By: Nerca Beyul
CATEGORY: Angst, Drama, AU
SEASON/SPOILERS: Season 9 through “Beachhead” (becomes AU after there)
WARNINGS: Mentions of torture
AUTHOR’S NOTES: Once again, I thought I needed to write a Daniel/Vala story to contribute to the C2… And something that wasn’t fluff. This one definitely isn’t like my funny little “Homecoming” story… But to all who enjoyed that, don’t worry, a sequel’s on the way in a little while. Ok, so I know Vala’s coming back in season 10 in a totally different way from this, but I just had to write my version.
AUTHOR’S WEBSITE:
http://nerca-beyul.livejournal.com/
Every day the stack of reports got taller and taller. And every time a report was read and removed from the pile, Daniel’s hopes sank lower and lower, further and further away.
The reports were everything from across the galaxy concerning the Ori. Every time a Prior was spotted spouting his jargon, every time an off-world team found out something new, a report landed on top of the stack on Daniel Jackson’s desk.
He clung to a fading shard of hope that all of this knowledge would somehow help him confirm Vala was alive in Ori territory, and that somehow the data would aid him in rescuing her. But instead of every report bringing new hope and new light to optimism’s fading self, it diminished his fading sanguinity. After every one, things just seemed that much more hopeless.
One last unread report sat on his desk, both begging to be read and asking to be banished directly to a trashcan.
It’s just going to tell you there’s no hope, a faint voice in Daniel’s head whispered.
Eventually, with a sigh, he reached out and opened it up. His eyes quickly skimmed the headings, taking in the information with a mere glance.
Filed by: Commander Marla Jameson, leader of SG-6 & Major Christopher Grouper, 2IC of SG-6
Location: P48-0696
A peek at a clock confirmed for Daniel that the report was just over four hours old, meaning it had probably landed on his desk while he was away at lunch. The most recent report, then.
The report’s message itself was very brief.
A Prior has come through the Stargate and threatened the people here. We are going to take action. This will not continue.
Just another Prior sighting then. Daniel started to toss it right into his trash—
Wait, did it say that they were going to “take action”?
Immediately he stopped.
The off-world teams were all under orders to leave the Priors alone after the whole incident with the Ori beachhead. The SGC as a whole thought it just too dangerous and risky. The only exception to the orders was in personal defense, and from the report’s sound that wasn’t the case.
But Daniel re-read it and it still held the same message: we are going to take action.
That would put SG-6 against orders and Marla Jameson—leader of SG-6 and co-filer of the report—was anything but insubordinate.
Frowning, Daniel scooped up the report and started making his way towards General Landry’s office.
Just then, wailing alarms went off and lights began flashing all down the hallway.
“Unscheduled off-world activation!” echoed Sergeant Harriman’s voice in response.
Reflexively, Daniel’s step quickened as he changed course for the control room. He got there just after General Landry himself, who was breathing a little hard, as if he’d come running.
“What is it?” the General asked.
“Unknown address,” Harriman observed, looking at his screen. “We’re getting a signal sir… It appears to be Commander Jameson’s—of SG-6.”
“Jameson…” Landry said. “Where is she supposed to be?”
“P48-0696.”
Ignoring the fact that it was Daniel and not Harriman that answered his question, Landry looked up to the metal barricade stretched across the Gate’s opening. “Well, what’s the problem, Sergeant?”
“Well, sir, the code is a little…garbled,” Harriman replied, tapping away at his computer. “Still readable as Jameson’s, but the frequencies are a tad off, sir.”
“An imitation?” suggested Daniel.
“It’s possible.”
Landry’s struggle was obvious, but he ordered the soldiers in the Gateroom to stand ready and nodded to Sergeant Harriman. “Open the iris.”
At Harriman’s command, the metal glided open and the rippling blue wormhole surface appeared. For a long, suspended moment, nothing happened.
Then suddenly, a running woman in a ripped SG uniform came through the Gate shouting at the top of her lungs. “Close the iris!” she cried. “Close the iris!”
Harriman slapped a hand across the button and smoothly, the metal iris closed. But not before some odd energy bold came flying through, rushing into the wall. The metal of the wall buckled inward around the impact, but remained mostly intact.
Daniel was already heading down to the Gateroom with Landry on his heels.
When the men got into the wide Gateroom, the woman who’d come through the Gate turned towards them from where she knelt gasping for air. A huge gash crossed her face on one side from hairline to ear, pouring out blood down her face. Matching her ripped and bloody clothing, the other side was scratched and scathed, but identifiable.
“Commander Jameson,” Landry gruffly identified aloud. “What in the galaxy happened to you?”
“Later, sir,” she replied, voice broken around her gasps for breath. “First, med team.”
As she struggled to her feet and turned towards the medics—who were already running in at Harriman’s call—Daniel abruptly realized that Jameson cradled something large in her arms. It looked almost like a body bag, being made from the standard green canvas. The cloth was ripped, scorched and bloody, to match Jameson’s new motif…
And as the female commander gently and carefully laid the “bag” down on the medics’ stretcher, Daniel was astounded to see that it wasn’t a bag at all, but a person twisted about and wrapped up in the standard issue survival blanket. And with a heart-wrenching shock as he followed the stretcher and medics—including those hurrying Jameson along—that marred as she was, the person lying on the stretcher was Vala Mal Doran.
Burning pain lanced through her arm from the elbow all the way up through her wrist and palm, even up to her fingertips as Doctor Lam set the fractured bones therein. Marla Jameson inhaled sharply at the pain but gave no other outward sign to her suffering.
“Can you give me the final assess’ now, Lam?” Marla asked.
“Five fractures in this arm,” Lam replied, wrapping Marla’s now-set arm in a cast. “Sprained left ankle, three cracked ribs, scattered second degree burns.” She tapped one side of Marla’s head away from the numbed area the commander knew held stitches, then the other side likewise. “Seventeen stitches here, five here.” She frowned as she continued to wrap the arm. “What in this galaxy did you do to bang yourself up like this, Commander?”
“Sorry, Doc,” Marla replied. “General’s gotta hear the report first.”
“I’m sure he does.” Lam’s voice was skeptical and made the edges of Marla’s mouth quirk into a smile.
“’Sides, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Finished with Marla’s cast, the doctor planted her hands on her hips. “Actually, you’d be surprised how much I’m willing to believe.”
If she’d been any other slightly warmer person, if she’d been in any less emotional stress, Marla would have smiled. Instead, she just changed the subject. “Well, what was the final synopsis on Mal Doran? What’s her broken bone count? And injuries otherwise…”
“Well, both of her legs are broken in multiple places,” Lam began, counting on her fingers. “Collarbone’s snapped, spinal cord was almost fractured, broken arm—about as bad as yours, Commander—concussion, burns of all three degrees, all sorts of cuts that had to be stitched and some odd puncture wounds on her chest and stomach.” Lam paused, studying the fact that most of her fingers were in the air. And she shook her head. “Again, what in this galaxy did you do, Commander?”
As Marla opened her mouth to retort, a different voice cut her off.
“I’d like to know the same thing, Commander Jameson, if you’ll please.”
Careful not to put weight on her sprained ankle, Marla snapped to attention as General Landry strode into the infirmary. It hurt her banged ribs to be standing like this as well, but protocol—
“At ease,” the General ordered, immediately causing Jameson to slack a little. “Commander, don’t you have a bad ankle? Shouldn’t put weight on that. Sit.”
“Yessir.” Carefully, Marla sat herself on the hospital bed, looking back to Landry right in the eye. “Gonna begin the debrief here, sir?”
“No one’s going to listen,” the General replied with a pointed look at Lam. Getting the not-quite-subtle hint, the doctor shrank away. “Besides, in your condition, you probably want to stick close to the infirmary.” He held up a finger. “First, Jameson, where’s your team?”
Despite her banged up ribs, Marla immediately went rigid. “It doesn’t matter, sir,” she grated tightly. “They’re not coming back.”
“Dead?” The look on the General’s face was quiet pain, but also anger that Marla feared would be directed at her…
But still, she truthfully nodded shortly.
“Even Major Grouper?”
The barrage of memories that confronted Marla of her second-in-command were so numerous and completely varying, each one piercing her heart in its own broken way. “Yes, sir. Even him. Chris lasted longer than the others, but they got him just the same.”
“Who is ‘they,’ Commander?”
“The Ori, sir.”
“The Ori?” The General’s face pinched into a tight, bewildered frown. “You’d better start explaining yourself now, Jameson!”
“Gladly, sir.” Steeling herself, Marla began.
* * * *
The glare of the sun reflected off of something large probably two miles off towards the horizon. From the direction of the Stargate.
At first, Chris Grouper was ready to dismiss it as nothing.
Then he remembered that P48-0696 was a fledging
“Mar,” he interrupted his commander’s conversation with the
The
The safety in Jameson’s gun clicked “off” loudly. “Let’s check it out.” She gestured to the other members of SG-6. “Adkins, behind me. Then Gonzalez, and Chris, bring up the rear.”
The three men nodded and Marla took off at a fast jog, rifle
ready and her team in tow. It wasn’t long before Chris heard a half-dozen armed
And all ten people—Tau’ri and
A Prior stood a half-step in front of the rippling blue Gate with his staff and Book of Origin held in either hand.
Six staffs and four rifles sighted him immediately, as much good as that was going to do. None wavered in the least, nor did the Prior’s calm, placid expression.
“You go right back through that Gate,” Marla barked at him. “You and your kind are not welcome here, Ori scum!”
The alien simply cocked his head.
“Yeah, that’s right, Cueball!” Marla snapped, picked fun at his hairless head. “I’m talking to you! Don’t you get the meaning of the word ‘leave’?”
“Jarucius told Appal to leave—” the Ori follower began, opening his book.
“Yeah, God Almighty—Jehovah-Yahweh—told Lot’s family to leave Sodom and He told them to never look back,” the commander cut in. “And when Lot’s wife looked back, she turned into salt. Well, I’m telling you to turn and run. And if you turn and look back, you’re gonna be full of bullet-holes—but same basic concept.” She waved her gun threateningly. “See, Mr. Prior, you quote your Book of Lies all you want, and I’ll just throw the Good Book herself at you.”
Behind the Prior, the wormhole remained open the entire time. And slowly after Marla’s sermon, he stalked down towards the ring of armed opposers and the Gate fluttered closed behind him.
“Chris,” Jameson called, keeping the Prior at the business end of her rifle. “Get a report back to command. Tell them we’re taking action.”
“But, Mar—” he started.
“Do it, Grouper,” she bit out. “And make it brief.”
Obediently snapping his mouth shut—and knowing this could earn SG-6 court-martials one and all—Chris Grouper sent the last report of his life.
* * * *
“And that’s when you got the report, sir,” Marla said to the General. “And when we decided to do something.”
“Do you realize what you did was insubordinate?” Landry asked. “You were acting against orders to leave Priors alone, Commander. That kind of defiance could earn you a court-martial?”
“Yes, I know, sir,” she replied tightly. “But I’m hoping what I’m going to tell you will outweigh my rebellious action, sir.”
“Continue.” Skeptically, the General crossed his arms.
“Well, I don’t know quite how, but we managed to convince the Prior to go back through the ‘Gate…”
* * * *
Gregorio Gonzalez was watching the Ori follower closely when he turned and raised his staff at the Gate. And to Gonzalez’s extreme surprise, the Gate rapidly started dialing and activated itself without anyone laying a finger on the dialing device. The Prior just walked right up the steps to the Gate.
Jameson—who’d been standing off to the side speaking with
one of the
Gonzalez was a small man, but he pumped his short legs as could and went through the Gate not two steps behind the Ori Prior. He came out on the other side in a gold-bricked palace…
Right behind him, all three of SG-6’s other members and four
of the
In the Ori galaxy, in an Ori stronghold.
“No DHD,” was Jameson’s first observation.
A glance from Gonzalez confirmed that.
“They must have some other method of dialing, then,” Grouper input.
