"Talks above a Dapper Planet" Jack/Elizabeth PG-17/R (smut)
Title: Talks above a Dapper planet.
Author: Keenir.
Beta and smut courtesy of Zats_clear.
Rating: Mature.
Warnings: Brief smut.
Pairing: Jack/Elizabeth.
Spoilers: Lifeline, The Return Iⅈ Abyss.
Word Count: 1,461.
Written For: Rolleson.
Prompt: Jack/Elizabeth, smut.
Author's Notes: There really are worlds with egg-shaped orbits...Epsilon Eridani b is one of them.
Summary: The old saying says “the enemy of my enemy is my friend.” What is the enemy of my enemy’s enemy? What of the bystanders?
Note: In this story, I’ve given the Goa’uld the same backstory as in another of my fics ( Exploration of a Past)…
`````````````
Despite the fact that the Dapper were all asleep and would remain so until this planet found a star (preferably a warm one), Jack was wishing he was planetside with them…even if the silent sleepers do live in Baal’s basement. As he watched the Replicators file into this room, Jack recalled the last conversation he’d had with his old pal -
“Ba’al, Baal,” Landry had said. “Don’t see much of a difference.”
“There is one,” Jack had replied. It was faint, but it was there.
In all the furor of the Lucien Alliance, Ba’als, and the Ori, a quiet and relatively reclusive - or previously immolated - gathering of goa’uld had been gathering power. For “snakes,” they were remarkably circumspect, never challenging the SGC, the Ori, or anyone else… just, picked up worlds nobody else wanted. The fringe worlds, the sparsely-populated places, the odder planets.
“He tortured and killed you.”
“I’ve shot at more than half the Russians we’ve dealt with in this Program, and killed a lot of their friends and family,” Jack said. There was a personal life, and you tried not to let it lead you by the nose too much: I’m pals with a few Russians, and I never let that get in the way of my doing my job. Even if you sometimes had a doubt about the guy - snake - you’d shaken hands with, you just remembered you weren’t the first and wouldn’t be the last in similar straits. You think of Roosevelt or Churchill when they’d agreed to help out Russia.
And leading this body politic of snakes - the replacement for the System Lord council - was Baal. Jack didn’t know if this guy was a clone of Ba’al, or the other way around, and didn’t care… There was a truce between them, a common goal, a shared project. A truce even Sam didn’t know about. And snakes, Reconstruction Goa’ulds, as he had taken to thinking of them, aiming to resurrect a past nobody else’d known about.
Nobody said a word. Silence from the Baals and the Oberoths. Those standing, they may as well’ve been statues - Replicators, being machines, didn’t need to move; and goa’ulds could keep their hosts from twitching if so inclined.
And then…
And then in walked someone Jack knew quite well. Quite…intimately.
Elizabeth Weir, who - once she was in the room - said, “Ja- Ba’al??”
The black-silk-robed snake wasn’t about to have the first word, so Jack nodded. “Been a while.”
She nodded then shrugged. “I’ve been unavoidably busy.”
“I know how that goes,” he said, understanding. “Anything exciting lately?”
“I was captured. Aside from that, not much, actually.”
“Really?”
“Really. As confinement goes, it was a pleasant surprise.”
“Those’re always the best kind.”
Weir nodded. Again came silence. A wall of Oberoth on either side of her watched a river of Baals around Jack.
“Oh fer cryin’ out loud,” Jack muttered out loud. “Enough already. You’re an alien who thinks he’s a god, and,” to the Oberoths, “you’re a machine who was made by another alien with delusions of godhood -- tie game!”
A minute later, one Baal said, “Not correct entirely, General.” That was the first Elizabeth ever heard of the Peace, even indirectly.
``````````
Two Days Later:
The surface of Baal’s world was the furthest that the Replicators would permit Weir to go. Even then, there were safeties and safeguards in place within all her vital organs for the duration of the Talks between the goa’uld and the Replicators. And even if those were bypassed, there were always her Replicator organs.
“Do you have to sit on him?” Elizabeth asked, gesturing towards the Dapper on whom Jack reclined.
In their current form, Dapper were as responsive as the boulders they resembled, as equally apt to notice anything at all.
