Date: 08/06/04
Rating: NC17
Category: Darkfic
Warnings: Rape, Torture, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian, Het
Spoilers: The Tokra, Jolinar's Memories, The Devil You Know
Summary: To save her father from Sokar, Samantha Carter must travel to Netu and retrace Jolinar's past.
Notes: Pitched and plotted by Geonn. Beta read by BJ.
Written for Mae.
-Prologue-
As an eager tongue moved over her clit, and Sam Carter allowed herself to moan. The tongue responded by increasing the warm, wet pressure against her center. Sam spread her legs wider. "Use your fingers," she growled.
Two fingers slid into her and she hissed gratefully. Maria--Or was it Moira--had fingers scissored so that the two not inside Sam pressed against her anus. Sam ground her hips against the girl's face, demanding more.
Sam was on her back on a mattress in a communal home in the art district of Denver. She didn't usually pick up a woman so young, or so poor, at Toast Her, the dyke bar in Denver's warehouse district. She preferred kindred spirits--but this girl had approached her and offered spirit without posturing. Too many people tried impressing Sam. She had an Air Force bomber jacket and a fucking Ph.D. in astrophysics. She was not impressible.
She made the trip to Denver four or five times a year, and never stayed longer than a few minutes at the bar. Get in, get a girl, get out. Sam couldn't help being recognized. She knew plenty of airmen and officers frequented the joint, but she kept her head low in the hopes that her status was mythical rather than obvious.
The girl--Marta, she was sure--flicked her tongue rapidly against Sam. She had added a third finger, and Sam gave herself over to the sensations of her clitoris being suckled and the fingers stretching her. Her vagina burned from the rough touches. She gasped and came, her body shaking for a long moment.
When she released her fistful of Marta's hair and settled comfortably onto the lumpy mattress, the girl rose up, smiling. She was proud of getting Sam off. Sam thought that was a good attitude. She wrapped her arms around the girl and rolled over, pinning Marta beneath her.
They kissed, and Sam was aroused anew by the taste of herself on Marta's lips. "This is my favorite part," Sam whispered huskily, and took the girl.
Later, when the girl had fallen asleep, Sam slid off the bed and began the process of looking for her clothes. She regretted having to leave. Moira--She had been corrected--had been a good ride. She wouldn't have minded repeating the experience. It wasn't about affection, or love. Sam didn't want those things. They interfered with her work.
Stargate. Her life's work.
Toasters and kittens with Moira just weren't a temptation. Still, as Sam quietly closed the bedroom door behind her, she felt a pang of loneliness. She ignored it. She hadn't come to Denver to make a friend. She had come to be sated, and in that, the trip had been successful.
* * *
-Part I.-
Sam sat across from Daniel Jackson at a window table in Colorado Springs' finest Starbucks. They were sipping lattes and discussing philosophy, as proper fairies should. Daniel hadn't quite earned his wings yet, though. He was what the young people called metrosexual. If rotting mummies and well-endowed fertility statues scattered about your living room meant you had good taste.
"I'm wondering," Daniel was saying, "If we can ascribe Eastern philosophy to the behavior of some alien cultures we've encountered."
"Like Yu?" Sam suggested, trying to sound interested. She swallowed a milky mouthful of latte.
"No, not like Yu. Not the Goa'uld fabrications of power. I'm talking about ways of life that evolved naturally. We have hundreds, perhaps thousands of samples to compare. A scholar of comparative religion could find a life's work at the SGC."
"Such a shame you're busy being an anthropologist. What's the point, Daniel?"
"Well, look at how the Goa'uld operate. Strongest one wins. Our closest analogy is--is feudalism. Western."
Sam nodded.
"Now, look at the Tok'ra. They infiltrate, rather than use a frontal attack. They rely on fitting in, rather than strength. They're passive. Patient."
"Like, tactically, you must surround your enemy in order to defeat him?"
"Um, no. That's a proto-feminist analysis of strategy, again, Western."
Sam thought for a moment. "Like the whole water smoothing the rocks clichˇ? And proto-what?"
"More like that." Daniel leaned back in his chair. "Isn't it interesting that our enemy is the Goa'uld and our ally is the Tok'ra? And therefore, we place value on, dare I say it, community? Build from within? If we expand our data set to include the histories of all the races in the galaxy, maybe we'll arrive at some universal truth. Jesus or Caesar?"