Without warning, one of the
* * * *
“Whoa, hold it,” Landry said, throwing up a hand to punctuate his words. “Did you just say you killed a Prior? How in this universe did you manage that?”
“Well, sire, we just sort of…well…er…squished him, sir,” Marla struggled. She demonstrated with her good hand, bringing it down against her leg like the falling roof. “Simple as that.”
The General shook his head. “All this time, and it was as easy as squishing them.” He sighed. “Just continue, Commander.”
“Well, some how or another, after splitting up from the
* * * *
Run. Run. Run.
That was the only thought on Beau Adkins’ mind at the moment.
He could hear the angry shouts of Ori believers and soldiers hurrying along behind him with weapons. Ahead of him pounded his teammates, lead by the fearless Commander.
And then as an energy bold passed over his shoulder while he rounded a corner, Adkins’ foot caught on something, causing him to topple forward. His shin hit the hard floor first and he not only felt the sharp jab of pain, but he heard an extremely audible crrraaaaaccckkk.
He bit out curses under his breath and winced as he tried to pull himself along.
The next thing Adkins knew, bullets were whizzing past his head in one direction and energy bolts were returning the opposite way. Then there was a break and he jerked his head up. His teammates were against the corridor walls, rifles aimed back up the hall at the enemies.
“Get your butt up, Adkins!” Jameson barked.
“Can’t, ma’me,” he groaned in reply.
Jameson swore and momentarily glanced down at her subordinate. “Dangit, Adkins, when did I ask you if you could or couldn’t get up?” She resumed firing at the enemy and spoke through gritted teeth. “Get up or you’re getting left!”
Adkins knew what they said at the SGC about Commander Marla Jameson: she was a brilliant strategist, but cold, harsh, unfeeling and too close-minded. And he knew from experience—especially now—that what they said was all too true.
Stubbornly, he pushed himself to his knees and tried to crawl along. But searing, white-hot agony pressed him back down.
The last thing Beau Adkins saw was the floor of an Ori fortress.
* * * *
“They got Adkins before we even got to Mal Doran,” Marla said, shaking her head. “Burned him up beyond recognition. We managed to get all of that particular group in retaliation.”
“What about the four
“We lost contact, sir.”
“Ah. Anyway, then you picked up Vala…”
“Yes, sir,” Marla nodded. “She was in some kind of detention cell, apparently tortured. She was a real sight, sir, beaten and bloody. Not only that, but she was delirious too. All she would say was ‘Daniel, Daniel, Daniel,’ no matter what we asked. I carried her out…and it seems we set off some kind of self destruct on the way out. Then we had more Priors and soldiers on our tail. They got Gonzalez.”
When Marla paused, the General nodded for her to continue.
“Then the ceiling started falling down. A piece hit me, and did most of this damage.” She raised her casted arm and splinted ankle as evidence. “And it hurt Mal Doran too. Chris got me up, and I got Mal Doran. We got to the control room and dialed home…”
* * * *
The familiar sound of a dialing Stargate reached Chris Grouper’s ears as he pounded down the golden hallway behind Marla. She was panting and limping, but she kept on running for her life…
Ahead of them a blue light flashed into existence and lit their way.
And the corridor dropped away into a Gateroom…
Safety, Chris thought.
But it was not to be.
He was hit hard from behind with something he couldn’t identify. The heat spread agonizingly throughout his whole body… The next thing he knew, he slammed into the ground with shattering force. And when he recovered from the shock, he realized that he’d been shot.
“Chris!” came a pained shriek calling his name.
He looked up to see his commander standing at the Stargate, staring down at him with a horrified look.
Chris Grouper knew what they said about Marla Jameson at the SGC and he knew he was the only one in a long time that had punctuated her cold exterior. And he knew how far back his loss would set her, and how much pain it would cause.
“Sorry, Mar,” he whispered to her. “Sorry.”
She foolishly started back down the steps to help him.
“No…” he insisted as the life left him. “Go. Go, Mar, go.”
Her jaw set and with a determined look, she turned and ran through the Gate, leaving her dead friend behind.
* * * *
“And that’s when I came through the Gate, sir,” Marla finished. “With the Ori fortress crumbling behind me.”
“Do you think you put it out of commission?” the General asked.
She nodded lightly. “Yessir, I think it’s a strong possibility.”
“Well then, I think your accomplishment and bravery probably outweighs your insubordination. Good work, Commander. You’re dismissed.”
Daniel had heard the reports. He knew that Vala was broken, and still bordering on the delirious side, but recovering. He’d just been standing outside of the room they were holding her in this entire time…
He heard a tap, tap, tap from behind him, and turned halfway around to see the source of the noise.
It was Commander Jameson, hobbling over using a crutch under one arm to help her walk. One foot was splinted and held behind her and a sling held a casted arm to her chest. He was surprised to see her stitched face was framed by wisps of short-cropped auburn hair and that she sported a loose black t-shirt and cargo pants. Of all the years Jameson had worked at the SGC, Daniel had never seen her without her camouflage hat or out of her same-patterned standard-issue fatigues—come to think of it, probably no on had. So he’d never seen her hair and was wondering if he was the first on base to have that privilege.
“Why don’t you just use a wheel-chair, Commander?” he asked, noticing the trouble she had with the single crutch.
“Wheel-chairs are for old people,” she retorted, concentrating on her mission. “Or seriously injure folks.”
“You’re not seriously injured?” Daniel responded, raising a brow.
Jameson looked up with fire in her green eyes. “No, I’ll make it.”
You just think a wheel chair would make you look weak, he thought. Everyone knows how tight and cold you are, Jameson. No one thinks you’re weak.
But she managed to limp her way to the door to Vala’s room. It remained closed as per orders from Lam herself that at the moment, Vala needed sleep and no visitors.
“Have they told you anything new,
“Well, no,” he replied, sinking into a waiting-room chair. “Last I heard was the thus-far broken bone count.”
Nodding, Jameson waddled over and slowly lowered herself into an opposing chair. “I got more info… While Lam was patching me up, she told me that Mal Doran also has a concussion, all kinds of burns and stitches, and patched up punctures.” She shook her head lightly. “She was very bloody when I found her.”
Daniel had to try hard not to gulp and cringe. “Yes, what did happen, Commander?”
“First, call me Jameson. I don’t feel like being called Commander now.” Some unspoken pain was hidden in her deep green eyes, and Daniel didn’t press. “And second, me and my…team…found our way to the Ori galaxy. We rescued Mal Doran from captivity.” Briefly, Jameson outlined her adventure—omitting details about her team.
Daniel listened, fascinated at the bravery of SG-6. And at their raw insubordination.
“They tortured Vala?” Daniel asked after that part in her story.
“From the looks of things, I’d say yeah, it’s a pretty safe
bet,” Jameson replied with a tight set to her jaw. “The Ori are ruthless,
Slowly he nodded. He knew that—or at least he should have. “Well, thank you for helping her.” He could feel the emotion flooding into his voice. Gratitude and relief… And he quickly tampered it out, unsure of where it came from in the first place. “Thank you for saving her from their torture.” This time, his voice was controlled and much less desperate sounding.
“It’s my job,” Jameson assured. “And the job of every SG officer on base.”
“Speaking of officers… Your team. Where are they? Still on P48-0696?”
Immediately, Jameson’s lips flattened and her jaw tightened. Her posture went tighter, if that was at all possible. The shake of her head was equally stiff. “No. They didn’t make it.”
“Oh,” Daniel said. “I’m so sorry.”
“At least they died fighting to save the galaxy,” she replied. “They would’ve wanted it that way. Being the big heroes that sacrificed it all for the greater cause.”
Not really knowing how to respond, Daniel just nodded quietly.
Apparently taking refuge in the silence, Jameson sat back and closed her eyes in peace.
Peace.
The cold, hard woman who had just come back from a mission that cost her the lives of her three closest companions—and almost cost her own life—was at peace. Beaten and battered, bruised and injured, she seemed so tranquil and aloof, beyond all of life’s petty pain. Maybe that was the upside to having a hard shell like Jameson’s: things didn’t get to you the way they did to other people.
But what about Vala? Daniel thought, frowning.
Was Vala’s exterior hard enough to endure all she’d been through in the past couple of months? Would she come out of this unscathed?
Somehow the thought deeply disturbed Daniel and he stood, beginning to pace with a thoughtful frown on his face and a wrinkle in his brow.
Vala was strong. That much was obvious.
She was toughened by years as a thief, stripping herself of moral… She was solidified by years suppressed as a Goa’uld host…
But could that really help her so much with the emotional, mental and physical agony she’d endured at the hands of the Ori?
Would she come away from this crisis changed?
No, Daniel thought desperately. She can’t be changed. She’s Vala, for goodness’s sake! She has to be the same. She—
“Stop pacing.”
Startled, he looked over to see Jameson staring at him through half-open emerald eyes.
“You’re making too much noise,” she continued. “And I’m trying to rest.”
“Oh, sorry.” With a little difficulty, Daniel stopped his pacing and dropped himself back into his chair, willing his uneasiness away.
Jameson’s eyes closed again.
The ensuing silence didn’t even last a minute before Daniel asked the commander a question, “Why are you here, Jameson?”
Again, her eyes fluttered open and she tilted her stitched face towards him. “To see Mal Doran when she wakes up,” she replied. “Same as you.”
“Why?”
For a moment, Jameson just stared quietly at Daniel. “I want to tell her something,” she finally said, slowly. “I want her to know that blood was shed for her rescue. And where that blood came from—mine and the team’s.”
Daniel was opening his mouth to reply when an orderly interrupted.
“Miss Mal Doran is awake,” the orderly announced to Daniel and Jameson. “Just one visitor at a time, please.”
Already stiffly rising from her seat, Jameson glanced at Daniel. “Let me take the first slot,” she said, balancing herself on her single crutch. “I’ll be quick and then I can go get some rest.”
Biting back retorts, Daniel nodded. “Alright.”
As much as he wanted to see Vala first, all common sense dictated that Jameson should go.
And the commander hobbled her way over to the room’s door
with difficulty and a determined frown. But she paused and turned before she
opened the door to Vala’s room. “One last thing,
Attentively, he fixed an anticipating look on her face.
“Something the reports won’t tell you.” She paused and Daniel could feel anticipating building. “Mal Doran was delusional when we found her. Very delusional. And the entire time, she kept calling out one thing. Do you know what that one thing was?”
Oh, Daniel could think of plenty of simply wonderful things that Vala would say, but no particular one stood out, so he shook his head.
The look on Jameson’s face was…solemn and purposeful as she said, “Your name.”
A frown creased Daniel’s face. “What?”
“All she’d say was Daniel,” Jameson repeated. “And unless she knows some other Daniel, I’d say she meant you.” When he failed to respond, Jameson continued. “I’m not entirely sure what it means, but it’s said there’s only a small line between delusions and reality. The difference being when you’re delirious, you have no inhibitions. Think about it.”
On that note, she turned and limped off, leaving the archeologist to his latest discovery.
* * * *
Marla Jameson was not a stupid woman. Everyone in the SGC would admit to her brilliant strategic mind, and Marla knew that her intuitive nature went beyond strategy—even if most people didn’t see that.
Beyond her good grasp on theology and religion (Christianity in particular), beyond her aptitude with weapons, past her ability to learn anything quickly, she was emotionally apt and observant.
Imagine that: the cold, emotionless Marla “The Freeze-out” Jameson could read other people’s emotions easily.
And she saw things between Doctor Daniel Jackson and the con-artist and thief Vala Mal Doran that no one else would admit. Especially those in question, who Marla knew would vehemently deny everything.
But after all, out of the billions and billions of things Mal Doran could’ve said in her delirium, she called out Daniel Jackson’s name. And after Marla had laid the beaten Mal Doran down on the med stretcher, wasn’t it Jackson who dazedly followed it out to the infirmary? Wasn’t it also this man who restlessly read through every report on the Ori for some unvoiced reason?
As if those facts alone weren’t enough, Marla could just see things between them. They had good chemistry, as Marla had first observed long ago.
