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Second and final lot of time-stamp meme fics. Thanks for the prompts - that was fun!
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miss_zedem, who wanted one hour after Promotion Day:
Say Goodnight
“Okay,” Laura said, draining the last of her wine and standing up, the scrape of her chair loud in the almost empty hotel bar. “I’ve got an early flight tomorrow, so I’m going to love you boys and leave you.”
“Lightweight,” Cam teased.
“If you say so.” Laura grinned at him, and it wasn’t until she raised the clear bottle to her lips that Evan realized she’d swiped his beer.
“Hey! I didn’t even say anything.”
“No, but his is empty,” Laura said cheerfully.
Evan rolled his eyes, fighting down a grin as Cam laughed. He loved Atlantis, loved serving there, but he missed evenings like this, with his best friend and his boyfriend.
“So I buy you drinks, he insults you, and *I* end up getting my drink stolen? Nice, Cadman.”
“Poor baby.” Laura leaned down and hugged him from behind, her still-damp hair falling over his shoulder. Evan wrapped his hands around her arms, tilting his head back against her shoulder. “But you love me anyway.”
“Unfortunately,” he said.
She hugged him tighter for a moment then straightened. “And now I really am going to bed.”
“Don’t go without saying goodbye,” Evan said.
“Nope. Night, Mitchell.”
Cam raised one hand in a wave. “Have a good flight.”
He leaned back in his chair as Laura left, his shirt sleeves rolled up, collar open, loose and relaxed and looking really good. Evan had shrugged off his uniform jacket once they’d gotten inside, and it was hard to look smart in a dress uniform that was still damp in patches. Not that either of them looked like anything other than military officers, however they were dressed.
Cam was smiling at him indulgently.
“What?” Evan asked.
Cam shook his head, still smiling. “Want another drink?”
Evan spun the empty bottle between his hands. “Not really.”
“Me either. Wanna go?”
“Yeah.”
Waiting for the elevator, Cam slung his arm round Evan’s shoulders, pulling him close. Evan went with it, figuring they could probably pass for drunk and overly-friendly, and not really caring if they couldn’t. He was due back in Atlantis in two days.
“Hey,” Cam said, close to his ear. “Did I tell you I’m proud of you?”
“Not that I remember,” Evan said, leaning further into him.
“I’m so proud of you, Evan,” Cam said, low and sincere.
There really wasn’t any way to pass it off as anything except what it was, but Evan turned and kissed him anyway.
For10pmpacifictime, who wanted something from early on in the How to Survive the Far Reaches of the Milky Way Galaxy in 5 Easy Steps universe, when SG-1 are back and John's still resentful and sulky:
Still With Me
“I was thinking,” Mitchell said, sitting down opposite John in the mess without asking. “Now we’ve got the band back together, we should do something.”
Oh yeah, everyone back, the great SG-1 reformed again. John hmm’ed in a way he hoped portrayed vague interest, and took a large bite of his sandwich. Just what he wanted, a chance to hang out with Colonel So-Tell-Me-How-You-Survived-A-Year-Without-Killing-McKay Carter and Dr Tell-Me-Everything-About-Atlantis Jackson and… Well, all right, Teal’c wasn’t that bad, except for how John always thought Teal’c was laughing at him, and not in the nice way Teyla had sometimes.
Which he wasn’t thinking about.
“Yeah.” Mitchell, when John looked up, was wincing over his coffee mug – probably trying to drink it while it was too hot, again – and frowning at John. It shouldn’t have been possible to do both, John was pretty sure, but that was Mitchell for you. “Sam’s got the DVD of Fantastic Four, I’m thinking team movie night.”
“Sure,” John said brightly, hoping his smile didn’t look as forced as it felt. If he was going to be stuck with these people – which it looked like he was – he’d have to get on with them. And Mitchell was a nice guy, didn’t bring up Atlantis, ever, and paid attention to what John had to say in the field.
It was just that team movie night had been their thing, back when his team had been his, not just the people he’d been landed with because they couldn’t get rid of him after he helped to save Atlantis from the Wraith. Rodney had mocked him for it, but as a bonding activity it had worked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to bond with these people yet.
It had nothing to do with the movie being Carter’s choice.
“Okay, great,” Mitchell said doubtfully. John kept expecting to get sick of the way Mitchell looked at him, like he needed taking care of or something, but it hadn’t happened yet. He was starting to think it wasn’t going to, though he preferred not to think about the reasons for that.