Sam licked foam off the end of her spoon. "The river or the highway."
"Exactly."
"Except," Sam said, chewing on the edge of her cup. "All we've learned from the Stargate is intergalactic warfare."
Daniel's face fell. Sam pressed her advantage. "So we either get involved, and kick their asses--or we sit back and get invaded, enslaved, and slaughtered." She paused. "Wasn't it you, Daniel, who rallied us and stopped the last invasion?"
Daniel exhaled. "All I'm saying is that Tok'ra tactics have their place in the grand scheme. Negotiating--Even acquiescing--can be correct." He frowned. "Like they say, keep your friends close, and your enemies closer."
"Christ." Sam rolled her eyes.
* * *
On the next mission through the Stargate, saving the universe was at stake. And it was personal. "Once captured, Selmak and Jacob, your father, would have been brutally tortured. But Sokar would rather see his victims suffer than die."
The words echoed in Carter's head as she traveled in a cargo ship to the moon Netu, a Goa'uld stronghold that had been converted into a vision inspired by the darkest recesses of Dante's mind.
SG1 was going to hell to prevent the Devil, Sokar, from extracting information from Jacob Carter. Martouf had told her that her father wasn't likely to survive. Then Martouf had placed the memory recall device on her temple, and had forced her to relive her memories shifted to Jolinar. She was faced with the uncomfortable sensation of sexual relations with Martouf, and the pain of Jolinar being tortured by Sokar.
For the good of the mission, she'd endured. Now that SG1 was about to descend into hell themselves, things could only get worse.
Once they'd infiltrated the prison camp on Netu, Carter had exposed them in a pique of bravado when she demanded to speak to the leader. She'd been brought before Bynarr. She remembered him clearly--every moment of Jolinar's careful seduction of this man was available in her mind for review.
She'd revealed herself as Jolinar, and he'd squinted at her with his one eye. "Our most recent addition is the Tok'ra Selmak. Have you come to rescue him? Did you think I helped Jolinar to escape?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you loved her."
"You are mistaken." Bynarr stepped closer, and grabbed her throat. She fought against him, but his guards stepped forward to grab her arms. She continued to kick at him ineffectually until the lack of airflow made her dizzy.
His grip didn't loosen. "So you've come back, Jolinar. Did you miss me?" Bynarr growled, his breath hot and rancid against Carter's face. "I thought I had been robbed of my chance for revenge. I'll rip your asshole to pieces. I'll cut off your breasts. Maybe I'll make them watch."
Despite her determination, when Bynarr had touched her, Sam cringed. She had miscalculated. She felt disgust in her very skin where his hands and breath touched, and she prayed that he would squeeze her until she passed out, so she could wake up in her cell later, without memory.
He let go, shoving her backward. She was held on her feet by the guards. "Jolinar never loved me. She loved someone else. And only he would know how to lead you here." Bynarr's eyes flashed white with fury. "Bring me the one called Lantash! You'll find him in the cell with Selmak, I'm sure."
"No!"
Bynarr laughed. "How I've missed you, Jolinar. How I've waited for this day, to feel you against me again."
Sam was stripped by the guards and held standing until Martouf was brought into the chambers.
"Please me," the warlord growled. "Please me, so he will suffer. Jolinar's lover." His eyes glowed white and his voice reverberated in the chamber. "You can't carry all the suffering yourself." He shoved her to her knees. "Not when your lover is right here."
Sam kept her head bowed as Bynarr freed his cock, already hard, from his loincloth.
Martouf squeezed his eyes shut.
Bynarr grabbed Sam's hair. She winced at his yanks, and he forced his penis into her open mouth.
She gagged.
"Good," he muttered, consumed with lust. "Good. Resist."
Sam sucked him, welcoming his pistoning organ with warm, tight lips and caressing tongue.
"Resist!" He slapped her across the face.
She cried out, but kept up her ministrations. The sooner he came, the sooner this could end. Bynarr thrust himself down her throat, and looked over at Martouf, who was crouching on the ground, covering his head with his hands.
"That one is weak. Remove him," Bynarr spat in Martouf's direction. Martouf was dragged out of the room.
Bynarr held Sam's head between his two large hands. "This one is strong," he purred. The demigod looked fondly down at Carter. "Weep, soldier." He touched her cheek. "Weep for Jolinar."
She wept.
Her tears brushed his thighs. He rammed into her, erupting. He pulled out, covering her face in Goa'uld semen. He coated her nostrils and her lips and she choked.
