![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chase_acow
Title: Between the Spirit and the Dust
Recipient:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ubiquitous_girl
Prompts: Dress blues, flirting, Ferris wheels
Fandom/Pairing: Stargate ~ Mitchell/Sheppard
Rating: R
Spoilers: Several very subtle canon deaths in various fandoms, the only recent one being Harry Potter 7. If you’re concerned feel free to ask.
Disclaimer: I do not own the United States Air Force, a prominent company involved with distribution of television programming, a certain slightly scummy TV network or Melissa Etheridge. Or anything else for that matter.
A/N: Story based extensively on All the Way to Heaven by Melissa Etheridge with a few other tidbits from songs thrown in.
A/N2: Thanks to everyone who looked over this in its extreme early stages,saffie_lew, vipersweb, and handsomespeck. Also to the pals that put up with my attempts at graphics foxmonkey, sly_fuck, and thady
*Cameron?*
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John stood alone in his shield of dress blues, the bend of his spine straightened so every breath hurt with the strain of keeping the muscles of his back fixed in place. He never thought that the blues had done much for him. Though other officers took on the grand persona of the United States Air Force, John still felt like he was playing dress up with his father’s old uniform. He was still a little tin doll, hollow and far too fragile to take to Boy Scout camp.
The shadow of the mountain fell over him large, complete and definite. Three yards ahead of him lay the line separating night from day, but it may as well have been three football fields for all the good it was doing him. Under his jacket he was cold, shivering despite his many layers of armor. He took off his cap wishing he could hurl it up as far as he could and wait to see where it would land.
He wanted to see where he would land.
“Hey there, Morning-glory,” a bright voice said from behind him, the familiar catch and drawl of the Great Plains a better balm than any of Teyla’s stinky medicinal herbs. “Why the long face?”
“Aw, you know,” John answered, his heart lifting along with the freeze that had held him immobile for so long. He turned back to face an old friend, his oldest friend actually. If he looked hard, John could still see the small scar running up his thumb from where they swore an oath to be blood brothers for life. The smile came to his face easily now, “Stuff piles up. I think I lost my Johnny Cash poster.”
Cameron grinned and slapped John’s upper arm, hanging on to the material of the coat and shaking him slightly. “Yeah, I know,” he said, looking over his shoulder back to the entrance of the SGC at the bottom of Cheyenne Mountain. It was a dark hole that swallowed any light that tried to break through the threshold. “That kinda sucked, huh?”
“Tell me about it,” John said, running a hand through his carefully brushed hair to mess it more to his usual standard. He pressed his palm against his right eye, applying pressure until he thought he could see blobs of color against his eyelid. He felt cheated that he didn’t at least have a headache; some sign of the tension spiking through his back and up his neck.
The parking lot was empty of humanity, shadows chasing the wind and they could have been the only two people in the galaxy. John shrugged to himself and glanced at Cameron out of the corner of his eye. Besides family, he’d probably known Cameron the longest of anyone. They’d spent every summer of high school together when they both ended up in Oklahoma visiting their grandparents who lived next to each other.
They’d grown up tall together, flyboys and blood brothers to the end.
Cameron was one of those officers that wore the blues like a second skin, becoming more than he was the instant the buckles were in place, shined with a spit polish. They were night and day standing next to each other, foils, reflections and what-ifs in conveniently labeled packages. Yet that was probably what made them friends.
Uncomfortable with his train of thought, John started plucking at a stry thread poking out from under a button. He missed his Atlantis uniform, the comfortable slide of canvas against his tac holster.
“C’mon,” Cameron said suddenly, jerking John out of his daze by physically pulling John along behind him. The shade had slid further while John was distracted, and they had a clear shot to the only car in the lot, parked as far from the entrance as possible. “You look like a man who could use a drink.”
“Yeah,” John agreed, his throat suddenly closing as if he’d already poured a tumbler full of sludge down his gullet. He felt desperate to get away from the SGC, knowing that to stay would only mean more pain and anxiety. “That sounds like a plan.”
“That’s me, the man with a plan,” Cameron said cheekily, keeping close to John’s side as he led them over to a black and blue older model mustang.
It had mud on the wheel wells and small scratches along the passenger side door. There was a ding in the back bumper, chips in the paint and only one headlight, but the lines were beautiful. It was an American muscle car, sleek and fast with racing stripes. It was the stuff dreams were made of, especially for a teenager like John had been.
“Nice ride,” he said pulling open the door and sliding his bag in the back next to Cameron’s. The interior was leather, and creaked softly as John let down his weight and settled into the passenger seat.
Cameron flashed him a grin as he pulled the key ring down from where it had been hidden in the visor. “Yeah,” he said softly, running his hands over the steering wheel before fitting the key in the ignition. “I’ll even let you drive if you want.”
“Cool,” he replied, finally able to sink into a comfortable slouch against the bucket seat. The leather was warm, soaking into his skin and easing the tension from his shoulders. Eventually he'd want to give it a go, but for now was content to let Cameron take the wheel. He felt like he could sleep forever if given the chance. “But I think I’ll just sleep while you drive.”
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*He might wake up tomorrow or he may never wake up.*
He dreamed of pain and a startling blue light. He tried to scream but nothing would come out, and then the Wraith were there sucking away everything that made him John Sheppard. He looked in a mirror and couldn’t recognize himself, there was only an old man standing all alone. It was cold again, and he just wanted to curl into a ball and not have to feel anymore.
The next thing John knew, Cameron was shaking him awake with a hand to his shoulder. He sat up and scrubbed his face, trying to stretch in the cramped leg space and look out the window at the same time. They must have been driving for a long time because the sun had moved across the sky and hung suspended over the western horizon. It was impossibly big and orange, huge, but it didn’t hurt his eyes to look at it.
“We here?” he asked sleepily, trying to blink away the fog that still shrouded his mind. His jacket had crept around while he slept, crinkling and bunching so that he looked like wrinkled pile of laundry. The starch in his collar was beginning to make his neck itch, and he was dying to get into a pair of jeans and comfortable shoes.
Cameron opened his door and stepped outside, tugging the bottom hem of his jacket. He looked perfect like he had just stepped from the pages of the Officer’s Uniform Code. Ducking down, Cameron grinned, and looked at John fondly before he reached around to grab his backpack and John’s duffle from the backseat. “Yup, this is it. Best dollar shot specials east of the Great Divide,” he said, before he straightened and was lost to John’s field of vision.
With one last shiver of his muscles, John managed to haul himself out of the car. He spent several fruitless moments trying to make himself presentable before deciding to screw it. He was about to stow his blues in the bottom of his bag anyway.
“You ready, Princess?” Cameron asked with a carefully lifted eyebrow and laughed at John’s expression. He tossed the duffle over and beckoned for John to follow him into the bar.
There was still plenty of sun, dyeing the pastures and trees in muted oranges and reds, but a blue light stood out from sign that read “Wake of Dawn” is buzzing neon bulbs. Gravel crunched beneath his dress shoes, as he walked through the half-full parking lot. The assortment of automobiles ran from beaten up old pickup trucks to slick Mercedes-Benz. There was a motorcycle parked to the side of the building and beside it, a horse was tethered to a tree limb.
John turned under the soft blue light and looked back at the empty highway stretching out in front of the bar. It was empty as far as the eye could see, a simple two lane road with a striped yellow line running up the middle. Someone had misplaced the mountains, he noticed as a herd of cattle shuffled together on the far side of the barbed wire fence. Their soft lowing was the only sound beside the wind.
Shrugging, John shouldered open the swinging doors to the bar and stepped into the dimly lit interior. It was quiet this early in the evening; just some people grouped together sitting at tables talking and a female bartender cleaning glasses. There were the faintest aromas in the air; beer, rotisserie chicken, and the sweet smell of cigars. He breathed deeply and glanced around for Cameron.
“You looking for your friend?” the bartender called out, flipping her towel over her shoulder and setting the glass up, finishing a pyramid erected behind her by the mirror. She was a small little thing, her pale reddish brown hair hanging down to her waist. “He’s in the bathroom over there.”
She gestured to the door set in the back of the room squeezed between a pinball machine and dartboard. There was a sign on it that read Men, Women, and Other: Wait Your Turn. A light shone faintly from the bottom so John set down his bag and stretched one leg to slide onto a barstool.
“What can I get for you?” the girl asked him, sauntering over to lean on the bar in front of him. Her top dipped low, drawing his eyes down to the tantalizing skin bared in the vee of the thin material. She was pale and young, but her eyes were old and searched his for several long moments.
“Are you even old enough to drink?” he asked, scanning the room again wondering if this was some sort of setup. The closest table was crowded with a group of people talking loudly in the half stories that only very good friends could follow. A bleached blond man in a black duster with a British accent talked over the rest of them, gesturing wildly so that John could see his fingernails were painted black. They were paying no attention to him.
“Technically speaking, yes. I’m not a kid,” she said, a small smile turning up one cheek as she cocked her head. He realized that sitting down, he still was looking her in the eye, and she would barely come up to his shoulder if they stood side by side.
John blinked and smoothed his hands across the ancient wood in front of him, his fingers catching in the small dimples and creases. He fitted his own smirk on his face and glanced up at her. “Is there a more truthful way of speaking?” he asked teasing her and wondering why she made him feel so comfortable; like a kid bellying up to the dinner table.
She turned her grin into a real smile, showing a perfect row of teeth. “Many, but I think you know that,” she said and pulled a glass out from underneath the counter and filled it from the tap. “First one’s on the house, just yell if you want something else. My name’s Dawn.”
“It’s nice to meet you Dawn,” John said politely pulling the glass closer to him and sniffing the foam. It smelled warm and fresh, sunlight in a bottle and when he took a sip, he felt warm again.
“It’s nice to see you again, John,” Dawn replied winking at him and moving further down the bar to talk to a young woman with bubblegum pink hair and two men who stood closely together beside her. The woman looked as if she would fit into any punk scene, but the men were dressed in an older fashion and stood close together by her side.