And as she limped her ay into Mal Doran’s hospital room, a rather harsh thought occurred to her.
So did you and Chris.
The very thought of her departed Major almost made Marla stumble.
But their case was different, she silently argued. Besides, Mal Doran and Jackson still had each other, even if they went on admitting nothing for all of eternity.
You and Chris admitted nothing. Regs saw to that.
Reflexively gritting her teeth, Marla stopped and closed her eyes. No, she wouldn’t second guess her relationship with her second-in-command. Not now, not ever. Chris was to be mourned, not romantically considered. The man was gone, end of story.
If it were meant to be, it would have been.
So she opened her eyes and brushed away the scene of Chris Grouper’s face.
Instead, the sight that greeted Marla’s eyes was Vala Mal Doran, who was propped against a mountain of pillows in a half-sitting, half-lying position. The way she looked at Marla through eyes surrounded by a motley mix of stitches, burns, scrapes and the tiniest bits of unmarred skin seemed like something from a bad horror movie.
“By the gods, what happened to you?” Mal Doran asked.
If you could only look in a mirror, Marla thought. Aloud, she said, “Your rescue. That’s what happened.” Hobbling over to it, she dropped herself into a chair at the bedside.
“Well, at least you can walk,” Mal Doran huffed, crossing her arms—one of which was casted in an oddly purple cast. “I’m stuck in this bed. Who are you, by the way?”
Reflexively, Marla went a little rigid when she said her name and rank, “Commander Marla D. Jameson, leader of SG-6.” As good as that title is.
“Oh, right,” the thief said. “Jameson the Freeze-Out. Didn’t recognize you without the cap and grimy uniform. You know, you really should try something tighter and different. More form-fitting. Leather works wonders for me.”
Marla cocked an eyebrow and scoffed. “Like I care.”
“You should.”
“Oh, yes, I can see it now,” Marla said sarcastically. “Me out there shooting at some Ori Priors in heels and a leather mini-skirt.” She rolled her eyes, but then she realized that at even the passing mention of the Ori, Mal Doran had shrunken back against her pillow stack.
“Oh, sorry,” Marla apologized awkwardly. “Has anyone told you what happened yet?”
The alien shook her head.
“Well, you have little to fear from the Ori now, Mal Doran. That fortress you were in has been destroyed.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, Mal Doran visibly relaxed. “I guess I have you to thank?”
“Me and my team—who didn’t survive the assault. Also four
“Oh.” Pausing uncertainly, Vala stared at the floor. “Well, thank you…and my apologies. And…condolences?”
The alien woman’s stumble over the last word made even Marla smile lightly. “Thank you. And you don’t remember any of the escape?”
Mal Doran shook her head.
“Right. You were barely conscious. Well, I just wanted to prepare you for when Doctor Jackson gets in here.” She paused, frowning slightly. “I carried you through the Ori fortress, Mal Doran, and the entire time, you were calling out something. And let me warn you, it was the name Daniel.”
Breathing out heavily, Mal Doran’s head flopped back against her pillows. “I was…?”
“Yes, you were.”
“Does Daniel know?”
“Yes, he does.”
Marla expected Mal Doran to groan or something, but the alien remained silent.
And given no opportunity to say anything, Marla found herself yawning into the silence. It wasn’t really late around here, but given the day’s events, she was flat-out tired. So she stiffly got to her feet, bringing her crutch underneath her uninjured arm.
“Well, I’m going to leave now,” Marla said, hobbling towards the door. “Good luck.”
“Wait,” Mal Doran called.
Pausing in the doorway, Marla turned expectant and curious emerald eyes back at the marred alien woman. “Yes?”
“Will you come back and see me sometime?” she asked. “Seeing as how I’m laid up in this bed for some time.”
Startled by the request, Marla frowned, wrinkling her stitched forehead. “Sure,” she agreed slowly, thinking it really could do no harm.
“Thank you,” Mal Doran whispered, smiling.
Still bewildered, Marla wandered her way out the door.
Both apprehensive and a bit excited, Daniel watched a frowning Commander Jameson hobble her way out of Vala’s room. Jameson usually showed no emotion whatsoever, spreading the rumors that she didn’t even have them to begin with, not even frustration or thoughtfulness. And the fact that she was showing at least hints of worried contemplation now was enough to concern Daniel.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
Looking up as he spoke, she apparently realized for the first time that he was there. “Oh, no.” She paused and looked herself over. “Do I look like there’s something wrong?”
Quickly, Daniel shook his head. “No, you just looked very thoughtful.”
“Well, I think that I’m pretty much entitled to think, Doctor Jackson,” Jameson practically spat. “Especially when Mal Doran says something to spark my thinking.”
Vala said something to unfreeze Jameson the freeze-out? What in the galaxy could’ve done that? Whatever it was, trust Vala to find it.
“Sorry, Commander,” Daniel quickly apologized aloud.
Without even sitting around to hear those words, Jameson turned and started furiously hobbling off down the hallway. The constant tap-tap-tap of her crutch seemed louder and quicker than it had last time Daniel had heard her coming down the corridor and this time it was audible for quite a distance.
Shaking his head and leaving all thoughts of the mystery commander behind, Daniel walked into Vala’s room.
Her face turned towards him immediately and the sight of her marred face almost made him gasp. But he managed to hold the sound in, though his face must’ve given something off in it’s place because Vala frowned among the crazy pattern of stitches and bandages.
“What?” she asked. “Is there something wrong with me?”
“Oh, no,” Daniel hastily lied. “I was just…surprised.”
For a moment, Vala was silent as she childishly pouted with a white-taped lower lip. “You know, you’re a really bad liar, Daniel,” she finally said. “Really bad liar. Now tell me what’s the matter.”
Sighing, Daniel reflexively brushed his fingers across his face in the places where the biggest lines of stitches were. “Your face… I guess you haven’t really seen it yet. You’re really stitched and…messed up.”
“Oh, the doctors made me ugly, did they?” she huffed. “Oh, how wonderful.”
“No, not ugly,” he quickly reassured, taking the seat that sat near Vala’s bed. “You’ll be fine once everything heals up.”
Vala rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah. Because then it’ll all be scars instead of stitches.”
Not really having anything else to say about that, Daniel fell silent. Being quiet, he couldn’t just look at Vala so his eyes dropped away to the floor and various unimportant things around the room. Everything in the room seemed sterile—what else was to be expected of an infirmary room?—and a pale blue was apparently dominant as just about everything in the room from the walls to the sheets were the same color.
“What have you been doing while I was…gone, Daniel?” Vala finally asked, somewhat stumbling around terms for her absence.
“Not much,” he replied, looking up again. “Went off-world with the team a few times, scheming for a way to get rid of the Ori problem, reading reports…”
“Your life always was boring,” the alien woman said, sighing and leaning back against her mountainous pillow pile.
Yes, searching fro you and pining was getting rather boring, Daniel thought, trying not to smile. Aloud, he denied his life was ever boring. “Just because I’m not always doing something physically interesting doesn’t mean my life is boring. Not all of us get to stay away from the SGC for months on some odd vacation in the Ori galaxy.”
Seemingly stung, Vala’s gray eyes grew wide and she pressed back against her pillow. “I was not on some odd vacation, Daniel. I was in a fortress getting tortured for knowledge about Earth and the SGC.” The fear and memories flashed past in her still wide eyes, giving a glimpse of just how afraid of the Ori Vala had become.
How could you have been so stupid? Daniel quietly berated himself. It was just a simple little slip, a bit of a humorous poke, but it obviously hurt Vala—something Daniel definitely didn’t want to do anymore. She’d been traumatized enough.
“I know, I’m sorry,” he quickly apologized. “I shouldn’t have said that. Just curious, did you tell them anything?”
Half-scoffing, Vala rolled her eyes. “Yes, I told them all about your world, how to get to it, how to open the iris, how to get to you. All about all of the just lovely things to do around here…”
Daniel had to try not to grumble. “Ok, what did you really tell them?”
“That Earth isn’t worth trying to take over,” Vala replied.
“Oh, gee, thanks,” Daniel said, rolling his eyes.
“For all you know, I could’ve saved your whole people by saying that!” Vala protested. “I might’ve dissuaded the Ori from attacking your planet! For all you know, I could be your hero and your salvation from the evil Ori!”
“Yes, I’m sure you’ll be hailed as the greatest hero of all time.” Now it was Daniel’s turn to roll his eyes. “And I’m sure that they’ll even make Vala Mal Doran Day an international holiday.”
At that, Vala smiled. “Well, they should. After all, who’s more fabulous and deserves their own holiday more than me?”
* * * *
Sighing as the weight of fatigue pressed against her, Vala leaned back against her pillows. The doctors had ordered Daniel out a few minutes earlier, demanding that the still recovering Vala needed her rest now more than ever if she were to heal properly.
While Vala was more than tired enough to want to comply with that order, she was also reluctant to fall away into the realm of dreams.
When in the Ori galaxy, she’d been subjugated to torture during her sleep and had been tormented for falling asleep too. Those few times when she fell hard enough into her dozing, she would dream.
To her waking surprise, the dreams hadn’t been of the worlds she called home at any given time. They weren’t about the way she lived, they weren’t about the way she lived…
They were about a certain brilliant linguist/archeologist and a world of which she’d seen very little. About a place where she was looked at strangely but where she’d managed to have so much fun and adventure…
Those dreams had kept her going through the torture with hope that she’d get back there, into the safety of the SGC’s halls and Daniel’s arms.
Now that she was back there, where would her dreams go?
Sleep came easy to Marla that night, being as flat-out tired as she was. Being the currently highest-ranking military woman constantly on base, she had her own special “room” in the women’s barracks. So she was wonderfully shielded from the other women’s childish, unnecessarily stupid giggling and gossiping about the goings-on around the SGC.
Marla Jameson did not take part in such petty things as discussing which male scientist or officer—topics varied day to day—was “hottest” and frankly found the fact that any of her comrades would positively degrading.
And tonight, she was too busy drifting right off into sleep’s welcoming arms to snap her displeasure at those women.
Considering the earlier assault on her mind about Chris, as she wandered away into slumber, Marla feared what the night might bring for her, whether it was nightmares or positively crazy, dignity-robbing dreams of the “what if?” genre. She wasn’t sure she could stand either—the latter being more worrisome to her than the former.
That didn’t stop her sleeping mind.
* * * *
“Mar, you’re doing it again.” Chris’ high-pitched voice was a tight but playful warning from beside her as she stood in the line for the commissary’s food bar.
“Doing what, Chris?” she asked, turning her green eyes back towards the major from where they’d been focusing on an interesting couple a few tables away.
Rolling his eyes, he fixed his commanding officer with a stare. “Oh, you know perfectly well what. You were staring at Doctor Jackson again, and pretty much gawking, I might add.”
“Was not,” Marla adamantly denied. “I was not
‘gawking’ at
“Uh-huh. And why exactly were you ‘watching’?” Also taking a tray, Chris followed.
“They’re interesting.” Taking a plate of something that was supposedly mashed potatoes and gravy, but probably had the consistency of gum and the flavor of wood, Marla was faintly touched by the odd sensation of déjà vu. It was a small feeling, but it nagged frustratingly at the back of her mind.
Making a face and pretending to gag, Chris understandably bypassed the hesitantly termed potatoes. “Oh, come on, Mar. I know what you’re doing. They’re your latest puzzle to figure out. You do this all the time.” Pausing, he took a bowl of salad. “You know, you have to stop treating people like they’re puzzle pieces.”
“I do not treat people like puzzle pieces!” Noticing that the volume of her voice had attracted attention from a few officers and scientists nearby, Marla continued to load her tray and turned the volume of her voice down. “You know I don’t, Chris.”
She took her tray—now loaded with lots of different colored but oddly equal-flavored things—and sat at the nearest table, with her second-in-command taking a seat on the opposite side.
“You know you do, Mar,” he countered strongly. “The only interest you generally show in anybody is fascination with the way they work.”