“Yeah, sounds like fun,” John said, putting a bit more enthusiasm into his voice. He did want to see what they’d done with a live action Fantastic Four, after all, and he’d missed it in the cinema, what with being in another galaxy and all. “You asked the others yet?”
Mitchell’s face scrunched up in an expression John recognised from a few missions where they’d been asked to do something that sounded unpleasant. “Figured I’d start with the easy one,” he said.
He didn’t mean it like that, John told himself firmly. He meant easy to persuade, agreeable, not… Not easy like, would fall into bed with Mitchell if he just asked nicely. Hell, probably not even nicely. Make that one more thing that John wasn’t thinking about, along with how pleased Mitchell had been when Carter agreed to come back from Area 51 to join them.
They’d been friends for a long time, it didn’t mean anything. John would have been thrilled to have Rodney turn up on the team, or Teyla, and he had no desire to sleep with either of them. He wasn’t a little kid, jealous that his sort-of friend, his partner in the land of wasn’t-there-for-that on SG-1 had another friend with whom he had history. He just felt that way sometimes.
“Sheppard?” Mitchell said, reaching across the table to nudge his elbow. “Still with me?”
“Still with you,” John said, making an effort to rejoin the conversation. “I’ll ask Dr Jackson for you, if you want. He’ll probably come just to…” He let the sentence go, horrified to realize he couldn’t finish it without his voice cracking. Get a grip.
“He’ll come just to get Teal’c to leave him alone,” Mitchell finished, like he’d always meant to. Most of his face was hidden behind the coffee mug he was sipping from, but his eyes were warm and understanding. “And to torture me with arcane trivia about, I dunno, comic book culture or something.”
“I think that’s a bit too recent for him,” John said gamely. God, he just wanted… something. Whatever Mitchell was offering, or trying to offer, or not quite offering, yet. He wanted to say yes, so badly.
“This is Jackson we’re talking about,” Mitchell pointed out. “If there was ever anything even vaguely like comic books at some point in human evolution, he’ll know about it. And lecture us all on it.”
John couldn’t really argue with that, even knowing that Mitchell said it with irritated affection, while John was more just irritated. At least Rodney’s lectures usually included something that would save their lives.
“So, tomorrow night, my place?” Mitchell asked.
John nodded. Took a deep breath, shoving away the memories, and said, “I’ll bring the popcorn.”
For_la_la_la, who wanted a first-time or first-meeting from Lorne and Sheppard's relationship during Two Weeks:
Last Cigarette
John really, really wanted to be drunk. Failing that, he’d settle for being off the base, since being back in the States wasn’t an option.
Instead, he was sitting on the damp grass round back of the admin block, where the shadows hid everything, stone cold sober, sharing the last of his cigarettes with the only survivor of the three person team John had been sent to rescue.
It had gone dark hours ago, while John had still been waiting to get the bullet graze to his arm stitched up. Their breath frosted on the night air, even without the cigarette smoke; the afternoon felt like another lifetime, the rush of gunfire under the bright winter sun. He hadn’t even been able to make out the muzzle flashes against the glint of light on the windows, the dancing shadows between the trees. They’d been out in the open, trapped between the two, and he was pretty sure Lorne’s team leader had been dead before John even landed his chopper.
They’d been alive, all three of them, when John took off from the base.
Lorne dropped his cigarette end, grinding it out under his boot heel. John watched from the corner of his eye as Lorne’s hands hovered, before he tucked them back into his pockets, the way they’d been when he’d come stumbling round the back of the building, breathing out a sigh of relief when he saw John there, or maybe when he saw John there alone. They really didn’t know each other well enough for John to think Lorne had come looking for him.
“Here,” John said quietly. Far away, he could hear the steady thud-thud of someone being shelled, but the immediate area was quiet. It had become an unofficial place to hide out, dark and sheltered, and no-one was going to disturb them.
John dug the battered pack from his pocket, shaking out the last cigarette and offering it to Lorne. He looked at it for a long moment, then nodded jerkily and took it. His hands were cold and damp, and he hadn’t said a word since he’d shown up, just sat down by John and leant against the concrete wall of the building, closing his eyes.
