The Visitation
by AC
TITLE: The Visitation
AUTHOR: AC
EMAIL: acheek@home.com
CATEGORY: angst, male/female relationship
SPOILERS: The Tok'ra, Divide and Conquer
SEASON / SEQUEL: 4th Season
RATING: PG-13 (brief mention of sexual situations)
CONTENT WARNINGS: mention of character death that happened in canon. male/female relationship, sexual situations.
SUMMARY: Sam reunites with Martouf in a dream and attempts to come to terms with her part in his death.
STATUS: Complete
ARCHIVE: Heliopolis
DISCLAIMER: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. We have written this story for entertainment purposes only and no money whatsoever has exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the authors. Not to be archived without permission of the authors.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Many thanks to Heather for the beta read. Without feedback, my muse withers away. Send some! This story is copyrighted to A. Cheek, October 2000.
Sam closed her eyes and turned over in her bedroll, away from the small campfire and the Colonel's piercing gaze, wishing that they could actually have had the comforts of a tent and sleeping bags for this week-long mission. P4Y-611 was an uninhabited world, minimal defenses were needed for the night, and a tent would have been a nice shield against the pervasive silver light shining down from the twin moons.
Then again, the MRE's they'd had for dinner were no doubt by now having their usual effects upon the team's digestive systems, and if they'd been cooped up in a tent, everyone would have had to wear gas masks. When SG-1 was first formed, the men had been somewhat hesitant around Sam, until she'd finally doubled over laughing, telling them that she was used to it, and if they apologized every time they passed gas, they'd never shut up. Now, it was never mentioned. At the same time, perhaps it was a good thing they were keeping the tent to use only if it rained before they returned to Earth.
Shifting her hips to try and find a more comfortable spot on the ground, Sam sighed to herself. After dinner, they'd started telling stories, a new tradition that Daniel had initiated. Teal'c had chanted a Jaffa battle song. The Colonel, appropriately enough, told a Jack tale. She had been in no mood to entertain, and had started singing, "Row, Row, Row Your Boat," upon which she was quickly asked to stop, which was her original intent. And then it was Daniel's turn.
He was in a melancholy mood that evening, a nice complement to the blue funk she was under, and his story hadn't helped. Staring into the fire, never meeting his team mates' eyes, he told of a Japanese samurai who had abandoned his wife to seek a better position in society. When he had attained all his goals, he was struck by the emptiness in his life, and repudiated everything to return to her. She forgave him, and they spent one night of joy together, only for him to discover in the morning that she had died long ago.
On that morbid note, O'Neill announced that he had the first watch, and in silence, the others readied themselves for sleep. She studiously ignored her commanding officer, pretending that she didn't see how he was watching her. He banked the fire, and after a few more minutes, turned away to let his eyes adjust to the darkness.
Closing her eyes, Sam felt the dying warmth of the fire at her back, and stared blankly in to the night, noting that the brilliance of the stars was diminished by the moonlight. The sounds of the wilderness filled the evening -- the chitter of insects, crackling of the fire, and Daniel and Teal'c preparing for their own rest. If she concentrated hard enough, she could pretend that she was the only person in the universe.
A muffled sound broke the mood, followed by a quiet snicker from Daniel. Yes, the Colonel had eaten macaroni for dinner, hadn't he? She shook her head, grinning maliciously. At one time, she would have spoken up and teased her CO, but nowadays, they tried not to speak to each other too much. "Yeah, Jack, we both know how the other feels now, and we can't do a damned thing about it. We can never be together the way we'd like to be, but hey, we can fart in front of each other and not feel the need to apologize. How's *that* for intimacy?"
God, she needed to get a life. Her feelings for O'Neill, never something she'd been very comfortable with in the first place, now were tangled and twisted beyond her comprehension. It didn't help that whenever she remembered their interrogation by Anise, she automatically thought of the dead weight of Martouf in her arms. He'd been surprisingly heavy against her legs, his skin still warm, his wounds smearing hot blood against her clothes.
Drifting on the edge of sleep, her memories of past and present, fact and fiction mingled together. At one moment, she was trying to hold back her tears in front of a room full of people, then she was watching as the samurai embraced his wife. O'Neill looked back as he walked down the hall, surrounded by guards.