Sighing and regretfully mouthing a forkful of tasteless something-or-other, Marla rolled her eyes. Chris never saw these things the way they were.
After making a face at the taste of whatever it was he’d just shoveled in his mouth, Chris smiled and threw a glance at the object of his best friend’s attentions. Doctor Jackson was apparently choking at something that his loud-mouthed, shameless companion had said, and the previously mentioned Vala was just grinning.
“So, what’s so interesting about them?” Chris said casually, forking another blob of so-called “food”.
“Oh, curious now, aren’t we, Chrissy?” Marla taunted, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not such a bad habit of me observing people when you want to know what it is I see, is it? Curiosity killed the cat, you know, Chrissy.”
“Stop calling me Chrissy, Mar!” the major protested. “You know I don’t like that. And if you must know, yes, darn it, I am curious! So kill the cat, because I’m curious.”
Giving her friend a smug smile, Marla again had the feeling of déjà vu—this time stronger. Frowning, she turned her gaze over to Jackson and Mal Doran, still avidly arguing some unknown point. “Well, I’m just marveling at how Jackson and Mal Doran ‘bicker like an old married couple,’ as they say, but they, well, I don’t know exactly…they have chemistry and kind of defer to each other like lovers.”
“Maybe they are,” Chris suggested, following Marla’s stare.
Trying not to laugh, she turned back to her 2IC and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
And that’s when Marla realized why she kept feeling that déjà vu. It wasn’t just her feeling like she’d done this before. With an almost visible start, she remembered beyond doubt that she had done this before.
I’m dreaming, she suddenly realized, relieved. That solves the puzzle, through and through. It fits perfectly.
“Mar?” Chris’ concerned voice broke into her thoughts. “What’s wrong?”
Let’s not tell him. Just savor the memory, because it’s about all you’ve got left. “Nothing, Chris, nothing.” She stabbed absently at a wiggling yet solid blob of…wait, hadn’t she already eaten the meatloaf? “I was just thinking.”
“Ah, thinking can be a dangerous thing, you know,” Chris said, poking the air with his shining fork. He swallowed a big mouthful of something, looking up at his commander and shaking the very same fork at her, “Very, very dangerous.”
Smiling at him, Marla shook her head at the opportunity Chris had just opened. “Only for you, Chris Grouper. Thinking is only dangerous for you.”
“No, Marla, thinking got dangerous for you a while ago.” The sheer seriousness in his tone—being something Marla had never heard from Christopher Grouper before—made her head snap up to look at him.
And then she realized that she did not remember this part at all. This is where she left memory behind for sheer, unconscious dreaming.
“What do you mean, Chris?”
The solemnity in his blue eyes was complete and just about sent real shivers down Marla’s spine. He paused before answering the question and worry and fear built deep in her gut like she’d never really felt before.
“You’ve gotten to the place where you’re too afraid to live, Mar. Everything has to be thought through, start to finish and all possible outcomes accounted for before you ever do anything. And then you have to take it slow and safe. You’re not living, you’re thinking about it.” The way he spit it out was like the worst of curses. “So where does that leave me? Wishing to all the powers in the entire galaxy that the regs didn’t exist and that you were actually human?” He pounded his fists against the table angrily. “Wishing that I didn’t actually fall for someone I can’t have? Because you know what, if the regs didn’t completely forbid it, you’d still make it impossible, Marla. Even if I admitted I love you, you would never say it back!”
* * * *
She gasped and sat bolt upright even before she was fully conscious, feeling the familiar of sticky sweat making her clothes hug her skin and her short hair mat and cling to her forehead. The sudden movement hurt her bandaged ribs and jerked her splinted foot. Had she been any lesser person with any lesser pain threshold, she would have screamed. Given her moment of weakness though, Marla did gasp and moan.
And for the first time in an eternity, she felt salty tears coursing down her face and eventually dropping into her open mouth.
Then gradually sniffling became harsh, racking sobs and she flopped onto her side, clutching the thick blankets to her chest with her intact arm. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and let the tears flow, gasping along with the sobs as she shivered with the cold weight on her heart.
Crying her heart out to the darkness, she finally mourned her lost lover.
* * * *
After fretting over what her sleep might bring, Vala had finally fallen deep into slumber and traded the real world for that of dreams. And no matter how she tried to fight it, she plunged right away into a bottomless dream.
At first, she didn’t realize that it was a dream as it seemed so real and the world around her was the one she had left behind when she closed her eyes. If she turned slightly to one side—carefully so as not to harm her broken collarbone—she saw Daniel sitting in the chair at her bedside.
But when things around her began to fuzz and swim a little, Vala realized what she saw wasn’t actually there.
Oh, well. Twice the fun.
“Daniel, what’re doing here?” she asked casually, partially worried about what he’d say.
“To ask you something,” he answered.
“Well, then ask away, because I’m all ears.”
Something about the look on his face just spoke to her, saying, “You’re not going to like this question.” And when he actually voiced it, she had to say that her supposition was straight-on right.
It was the question she’d been expecting before, but had been graciously denied: “When you were with the Ori, why did you call out my name?”
Being a career thief, Vala had adopted habits that could not be shaken. Call them emotion survival skills, since generally speaking that’s what they were. One of the biggest of them was that you never—and that meant never—put yourself in a position of weakness. Lie if you had to, just avoid the weak point by all means.
And that’s what she did.
“I didn’t,” she flatly denied.
Daniel’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t lie your way out of this one, Vala. Commander Jameson told me everything and even though I don’t know Jameson well, I’m willing to trust her word far beyond yours.”
That hurt. One of the biggest things Vala had ever wanted from Daniel was his trust. Wasn’t that the reason she’d almost gotten herself killed in the incident with the Ori beachhead?
But Vala still was not going to take the low ground.
“Fine, don’t believe me,” she huffed, folding her arms, cast and all. “You never do.”
Sighing loudly, Daniel crossed his arms over his chest as well. “That’s because you’re a lier, a cheat and a thief.”
Pouting, Vala turned her face away from him to stare at a considerably less handsome wall. “Call me what you will, but I am not a liar.” She knew that in itself was a lie, but she still would not relinquish her position to Daniel. First rule of war, never give anything to the enemy and in this argument, Daniel Jackson was the adversary.
“You’re still lying,” he insisted. “Just tell me why of all things, you continuously called out my name while you were in the Ori galaxy.”
She could feel her sound defense crumbling already at Daniel’s insistence, gradually growing cracks in the well-structured wall. “I don’t know,” she lied again, this time trying desperately to pour all of the sincerity she could muster into her voice and face.
Being sharp as he was, Daniel didn’t take the lie this time either. “Yes, you do. You just don’t want to say it.”
Again, she reflexively denied everything. “No, I don’t know why.” But she could hear the insincerity in her own voice and she knew that her resistance was falling to pieces around her.
“Just tell me, Vala.”
The quiet, pained begging in his voice finally crumpled Vala’s defense.
“Because the whole time, I was wanting you, just to be beside you,” she blurted, feeling the beginning of tears. By the gods, when was the last time Vala Mal Doran had really cried? “I wanted you to hold me tight and tell me everything would be alright. Like you held me after I was burned to death. Because you were the one person I thought of the whole time, and I couldn’t stand being away anymore!”
* * * *
Eyes flying open, Vala reflexively stiffened. Warily she scanned the room for other occupants. Luckily though, she saw no one else, not even a lingering nurse.
Good, she could deal with this alone.
Memory flashing back to the dream, Vala swore something fierce and colorful under her breath. How could she allow even her unconscious mind to go there? She dreaded where it had taken her to, even if it was just a dream. Because it had taken her to a place she could never go:
The weak, open ground.
If all she’s said in the dream was how she unconsciously felt… Vala knew she was in deep trouble, thick emotional trouble. But she lived a life full of secrets and hidden emotional baggage carried from her childhood. If she had to bury one more away in her heart, it wouldn’t make that much of a difference.
* * * *
Relieved to be finally putting today behind him, Daniel sighed as he peeled off his shirt and climbed into bed. He could feel the tension already melting away as he tangled himself in the blankets. Removing and folding them, he placed his glasses on his bedside nightstand, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
Today had been eventful and taxing.
And the vast majority of that had to do with Vala’s wild return. While he had to admit he was relieved to have her back and he felt more complete in her presence—he’d go to the grave blaming that on the bracelets’ apparently lingering—no, make that lasting effects—but it also made him worry.
And then there was the disturbing thought of an even tougher-shelled Vala—
Rolling over, Daniel groaned and sighed as he forced those concerns out of his mind. Vala could stay off of his brain at least long enough to let him catch some much needed sleep.
It wasn’t long before he began dreaming.
* * * *
He heard the strangled, feminine screams echoing down a golden hallway he didn’t recognize, though he felt like he should. And they, along with some unseen and almost indistinguishable force, pulled him onward.
To the source of the shouts and the center of the invisible pull.
Every step he took, the pulling got stronger until he was running down the endlessly winding corridors. The faster he ran, the closer the walls seemed to press in on him, pressuring him to sprint even quicker.
But the long, curving hallways never appeared to stop—or have any end—and eternity dragged by as he pushed himself faster.
Suddenly, he realized he knew those screams. He’d heard them before and the memory froze his blood as he kept on running, speeding up even more at the cold, hard realization.
Those were the same screams Vala had made as she was burned alive.
And this time, Daniel had to stop it.
He rounded a corner and skidded to a halt in a large room with her chained by the wrists to the opposite wall. The room’s expansive width separated them and a Prior stood between the pair, staff poised with its power end at Vala.
That didn’t stop Daniel from seeing the panic in her gray eyes, surrounded by a bloody face, as she glanced up. Tears flowed down her face, mingling themselves with blood and becoming deep crimson themselves before falling down and staining the floor. And they formed a scarlet puddle against the gold of the floor at Vala’s knees.
She mouthed his name, but the scraping noise that escaped between her lips didn’t sound at all like “Daniel.”
Oblivious to the exchange, the Prior lifted his staff and pointed the glowing end at Vala.
Though he didn’t remember making it, Daniel’s ears heard his own desperate voice shouting Vala’s name as he dove forward desperately, trying to do the impossible and stop the Prior. His legs were aching from running down the corridors, but he didn’t notice the jolts of pain now as he lunged.
He was too slow. Too slow.
Glowing with an eerie gray-blue radiance, the end of the staff stabbed into Vala’s chest, rippling flesh around it as it went through. It charred and burnt her flesh, instantly cauterizing the wound with an intense heat before it was removed.
And the Prior pulled it back out, waving its clean tip in the air.
“And so ends the torture for your disobedience,” he intoned flatly. “May your death reconcile you with the power of the Ori, disbeliever.”
Before Daniel could extract revenge, the powdery faced Prior disappeared into thin air without so much as a whisper of air. With the object of his attack thus vanished, Daniel skidded to a stop and dropped down onto his knees.
Mouth working open and closed but making no sound, Vala was in obvious pain as a single line of blood ran down from her newly inflicted wound, drawing a crimson tear line across her shirt. Then a scratchy croak escaped, followed by a harsh coughing fit.
Not caring about the scarlet puddle that he’d just sank his knees into, Daniel drew his arms around Vala, feeling the line of her warm blood running down the front of his shirt. It would stain the fabric most definitely, but while those stains might fade, the ones on his heart had no such hope.
She was dying, and again he’d been powerless to stop it.
“Vala,” he groaned her name, feeling the knife of guilt plunging into his gut again like it never had before. He was almost tempted to look down and see if there actually was a silver blade projecting from his abdomen.
Coughing in reply, the only thing that came from Vala’s mouth was more blood. The thick, sticky liquid stained her lips and dribbled out of the side of her already bloody, marred face.
“Oh, Vala, no.”
She looked up to his face, gray eyes clouding over as the cold shadow of Death inched closer. And she gasped as she tried to say something in reply.
“Shh,” he whispered. “Don’t say anything. You don’t have to.”
Gasping for breath, she kept trying anyway. Finally, she formed words in a tone so light he almost didn’t realize she’d spoken at all. It was just a whisper on the breeze of her breath.
