Empresses

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 possible. 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 back 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 even 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 Jackson. Marla wouldn't be able to put her finger on it now, but she'd get it soon enough. She read people, and chances were something related would pass over Vala's face again.

"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."