Even so, Jack slid off the broad flank of this one, whom he’d dubbed J. Ducky, right next to J. Peachy. “I doubt ol’ Baal’s going to give up the Dappers.”
She nodded. “From all you’ve told me, he’s got too much invested to give them up.” Trying to return to them the intelligence that their patron species stole from them, a cause that Elizabeth couldn’t help but agree was a noble one.
“So do I,” Jack said. “So do I.”
“You haven’t said much about that, aside from how you’re hoping the goa’uld can undo what the Peace and the -” she skipped over the name, one unpronounceable to human vocal cords, “did to the Dappers’ ancestors.” Left implicit, care to share?
“I told you how the Peace engineered the goa’uld into what they are today,” adding genetic memory from something on the goa’uld homeworld.
“What I haven’t mentioned was that the goa’uld revolted, wiping out all but a few Peace.” A few who found their way to Earth, and tried to take over.
It seems the Wraith and the Goa’uld have something in common, Elizabeth thought to herself. They both require intelligent beings for their survival: one as food source, while the other requires transportation and manipulation. Jack’s told me what the Reconstruction Goa’ulds are offering: a complete end to the era of human hosts and human slaves - an end that lets humanity survive. The cost would be that the sheeplike Dapper would replace them as hosts; Dapper never rebelled, even back when they could think for themselves.
But the Replicators aren’t about to allow the Dapper to become thinking beings again, because to do so would bring about another potential food source for the Wraith.
“No, don’t tell me,” she decided. “At the rate they’re proceeding with these talks,” negotiations that the two humans weren’t permitted to take part in, “you’ve got plenty of time in which to tell me.” Months, in all probability.
Elizabeth didn’t know how she ended up in Jack’s arms, but she wasn’t going to question it - she already had been made immune to all forms of chemical and biological influences (thanks to the Replicators in her) - nor was she inclined to protest their slowly making their way to the floor of this cave. Nobody could see them from space, and there wasn’t a drop of technology for miles in any direction. She loved it when Jack kissed her earlobe as he was doing now. “Don’t. Stop. That,” she whispered. His hands slid over her, waking her senses and her memories of their last encounter in a sunless landscape. Antarctica was so long ago, and in Atlantis, she had kept her needs and desires locked inside her. This was release. Warm breath against her neck made her shiver.
Shiver. Shiver. She hadn’t kept count, so she didn’t know how much time had passed, a thought occurred to her: “Jack?”
“Mm?”
“This planet has no sun.” Which made timekeeping rather tricky, if not difficult.
“M-hm,” he agreed, pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes, which she appreciated.
“So what’s keeping us warm?” Besides the obvious.
“Peace technology,” Jack said. “Same thing that moved the planet from our galaxy to Pegasus.” We came to find you, and we did.
````````````
Meanwhile, Within The Planet’s Main Building:
One of the Baals sat on the ledge looking out over the scrub-rainforest that covered much of this small continent. While nowhere near as fond of heights as the chiropterans whom the Peace had long ago harnessed, Baal was comfortable where he was.
“Soon,” he promised himself. Soon enough, the Replicators here would be dealt with one way or another, and then the Reconstruction effort could truly begin. The Dappers would awaken once the world was in an egg-shaped orbit around a suitable star, and work would resume.
The Wraith would soon be a thing of the past…like the Peace. Though one truly hoped that the defeat of the Wraith would not require the birth of another Immortal Sun…one was enough for the universe, in the opinion of the Reconstructionists and very nearly every surviving goa’uld.
Most, but not all, of the Reconstructionists were descendants of the Rivening One, the goa’uld who had organized the crushing of the Peace, and who had chosen “goa’uld” as the name for his species. Of course, saying they were all descendants of that individual, was rather like saying that much of the Italian population on Earth was descended from Roman generals, or that the Mongolians traced their families back to Temujin the Great Khaan.
Baal, like Ba’al, however, could trace his lineage directly to the initial progeny of the Rivening One. That pedigree afforded no special place or treatment in goa’uld society, but it did give him a measure of calmness and personal pride.