This was worse than watching her burn to death!
He pulled her even closer so her struggling, bloody lips were at his ear so he could hear her light speech. Still, her few words came in almost silent gasps that he had to strain to understand.
“Da—n—iel,” she whispered, choppy breath blowing against his ear, “I l—lo—v…”
Eyes squeezing shut, Daniel drew his arms tighter around her in expectation of her words. If these were to be her last, they had to be important. And if she was really saying what he thought she was…
But she never got to finish. She gave another bloody cough and her breath caught. Mouth opening and closing, she failingly gasped for breath as her eyes slid closed.
Horrified, Daniel pulled her even tighter, pressing his clean cheek against her sticky one and whispered his own words in her ear.
“No, Vala, no,” he insisted tightly. “Don’t go. Just hold on and we’ll get you help.”
But she was already going and there was nothing that either of them could do to stop it. She took in one last shuddering gasp of breath, and she stopped breathing. The life force left her body behind, and she went on to whatever otherworld there might be.
Daniel was left holding her lifeless body.
* * * *
“No! Vala, no!”
The strangled shout escaped his mouth in a scratchy, desperate scream. It held out long and loud as the emotion swelled in his chest.
Reflexively, he tried to move, but being twisted in the covers, he only succeeded in tangling himself up more and flailing over the edge of the bed onto the floor. His knees hit first, sending a painful jar up the length of his thighs. Next to slam into the hard ground was his chest, jerking his neck back painfully.
For a moment, Daniel just laid on the floor, trying to force the worked-up adrenaline out of his system. And he quietly cursed his nightmare and the pain throughout his body from his unceremonious meeting with the floor in about seven different languages—one of the great benefits of being a multi-lingual specialist.
Oh, I’m in a mess now, he thought with a groan, untangling himself. Dreaming about Vala. Oh--
Cold Marla Jameson, as bitterly self-reliant as she was, usually didn’t eat alone. She’d find some table of scientists or junior officers to sit with, even if she didn’t converse with them very much. But given the recently-passed terrible night and its revelations, she wasn’t about to sit near anyone for fear of breaking down again in front of an audience. That would be the last knife that went into the pain of losing Chris, and she would not lose any more dignity than she already had.
She was out of sight, and hopefully out of mind today in the commissary. Let all the world pass her by in her little corner, at her own little table. Things were better that way as far as she saw it.
Her tray was as filled as it normally was, loaded down with something from every food group to nourish her as much as was possible with these foods. No nonsense.
But every time she looked at something, it reminded her of her dream, and of the memory the dream had started with. And of Chris. Every time she tried to lift a forkful of something to her mouth, she stopped less than halfway there.
Finally with a sigh, she stood and balanced herself against her single crutch, leaving the tray behind as she couldn’t exactly carry it herself. Let someone else pick it up. She left the rather populated commissary with her head drooping low, and set off down the hallway to nowhere in particular—her favorite place these days, it seemed.
Lunch today was a failure, but she didn’t mind. It wasn’t like she could really feel any hunger right now anyway.
She had nowhere to go, no place to be. The aimless wanderer of the SGC.
At least you can wander, she told herself quietly. Mal
Doran can’t even walk for at least the next month.
Maybe you should go talk to her.
With a reluctant sigh, Marla took the necessary turns toward the infirmary. There weren’t many, and even given her limp-walking situation, it didn’t take her too long to get back to the same door she’d hobbled through last night.
Getting soft, Mar? she silently asked herself. There was a time you wouldn’t have come back to visit any sick person. Not after—no don’t go there. Those memories and thoughts were a place she closed off even her own self to. Nobody got in there.
Noticing the closed door, she hesitated. Maybe a visit wasn’t in everybody’s best interests. Hers or Mal Doran’s.
But hadn’t Mal Doran asked the night before for a second visit?
Shaking her head at her own craziness, Marla tapped the end of her crutch against the door in her own version of a knock.
The reply from inside came quickly, and almost desperately. “Come in,” Mal Doran called loudly.
Wrestling with her own crutch and cast, Marla somehow managed to turn the handle and get the door open. She hobbled her way in slowly, glancing to the alien woman sitting up on the bed with her shoulders obviously braced.
“Um, hi there,” Marla started uneasily, standing somewhat awkwardly near the door. “I had nothing much to do, so I figured I’d come and visit again.”
“Thank you,” Mal Doran responded, gesturing for Marla to sit. “It’s awful being laid up in this bed, without so much as frequent visitors. The only other people I’ve gotten to see this morning were the two angry nurses who gave me a sponge-bath.”
Smiling lightly, Marla sank into the same seat she’d sat in last night. “I’m glad I’ve been able to walk and such by myself. Never did well with anyone attempting to pamper me.”
“Really? I’ve always been the opposite.”
Marla raised an eyebrow. “Well, good for you, Mal Doran. I guess that’s the reason you’re the one who can’t walk, and I’m the one up here determinedly hobbling around.”
“Please, call me Vala,” the alien woman insisted. “I’ve never gone by my last name anywhere.”
“Ah. Well, please don’t call me by my first name,” Marla requested. “Only a handful of people have ever called me Marla, and I probably won’t respond. Jameson’s my name, always has been.”
“Of course,” Vala retorted. “I hear that’s half the reason they call you Jameson the Freeze-out.” Marla could hear the bit of accusation in her tone and took it to heart. “They say you’re too cold to let anyone call you by your first name.”
“Now that may be,” Marla replied evenly, keeping any hint of flaring anger under control. After all, this wasn’t by any means the first time someone had brought that particular subject up. “The one man on this base that called me by my first name was killed during your rescue, if you’ll remember.”
“Major Grouper must’ve been quite a man to get into your cold heart that way, Jameson.”
Struggling, it was difficult for Marla to keep herself from breaking down again at the mention of her lost friend’s name. Her grief was still raw, and the mention of his name from anyone was like salt in that openly bleeding wound.
“Chris was something spectacular,” she agreed aloud. “Don’t you dare say otherwise about the man who gave his life for yours.” About my lover that I’ll grieve for eternity.
Taking a deep breath, Vala apparently realized the tender ground she’d unintentionally trampled onto. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Shaking her head to clear the unrelenting image of Chris, Marla sucked in a deep breath herself. “You’re irritated and restless. It’s to be expected.”
A dark eyebrow arched against a forehead of crossing paths of stitches. “I’m what?”
“Irritated and restless,” Marla repeated. “You’re stuck in a bed all the time with apparently no good company around at all.” She paused, fixing Vala with a tight emerald stare. “And you’re desperate for attention. I know that because you’re trying to make friends with me of all people, Jameson the Freeze-out. The coldest, most unfeeling person in the entire Stargate program, if rumors are to be believed.”
Shrugging it off as though Marla’s words were nothing, Vala’s lips tightened a little. “What? I can’t be grateful to the woman who saved my life?—thank you for that, by the way.”
Her tone was so casual, it made Marla want to laugh.
“I never said that,” she replied. “I just implied I shouldn’t be your first choice.”
“Why not? You’re almost as beaten up as I am, where as everyone else on this base is physically intact, more or less. It means you and I have something in common.” She lifted an arm, tapped her forehead lightly with her good hand and wiggled a leg. “We both have a broken arm, stitched face and a broken leg.”
“My leg’s not broken,” Marla reminded her. “My ankle’s sprained.”
“That’s just a technicality. It’s useless, so it’s as good as broken.”
“Not really,” she argued. “The healing rate for a sprain is much faster than that of a break, meaning I’ll get to walk on my bad foot in about a week while both of your legs are useless for the remainder of the month. That’s at least three weeks’ difference there. Big difference.”
Rolling her gray eyes, Vala folded her arms across her chest. “And apparently we’re both avid arguers.”
“Not as much as you and Doctor Jackson,” Marla pointed out.
Though it was brief, she saw a flicker of something pass in
Vala’s eyes at the mention of
“Leave Daniel out of this,” Vala said flatly, quickly changing the subject. “And what does it matter whether my leg is broken and your ‘ankle is sprained’? Neither of us can use them.”
Nodding, Marla leaned back in her chair. “I’ll give you that.”
“So neither of us can really walk well, and can’t do anything that involves both arms,” Vala observed. “Any bright ideas about what we can do? Because as much fun as arguing with you is, I’m not going to do it for the next four weeks.”
After a moment’s thought, Marla shook her head. “Can’t think of anything now.”
Vala leaned back against her pillows, groaning. “Come on, there has got to be something on this base to do.”
“Nothing that doesn’t involve help from someone else. And it’s not like anyone around here has time to help occupy two handicapped women. We’re not empresses around here, in case you haven’t noticed. Nothing hinges on us being busy and staying away from boredom.”
“Why shouldn’t it?” Vala protested. “I am the current expert on Ori fortresses around here. So why shouldn’t people care to keep me interested? I should be an empress.”
Rolling her emerald eyes at Vala, Marla leaned back even further in her chair. “Oh, yes, Empress Vala, let’s ask General Landry to get some officers to drop everything and stop all of their missions to come and entertain us.”
“Ah, now that sounds like fun,” Vala replied, smiling. “And I like the sound of Empress Vala. It has a nice ring to it.”
PART 7: Earth
Doctor Lam’s eyebrows looked like they were about ready to fly off of her forehead in surprise. “Excuse me, Commander?” she said, frowning. “Did you just ask what I think you asked?”
“Yes, Doctor, I did,” Marla retorted. “What’s so wrong with me asking if Vala around in a wheelchair is a good idea? She’s getting restless around here and some time off-base might do her some good.”
“The first part about that question that boggles my mind is the fact that you’re the on asking it, Commander,” the doctor replied, deepening her frown. “And not just that, have you okayed this with the General?”
“Yes, I have. I think he’s a tad eager to get her away from the base for even a few moments. Those passes she’s been making at the officers seem to annoy him, as do the complaints a few of the officers have filed.” She paused, eyes narrowing as she felt the tiniest flash of annoyance at being considered emotionless—a new sensation to her entirely. “And I have as much right to ask as any person.”
Apparently realizing that she’d been caught labeling Marla Jameson as something that she really shouldn’t be as a professional physician, Doctor Lam tried to defensively offer a different explanation as to her terminology. “That’s not what I meant, Commander Jameson. What I meant was that you shouldn’t be trying to handle a wheelchair, given your current physical condition.” Giving a scrutinizing look up and down Marla’s odd stance which was adjusting slowly to the lack of a crutch, the Doctor raised an eyebrow. “You really shouldn’t be walking a ton yourself, much less pushing someone else along.”
“I wouldn’t be doing it myself, Lam,” Marla replied. “Lieutenant Colonel Carter was actually the one to suggest this, and will be going along wherever we may wind up. She’d be the one pushing Vala’s wheelchair, not me.”
The look of skepticism on the Doctor’s face wasn’t all that hard to recognize, as much as she tried to hide it. “Well, I guess it’d be fine, Commander. She’ll probably need to take a dose of painkillers during the time you’re off-base if it’s more than an hour. That’s when her next scheduled meds are.”
“It’s been almost a week since we returned and got all patched up…shouldn’t she be off of the pills by now?” Marla asked.
“Not everyone has as high a pain threshold as you, Commander.” Folding her arms across her chest, Lam absently tapped the pen she was holding against one bicep. “While you may be getting over the pains in your broken arm, the majority of people shouldn’t be over it yet. And while you only have the arm to worry with, Vala has her broken arm and two broken legs. Actually, the one mending bone where she shouldn’t be having pain is in her almost-fixed collarbone.”
Nodding slowly, Marla mentally slapped herself. Right, she should have known that. “Speaking of ‘almost fixed,’ Lam, I have a question.” She gestured at the new, smaller and less protective bandage wrapped around her healing ankle. “How much should I be walking on this? Should it hurt when I walk on it? Do I still need to carry the crutch around?”
