Snapshots 2: My Samantha
The second Snapshots vignette.
DISCLAIMER: Yeah, the SG-1 guys are all property of MGM, World Gekko Corp, and Double Secret productions. This is all in fun, no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. All other characters, ideas, etc., herein are copyrighted to the author.
TITLE: Snapshots: My Samantha
AUTHOR: Rowan Darkstar
RATING: Series is rated NC-17
ARCHIVE: Only on author's website
SPOILERS: Through "Ripple Effect"
CATEGORIES: Angst, hurt/comfort, Sam/Martouf, shades of Sam/Jack, team
This is the second installment in a series of vignettes collectively titled "Snapshots: Some Kind of Love Story". The stories do not always fall in chronological order, but in an artistic one. Each of the vignettes can likely be read alone (to varying degrees), though taken as a whole they're meant to paint a larger picture -- of some kind of love story.
Huge beta thanks to kudra1, majorsamfan, pax89, surrealphantast, and Teddy E.
MY SAMANTHA
by
Rowan Darkstar
Copyright (c) 2006
He arrived in a blind whirl. He hardly remembered the gate room, only the face of the Earth airman who greeted him with a kind manner and an unfamiliar name. Martouf was accustomed to finding Samantha at the bottom of the ramp. The emptiness clenched his guts.
The airman led him directly to the infirmary where Doctor Frasier intercepted his path. "Martouf. I'm glad you're here. Sam's going to be all right, you can see her in a moment, but I think --"
Martouf silenced the doctor's words with a gentle hand and a tone refined in hundreds of delicate negotiations. "I must see her," he said, simply. Lantesh wanted to shove through. Martouf insisted upon calm.
Dr. Frasier held his gaze for a long moment. She was studying and appraising and gathering information from every detail her senses returned; Martouf understood this. He found a shrewd intelligence and a care-worn kindness in these brown eyes. He could understand why Samantha's voice invariably softened when she spoke of this woman.
Dr. Frasier nodded and stepped aside. "Sam's right in here," she said softly. "She'll be fine, Martouf. She's just in a lot of pain."
Samantha lay curled on the bed, her back turned as he slipped past the flimsy blue curtain. Wires and cords tied her to the Earth machines surrounding the bed. He had never fully understood the need for these appliances. They made him think of cyborgs in a repair shop, not living flesh being nurtured and healed.
"Samantha?" he prompted softly.
She turned at the sound. "Martouf?" Her voice was hoarse and ragged, but there was some kind of light he recognized.
He rounded the bed, swift and silent on the slick floors. "I am here, Samantha." He caught her hand and leaned to kiss her forehead.
"Oh, God, what are you doing here? They didn't call you away, did they? I'm not--"
"Ssshhh, rest." He gave her the warmest smile he could find, stroking her sweat- dampened hair from her forehead.
Samantha's skin felt hot to the touch, and he wanted nothing more than to lift her out of this glaring and metallic place and carry her to the cool quiet of the crystal tunnels, soothe her hurts and heal her wounds in the golden lights of the Tok'ra outpost. But he knew Samantha would never agree.
The least he could do was take her pain.
He smoothed a hand down her cheek, captured her gaze for a moment, ensuring she followed his words. Her eyes were sharp, but the strain and exhaustion were bleeding through. "I've brought a hand device. I can help you," he said. But before he could reach into the pocket of his clothing, Samantha caught hold of his wrist and gave a firm shake of her head.
"No," she said, teeth clenched against the pain. He could feel her muscles quiver beneath his fingers. "No, don't."
The confusion could only have glowed on his countenance. "I do not understand. Samantha, why would you not let me help you? I am familiar with the type of weapon they have used on you; the Tok'ra have long known of this technology. I have the skills to soothe the nerves the weapon has--"
"No," she shook her head, "I'm sure you can do it. But you can't--" she glanced around, encompassing the room with a shaky gesture, "--heal everyone here, Martouf. Not everyone who gets brought here. We can't...Earthlings aren't as advanced, yet. And we can't just call the Tok'ra for every injury. I'll be fine. But, we're still living at our own technological level, and I shouldn't be different, just because..." she trailed off, biting down on her lip. For this moment, he couldn't tell the physical pain from the mental anguish.
