Breaking Yourself
Title: Breaking Yourself
Author: rolleson
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Rating: R/Adult
Character/Pairing: Sam/Repli!Carter
Spoilers: Season 8 onwards
Warnings: Sex, violence (not at once mind), femslash.
Summery: the human replicator changed forms, taunted her, teased and tortured her as her father, her brother, her boyfriend.
Notes: As suggested by lab_brat for my attempt to pair-Sam-with-everyone, and beta'd by rowan_d. 1875 words. Borderline crack!fic.
She’d seen a dozen different faces, over and over; the human replicator changed forms, taunted her, teased and tortured her as her father, her brother, her boyfriend.
She assumed it was the other version of herself, who else could it be? But so far it had been a cacophony of voices, a whirly-gig of faces, twisted into expressions she didn’t think some of her friends were capable of. The sneer on Jonas Quinn’s face was horribly unnatural. It hurt almost as much as the way the young man's arms had sharpened into metal and left deep gashes across her stomach. Daniel used words to put her down, this version wasn’t violent but was nasty, to her, left her wrecked in the corner. Her father dressed her wounds then knocked her unconscious. Her body flying across the room from a blow of inhuman strength. She didn’t remember hitting the wall or the floor.
The repliCarter had done something she hadn’t thought possible of them. She had split into two, become Pete and an ex-girlfriend of his, a blonde who was model material, and Sam had to sit there, held back by dull metal and watch the two of them act out a live porn show for her.
She closed her eyes, but she couldn’t forget the sound of her fiancé’s voice crying out the other woman’s name.
She was being worn down, beaten and battered, by people she knew, emotionally and physically. By people she loved.
It was working.
She was trying to stay strong, keep herself going as one person after another hurt her. Hammond punched her, gave her a split lip and a black eye, using his entire weight to put in as much force as he could, to do as much damage as he could to Sam’s face. Teal’c infected her with his own Goa’uld. She tried screaming that the symbiote was dead, had died long ago, but Teal’c ignored her, pulling the snake from his belly and pointing it at her. He laughed, laughed hard as the symbiote struggled and wriggled in the Jaffa’s hand, and this was something so rare it shocked Sam and she stood still as he let the symbiote enter her body, and then it all went black.
Jack tied her up, bound her then whipped her naked body, like she had always imagined had been done to him in Iraq. She was doing this to herself, she realised, her own thoughts and memories, and she couldn’t quite comprehend how so many bad things could be inside her own head. But this was what she had passed on to her replicated self.
The dead came back to haunt her, to see which could upset her. Face and face of men and women who had been lost since the Stargate programme started. One generic body, in green BDU’s and a blank name tag, the face ever changing, like someone was changing channels on the tv over and over, faster and faster, until it was a blur that Sam couldn’t close her eyes to, could not stop watching. The names, she couldn’t remember all their names, so many faces and dead eyes, over and over until Sam screamed.
The face went blank, featureless, except for the dead black eyes.
She was not going to cry.
She took deep breaths and let Janet slap either cheek over and over, the ring on the woman’s right hand cutting her left cheek on every other slap. She wasn’t going to scream in pain, or cry, just let Janet hit her over and over. Even when she felt blood trickling down her neck from the deepening cut on her cheek.
Of course, all the physical punishment was nothing compared to seeing her mother standing in front of her.
She hadn’t really had much chance to do anything to make her mother angry, but she knew that face. Had sat on the stairs late as night, hidden in the shadows watching her parents fight with each other until they had no breath left, because her father had been called away.
Her mother was wearing that look. All anger and hatred and all aimed at her.
The rods were one long stream that Sam couldn’t always keep up with. Her mother stood perfectly still, like a statue, only her mouth moving with inhuman speed as sentence after sentence was spoke.
Failure, accident, ugly, bitch, not as good as your brother, daddy’s little girl and mommy’s little disappointment.
Unlovable.
The real reason she was dead.
Over and over her own mother blamed Sam for her death and Sam just stared back, and took the verbal abuse. She wasn’t going to let this awful image of her beautiful mother make her cry.
She had no choice in letting her knock her unconscious.
*****
It had been dark for a long time.
She wasn’t sure how long. When her mother had delivered that crushing blow, she had been sure it was the end. But she opened her eyes to black and the familiar blocks of replicators' walls and floors.
She could feel dried blood cracking apart when she moved, her back and ribs ached from flying through the air and hitting the uneven walls. She was pretty sure she hadn’t broken her ankle, but it hurt like hell. She knew she wouldn’t be able to walk on it, and couldn't quite remember how she had injured it, but either way she wouldn’t be able to run and escape.