Knowledge that victory would be his, flowed through his veins. He knew how to win. And he would.
```````````````````
The End.
Author: Keenir.
Beta and smut courtesy of Zats_clear.
Rating: Mature.
Warnings: Brief smut.
Pairing: Jack/Elizabeth.
Spoilers: Lifeline, The Return Iⅈ Abyss.
Word Count: 1,461.
Written For: Rolleson.
Prompt: Jack/Elizabeth, smut.
Author's Notes: There really are worlds with egg-shaped orbits...Epsilon Eridani b is one of them.
Summary: The old saying says “the enemy of my enemy is my friend.” What is the enemy of my enemy’s enemy? What of the bystanders?
Note: In this story, I’ve given the Goa’uld the same backstory as in another of my fics ( Exploration of a Past)…
`````````````
Despite the fact that the Dapper were all asleep and would remain so until this planet found a star (preferably a warm one), Jack was wishing he was planetside with them…even if the silent sleepers do live in Baal’s basement. As he watched the Replicators file into this room, Jack recalled the last conversation he’d had with his old pal -
“Ba’al, Baal,” Landry had said. “Don’t see much of a difference.”
“There is one,” Jack had replied. It was faint, but it was there.
In all the furor of the Lucien Alliance, Ba’als, and the Ori, a quiet and relatively reclusive - or previously immolated - gathering of goa’uld had been gathering power. For “snakes,” they were remarkably circumspect, never challenging the SGC, the Ori, or anyone else… just, picked up worlds nobody else wanted. The fringe worlds, the sparsely-populated places, the odder planets.
“He tortured and killed you.”
“I’ve shot at more than half the Russians we’ve dealt with in this Program, and killed a lot of their friends and family,” Jack said. There was a personal life, and you tried not to let it lead you by the nose too much: I’m pals with a few Russians, and I never let that get in the way of my doing my job. Even if you sometimes had a doubt about the guy - snake - you’d shaken hands with, you just remembered you weren’t the first and wouldn’t be the last in similar straits. You think of Roosevelt or Churchill when they’d agreed to help out Russia.
And leading this body politic of snakes - the replacement for the System Lord council - was Baal. Jack didn’t know if this guy was a clone of Ba’al, or the other way around, and didn’t care… There was a truce between them, a common goal, a shared project. A truce even Sam didn’t know about. And snakes, Reconstruction Goa’ulds, as he had taken to thinking of them, aiming to resurrect a past nobody else’d known about.
Nobody said a word. Silence from the Baals and the Oberoths. Those standing, they may as well’ve been statues - Replicators, being machines, didn’t need to move; and goa’ulds could keep their hosts from twitching if so inclined.
And then…
And then in walked someone Jack knew quite well. Quite…intimately.
Elizabeth Weir, who - once she was in the room - said, “Ja- Ba’al??”
The black-silk-robed snake wasn’t about to have the first word, so Jack nodded. “Been a while.”
She nodded then shrugged. “I’ve been unavoidably busy.”
“I know how that goes,” he said, understanding. “Anything exciting lately?”
“I was captured. Aside from that, not much, actually.”
“Really?”
“Really. As confinement goes, it was a pleasant surprise.”
“Those’re always the best kind.”
Weir nodded. Again came silence. A wall of Oberoth on either side of her watched a river of Baals around Jack.
“Oh fer cryin’ out loud,” Jack muttered out loud. “Enough already. You’re an alien who thinks he’s a god, and,” to the Oberoths, “you’re a machine who was made by another alien with delusions of godhood -- tie game!”
A minute later, one Baal said, “Not correct entirely, General.” That was the first Elizabeth ever heard of the Peace, even indirectly.
``````````
Two Days Later:
The surface of Baal’s world was the furthest that the Replicators would permit Weir to go. Even then, there were safeties and safeguards in place within all her vital organs for the duration of the Talks between the goa’uld and the Replicators. And even if those were bypassed, there were always her Replicator organs.
“Do you have to sit on him?” Elizabeth asked, gesturing towards the Dapper on whom Jack reclined.
In their current form, Dapper were as responsive as the boulders they resembled, as equally apt to notice anything at all.