Marla could practically see the wheels turning in the physician’s head as she gently bit her lower lip. “Alright, I’m going to suggest only light walking on the leg for now. Try and stay off your feet as much as possible for now and you should have only minor pains when you walk. And just for your own comfort, I would suggest carrying the crutch with you. That way when you do have to get up and move around, you’ll have it with you to lean back on. Especially if you’re going somewhere to entertain Vala today.” Both of her eyebrows were raised slightly, and she gave the impression she knew what the Commander was planning. “I’d assume that means walking.”
As she slid from her seat on a thin, uncomfortable infirmary bed, Marla couldn’t help the light, mischievous smirk that found its way to her face. “I’m afraid that’s classified information, and you are not allowed to know.”
Lam’s only outward reaction was a slight stiffening in her folded arms and the miniscule tightening of her smile. “Fine, your business, Commander. Just don’t push it too far.”
Sliding to her feet, Marla nodded as she took the crutch that had been her third leg for the past week in her hand and lifted it over her shoulder. “Got it; I swear, Doc.”
Turning towards the door, she lightly tested taking a step on her newly-healed ankle. The first step proved unbelievably easy, but when she swung her other foot forward, thereby putting the balance on her “bad” one, she felt the slightest jolt of pain travel up her leg and through her foot. And determinedly, she ignored it and walked with a straight back and legs that were just as limber as they should be if they weren’t in pain.
In short, she walked normally in spite of every impulse to do otherwise.
With each step, the pain grew a little more tolerable and shrank a little further back in her mind. It was like the coaches told you in Little League baseball: just get up and walk it off. Apparently, Marla subscribed to their theory of medicine; walking made every injury better, and in this case, quantity was better than quality. The more you walked, the better you felt. And by the time Marla was out the door, she’d gone from feeling a jolt of pain to a slight tremor.
The two women she met in the hallway never knew the difference.
“Ready to go, Jameson?” asked Vala from her wheelchair. “Did the Doctor patch you up all nice and neat?”
“I’m walking, ain’t I?” Marla retorted through straight lips.
Lieutenant Colonel Carter’s lips twitched as though she were trying not to smile as she asked, “Ma’me, does Doctor Lam know where you’re going?”
“More or less,” Marla replied tightly. “But it doesn’t really matter. Let’s just get off this base.”
As Carter swung Vala’s wheelchair around and started pushing it up the corridor, the sitting alien woman tossed a mock salute at Marla with her good arm. “Yes, ma’me!”
* * * *
News and rumors expanded quicker than wildfire at the SGC and pretty much always had. And given the infamous fraternization regulations—callously shortened down to the term “the regs” hereabouts—soldiers and doctors (even though it generally didn’t apply to them) on base seemed to adore the subject of romances. Thus the personnel often tried to play matchmakers, putting people together, probably to purposed break the regs and test the degree of the wrath of the higher-ups.
And even apart from all of that, people seemed to be overly perceptive to emotions in this place.
And so someone had apparently realized that Daniel Jackson’s overt interest in the Ori had dwindled if not disappeared since Vala’s return to the SGC. Not one more extra report had landed on his desk since a bloody Jameson came running through the Stargate, carrying a bundled Vala in her arms. The tall stack of manila folders bearing the SGC logo on the front that’d been teetering on the corner of his wide desk had even been cleared away by an unknown perpetrator sometime recently, swept off to God knew where.
Daniel hadn’t even noticed that fact at all.
Now though, the single folder sitting in the middle of his desk definitely caught his attention as he walked in this morning and set his coffee mug down on the desk’s corner. Reflexively, he took the report in hand to set it on a pile of similar ones.
It was then he realized the stack wasn’t there.
Frowning, he restudied the corner of his desk and wondered why he hadn’t noticed the lack of reports swaying there before. Somehow he knew that this wasn’t something that had happened overnight while he was at home… Whoever had taken the liberty to do this had done it at least a few days before…
Deciding that it didn’t really matter and there was no time like the present as they said, Daniel sighed and brought the folder back to himself. With it lying in front of him on the desk, he still hesitated for a short moment before opening it, figuring what interest did he still have in the Ori?
His eyes skimmed uninterested over the first lines of
printed words that listed the time the report was filed and the location. That
much wasn’t interesting: it was filed at the SGC around
It was a record of Vala’s debriefing about her time in the Ori fortress.
Apparently, some things about the Ori still held interest to him: their torture methods.
Bracing himself for what he knew he was probably about to read, Daniel subconsciously felt his jaw tighten a bit. He knew Vala endured torturous things, but had never had the courage to ask Vala herself and had preferred until now to remain in the dark about the details of her torment. The nightmare he’d had scared him enough about the various sufferings she might have endured, but it also made him curious as to what she’d really gone through.
Finally, he worked up the courage and flipped past the first page and began reading.
Immediately, the words captivated him.
“After being sucked into the baclk hole and into the Ori galaxy, I was in a small village on a primitive planet. Especially awful fashion-sense with those people. I couldn’t stay near them too long. They weren’t the most friendly of people I’ve met either, and when they started spouting off religious crap like Priors, I told them I didn’t think the Ori were gods in spite of all of their power. And I told them that I had seen far too many false gods to ever believe in one again. I even told them I’d been a false goddess myself before.
“Mistake. Big mistake.”
“First, they tried to burn me at the stake for being a
heretic and insane, according to their claims. The fire was lit and I was tied,
ready to be scorched alive—not an experience I was eager to repeat, mind
you—but as before, a Prior showed up and put a stop to it.
“Though glad for his help, I tried to resist the Prior.
He dragged me through the ‘Gate completely against my will. And so I found
myself in the fortress.
“First, I was questioned by those boring Priors—not even
half-interesting Ori followers to interrogate me!—with stupid questions about
Earth and your people. Really pathetic questions, too. As in what the
population was, how big the planet was, where large cities were… I told them I
didn’t know anything. It’s close enough to the truth—I don’t know much about
you Tau’re that would interest anyone.
“Anyway, they didn’t buy it. I tried my best to convince
them I didn’t even know what ‘Earth’ and ‘Tau’ri’ were and meant, but they
didn’t believe me.
“So they chained me to a wall in a small, gray
room with no food or light and let me sit in the dark for several hours. I don’t
know just how long it was that I sat there, but however long it was, I almost
wish it would have lasted longer.
“When they came for me, the torture started.”
Unconsciously, Daniel started at the words.
Half of him was completely appalled at the idea of Vala being shut away alone in a dark room, while another part of him argued that he’d often shunned her and wished to send her away. But, he returned, his treatment and wishes for her to be anywhere but by him had definitely changed since her return from the Ori galaxy.
Aloud, he wasn’t about to admit to anything to her—or anyone else—but he knew that he’d been feeling differently about Vala since Jameson extradited her.
One particular phrase of the report stuck to Daniel’s mind as if glued.
However long it was, I almost wish it would have lasted longer.
It didn’t even sound like Vala. She wasn’t afraid of things like that. He almost doubted the words had come out her mouth at all. Almost.
Re-bracing himself because he knew that the worst part of this report was yet to come, Daniel again turned the page of the report and hoped Vala hadn’t gotten graphic describing her torment. He’d rather not be sitting here gagging at the mental pictures.
“The first that they did wasn’t so bad. It was the Priors who did the things to me, pointing their staffs and wagging them around
“The very first thing they did was point their staffs at
me and I got this hot feeling throughout my body. And the heat spread and
slowly intensified, and that wasn’t all. Tingles all over, especially in the
fingertips and toes. I told the Prior that he was making me feel all warm and
tingly deep down, he told me there was no time for games.
“And so they continued with more intense torture.
“They scraped the tip of their staffs across my face and
tore it apart. I could barely even see for the blood in my eyes and couldn’t
have talked even if I wanted for the blood in my mouth. But I still told them
nothing.
“Then they took the staffs and stabbed me repeatedly in
the chest, though not very deep. Deep enough for it to induce severe pain, but
not enough to kill me right away, I suspect was their intention. And the staff
tips were also hot as they touched me that they burnt the sides of the wounds
and kept them from bleeding. As small a relief that was.
“Punches, hits, stabs, cuts… They did all of that the
first round.
“Two hours, I’d say they stood there and tormented me.
And I gave them nothing that entire time.
Images both conjured out of his imagination and those remembered from his nightmare flashed through Daniel’s head as he continued to skim onward. Just the thoughts made something inside of him yearn to hold her in his arms and protect her from any similar thing even happening again. And oh how he wished he could’ve been there to stop it or at least to whisper encouraging and comforting words in her ear, to touch her and let her know that she’d make it through.
At least she had. According to her descriptions and Doctor Lam’s upon Vala’s return to the SGC, it was a miracle she’d survived all of this.
The next page detailed further torture sessions that Vala admitted not being able to tell one from the other, nor how long they lasted. She also confessed she wasn’t entirely sure how much of what she remembered had actually happened, knowing that she’d been in a deep delirious state for a long while before Jameson rescued her.
Closing the report, Daniel wondered if it’d been a good idea for him to even read that. Images attacked his brain and he couldn’t stop the horrors he saw in his mind’s eye. Some were real memories, some of his nightmare and others he had involuntarily pictured just now, reading the report.
Vala’s burnt, lifeless corpse in his arms…
A Prior’s staff stabbing into her flesh…
Her head thrown back as an agonized scream came from her mouth…
Jameson laying her bloodied, unconscious body on a med stretcher…
Standing from his desk, he resolved to go and see her, knowing it would likely be the only thing to put a dampener on his tumultuous thoughts. Seeing her alive and whole…
But when he got to her infirmary room, he found it surprisingly empty with no Vala around anywhere. Closing his eyes, Daniel leaned against the door frame, contemplating where she might’ve gone on base. There wasn’t really anything of interest to Vala around here, after all, and she was in a wheelchair…
“Doctor Jackson?” a voice broke into his thoughts.
When Daniel opened his eyes, he found Doctor Lam standing there, arms wrapped around a large stack of papers and clipboards, staring at him a little oddly.
“Can you tell me where Vala went?” he asked calmly though right now he still felt anything but.
“Commander Jameson and Colonel Carter took her off-base for a little while,” the physician replied. “She was going a tad stir-crazy sitting around here all day.” An inquisitive look passed over the doctor’s face.
He shook his head, wondering why no one had told him this—especially Sam.
“Is something wrong?” Lam asked.
“No, no, nothing wrong,” he answered tightly. “Thank you.” Setting off back down the hall, he resolved to put Vala out of his mind for now and just get his work done for the day. He’d get over this crazy nagging in his mind alone.
PART 8:
“At least I won’t have to wear those awful, dull BDUs anymore,” Vala cheerfully proclaimed as Sam Carter pushed her wheelchair down the hallway of the SGC. “Your people’s clothes aren’t that wonderful themselves, but anything’s better than those monotonous BDUs. Seems to me the Tau’re need a fashion sense.”
“Some Tau’re have a ‘fashion sense’” Marla retorted, determinedly keeping her eyes off of the alien woman in the wheelchair. “Maybe very few, and maybe not your kind of fashion, but, believe it or not, some of them are as obsessed with their clothing as you.”
“I’m not obsessed,” Vala protested. “I’m passionate.”
“Yeah, right,” Marla muttered under her breath. “All past experience would speak otherwise.” One of the four bags she was carrying on one arm for the alien woman to whom she was speaking threatened to slide to the floor, and she quickly readjusted her position to better hold it. She just barely caught it. “As will current experiences.”
“Darling, this is now all the clothing I own.” Vala raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you think I’m allowed to be extravagant this once?”
That drew a small smile from Carter, who glanced at Marla. “She’s right, ma’me.”
Eyes narrowing only vaguely in her subordinate’s direction, Marla replied, “There’s more clothing in these four bags than I have in my entire wardrobe.”
“That is sad, Marla,” Vala said, shaking her head. “Very, very sad.”
No, it’s realistic for a military woman, Marla thought, but didn’t say. And she purposely ignored Vala’s use of her first name—it wasn’t the first time today she’d had to do it. As much as it annoyed her that Vala was deliberately trying to provoke her, she was going to give Vala absolutely no satisfaction by displaying it.