John found his lighter where he’d dropped it in the grass and sparked it. He had to twist up onto his knees to face Lorne, who barely moved. The flame lit up his face as John cupped a hand round the cigarette to light it; John had gotten used to his easy smile, his serious concentration. He didn’t think he could get used to the absolute blank of Lorne’s expression, caught in the flame.
“Last one,” John said, wanting to break the silence. He’d promised himself he’d quit when he ran out of cigarettes from the States, but he hadn’t planned on smoking most of his last pack in one evening.
The smoldering end flared up as Lorne drew on it, then his hand came up, holding it out to John. The glow flickered until John took hold of Lorne’s wrist, stilling the tremors that hadn’t stopped all evening.
“Finish it,” he said, one hand still on Lorne’s, feeling Lorne’s eyes on him. “I’m quitting.”
He looked up then, meaning to smile, to insist. He wished he hadn’t, watching Lorne’s blank expression slip for an instant, like a crack in smooth plaster, showing everything underneath. He didn’t want to see someone else looking like that, reflecting his own feelings back at him.
It was easier to use the grip he had on Lorne’s wrist to pull him in, to take the excuse of a kiss to close his own eyes, certain Lorne was doing the same. He tasted of smoke, the bitter bite of nicotine, or maybe it was in John’s head, since all he could taste in his own mouth was nicotine and tar.
John felt Lorne catch the back of his jacket, the bump of Lorne’s fist against his spine. It wasn’t a good kiss, both of them wrecked, exhausted, Lorne grieving and John burning up with his own failure. They kept going anyway, like John had known they would. There wasn’t anything else.
In the grass, the dropped cigarette flared for a moment and went out.
Forskieswideopen, who wanted something seven years after the last story in the Return'verse:
Unexpected
“Christ, where’s a Wraith attack when you really need one?” John grumbles, adjusting his tie again.
“Be careful what you wish for.” Cam pushes his hands away and straightens the tie, then keeps hold of John’s hands when he looks like he’s planning on going for it again. “I have to stand next to you for an hour talking about alien planets, the least you can do is look the part.”
“I look the part,” John complains, gesturing down to his dress uniform, taking Cam’s hand with him.
Cam leans in close; they’re on their own, finally. The SGC press officer (which, for the record, will never be a normal thing to say, even when declassification in years instead of weeks behind them) is out front giving the press potted service histories of him and John by way of introduction. “You look like you should be on an Air Force calendar,” he says, keeping his voice low, because there’s no such thing as privacy this close to the mountain’s press room, and neither of them wants this to become public knowledge. “It’s hard enough to keep my hands off you like that, without you getting all… mussed up.”
“Yeah?” John asks, one eyebrow going up as he grins. “I never knew uniforms did it for you.”
“You in uniform does it for me,” Cam corrects, sliding his hands up John’s arms. He’s not blushing; after coming up on a decade with the guy, he should be well over the tendency to flush, talking about sex with John.
“Now you tell me,” John says. His eyes are locked on Cam’s, but his hand goes up anyway, messing his hair even more than it was before. Cam swallows, hard, feeling like an idiot. He has no idea what they’d look like if someone comes in. They’re barely touching, just his hands on John’s shoulders, plenty of space between them, but John’s eyes are bright, and Cam’s skin feels tight.
“I’m not going in front of the world’s press with a hard-on,” he tells John firmly.
“That doesn’t really seem like the impression General Hodges was hoping for, no,” John agrees. “Though it’d probably give half the room a thrill.”
Cam just looks at him, waiting for whatever comes next to make that make sense. It’s a feeling he’s gotten very used to over the past few years, between SG-1 and John.
“How you can have gotten to your age and be so clueless is beyond me,” John says, which Cam thinks is pretty rich, considering John’s oft-stated never-sees-it-coming. “You’re every woman’s ideal of an Air Force pilot. They start fantasizing about you sweeping them away the moment you set foot in the room.”
“Couldn’t have told me this years ago, could you?” Cam teases. He knows what John means, even if he doesn’t understand it; if John in uniform, never quite neat, does it for him, then his own compulsion to perfect neatness in dress blues seems to do it for other people. He’ll never get it.
“I wasn’t good enough with the sticks then,” John says, grinning. “Couldn’t have fought them all off.”
Cam’s halfway to replying when the press officer’s aide steps into their little ante-room. “Colonels? They’re ready for you now.”