Even so, Jack slid off the broad flank of this one, whom he’d dubbed J. Ducky, right next to J. Peachy. “I doubt ol’ Baal’s going to give up the Dappers.”
She nodded. “From all you’ve told me, he’s got too much invested to give them up.” Trying to return to them the intelligence that their patron species stole from them, a cause that Elizabeth couldn’t help but agree was a noble one.
“So do I,” Jack said. “So do I.”
“You haven’t said much about that, aside from how you’re hoping the goa’uld can undo what the Peace and the -” she skipped over the name, one unpronounceable to human vocal cords, “did to the Dappers’ ancestors.” Left implicit, care to share?
“I told you how the Peace engineered the goa’uld into what they are today,” adding genetic memory from something on the goa’uld homeworld.
“What I haven’t mentioned was that the goa’uld revolted, wiping out all but a few Peace.” A few who found their way to Earth, and tried to take over.
It seems the Wraith and the Goa’uld have something in common, Elizabeth thought to herself. They both require intelligent beings for their survival: one as food source, while the other requires transportation and manipulation. Jack’s told me what the Reconstruction Goa’ulds are offering: a complete end to the era of human hosts and human slaves - an end that lets humanity survive. The cost would be that the sheeplike Dapper would replace them as hosts; Dapper never rebelled, even back when they could think for themselves.
But the Replicators aren’t about to allow the Dapper to become thinking beings again, because to do so would bring about another potential food source for the Wraith.
“No, don’t tell me,” she decided. “At the rate they’re proceeding with these talks,” negotiations that the two humans weren’t permitted to take part in, “you’ve got plenty of time in which to tell me.” Months, in all probability.
Elizabeth didn’t know how she ended up in Jack’s arms, but she wasn’t going to question it - she already had been made immune to all forms of chemical and biological influences (thanks to the Replicators in her) - nor was she inclined to protest their slowly making their way to the floor of this cave. Nobody could see them from space, and there wasn’t a drop of technology for miles in any direction. She loved it when Jack kissed her earlobe as he was doing now. “Don’t. Stop. That,” she whispered. His hands slid over her, waking her senses and her memories of their last encounter in a sunless landscape. Antarctica was so long ago, and in Atlantis, she had kept her needs and desires locked inside her. This was release. Warm breath against her neck made her shiver.
Shiver. Shiver. She hadn’t kept count, so she didn’t know how much time had passed, a thought occurred to her: “Jack?”
“Mm?”
“This planet has no sun.” Which made timekeeping rather tricky, if not difficult.
“M-hm,” he agreed, pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes, which she appreciated.
“So what’s keeping us warm?” Besides the obvious.
“Peace technology,” Jack said. “Same thing that moved the planet from our galaxy to Pegasus.” We came to find you, and we did.
````````````
Meanwhile, Within The Planet’s Main Building:
One of the Baals sat on the ledge looking out over the scrub-rainforest that covered much of this small continent. While nowhere near as fond of heights as the chiropterans whom the Peace had long ago harnessed, Baal was comfortable where he was.
“Soon,” he promised himself. Soon enough, the Replicators here would be dealt with one way or another, and then the Reconstruction effort could truly begin. The Dappers would awaken once the world was in an egg-shaped orbit around a suitable star, and work would resume.
The Wraith would soon be a thing of the past…like the Peace. Though one truly hoped that the defeat of the Wraith would not require the birth of another Immortal Sun…one was enough for the universe, in the opinion of the Reconstructionists and very nearly every surviving goa’uld.
Most, but not all, of the Reconstructionists were descendants of the Rivening One, the goa’uld who had organized the crushing of the Peace, and who had chosen “goa’uld” as the name for his species. Of course, saying they were all descendants of that individual, was rather like saying that much of the Italian population on Earth was descended from Roman generals, or that the Mongolians traced their families back to Temujin the Great Khaan.
Baal, like Ba’al, however, could trace his lineage directly to the initial progeny of the Rivening One. That pedigree afforded no special place or treatment in goa’uld society, but it did give him a measure of calmness and personal pride.
Knowledge that victory would be his, flowed through his veins. He knew how to win. And he would.
```````````````````
The End.