Fic | Time and Tide | SG1/DW [FRC]
Fandoms: Stargate SG1, Doctor Who
Characters: Baal, River Song
Rating: FRC
Word Count: 767
Summary: She reminds him, in a way, of Osiris’ Host...
The first time he sees her is on the playback of the security feed. She brazenly breaks into his office and roots through the paperwork. Though it’s hours later, he jolts when her gaze meets the camera and she wags a finger. The schematics he’s taken so long over disappear inside her jacket. She takes the time to write a note, then vanishes in a swirl of technology that makes him hungry. His gaze slides down to the paper in his hand.
“Behave yourself, Sweetie.”
~ ~ ~
After SG-1 have discovered his plot, after the Halycon Tower detonates safely in space, he sits in his new office and watches dots move over on the screen. His infiltration of the Trust means he knows now what it’ll take to destroy the Ori.
He doesn’t look up as the door opens. Not until his coffee fails to materialise on his desk. His gaze shifts and there she is.
She reminds him, in a way, of Osiris’ Host. Auburn hair falls to her shoulders in tight curls. Grey-green eyes are steady on his face. A small smile curves her mouth and at that he knows she knows what he is.
“Hello, sweetie.”
He sits back and folds his arms. “What do you want?”
“Does no one just drop by to say ‘hi’?” She laughs then, saunters closer. Her expression turns serious. “You’re playing with things you don’t understand. Life is not something to be toyed with.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“And I know exactly what the results will be.” She braces on the desk, eyes intent on his face. “The ends do not justify these means. Stop it, or I’ll be forced to stop you. And you’re so pretty.”
With that, she vanishes again. Baal looks at the screen. It’s too late, really: the game is in motion and he will not rescind it now.
~ ~ ~
It’s after he’s left Earth that he learns she can find him wherever. A barked comment saves her from getting a staff blast in the back. Rising from his throne, he grabs her arm and all but drags her from the room.
“Are you insane?” he asks.
“Some believe so.” She reclaims her arm and smooths down her jacket, then looks up. “The Jaffa council? Really? And here I was thinking you were cleverer than that.”
He has, quite frankly, had enough. “Who are you?”
“I am River Song, and you are trying my patience. This is not your fight.”
He narrows his eyes. “The Ori are converting whole worlds to their cause and burning those that do not. While I’m aware that my kind have hardly been stellar in our… guardianship, even I admit this goes too far. Do you truly wish to see the galaxy on its knees?”
Her lips twitch. She reaches up and pats his cheek.
“There’s hope for you yet,” she says, and is gone again.
~ ~ ~
In the end, he has nothing to do with the Ori’s defeat. He would feel irritated at that, but he’s mostly thankful that they are out of the picture. Even if it is SG-1 he must thank.
He is one of only a few Goa’uld left, and at least half those numbers are his own clones. The galaxy, saved from the Ori, dissolves into chaos as the Lucian Alliance, the odd Jaffa group and other parties fight over the scraps of power.
“Is this really any better?” he asks her as his Al’kesh hovers over a world that has destroyed itself in a flurry of freedom and indulgence. “I could have stopped this.”
“That’s true, but do you honestly think they’d be grateful?” She sighs and turns away. “Never underestimate humanity’s determination to screw itself, Baal.”
“Then why do you help them?”
She throws herself onto his throne, her expression dark. “Sometimes I wonder that myself.”
He says nothing and she stays, at least until the fires have died down.
“One last time,” are the words she leaves him with.
~ ~ ~
His head is killing him. Anger roils in his gut: how dare they remove his symbiote? If they think this improves him, they are sorely mistaken. They will pay. All of them. He’ll make them pay.
A soft swish pulls his attention up and he watches a Tok’ra female enter, wearing the same, featureless tan robes as they all do. Her smile is one of familiarity and some amusement as she sits on the bed and places her hand on his forehead.
He stares at her, at the auburn curls and grey-green eyes, and a memory shifts.
