Carolyn concentrates on driving as they wind down into Colorado Springs, tired enough that she needs to. Next to her, Cameron's gone quiet, like he's drawing back into himself, and she thinks of his aborted - something, confession - back at the base.
"It's quiet," he says suddenly.
"Put the radio on," Carolyn suggests. "Don't change the channel."
Cameron laughs but doesn't reach for the dial. "I meant at the SGC," he says.
"Is it?" The infirmary hasn't been especially busy of late, but she's not sure she'd define it as quiet, either. She's not sure she'd ever define the SGC as quiet.
"Last couple of weeks," Cameron says. "Since the Atlantis crew went back."
Carolyn opens her mouth, then closes it. She hasn't asked Cameron about his relationship with any of the Atlantis people, and she's not going to. That said, she'd have to be far less observant than she is not to have noticed that she saw less of him while the expedition was on recall, or that when she did see him, he was usually with Sheppard or Lorne. She's even less willing to speculate about them than she is about Cameron's relationships with them.
What she does know is that Cameron rarely suggests that they go out together on something that will be easily construed as a date without something to prompt it, and there are few stronger prompts than suddenly feeling the need to reassert his non-existent heterosexuality.
"It was nice having them around," Cameron says, sounding wistful.
Carolyn glances at him from the corner of her eye, the way he's slumped slightly against the window, and makes an abrupt re-evaluation, because that look, the one he had in her office, it's loneliness. The kind she recognizes from when she started seeing Kayla and realized it was going to be something she couldn't tell anyone about, especially her father. As a doctor, she's more or less hidden, even as the general's daughter. As leader of SG1, Cameron's really, really not. It's not hard to imagine how good he must have felt, having people around who he knew were safe.
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"It's quiet," he says suddenly.
"Put the radio on," Carolyn suggests. "Don't change the channel."
Cameron laughs but doesn't reach for the dial. "I meant at the SGC," he says.
"Is it?" The infirmary hasn't been especially busy of late, but she's not sure she'd define it as quiet, either. She's not sure she'd ever define the SGC as quiet.
"Last couple of weeks," Cameron says. "Since the Atlantis crew went back."
Carolyn opens her mouth, then closes it. She hasn't asked Cameron about his relationship with any of the Atlantis people, and she's not going to. That said, she'd have to be far less observant than she is not to have noticed that she saw less of him while the expedition was on recall, or that when she did see him, he was usually with Sheppard or Lorne. She's even less willing to speculate about them than she is about Cameron's relationships with them.
What she does know is that Cameron rarely suggests that they go out together on something that will be easily construed as a date without something to prompt it, and there are few stronger prompts than suddenly feeling the need to reassert his non-existent heterosexuality.
"It was nice having them around," Cameron says, sounding wistful.
Carolyn glances at him from the corner of her eye, the way he's slumped slightly against the window, and makes an abrupt re-evaluation, because that look, the one he had in her office, it's loneliness. The kind she recognizes from when she started seeing Kayla and realized it was going to be something she couldn't tell anyone about, especially her father. As a doctor, she's more or less hidden, even as the general's daughter. As leader of SG1, Cameron's really, really not. It's not hard to imagine how good he must have felt, having people around who he knew were safe.