An upbeat song came on the jukebox distracting him for a moment so that he had to turn and look. There was a young black man standing in front of it with his back to John. He was wearing a sleeveless t-shirt and had his back bowed. For an impossible moment, John thought it might have been Ford.
“All yours, Pumpkin,” Cameron said startling John into jumping and twisting on the barstool. Cameron looked good in his jeans and his jacket, relaxed and rumple-able. He winked; ignoring John’s startled heavy breathing and took the seat beside him. He waved Dawn over and then made shooing motions at John.
When he looked back to the jukebox, the man was gone and a more upbeat song started. Rolling his eyes at himself, John picked up his bag and dragged himself to the now empty restroom. It was cramped, but he managed to pull off his uniform without much flailing or banging into things. He’s glad that he remembered to pack his close-enough-to-civvies this time.
John left the bathroom wearing an old pair of cargos and a jacket pulled over his favorite black shirt. His boots thudded on the wood floor as he walked back toward the bar where Cameron was waiting and flirting with Dawn by the tilt of his head.
There were too many people crammed against the bar now, and John had to wiggle to fit back in by Cameron’s side. On the other side was a tall man, two tentacles hanging down his chin like a beard tattooed with black tribal symbols. His nose was redish purple against his pinkish brown face, and he growled but shifted over to make room for John.
Dawn was busy pulling beers and slinging shots across the bar, she looked happy as she worked. Cameron was busy talking to a man in a long brown robe wearing a lightsaber and a woman in a leather miniskirt and studded breastplate. John listened to the music and let conversation roll over him as he reached for and drained his drink.
“I’ll take two of the same please,” a voice said in familiar Scottish brogue from the end of the bar.
He didn’t know he was moving until he ended up with fists full of green cardigan and Carson squished in his arms. John sucked in a breath not knowing if he was going to sob or scream when Carson lifted his own hands and pulled John tighter. The scent of Old Spice washed over him and once again his throat closed up.
“Easy John, easy,” Carson laughed, patting John’s back before he reached to grab John’s shoulders and push him an arm’s length away. His smile lit up his face as he spoke, “It’s good to see you too, lad.”
“What are you doing here?” John asked, amazed and happy and feeling as though his face was going to splinter into a thousand different pieces.
Carson looked better than he ever had on Atlantis; he was tan and relaxed in the ugly green sweater his mom had made him with the leather patches on the elbows. Rodney had made fun of that shirt mercilessly every time Carson had left his quarters wearing it. Afterwards, Rodney balled his fists up in it, sitting on the floor of Carson’s room staring blankly out the window.
“I’ve just got a wee consult date with Janet,” Carson added, his eyes kind as he smiled at John. “I really should get back.”
“What? But you can’t, I wanted to talk to you. I needed to tell you… ” John said trailing off as he didn’t know how he would finish the sentence, but Carson was already pulling away and disappearing into the crowd. John held out a hand to catch his sleeve, but he just barely missed his hand closing on empty air as if in slow motion.
“It’s okay, Lad, there’ll be plenty of time later,” Carson called out and then he was gone.
It was like he was stuck in molasses again, with sand filling his hole as soon as he dug it out. John tried to wade through the mass of bodies to get to Carson, but it was no use. A hand grabbed his shoulder and he knew it was Cameron’s before the other man said a word. “Hey it’s getting a little stuffy in here,” he said, his voice low and right beside John’s ear. “You can’t go back there anyway. You wanna blow this popsicle stand?”
Turning, his lips slid across the stubble of Cameron’s cheek because of how tightly they were scrunched together. “Yeah,” he answered still trying for a last look over the crowd of people even as Cameron steered him out the door with a hand on the small of his back.
The last thing John saw was Captain Kirk telling a story to a group of captivated Asgard.
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They drove with the windows down, the cool air of twilight blowing in their faces and through their hair. John couldn’t help sticking his arm out the window and pretending to fly his hand like an airplane while Cameron sped down the straight and narrow blacktop. The radio buzzed with classic rock, the voices sometimes drown out with static only to come back clearer on the next verse.
“Cameron?” John asked suddenly, shifting in his seat so he could see his friend’s profile outlined by the red of a dying sun. Only a thin console and stick shift separated them in the enclosed space. “Where are we?”
The question had been tugging at the back of his mind for a while, but it was only then with Van Morrison crooning in the background that he felt he could ask. He had forgotten why they’d been wearing their dress uniforms in the first place, and he was almost sure that the bar had been just as full of nonhumans as regular Homo sapiens.
Cameron glanced over at him, taking his eyes off the road for just a brief heartbeat before turning his head back. The headlight dulled the asphalt on the driver’s side but was barely distinguishable from the glare of the setting sun. “Why don’t you tell me?” he asked in return, flexing his fingers over the steering wheel cover.
Something nagged him again, and John turned back to the window. Outside the grass looked like it was on fire, blowing golden for a brief time before it would settle into sleep. Further away, a farm house sat on a hilltop with a barn and several spinning windmills. A few mile markers along the road brought a red canyon into sight, though it was set far back from the road, with a copse of trees blocking the far end.
John straightened and stuck his head out the window so he could look back as Cameron kept driving. He narrowed his eyes against the wind, and tried to remember why it was so important that he savor every second of the sight. He dropped back into his seat and jumped as Cameron reached over to pat him on the chest, smiling until his eyes crinkled.
“We’re home,” John breathed, wondering why he hadn’t known earlier. No place on Earth, hell, no place in either the Milky Way or Pegasus had felt this way. The first place that he ever felt he belonged. Even Atlantis, a place he fit into like a bird to the sky wasn’t quite the same. “Why are we home?”
Cameron laughed, his chuckle rich and vibrant through the air. “I have no idea,” he said, glancing over again, his blue eyes speaking volumes all on their own. “I think you could use the break though.”
“I’m doing okay,” John said, defensive though he couldn’t think of a reason he should be. The longer that they were together in the twilight the further he felt from any of his responsibilities. Whoever he had been that morning when he first donned his regulated persona of an Air Force officer, that wasn’t who he was anymore.
The shock of Cameron’s warm hand on his thigh made John jerk his head up. Cameron wasn’t even pretending to pay attention to the road in front of them. He was serious now, his eyes sad as he said, “I know. You’re doing wonderfully. It’s just a little longer until sunset.”
John cocked his head but nodded, relaxing as Cameron left his hand where it was even when he turned his head. They drove into town silently, the streets deserted and the windows of the buildings dark. The sight of the town's beaver statue clutching a cowchip brought up a familiar feeling of embarrassment. The stoplight was red when they pulled up and Cameron let the mustang idle to a stop, the headlight bathing a small patch of asphalt in a golden light.
“Am I dreaming?” John asked knowing somehow that he didn’t want the answer to that question.
“How would I know?” Cameron answered, letting the car roll forward slightly in hopes of coaxing the light to change colors. He turned his head back then and continued, “But when I dream, I’m usually naked and trying to lead SG-1 on a mission to save the sacred macaroon.”
Keeping a straight face was hard, but John tried and only twitched once as he gazed back at Cameron. “I’m not naked,” he said, his logic unfortunately trumping his own argument.
Cameron’s eyes raked down John’s body, and suddenly the playful atmosphere was completely serious. John wiggled under the scrutiny and turned back to look out the window. “No you’re not,” Cameron said, his voice low and smoky and filled with something that John couldn’t quite place his finger on.
“Green,” he replied, pointing a finger up to the stoplight while still avoiding Cameron’s gaze.
The car pulled up and suddenly the setting sun hit a window just right to bounce the light directly into John’s eyes, and he blinked at the sudden fierceness of it. Tears sprung up and, he blinked rapidly, feeling his chest contract as his hands start to shake. The familiarity of the street grounded him let him draw in a breath as he sat back in the seat and wondered what the hell was going on.
*There’s still no response to visual stimuli, we’re running out of options.*
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She was wearing a red and black jacket buttoned low over her waist with coat tails that trailed down her knees. She clasped her hands in front of her chest, the black leather of her gloves squeaking as she rubbed them together. She smiled as they walked up and John felt something in his chest unhitch.
“Welcome gentlemen!” Elizabeth greeted them from where she stood underneath a banner guaranteeing customers an experience out of this world. She grinned, flaring open her arms to usher them inside. “Welcome to our little slice of paradise!”
“Wow,” John said, stunned as he took in the carnival parked at the outskirts of town. There were tents, booths and rides that climbed up to the darkening sky. People milled throughout enough that the place was busy but not so many that his instincts screamed that he was walking into a Wraith buffet.
Cameron startled him out of his reverie by elbowing him hard in the ribs and grinned at John’s grunt. “Well, it’s not just for looking,” he said, jerking his head toward the entrance, “let’s go!”
Everywhere he turned his head, there was something to do, something to see. Cameron quickly steered him away from the dunk tank where Jack O’Neill sat in baggy swim trunks taunting everyone who walked by to see if they could hit the target. The water underneath him was the perfect cerulean of Atlantis’ ocean at high noon.
John wanted to go to the game tents; he could see them set up in row a little beyond the kiddy rides so he pulled on Cameron’s arm and jerked his head. “Hey you wanna go see how badly I beat your butt into the ground at the baseball throw?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Yeah right,” Cameron said, playfully bumping their shoulders together and shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “You were always too prissy for baseball, Mr. Four-under-par.”
“Ha!” John crowed and narrowed his eyes at Cameron. “Why don’t you put your arm where your mouth is? Wait, I think I actually saw that on P3X -448 and it was kinda creepy, so never mind.”
“Aw,” Cameron said, changing his voice as if talking to a baby. “Is the ‘ittle Milky Way too scary for ‘ittle Sheppard?”
John shoved him hard in the back laughing, and Cameron danced away before any more blows could fall. People were looking at them, amused for a moment before going on with their own carnival adventures.
“It is so on!” John promised and caught up to Cameron only to stop dead in his tracks. Cameron wasn’t laughing anymore, he was still holding an expression of disbelief as he threw out an arm to slap across John’s chest even though he’d already stopped by himself.
In front of them was a sight that rivaled anything he’d ever seen before on tour, in this galaxy or outside.
