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: SOMETHING LIKE HOME
ARCHIVE: With my persmission.
AUTHOR: Rowan Darkstar
EMAIL: rowan_d1@yahoo.com
WEBSITE: www.beautyinshadows.net
RATING: Teen
CATEGORIES: Angst, Sam/Jolinar/Martouf
SUMMARY: "Amid this mass of hosts, her sense of symbioted tingles
like static beneath her skin."


Written for the GateShip Wednesday Shorts "Allegiance" Challenge.
286wds.

Thanks to annaK for (reading over my shoulder and pointing)t he
quick beta.:)

"Something Like Home"
by
Rowan Darkstar
copyright (c) 2006

The familiarity is distracting, almost dizzying. The cadence of
their voices, the rhythm of their speech, the soft swish of their
clothing and the mannered grip upon their eating utensils. She
knows these people, their pasts, their loves, their joys, their
fears; she has never lived with them.

Amid this mass of hosts, her sense of symbiotes tingles like
static beneath her skin.

She can lock the memories away when she's on Earth. (On the good
days.) She has learned separation in the recent times. But
here, on this foreign ground, in the midst of the others, she is
afraid if someone calls out "Jolinar" -- she might reply.

There is work to be done. Innocents to guard, negotiations to
mediate, wires to be connected, and technology to be analyzed.
All of this keeps her in Sam Carter's life, her lab, her
identity; sensitive to the numbers that flicker and curl around
every star she sets her gaze upon.

The weight and cold metal of her weapon keep her grounded, and
she clings to the grip with practiced discipline.

There is work to be done.

So, when the light whisper of rain trickles through the forest's
leaves, pattering on the stiff cloth of her BDUs and dancing
patterns across her exposed skin--she's not feeling Martouf
laughing against her throat in the wash of a summer storm. She's
not hearing the distant rumble and crack of explosives and
closing her eyes against his chest as they wait out the battle in
the dimness of their crystal cave.

She's not feeling his lips on her mouth and the taste of
oliveh'nai candies imported from Ga'jun.

She's not longing to touch what once meant home.

She's not.

*****

rowan_d1@yahoo.com