The Ride We Take | Stargate SG-1
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Characters: Sam Carter, Baal
Prompts: #372 - Driving in the Dark [tamingthemuse], Bargaining [10_hurt_comfort]
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Taken from her tower, Sam finds herself on a journey.
Sam has just managed to jig the lock with the fork she’s stolen, when the handle turns. She jumps back to avoid being walloped by the door. Her embarrassment at being caught mid-escape evaporates at the tingle that dances over her skin.
Goa’uld.
The Jaffa soldier bears no mark on his forehead, nor wears a uniform that Sam recognises. She looks at the ‘zat in his hand. “That’s not-”
Electricity jolts through her.
When she comes to again, everything is dark. After a moment, she realises it’s a cloth over her eyes, and that her hands are bound behind her. Some thought to her comfort has been given and she’s lying on a thin mattress. Wherever she is, it’s in motion; the vehicle sways from side to side, though there’s no hum of an engine.
The tingle is more pronounced, which mean the Goa’uld is in close proximity. There aren’t many of them left now, and fewer that would devise a scheme this daring. She has her suspicions as to who’s taken her. The real question is why.
“Hello?”
“Colonel Carter.”
The low, slightly accented voice doesn’t carry the symbiotic flange, but is recognisable regardless. Sam is torn between relief that she knows him and annoyance at the same fact.
“Baal.”
“I should apologise, I suppose. However my measures, though extreme, are necessary.”
“For what, pissing me off?”
“For addressing a problem we both face.”
Sam frowns. A quick wriggle confirms that her hands have been tied too tight to escape easily. “Kidnapping and tying me up haven’t won you much gratitude,” she tells him. “If you were expecting my help.”
“That wasn’t my idea, actually. But you were attempting to escape.”
“Of course I was! What else was I meant to do, considering my position?”
Baal sighs. “Exactly that. If there had been another way, if I believed that the SGC would listen rather than make jests, then this would never have happened. However, our… interaction during the Replicators left a lasting impression. You Tau’ri are more than happy to leave the Goa’uld to defend themselves, even if that results in the death of thousands.”
“Don’t take the moral high ground with me, Baal - you’ll find just a little shaky.” Sam manages to pull herself into a sitting position. The side of their transport is wooden. A wagon? That hardly seems like him. “Where are we?”
“North of the castle.”
“Well that’s enlightening.”
“Headed towards an Ancient stronghold abandoned some years ago. My research into their technology, coupled with information from the database you handed, leads me to believe there is at least further intel on the Ori there.” His tone hardens. “I am hoping for more.”
It occurs to Sam that Baal is quietly furious. She knows him well enough to dial back on her responses - irritating him would be like throwing gas on a fire and she’s little wish to end up burnt.
“Look,” she says in what she hopes is a reasonable tone. “I’m here now. It’s not like I can go anywhere else. If I agree to… assist, would you unbind me?”
“I’m afraid that I’ve little faith in your word, Colonel.”
“Then at least take the blindfold off.” She takes a deep breath. “Please.”
The grind of wheels lessens and then stops altogether. The wagon rocks violently, then a hand grips her elbow and pulls her up. Sam blinks as the cloth is removed - though it’s either very early or quite late, the dim light is still enough to hurt her eyes after going so long in the dark.
She squints up at Baal, managing a thin smile. “Thank you.”
“You can join me up front,” he tells her, then shoves her in that direction. They are in a wagon; a covered one that seems to come straight out a John Wayne movie.
“What’s with the antique transport?” she asks, sitting on the narrow bench seat. Baal sits next to her, picks up the reins and then nudges the piebald horse into motion.
“The stronghold has certain… measures that prevent approach by conventional means.”
Sam bites her bottom lip. Once she’s sure she won’t laugh outright, she ventures; “I guess you found that out the hard way?” His answer is a withering glare. “Okay.”
“Shut up,” he snaps.