"Yes, Jolinar," Bynarr snarled. "You will pay." His gaze lingered on her marred face even as he snapped his fingers for the guards.
* * *
Sam was shoved into the cell with the others. She avoided their concerned faces, and only answered, "Whatever" in response to their questions. She didn't even look at Jacob, just curled into a ball in a corner of the cell and prayed for sleep.
A hand touched her shoulder and she flinched. Nearly screamed.
"Samantha," Martouf called softly to her.
She rolled her head back to look at him. His eyes were watery with unshed tears. But then, they were always like that.
"Samantha," he whispered again, looking down into her ruined face. "Bynarr was in love with Jolinar." He spoke clearly. "You can use that."
Sam parted her lips, rasped, and then licked her mouth and finally spoke. "He's already started calling me Jolinar."
Martouf smiled. He cupped Sam's face. "You're winning."
She reached up to hook her forearm awkwardly around his head, and drew him down.
He kissed her forehead. The touch was sweet, and Sam allowed herself to be comforted by caress of his lips. She realized he was responding to pain that must be familiar. He'd watched Jolinar go through this already. And how many lifetimes of horror had Lantash shared with Martouf, to allow such gentleness?
Memories of Bynarr were obliterated by memories of Martouf's love. She knew it was Jolinar, not her, reacting. That was okay. Maybe if she let Jolinar's ghost suffer with Bynarr, then it wouldn't be Sam facing it--Not really. Only her body would be sullied. Her mind and her heart would still be her own.
If only she could be Jolinar for a little while longer...
* * *
"Let the Tok'ra Selmak go and I'll do whatever you want," Sam gasped. She'd been hauled back to Bynarr's chambers after a half hour of rest.
"Anything?" Bynarr asked, cupping her face, drawing her up by the neck so they were eye-level, kneeling together on the bed.
Sam nodded as best she could, unable to speak with Bynarr's hand around her throat.
"But you've already given me everything. What could you possibly offer?"
Sam didn't have an answer.
Bynarr continued anyway. "All I ever wanted," he said, his tone sad. "Is for you to stay!" His voice rose on the last word, and he struck Sam.
He struck her again, across the face, and she crawled backward, trying to get away. He seized her shoulders and tossed her down onto the bed. "Why didn't you stay with me, Jolinar?" He moaned, as he knelt next to her. He looked down into her face and his voice dropped to a cajoling tone. "I offered you my kingdom," he whispered.
Sam whimpered, jerking away from his touches, tender though they were, as his hand began to travel across her cheek, her breasts, her belly.
When he parted her legs to enter her, she made no sound, but her tears fell down her bruised cheeks.
Bynarr pounded her pliant flesh, and as he neared the moment of climax, he bent his head to suckle at her breast. He came inside her, and Sam cried out in pain, clamping her legs around his thighs involuntarily.
He was pleased. He rolled to the side. "I will free the ill Tok'ra," he announced. "He will die soon, anyway. And so will you." Bynarr propped himself up on an elbow, looking sadly into Sam's marred countenance. "Then I will not have the pleasure of bargaining with you." He sighed. "Death is the antithesis of all that is Natu."
But she couldn't pray for death. Not yet. Not until the others were freed. After that, her life would be alone again, and she could die knowing her last act had been heroic.
* * *
Bynarr kept her naked and chained to his regal bed for two hours while he attended to matters on Netu. When he returned to free her, her muscles were stiff and bruises were beginning to reveal themselves on her body. Bynarr was pleased.
She was made to stand at the front of the bed. Her legs were slightly apart and her hands were clasped, tied, actually, in front of her.
Even nude, she was still sweating. It was hot in Hell. Bynarr observed how her skin shone in the torchlight. He walked around her in slow circles. "Why did you come to Netu?"
"For you," Sam answered.
"That's a lie!" Bynarr hollered, his sudden anger betraying him. Whatever her reasons, his were personal. Yet when he spoke again, his tone was flat. "You came to learn the secrets of the Tok'ra Selmak."
"Yes."
He resumed pacing. "You have so many scars," he noticed. "So many people have used you before me." Bynarr went to a side table and picked up a leather handle. A cat-o-nine tails, it would be called on Earth. Sam's eyelids widened slightly as he walked toward her again, running the black strands through his fingers.
"My signature will obliterate the work of other men." He struck her with the whip.
