Fic | Erosion | Sam/Baal, SG1 [FRT]
Fandom: Stargate SG1
Characters: Sam Carter, Baal
Pairing: Sam/Baal
Rating: FRT
Word Count: 1,205
There are few things that Samantha Carter truly hates. Oh, there are things that annoy her, that she wishes were different, but doesn’t absolutely loathe with ever single fibre of her being. But there’s always an exception to every rule, and in her case it comes in the guise of a smirking, arrogant, impossible Goa’uld who seems to know exactly how to get under her skin.
“It doesn’t work like that,” she says and snatches the Ancient device out of Baal’s hands.
“Oh, like you know anything.”
She glares at yet another dig at her intelligence, counting to ten, twenty, thirty in her head so as not to give him the satisfaction of an answer. She wonders if there’d be any point in talking to Landry, in trying to get him moved somewhere else, but such requests have fallen on deaf ears so far. This is the deal he managed to swindle from the IOA: the exchange of knowledge for being allowed to live. And apparently her reward for saving the world umpteen times - several of them being from him - is to be the one on the receiving end of that knowledge... and the insults that come with it.
“Don't you have something better than insulting me to do?”
He smirks. “Not really.”
“You know, if you’re not going to be helpful then you can just get lost.” Losing her temper means losing a point in this warped game they play, but she’s really had enough. “I can figure this out just fine without you.”
“Uh huh.” He picks the device up again, turning it over between his long fingers. “But of course.”
It’s almost impressive how much sarcasm he can put into three words. Sam fights the urge to give him a slow clap. Instead, she rolls her eyes and tries to concentrate on the laptop screen of information.
After several minutes, she realises he’s just sat there, leaning against the table, device dropping casually from one hand to the other as he watches her. She smiles, brittle-bright, and calculates exactly how much trouble she’d get into if she put a bullet in his head.
“What?”
“I was just thinking...” His eyes shift to the screen. “But perhaps not.”
Curiosity piques despite her best effort to smother it. “And miss the opportunity to prove just how much more intelligent you are?” She laughs, humourless and bitter. “I think hell just froze over.”
He chuckles and she shivers. It’s not fair that he’s good-looking and has a laugh that turns her spine to water. Not when he is what he is. Not when she hates him as much as she does.
Baal lifts the device and considers it, head tilted to one side. Sam says nothing, just waits, watching him work it out in his head. Wonders if the expression on his face is anything like the one she wears when she’s deep in thought.
“What makes you think that it is offensive?” he asks, tone curious.
“The team found a tablet,” she replies, and stands to reach past him, shoving against paperwork aside until she finds it. He turns as she passes a hand over it, sweeping away the thinnest layer of stone dust. “Well, they found a few, but this was the only one to mention a device. I know it’s assuming that it means this one, but we don’t have anything else to go on.”
Her fingers trace the Ancient symbols; she wants to reassure herself it says what she thinks it does, that she isn’t missing something.
“Wait.” Baal’s fingers curl around her wrist. His grip is light but unexpected and she freezes. “Hm, yes it mentions a device, but...”
She glances up to find him frowning. “What?”
“Something...” He moves her hand up, to where the writing talks of fire and guardianship. Or at least that’s what Daniel has told her. “There,” Baal says. “Do you see?”
She stares at the text. Whatever enlightenment he expects her to have is not forthcoming, but she doesn’t want to admit it. She’ll never hear the end of it if she does.
The moment stretches. She knows he’s looking at her, waiting for her response. After a minute, she knows her pride is hollow and sighs.
“No.”
“It’s easy to miss, especially if the translation was done word by word - you can lose the meaning.”
“Which is what?”
He folds his arms and smirks. She wants to smack that know-it-all expression off his face, but losing her temper won’t get her question answered. She settles for glaring at him.
“Guardianship, Samantha,” he drawls, “is not offensive.”