Instead, she glanced at her wristwatch, gladly realizing that she had somewhere to be other than here in the next fifteen minutes. “Sad or not, me and my bland wardrobe have work to do.” Again, she swiftly altered the position of her arm, preventing another bag from sliding off. “I’ll carry these wherever you need me to, but I’ve got to go.”
“Oh, so soon?” asked Vala.
She can’t be so desperate for companionship that she’ll try and keep me here. “Paperwork waits for no one,” Marla responded aloud.
“I’ve got work to do too, Vala,” Carter put in. “Sorry. I’ll take you back to the infirmary.”
Though she probably tried to keep it otherwise, Vala’s still stitch-covered face visibly fell at the thought of returning to the infirmary where she’d remained for the past week. Despite that, her voice was steady as she said, “Oh, alright.”
For a moment, Marla considered making some sort of suggestion as to where Vala might be able to go… But before she could voice any opinions or ideas, the thief’s face quickly brightened and her eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Actually, I think I have a better idea.”
* * * *
The lab was empty when Sam first pushed Vala’s wheelchair in, and so she was hesitant to leave. With a little bit of prodding, Vala convinced the astrophysicist that she would be perfectly fine by herself for a few minutes. And coincidentally, she didn’t even have to sit alone for those few minutes.
Less than a minute after Sam left, Daniel reappeared in his lab/office.
With her broken arm, Vala was unable to move around in her wheelchair alone, so she stayed in the spot where Sam had originally left her: right by the door, facing it.
So she got a good view of Daniel’s startled face when he walked in to find her—one of his greatest annoyances—sitting there, idly waiting for him to return. If she could’ve been sitting on the table seductively, she would’ve, but just grinning seductively when he walked in would have to suffice for her in her current state.
And his face at that sight was quite a sight itself.
“Vala!” he exclaimed, almost jumping. “What’re you doing here?” He seemed…jittering to Vala at the moment. A bit shaken up.
She almost wanted to ask what it was, but she thought the attempt would be fruitless and besides, she absolutely couldn’t resist smiling taking the opportunity he opened for sarcasm. “Breathing, Daniel,” she said. “What else?”
That seemed to calm whatever it was bothering him at least a little bit. Rolling his eyes and setting the folders in his arm down on his desk, he went on, “I thought you were off-base with Sam and Jameson.”
“I was,” Vala replied. “We just got back.”
“From where?”
“We went shopping at what Sam called a ‘mall,’ I think,” Vala responded, carefully craning her neck just to try and keep her eyes on Daniel as he moved along a massive bookshelf, selecting a few specific volumes that looked worn beyond use. “Very interesting, though I still think you Tau’ri have next to no fashion sense as a people. Most of the clothes in that place were absolutely hideous.”
As he was facing away from her at the bookshelf, Vala couldn’t really see Daniel’s face, but it looked like he smiled lightly at her words.
Raising her eyebrows, Vala cocked her head slightly to one side and continued, “Though I have to say, some of it has promise.”
Daniel glanced back over his shoulder at her. “I take it that means you actually found some of our boring, fashion-less clothing worthy enough for your wardrobe?”
She nodded. “Yes, actually.”
“How much did you get?”
“Oh, just a few things here and there,” Vala eluded, averting the question.
Fixing her with a fairly harsh stare, Daniel raised an eyebrow at her. “Vala, how much is ‘a few things’?”
She gestured lightly with her good arm. “Oh, only about four bags full or so.”
After widening briefly in surprise, Daniel’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Who paid for all of that?” As if believing she might have somehow taken it from him, Daniel’s hand hovered over the pocket Vala knew from past experience he kept his wallet in.
“Oh, I think Marla paid for it all,” she said dismissively. To be perfectly honest, she hadn’t really paid that much attention.
At first, Daniel looked relieved and his hand resumed drifting across the volumes on his shelf. Then he turned back towards her a frown creasing his face. “Marla?” he asked. “Who’s Marla?”
Does no one know her first name? Vala thought. That woman is truly sad. “Commander Jameson,” she said aloud.
That seemed to surprise Daniel. “Oh, really? She really paid for it?”
“Yes, really,” she replied. “And I learned from this little outing that you Tau’ri have odd currency.” Taking it from her pants pocket, Vala fingered a coin she’d stolen from Jameson earlier that day. “Your coins are so small, and I’ve never seen anything like this ‘paper money’ of yours before.”
As he turned around and laid the various books he’d selected from the shelf on his desk, Daniel saw the coin Vala fingered. He opened his mouth to say something—probably chastisement of some sort for stealing it—but closed it again when he saw exactly what kind of coin it was.
And from that look, Vala surmised it was likely next to worthless. She pouted internally. It just figured the one coin she managed to snatch was valueless.
One of her nails scratched over the words on the smooth, shiny copper metal. The pictures on either side were somewhat odd in her thinking, but most of the words were simple, at least. Except one phrase. “Daniel, what is this ‘eh-ploor-I-boos-un-oom’ that’s on all the money?”
He looked up with a light smile on his face. “It’s not ‘eh-ploor-I-boos-un-oom.’ It’s pronounced ‘ee plur-I-bus oon-um.’ It’s an old language we call Latin and translates into ‘Out of many, one.’ It’s one of our country’s mottos, used to signify our different people groups coming together as one nation.”
“Out of many, one,” Vala said, trying the phrase on her tongue. “I like that. Kind of like me: one unique, special person out of so many.”
Some sort of reply or more probably a snappy retort formed on Daniel’s lips, but he caught himself before it came out, likely thinking better of it. Instead, he sat down silently behind his desk and opened an exceptionally large tome that he’d just laid there.
A temperate silence hung between them for a moment. Gently turning her head so as not to harm her still-mending collarbone, Vala looked at Daniel, bending over close to that big, dusty book with that oh-so-familiar “thirst for knowledge” look on his face. And after that moment, Vala abruptly decided like she usually did that she was bored and bothering Daniel was probably the only thing that would keep her interested at the moment.
“So, Daniel, what’re you doing now?” she started. Pestering questions were always easy to come by.
“I heard you wanted to see me, sir,” Marla said, poking only her head into Landry’s office. “I supposed that meant as soon as possible…” She eyed an abnormally large stack of paper work on one side of his desk and the single manila folder laying open in front of Landry as the general glanced up at her. “…but if you’re busy, sir, I could—”
Landry closed the folder and laid his hands over the top of it. “Actually, now is perfect, Colonel.”
With a curt nod, Marla brought the rest of herself into the square room. She stood with a taut, official bearing until Landry motioned for her to sit. She then took the chair in front of the desk and remained straight-backed and stiff as she waited for the General to tell her whatever it was he had to say.
“I know you have an appointment with Doctor Lam soon, so I’ll make it as brief as possible.”
“It’ll be much appreciated, sir,” Marla replied curtly.
After a suppressed sigh, the general laid the closed folder atop the straight pile of similar ones. “Well, I have two bits of news for you actually, Colonel,” he said. “Firstly, your report has made it all the way to the top of the chain, even to the Oval Office, and from what I gather, folks are impressed. The president himself is quite impressed, I hear. And I get the impression you’re finding yourself pretty close to a promotion.”
As the shock wore off and Marla was once again in control of herself, she blinked very slowly. “Really, sir?”
“Really, Jameson,” he affirmed.
And that, remarkably, meant that Marla’s almost abandoned hopes of attaining generalship weren’t as out of reach as she’d estimated. After all, if she was as close to a promotion as Landry was implying, she might very well be Brigadier General Marla Jameson quite soon.
Wouldn’t that be wonderful? She’d already passed her fortieth birthday a few years back, and here she was, staring generalship right in the eye.
Finding herself wandering too far away, she drew herself back to the general’s words.
“Seems the whole insubordination was overshadowed by the courage and self-sacrifice,” Landry said, a spark in his eyes the only easily discernable expression he wore.
But obviously not completely overlooked, Marla thought bitterly. If she was so close to promotion, it was probably not by Landry’s choice. But why would it be? When she wound up as a Brig General, she’d be only one star beneath Landry, and obviously there was no intelligent reason for a general to hold the position as the leader of an SG team. She’d either move Landry up the chain and away from his current job, or would leave the SGC for some other important post—possibly even Atlantis.
Either way, Landry lost and Marla won.
But Marla wasn’t about to say a word of that to him. For the time being, he was still directly over her.
So she skillfully masked it behind words. First, she considered “As it should be,” but felt that would only rub harder on Landry’s obviously sensitive nerves about her insubordination. So instead, she said something more profound. “My team gave the real sacrifice, sir.” Just the thought of them—her 2IC in particular—tugged at Marla’s heart.
Landry nodded. “Those who don’t come back have given more than those who do.” He gave a short sigh and went on. “As a matter o fact, that brings me to the next bit of news, Colonel.”
Sure, use the title so much I have to remember I’m still a Colonel, Marla thought.
The general paused long enough for Marla to prompt, “Sir?”
“I know it’s only been a week and a half since you lost your team, Colonel, but I’d like you to begin considering who’ll be your new team. There’s quite a list of people who are more than willing to join you on SG-6.”
With a hand, Landry slid the stack of folders across the desk to Marla.
A sickening start made her shudder slightly as she realized what the stack was compiled of.
Personnel files.
Of people who wanted to replace Lieutenants Beau Adkins and Gregorio Gonzalez.
People who wanted to replace Chris Grouper.
The thought turned Marla’s stomach. She was about to be forced to choose who would take the place of not only two very trusted lieutenants who fit perfectly into her team with no objections to her abnormally stiff way of command, but of her beloved 2IC. Someone to replace the man who had managed to slowly earn her trust—something that was not freely given, by any means—and who had won her heart.
She was being asked to replace the irreplaceable.
Not only was her heart sickened, her stomach literally turned at the thought. She would never get over Chris… How was she supposed to replace him this soon?
After staring at the horrid stack of folders for several long moments, she forcibly turned her emotionless emerald eyes back to Landry, who had been silent. “So soon, sir?” she asked, likewise forcing her voice to remain steady.
“We’d like you to begin picking as soon as possible, Colonel,” he responded, just as evenly, “so that when you’re once again able to return to active duty—within the month and possibly within two weeks, Doctor Lam assures me—your team will have been trained. That way, we’ll have SG-6 out on duty as soon as possible. With the way the Ori have been moving, we can’t afford to keep any team inactive for long, Colonel.”
The fact that Landry had used her rank several times during this meeting but never her last name as he was previously fond of doing didn’t pass by Marla unnoticed. She nodded tightly at his words. “I understand, sir.” Her voice remained as taut as her expression was nonexistent.
With a quick sweep, she gathered the stack in her good hand. The simple motion already made her heart feel like it was dying.
Knowing she might burst if she sat here any longer, Marla stood and turned to leave.
“Another thing, Colonel.”
Landry’s words made her freeze, and she turned to glance at him over her shoulder. “Yes, sir?”
“There are some files of field-trained scientists among those.” He gestured to the stack in her hand. “We’d like you to consider adding one to your team, as opposed to being a fully military squad.”
By the tone of his voice, Marla guessed that it was less of a suggestion and more of an order than the general’s words let on. A very strong request, maybe.
Marla wasn’t too fond of having a scientist nagging around when there was military work to be done, but would consider the ones in the files in the hopes of keeping her dreams of generalship alive.
It wasn’t like she was going to grow in any way attached to these new team members anyway. They were just stand-ins for the real ones she’d lost a week ago.
“Will do, sir,” she replied curtly before sweeping out the door.
Subconsciously, Marla’s feet carried her where she was supposed to be going: to the infirmary for an appointment with Doctor Lam, after stopping off her room and dropping the despised personnel files onto her bed. The walk down the halls between there and the infirmary was completely unrealized by her as she was completely engrossed in already denouncing the people who wanted to replace her old team. She didn’t even notice until she was in the room and the mentioned physician was speaking to her.
“Well, Colonel Jameson, there you are,” Lam said, planting her hands on her hips. “You’re late, you know.”