“McKay, what do you think you’re doing?” John choked, starring in a mix of awe and horror at Rodney’s sequined spandex costume. It was an image that would burn itself into his brain only to resurface behind his eyelids while lying in bed.
Cameron started to chuckle but quickly covered his mouth with a fist when Rodney turned to glare at him. He couldn’t stop his eyes from laughing through, the pale greenish blue pupils shone with mirth.
“What does it look like?” Rodney demanded waggling three slender sticks at them with one hand while the other hand sharply gestured down at himself. “I’m a fire eater. Eater of Fire?” He rolled his eyes at their blank looks and started patting down his sides, “I know I had some flyers around here somewhere. Anyway I worked out all the equations and my first show is in fifteen minutes.”
Trying desperately not to look at Cameron and burst into a fit of unseemly giggles, John stared straight ahead at the point just over Rodney’s shoulder. “Right,” he drawled edging sideways around the edge of the path while he tried to keep Cameron behind him. “I’m sure we’ll see you there.”
Rodney glared at them, his face turning a shade of red to match his outfit until John tossed off a jaunty salute and turned to make a run for it. He heard Cameron stammer out something before racing along behind him. They didn’t stop until they had put several rides between them and Rodney just in case he decided to practice before his first show.
They wheezed to a stop, breathless from the run and laughing the whole way. John bent down with his hands on his knees, pulling in air and letting the tears run down his face. He could barely see Cameron out of his peripheral vision, but it looked like he was holding his ribs and howling.
“You know,” John said, his voice breaking a little as he tried to get himself back under control. “McKay is probably the best guy to have at your back when there’s any kind of technology involved and he’s one of my best friends, but…”
“Oh, God!” Cameron yelled breaking into laughter all over again and slapping his knee. “Did you see the sparkles?”
*His heart rate is spiking but we just don’t know enough of what’s going on internally to infer what that means.*
John straightened up, instantly alert as he scanned the area looking for something wrong. He took the three steps to bring him to Cameron’s side and put his hand on the small of his friend’s back. “Hey, did you hear that?” he asked still searching for the speaker.
Cameron just winked at him and pulled him down the aisle.
Ronon leaned bored against the edge of the booth he was working, sharpening a knife that was almost as long as John’s forearm. He was wearing an oversized University of Texas hat backwards crammed over his dreadlocks, and a carnival polo shirt.
“Step right up, one and all. Test your mettle, win a prize,” Ronon mumbled in a monotone never taking his eyes off the sharpening stone he was working over the shiny metal.
John raised an eyebrow at Cameron and nodded toward the neatly laid out row of throwing blades and the so far pristine target. Two dollars got five chances and just one hit to the bulls-eye got a prize. He was reaching for his wallet in his back pocket when Cameron stopped him.
“Just a second there, Hot Stuff,” Cameron said, letting his fingers brush across the denim covering John’s ass as he pulled John’s hand back. “I remember you at the dart board, let me do this one.”
Rolling his eyes, John stepped back and let Cameron have his place. They’d always been competitive, every summer for five years through high school and college had been spent in playful one-upmanship. They’d even went after the same girl once, but it had ended with both their faces being slapped and their first beer as they threw a pity party at the hangout.
Cameron hit the middle of the target on his first try, smirking at John over his shoulder before he picked up the second knife to line up his throw. Not wanting to let Cameron get too cocky, John waited until Cameron was getting ready to throw and then stepped up to Cameron’s left side and leaned in close.
“Don’t miss,” he whispered low and rough, his lips just barely grazing the shell of Cameron’s ear.
Cursing, Cameron chucked the knife and it went wide completely missing the target and bouncing off the back wall. He turned his head to glare at John, but John just gave him his best ’who me’ expression and shrugged his shoulders. Cameron picked up the next blade and John instantly stepped back in, widening his stance and letting his thigh graze over Cameron’s ass.
The next two throws hit the target with the hilt of the blade and fell to the sawdust on the floor. John tried to stifle his laughter and Cameron elbowed him hard in the sternum. He took his next throw fast while John was still doubled over rubbing his chest and the knife caught in one of the outer rings of the target.
“Congratulations,” Ronon grunting throwing an enormous pink stuffed bear at John and nearly bowling him over.
“Guess that makes you the girl, huh Sheppard?” Cameron digged, grinning and ruffling his hand through John’s hair. He honked the nose of the bear, its face molded into a sweet and dumb expression and winked at Ronon.
Rolling his eyes, John transferred the bear to his other hand and looped his arm through Cameron’s playfully hugging it close to his body. “Just remember that I don’t put out on a first date,” he said as they began to walk back to the main part of the carnival.
He pulled Cameron away from the kissing booth where it looked like Vala was making a bundle kissing high school boys on the cheeks, college boys on the mouths, and the geezers on the forehead. She waved at them quickly before gesturing up her next customer. Cameron pretended to be very disappointed but perked up again when John steered him over to the food tent.
Sam was behind the counter wearing a uniform that looked like it belonged in a 1950s soda shop. A little paper hat was perched jauntily on her head tipping to the side so that John wasn’t quite sure how it stayed on. Behind her, a giant billboard displayed what was for sale, but it was written in Ancient and John couldn’t read what it said.
“What can I get for you boys?” she asked, smiling and winking at Cameron, “I just put the funnel cakes in the naquadah oven so they’ll be a little bit.”
“Give me some cotton candy, please,” John said gesturing to the bag of pink fluffy cloud hanging off the top beam of her stand. He looked over to see Cam eyeing the snow cone machine, “And one of those too.”
Cameron bumped his hip against John and leaned his elbows on the counter and said with a flirtatious glance up at Sam, “Grape please!”
She laughed and puttered around making Cameron’s snow cone while John reached up to snag his own bag of spun sugar. Tempting smells started to waft out of the oven, but it was just then that John noticed that the radiation knob was set to ‘sperm kill’. Nervously, he pulled Cameron away as soon as he had his cup in hand.
They walked through the aisles watching children running and laughing, heading to the petting zoo where General Landry kept watch over pens of Iratus bugs. As the twilight deepened, strings of light crisscrossing the path lit up as they passed by as if just waiting for John before flaring to life. John burst out laughing when Caldwell stumbled in front of them wearing a colorfully loud clown suit, with his face painted in a huge frown and tear motif.
“Hey, let me have some cotton candy,” Cameron said suddenly hip checking John into the opening of an out of the way tent. He blocked the way out and smiled cockily at John with a raised eyebrow.
John rolled his eyes and tore out a hunk of cotton candy for himself and held out the bag for Cameron to dig into. He was surprised, when Cameron bypassed the bag and grabbed John’s wrist instead. Warmth spread up his arm from Cameron’s dry fingertips rasping across the sensitive skin
Slowly Cameron pulled John’s hand to his mouth and stuck his tongue out, touching the tip to the candy and letting it dissolve slowly. Little pink beads bubbled up, but John could only stare at Cameron’s lips and tongue, as they nibbled closer to John’s fingers.
His breath hitched as Cameron began licking the sticky from his fingers, and a shiver raced up his arm and through him. “Your tongue’s cold,” John said softly, vowels rasping and catching in his throat as he watched, fascinated as his finger slowly disappeared into Cameron’s mouth.
Cameron glanced up at him, his eyes shining in the dim light and reflecting the orange lights strung across the walkways. “I bet it’s purple too,” he said, keeping a hold on John’s hand but stepping in closer to John so that their bodies just brushed each other.
Whatever reply John was going to make was quickly cut off by Cameron’s mouth sealing itself over John’s. Suddenly that cold tongue was rubbing and sliding against his, slowly warming up while making itself at home in John’s mouth. His hands fisted in Cameron’s sweater where it bunched against the other man’s sides, and he pulled them together jostling for a moment before settling together.
It wasn’t even their first kiss, but it was the only one that mattered. Promises made years ago while surrounded by red clay dirt came crashing back on his head, and John whined back in his throat and shoved forward trying to get closer and soak up the heat radiating off Cameron’s body. He remembered being young and happy not knowing what was in store for him, and he wanted that feeling again.
The taste of grape syrup invaded his mouth just as surely as Cameron’s tongue, and when they broke apart, John had to lick his lips for the very last taste. “Mmmm,” John said smacking his lips before his brain could catch up to his mouth. “Tastes purple too.”
Cameron snorted in laughter and rested his forehead on John’s shoulder smiling into John’s neck. His hands kept roaming on John’s back until they finally dipped under the jacket and were a cold shock to John’s lower back. John arched into the touch, pushing his chest against Cameron’s and incidentally grinding their cocks together.
“C’mon,” Cameron mumbled, low and hot against John’s ear, pulling him along by the hips deeper into the tent. “C’mon before we get arrested for indecent exposure.”
The smell of hay and sawdust came to John’s nose instantly, tickling distant memories of working in the barn with his grandfather. It was dark inside, and before he quite knew what was going on, he’d tripped over Cameron’s feet and knocked them both to the ground. They landed on a springy pile of hay, John on top of Cameron hard enough that they both grunted at the impact.
John settled between Cameron’s legs and scooted up so he could kiss Cameron again, sighing against the warmth and completely relaxing his body. He tangled his fingers in Cameron’s sweater and twisted his head trying to kiss every part of Cameron that he could reach.
With a sudden flip, John was on his back looking up at Cameron smirking. Their leg were tangled together, Cameron’s knee just brushing up against John’s balls, tight in the space between John’s thighs. He couldn't help but arch upward, rubbing against the friction and clenching his legs around Cameron. He pulled Cameron back down; started sucking on the other man’s neck, sliding his tongue along the cords and up until he could bite gently on Cameron’s earlobe.
Cameron moaned softly and ground down into John’s belly, clutching hard on John’s biceps. He was panting, his hot breath fanning across John’s cheek. “Oh God, yes,” he mumbled, the words barely audible.
“C-Cameron,” John stammered, closing his eyes against the rush of pleasure that speared down through him. He was so warm, and even the stray pieces of straw poking him couldn’t distract him from the toe-curling bliss he was feeling.
