Max very quickly discovered that for all its size the Daedalus was cramped and really boring. Unlike most of the rest of the crew and passengers she didn't have any work to do during the flight. The Daedalus was primarily a war ship that also carried people and supplies so it wasn't kited out for entertainment or comfort.

Lorne like the rest of the majority of the passengers supplemented the Daedalus' crew with shifts in security and other duties as needed so he didn't have much time to spare. She tried to engage with other crew members but she stood out and apart.

She had assumed she would, after all an operation conducted with such secrecy was roughly equivalent to a small town or horror of horrors high school when it came to gossip and rumors. She was the new kid in town, worse she was the inheritor of five year old rumors and speculation. Her incarceration had been secret but there were still members of the SGC that had known her or at least known of her five years ago still assigned to the program.

So she found it hard to strike up conversations let alone a friendship. Part of her didn't mind, the same part that really really wanted to find a nice cozy cell-like corner to call home, the part of her that had made solitary bearable.

She was sitting in the canteen nursing a cold mug of okay coffee and enjoying the weird view out of one of the very rare viewing ports when Lorne found her.

"Hi."

"Good morning sir." She replied trying very hard not to stare at his smile. It was a very good smile.

"How's the coffee?"

"Cold but drinkable." She said and moved down the bench to give him room to sit so he could enjoy the view too.

"How are you doing?"

"I'm fine."

"Yeah but how are you doing?" He pushed and engaged the cousin of that wonderful smile, a knowing cajoling smirk.

"Really sir I'm okay, no one is hazing me or writing things on bathroom walls."

"But?" The smirk again.

She smiled and sighed. "But they're cold, stand offish, suspicious or …. You ever been to a zoo sir?"

"Sure."

"They look at me like I dunno, like I'm a tiger or something. Something to be respected, something gorgeous and rare but dangerous. Something they can tell their friends they saw and how neat it was."

"I see." He said thoughtfully.

"I'm fine sir really, we'll be at Atlantis in a few wake ups and I'll either be a hero or heading back to prison. So…it doesn't really matter."

"You think you'll go back to prison?" Lorne asked.

She finished the cold coffee and turned to face him more directly.

"Yes sir. If I'm no good the pardon is nulled."

Lorne frowned, that bothered him. It wouldn't be her fault if her abilities didn't work on a wraith. It seemed wrong to give her hope and lock her up again. Then again she was a criminal.

"I don't mind going back." She said as she studied his face.

"Really?" He sounded incredulous. The idea of being locked inside alone all day made his skin crawl.

"I mean, it's not fun or anything but… it's safe and I have my memories. Did you know we have eidetic memories? It's not perfect recall but it's close. When I'm locked up I can remember a meal with friends or a walk with a lover, or anything I want. It's never as good as the real thing of course but it…helps." She didn't mention the other memories that were just as vivid though of no comfort. The memory of hot blood, frightened faces, her own insatiable blood lust, the rage…

"You okay?" He asked and she realized he had been asking her something. She blushed.

"Sorry I was lost in a thought."

"I guess so. I was asking if you like to paint. I have some supplies –"

"I've never been any good at it but I love to watch people paint, draw, hell doodle. It's fascinating. I like to try to guess what they're creating. You paint?"

"Yeah a little bit. My mother taught me."

So when Lorne painted, Max watched. She watched him struggle to get just the exact shade of yellow for a marigold, capture the curve of a bead of sweat on a feminine jawline, but her favorite was when he tried to paint the view in the canteen. The image couldn't really be duplicated but the feeling could. The surrealism of sitting in what amounted to a cramped café while watching something impossible streak by.

The day before they arrived above Atlantis Lorne finished the painting.

"It's perfect." Max said as he put down his pallet and began cleaning his brushes so he could pack them for disembarkation the next day.

"I don't know about that –" Lorne said. Like all creators and artists he could find fault with his work in an instant.

"No, I do know Lorne, it is." She said emphatically. She had slowly stopped referring to him as sir when they were alone.

That night she dreamed of the killings. It wasn't as black and white as she liked to tell herself. It wasn't a case of her going kill crazy, much if not the majority of the killings had been self-defense. Even the prosecutor and judge in her plea deal had seen that. It was the rest, the point of no return that dogged her. At what point had she gone from self-defense, from being the good guy, to cold calculated murder?

She sat up in a cold sweat with tears on her cheeks. The Daedalus interior was kept at a constant temperature, individual quarters didn't have individualized climate control. During the day she often felt it was too warm, but at night she shivered. She swung her legs off the bunk and let out a shaky sigh.

She was berthed alone. She had been told it was a lucky fluke there simply weren't an even number of passengers this trip. But, considering how the crew and passengers had reacted to her, she couldn't help but wonder if there weren't quarters somewhere on the ship where someone was sleeping three deep.

"Fuck them." She sighed hoarsely and fumbled for a canteen. She kept it nearby for nights like this. She drained it wincing slightly at the stale plastic taste of the water. She had left the water in it too long. She wiped her lips and let out a breath.

She checked her watch, something she hadn't worn much in her life before prison but without a cellphone she needed something to tell time, and sighed. It would be another two hours before the canteen was open or any crew were up. They might not talk to her but she liked the bustle and clang of living human beings around her. Maybe she had learned to take comfort in the sounds of humanity while locked up. The farts, snores, mutters and half muffled conversations of the other prisoners had been background to her daily life.

She stripped out of her sweaty clothes and dug out fresh clothing. She still wore the general issue BDUs like most of the crew. Some of the personnel being transported including Major Lorne wore a very different uniform. It looked more comfortable and modern, gray cargo pants and well fitted jackets with dark t-shirts and colored panels or piping with rank at the collar. She was still trying to figure out the color coding particularly what red signified but hadn't bothered to outright ask Lorne. She wondered if she would be issued such a uniform if she killed the guinea pig wraith. She wondered what color the panels would be.