She wasn’t really thinking about escape, or moving further than into a more comfortable foetal position. The darkness was seeping into her mind, and while she wasn’t going to cry she wasn’t going to do anything else. Just lie still and silent and hope no one came back.
*****
The light hurt her eyes. Felt like a blinding spotlight was being pointed straight at her, but after a few minutes she became accustomed to it and realised it was just low level lighting all around the room. She could never figure out just how or where it was coming from but when the pain in her eyes subsided with the thumping in her head, she could see clearly.
She could see her replicated self standing watching her. Her blonde hair was slicked back, and she was wearing tight silver clothing, blending in with the replicator wall around her. She wasn’t moving, arms behind her back, face neutral, eyes locking with Sam’s.
“Are you alright?”
Sam flinched at the sound of her own voice, distorted so very slightly that only Sam herself would ever notice. The repliCarter stepped forward, and Sam inched her body back, still tucked into the foetal position, shuffling to get away from the monster wearing her body.
Except she wasn’t acting like a monster.
Hands up in a defensive motion, inching slowly towards Sam, she didn’t look like she was about to tear into her, or finish her off. Sam thought she looked concerned, but she was starting to forget what that looked like in this prison.
“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you,” she said. Sam couldn’t move any further back, and the repliCarter kept coming closer and closer, until she was squatting next to her and Sam squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the blow, the end.
“Where does it hurt?” Her voice, her own whisper, and there was a brush of a hand over her cheek and Sam couldn’t help but lean into it a little. It was an unknown gesture after the abuse of the past days. She didn’t trust her and at further pressure folded further into herself.
“It’s okay.” A gentle hand stroked her hair, slowly but with more pressure than the first light touches.
They lasted forever, long soft strokes over her hair, and face, as she lay curled on the floor of the little room. Soon she wasn’t holding her eyes closed through sheer grit and fear ,but because she could finally feel soothed like was intended.
“They were awful.” She was whispering into Sam’s ear now, body close as she leant over. “But they’re not coming back, I promise.”
Sam knew this could be true, the repliCarter was those awful people, the repliCarter had hurt her, said terrible things to her, but now, wearing her own sincere face and with such kind words, soft touches after being battered into submission for so long.
“Let me look at your stomach.”
She urged Sam to stretch out, pushing at her legs until she straightened them out, then tugged at her side until she laid on her back. Sam just stared at her as she pulled the black t-shirt up to examine the wounds.
“They don’t look too bad,” she told her, running her fingertips over the bloody cuts, “do they hurt?” Sam didn’t answer but hissed when the repliCarter pressed down too hard. “Sorry.” Sam almost spoke, almost told her it was okay but couldn’t find her voice and didn’t dare to.
The repliCarter continued to run her fingers over Sam’s skin, now avoiding the cuts running from her waistband to her bra and back in uneven circles and Sam fell into the soothing spell once more. She had just closed her eyes again when she felt lips on her forehead, warm and welcomed and, she suddenly felt like she could breathe again.
The others weren’t coming back, not right now, but while she could breathe, she couldn’t move. The lips continued to cover her face in kisses, continued to help her breathe, further, deeper and she closed her eyes. She was still scared, newly scarred, and didn’t want to trust the replicated version of herself, but it was herself, and she was hurting so badly, she just wanted more of this affection.
So when the lips found her own, she moved without being moved, kissing back, and found herself thinking about something other than the painful words her mother had spoken, and the wounds her friends had caused.
Time went quicker, now, the repliCarter’s kisses remained soft, slow, so Sam wouldn’t be scared. She had forgotten the hand on her stomach but felt it pushing at her bra, once, twice, until her bra was up above her breasts and fingers tugged at her nipples. She gasped, that felt good, that felt better than the cruel words and hard hands.
Slow pleasure built up inside her as the repliCarter played with her body, stripping her slowly, bit by bit. Every time she removed an item of clothing, the repliCarter lavished attention to that part of her body. Kisses and short breaths of air over her skin, gentle nips and swipes of her tongue over Sam's damaged skin.
When the repliCarter’s fingers brushed Sam’s centre she felt she could move again, curling into the repliCarters body as long fingers entered her and a nail scarped over her clit. She wanted to gasp and groan and moan but she couldn’t. She was too scared, far too scared to make too much sound or to move further than into the cocoon of the repliCarter’s body.
She came, shaking, and began to sob, finally broken into tears. With her head buried in her chest, Sam didn’t see the smile spread across her double’s face.
