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Summary: The story of Hathor's sorry end at the hands of Jack O' told by her host.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Stargate > Non-BtVS/AtS StoriesKelinciHutanFR1534,592072,48517 Mar 0519 Mar 05Yes

Face To Face

Warning(s): none

Special Warnings: I, as the author, hereby reserve the right to main, injure, deform, depress, disorient, harm, or otherwise seriously damage, physically or otherwise, and yes, maybe even kill, any of these characters as I see fit. Consider yourself warned.

Pairing(s): none

Spoilers: “Out Of Mind” (season 2, episode 22), “Into The Fire” (season 3, episode 1), “Hathor” (season 1, episode 14), plus anything from seasons 1 through the first episode of 2 that I care to mention.

Disclaimer: "Stargate: SG-1" and related characters and situations are the property of MGM Television Entertainment and Gekko Film Corp. No money changed hands and no copyright infringement is intended or implied.

Feedback: All comments are welcome.

It has been so long. I don’t even entirely remember my own name anymore. I think it began with an S…maybe. Perhaps my forgetting it is a byproduct of sarcophagus usage?

I am called Hathor now, though I am not she. Hathor is the evil creature within me. I am the vessel. And so it has been for centuries.

The tau’ri she captured are here now. In this very room, examining her mock-up of their facility.

“I’ve never seen this place so deserted.”

Ah, yes. I remember that one. I could not forget him. He was so sweet. A bit foolish, perhaps, but very sweet.

The one called O’Neill wanders close to where Hathor has hidden me. I was always a bit proud of that. I remember myself. Hathor may be the one in charge, but I am always there.

“Guess they figure they don’t need to keep up the act if we’re unconscious.” That one is…Samantha Carter. She led the force of women that defeated us when Hathor took me to their facility. Oh, how I’d hoped she’d have to kill me, but that would not have killed Hathor, which is now my last desire.

You see, I can no longer wish to see my loved ones. Or wish to be returned to my husband. Or to laugh with my best friend. They all died a long time ago, happily and gratefully surrendering me up to what they thought was a blessing. My dear, misguided, loving, foolish family. I miss them so much.

O’Neill stands now very near to me. He kicks the gate with his foot and it rings hollow and empty.

“It’s fake.”

As he returns to his friends at the bottom of the ramp, Daniel speaks again. “I don’t understand. Who would have spent enough time in the base to be able to reproduce it in this kind of detail? You don’t think Apophis—?”

A sick surge of anger chokes my mind. Hathor is angry. I had hoped that she would allow them to simply look around and then have her jaffa capture them, but now it seems I am not to be so fortunate.

“Silence!” my voice orders them. She used my true voice this time. I wonder why?

My hand pushes a button on the device Hathor used to make me invisible and I appear to them. I know what they see. A ripple of air, and then a beautiful, redhead, wearing not nearly enough clothes standing before them, proud, and haughty and utterly vile. Their faces twist with the appropriate disgust as I approach them.

“Oh, I was so hoping never to see you again,” O’Neill said to her as I passed him.

I had hopes never to see you again, as well, O’Neill. I had hoped you would be somewhere else, fighting Hathor's kind, not captured by her. I had hoped you would be safe from her. Now you will not live to regret this, I fear.

Rau’lee and Trofsky, Hathor’s tok’ra spy and first prime respectively enter, armed with zat’ni’katels and dirty looks, fixing both on the tau’ri. I hope Rau’lee moves quickly with whatever she is planning.

I have reached Daniel. Hathor raises my hand and strokes his face with it. He reminds me, in some ways, of my long-dead husband. His name, too, is forgotten to me, though I remembered it longer than I recalled my own.

We were no great lovers, my husband and I. Our tale is not a tragic one of romance and lost love, I am afraid. Our wedding was arranged and executed by our parents when we were quite young and I did not see him much in the intervening years until our marriage was consummated when I became seventeen years of age. But he was gentle and kind to me, never raising a hand against me as some men were prone or forcing me to do what I did not wish to.

I would have come to love him, I believe. He was quite funny and easy for me to talk with. I think that we would have been quite happy. I would have joyfully born him many children and kept our home happy and ordered for him without complaint.

“We have indeed missed you, our beloved,” Hathor tells Daniel, now using the echoing tones that mark me as host to a goa’uld.

Yes, my husband, I have missed you so much it is painful!

“Daniel, don’t let her breathe on you.”

If I had the ability any longer, that comment would have made me laugh quite hard. As if he could prevent Hathor from using me to breathe wherever she wished. The utterance itself sounds humorous when pronounced.

In my mind I laugh both at Samantha for saying it, and at my symbiote, the vile creature, for not being able to perfect her pheromone so that it will work multiple times on the same person. Foolish serpent, for believing you could be a god!

Hathor snaps at Carter, “You think that we would go to these lengths if you were not already immune to that organism?” Her anger was directed at me as well, I believe, for mocking her, because a now-familiar pain shot through my body. Hathor does not feel it, and can therefore make me appear as if I am not in pain, but I am in a very great deal. If I had control of my body, I would likely be on my knees with the pain.

Daniel has joined his friends on the ramp. I am walking around the jaffa that now serve Hathor.

“Do you like our guards?” Hathor asks them. “We managed to lure them from the remote outposts of our enemies. We are quietly building our forces before the System Lords even know that we are alive. But doing so is difficult when we have to operate with limited knowledge of the empire.”

Every difficulty you suffer is just, beast!

More pain is my only answer.

“Let me take a guess,” O’Neill interrupts. “It’s just a wild guess, but that’s where we come in, right?”

I have always liked how O’Neill has absolutely no respect in the presence of System Lords and former System Lords. I think that I should like to die by his hand. It is only fair since he has made some moments of my captivity almost bearable.

“We know more than you do,” Samantha says.

The tau’ri do have a habit of stating the blindingly obvious at times, though.

“Perhaps. We are prepared to offer you a life of luxury as servants in our royal court, for sharing information. Deny us…and you will not enjoy the alternative.” While Hathor makes this speech, she forces me to walk to O’Neill. By the end of it, I am nearly nose-to-nose with him.

“You know,” he sighs, “you really should do something about the breath.”

I laugh at Hathor again. I had wondered if she might regret not cleaning my teeth this morning.

She ignores me. “How do we contact the Asgard so that we might ally with their forces?”

And again, I must laugh at the foolishness of this beast. She could not truly believe the Asgard would ally themselves with one so foul as her.

“Try Roswell. Little place in New Mexico.”

I think this was meant to be funny, but I am afraid the reference has escaped me. In any case, Hathor is not happy with his answer.

I move to Samantha. “What is the sequence of numbers necessary to open the barricade protecting your Stargate?”

Truly this is a day for laughter. This time, there is a surge of pain across my body. Samantha maintains a stubborn silence.

“If you will not give us the information that we desire, we do have another means of retrieving it.” Hathor snaps my fingers and a jaffa enters. He comes and stands before me, waiting patiently. SG-1 is watching curiously. “An opportunity has presented itself at a most…” Here Hathor has paused for a dramatic effect. “…fortuitous time.”

My hand reaches into the jaffa’s pouch and I retrieve a full mature, hissing, screeching goa’uld. Even I wish to recoil from the sight. It is not a pleasant one.

Again, the serpent within me speaks. “Our friend here is ready for a host. Tell us, which one of you shall it be?”
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