He felt his own features soften and an unbidden smile play across his lips as relief came on the tide of her words. No more pressing medical problem had prompted her refusal. This was nobility, not illness. "...just because...," he continued for her, "...you are my girlfriend?" A playful smile contradicted the concern pulling his brow.
Samantha's eyes held no traces of amusement. "Martouf, I can't just--" but she never finished her sentence. A violent wave of pain gripped her, and Samantha turned her face into the pillow, clutching his hand until her knuckles went white. Her breath came fast and ragged and the tendons in her throat pulled like cords. He felt the reflected reaction move through the bodies gathered near the opening of the curtains.
"Samantha, please." He spoke with his face near to hers, lips pressing to her forehead. He kissed the corner of her eye, tasted the salty tang. She did not normally allow this kind of demonstration in front of her coworkers. Her lack of protest worried him. "Your motives are admirable. But I ask you...let me stop the pain."
Samantha shook her head, eyes closed against the hot flares assaulting her body. "No," she whispered.
"Carter. Take it."
The voice was strong and familiar. Martouf felt Samantha's muscles flinch at the note of command in her superior officer's voice.
"Sir?"
Jack O'Neill stood in the opening of the curtains, arms folded across his chest, gaze dark and intense. "If you don't do it for yourself, do it for everybody else standing around here who's not gonna budge 'til you do. Let 'em go home and get some sleep, Carter."
Martouf turned to Samantha, watching her furrowed brow and tear-filled gaze as she stared at her Colonel in silent communion.
The Colonel didn't speak another word, but after a long moment and another shot of pain, Samantha gave a single affirmative nod. Martouf cradled her cheek in his palm and graced her with a comforting smile. "Just lie back," he said.
The healing did not take long. Martouf found the damage easily, quieted the nerves. There was an intimacy in the connection, in the healing of a loved one. He had run his hands over this woman's skin; he had slipped his mouth across her flesh, stared into her eyes and tried to touch her soul. Now he was sliding his mind and his touch through her innermost hurts, quieting her from the inside out. Clinical detachment was no longer an option.
Samantha sank into the pillows as the tension fell away, muscles going limp after the hours of bracing. Her chest rose and fell in deep, grateful breaths, fingers trembling as her hands collapsed across her stomach.
"You will be fine," Martouf said, lowering his hands and slipping the device back into his pocket.
She closed her eyes and nodded with the faintest trace of a smile. "Thank you," she breathed.
The still bodies gathered close began to move and shuffle. Collective breaths released into the air.
Dr. Frasier spoke first. "All right, folks. Let's let the patient get some real rest." She stepped toward the bed, fiddled with something on the machine attached to the back of Samantha's hand, then touched Sam's arm as she passed by. "Sleep, okay?" she said with a raised eyebrow. "Your body will need some time to recover."
Samantha nodded. "Thanks, Janet."
Then Dr. Frasier slipped away, pulling the curtain closed behind her and encouraging the lingering figures to move on.
Martouf turned his focus to Samantha with the shift in intimacy.
He lowered himself to the side of the bed, reached out and stroked her hair. "How are you feeling?"
She nodded. "Much better," she whispered. "Tired." But there was a tremor in her voice, and she bit down onto her lower lip. Her blue eyes glassed with tears.
"What is it? Are you still in pain?"
She shook her head. "No." But her chest shook with every breath.
"Samantha, tell me."
She lifted a hand to wipe at her nose, brush her cheek. "I'm fine. It's just...just the let down. The aftershocks are..." She draped her arm across her eyes, hiding from him.
Martouf shifted and turned, negotiating the cruel wires, and settling at the top of her bed. Samantha squinted back at him, uncertain of his intent, but he reached out and guided her across his lap. She came with far less resistance than he had anticipated, and rested her weight across his thigh, allowed him to cradle her head in the crook of his arm.
A moment later she was shaking again and crying almost soundlessly into the cloth of his sleeve. He gathered her to him and let his body melt into hers, offering her every ounce of strength he had to give.
"Sssshhhh," he whispered. "Sleep, my Samantha. Sleep."
