Chapter Text
He doesn’t have to tell her what is going on, she simply knows.
The nod followed by astounding panic.
The Tau’ri always act differently when the hardships are their own.
She heals the president fully, despite her want to leave him with just a twinge of pain, just a squish of debilitation, as he has left her for over a year now.
As the president, the leader of this so-called free country, celebrates among his men with back claps and hearty congratulations, she drops her head to Cameron’s shoulder—sick, exhausted—and the warmth of his hand against her thigh is a rudimentary comfort.
The president approaches them, buttoning up a similar white dress shirt to the strewn across the floor with smatterings of blood, oblivious to Cameron removing his hand and settling it in his own lap instead. “You could show a little more enthusiasm, Ms. Mal Doran.”
Cameron will later tell her that the appropriate response would have been to express her relief and joy that the man who inadvertently tortured her and kept her a prisoner for the last year, is alive and well.
However, when the president’s face transforms into one of bridging disappointment, Cameron jolts up from beside her, “if I may speak on Vala’s behalf, Sir?” The president gives him a nod, so he continues, “using the device depletes her energy. She’s already battling an infection from the bullet wound for the last year—”
Either because of her heroic actions, or because of Cameron’s way with words—perhaps both—she’s moved to an upgraded room with private sanitary quarters and a bed large enough to sleep three—something the remnants of Qetesh informs her of.
It’s still rather dark and bleak underneath the mountain, but at least she doesn’t have shackles any longer. At least if she wants to stroll to the commissary, or the work out room, or down to Dr. Jackson’s lab, she has free reign to do so.
They’ve partnered her with Dr. Jackson, and sometimes she finds him staring oddly at her while she works on Goa’uld translations in Qetesh’s preferred dialect. He still offers her hot beverages and pastries that are delectably bought from off base, fresh and flakey and filled with some smooth, sweet creams.
She eats more than her fair share, but he simply grins at her.
During mealtimes, she picks at her food in the commissary, sitting at a table alone, as most of the other military personnel steer clear of her. However, Dr. Jackson nears her while she stabs a fork into food she’s told is a delicacy in some place they call Italy. Long noodles and plump, chewy balls of animal flesh she cuts in half and drowns in the bright red sweetened vegetable paste.
Dr. Jackson sits across from her and clasps his hands together. “General Hammond wants you to come out on a mission with SG-1.”
She slurps up a noodle, still detested by the taste but her stomach is demanding food. “What use could I possibly be?”
“Apparently there’s a new player in this universal domination game.” He grabs one of the napkins from her tray and uses it to clean his glasses. Without them his eyes look squinty from the years of reading fine texts. “One of them is on a planet in this galaxy and won’t answer any of our questions. Hammond wants you to come with the team to see if your former status as a lord has any pull.”
Before she can answer, Cameron sets his tray beside her at the table, dropping a kiss into the top of her hair and caressing her shoulder gently as he sits beside her. They haven’t exactly been forthright about their relationship—particularly to General Hammond or the president, but do not feel inclined to hide their feelings when not on formal excursions.
“Sorry I’m late, Baby.” Slides a slice of pie onto her tray, which shouldn’t make her blush as she does. “I called ahead and got them to save one for me.”
Dr. Jackson clears his throat, leaning back from their conversation.
“Hey Jackson,” Cameron greets as he sets aside a Styrofoam cup full of that awful smelling liquid. “What’s the buzz?”
“I was just requesting Vala’s input on an interplanetary matter—”
“Interplanetary?” He stirs the liquid and she rubs her leg against his, not trying to razzle him, but she missed him, his proximity during the last day or two while he and the president did something called ‘damage control’. “You rounding up Teal’c again?”
“No, there’s a hostile presence on an outer rim planet and—”
“He wants to use my previously regal stature, Darling.” She interrupts Dr. Jackson so he doesn’t waste his energy explaining the plan again.
“Put the scare into them, huh?” He takes a large, sloppy bite of some sort of meat and bread combination—there are so many on this planet that she can never keep them straight—then nudges her with his shoulder. “You should be eating more of your spaghetti. You can’t just eat dessert.”
Hears him, but instead slices through the flakey pie crust, giving him a wide grin. “Fortunately, this is one of your Tau’ri rules which I do not need to abide by.”
He tries to hide his amusement, the coy smile faltering as he speaks, “the protein will give you more energy, then you wouldn’t be as tired so often.”
“Well, it’s poorly cooked.”
“It’s cafeteria food.”
“Then perhaps you should—”
“All right.” Dr. Jackson noisily stands from his side of the table, jittering it a bit as he pushes back. “We’re leaving tomorrow morning, so meet SG-1 in—”
“SG-1?” Cameron halts the track of his food to his mouth, eyes scrolling away from her to meet Dr. Jackson’s.
The doctor hesitates, first glancing at her, then back at Cameron, before heaving loudly. “Yes, SG-1, Mitchell—”
“No.”
“Don’t make this a big deal—”
Ignoring the doctor’s plea, Cameron flings himself up from the table. “It is a big deal!”
She only watches the exchange in interest, and a bit of confusion, while sneaking snack-sized portions of pie. Eventually, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket to garner his attention and get him to sit. “What’s a big deal?”
“Nothing.”
Shrugs and shovels in a larger bit of pie. “Seems to be something.”
Cameron glares at the doctor, then picks his words very carefully. “The leader of SG-1.”
“I thought Dr. Jackson was the leader.”
As the doctor opens his mouth to reply, Cameron laughs, “Yeah, he wishes.”
“Nice Mitchell.” Dr. Jackson rolls his eyes. “He’s worried because Lorne is the leader of SG-1.”
She abandons the golden pastry and the shiny red tart filling. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” Cameron too abandons his lunch, to retrieve her fork and eat the portion of pie himself. “Oh.”