Fic | Lorem Ipsum | Sam/Baal, SG1 [FRT]
Fandom: Stargate SG1
Characters: Sam Carter, Baal
Pairing: Sam/Baal
Rating: FRT
Written for: sg_15_fics
Prompt: #7 Attention
Word Count: 1,266
Summary: She’s basically reading his diary and that he’s going to kill her if he finds out.
Languages have never been Sam’s strongest ability: they are too transient, too changeable, too steeped in history when all she's ever been interested is the future. But something Baal said a few days ago has stayed with her; a challenge to her intellect that she can’t forget, mostly because it came out of his mouth. So she sits with one of Daniel’s journals in front of her, teaching herself a new alphabet and the surprisingly complex language of the Goa’uld.
Jolinar’s memories help, at least with the words. However there is much more to the language than she originally thought: it is complex, with the meaning of any given phrase dependant more on the speaker’s intention than a specific definition. This is how she learns that Baal tendency to call her insolent might not be entirely the insult it sounds, which makes her view certain conversations a little differently.
Sam practises her emerging ability on the notes Baal routinely writes in his native tongue. She’s not sure if he’s hiding anything or if he simply does it to annoy her, but it is something she’s been curious about from day one. By the fourth page she realises she’s basically reading his diary and that he’s going to kill her if he finds out. Yet she can’t stop; his turn of phrase is compelling, almost… poetic, and the words, couched in neatly blocked pictorials, give her an insight into a mind that’s not actually as self-centred as she originally believed.
Her attention held utterly, she fails to hear the handle turn, the door open or the footsteps across the floor. In fact she’s so completely engrossed that it takes her a minute or so to notice the fizzing of her blood that always accompanies the proximity of another with naquadah in theirs.
Cold ices down her spine, stiffening every vertebra. The presence behind can’t be anyone else, only the person whose private writing she is reading. She closes her eyes.
“Find anything interesting?” Baal drawls, the sarcasm in his tone only indication that he’s not particularly pleased. She slaps the journal shut with a cough.
“Um.” Not a brilliant excuse, but she’s thinking hard. “Nothing… ah, earth-shattering.” Nothing beyond a few very pointed observations about people that made her smirk and a few comments about herself that made the colour rise in her cheeks.
Baal plucks the book from her numb fingers and sits down nest to her, hands crossed over the burgundy leather and his chin resting on the tightly-pressed wad of pages. When she dares to look at him, she can’t tell if his expression is annoyed or amused; there’s a deep furrow between his eyebrows and his mouth is a flat line, yet his eyes glitter with interest. She chews at the inside of her bottom lip, aware that she should probably apologise, yet loath to do so.
“You mustn’t have read far enough,” he says finally and one corner of his lips twitches upwards. “Either that, or you don’t understand as much as you think you do.” He drops the book to his lap and leans back in his chair. “Though clearly you have taken some of my criticisms on-board, which is certainly gratifying.”
“Oh yes, because it’s all about you.” Annoyance burns away the mild case of artistic appreciation that had come over her and Sam glares at him. “However did I manage without you around?”
“Honestly? I have no idea.” Baal smirks at her second filthy look, then puts the book on the table. She watches his eyes drift over the other books, open at various pages. His next glance is slightly puzzled. “Why are you learning Goa’uld? It’s certainly not because of what I said, is it?”
Sam rolls her eyes. “First rule of engagement is to know your enemy.”
“I’m not, though.” He shrugs. “Well, not any more.”
He isn’t while his goals approximately tie in with theirs. Sam knows better than to believe anything other than that distinction. It’s a question of differencing morals, because he is not human, but they’re argued about this before and she doesn’t want to get into now. Neither of them are going to change their opinions anyway.
“Second is to never pass up on a challenge,” she tells him with a small smile. “You said I was deficient. I wanted to prove you wrong.”
He smiles back, eyes gleaming with humour and, she thinks, approval. “And so you did.”
“Really?” She arches an eyebrow. “All you did was walk in and find me reading your journal, and to be honest I thought you’d be more mad about that, but you don’t know for certain what I did or didn’t read.”