Then there was a void above him, and John struggled to sit up. Opening his eyes, he saw Cameron was kneeling over him rubbing his hands down John’s side and landing on the button of his pants. “Hush,” Cameron said tugging open the button and zipper, brushing his fingers across John’s tenting boxer. “I’ve got you.”
There wasn’t any tease, Cameron pulled him out through the opening in his boxers and quickly fit his mouth over the head of John’s cock. His lips were a tight circle and he twisted his head to the side, sliding his mouth around and using his tongue to massage the flesh in his mouth. He swallowed enthusiastically, humming low in his throat driving John crazy.
John couldn’t keep his hips still and his hands skidded across the loose hay giving him nothing to hang onto. His body curled in on himself and he was coming before he had a chance to stave it off. It was so hot in the tent, and Cameron’s mouth stayed on him until he was totally spent and sank back down in the hay. He could feel Cameron mouthing up his shaft one more time before being tucked back in his pants.
“Just give me a minute,” John said roughly, burying his face in Cameron’s neck and breathing deeply. He could feel Cameron’s cock up against his hip, hot and hard, but Cameron didn’t seem to be in any hurry.
Cameron ran his hands down John’s back and rolled them over, lazily rubbing against John’s belly. He was pressing open mouthed kisses along John’s jaw and reached up to thread his fingers in John’s hair. He was whispering against John’s skin, but not loud enough to make out.
“You can’t be in here,” a clearly annoyed voice said from the tent flap, loud enough to carry over the soft sighs and moans they were making. “This is where the Goa’uld sleep!”
John jerked his head away from Cameron’s neck and looked guiltily up to see the silhouette of Daniel Jackson standing over them. He was wearing tight canvas pants and leather boots that went up to his knees. There was a bullwhip coiled at his hip and he carried a three-legged stool in the other.
“Cameron!” Daniel whined cocking his hip and putting his hand on his waist. “Cameron, you promised!”
Sighing, Cameron let his head fall on John’s chest though his hips rolled between John’s legs again before he pushed himself up on his elbows and looking down ruefully at John, “I guess we’d better go.”
They managed to lever themselves off the ground and to their feet without bumping into each other too badly. Cameron reached up to pick a piece of hay out of John’s hair. John could see that he was still hard, but Cameron didn’t bother to adjust himself.
“I thought you would have learned after the incident with the seaweed,” Daniel muttered prissily as he started breaking open more bales of hay to cover the floor.
“Don’t go there Jackson,” Cameron growled rolling his eyes and John felt a jolt of pleasure sizzle in his lower belly. Cameron punched Daniel lightly in the shoulder earning his own glare and said, “I’ll come back and help you out tomorrow.”
“You’d better,” Daniel said, more friendly now. “The Ba’als keep bouncing out into the pathway.”
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The sky was a mottled bruise of purple and dark blue when they stepped out from under the tree line. More of the strings of light blinked on and they walked under a rainbow of color. Most of the families had left, leaving the carnival to couples holding each other closely as they strolled the pathways.
“I guess there’s just one more thing to do now,” Cameron said softly sounding suddenly tired and lonesome. They stopped under a patch of red lights and their wash aged him, adding to the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. He looked off at the west horizon and then checked his watch. “It’ll be dawn soon and we can’t be here anymore.
“Yeah! The Ferris wheel!” John said happy and steadily ignoring the change in the atmosphere. He felt strange, like holding hands and skipping down the lane while flailing his pink monstrosity of a bear behind him like a lunatic. He felt lighter than air, like if he jumped high enough he could take off and fly.
*John!*
He crumpled to the ground curling up with his arms wrapped around his knees. Instantly he could feel Cameron falling down beside him and cushioning his head from the hard packed path. Cameron’s hands were cool against his forehead and the sound of his voice steadied him though he couldn’t make out the words.
*Cameron?*
In another moment, the pain passed on, leaving him panting in the dust leaning up against Cameron’s chest. He felt suffocated, as if his lungs were too small and he couldn’t suck in enough air. His entire body was shaking, and there was moisture in the corners of his eyes
“Hey, hey it’s okay,” Cameron crooned, holding on to John’s chest with one arm and counting the pulse beats in John’s wrist with the other. He was shaking too and holding John tightly.
“No, I’m fine,” John said but he didn’t make a move to get up, Cameron’s soft sweater felt far too good pressed up against his cheek.
“C’mon, we’d better get up,” Cameron said shifting up to is knees and heaving John with him. “We’re blocking the path.”
“No one’s coming,” John said and twisted his head and neck to capture Cameron’s lips in a kiss. Ignoring the bad angle, John put all he could into the kiss, brushing noses and pulling away for the few seconds it took to rasp their whiskers together.
Cameron kissed to the side of his mouth and continued upwards pass John’s cheekbone to kiss both edges of John’s eye. He rubbed his chin over John’s forehead and tucked John’s head into the hollow of his throat. They sat there for so long that the sun set behind them and the stars came out overhead.
“We have to go John, you can’t stay here anymore,” Cameron said, finally pulling away and standing up. He held out his hand for John to use to haul himself up.
They left the bear propped up against one of the tent supports, but this time, John did lace his fingers through Cameron’s as they walked. Music played from the opening gates, and though he couldn’t understand all the words, John knew it was sad, full of missed chances.
They passed by Teyla’s tent, a sign in front read “Fortunes Told”. She was standing there, colorful scarves and strands of jewelry wrapped over her hair and around her waist. She closed her eyes and nodded to them as they passed, John waved and when she looked up, she had tears in her eyes.
Teal’c also inclined his head to them when they got in line for the Ferris wheel, and though he took tickets from everybody else, he just waved them into the next available cart. The ride is old, the seats spaced far apart with only a small bar in front of them and the entire sky surrounding them.
“Am I dead?” John asks finally, the question that he should have asked in the car, or back in the bar. They were climbing up into the sky, the tiny mass of trees that grew at the water’s edge underneath them for a moment before they were gone and all John could see was the flat plains of Oklahoma. “It was Ford at the jukebox wasn’t it?”
Cameron waited until the ride stopped with them at the top before answering, “It was Ford, he goes to the bar every once in a while. He doesn't know very many people there, but I think he knew you would be there.”
Nodding, John looked up at the sky and saw the constellations from Atlantis floating above them. He searched the sky for a moment and then took Cameron’s arm, leaning in so he could sight along it. “See there?” he asked, pointing to a cluster of stars to their left. “We named that one Marge. See the beehive?”
“Y’all have too much spare time on your hands,” Cameron said, his laughter shaking their cart slightly, and John could feel the smile against his cheek. They stayed pressed together on top of the world, but when the ride started down, John hesitantly leaned away, rubbing his hands anxiously on the bar in front of him.
“You’re not dead yet John,” Cameron said quietly, letting his hand rest on John’s thigh, tightening his fingers briefly and rubbing a fingertip on the inseam of the jeans, “but you’re close. It’s your choice now.”
As they were riding, three moons lifted up from the northern horizon, brighter than anything John had ever seen before. They sped through the sky like a timed special effect. “I still don’t understand,” John said after a few minutes, the moons almost straight above them. “What am I supposed to choose? How?”
Cameron sighed and finally met John’s gaze again, “The choice is yours. What have you learned today?”
John snorted, thinking about all the bizarre events he’d seen and not had a second thought about. He thought about Cameron’s weight pressing him down into a bed of hay, and the feeling of their lips and tongues pressed together. “Is there even a little bit of Cam in you? Are you a,” John stopped unsure, but then figured what the hell. “Are you an angel?”
“I’m as much Cameron Mitchell as I am anyone, Sweetpea,” Cameron answered smiling again and reaching over to lay his palm on John’s cheek. “I’m not an angel, exactly, not like what you’re thinking of, but close enough I suppose.”
The moons were making their descent, shining brightly on John and Cameron when the Ferris wheel stopped with them at the top again. Cameron pulled him close and kissed him sweetly, chastely with their mouths closed. “When the moons go down it will be too late,” Cameron whispered against John’s lips. “You can stay here and visit the bar, ride the rides until you’re ready to move on. Or you can go back.”
John knew what he would be going back to; back to the Wraith, and a military bureaucracy set against him. Back where sometimes it was a struggle to breathe and an act of war to get out of bed in the morning. But maybe… John thought back over his day, and how the angel chose to appear to him.
“Is he there?” John asked, keeping his eyes tightly closed, knowing that if he opened them and looked at Cameron now he would see his friend as something more than just human, and not knowing if he would be strong enough to turn that down.
“Yes,” Cameron said softly and pulled away, letting his fingers trace down the side of John’s face one more time.
John opened his eyes and found himself in the little red dirt canyon, alone but he swore he felt the sensations of feathers brushing over his cheek before the sun rose.
He woke up.
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John blinked, surrounded by stark white and too bright light. He was cold again and everything hurt. What didn’t throb, ached, and what didn’t ache felt like pins and needles were shooting through his flesh. He didn’t try to move, but he figured if he did, he’d be hauling around at least half a dozen tubes and wires from arm to heart to head.
He couldn’t help it, and eventually let his head fall to the side, pillow cushioning his cheek as his eyes widened. By his bed, slumped Cameron Mitchell looking pale in his working BDUs and fast asleep with his head tilted back and mouth open. Time was still moving oddly for him, because he couldn’t tell if it was five minutes or five hours later that Cameron shook himself awake, yawning and stretching before turning his gaze to John.
“Hey,” John croaked in a voice hoarse from disuse and whatever medications the infirmary had shoved down his throat and through his system while he’d been unconscious.
“Hey yourself, Morning-glory,” Cameron replied shocked, but grinning and pulling his chair over to the side of the hospital bed. He looked like he couldn’t stop the smile sliding wider by the second or his hands roaming over the sheets. “So, that kinda sucked, huh?”
“Naw,” John answered as he carefully moved his hand the fraction of an inch required to meet Cameron halfway and bump their fingers together. Even that small movement put strain on his weakened muscles, but the pain was worth it for the smell of sawdust that was still in his nose and grape on his tongue. “I had a pretty good time.”