Startled from her stupor abruptly by the tone of another’s voice, Marla looked up at Lam, and then glanced at her watch. Apparently, Landry had run a little longer than expected. “Guess I am,” she said nonchalantly, taking a seat on one of the infirmary beds as she usually did.
One of the doctor’s brows rose while the other sank a bit. “No excuse as to why, Colonel?” she asked. “I’m not in the habit of allowing people to be late without a reason.”
“Had a meeting with the general,” Marla muttered. “Ran a bit long.”
Lam took a tool from a nearby table, readying herself to cut out the two separate rows of stitches on Marla’s face. “Can I ask what about?”
Marla couldn’t hold in the sharp, bitter chuckle that hissed from between her lips. “He gave me a stack of personnel files and told me to start picking a new team.”
You shouldn’t be telling her this, a voice inside Marla whispered. She is Landry’s daughter, and what you say’s gone get back around to him. But another part of her argued that Lam and Landry weren’t on good terms with each other, and most likely nothing she said was going to get back around to the general.
Lam’s hands froze in their work as she said, “He did?”
“Not in those exact words, but more or less.” Marla sighed as Lam continued to go about removing stitches. “Supposedly it’s so we can get SG-6 up and running as soon as possible. One week, and they’re already making me replace my team.”
There was a slight pause, the only sound being the metallic clipping of the doctor’s tool.
“Not replace, Colonel,” Lam said, switching to the other, shorter set of stitches as she finished the line of the first. “You can’t replace the men you’ve lost. But this new team will have its own place with you.”
Marla scoffed. “As far as I’m concerned, this new team has little to do with me.”
With one full hand of metal thread that had been formerly lodged in the colonel’s face and the other holding the tool that had clipped it, Lam moved away to set her things back on the small table. After that, she turned back to the colonel.
“But they will be your team, Jameson.”
Marla knew the stare that had returned to the physician was flat and emotionless. She didn’t have to force it to be that way. “Only in a technical sense. My team died eleven days ago at the hands of the Ori. They will never be replaced. I’ll pick some new people to make up SG-6, Lam, but they won’t ever be my team.”
The look in the doctor’s eyes told Marla that Lam thought she was crazy and being preposterous, but she didn’t say a thing as she slowly walked back to the bed Marla was sitting on. Also wordlessly, she took a hold of Marla’s cast.
After a short moment of examining the arm, the physician poked a finger at Marla’s fingertips. Marla felt her touch surprisingly well.
“Flex your fingers,” the doctor ordered.
Marla opened her mouth to remind Lam what had happened the last time she attempted to flex her fingers: failure. But she quickly closed it again at the determined look on Lam’s face and did as she was told.
Remarkably, her digits responded this time by wiggling slightly.
“Huh,” she murmured.
The doctor responded with a “hmmmmmmm” of her own. Again she began to touch what of Marla’s hand protruded from the cast. Surprisingly, Marla found that her previously immobile fingers were responding quite well.
“That shouldn’t be happening yet, should it, Lam?”
Frowning, the doctor shook her head. “No, it shouldn’t. Your arm is apparently healing very well, Colonel.”
“Yeah, well, there’s nothing wrong with that, is there?” Marla responded.
Lam’s stare turned from Marla’s arm to her face. “No… Not really.”
“Well, then, let’s just say it’s from me drinking my milk like I’m supposed to,” Marla responded, beginning to stand up.
“Not likely, Colonel,” Lam responded, wrapping a hand around Marla’s good wrist to keep her from going anywhere. “Even a high amount of calcium wouldn’t…” She broke off as she shifted her grip on Marla’s wrist. Her eyes immediately turned down to it as she lifted it closer to her face.
Not for the first time this week, Marla noticed how thin her arm looked, as well as the overt leanness of her hand. She knew why too. She’d barely been able to eat anything for the past week and a half as it brought back memories of her Chris…
Now cautious that this might lead Lam closer to her secret, which would then lead to disaster for her career, Marla jerked her wrist from the doctor’s grip.
Lam’s eyes went wide as she did so. “Colonel Jameson, have you been eating?” she asked, eyes abruptly narrowing suspiciously.
“Just fine, Doctor Lam,” Marla hedged. Quickly, she began walking towards the door. She didn’t actually expect to toss off the doctor’s curiosity this easily, but perhaps Lam would heed the warning in her tone.
“Colonel…”
Obviously not.
Pausing for a short moment, Marla looked over her shoulder with a firm stare at the doctor. “I’m fine,” she said forcefully. “Drop it.”
With that, she strode unchallenged from the infirmary.
* * * *
Carolyn Lam stood and watched, astounded, as Colonel Jameson practically marched her way from the infirmary, stiffer than ever. The rigid stance and false verbal assurances that she was fine told Carolyn more about Jameson’s situation than the actual thinness of her body.
She wasn’t eating. That much was obvious.
And it was for emotional or mental reasons she didn’t want to admit too. That was a tad less obvious, but still evident.
Probably a result of being forced to choose a new team so soon.
Jaw clenching, Carolyn set out of the infirmary too. She had a bone to pick with the general in charge around here.
Taking his now-full tray of food from the buffet line, Daniel strode over to the small table where Sam was already sitting, and took a seat on the opposite side. The commissary was bustling around them, but neither really seemed to notice. Ever since Sam had come back to the SGC from Area 51, they’d been having lunch together at least once a week.
Daniel was very glad for it this week, as he hadn’t been able to speak with Sam since her shopping trip with Vala and Jameson a few days ago. Hadn’t had an opportunity to verify Vala’s story with Sam.
“So…you took Vala to the mall?” he asked.
Sam looked up at him with an extremely surprised expression on her face. “She told you about that?”
Confused by his friend’s reaction, Daniel’s eyebrows rose. “Was she not supposed to?” he asked.
“No,” Sam answered a bit too swiftly. “No, no. I just didn’t think she would.”
“Oh,” Daniel said, covering his skepticism at her answer by looking down to his tray. “Well, as I was going to say, whose bright idea was it to take Vala to the mall?”
That made Sam’s mouth quirk into a smile. “Colonel Jameson. They all say she’s such a brilliant strategist, but she wasn’t smart enough to know taking someone like Vala to the mall was a bad idea.”
Daniel smiled faintly. “Was it her idea to take you?”
She shook her head. “I think that was more of Vala’s idea.”
“Probably,” he agreed. After a moment of silence, he went on. “Vala told me she got a few things.” At this, Sam’s eyes went wide as they had a moment before, and Daniel clarified, “Clothes, and the like. She apparently thought that some of our ‘fashion-less’ clothing was worthy of her wardrobe.”
“Yeah, she decided that after quite a bit of complaining and groaning about the ugliness of it all.” Though Sam rolled her eyes, she smiled lightly.
“That’s Vala,” Daniel mumbled. After a moment of hesitation, he pressed on. “Vala told me that Jameson paid for it all. Is that true?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah. Jameson was actually happy to pay for it all.” A sudden frown creased her face. “Wait, are you saying you didn’t believe Vala?”
“Well—“ Daniel started.
“Daniel, I know she doesn’t have the best track record, but haven’t you noticed how much she’s changed since Jameson brought her back?” Sam went on before Daniel could fully answer. “Can’t you see it?”
“Yes, Sam, I can but still…” Daniel sighed. “She stole from Jameson,” he said purposefully. “I’d say that would mean she hasn’t changed all that much.”
“It was a penny, Daniel,” Sam pointed out.
“Yeah, but Vala didn’t know it was worthless. Wait—” Eyebrows raising, he stared at his friend in disbelief. “You knew about that?”
“Yes, and so did Jameson. In fact, she practically handed it to Vala.”
His reply was short. “Oh.” It was then that Daniel realized how awfully he had underestimated not only Vala, but Sam and Colonel Jameson as well. He really should’ve known better than to assume…
Slowly, he sighed. “It’s just so hard to think of Vala differently than the thief, liar, vixen and con-artist.”
“I know, but as I said, she’s changing, Daniel,” Sam said slowly.
He nodded, and the friends fell silent for a moment.
Unnoticed by Daniel as he was looking down at his food, Sam’s eyes focused past him towards the doors of the commissary.
“So… Have you talked to Jack lately?”
As she was apparently absorbed by whatever she was staring at past Daniel, Sam gave no reply to the question. So he glanced up to see her eyes slowly and diligently tracking someone behind him.
“Hello?” Daniel asked after a moment. When she still didn’t answer, he waved a hand in front of her face. “Earth to Sam. Come in, please. Earth to Sam.”
Suddenly, she snapped out of her trance and quickly apologized, “Sorry. What were you saying?”
“Nothing important,” Daniel replied, taking interest in whatever had so captured Sam’s attention. “What were you staring at?” The moment he chose to turn his head in an attempt to find out himself, Jameson walked by and he had his answer. “Oh. I see.”
After she nodded, Sam’s head turned discreetly as her eyes tracked Jameson’s movement. They followed her all the way to the buffet, at which point Sam would have had to seriously and obviously crane her neck to see.
Daniel, however, was able to watch her easily, staring past Sam. “Is anything about Colonel Jameson particularly interesting today?” he asked quietly.
“Not today in particular, but something’s wrong with her,” Sam replied.
“I think more than one things wrong with that woman,” Daniel retorted.
Sam gave him an exasperated look. “I mean something recent. Lately she’s been…acting oddly. More so than she used to.”
“How so?” Daniel asked.
For a moment, Sam thought about the question while her eyes focused on nothing in particular. “She’s distant,” she finally answered. “Acts strange, and reacts to some things in the oddest ways.”
Carrying a sparse tray in her good hand, Jameson passed Sam and Daniel’s table. After self-consciously glancing around herself, she sat down at an empty table in the very vacant corner of the commissary.
“And doing things like that,” Sam added. “I guess you could probably chalk it up to mourning for her team…”
“It’s more than that,” Daniel said slowly as the idea dawned on him. “More than just losing her team… She’s lost something more.”
“Friends?” Sam suggested skeptically. “I’ve never known Jameson to be friendly. Even with her team… Well, except Major Grouper.”
Daniel barely even heard her as he was intently watching Jameson, as everything he’d glimpsed and then wondered about her for the past week and a half suddenly fell into place. “I think she lost more than a friend,” he said slowly. If what he thought was actually true, Jameson was very lucky no one else had noticed before now… But he’d been through it, and he knew the symptoms.
For the past five minutes she’d been sitting at that deserted table, she hadn’t taken a bite of the food on her plate. Only stared at it.
As if something about it just turned her stomach.
Perhaps, something about it did. Something no one besides Jameson could see. Like a special memory, prompted by the food, but not centering on it.
A memory centering instead on the “friend” and comrade she had lost…
“More than a friend?” Sam asked, her surprise amply evident in her tone. Suddenly, her voice was almost silent and her eyebrows rose. “You mean like…?” She trailed off suggestively, suddenly conscious of the people around them and the trouble she could get the colonel into.
Daniel nodded, and Sam’s eyebrows rose even higher.
“Jameson? Break regs?” she asked disbelievingly.
He shrugged. “Why not?”
“This is Colonel Never-Break-A-Rule Jameson we’re talking about, Daniel.”
“The very same one that disobeyed an order quite thoroughly not two weeks ago,” he pointed out.
Sam conceded the point with a gesture of her hand. “Yeah, but still… I have a hard time believing Jameson would break the regs. Even after seeing her with Major Grouper. Especially after seeing her with Grouper. They never seemed to be more than friends. Good friends, yes, but still friends.”
“A lot of couples seem that way,” he replied pointedly.
As a slight blush rose to Sam’s cheeks, her gaze turned away, and happened to rest on Jameson. For a moment, she contemplated the lonely colonel, and the way she stared blankly at the tray in front of her.
“Vala seems to have a cheery effect on her at least,” she said after a moment.
As Jameson stood and emptied everything off of her tray into a trash can before leaving the commissary, Daniel nodded. “That’s a good thing. Jameson could probably use some cheer.”
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