“You’re offensive,” she snaps automatically, then glances down at the tablet. Her stomach sinks at how easily she has missed it, how easily she’s given him something else to hold over her. “I hate you.”
With that she turns back to the laptop and goes over the input data again, adjusting it to reflect the difference. She takes her anger out on the keys, stabbing at them with her fingers. The screen blurs and she has to blink the furious tears back.
“Why?”
Her fingers stop. She frowns at the digits on the screen. Then she turns and stares at him. Did he really just ask her that question? He meets her gaze, shrugs one shoulder.
“I mean right now, not in general,” he expands. “Whether it is just because I’m more intelligent than you.”
She is going to kill him and damn the deal. It’s not worth this amount of aggravation.
Slamming the lid of the laptop down, she heads for the door, determined to tell Landry this is over. Baal unfolds his arms as she stalks past him, but the next move is so fast it’s nothing more than a blur. A hand closes on her arm. She’s snapped back and round. Crashes against his chest.
He holds her there, the closest she’s ever been to him. Dressed in loose green trousers and black tee, he could almost pass for a SG team member. She’s been trying not to notice how good he looks, how the material stretches over a torso that feels impressively muscled under the palms she presses against him as she endeavours to extract herself. Pointlessly.
She gives up and her eyes lift to his, which is a mistake. Her breath rushes out at the warm brown depths. He raises an eyebrow.
“You’re also more arrogant,” she says, her voice barely over a whisper. She wonders if he can feel how hard her heart is beating. Tilting her head, she challenges his smirking gaze. “Did you want the damn list?”
“Why not?”
His voice is soft, low. Seductive. His eyes flick to her neck as she swallows, then return to her gaze darker. She knows the answers; she recites them every morning as she comes into the lab and waits for him to appear. Yet right now she can’t think of a single one.
He smirks. “No?”
She hates him. She loathes him with every fibre of her being.
Not because he’s arrogant and condescending and insults her at every opportunity, but because he’s gotten under her skin and she’s fighting a losing battle.
“Yes,” she murmurs and leans into him.
Characters: Sam Carter, Baal
Pairing: Sam/Baal
Rating: FRT
Word Count: 1,205
There are few things that Samantha Carter truly hates. Oh, there are things that annoy her, that she wishes were different, but doesn’t absolutely loathe with ever single fibre of her being. But there’s always an exception to every rule, and in her case it comes in the guise of a smirking, arrogant, impossible Goa’uld who seems to know exactly how to get under her skin.
“It doesn’t work like that,” she says and snatches the Ancient device out of Baal’s hands.
“Oh, like you know anything.”
She glares at yet another dig at her intelligence, counting to ten, twenty, thirty in her head so as not to give him the satisfaction of an answer. She wonders if there’d be any point in talking to Landry, in trying to get him moved somewhere else, but such requests have fallen on deaf ears so far. This is the deal he managed to swindle from the IOA: the exchange of knowledge for being allowed to live. And apparently her reward for saving the world umpteen times - several of them being from him - is to be the one on the receiving end of that knowledge... and the insults that come with it.
“Don't you have something better than insulting me to do?”
He smirks. “Not really.”
“You know, if you’re not going to be helpful then you can just get lost.” Losing her temper means losing a point in this warped game they play, but she’s really had enough. “I can figure this out just fine without you.”
“Uh huh.” He picks the device up again, turning it over between his long fingers. “But of course.”
It’s almost impressive how much sarcasm he can put into three words. Sam fights the urge to give him a slow clap. Instead, she rolls her eyes and tries to concentrate on the laptop screen of information.
After several minutes, she realises he’s just sat there, leaning against the table, device dropping casually from one hand to the other as he watches her. She smiles, brittle-bright, and calculates exactly how much trouble she’d get into if she put a bullet in his head.
“What?”
“I was just thinking...” His eyes shift to the screen. “But perhaps not.”