Author: rolleson
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Rating: R/Adult
Character/Pairing: Sam/Repli!Carter
Spoilers: Season 8 onwards
Warnings: Sex, violence (not at once mind), femslash.
Summery: the human replicator changed forms, taunted her, teased and tortured her as her father, her brother, her boyfriend.
Notes: As suggested by lab_brat for my attempt to pair-Sam-with-everyone, and beta'd by rowan_d. 1875 words. Borderline crack!fic.
She’d seen a dozen different faces, over and over; the human replicator changed forms, taunted her, teased and tortured her as her father, her brother, her boyfriend.
She assumed it was the other version of herself, who else could it be? But so far it had been a cacophony of voices, a whirly-gig of faces, twisted into expressions she didn’t think some of her friends were capable of. The sneer on Jonas Quinn’s face was horribly unnatural. It hurt almost as much as the way the young man's arms had sharpened into metal and left deep gashes across her stomach. Daniel used words to put her down, this version wasn’t violent but was nasty, to her, left her wrecked in the corner. Her father dressed her wounds then knocked her unconscious. Her body flying across the room from a blow of inhuman strength. She didn’t remember hitting the wall or the floor.
The repliCarter had done something she hadn’t thought possible of them. She had split into two, become Pete and an ex-girlfriend of his, a blonde who was model material, and Sam had to sit there, held back by dull metal and watch the two of them act out a live porn show for her.
She closed her eyes, but she couldn’t forget the sound of her fiancé’s voice crying out the other woman’s name.
She was being worn down, beaten and battered, by people she knew, emotionally and physically. By people she loved.
It was working.
She was trying to stay strong, keep herself going as one person after another hurt her. Hammond punched her, gave her a split lip and a black eye, using his entire weight to put in as much force as he could, to do as much damage as he could to Sam’s face. Teal’c infected her with his own Goa’uld. She tried screaming that the symbiote was dead, had died long ago, but Teal’c ignored her, pulling the snake from his belly and pointing it at her. He laughed, laughed hard as the symbiote struggled and wriggled in the Jaffa’s hand, and this was something so rare it shocked Sam and she stood still as he let the symbiote enter her body, and then it all went black.
Jack tied her up, bound her then whipped her naked body, like she had always imagined had been done to him in Iraq. She was doing this to herself, she realised, her own thoughts and memories, and she couldn’t quite comprehend how so many bad things could be inside her own head. But this was what she had passed on to her replicated self.
The dead came back to haunt her, to see which could upset her. Face and face of men and women who had been lost since the Stargate programme started. One generic body, in green BDU’s and a blank name tag, the face ever changing, like someone was changing channels on the tv over and over, faster and faster, until it was a blur that Sam couldn’t close her eyes to, could not stop watching. The names, she couldn’t remember all their names, so many faces and dead eyes, over and over until Sam screamed.
The face went blank, featureless, except for the dead black eyes.
She was not going to cry.
She took deep breaths and let Janet slap either cheek over and over, the ring on the woman’s right hand cutting her left cheek on every other slap. She wasn’t going to scream in pain, or cry, just let Janet hit her over and over. Even when she felt blood trickling down her neck from the deepening cut on her cheek.
Of course, all the physical punishment was nothing compared to seeing her mother standing in front of her.
She hadn’t really had much chance to do anything to make her mother angry, but she knew that face. Had sat on the stairs late as night, hidden in the shadows watching her parents fight with each other until they had no breath left, because her father had been called away.
Her mother was wearing that look. All anger and hatred and all aimed at her.
The rods were one long stream that Sam couldn’t always keep up with. Her mother stood perfectly still, like a statue, only her mouth moving with inhuman speed as sentence after sentence was spoke.
Failure, accident, ugly, bitch, not as good as your brother, daddy’s little girl and mommy’s little disappointment.
Unlovable.
The real reason she was dead.
Over and over her own mother blamed Sam for her death and Sam just stared back, and took the verbal abuse. She wasn’t going to let this awful image of her beautiful mother make her cry.
She had no choice in letting her knock her unconscious.
*****
It had been dark for a long time.
She wasn’t sure how long. When her mother had delivered that crushing blow, she had been sure it was the end. But she opened her eyes to black and the familiar blocks of replicators' walls and floors.
She could feel dried blood cracking apart when she moved, her back and ribs ached from flying through the air and hitting the uneven walls. She was pretty sure she hadn’t broken her ankle, but it hurt like hell. She knew she wouldn’t be able to walk on it, and couldn't quite remember how she had injured it, but either way she wouldn’t be able to run and escape.