“I didn’t say a word.”
Characters: Sam Carter, Baal
Prompts: #372 - Driving in the Dark [tamingthemuse], Bargaining [10_hurt_comfort]
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Taken from her tower, Sam finds herself on a journey.
Sam has just managed to jig the lock with the fork she’s stolen, when the handle turns. She jumps back to avoid being walloped by the door. Her embarrassment at being caught mid-escape evaporates at the tingle that dances over her skin.
Goa’uld.
The Jaffa soldier bears no mark on his forehead, nor wears a uniform that Sam recognises. She looks at the ‘zat in his hand. “That’s not-”
Electricity jolts through her.
When she comes to again, everything is dark. After a moment, she realises it’s a cloth over her eyes, and that her hands are bound behind her. Some thought to her comfort has been given and she’s lying on a thin mattress. Wherever she is, it’s in motion; the vehicle sways from side to side, though there’s no hum of an engine.
The tingle is more pronounced, which mean the Goa’uld is in close proximity. There aren’t many of them left now, and fewer that would devise a scheme this daring. She has her suspicions as to who’s taken her. The real question is why.
“Hello?”
“Colonel Carter.”
The low, slightly accented voice doesn’t carry the symbiotic flange, but is recognisable regardless. Sam is torn between relief that she knows him and annoyance at the same fact.
“Baal.”
“I should apologise, I suppose. However my measures, though extreme, are necessary.”
“For what, pissing me off?”
“For addressing a problem we both face.”
Sam frowns. A quick wriggle confirms that her hands have been tied too tight to escape easily. “Kidnapping and tying me up haven’t won you much gratitude,” she tells him. “If you were expecting my help.”
“That wasn’t my idea, actually. But you were attempting to escape.”
“Of course I was! What else was I meant to do, considering my position?”
Baal sighs. “Exactly that. If there had been another way, if I believed that the SGC would listen rather than make jests, then this would never have happened. However, our… interaction during the Replicators left a lasting impression. You Tau’ri are more than happy to leave the Goa’uld to defend themselves, even if that results in the death of thousands.”
“Don’t take the moral high ground with me, Baal - you’ll find just a little shaky.” Sam manages to pull herself into a sitting position. The side of their transport is wooden. A wagon? That hardly seems like him. “Where are we?”
“North of the castle.”
“Well that’s enlightening.”
“Headed towards an Ancient stronghold abandoned some years ago. My research into their technology, coupled with information from the database you handed, leads me to believe there is at least further intel on the Ori there.” His tone hardens. “I am hoping for more.”
It occurs to Sam that Baal is quietly furious. She knows him well enough to dial back on her responses - irritating him would be like throwing gas on a fire and she’s little wish to end up burnt.
“Look,” she says in what she hopes is a reasonable tone. “I’m here now. It’s not like I can go anywhere else. If I agree to… assist, would you unbind me?”
“I’m afraid that I’ve little faith in your word, Colonel.”
“Then at least take the blindfold off.” She takes a deep breath. “Please.”
The grind of wheels lessens and then stops altogether. The wagon rocks violently, then a hand grips her elbow and pulls her up. Sam blinks as the cloth is removed - though it’s either very early or quite late, the dim light is still enough to hurt her eyes after going so long in the dark.
She squints up at Baal, managing a thin smile. “Thank you.”
“You can join me up front,” he tells her, then shoves her in that direction. They are in a wagon; a covered one that seems to come straight out a John Wayne movie.
“What’s with the antique transport?” she asks, sitting on the narrow bench seat. Baal sits next to her, picks up the reins and then nudges the piebald horse into motion.
“The stronghold has certain… measures that prevent approach by conventional means.”
Sam bites her bottom lip. Once she’s sure she won’t laugh outright, she ventures; “I guess you found that out the hard way?” His answer is a withering glare. “Okay.”
“Shut up,” he snaps.
“I didn’t say a word.”