Curiosity piques despite her best effort to smother it. “And miss the opportunity to prove just how much more intelligent you are?” She laughs, humourless and bitter. “I think hell just froze over.”
He chuckles and she shivers. It’s not fair that he’s good-looking and has a laugh that turns her spine to water. Not when he is what he is. Not when she hates him as much as she does.
Baal lifts the device and considers it, head tilted to one side. Sam says nothing, just waits, watching him work it out in his head. Wonders if the expression on his face is anything like the one she wears when she’s deep in thought.
“What makes you think that it is offensive?” he asks, tone curious.
“The team found a tablet,” she replies, and stands to reach past him, shoving against paperwork aside until she finds it. He turns as she passes a hand over it, sweeping away the thinnest layer of stone dust. “Well, they found a few, but this was the only one to mention a device. I know it’s assuming that it means this one, but we don’t have anything else to go on.”
Her fingers trace the Ancient symbols; she wants to reassure herself it says what she thinks it does, that she isn’t missing something.
“Wait.” Baal’s fingers curl around her wrist. His grip is light but unexpected and she freezes. “Hm, yes it mentions a device, but...”
She glances up to find him frowning. “What?”
“Something...” He moves her hand up, to where the writing talks of fire and guardianship. Or at least that’s what Daniel has told her. “There,” Baal says. “Do you see?”
She stares at the text. Whatever enlightenment he expects her to have is not forthcoming, but she doesn’t want to admit it. She’ll never hear the end of it if she does.
The moment stretches. She knows he’s looking at her, waiting for her response. After a minute, she knows her pride is hollow and sighs.
“No.”
“It’s easy to miss, especially if the translation was done word by word - you can lose the meaning.”
“Which is what?”
He folds his arms and smirks. She wants to smack that know-it-all expression off his face, but losing her temper won’t get her question answered. She settles for glaring at him.
“Guardianship, Samantha,” he drawls, “is not offensive.”
“You’re offensive,” she snaps automatically, then glances down at the tablet. Her stomach sinks at how easily she has missed it, how easily she’s given him something else to hold over her. “I hate you.”
With that she turns back to the laptop and goes over the input data again, adjusting it to reflect the difference. She takes her anger out on the keys, stabbing at them with her fingers. The screen blurs and she has to blink the furious tears back.
“Why?”
Her fingers stop. She frowns at the digits on the screen. Then she turns and stares at him. Did he really just ask her that question? He meets her gaze, shrugs one shoulder.
“I mean right now, not in general,” he expands. “Whether it is just because I’m more intelligent than you.”
She is going to kill him and damn the deal. It’s not worth this amount of aggravation.
Slamming the lid of the laptop down, she heads for the door, determined to tell Landry this is over. Baal unfolds his arms as she stalks past him, but the next move is so fast it’s nothing more than a blur. A hand closes on her arm. She’s snapped back and round. Crashes against his chest.
He holds her there, the closest she’s ever been to him. Dressed in loose green trousers and black tee, he could almost pass for a SG team member. She’s been trying not to notice how good he looks, how the material stretches over a torso that feels impressively muscled under the palms she presses against him as she endeavours to extract herself. Pointlessly.
She gives up and her eyes lift to his, which is a mistake. Her breath rushes out at the warm brown depths. He raises an eyebrow.
“You’re also more arrogant,” she says, her voice barely over a whisper. She wonders if he can feel how hard her heart is beating. Tilting her head, she challenges his smirking gaze. “Did you want the damn list?”
“Why not?”
His voice is soft, low. Seductive. His eyes flick to her neck as she swallows, then return to her gaze darker. She knows the answers; she recites them every morning as she comes into the lab and waits for him to appear. Yet right now she can’t think of a single one.
He smirks. “No?”
She hates him. She loathes him with every fibre of her being.
Not because he’s arrogant and condescending and insults her at every opportunity, but because he’s gotten under her skin and she’s fighting a losing battle.
“Yes,” she murmurs and leans into him.