"Seven years? Congratulations. We should make some embroidered jackets for our little club of histrionic former hosts to alien slavedrivers," Eva shoots back, eyes narrowed. "I'm done with my tantrum. Are you quite finished with yours?"

Obviously they're all a little tense. Granted, they're all in a prison. And one of their own has been turned into a slave. They have reason, but it won't get them anywhere.

And yet Eva wants to lunge at Vala and rip her face off over the implication that recovering from infestation is a matter of strength. It isn't strength. Eva has - Eva had, once upon a time - strength and will to spare. It wasn't her strength that let her down. It was everything else.

"I never said Daniel has to die, so stop putting words in my mouth. I don't think it could take much more damage." She unfolds the kerchief and inspects the blood on it, out of something to do besides glare at Vala rather than out of actual interest. "But the greater threat is that the Goa'uld are here. We can't afford to turn this into a rescue mission if it comes at the cost of loosing them on more innocents than they already have been."

But she is listening to what Vala tells them. "This naquadah, is there a way to neutralize it?"