She held his arm so tightly it hurt.
*****
DISCLAIMER: Yeah, the SG-1 guys are all property of MGM, World Gekko Corp, and Double Secret productions. This is all in fun, no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. All other characters, ideas, etc., herein are copyrighted to the author.
TITLE: Snapshots: My Samantha
AUTHOR: Rowan Darkstar
RATING: Series is rated NC-17
ARCHIVE: Only on author's website
SPOILERS: Through "Ripple Effect"
CATEGORIES: Angst, hurt/comfort, Sam/Martouf, shades of Sam/Jack, team
This is the second installment in a series of vignettes collectively titled "Snapshots: Some Kind of Love Story". The stories do not always fall in chronological order, but in an artistic one. Each of the vignettes can likely be read alone (to varying degrees), though taken as a whole they're meant to paint a larger picture -- of some kind of love story.
Huge beta thanks to kudra1, majorsamfan, pax89, surrealphantast, and Teddy E.
MY SAMANTHA
by
Rowan Darkstar
Copyright (c) 2006
He arrived in a blind whirl. He hardly remembered the gate room, only the face of the Earth airman who greeted him with a kind manner and an unfamiliar name. Martouf was accustomed to finding Samantha at the bottom of the ramp. The emptiness clenched his guts.
The airman led him directly to the infirmary where Doctor Frasier intercepted his path. "Martouf. I'm glad you're here. Sam's going to be all right, you can see her in a moment, but I think --"
Martouf silenced the doctor's words with a gentle hand and a tone refined in hundreds of delicate negotiations. "I must see her," he said, simply. Lantesh wanted to shove through. Martouf insisted upon calm.
Dr. Frasier held his gaze for a long moment. She was studying and appraising and gathering information from every detail her senses returned; Martouf understood this. He found a shrewd intelligence and a care-worn kindness in these brown eyes. He could understand why Samantha's voice invariably softened when she spoke of this woman.
Dr. Frasier nodded and stepped aside. "Sam's right in here," she said softly. "She'll be fine, Martouf. She's just in a lot of pain."
Samantha lay curled on the bed, her back turned as he slipped past the flimsy blue curtain. Wires and cords tied her to the Earth machines surrounding the bed. He had never fully understood the need for these appliances. They made him think of cyborgs in a repair shop, not living flesh being nurtured and healed.
"Samantha?" he prompted softly.
She turned at the sound. "Martouf?" Her voice was hoarse and ragged, but there was some kind of light he recognized.
He rounded the bed, swift and silent on the slick floors. "I am here, Samantha." He caught her hand and leaned to kiss her forehead.
"Oh, God, what are you doing here? They didn't call you away, did they? I'm not--"
"Ssshhh, rest." He gave her the warmest smile he could find, stroking her sweat- dampened hair from her forehead.
Samantha's skin felt hot to the touch, and he wanted nothing more than to lift her out of this glaring and metallic place and carry her to the cool quiet of the crystal tunnels, soothe her hurts and heal her wounds in the golden lights of the Tok'ra outpost. But he knew Samantha would never agree.
The least he could do was take her pain.
He smoothed a hand down her cheek, captured her gaze for a moment, ensuring she followed his words. Her eyes were sharp, but the strain and exhaustion were bleeding through. "I've brought a hand device. I can help you," he said. But before he could reach into the pocket of his clothing, Samantha caught hold of his wrist and gave a firm shake of her head.
"No," she said, teeth clenched against the pain. He could feel her muscles quiver beneath his fingers. "No, don't."
The confusion could only have glowed on his countenance. "I do not understand. Samantha, why would you not let me help you? I am familiar with the type of weapon they have used on you; the Tok'ra have long known of this technology. I have the skills to soothe the nerves the weapon has--"
"No," she shook her head, "I'm sure you can do it. But you can't--" she glanced around, encompassing the room with a shaky gesture, "--heal everyone here, Martouf. Not everyone who gets brought here. We can't...Earthlings aren't as advanced, yet. And we can't just call the Tok'ra for every injury. I'll be fine. But, we're still living at our own technological level, and I shouldn't be different, just because..." she trailed off, biting down on her lip. For this moment, he couldn't tell the physical pain from the mental anguish.
