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"Over my dead body." I tell her and I mean it.
I hear the words she's saying, and I know it could be galaxy changing information, but I don't care!
I hate those snakes!
I don't trust a single one of them -- all right, except maybe Dad, but he is the exception to the rule. Dad would always put Sam's safety first and, in a strange way, SG-1's too.
You can call a snake a Tok'ra or a Goa'uld, but the fact is you can't trust them nor count on them. Sure, the SGC has always helped them out and Dad had gotten us out of a sticky situation or two. But almost everything else goes pear-shaped. The armbands, the lie detector, everything was a double blade, nothing was simple or easy. They're so arrogant in light of their technological advances that they forgot that humans, or Tau'ri, aren't lab rats.
I don't want to be forced to share my whole self with anyone like that. It's creepy.
"--the symbiote would sacrifice itself rather than stay in an unwilling host." She ended.
It was then the plea came from her lips. One which melted every resolve.
"Sir, please."
And it's there.
I know where my heart really is and where I belong. For all I've loved before, I have never known I would do anything, and, I mean anything, for another person. Until Now.
She confessed in her Xanex thing that “One day — it would be nice to be loved enough to live for.”1
My nod is me telling you that. That I love you enough to live for. You know that right? You have to know that.
My last coherent silent thought is…
'The things you make me do, Carter, the things you make me do !'