part one
part two
part three
part four
part five
There was an explosion of red liquid and Ercinee fell back. Now the nightgown-clad beauty looked like something out of a horror film. Blood poured from a wound in her shoulder, down her arm, and dripped eerily onto the glowing violet floor. Her face, her neck, the front of her nightgown and several parts of Josiah had gotten misted as well. Ercinee hadn't cried out, and now she sat, her face expressionless as she numbly clutched her dead arm with the other.
She looked up at him, disappointed? Sad? Angry? "Is this your idea of mercy?" she asked softly.
"It's the only avenue of escape you left me," he said numbly, lifting the gun in his bound hands for a second shot. The small handgun had never felt heavier. In nearly thirty years of life, he'd never done something so directly violent, least of all bloody. And despite feeling so numb about it, his hands shook almost irretrievably as he tried to line up another shot. How did people get used to this? he wondered distantly, some little part of his brain ticking on like nothing had happened. "But I'm still here." His mouth was dry. "I wanted to bargain with you. I tried." He was sounding like a psycho person justifying his crimes.
And it was that thought that had him nauseous. He choked on a breath that came too quickly and held it, forcing himself to steady up. Silverhawk would have shot the woman by now and gone home. One of the team diplomats might have even talked themselves out of the situation already. But he... was a historian. A linguist. Give him a language, a puzzle, a society, and let him go to town. But this?
He licked his dry lips and took shaky aim.
"I like that look in your eyes, Josiah," she smiled, "Didn't think you had it in you, did you? I wasn't sure myself, really. Well, now you know I can bleed." She smiled. "You aren't afraid to shoot me anymore, you just don't want to. That's good," Ercinee sounded strange, "that's a start. If nothing else, I've helped you learn this lesson; that you have it in you." She didn't move, though she did survey the bleeding damage. "Think of how much more I could teach you, Josiah..."
She was wrong; he didn't have it in him. Not really. Or maybe he had, and now it wasn't in him any more, and that's why he felt kinda hollow now. Either way, he didn't think he could pull the trigger again. Thought it was supposed to get easier after the first time, he thought distractedly. At least she didn't die. That was what he /really/ couldn't do. In fact, she didn't even look perturbed beyond that he'd ruined her nightie.
"I..." he managed through a breath. But what? All he could think to say was, "Put me back on the planet." But even that repeated demand didn't hold the conviction and command it once had. The part of his head that was still ticking on wondered how long he'd been there and whether his team was still planetside. He didn't have his GDO.
"I told you, Josiah, I'm not affected by pain, and, therefore, your threats aren't very... threatening. You may have to empty that thing to make your point; I'm not releasing you." slowly, hesitantly, she got to her feet and turned towards the bed. "I'm very tired now, Josiah, and I'm bleeding."
Josiah's gunpoint jerked to follow her as soon as he realised she was moving. But as she turned from him, he relaxed. Then he relaxed more, and was slumping against the wall behind him to slide down it to the floor. He'd tried. "My people will look for me," he murmured, staring off at nothing with his hands between his knees.
"Can they read a third generation form of Ancient Shashani?" she asked, sitting upon the bed. "That trap was for you, Josiah. Just you. I want no other company but you." Without grace she lifted part of the violet sheet to her mouth. The sound of tearing fabric was loud in the still room.
"They'll find a way," he said dully. He dropped his forehead onto the heels of his hands. Chances were she was right. He didn't even know for sure that he was on the same planet. After some time, he'd be declared officially Missing In Action, and life at the SGC would go on until this banshee decided he'd been adequately "conditioned," at which point he'd be stuck back on P-whatever-whatever without a GDO and no way to get home anyway. She wasn't without intelligence, though. There was a chance that with time, she'd... what? Learn compassion. She'd spoken of things he could teach her...
"Are you all right?" he murmured, lifting his head to look at her.
Ercinee was having a hard time getting the fabric around her shoulder. "That depends upon what you mean by 'all right'," she began, "I am not mortally wounded. This arm is useless for now, however." She wobbled for a split second, as a narcoleptic does when having a sleep attack, but resumed her activity as if nothing had happened. "From your point of view, I'm surprised you are taking such chances, letting me live, when you clearly believe I represent a significant threat."
He considered her. Considered /helping/ her, then banished the thought. Too far was too far. "You can't take my point of view," he said softly. "You don't know me. From my point of view, the threat to me - if it won't cause my death, then I have no right to cause yours..." But would the threat of her involve breaking down the SGC's front door and leading the Goa'uld infiltration? That'd cause some death, there. Turn him into a secret assassin? Someone would die then, or he'd be killed first. But she'd said she despised the whole idea of killing lots of people; it was why she was locked up. If he could believe that. Either way, he didn't have a GDO, so the code in his head was pretty well useless. Not much chance of him /or/ her getting back to the SGC.
"You're right," she agreed, "that is sensible." She had managed something akin to a bandage and sling. "I would not kill you, of that you have my word. So then... it seems we are at an impasse..." She looked to him. "Are you hungry?"
"Ah..." he started, quirking a brow. "Not particularly." His stomach growled right on cue, as was its wont. He blew out a breath and looked off.
"There is food in the vanity there," she said, "along with a few toys. A couple of them are edible," she grinned and raised an eyebrow, "but I don't suppose you would find me very funny right now."
Josiah twisted his mouth up at her for a moment before light dawned, and then he frowned and blushed red, resolutely sitting just exactly where he was. "Not. Hungry."
Ercinee sighed. She rose from the bed shakily and crossed to the vanity. Rooting in one of the drawer she produced two nondescript standard MRE packets. She approached Josiah gingerly, proferring the packets like a peace offering. "Truce?"
"Did you get these from my pack?" he said instead of agreeing to a truce. He raised his bound hands to take them.
"Is 'yes' the right answer to this question?" she asked, sliding down to sit less than delicately next to him. "Oh...you think I'm going to drug you again," her speech sounded slurred, "that would have been a good idea to try first..."
"Actually," he replied, "I hadn't even thought of that. I was just wondering if I was the first Tau'ri soldier you lured here." Nevermind that he wasn't a soldier. He glanced at her. "Er, you seem to have lost a little grace. Blood loss?" he guessed.
"Would it ease your jealousy if I said you were the first?" She looked at her shoulder. "I made this place for you. In retrospect I should have done more with the place; it seems like we'll be spending a lot of time together. As long as I don't make any threatening moves, you won't shoot me. If you don't shoot me you don't leave. You know, this would go so much faster if you'd just give it a try."
"Try shooting you? I already did." He gestured vaguely. "It didn't turn out that well, if you recall."
"How is it you are allowed to be funny and I am not?" She yawned and leaned against Josiah. "Let me sleep with you... sleep. Just sleep..."
"It's because I'm more charming than you are," he replied, "and no. There's a bed. I'll sleep on the floor. Or you could put me on the planet. I'll sleep fine there. Got a tent and everything."
part seven
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Ercinee (c) Mary
Post written co-operatively
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