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"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 of 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 an 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 people 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 hope 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 about what?"
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 gonna 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 hand full 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 she 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 chose 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.