Confused, Cameron could only laugh and move when the nurses rushed over and shoved him out of the way to check the excited beepings of John’s bedside machines. He hovered just out of the way, watching while John had to prove that he knew who he was, who the was President, and what planet he was on. He thought the last question had the potential to be a little tricky but he finally satisfied the overnight staff.
After being poked and prodded, they left to file their reports and notify Landry that he was awake. When it was just the two of them again John felt a little better and was definitely a little clearer in his mind. Enough so to finally ask what had happened to him and get a straight answer instead of the not actually that comforting ‘You’ll be fine’.
“You took a blast from a zat gun that dropped you pretty fast off some metal casings and you splatted on the ground hard,” Cameron said, looking as though he hadn’t had more than a nap for far too long. He locked eyes with John before he continued, “We don’t know for sure, but we think that you might have gotten another partial blast or residual energy somehow. The docs here weren’t sure you were gonna wake up.”
John curled his fingers in the crisp sheet covering him loosely. His throat was still sore, and he had to clear it a couple of times before he could get anything out. “I was dreaming,” he rasped, still holding onto the wonderful feeling and memories that were the only thing left to him. “At least I think I was dreaming; I’m not really sure.”
”Well,” Cameron said thoughtfully, rubbing his fingers over his left eye and blinking owlishly with his right, “I’ve seen some pretty weird stuff go under under the mountain. What did you dream about?”
“You remember that traveling carnival that always showed up back in the Panhandle before school started?” John asked staring up at the gray cement ceiling above him, tired but not ready for more sleep and wanting to talk about what had happened. He didn’t think he’d ever forget the feeling of riding in the mustang or the smell of funnel cake in the carnival. He thought maybe there was something else he’d wanted to remember, but it slipped along the edge of his conscious dancing away when he got close.
Cameron grinned, stretching his feet out in front of him and laughed. He closed his eyes and rolled his head, “You mean that little one horse show? Didn’t you puke the last time we went when you tried to get in line at the kissing booth for Linda Sue?”
“Yeah, yeah,” John sighed, trying to ignore the memory of one his more embarrassing encounters with romance. “Thanks for the reminder. This was…” John trailed off, peeking a glance at Cameron and thrilling at the phantom touch he could still faintly feel, “different - better.”
The metal legs screeched on the linoleum as Cameron scooted his chair closer to the bed and leaned an elbow next to John. “We should go back there this fall,” Cameron said, a soft smile easing the lines on his face. “If your Dr. Weir ever lets you back, that is, after this fiasco. Maybe we could catch Bedlam, see the State fair.”
There’d always be Wraith, or the Ori, or some other genetically, technically, or morally superior race out there breathing down their necks. John finally realized that he’d stopped living a long time ago, stopped trying for anything more than a meal and a place to sleep. Those weren’t bad things, but Cameron, or rather the angel had set him straight. Figuratively.
“That’d be great, Cam,” he said, and smiling at a memory impishly added, “We could go horseback riding to that little red canyon. Remember?”
They’d been nineteen and it had been a bizarre summer spent mostly locked in battle over a girl that neither of them had known the name of the year before. John’s grandma had thrown her hands up at him when he came home with a black eye but had made his favorite for dinner. He’d felt like a heel when he found out Cameron’s grandma had made him wash and sleep in the barn since he couldn’t act like a decent human being and refrain from getting into fist fights in the middle of the town’s Fourth of July picnic.
Jenny had slapped them both and wouldn’t talk to them for the rest of the summer. Consequently, they bribed one of the older college students to buy them a six-pack of beer and took it out to the canyon and pond they spent so much of their summers. It had been John’s first beer, and his first real kiss with tongue and everything. The beer was warm and awful, but Cameron’s mouth had been warm and wonderful.
“Isn’t that where…” Cameron trailed off, his eyes widening and his hand flying up to trace over his lips in an unconscious gesture. He blushed hard and tried to cover it with a cough. “Sounds like a plan, but right now, you’d better get some rest.”
“Yeah,” John agreed and closed his eyes hearing Cameron settle back into his bedside seat. Just before he floated to sleep, John thought he could feel feathers sliding over his cheek.
Looking for Graphics?
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Recipient:
ubiquitous_girlPrompts: Dress blues, flirting, Ferris wheels
Fandom/Pairing: Stargate ~ Mitchell/Sheppard
Rating: R
Spoilers: Several very subtle canon deaths in various fandoms, the only recent one being Harry Potter 7. If you’re concerned feel free to ask.
Disclaimer: I do not own the United States Air Force, a prominent company involved with distribution of television programming, a certain slightly scummy TV network or Melissa Etheridge. Or anything else for that matter.
A/N: Story based extensively on All the Way to Heaven by Melissa Etheridge with a few other tidbits from songs thrown in.
A/N2: Thanks to everyone who looked over this in its extreme early stages,
saffie_lew, vipersweb, and handsomespeck. Also to the pals that put up with my attempts at graphics foxmonkey, sly_fuck, and thady*Cameron?*
John stood alone in his shield of dress blues, the bend of his spine straightened so every breath hurt with the strain of keeping the muscles of his back fixed in place. He never thought that the blues had done much for him. Though other officers took on the grand persona of the United States Air Force, John still felt like he was playing dress up with his father’s old uniform. He was still a little tin doll, hollow and far too fragile to take to Boy Scout camp.
The shadow of the mountain fell over him large, complete and definite. Three yards ahead of him lay the line separating night from day, but it may as well have been three football fields for all the good it was doing him. Under his jacket he was cold, shivering despite his many layers of armor. He took off his cap wishing he could hurl it up as far as he could and wait to see where it would land.
He wanted to see where he would land.
“Hey there, Morning-glory,” a bright voice said from behind him, the familiar catch and drawl of the Great Plains a better balm than any of Teyla’s stinky medicinal herbs. “Why the long face?”
“Aw, you know,” John answered, his heart lifting along with the freeze that had held him immobile for so long. He turned back to face an old friend, his oldest friend actually. If he looked hard, John could still see the small scar running up his thumb from where they swore an oath to be blood brothers for life. The smile came to his face easily now, “Stuff piles up. I think I lost my Johnny Cash poster.”
Cameron grinned and slapped John’s upper arm, hanging on to the material of the coat and shaking him slightly. “Yeah, I know,” he said, looking over his shoulder back to the entrance of the SGC at the bottom of Cheyenne Mountain. It was a dark hole that swallowed any light that tried to break through the threshold. “That kinda sucked, huh?”
“Tell me about it,” John said, running a hand through his carefully brushed hair to mess it more to his usual standard. He pressed his palm against his right eye, applying pressure until he thought he could see blobs of color against his eyelid. He felt cheated that he didn’t at least have a headache; some sign of the tension spiking through his back and up his neck.
The parking lot was empty of humanity, shadows chasing the wind and they could have been the only two people in the galaxy. John shrugged to himself and glanced at Cameron out of the corner of his eye. Besides family, he’d probably known Cameron the longest of anyone. They’d spent every summer of high school together when they both ended up in Oklahoma visiting their grandparents who lived next to each other.
They’d grown up tall together, flyboys and blood brothers to the end.
Cameron was one of those officers that wore the blues like a second skin, becoming more than he was the instant the buckles were in place, shined with a spit polish. They were night and day standing next to each other, foils, reflections and what-ifs in conveniently labeled packages. Yet that was probably what made them friends.
Uncomfortable with his train of thought, John started plucking at a stry thread poking out from under a button. He missed his Atlantis uniform, the comfortable slide of canvas against his tac holster.
“C’mon,” Cameron said suddenly, jerking John out of his daze by physically pulling John along behind him. The shade had slid further while John was distracted, and they had a clear shot to the only car in the lot, parked as far from the entrance as possible. “You look like a man who could use a drink.”
“Yeah,” John agreed, his throat suddenly closing as if he’d already poured a tumbler full of sludge down his gullet. He felt desperate to get away from the SGC, knowing that to stay would only mean more pain and anxiety. “That sounds like a plan.”
“That’s me, the man with a plan,” Cameron said cheekily, keeping close to John’s side as he led them over to a black and blue older model mustang.
It had mud on the wheel wells and small scratches along the passenger side door. There was a ding in the back bumper, chips in the paint and only one headlight, but the lines were beautiful. It was an American muscle car, sleek and fast with racing stripes. It was the stuff dreams were made of, especially for a teenager like John had been.
“Nice ride,” he said pulling open the door and sliding his bag in the back next to Cameron’s. The interior was leather, and creaked softly as John let down his weight and settled into the passenger seat.
Cameron flashed him a grin as he pulled the key ring down from where it had been hidden in the visor. “Yeah,” he said softly, running his hands over the steering wheel before fitting the key in the ignition. “I’ll even let you drive if you want.”
“Cool,” he replied, finally able to sink into a comfortable slouch against the bucket seat. The leather was warm, soaking into his skin and easing the tension from his shoulders. Eventually he'd want to give it a go, but for now was content to let Cameron take the wheel. He felt like he could sleep forever if given the chance. “But I think I’ll just sleep while you drive.”
*He might wake up tomorrow or he may never wake up.*
He dreamed of pain and a startling blue light. He tried to scream but nothing would come out, and then the Wraith were there sucking away everything that made him John Sheppard. He looked in a mirror and couldn’t recognize himself, there was only an old man standing all alone. It was cold again, and he just wanted to curl into a ball and not have to feel anymore.
The next thing John knew, Cameron was shaking him awake with a hand to his shoulder. He sat up and scrubbed his face, trying to stretch in the cramped leg space and look out the window at the same time. They must have been driving for a long time because the sun had moved across the sky and hung suspended over the western horizon. It was impossibly big and orange, huge, but it didn’t hurt his eyes to look at it.
“We here?” he asked sleepily, trying to blink away the fog that still shrouded his mind. His jacket had crept around while he slept, crinkling and bunching so that he looked like wrinkled pile of laundry. The starch in his collar was beginning to make his neck itch, and he was dying to get into a pair of jeans and comfortable shoes.