Sam winced as the leather cut into her.
"No, do not cry out. I hear the screams of broken men every day. I don't want you broken." He inhaled, and struck her again. She lurched forward, but remained silent, gritting her teeth against the stinging pain.
"I'm not going to break you, I'm going to kill you," Bynarr spoke.
Sam whimpered when the next strike fell, cutting into her thighs.
"That's right," he growled. "The next blow might kill you. Or perhaps the one after that. Is that why you're shaking?"
Soon Sam's back and buttocks were crosshatched with red welts. Bynarr seemed please with his work--pleased at how Carter whimpered without weeping, at how she quivered while standing absolutely still.
Bynarr circled to Sam's front. He brushed her breasts with the tails of the whip--a caress, not a blow.
"You're not fighting back," Bynarr commented. His words were quiet as he stroked her with the whip and clinically examined the contrast of black leather against pale skin. When Sam didn't answer, he looked up. "Are you truly willing to do anything to save your friends? Or is it something more? You can't hide your true feelings, Jolinar. Not in here. Not when you're covered in blood. Not from me."
He reached up to cup Carter's cheek. A tear dripped onto his hand, betraying her.
"Filthy mongrel," he muttered, striking her across the face. He grabbed her shoulder and shoved her to the floor, kicking her. She cried out with each blow.
"You're thinking about them, aren't you? Even now, your thoughts aren't here. Guards!" Bynarr bellowed. "Fetch me the Blood of Sokar. We'll see what the filthy thoughts were."
"No!" Sam screamed.
"Do you have memories worse than this one?" Bynarr knelt. "Moments of shame that even I would find repugnant? I wonder what could compare." When he stroked her hair, Sam didn't flinch.
"So easily broken," he murmured. Bynarr clasped her around the waist and pulled her to her feet long enough to toss her onto the bed. "It could all be an act," he mused. "I hope you are lying to me. There's so much more than this I want you to experience before you die."
Sam pressed her face into a pillow. Despite being made of silk, the pillow stank of sweat and musk. The heat of Netu made it impossible to bear the warmth against her cheeks for long; She turned her head to the side and gasped.
Bynarr was handing his armor to the guards. "If you pass out, I will have to wait for you to revive again, and I will be angry," he warned.
He ran his hands down her back, watching her wince at the lines of pain his fingers were drawing across her bruised flesh. His hands moved lower and he grasped her buttocks, parting them.
"Have you ever been had before?" Bynarr asked, pressing a finger against her anus.
She squirmed.
"Has your master ever truly taken you? Not that delicate Tok'ra," he laughed.
"It's too small," Carter implored, rasping through dry, caked lips. "You're so big."
He laughed again, smacking her bruised rear. "I don't care if it rips you in half."
He positioned himself behind her. Something hard and wet pressed against her anus. She lunged forward. He grabbed her hips and held her in place, laughing at her awkward struggles. Her tied hands offered no leverage. "Stop!" She begged him. "Please."
His grip held, and the tip of his shaft entered her. After a cry of pain, she submitted to the inevitable and concentrated on pushing with those muscles, to facilitate his penetration.
Bynarr took his time, taking in the sight of his cock disappearing, inch by inch, into her through a tight ring purpled by violation and already tinged with blood.
When he was inside her fully, he moved his hands from her hips to the sides of her head, and leaned onto her back. She was thus pinned under him, and without balance in her arms, helpless to move. Pressed between him and the bed, she felt her arms begin to go numb.
"Now," he declared. "The fun begins."
Carter had only a moment to wonder what he meant before his hands closed around her throat.
She panicked, flailing, kicking at him, trying to escape his hands and tear herself off his cock. He was too strong. Her struggles only seemed to give him a more enjoyable ride--He cajoled her and encouraged her as he rammed into her body.
He squeezed her neck so tightly there was a chance he'd snap it before she suffocated. "Killing you now," he moaned, his cock thick and hard inside her, "Would be the greatest satisfaction of my life."
Blue spots danced in front of Sam's eyes. In moments, she would pass out, and who knew what he would do to her after that. Just as she saw black, his hands loosened on her throat. He grabbed her hips and pulled himself from her so forcefully she screamed into the darkness. Her ears pounded as air returned to her lungs.
Something wet stung the torn skin of her rear entrance. He had come inside her. Sam felt fluid drip down her thighs. She rolled to the side, wincing as blood began to move through her bound arms again.