Quietly, reluctantly.
A shuddering breath, a trembling plea for help.
Sam slept.
The warm blue water of the lake was tinted red and orange with the brilliance of the sunset. She swam leisurely, not too far away from shore, feeling the pleasant fatigue of a day's exercise, knowing that she could stop and rest at any time.
Faint splashing alerted her to his presence. Playfully flicking water at her, he smiled.
"Samantha. I have missed you."
Joy filled her, tempered by the nagging feeling that she was missing something. "I'm glad you're here." They treaded water, content not to talk too much. She glanced over at him. His hair was darkened by the water, a few damp curls unruly on his forehead. He truly did have one of the biggest Adam's apples she'd ever seen, but who cared? The rest of him was very nice, more than making up for that.
"It has been too long." He reached out and touched her face gently. A drop of water ran down her cheek, and he traced its path.
"Where are we?" Looking around, she knew they were no place she'd ever been before.
"Marloon. I grew up near here. We lived by the ocean, but there was a freshwater lake close by." Turning his head to take in the shoreline, he nodded in satisfaction. "I never went back after I blended with Lantesh."
"It's beautiful," she said quietly, looking at his face. She had to memorize it. He looked different. How so? Sam shook her head. "I'm dreaming, aren't I?"
Infinite sadness shone forth from his eyes. "Yes, Samantha." The bullet wounds were gone. He was healthy and whole, right in front of her. "I'm sorry."
Despite her best intentions, tears welled up in her eyes. "It's not real. I wish it were." She swam forward until her feet could rest on the bottom of the lake bed. Energy drained from her, and she felt terribly weary. "I've missed you, Martouf. We never were able to be together very long, but I hate knowing that there's never going to be any more time for us, ever."
He looked down at the surface of the water. "I know. I always thought that though the present never allowed us to be with one another, the future had time in abundance." His mouth twisted ruefully. "We of the Tok'ra always think we have all the time we need. One of our more foolish weaknesses."
"The Tok'ra must hate me now," she said bitterly, remembering how even her father seemed to be drawing away from her, and the strained discomfort between them during his last visit.
Drawing her close, he wrapped his arms around her. "Why would you believe such a thing?"
"I killed you," she stated blankly. What forgiveness could absolve her of her actions?
"No." He tilted her head to look into her eyes. "The Tok'ra have the highest respect for you, Samantha. You have never shied away from doing the right thing, even when you did not wish to."
"What are you talking about?"
He walked out of the water, gesturing for her to follow. At the edge of shore, a small fire was burning, and they sat down on a blanket, wrapping themselves in towels to dry. Adding another branch to the flames, he gathered his thoughts. "Samantha, your first experience with the Tok'ra was very bad. Jolinar was only trying to survive, but in doing so, she violated many of our ethics, and wronged you terribly. And yet, you took that experience, and learned from it. Despite your fear, you sought us out."
"I knew an alliance was important. Anyone else would have done the same thing."
"I do not believe that is true. Your team did not trust us. The High Council were afraid you had come to spy, and our first interactions were filled with misunderstandings and suspicion. By rights, contact between the Tok'ra and the Tau'ri should have ended in bloodshed, especially when it was revealed that Jolinar was dead, and there was no way to validate your claims." He toyed with the edge of the blanket. "But you refused to give up. You had faith in what you were doing, and even when Garshaw rejected an alliance, you kept trying. You brought us your father, and saved Selmak. The strength of your convictions bound our two peoples together."
Grabbing a corner of her towel, she wiped her streaming eyes. "But now you're gone. Everything seems to be going to pieces."
He leaned against her, smoothing down her damp hair. "Death comes to us all in time, Samantha. I am sorry my life was not longer, but it cannot be changed."
Pushing his hands away, she inched back from him. "I just don't see how you be so nice to me, Martouf. I'm to blame for how things turned out!"
Shocked, he reached out to her once more. "Samantha, I could never believe that, nor could Lantesh. The Goa'uld were at fault, for making me a zatarc. You were not culpable!"
"You never knew..." she gasped in horror, looking at him hopelessly. "Colonel O'Neill and I weren't zatarcs. We lied during our testing."