Cameron opened his door and stepped outside, tugging the bottom hem of his jacket. He looked perfect like he had just stepped from the pages of the Officer’s Uniform Code. Ducking down, Cameron grinned, and looked at John fondly before he reached around to grab his backpack and John’s duffle from the backseat. “Yup, this is it. Best dollar shot specials east of the Great Divide,” he said, before he straightened and was lost to John’s field of vision.
With one last shiver of his muscles, John managed to haul himself out of the car. He spent several fruitless moments trying to make himself presentable before deciding to screw it. He was about to stow his blues in the bottom of his bag anyway.
“You ready, Princess?” Cameron asked with a carefully lifted eyebrow and laughed at John’s expression. He tossed the duffle over and beckoned for John to follow him into the bar.
There was still plenty of sun, dyeing the pastures and trees in muted oranges and reds, but a blue light stood out from sign that read “Wake of Dawn” is buzzing neon bulbs. Gravel crunched beneath his dress shoes, as he walked through the half-full parking lot. The assortment of automobiles ran from beaten up old pickup trucks to slick Mercedes-Benz. There was a motorcycle parked to the side of the building and beside it, a horse was tethered to a tree limb.
John turned under the soft blue light and looked back at the empty highway stretching out in front of the bar. It was empty as far as the eye could see, a simple two lane road with a striped yellow line running up the middle. Someone had misplaced the mountains, he noticed as a herd of cattle shuffled together on the far side of the barbed wire fence. Their soft lowing was the only sound beside the wind.
Shrugging, John shouldered open the swinging doors to the bar and stepped into the dimly lit interior. It was quiet this early in the evening; just some people grouped together sitting at tables talking and a female bartender cleaning glasses. There were the faintest aromas in the air; beer, rotisserie chicken, and the sweet smell of cigars. He breathed deeply and glanced around for Cameron.
“You looking for your friend?” the bartender called out, flipping her towel over her shoulder and setting the glass up, finishing a pyramid erected behind her by the mirror. She was a small little thing, her pale reddish brown hair hanging down to her waist. “He’s in the bathroom over there.”
She gestured to the door set in the back of the room squeezed between a pinball machine and dartboard. There was a sign on it that read Men, Women, and Other: Wait Your Turn. A light shone faintly from the bottom so John set down his bag and stretched one leg to slide onto a barstool.
“What can I get for you?” the girl asked him, sauntering over to lean on the bar in front of him. Her top dipped low, drawing his eyes down to the tantalizing skin bared in the vee of the thin material. She was pale and young, but her eyes were old and searched his for several long moments.
“Are you even old enough to drink?” he asked, scanning the room again wondering if this was some sort of setup. The closest table was crowded with a group of people talking loudly in the half stories that only very good friends could follow. A bleached blond man in a black duster with a British accent talked over the rest of them, gesturing wildly so that John could see his fingernails were painted black. They were paying no attention to him.
“Technically speaking, yes. I’m not a kid,” she said, a small smile turning up one cheek as she cocked her head. He realized that sitting down, he still was looking her in the eye, and she would barely come up to his shoulder if they stood side by side.
John blinked and smoothed his hands across the ancient wood in front of him, his fingers catching in the small dimples and creases. He fitted his own smirk on his face and glanced up at her. “Is there a more truthful way of speaking?” he asked teasing her and wondering why she made him feel so comfortable; like a kid bellying up to the dinner table.
She turned her grin into a real smile, showing a perfect row of teeth. “Many, but I think you know that,” she said and pulled a glass out from underneath the counter and filled it from the tap. “First one’s on the house, just yell if you want something else. My name’s Dawn.”
“It’s nice to meet you Dawn,” John said politely pulling the glass closer to him and sniffing the foam. It smelled warm and fresh, sunlight in a bottle and when he took a sip, he felt warm again.
“It’s nice to see you again, John,” Dawn replied winking at him and moving further down the bar to talk to a young woman with bubblegum pink hair and two men who stood closely together beside her. The woman looked as if she would fit into any punk scene, but the men were dressed in an older fashion and stood close together by her side.
An upbeat song came on the jukebox distracting him for a moment so that he had to turn and look. There was a young black man standing in front of it with his back to John. He was wearing a sleeveless t-shirt and had his back bowed. For an impossible moment, John thought it might have been Ford.
“All yours, Pumpkin,” Cameron said startling John into jumping and twisting on the barstool. Cameron looked good in his jeans and his jacket, relaxed and rumple-able. He winked; ignoring John’s startled heavy breathing and took the seat beside him. He waved Dawn over and then made shooing motions at John.
When he looked back to the jukebox, the man was gone and a more upbeat song started. Rolling his eyes at himself, John picked up his bag and dragged himself to the now empty restroom. It was cramped, but he managed to pull off his uniform without much flailing or banging into things. He’s glad that he remembered to pack his close-enough-to-civvies this time.
John left the bathroom wearing an old pair of cargos and a jacket pulled over his favorite black shirt. His boots thudded on the wood floor as he walked back toward the bar where Cameron was waiting and flirting with Dawn by the tilt of his head.
There were too many people crammed against the bar now, and John had to wiggle to fit back in by Cameron’s side. On the other side was a tall man, two tentacles hanging down his chin like a beard tattooed with black tribal symbols. His nose was redish purple against his pinkish brown face, and he growled but shifted over to make room for John.
Dawn was busy pulling beers and slinging shots across the bar, she looked happy as she worked. Cameron was busy talking to a man in a long brown robe wearing a lightsaber and a woman in a leather miniskirt and studded breastplate. John listened to the music and let conversation roll over him as he reached for and drained his drink.
“I’ll take two of the same please,” a voice said in familiar Scottish brogue from the end of the bar.
He didn’t know he was moving until he ended up with fists full of green cardigan and Carson squished in his arms. John sucked in a breath not knowing if he was going to sob or scream when Carson lifted his own hands and pulled John tighter. The scent of Old Spice washed over him and once again his throat closed up.
“Easy John, easy,” Carson laughed, patting John’s back before he reached to grab John’s shoulders and push him an arm’s length away. His smile lit up his face as he spoke, “It’s good to see you too, lad.”
“What are you doing here?” John asked, amazed and happy and feeling as though his face was going to splinter into a thousand different pieces.
Carson looked better than he ever had on Atlantis; he was tan and relaxed in the ugly green sweater his mom had made him with the leather patches on the elbows. Rodney had made fun of that shirt mercilessly every time Carson had left his quarters wearing it. Afterwards, Rodney balled his fists up in it, sitting on the floor of Carson’s room staring blankly out the window.
“I’ve just got a wee consult date with Janet,” Carson added, his eyes kind as he smiled at John. “I really should get back.”
“What? But you can’t, I wanted to talk to you. I needed to tell you… ” John said trailing off as he didn’t know how he would finish the sentence, but Carson was already pulling away and disappearing into the crowd. John held out a hand to catch his sleeve, but he just barely missed his hand closing on empty air as if in slow motion.
“It’s okay, Lad, there’ll be plenty of time later,” Carson called out and then he was gone.
It was like he was stuck in molasses again, with sand filling his hole as soon as he dug it out. John tried to wade through the mass of bodies to get to Carson, but it was no use. A hand grabbed his shoulder and he knew it was Cameron’s before the other man said a word. “Hey it’s getting a little stuffy in here,” he said, his voice low and right beside John’s ear. “You can’t go back there anyway. You wanna blow this popsicle stand?”
Turning, his lips slid across the stubble of Cameron’s cheek because of how tightly they were scrunched together. “Yeah,” he answered still trying for a last look over the crowd of people even as Cameron steered him out the door with a hand on the small of his back.
The last thing John saw was Captain Kirk telling a story to a group of captivated Asgard.
They drove with the windows down, the cool air of twilight blowing in their faces and through their hair. John couldn’t help sticking his arm out the window and pretending to fly his hand like an airplane while Cameron sped down the straight and narrow blacktop. The radio buzzed with classic rock, the voices sometimes drown out with static only to come back clearer on the next verse.
“Cameron?” John asked suddenly, shifting in his seat so he could see his friend’s profile outlined by the red of a dying sun. Only a thin console and stick shift separated them in the enclosed space. “Where are we?”
The question had been tugging at the back of his mind for a while, but it was only then with Van Morrison crooning in the background that he felt he could ask. He had forgotten why they’d been wearing their dress uniforms in the first place, and he was almost sure that the bar had been just as full of nonhumans as regular Homo sapiens.
Cameron glanced over at him, taking his eyes off the road for just a brief heartbeat before turning his head back. The headlight dulled the asphalt on the driver’s side but was barely distinguishable from the glare of the setting sun. “Why don’t you tell me?” he asked in return, flexing his fingers over the steering wheel cover.
Something nagged him again, and John turned back to the window. Outside the grass looked like it was on fire, blowing golden for a brief time before it would settle into sleep. Further away, a farm house sat on a hilltop with a barn and several spinning windmills. A few mile markers along the road brought a red canyon into sight, though it was set far back from the road, with a copse of trees blocking the far end.
John straightened and stuck his head out the window so he could look back as Cameron kept driving. He narrowed his eyes against the wind, and tried to remember why it was so important that he savor every second of the sight. He dropped back into his seat and jumped as Cameron reached over to pat him on the chest, smiling until his eyes crinkled.
“We’re home,” John breathed, wondering why he hadn’t known earlier. No place on Earth, hell, no place in either the Milky Way or Pegasus had felt this way. The first place that he ever felt he belonged. Even Atlantis, a place he fit into like a bird to the sky wasn’t quite the same. “Why are we home?”
Cameron laughed, his chuckle rich and vibrant through the air. “I have no idea,” he said, glancing over again, his blue eyes speaking volumes all on their own. “I think you could use the break though.”
“I’m doing okay,” John said, defensive though he couldn’t think of a reason he should be. The longer that they were together in the twilight the further he felt from any of his responsibilities. Whoever he had been that morning when he first donned his regulated persona of an Air Force officer, that wasn’t who he was anymore.
The shock of Cameron’s warm hand on his thigh made John jerk his head up. Cameron wasn’t even pretending to pay attention to the road in front of them. He was serious now, his eyes sad as he said, “I know. You’re doing wonderfully. It’s just a little longer until sunset.”