Bynarr stood, motioning to his guards for his armor. "Perhaps the next time I will kill you," he said. "Or the one after that."
* * *
-Part II.-
"The Blood of Sokar will cloud your mind."
Bynarr was dead. They were still trapped, but now their enemy was more familiar. Once again, Carter had the wretched memory device on her temple, but the hands that held her throat belonged to Apophis.
She willed her throat shut as they poured the blood of Sokar into her mouth. The congealed liquid tasted rancid, but Sam wouldn't open her lungs for the gust of breath necessary to spit it out. All she could do was keep her throat constricted. A guard was holding her jaws open. Soon, her struggle wouldn't matter any more, because she'd lose consciousness.
Fingers pinched her nose and she involuntarily gasped for air, choking on the poison. Her last lucid thought was that the doses they used were really overkill, and she'd be happy to teach them a way to concentrate the formula so that it could be safely injected. Then her face hit the floor...
...And she woke up in another time and place.
She was at a bar with Janet. The hotel bar at the Cheyenne Inn, to be exact, catering to only a handful of locals and older officers in the off-season. Two women could go there and talk, completely innocuously, where the dim light would hide motives.
"Janet," Sam began, putting her hand over the doctor's where it rested on the bar. "I think we should talk."
Janet drew her hand away. "No, I don't think we should."
Sam looked down at the ice in her Ameretto Sour. "I'm sorry," she said. "I thought... you were attracted to me."
"I am," Janet stated. "But let's leave it at that."
Sam faced her again, turning sideways on the barstool. "I don't want to leave it at that, Janet--"
"No. It's against regulations. And not just those regulations. The real ones, the ones with reasons behind them. I won't risk my career." Janet's expression hardened. "I wouldn't for my husband, and I won't for you."
Carter looked away.
Janet sighed. "I'm the CMO of the best program in the Air Force. And you--" She inhaled. "You, Major Sam Carter, Ph.D., Theoretical Astrophysics, you should know better."
Sam tried another tack. "What about--?"
"Cassandra?" Janet smiled faintly. "We have a good thing there. I don't want to screw it up. She needs us both. We can't fuck up anything."
Sam looked down at her hands. "So being a parent means making sacrifices."
"Yes," Janet answered. "Just like being a soldier."
Sam fought back sudden tears, and took another swig of her watery drink. She should have ordered something stronger.
Janet's hand dropped down to Sam's thigh, causing Sam to look up, startled.
"Of course..." Janet purred. "It could be a one-time thing..." She squeezed Sam's leg.
"What do you mean?" Sam struggled to concentrate through the heady rush of arousal.
"I'll sleep with you, Samantha, if you give me the iris codes."
Suddenly Sam laughed, brushing Janet's hand off her. "Do you think you're the first person to try that? To sleep with the alpha and see if the bitch will throw you a bone? Not going to happen. My _career_ is too important." She stood, fumbling in her pocket for cash for the tab.
Janet leapt up and wrapped her arms around Sam's waist. "Can you really say no, Sam? Hm?" One hand traveled up Sam's back, over her shoulder, then cupped her neck. "Shouldn't you have this at least once, before you die?"
"No," said Sam.
"Are you sure?" Janet's hand squeezed Sam's throat. She had an impossibly strong grasp for someone so small. "Can even you die without love?"
Sam was choking. She reached up to grab Janet's wrists, trying to pull herself free, but already, she felt her strength failing.
"Are you that courageous, Major Carter?"
Sam was pushed to her knees, and her throat was released so that Janet could backhand her. Her fingernails scratched the skin of Sam's cheek, gouging deep, and Sam screamed in agony. Then a blow landed on the back of her head, and she saw black.
* * *
They were torturing Martouf now. Guards held Carter, forcing her to watch. Apophis would kill her if Martouf didn't confess his secrets.
"Tell me now," Apophis demanded.
"I'm not Jolinar. Don't tell him anything."
Apophis pointed his staff weapon at the back of Carter's head. "Tell me!"
Martouf was weeping. Of all of them, he was the most delicate, the one most likely to break. He had loved Jolinar for over one hundred years. Longer than Carter had ever hoped to live.
"No, Martouf," she pleaded. "I'm not worth it."
Martouf had already succumbed. "Entac. The Tok'ra resistance is based on the planet Entac."
"Return them to the pit. Bring me Daniel Jackson." Apophis' attention had already turned to other matters.