"Why?"
She squirmed under his intent gaze. "We care for each other, and our military won't permit such a relationship within a direct chain of command."
"I do not understand. You couldn't admit that you loved him?" Martouf asked in curiosity, looking bewildered.
"No. We're not supposed to feel the way we do. And I didn't mean to! I didn't want to," she whispered, ashamed. "Everyone was so caught up in trying to save us when we didn't need it in the first place. If we'd had the extra time, we might have discovered that you had been affected and discovered a way to help you. You were the one who truly needed our help."
Once again, he placed an arm around her shoulder. "You couldn't have known, Samantha. It was a mistake, but you are not at fault. You did nothing wrong. It was the situation that was wrong, that made you think that love was something you had to hide. It's ultimately the Goa'ulds' fault. Your part in it was accidental."
She cringed away from him, unable to let go of her guilt. "Martouf, I killed you."
He shook his head, tenderly wiping the tears from her cheeks. "Samantha, you saved me." At the sound of her choked sobs, he embraced her tightly. "What they would have made me do was an abomination. I asked you for help, and you gave it to me." Softly, he pressed a chaste kiss against her cheek. "I was grateful for what you did. I only wish I could have spared you this guilt that you now endure."
Held close within the protection of his arms, Sam finally gave herself up completely to her grief and horror at the manner of his death. Clinging to him tightly, she wept long and hard, for all the terrible things that had happened of late, for the fear she'd seen in his eyes. Her tears were for the loss of a friend, who might have someday been more, and also for Jack, who now found himself in competition with a dead man, since the manner of Martouf's death had twisted her feelings for Jack into a strange mixture of longing tainted by guilt. Was there no way out of the tangle that had been created?
At last, when it seemed she had no more tears, only a deep and incessant ache in her heart, she lifted her head to look into his own reddened eyes. "Does this mean you forgive me?"
He twitched his lips in a melancholy smile. "Samantha, there is no need for forgiveness. But you must forgive yourself." He paused a moment, then continued. "Perhaps we can forgive each other. I asked you to kill me, knowing that it would hurt you terribly, but also, that you would not fail to grant me what I requested."
Maybe she did still have some tears, after all. "If you can, I think I can." Brushing her fingers through his hair, she marveled at how real all of this seemed. "Are you truly here with me, or am I just dreaming?"
"A visitation from beyond death?" he mused. "Many cultures speak of such things. But," he shrugged nonchalantly, "I honestly do not know. In any case, does it really matter?"
She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face against his shoulder. "No," she whispered. "But eventually, I'll wake up. I don't want to -- I don't want you to be gone."
"I know," he replied softly, clinging to her, then quickly brushing his lips against hers. When he leaned in for another kiss, she turned her face away.
"We never did this," she murmured, somewhat disturbed.
"Perhaps we should have," he challenged, his eyes pleading once more.
"Do you want me, or what remains of Jolinar in me?"
Taken aback, he sat back on his heels, pondering her question. "I don't know that I was ever successful in separating my feelings for the two of you. I loved Jolinar with all of my being, but you were most impressive as well."
"Impressive?"
He nodded. "Your courage, your strength and loyalty... By the time we walked together in the desert, I was already partly in love with you."
"It was so confusing, how I felt whenever I was around you," she tried to explain. "It was like Jolinar's remnants superseded all my emotions towards anyone else. It frightened me."
Agreeing, he reached for her hand, and this time she let him take it. "In life, our divided loyalties and affections would never have permitted us to be together in this way. I never forgot Jolinar, and I know you care greatly for O'Neill. But Samantha, even so, what I felt for you *was* love."
She tried to stay calm and in control, but she betrayed herself once again. "I know," she whispered shakily. With trembling hands, she reached towards him, letting herself know how his skin felt beneath her fingers. "I felt the same way. I just never knew if all of it was me." She leaned in and kissed his throat. "Right now, I don't care."
He stared at her in entreaty. "Be with me, this one time?"
She said nothing, only held him closer, and as they kissed, awareness that this was a dream faded away. They were lying together in a marvelously comfortable bed, warm and content, and this would never end; she would never have to say goodbye.