John cocked his head but nodded, relaxing as Cameron left his hand where it was even when he turned his head. They drove into town silently, the streets deserted and the windows of the buildings dark. The sight of the town's beaver statue clutching a cowchip brought up a familiar feeling of embarrassment. The stoplight was red when they pulled up and Cameron let the mustang idle to a stop, the headlight bathing a small patch of asphalt in a golden light.
“Am I dreaming?” John asked knowing somehow that he didn’t want the answer to that question.
“How would I know?” Cameron answered, letting the car roll forward slightly in hopes of coaxing the light to change colors. He turned his head back then and continued, “But when I dream, I’m usually naked and trying to lead SG-1 on a mission to save the sacred macaroon.”
Keeping a straight face was hard, but John tried and only twitched once as he gazed back at Cameron. “I’m not naked,” he said, his logic unfortunately trumping his own argument.
Cameron’s eyes raked down John’s body, and suddenly the playful atmosphere was completely serious. John wiggled under the scrutiny and turned back to look out the window. “No you’re not,” Cameron said, his voice low and smoky and filled with something that John couldn’t quite place his finger on.
“Green,” he replied, pointing a finger up to the stoplight while still avoiding Cameron’s gaze.
The car pulled up and suddenly the setting sun hit a window just right to bounce the light directly into John’s eyes, and he blinked at the sudden fierceness of it. Tears sprung up and, he blinked rapidly, feeling his chest contract as his hands start to shake. The familiarity of the street grounded him let him draw in a breath as he sat back in the seat and wondered what the hell was going on.
*There’s still no response to visual stimuli, we’re running out of options.*
She was wearing a red and black jacket buttoned low over her waist with coat tails that trailed down her knees. She clasped her hands in front of her chest, the black leather of her gloves squeaking as she rubbed them together. She smiled as they walked up and John felt something in his chest unhitch.
“Welcome gentlemen!” Elizabeth greeted them from where she stood underneath a banner guaranteeing customers an experience out of this world. She grinned, flaring open her arms to usher them inside. “Welcome to our little slice of paradise!”
“Wow,” John said, stunned as he took in the carnival parked at the outskirts of town. There were tents, booths and rides that climbed up to the darkening sky. People milled throughout enough that the place was busy but not so many that his instincts screamed that he was walking into a Wraith buffet.
Cameron startled him out of his reverie by elbowing him hard in the ribs and grinned at John’s grunt. “Well, it’s not just for looking,” he said, jerking his head toward the entrance, “let’s go!”
Everywhere he turned his head, there was something to do, something to see. Cameron quickly steered him away from the dunk tank where Jack O’Neill sat in baggy swim trunks taunting everyone who walked by to see if they could hit the target. The water underneath him was the perfect cerulean of Atlantis’ ocean at high noon.
John wanted to go to the game tents; he could see them set up in row a little beyond the kiddy rides so he pulled on Cameron’s arm and jerked his head. “Hey you wanna go see how badly I beat your butt into the ground at the baseball throw?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Yeah right,” Cameron said, playfully bumping their shoulders together and shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “You were always too prissy for baseball, Mr. Four-under-par.”
“Ha!” John crowed and narrowed his eyes at Cameron. “Why don’t you put your arm where your mouth is? Wait, I think I actually saw that on P3X -448 and it was kinda creepy, so never mind.”
“Aw,” Cameron said, changing his voice as if talking to a baby. “Is the ‘ittle Milky Way too scary for ‘ittle Sheppard?”
John shoved him hard in the back laughing, and Cameron danced away before any more blows could fall. People were looking at them, amused for a moment before going on with their own carnival adventures.
“It is so on!” John promised and caught up to Cameron only to stop dead in his tracks. Cameron wasn’t laughing anymore, he was still holding an expression of disbelief as he threw out an arm to slap across John’s chest even though he’d already stopped by himself.
In front of them was a sight that rivaled anything he’d ever seen before on tour, in this galaxy or outside.
“McKay, what do you think you’re doing?” John choked, starring in a mix of awe and horror at Rodney’s sequined spandex costume. It was an image that would burn itself into his brain only to resurface behind his eyelids while lying in bed.
Cameron started to chuckle but quickly covered his mouth with a fist when Rodney turned to glare at him. He couldn’t stop his eyes from laughing through, the pale greenish blue pupils shone with mirth.
“What does it look like?” Rodney demanded waggling three slender sticks at them with one hand while the other hand sharply gestured down at himself. “I’m a fire eater. Eater of Fire?” He rolled his eyes at their blank looks and started patting down his sides, “I know I had some flyers around here somewhere. Anyway I worked out all the equations and my first show is in fifteen minutes.”
Trying desperately not to look at Cameron and burst into a fit of unseemly giggles, John stared straight ahead at the point just over Rodney’s shoulder. “Right,” he drawled edging sideways around the edge of the path while he tried to keep Cameron behind him. “I’m sure we’ll see you there.”
Rodney glared at them, his face turning a shade of red to match his outfit until John tossed off a jaunty salute and turned to make a run for it. He heard Cameron stammer out something before racing along behind him. They didn’t stop until they had put several rides between them and Rodney just in case he decided to practice before his first show.
They wheezed to a stop, breathless from the run and laughing the whole way. John bent down with his hands on his knees, pulling in air and letting the tears run down his face. He could barely see Cameron out of his peripheral vision, but it looked like he was holding his ribs and howling.
“You know,” John said, his voice breaking a little as he tried to get himself back under control. “McKay is probably the best guy to have at your back when there’s any kind of technology involved and he’s one of my best friends, but…”
“Oh, God!” Cameron yelled breaking into laughter all over again and slapping his knee. “Did you see the sparkles?”
*His heart rate is spiking but we just don’t know enough of what’s going on internally to infer what that means.*
John straightened up, instantly alert as he scanned the area looking for something wrong. He took the three steps to bring him to Cameron’s side and put his hand on the small of his friend’s back. “Hey, did you hear that?” he asked still searching for the speaker.
Cameron just winked at him and pulled him down the aisle.
Ronon leaned bored against the edge of the booth he was working, sharpening a knife that was almost as long as John’s forearm. He was wearing an oversized University of Texas hat backwards crammed over his dreadlocks, and a carnival polo shirt.
“Step right up, one and all. Test your mettle, win a prize,” Ronon mumbled in a monotone never taking his eyes off the sharpening stone he was working over the shiny metal.
John raised an eyebrow at Cameron and nodded toward the neatly laid out row of throwing blades and the so far pristine target. Two dollars got five chances and just one hit to the bulls-eye got a prize. He was reaching for his wallet in his back pocket when Cameron stopped him.
“Just a second there, Hot Stuff,” Cameron said, letting his fingers brush across the denim covering John’s ass as he pulled John’s hand back. “I remember you at the dart board, let me do this one.”
Rolling his eyes, John stepped back and let Cameron have his place. They’d always been competitive, every summer for five years through high school and college had been spent in playful one-upmanship. They’d even went after the same girl once, but it had ended with both their faces being slapped and their first beer as they threw a pity party at the hangout.
Cameron hit the middle of the target on his first try, smirking at John over his shoulder before he picked up the second knife to line up his throw. Not wanting to let Cameron get too cocky, John waited until Cameron was getting ready to throw and then stepped up to Cameron’s left side and leaned in close.
“Don’t miss,” he whispered low and rough, his lips just barely grazing the shell of Cameron’s ear.
Cursing, Cameron chucked the knife and it went wide completely missing the target and bouncing off the back wall. He turned his head to glare at John, but John just gave him his best ’who me’ expression and shrugged his shoulders. Cameron picked up the next blade and John instantly stepped back in, widening his stance and letting his thigh graze over Cameron’s ass.
The next two throws hit the target with the hilt of the blade and fell to the sawdust on the floor. John tried to stifle his laughter and Cameron elbowed him hard in the sternum. He took his next throw fast while John was still doubled over rubbing his chest and the knife caught in one of the outer rings of the target.
“Congratulations,” Ronon grunting throwing an enormous pink stuffed bear at John and nearly bowling him over.
“Guess that makes you the girl, huh Sheppard?” Cameron digged, grinning and ruffling his hand through John’s hair. He honked the nose of the bear, its face molded into a sweet and dumb expression and winked at Ronon.
Rolling his eyes, John transferred the bear to his other hand and looped his arm through Cameron’s playfully hugging it close to his body. “Just remember that I don’t put out on a first date,” he said as they began to walk back to the main part of the carnival.
He pulled Cameron away from the kissing booth where it looked like Vala was making a bundle kissing high school boys on the cheeks, college boys on the mouths, and the geezers on the forehead. She waved at them quickly before gesturing up her next customer. Cameron pretended to be very disappointed but perked up again when John steered him over to the food tent.
Sam was behind the counter wearing a uniform that looked like it belonged in a 1950s soda shop. A little paper hat was perched jauntily on her head tipping to the side so that John wasn’t quite sure how it stayed on. Behind her, a giant billboard displayed what was for sale, but it was written in Ancient and John couldn’t read what it said.
“What can I get for you boys?” she asked, smiling and winking at Cameron, “I just put the funnel cakes in the naquadah oven so they’ll be a little bit.”
“Give me some cotton candy, please,” John said gesturing to the bag of pink fluffy cloud hanging off the top beam of her stand. He looked over to see Cam eyeing the snow cone machine, “And one of those too.”
Cameron bumped his hip against John and leaned his elbows on the counter and said with a flirtatious glance up at Sam, “Grape please!”
She laughed and puttered around making Cameron’s snow cone while John reached up to snag his own bag of spun sugar. Tempting smells started to waft out of the oven, but it was just then that John noticed that the radiation knob was set to ‘sperm kill’. Nervously, he pulled Cameron away as soon as he had his cup in hand.
They walked through the aisles watching children running and laughing, heading to the petting zoo where General Landry kept watch over pens of Iratus bugs. As the twilight deepened, strings of light crisscrossing the path lit up as they passed by as if just waiting for John before flaring to life. John burst out laughing when Caldwell stumbled in front of them wearing a colorfully loud clown suit, with his face painted in a huge frown and tear motif.
