Emerald

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 Colonel 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 one 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, Colonel?" 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 injured 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 wheelchair 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, Jackson?" Jameson asked.

"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, Colonel?"

"First, call me Jameson and drop the colonel. I don't feel like being called Colonel 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, Jackson, just like the Goa'uld. Torture is just a means to an end for people like that."

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 just 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 colonel 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, Jackson," she said.

Attentively, he fixed an anticipating look on her face.

"Something the reports won't tell you." She paused and Daniel could feel anticipation 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 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 way 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. "Colonel 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 Jaffa."

"Oh." Pausing uncertainly, Vala stared at the floor. "Well, thank you… and my apologies. And… condolences?"

The alien woman's stumble over 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.