Mia woke with a start in the cool, grey room. She couldn't remember falling asleep, though it must have been some time ago, as the base seemed eerily quiet through her closed door. Rising from her bed, she padded silently across the dark room and cracked open the door to take a look. The guard posted outside her room was startled back into alertness by the sudden motion, straightening stiffly against the wall. She closed the door again, fumbling for the light switch. Blinking dazzled spots from her eyes, she was surprised to see a few new additions to the room. A cheerfully decorated vase sat on the dresser, overflowing with brightly coloured flowers, and a bright patchwork quilt had been thrown over the military blankets on her bed. On the wall, replacing the perfectly non-descript image that had hung there before, was a beautiful painting of desert sands rolling far into the distance. Mia smiled at that, already feeling a little warmer than she had just a moment before. On the desk just below the painting was a box with a note: Hope this helps, it read simply. Mia opened the box carefully, pulling out a bulky sweater the colour of sand. Pulling it quickly over her head, she felt immeasurably better than she had before.
Summoning her courage, Mia opened her bedroom door again, this time addressing the soldier standing guard.
"Is it all right if I come out?," she asked tentatively.
The guard nodded, saying "You're not a prisoner, though my orders are to accompany you wherever you go."
Mia nodded. "I can live with that," she said, slipping out into the brightly lit hallway and closing the door behind her.
They walked in silence a while before the guard asked, "Is there somewhere specific you'd like to go?"
"Not really," she replied. "I just don't feel like sleeping anymore." The guard nodded, resuming his silent stride alongside her. "What time is it, anyway?," she asked.
"It's about 3am," he replied quickly. Then, at her look of confusion, "A couple of hours before dawn."
"Oh," she replied. It had been early morning when she'd arrived. The tests and explanations had taken a fair while, and Daniel had stopped by shortly after lunch. She couldn't remember him leaving. She did, however, remember telling him her life story, and some of his comparisons between the people she remembered, and those she was meeting now. She must have drifted off sometime in the late afternoon. It was no wonder she didn't feel tired anymore. She must have slept half a day. She sighed. "Is there anything to do around here at this hour?," she asked.
"Not really," replied the soldier. Mia eyed him speculatively, taking in his lean, muscled frame, his gait, and his suddenly weary brown eyes.
"How about sparring?," she asked innocently, grinning slightly.
An hour later Mia and her guard, Tom, were both drenched in sweat, squaring off for another round. The cushioned floor had thrown her off the first round, but she had made a nice come-back against her opponent. They locked eyes, circling, daring the other to make the first move. Tom's left arm shot out, swinging his staff in a wide arc. Mia caught the blow firmly against her own staff, twirling away and knocking Tom off balance. The weapon was lighter than that which she was accustomed to using, but she was quickly adapting. Tom struck again, and again, she knocked him aside.
"I think this will have to be my last round," he panted, straightening up.
"You could forfeit this one if you'd like," she teased, eyes blazing mischievously.
"I don't think so," he grunted, coming round for another attack. Mia blocked his advances, pushing him back along the mats. "You should try to hold your ground," she said critically.
"I am trying," he gritted, taking another step back against her counter-attack. "Who taught you to fight, anyway?"
"Teal'c," she said simply, catching him in the knee with her staff.
"Teal'c?," he asked incredulously. "You mean to tell me you've had Jaffa training?"
"Since the age of five," she replied.
"Five?," he gasped, his voice laced with disbelief.
She shrugged, blocking another advance and pushing him back two steps further. His back was nearly to the wall.
"What sort of training have you had?," she asked casually.
"Nothing that's going to compare to more than a decade of Jaffa training in hand-to-hand combat," he replied with a groan.
"It was actually only about seven years' worth," she said, cracking her staff against his right shoulder. Tom dropped his staff, backing the final few steps into the wall.
"I surrender," he gasped. "Teal'c normally comes in to practice at seven. Why don't we go grab a bite to eat, and I'll bring you back to plague him."
"That'll be fine," she answered, lowering the wooden rod and leaning against it.