“Great,” Cam says as sincerely as he can manage. He always thought the nice thing about working for a top-secret project was that he didn’t have to talk about it to anyone in public. Now, as leader of SG-1, even if it’s not the original version, he’s almost as in demand as John. The press officer is talking this question and answer session up as a chance to meet the leaders of the SGC’s two flagship off-world teams. Really, it’s a chance for the two of them to get as many questions out of the way as they can, so they can go back to the leading they’re supposed to be doing, before John goes insane with the need to be back on Atlantis.
“Here goes nothing,” John says brightly, but there’s a hint of nerves under the cheer, skating around his eyes and the corner of his mouth. Cam’s one of a very small number of people who’d be able to see it, or even know to look.
“You’ll be fine,” he says. “You’ll be back being attacked by the Wraith before you know it.”
John just raises his eyebrows, running a hand through his hair again. Cam doesn’t think it’s on purpose this time, but he reaches up to smooth it down anyway.
“Colonels?” the aide says again.
“After you,” John says, making an exaggerated gesture for Cam to lead the way.
Cam does, protecting John, for once.
For
miss_zedem, who wanted one hour after Promotion Day:Say Goodnight
“Okay,” Laura said, draining the last of her wine and standing up, the scrape of her chair loud in the almost empty hotel bar. “I’ve got an early flight tomorrow, so I’m going to love you boys and leave you.”
“Lightweight,” Cam teased.
“If you say so.” Laura grinned at him, and it wasn’t until she raised the clear bottle to her lips that Evan realized she’d swiped his beer.
“Hey! I didn’t even say anything.”
“No, but his is empty,” Laura said cheerfully.
Evan rolled his eyes, fighting down a grin as Cam laughed. He loved Atlantis, loved serving there, but he missed evenings like this, with his best friend and his boyfriend.
“So I buy you drinks, he insults you, and *I* end up getting my drink stolen? Nice, Cadman.”
“Poor baby.” Laura leaned down and hugged him from behind, her still-damp hair falling over his shoulder. Evan wrapped his hands around her arms, tilting his head back against her shoulder. “But you love me anyway.”
“Unfortunately,” he said.
She hugged him tighter for a moment then straightened. “And now I really am going to bed.”
“Don’t go without saying goodbye,” Evan said.
“Nope. Night, Mitchell.”
Cam raised one hand in a wave. “Have a good flight.”
He leaned back in his chair as Laura left, his shirt sleeves rolled up, collar open, loose and relaxed and looking really good. Evan had shrugged off his uniform jacket once they’d gotten inside, and it was hard to look smart in a dress uniform that was still damp in patches. Not that either of them looked like anything other than military officers, however they were dressed.
Cam was smiling at him indulgently.
“What?” Evan asked.
Cam shook his head, still smiling. “Want another drink?”
Evan spun the empty bottle between his hands. “Not really.”
“Me either. Wanna go?”
“Yeah.”
Waiting for the elevator, Cam slung his arm round Evan’s shoulders, pulling him close. Evan went with it, figuring they could probably pass for drunk and overly-friendly, and not really caring if they couldn’t. He was due back in Atlantis in two days.
“Hey,” Cam said, close to his ear. “Did I tell you I’m proud of you?”
“Not that I remember,” Evan said, leaning further into him.
“I’m so proud of you, Evan,” Cam said, low and sincere.
There really wasn’t any way to pass it off as anything except what it was, but Evan turned and kissed him anyway.
For
10pmpacifictime, who wanted something from early on in the How to Survive the Far Reaches of the Milky Way Galaxy in 5 Easy Steps universe, when SG-1 are back and John's still resentful and sulky:Still With Me
“I was thinking,” Mitchell said, sitting down opposite John in the mess without asking. “Now we’ve got the band back together, we should do something.”
Oh yeah, everyone back, the great SG-1 reformed again. John hmm’ed in a way he hoped portrayed vague interest, and took a large bite of his sandwich. Just what he wanted, a chance to hang out with Colonel So-Tell-Me-How-You-Survived-A-Year-Without-Killing-McKay Carter and Dr Tell-Me-Everything-About-Atlantis Jackson and… Well, all right, Teal’c wasn’t that bad, except for how John always thought Teal’c was laughing at him, and not in the nice way Teyla had sometimes.
Which he wasn’t thinking about.