She wasn’t really thinking about escape, or moving further than into a more comfortable foetal position. The darkness was seeping into her mind, and while she wasn’t going to cry she wasn’t going to do anything else. Just lie still and silent and hope no one came back.
*****
The light hurt her eyes. Felt like a blinding spotlight was being pointed straight at her, but after a few minutes she became accustomed to it and realised it was just low level lighting all around the room. She could never figure out just how or where it was coming from but when the pain in her eyes subsided with the thumping in her head, she could see clearly.
She could see her replicated self standing watching her. Her blonde hair was slicked back, and she was wearing tight silver clothing, blending in with the replicator wall around her. She wasn’t moving, arms behind her back, face neutral, eyes locking with Sam’s.
“Are you alright?”
Sam flinched at the sound of her own voice, distorted so very slightly that only Sam herself would ever notice. The repliCarter stepped forward, and Sam inched her body back, still tucked into the foetal position, shuffling to get away from the monster wearing her body.
Except she wasn’t acting like a monster.
Hands up in a defensive motion, inching slowly towards Sam, she didn’t look like she was about to tear into her, or finish her off. Sam thought she looked concerned, but she was starting to forget what that looked like in this prison.
“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you,” she said. Sam couldn’t move any further back, and the repliCarter kept coming closer and closer, until she was squatting next to her and Sam squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the blow, the end.
“Where does it hurt?” Her voice, her own whisper, and there was a brush of a hand over her cheek and Sam couldn’t help but lean into it a little. It was an unknown gesture after the abuse of the past days. She didn’t trust her and at further pressure folded further into herself.
“It’s okay.” A gentle hand stroked her hair, slowly but with more pressure than the first light touches.
They lasted forever, long soft strokes over her hair, and face, as she lay curled on the floor of the little room. Soon she wasn’t holding her eyes closed through sheer grit and fear ,but because she could finally feel soothed like was intended.
“They were awful.” She was whispering into Sam’s ear now, body close as she leant over. “But they’re not coming back, I promise.”
Sam knew this could be true, the repliCarter was those awful people, the repliCarter had hurt her, said terrible things to her, but now, wearing her own sincere face and with such kind words, soft touches after being battered into submission for so long.
“Let me look at your stomach.”
She urged Sam to stretch out, pushing at her legs until she straightened them out, then tugged at her side until she laid on her back. Sam just stared at her as she pulled the black t-shirt up to examine the wounds.
“They don’t look too bad,” she told her, running her fingertips over the bloody cuts, “do they hurt?” Sam didn’t answer but hissed when the repliCarter pressed down too hard. “Sorry.” Sam almost spoke, almost told her it was okay but couldn’t find her voice and didn’t dare to.
The repliCarter continued to run her fingers over Sam’s skin, now avoiding the cuts running from her waistband to her bra and back in uneven circles and Sam fell into the soothing spell once more. She had just closed her eyes again when she felt lips on her forehead, warm and welcomed and, she suddenly felt like she could breathe again.
The others weren’t coming back, not right now, but while she could breathe, she couldn’t move. The lips continued to cover her face in kisses, continued to help her breathe, further, deeper and she closed her eyes. She was still scared, newly scarred, and didn’t want to trust the replicated version of herself, but it was herself, and she was hurting so badly, she just wanted more of this affection.
So when the lips found her own, she moved without being moved, kissing back, and found herself thinking about something other than the painful words her mother had spoken, and the wounds her friends had caused.
Time went quicker, now, the repliCarter’s kisses remained soft, slow, so Sam wouldn’t be scared. She had forgotten the hand on her stomach but felt it pushing at her bra, once, twice, until her bra was up above her breasts and fingers tugged at her nipples. She gasped, that felt good, that felt better than the cruel words and hard hands.
Slow pleasure built up inside her as the repliCarter played with her body, stripping her slowly, bit by bit. Every time she removed an item of clothing, the repliCarter lavished attention to that part of her body. Kisses and short breaths of air over her skin, gentle nips and swipes of her tongue over Sam's damaged skin.
When the repliCarter’s fingers brushed Sam’s centre she felt she could move again, curling into the repliCarters body as long fingers entered her and a nail scarped over her clit. She wanted to gasp and groan and moan but she couldn’t. She was too scared, far too scared to make too much sound or to move further than into the cocoon of the repliCarter’s body.
She came, shaking, and began to sob, finally broken into tears. With her head buried in her chest, Sam didn’t see the smile spread across her double’s face.