Memento More-y
Chapter 5
The Cult
Despite her regaining a few of her memories, not memories per say, more like the emotional strings that attach themselves to certain people and certain actions, the trust takes more time to accumulate, perhaps because the medical, or whichever, unit of their military organization will not allow her to travel with the complete team.
When she reiterates that she and Colonel Mitchell did in fact travel together at her beckoning with no further injury to report, he slices his hands through the air to cut her sentence short.
The doctor, the one who's name she doesn't remember, but who pulled her into a tight and awkward hug in the middle of the warehouse, has been chatting with, who she assumes, are the higher ups for the last few minutes and his gesticulations are becoming more frantic. She has a lingering insinuation birthed partly by that embrace and nourished from the flickers of emotions when she glances at him, that a sordid affair isn't too unjust a conclusion.
She's planted outside the warehouse in the back of a car, not a cruiser or any sort of restrictive vehicle, as she waits for Colonel Mitchell and the doctor to finish having words with whatever other military head will not allow her safe passage to a place they keep referring to as the mountain.
If those flickering feelings weren't so strong, she would think she ended up on the bad side of a cult.
In the interim the large man, the one of few words, comes to stand outside the ajar car door. His hands clasp behind his back and he bows slightly as he addresses her by her full name—or what she meant to believe is her full name.
"Are you still well?"
"Well enough as to be expected."
He's a giant really, muscles cascading over muscles, and in dreams she's had, men like him are waiting on her head and toe, giving her all types of delicious foods, covering her in revealing gold dresses, and many of them tumble in her bed, which is where the dreams turn to nightmares.
A few moments later, the blonde woman approaches, addressing the man, explaining that they need to have a staggered start back to the mountain. Then ducks a bit into the open door, a wind picks up, flitting the short ends of her hair around. "I'll see you when you're ready to get your memories back."
Wants to tell her she's well and ready to be her regular, old self right now, but apparently that's not an option.
With another bow, the large man and the woman walk away, disappearing into another vehicle.
"Hey."
She startles, then glowers up at Colonel Mitchell, his knuckles rapping against the roof of the car.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"I'm beginning to doubt my decision of trusting your team."
"Oh, don't do that." Should be apologetic but sounds almost playful as he shoves something warm and wrapped in crinkling paper against her shoulder. "Here."
"What's this?" Takes it from him, unwrapping it to find a bagel, still hot, slightly toasted smothered in peanut butter.
"I don't know a lot about you. Where you're from, when your birthday is, but I know you love that bagel every morning."
The peanut butter melts against the paper, and the smell is making her salivate. It seems utterly familiar without her having a single remembrance of it.
He drops a bottle of water beside her. "I'm heading back with Sam and Teal'c. Although you did a great job of wrapping up the gunshot wound, medical wants me to get actual stitches."
"I suppose I'll see you once I'm back to my old self."
"Probably, and I'm gonna want to know where the whole Florence Nightingale routine came from."
"I have no idea what that reference means."
"Normally you wouldn't either." Chuckles and groans from crouching beside the car. He offers her a low wave with his good arm. "See you later, Vala."
As he leaves, he nods at the doctor, who nods back. She expects him to take a knee beside the vehicle as most of the other have done, but he rounds the car, instead dropping into the seat beside her. "How you holding up?"
"I'm very confused and a little angry." She packages up the bagel, her stomach in too much turmoil to need food right now.
"Well—" he leans across her, hand snagging the door handle and yanking it closed. "That's to be expected."
"Am I an angry person?" Doesn't believe herself to be so, just from how she was living at Sol's for the last two weeks. Never felt vengeful or irate, just simply lost, like a piece of her was missing.
"No, not usually," he sighs and the cold from outside begins to creep under her skin. She zips up her sweater and huddles against the door. "Usually you're bubbly, mostly happy, really curious and always scheming."
"Scheming?" She pillows her head against her shoulder. "That doesn't seem good."
"It's not bad scheming, or evil scheming. Maybe once it was, but you're—you're obstinate, Vala." Chuckles as he shakes himself free of his jacket, she feels the motions beside her, rather than witness it. Her eyes growing heavy. "God are you ever obstinate."
"Dr—"
"It's Jackson, but you call me Daniel."
"Daniel?"
"Yeah?"
"Are we in a relationship?"
There's a drastic silence, before he clears his throat under the ruffle of his jacket. "No."
"Oh." Then her senses must be askew, but she feels more comfortable in the back seat of this car, than she ever did at any diner or in any warehouse. "Then maybe my obstinance is a result of me just knowing what I like."
"Yeah." Swoops the jacket over her body, so it rests like a blanket, it smells like leather, and the outer fabric is smooth and cold, but the inside smells more familiar, like him. "Maybe."