“Yeah.” Mitchell, when John looked up, was wincing over his coffee mug – probably trying to drink it while it was too hot, again – and frowning at John. It shouldn’t have been possible to do both, John was pretty sure, but that was Mitchell for you. “Sam’s got the DVD of Fantastic Four, I’m thinking team movie night.”
“Sure,” John said brightly, hoping his smile didn’t look as forced as it felt. If he was going to be stuck with these people – which it looked like he was – he’d have to get on with them. And Mitchell was a nice guy, didn’t bring up Atlantis, ever, and paid attention to what John had to say in the field.
It was just that team movie night had been their thing, back when his team had been his, not just the people he’d been landed with because they couldn’t get rid of him after he helped to save Atlantis from the Wraith. Rodney had mocked him for it, but as a bonding activity it had worked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to bond with these people yet.
It had nothing to do with the movie being Carter’s choice.
“Okay, great,” Mitchell said doubtfully. John kept expecting to get sick of the way Mitchell looked at him, like he needed taking care of or something, but it hadn’t happened yet. He was starting to think it wasn’t going to, though he preferred not to think about the reasons for that.
“Yeah, sounds like fun,” John said, putting a bit more enthusiasm into his voice. He did want to see what they’d done with a live action Fantastic Four, after all, and he’d missed it in the cinema, what with being in another galaxy and all. “You asked the others yet?”
Mitchell’s face scrunched up in an expression John recognised from a few missions where they’d been asked to do something that sounded unpleasant. “Figured I’d start with the easy one,” he said.
He didn’t mean it like that, John told himself firmly. He meant easy to persuade, agreeable, not… Not easy like, would fall into bed with Mitchell if he just asked nicely. Hell, probably not even nicely. Make that one more thing that John wasn’t thinking about, along with how pleased Mitchell had been when Carter agreed to come back from Area 51 to join them.
They’d been friends for a long time, it didn’t mean anything. John would have been thrilled to have Rodney turn up on the team, or Teyla, and he had no desire to sleep with either of them. He wasn’t a little kid, jealous that his sort-of friend, his partner in the land of wasn’t-there-for-that on SG-1 had another friend with whom he had history. He just felt that way sometimes.
“Sheppard?” Mitchell said, reaching across the table to nudge his elbow. “Still with me?”
“Still with you,” John said, making an effort to rejoin the conversation. “I’ll ask Dr Jackson for you, if you want. He’ll probably come just to…” He let the sentence go, horrified to realize he couldn’t finish it without his voice cracking. Get a grip.
“He’ll come just to get Teal’c to leave him alone,” Mitchell finished, like he’d always meant to. Most of his face was hidden behind the coffee mug he was sipping from, but his eyes were warm and understanding. “And to torture me with arcane trivia about, I dunno, comic book culture or something.”
“I think that’s a bit too recent for him,” John said gamely. God, he just wanted… something. Whatever Mitchell was offering, or trying to offer, or not quite offering, yet. He wanted to say yes, so badly.
“This is Jackson we’re talking about,” Mitchell pointed out. “If there was ever anything even vaguely like comic books at some point in human evolution, he’ll know about it. And lecture us all on it.”
John couldn’t really argue with that, even knowing that Mitchell said it with irritated affection, while John was more just irritated. At least Rodney’s lectures usually included something that would save their lives.
“So, tomorrow night, my place?” Mitchell asked.
John nodded. Took a deep breath, shoving away the memories, and said, “I’ll bring the popcorn.”
For
_la_la_la, who wanted a first-time or first-meeting from Lorne and Sheppard's relationship during Two Weeks:Last Cigarette
John really, really wanted to be drunk. Failing that, he’d settle for being off the base, since being back in the States wasn’t an option.
Instead, he was sitting on the damp grass round back of the admin block, where the shadows hid everything, stone cold sober, sharing the last of his cigarettes with the only survivor of the three person team John had been sent to rescue.
It had gone dark hours ago, while John had still been waiting to get the bullet graze to his arm stitched up. Their breath frosted on the night air, even without the cigarette smoke; the afternoon felt like another lifetime, the rush of gunfire under the bright winter sun. He hadn’t even been able to make out the muzzle flashes against the glint of light on the windows, the dancing shadows between the trees. They’d been out in the open, trapped between the two, and he was pretty sure Lorne’s team leader had been dead before John even landed his chopper.
They’d been alive, all three of them, when John took off from the base.