He felt his own features soften and an unbidden smile play across his lips as relief came on the tide of her words. No more pressing medical problem had prompted her refusal. This was nobility, not illness. "...just because...," he continued for her, "...you are my girlfriend?" A playful smile contradicted the concern pulling his brow.
Samantha's eyes held no traces of amusement. "Martouf, I can't just--" but she never finished her sentence. A violent wave of pain gripped her, and Samantha turned her face into the pillow, clutching his hand until her knuckles went white. Her breath came fast and ragged and the tendons in her throat pulled like cords. He felt the reflected reaction move through the bodies gathered near the opening of the curtains.
"Samantha, please." He spoke with his face near to hers, lips pressing to her forehead. He kissed the corner of her eye, tasted the salty tang. She did not normally allow this kind of demonstration in front of her coworkers. Her lack of protest worried him. "Your motives are admirable. But I ask you...let me stop the pain."
Samantha shook her head, eyes closed against the hot flares assaulting her body. "No," she whispered.
"Carter. Take it."
The voice was strong and familiar. Martouf felt Samantha's muscles flinch at the note of command in her superior officer's voice.
"Sir?"
Jack O'Neill stood in the opening of the curtains, arms folded across his chest, gaze dark and intense. "If you don't do it for yourself, do it for everybody else standing around here who's not gonna budge 'til you do. Let 'em go home and get some sleep, Carter."
Martouf turned to Samantha, watching her furrowed brow and tear-filled gaze as she stared at her Colonel in silent communion.
The Colonel didn't speak another word, but after a long moment and another shot of pain, Samantha gave a single affirmative nod. Martouf cradled her cheek in his palm and graced her with a comforting smile. "Just lie back," he said.
The healing did not take long. Martouf found the damage easily, quieted the nerves. There was an intimacy in the connection, in the healing of a loved one. He had run his hands over this woman's skin; he had slipped his mouth across her flesh, stared into her eyes and tried to touch her soul. Now he was sliding his mind and his touch through her innermost hurts, quieting her from the inside out. Clinical detachment was no longer an option.
Samantha sank into the pillows as the tension fell away, muscles going limp after the hours of bracing. Her chest rose and fell in deep, grateful breaths, fingers trembling as her hands collapsed across her stomach.
"You will be fine," Martouf said, lowering his hands and slipping the device back into his pocket.
She closed her eyes and nodded with the faintest trace of a smile. "Thank you," she breathed.
The still bodies gathered close began to move and shuffle. Collective breaths released into the air.
Dr. Frasier spoke first. "All right, folks. Let's let the patient get some real rest." She stepped toward the bed, fiddled with something on the machine attached to the back of Samantha's hand, then touched Sam's arm as she passed by. "Sleep, okay?" she said with a raised eyebrow. "Your body will need some time to recover."
Samantha nodded. "Thanks, Janet."
Then Dr. Frasier slipped away, pulling the curtain closed behind her and encouraging the lingering figures to move on.
Martouf turned his focus to Samantha with the shift in intimacy.
He lowered himself to the side of the bed, reached out and stroked her hair. "How are you feeling?"
She nodded. "Much better," she whispered. "Tired." But there was a tremor in her voice, and she bit down onto her lower lip. Her blue eyes glassed with tears.
"What is it? Are you still in pain?"
She shook her head. "No." But her chest shook with every breath.
"Samantha, tell me."
She lifted a hand to wipe at her nose, brush her cheek. "I'm fine. It's just...just the let down. The aftershocks are..." She draped her arm across her eyes, hiding from him.
Martouf shifted and turned, negotiating the cruel wires, and settling at the top of her bed. Samantha squinted back at him, uncertain of his intent, but he reached out and guided her across his lap. She came with far less resistance than he had anticipated, and rested her weight across his thigh, allowed him to cradle her head in the crook of his arm.
A moment later she was shaking again and crying almost soundlessly into the cloth of his sleeve. He gathered her to him and let his body melt into hers, offering her every ounce of strength he had to give.
"Sssshhhh," he whispered. "Sleep, my Samantha. Sleep."
She held his arm so tightly it hurt.
*****