aetom said I've been dallying."

Jacob shook his head, thrown to hear Jack mention so casually his symbiote, "Yes, we're going. The last of us will board the tel'tacs then the tunnels will be destroyed. We should only be stuck on this moon we're heading to for a couple of days, a last chance for Tok'ra scouts to verify there are no pockets of Goa'uld presence on the planet before we move in and set up shop, and the planet itself has a stargate so you can be sent home... after the Tok'ra have found a new host for Aetom."

Jack nodded. He then sighed as he left the hollow room and moved through the conspicuously empty blue corridors alongside Jacob. "It's one thing after another," Jack grumbled, almost to himself.

Jacob looked toward Jack, "You mean not getting the Tok'ra taken out of you right away?"

Jack nodded and rubbed at the back of his n