Lorne dropped his cigarette end, grinding it out under his boot heel. John watched from the corner of his eye as Lorne’s hands hovered, before he tucked them back into his pockets, the way they’d been when he’d come stumbling round the back of the building, breathing out a sigh of relief when he saw John there, or maybe when he saw John there alone. They really didn’t know each other well enough for John to think Lorne had come looking for him.
“Here,” John said quietly. Far away, he could hear the steady thud-thud of someone being shelled, but the immediate area was quiet. It had become an unofficial place to hide out, dark and sheltered, and no-one was going to disturb them.
John dug the battered pack from his pocket, shaking out the last cigarette and offering it to Lorne. He looked at it for a long moment, then nodded jerkily and took it. His hands were cold and damp, and he hadn’t said a word since he’d shown up, just sat down by John and leant against the concrete wall of the building, closing his eyes.
John found his lighter where he’d dropped it in the grass and sparked it. He had to twist up onto his knees to face Lorne, who barely moved. The flame lit up his face as John cupped a hand round the cigarette to light it; John had gotten used to his easy smile, his serious concentration. He didn’t think he could get used to the absolute blank of Lorne’s expression, caught in the flame.
“Last one,” John said, wanting to break the silence. He’d promised himself he’d quit when he ran out of cigarettes from the States, but he hadn’t planned on smoking most of his last pack in one evening.
The smoldering end flared up as Lorne drew on it, then his hand came up, holding it out to John. The glow flickered until John took hold of Lorne’s wrist, stilling the tremors that hadn’t stopped all evening.
“Finish it,” he said, one hand still on Lorne’s, feeling Lorne’s eyes on him. “I’m quitting.”
He looked up then, meaning to smile, to insist. He wished he hadn’t, watching Lorne’s blank expression slip for an instant, like a crack in smooth plaster, showing everything underneath. He didn’t want to see someone else looking like that, reflecting his own feelings back at him.
It was easier to use the grip he had on Lorne’s wrist to pull him in, to take the excuse of a kiss to close his own eyes, certain Lorne was doing the same. He tasted of smoke, the bitter bite of nicotine, or maybe it was in John’s head, since all he could taste in his own mouth was nicotine and tar.
John felt Lorne catch the back of his jacket, the bump of Lorne’s fist against his spine. It wasn’t a good kiss, both of them wrecked, exhausted, Lorne grieving and John burning up with his own failure. They kept going anyway, like John had known they would. There wasn’t anything else.
In the grass, the dropped cigarette flared for a moment and went out.
For
skieswideopen, who wanted something seven years after the last story in the Return'verse:Unexpected
“Christ, where’s a Wraith attack when you really need one?” John grumbles, adjusting his tie again.
“Be careful what you wish for.” Cam pushes his hands away and straightens the tie, then keeps hold of John’s hands when he looks like he’s planning on going for it again. “I have to stand next to you for an hour talking about alien planets, the least you can do is look the part.”
“I look the part,” John complains, gesturing down to his dress uniform, taking Cam’s hand with him.
Cam leans in close; they’re on their own, finally. The SGC press officer (which, for the record, will never be a normal thing to say, even when declassification in years instead of weeks behind them) is out front giving the press potted service histories of him and John by way of introduction. “You look like you should be on an Air Force calendar,” he says, keeping his voice low, because there’s no such thing as privacy this close to the mountain’s press room, and neither of them wants this to become public knowledge. “It’s hard enough to keep my hands off you like that, without you getting all… mussed up.”
“Yeah?” John asks, one eyebrow going up as he grins. “I never knew uniforms did it for you.”
“You in uniform does it for me,” Cam corrects, sliding his hands up John’s arms. He’s not blushing; after coming up on a decade with the guy, he should be well over the tendency to flush, talking about sex with John.
“Now you tell me,” John says. His eyes are locked on Cam’s, but his hand goes up anyway, messing his hair even more than it was before. Cam swallows, hard, feeling like an idiot. He has no idea what they’d look like if someone comes in. They’re barely touching, just his hands on John’s shoulders, plenty of space between them, but John’s eyes are bright, and Cam’s skin feels tight.
“I’m not going in front of the world’s press with a hard-on,” he tells John firmly.
“That doesn’t really seem like the impression General Hodges was hoping for, no,” John agrees. “Though it’d probably give half the room a thrill.”