"No, Martouf," Sam whispered. "Let them kill me."
* * *
The starship traveled through space, leaving the remnants of Sokar's ship in its wake. Netu had been destroyed. Bynarr was dead. There was no Hell.
"Well, once again, Carter has saved the day, while we boys just got ourselves injured." O'Neill winked in Sam's direction. "What crazy physics superpowers did you employ on those vents, anyhow?"
"Magnets, sir." Sam said, smiling from the circle of Jacob's arms.
"Ah, good old-fashioned, ice-cold magnets," O'Neill replied, pressing a water bottle to his forehead. "Aldwin, buddy, turn the air down a little more?"
The Tok'ra piloting the ship rolled his eyes.
"Come on," O'Neill pleaded. "It was hotter than hell down there." He paused. "Well, not hotter than hell, I suppose. Maybe about the same..."
* * *
-Epilogue-
When the ship reached Vorash, despite promises, despite bonds, Martouf and Jacob Carter returned to the Tok'ra resistence, and SG1 returned to Earth. Daniel Jackson and Jack O'Neill spent a day in the infirmary and then were released. A day after that, Major Carter was moved to isolation. Her condition wasn't improving.
Sam had given a verbal report. The timeline between SG1's discovery and Apophis' coup was indistinct. When pressed for clarification, O'Neill had covered for his partner. "Sometimes, General," he'd explained, as they stood next to Carter's bed in the isolation ward. "Hours can seem like days. Days can seem like weeks."
General Hammond had rolled his eyes and dropped the subject.
Now, only Janet Fraiser remained in the private room to watch over Carter. The doctor was afraid to sedate her charge because of the Blood of Sokar, so Sam's behavior had fluxuated between sulking depression and vibrant terror. She would have been strapped down, but the injuries to her back required constant redressing.
Fraiser had forgotten to include evidence of sexual assault in her initial report, and was keeping her diagnosis to herself during the evaluation period. "Post-traumatic stress" had appeared in her private notes. Two words that could kill Carter's career.
Janet's private ruminations were interrupted when Sam cried out and the doctor moved swiftly to her side. "I want Jolinar gone," Sam pleaded, ineffectually tossing on the bed. "Get it out!"
"I'm sorry, Sam," Doctor Fraiser said, cupping Carter's cheek, trying to calm her. "There's nothing I can do, medically."
"Please."
"I can't." Janet's voice broke. "But I can help you fight the fear you're feeling. Tell me what happened on Netu."
"No." Sam rolled her head to the side, looking at a computer monitor, watching her own heartbeat.
"You have to." Janet's voice rose in pitch. "You have to. Sam, please. O'Neill told me that you spent four hours away from the group. Whatever you tell me, I won't be ashamed of you." She tucked a stray strand of blond hair behind Carter's ear.
Sam yanked away from Janet's hand. She curled into the fetal position and closed her eyes.
"Let me say them for you." Fraiser said. The doors of the isolation ward were locked, and the blast screen was down in front of the observation deck. Janet sat by Sam's side on the gurney, and touched the soldier's shoulder, not letting Sam flinch away. "What was his name?"
"Bynarr," Sam whispered.
"He raped you," Janet said, reaching up to stroke Sam's hair.
Sam cringed. Her heart rate increased. Both women watched it on the monitor.
"You let him." Janet continued. "It was consensual. You saved your friends." She inhaled. "It's Jolinar's fault for not finding another way."
Tears fell onto the pillow under Sam's cheek.
"You even grew to like it. You liked the power. You used him. And you're afraid... " Janet leaned down to whisper the last words. "Because you found it so easy."
"I'd die before I did it again," Sam finally said. "But I won, anyway. He was so stupid." She tried to laugh, but the noise was choked.
"Jolinar is soulless." Janet said. "She nearly killed Cassandra."
"I remember," Sam whispered. "With my bare hands."
"She's not you. You saved your family." Janet bent down and kissed her friend's damp cheek, letting her lips linger and taste the salt.
Sam closed her eyes again at Janet's touch. "She only saved herself. Don't leave."
"I won't." The doctor stretched out behind Sam on the narrow hospital bed and wrapped her arm around the woman's shoulders. "I won't leave you."
"Janet?"
"Hm?" Janet rested her forehead against Sam's damp hair.
"Tell Daniel... That I think hell is a universal truth."
-End-