“Except I wrote what you read. I know there’s nothing particularly incendiary in that journal.”
She ignores the stress, knowing full well he’s winding her up. “You do have some very… ah, interesting observations about the people around here.”
“I am nothing if not observant,” he replies and somehow manages to make that sound like an insinuation. Smirks enough that she knows it was. She rolls her eyes.
“So I gathered from what I read.”
Baal leans forward and folds his hand together, propping his chin on top, expression radiating interest. “And what do you make of my observations of you?”
“That I should probably carry a tazer.”
He smirks again. “I wish you would believe that I don't present a threat to you, Samantha.”
She wishes he'd stop saying her name like that: it makes it hard for her to think. “I'll believe that just after hell freezes over.”
“I would never harm you. Even when we were still enemies, I never entertained the desire to hurt or kill you.”
She snorts. “Just everyone that was important to me. There are other definitions of hurt apart from physical injury, Baal. Maybe you should do a little research of your own. Acquaint yourself better with English.”
Anger seethes, but she's not sure exactly what she's furious about: his constant belittling or the things he'd written about her. The things that are, undoubtedly, going to keep her awake tonight.
Heading to the door, she finds herself stopped by a hand on her arm. His grip is just firm enough to make her pause, nothing else. If she wanted, she could sidestep him and leave. For reasons she has no idea, she looks at him, tilting her head as she waits.
“Perhaps I will,” he says and was that an apology?
Sam frowns, replaying the tone rather than the words. She wishes he would just say what he means for once. Or does the symbiote prevent him from being honest? She licks her lips, watching his eyes follow that movement, then lifts hers to meet his gaze.
His eyes are very brown, very warm. For once, they hold no rancor or derision, just a faint curiosity as he stares at her, considering... something. It's a look that makes her mouth go dry and her heart pound. She knows that she needs to move, to say something, but her body is frozen, her brain stalled.
Seconds pass, measured by the thundering beat in her ears.
Finally she tears her attention away, inhales sharply and yanks out of his grasp. He lets her go and she's through the door and halfway down the corridor before the moment catches up with her and leaves her trembling.
With desire.
Characters: Sam Carter, Baal
Pairing: Sam/Baal
Rating: FRT
Written for: sg_15_fics
Prompt: #7 Attention
Word Count: 1,266
Summary: She’s basically reading his diary and that he’s going to kill her if he finds out.
Languages have never been Sam’s strongest ability: they are too transient, too changeable, too steeped in history when all she's ever been interested is the future. But something Baal said a few days ago has stayed with her; a challenge to her intellect that she can’t forget, mostly because it came out of his mouth. So she sits with one of Daniel’s journals in front of her, teaching herself a new alphabet and the surprisingly complex language of the Goa’uld.
Jolinar’s memories help, at least with the words. However there is much more to the language than she originally thought: it is complex, with the meaning of any given phrase dependant more on the speaker’s intention than a specific definition. This is how she learns that Baal tendency to call her insolent might not be entirely the insult it sounds, which makes her view certain conversations a little differently.
Sam practises her emerging ability on the notes Baal routinely writes in his native tongue. She’s not sure if he’s hiding anything or if he simply does it to annoy her, but it is something she’s been curious about from day one. By the fourth page she realises she’s basically reading his diary and that he’s going to kill her if he finds out. Yet she can’t stop; his turn of phrase is compelling, almost… poetic, and the words, couched in neatly blocked pictorials, give her an insight into a mind that’s not actually as self-centred as she originally believed.
Her attention held utterly, she fails to hear the handle turn, the door open or the footsteps across the floor. In fact she’s so completely engrossed that it takes her a minute or so to notice the fizzing of her blood that always accompanies the proximity of another with naquadah in theirs.
Cold ices down her spine, stiffening every vertebra. The presence behind can’t be anyone else, only the person whose private writing she is reading. She closes her eyes.
“Find anything interesting?” Baal drawls, the sarcasm in his tone only indication that he’s not particularly pleased. She slaps the journal shut with a cough.