Cam just looks at him, waiting for whatever comes next to make that make sense. It’s a feeling he’s gotten very used to over the past few years, between SG-1 and John.
“How you can have gotten to your age and be so clueless is beyond me,” John says, which Cam thinks is pretty rich, considering John’s oft-stated never-sees-it-coming. “You’re every woman’s ideal of an Air Force pilot. They start fantasizing about you sweeping them away the moment you set foot in the room.”
“Couldn’t have told me this years ago, could you?” Cam teases. He knows what John means, even if he doesn’t understand it; if John in uniform, never quite neat, does it for him, then his own compulsion to perfect neatness in dress blues seems to do it for other people. He’ll never get it.
“I wasn’t good enough with the sticks then,” John says, grinning. “Couldn’t have fought them all off.”
Cam’s halfway to replying when the press officer’s aide steps into their little ante-room. “Colonels? They’re ready for you now.”
“Great,” Cam says as sincerely as he can manage. He always thought the nice thing about working for a top-secret project was that he didn’t have to talk about it to anyone in public. Now, as leader of SG-1, even if it’s not the original version, he’s almost as in demand as John. The press officer is talking this question and answer session up as a chance to meet the leaders of the SGC’s two flagship off-world teams. Really, it’s a chance for the two of them to get as many questions out of the way as they can, so they can go back to the leading they’re supposed to be doing, before John goes insane with the need to be back on Atlantis.
“Here goes nothing,” John says brightly, but there’s a hint of nerves under the cheer, skating around his eyes and the corner of his mouth. Cam’s one of a very small number of people who’d be able to see it, or even know to look.
“You’ll be fine,” he says. “You’ll be back being attacked by the Wraith before you know it.”
John just raises his eyebrows, running a hand through his hair again. Cam doesn’t think it’s on purpose this time, but he reaches up to smooth it down anyway.
“Colonels?” the aide says again.
“After you,” John says, making an exaggerated gesture for Cam to lead the way.
Cam does, protecting John, for once.
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Though you realize that now you've tired yourself into both allowing them to survive for seven more years, and in permitting their relationship to survive equally long
But on the bright side, neither of them is likely to die on the show, so at least that makes it easier :)
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eeee! So happy to get a glimpse of John & Cam in the future of Return'verse.
"Still With Me" - oh, boys! John reminds me of a feral cat, wanting to come in to the warmth but not sure of his welcome. Kinda twitchy and wary. And there's Cam, so patient, laying out the trail of cat food to entice him in. Not pushing too hard, cuz he knows that'll just scare him away.
"Say Goodnight" - Love Cadman, and the camaraderie she has w/ Evan. & love the last two lines!
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John reminds me of a feral cat, wanting to come in to the warmth but not sure of his welcome.
Mm, definitely. Because he had Atlantis, where he finally felt like he fitted, and then had it taken away - it's a big, big risk to try again with these people. But Cam will win him round :)
Love Cadman, and the camaraderie she has w/ Evan
Thank you! I think they're my favourite not-supported-by-canon-really-at-all friendship :)
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John emailing Mitchell and telling him to take care of Lorne in the second one is all kinds of sweet. I love how the three of them are all intertwined, and how they're all okay with that.
And future! Cam/John! Wheee! So, so sweet. Of course Cam likes how John looks in uniform.
Thank you for sharing!
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Lorne deciding he doesn't care if people work out what's going on with him and Mitchell
I guess there have to be *some* perks to being the stars of a now-declassified top-secret project :)
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I tried this. My face was scrunched up like I'd sucked on a lemon.
John's dislike of Sam, from his defensiveness about Rodney, to his jealousy over her and Cam is wonderful.
I love how raw John is and how much Mitchell wants to help him move on from his grief.
Whatever Mitchell was offering, or trying to offer, or not quite offering, yet.
In the original fic, John seems surprised, where in this line there's an inevitability to it. So now I wonder how the two pieces mesh and the way these two are in denial.
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In honor of which, I give you my lemon icon :)
So now I wonder how the two pieces mesh and the way these two are in denial.
The original one is about a few months after this - I think at that point, John's given up hoping that Cameron actually wants to sleep with him, rather than just comfort him, particularly since as far as he knows, that's all Cameron's ever wanted. If that makes sense.
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Aw, I like the relationships (friendship with Cadman, too) in this one
And OMG *squee* for seven years after the last story in the Return'verse
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