She was being pulled away from a world of warmth and joy, and she resisted with every ounce of will she possessed, although ultimately it was futile.
Sam sat upright with a gasp, biting back a scream as she saw Colonel O'Neill kneeling in front of her, gesturing her to be silent.
"Carter, are you all right?" he rasped, trying not to disturb Daniel and Teal'c, who were both asleep. "You were tossing around and yelling for someone not to leave." He rubbed at his eyes in the dim moonlight. "Must have been one hell of a nightmare."
Mute with surprise, she stared at him. Damn it, why couldn't it have been Daniel who'd been on watch? It stripped away all her defenses, going straight from a dream of a beloved friend who was dead and forever out of reach, to being face to face with another man whom she loved, knowing they could not be together. At any other time she would have assured him she was fine, but the pain of what she had lost laid her soul bare, and to her horror, her eyes filled with tears again.
Ashamed, she turned her face away from him, shoulders shaking. O'Neill took off his cap and ran his hands through his hair, wondering what the hell he should do. She obviously didn't wish to discuss it, and if he tallied up the events of the past few months, any single one might give her reason for sorrow. He couldn't even offer her comfort, for when he placed a tentative hand on her shoulder, she flinched away with a choked cry.
Finally, feeling helpless, he leaned over and whispered again, "Sam, look, just go back to sleep, okay? I'll do a double watch. Just make sure Daniel leaves me some coffee in the morning, will ya?"
She nodded once, not looking at him, and burrowed into her blanket once more, wishing in vain that she could recapture the joy of her dream.
Sam dreamt again before sunrise, always wandering through desolate areas, silent and alone.
Daniel had actually brewed real coffee over the campfire, not just instant added to hot water. Sam gratefully accepted a cup, happy that their campsite for the mineral survey included a fresh water spring close by. Having a place to brush her teeth and wash her face in the mornings was a luxury she didn't take for granted out in the field.
Daniel took notice of her shadowed eyes and subdued manner. "Didn't sleep well last night?" he queried, taking a gulp of coffee to wash down his MRE.
Sam shook her head. "No."
He shrugged in sympathy. "We're scheduled to go home tomorrow. It shouldn't take too long today to get our samples, we can relax for the evening, and then it's just a six-mile hike to the Stargate tomorrow."
"Home," she mused. "Real food, hot baths." She sipped at her coffee, then caught Daniel's gaze. "Do me a favor?" He nodded. "No ghost stories tonight, all right?" At his curious look, she elaborated. "Tell us something cheerful, with a happy ending."
He smiled in understanding. "You're right, we don't need any excuses to get depressed around here." Behind them, O'Neill began grumbling and twisting around in his blanket. Daniel raised his voice. "About time you woke up, Jack!"
"Coffee," the colonel said tersely, holding out his hand. Daniel quickly filled a mug and handed it to him. He took a long drink then looked around. "Where's Teal'c?"
"Out checking the perimeter."
O'Neill nodded, finished his coffee, then stood up and stretched.
Sam sat back on her neatly folded bedroll, eating her breakfast and waiting for the others to be ready for the days work. An itching sensation became irritating, and she scratched the side of her neck, wondering what manner of insect had bitten her. Pulling out a tube of ointment from her first aid kit, she applied some, and picked up her coffee again.
All of a sudden, a flash of memory from the dream washed over her. She was held close in Martouf's arms, their bodies moving together rhythmically, his mouth open against her skin, mercilessly teasing her neck. After a moment, she sighed and told herself not to be foolish. It had been just a dream, albeit a very welcome one, and she had a welt on her neck because an insect thought her blood was a tasty treat. Her resolutely scientific mind rejected the idea that a ghost could have affected such a change upon her.
Martouf was still dead, and her personal life was still a mess. Yet, even if the dream had been just her mind creating what she needed to hear from him, her heart was not as heavy and pained as before. Perhaps with the passing of time, her memories of him would become a comfort, something to remember with happiness instead of sorrow.
In the end, for people such as themselves, was that not as close to happily ever after as they could get?
End note: The story that Daniel tells is called "Black Hair," and can be found in the book, "Mysterious Tales of Japan," by Rafe Martin. I highly recommend this collection of folk tales.
If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to AC