“Um.” Not a brilliant excuse, but she’s thinking hard. “Nothing… ah, earth-shattering.” Nothing beyond a few very pointed observations about people that made her smirk and a few comments about herself that made the colour rise in her cheeks.
Baal plucks the book from her numb fingers and sits down nest to her, hands crossed over the burgundy leather and his chin resting on the tightly-pressed wad of pages. When she dares to look at him, she can’t tell if his expression is annoyed or amused; there’s a deep furrow between his eyebrows and his mouth is a flat line, yet his eyes glitter with interest. She chews at the inside of her bottom lip, aware that she should probably apologise, yet loath to do so.
“You mustn’t have read far enough,” he says finally and one corner of his lips twitches upwards. “Either that, or you don’t understand as much as you think you do.” He drops the book to his lap and leans back in his chair. “Though clearly you have taken some of my criticisms on-board, which is certainly gratifying.”
“Oh yes, because it’s all about you.” Annoyance burns away the mild case of artistic appreciation that had come over her and Sam glares at him. “However did I manage without you around?”
“Honestly? I have no idea.” Baal smirks at her second filthy look, then puts the book on the table. She watches his eyes drift over the other books, open at various pages. His next glance is slightly puzzled. “Why are you learning Goa’uld? It’s certainly not because of what I said, is it?”
Sam rolls her eyes. “First rule of engagement is to know your enemy.”
“I’m not, though.” He shrugs. “Well, not any more.”
He isn’t while his goals approximately tie in with theirs. Sam knows better than to believe anything other than that distinction. It’s a question of differencing morals, because he is not human, but they’re argued about this before and she doesn’t want to get into now. Neither of them are going to change their opinions anyway.
“Second is to never pass up on a challenge,” she tells him with a small smile. “You said I was deficient. I wanted to prove you wrong.”
He smiles back, eyes gleaming with humour and, she thinks, approval. “And so you did.”
“Really?” She arches an eyebrow. “All you did was walk in and find me reading your journal, and to be honest I thought you’d be more mad about that, but you don’t know for certain what I did or didn’t read.”
“Except I wrote what you read. I know there’s nothing particularly incendiary in that journal.”
She ignores the stress, knowing full well he’s winding her up. “You do have some very… ah, interesting observations about the people around here.”
“I am nothing if not observant,” he replies and somehow manages to make that sound like an insinuation. Smirks enough that she knows it was. She rolls her eyes.
“So I gathered from what I read.”
Baal leans forward and folds his hand together, propping his chin on top, expression radiating interest. “And what do you make of my observations of you?”
“That I should probably carry a tazer.”
He smirks again. “I wish you would believe that I don't present a threat to you, Samantha.”
She wishes he'd stop saying her name like that: it makes it hard for her to think. “I'll believe that just after hell freezes over.”
“I would never harm you. Even when we were still enemies, I never entertained the desire to hurt or kill you.”
She snorts. “Just everyone that was important to me. There are other definitions of hurt apart from physical injury, Baal. Maybe you should do a little research of your own. Acquaint yourself better with English.”
Anger seethes, but she's not sure exactly what she's furious about: his constant belittling or the things he'd written about her. The things that are, undoubtedly, going to keep her awake tonight.
Heading to the door, she finds herself stopped by a hand on her arm. His grip is just firm enough to make her pause, nothing else. If she wanted, she could sidestep him and leave. For reasons she has no idea, she looks at him, tilting her head as she waits.
“Perhaps I will,” he says and was that an apology?
Sam frowns, replaying the tone rather than the words. She wishes he would just say what he means for once. Or does the symbiote prevent him from being honest? She licks her lips, watching his eyes follow that movement, then lifts hers to meet his gaze.
His eyes are very brown, very warm. For once, they hold no rancor or derision, just a faint curiosity as he stares at her, considering... something. It's a look that makes her mouth go dry and her heart pound. She knows that she needs to move, to say something, but her body is frozen, her brain stalled.
Seconds pass, measured by the thundering beat in her ears.
Finally she tears her attention away, inhales sharply and yanks out of his grasp. He lets her go and she's through the door and halfway down the corridor before the moment catches up with her and leaves her trembling.
With desire.