“Hello, Sweetie,” he says with a smile.
Characters: Baal, River Song
Rating: FRC
Word Count: 767
Summary: She reminds him, in a way, of Osiris’ Host...
The first time he sees her is on the playback of the security feed. She brazenly breaks into his office and roots through the paperwork. Though it’s hours later, he jolts when her gaze meets the camera and she wags a finger. The schematics he’s taken so long over disappear inside her jacket. She takes the time to write a note, then vanishes in a swirl of technology that makes him hungry. His gaze slides down to the paper in his hand.
“Behave yourself, Sweetie.”
~ ~ ~
After SG-1 have discovered his plot, after the Halycon Tower detonates safely in space, he sits in his new office and watches dots move over on the screen. His infiltration of the Trust means he knows now what it’ll take to destroy the Ori.
He doesn’t look up as the door opens. Not until his coffee fails to materialise on his desk. His gaze shifts and there she is.
She reminds him, in a way, of Osiris’ Host. Auburn hair falls to her shoulders in tight curls. Grey-green eyes are steady on his face. A small smile curves her mouth and at that he knows she knows what he is.
“Hello, sweetie.”
He sits back and folds his arms. “What do you want?”
“Does no one just drop by to say ‘hi’?” She laughs then, saunters closer. Her expression turns serious. “You’re playing with things you don’t understand. Life is not something to be toyed with.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“And I know exactly what the results will be.” She braces on the desk, eyes intent on his face. “The ends do not justify these means. Stop it, or I’ll be forced to stop you. And you’re so pretty.”
With that, she vanishes again. Baal looks at the screen. It’s too late, really: the game is in motion and he will not rescind it now.
~ ~ ~
It’s after he’s left Earth that he learns she can find him wherever. A barked comment saves her from getting a staff blast in the back. Rising from his throne, he grabs her arm and all but drags her from the room.
“Are you insane?” he asks.
“Some believe so.” She reclaims her arm and smooths down her jacket, then looks up. “The Jaffa council? Really? And here I was thinking you were cleverer than that.”
He has, quite frankly, had enough. “Who are you?”
“I am River Song, and you are trying my patience. This is not your fight.”
He narrows his eyes. “The Ori are converting whole worlds to their cause and burning those that do not. While I’m aware that my kind have hardly been stellar in our… guardianship, even I admit this goes too far. Do you truly wish to see the galaxy on its knees?”
Her lips twitch. She reaches up and pats his cheek.
“There’s hope for you yet,” she says, and is gone again.
~ ~ ~
In the end, he has nothing to do with the Ori’s defeat. He would feel irritated at that, but he’s mostly thankful that they are out of the picture. Even if it is SG-1 he must thank.
He is one of only a few Goa’uld left, and at least half those numbers are his own clones. The galaxy, saved from the Ori, dissolves into chaos as the Lucian Alliance, the odd Jaffa group and other parties fight over the scraps of power.
“Is this really any better?” he asks her as his Al’kesh hovers over a world that has destroyed itself in a flurry of freedom and indulgence. “I could have stopped this.”
“That’s true, but do you honestly think they’d be grateful?” She sighs and turns away. “Never underestimate humanity’s determination to screw itself, Baal.”
“Then why do you help them?”
She throws herself onto his throne, her expression dark. “Sometimes I wonder that myself.”
He says nothing and she stays, at least until the fires have died down.
“One last time,” are the words she leaves him with.
~ ~ ~
His head is killing him. Anger roils in his gut: how dare they remove his symbiote? If they think this improves him, they are sorely mistaken. They will pay. All of them. He’ll make them pay.
A soft swish pulls his attention up and he watches a Tok’ra female enter, wearing the same, featureless tan robes as they all do. Her smile is one of familiarity and some amusement as she sits on the bed and places her hand on his forehead.
He stares at her, at the auburn curls and grey-green eyes, and a memory shifts.
“Hello, Sweetie,” he says with a smile.