“Hey, let me have some cotton candy,” Cameron said suddenly hip checking John into the opening of an out of the way tent. He blocked the way out and smiled cockily at John with a raised eyebrow.
John rolled his eyes and tore out a hunk of cotton candy for himself and held out the bag for Cameron to dig into. He was surprised, when Cameron bypassed the bag and grabbed John’s wrist instead. Warmth spread up his arm from Cameron’s dry fingertips rasping across the sensitive skin
Slowly Cameron pulled John’s hand to his mouth and stuck his tongue out, touching the tip to the candy and letting it dissolve slowly. Little pink beads bubbled up, but John could only stare at Cameron’s lips and tongue, as they nibbled closer to John’s fingers.
His breath hitched as Cameron began licking the sticky from his fingers, and a shiver raced up his arm and through him. “Your tongue’s cold,” John said softly, vowels rasping and catching in his throat as he watched, fascinated as his finger slowly disappeared into Cameron’s mouth.
Cameron glanced up at him, his eyes shining in the dim light and reflecting the orange lights strung across the walkways. “I bet it’s purple too,” he said, keeping a hold on John’s hand but stepping in closer to John so that their bodies just brushed each other.
Whatever reply John was going to make was quickly cut off by Cameron’s mouth sealing itself over John’s. Suddenly that cold tongue was rubbing and sliding against his, slowly warming up while making itself at home in John’s mouth. His hands fisted in Cameron’s sweater where it bunched against the other man’s sides, and he pulled them together jostling for a moment before settling together.
It wasn’t even their first kiss, but it was the only one that mattered. Promises made years ago while surrounded by red clay dirt came crashing back on his head, and John whined back in his throat and shoved forward trying to get closer and soak up the heat radiating off Cameron’s body. He remembered being young and happy not knowing what was in store for him, and he wanted that feeling again.
The taste of grape syrup invaded his mouth just as surely as Cameron’s tongue, and when they broke apart, John had to lick his lips for the very last taste. “Mmmm,” John said smacking his lips before his brain could catch up to his mouth. “Tastes purple too.”
Cameron snorted in laughter and rested his forehead on John’s shoulder smiling into John’s neck. His hands kept roaming on John’s back until they finally dipped under the jacket and were a cold shock to John’s lower back. John arched into the touch, pushing his chest against Cameron’s and incidentally grinding their cocks together.
“C’mon,” Cameron mumbled, low and hot against John’s ear, pulling him along by the hips deeper into the tent. “C’mon before we get arrested for indecent exposure.”
The smell of hay and sawdust came to John’s nose instantly, tickling distant memories of working in the barn with his grandfather. It was dark inside, and before he quite knew what was going on, he’d tripped over Cameron’s feet and knocked them both to the ground. They landed on a springy pile of hay, John on top of Cameron hard enough that they both grunted at the impact.
John settled between Cameron’s legs and scooted up so he could kiss Cameron again, sighing against the warmth and completely relaxing his body. He tangled his fingers in Cameron’s sweater and twisted his head trying to kiss every part of Cameron that he could reach.
With a sudden flip, John was on his back looking up at Cameron smirking. Their leg were tangled together, Cameron’s knee just brushing up against John’s balls, tight in the space between John’s thighs. He couldn't help but arch upward, rubbing against the friction and clenching his legs around Cameron. He pulled Cameron back down; started sucking on the other man’s neck, sliding his tongue along the cords and up until he could bite gently on Cameron’s earlobe.
Cameron moaned softly and ground down into John’s belly, clutching hard on John’s biceps. He was panting, his hot breath fanning across John’s cheek. “Oh God, yes,” he mumbled, the words barely audible.
“C-Cameron,” John stammered, closing his eyes against the rush of pleasure that speared down through him. He was so warm, and even the stray pieces of straw poking him couldn’t distract him from the toe-curling bliss he was feeling.
Then there was a void above him, and John struggled to sit up. Opening his eyes, he saw Cameron was kneeling over him rubbing his hands down John’s side and landing on the button of his pants. “Hush,” Cameron said tugging open the button and zipper, brushing his fingers across John’s tenting boxer. “I’ve got you.”
There wasn’t any tease, Cameron pulled him out through the opening in his boxers and quickly fit his mouth over the head of John’s cock. His lips were a tight circle and he twisted his head to the side, sliding his mouth around and using his tongue to massage the flesh in his mouth. He swallowed enthusiastically, humming low in his throat driving John crazy.
John couldn’t keep his hips still and his hands skidded across the loose hay giving him nothing to hang onto. His body curled in on himself and he was coming before he had a chance to stave it off. It was so hot in the tent, and Cameron’s mouth stayed on him until he was totally spent and sank back down in the hay. He could feel Cameron mouthing up his shaft one more time before being tucked back in his pants.
“Just give me a minute,” John said roughly, burying his face in Cameron’s neck and breathing deeply. He could feel Cameron’s cock up against his hip, hot and hard, but Cameron didn’t seem to be in any hurry.
Cameron ran his hands down John’s back and rolled them over, lazily rubbing against John’s belly. He was pressing open mouthed kisses along John’s jaw and reached up to thread his fingers in John’s hair. He was whispering against John’s skin, but not loud enough to make out.
“You can’t be in here,” a clearly annoyed voice said from the tent flap, loud enough to carry over the soft sighs and moans they were making. “This is where the Goa’uld sleep!”
John jerked his head away from Cameron’s neck and looked guiltily up to see the silhouette of Daniel Jackson standing over them. He was wearing tight canvas pants and leather boots that went up to his knees. There was a bullwhip coiled at his hip and he carried a three-legged stool in the other.
“Cameron!” Daniel whined cocking his hip and putting his hand on his waist. “Cameron, you promised!”
Sighing, Cameron let his head fall on John’s chest though his hips rolled between John’s legs again before he pushed himself up on his elbows and looking down ruefully at John, “I guess we’d better go.”
They managed to lever themselves off the ground and to their feet without bumping into each other too badly. Cameron reached up to pick a piece of hay out of John’s hair. John could see that he was still hard, but Cameron didn’t bother to adjust himself.
“I thought you would have learned after the incident with the seaweed,” Daniel muttered prissily as he started breaking open more bales of hay to cover the floor.
“Don’t go there Jackson,” Cameron growled rolling his eyes and John felt a jolt of pleasure sizzle in his lower belly. Cameron punched Daniel lightly in the shoulder earning his own glare and said, “I’ll come back and help you out tomorrow.”
“You’d better,” Daniel said, more friendly now. “The Ba’als keep bouncing out into the pathway.”
The sky was a mottled bruise of purple and dark blue when they stepped out from under the tree line. More of the strings of light blinked on and they walked under a rainbow of color. Most of the families had left, leaving the carnival to couples holding each other closely as they strolled the pathways.
“I guess there’s just one more thing to do now,” Cameron said softly sounding suddenly tired and lonesome. They stopped under a patch of red lights and their wash aged him, adding to the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. He looked off at the west horizon and then checked his watch. “It’ll be dawn soon and we can’t be here anymore.
“Yeah! The Ferris wheel!” John said happy and steadily ignoring the change in the atmosphere. He felt strange, like holding hands and skipping down the lane while flailing his pink monstrosity of a bear behind him like a lunatic. He felt lighter than air, like if he jumped high enough he could take off and fly.
*John!*
He crumpled to the ground curling up with his arms wrapped around his knees. Instantly he could feel Cameron falling down beside him and cushioning his head from the hard packed path. Cameron’s hands were cool against his forehead and the sound of his voice steadied him though he couldn’t make out the words.
*Cameron?*
In another moment, the pain passed on, leaving him panting in the dust leaning up against Cameron’s chest. He felt suffocated, as if his lungs were too small and he couldn’t suck in enough air. His entire body was shaking, and there was moisture in the corners of his eyes
“Hey, hey it’s okay,” Cameron crooned, holding on to John’s chest with one arm and counting the pulse beats in John’s wrist with the other. He was shaking too and holding John tightly.
“No, I’m fine,” John said but he didn’t make a move to get up, Cameron’s soft sweater felt far too good pressed up against his cheek.
“C’mon, we’d better get up,” Cameron said shifting up to is knees and heaving John with him. “We’re blocking the path.”
“No one’s coming,” John said and twisted his head and neck to capture Cameron’s lips in a kiss. Ignoring the bad angle, John put all he could into the kiss, brushing noses and pulling away for the few seconds it took to rasp their whiskers together.
Cameron kissed to the side of his mouth and continued upwards pass John’s cheekbone to kiss both edges of John’s eye. He rubbed his chin over John’s forehead and tucked John’s head into the hollow of his throat. They sat there for so long that the sun set behind them and the stars came out overhead.
“We have to go John, you can’t stay here anymore,” Cameron said, finally pulling away and standing up. He held out his hand for John to use to haul himself up.
They left the bear propped up against one of the tent supports, but this time, John did lace his fingers through Cameron’s as they walked. Music played from the opening gates, and though he couldn’t understand all the words, John knew it was sad, full of missed chances.
They passed by Teyla’s tent, a sign in front read “Fortunes Told”. She was standing there, colorful scarves and strands of jewelry wrapped over her hair and around her waist. She closed her eyes and nodded to them as they passed, John waved and when she looked up, she had tears in her eyes.
Teal’c also inclined his head to them when they got in line for the Ferris wheel, and though he took tickets from everybody else, he just waved them into the next available cart. The ride is old, the seats spaced far apart with only a small bar in front of them and the entire sky surrounding them.
“Am I dead?” John asks finally, the question that he should have asked in the car, or back in the bar. They were climbing up into the sky, the tiny mass of trees that grew at the water’s edge underneath them for a moment before they were gone and all John could see was the flat plains of Oklahoma. “It was Ford at the jukebox wasn’t it?”
Cameron waited until the ride stopped with them at the top before answering, “It was Ford, he goes to the bar every once in a while. He doesn't know very many people there, but I think he knew you would be there.”
Nodding, John looked up at the sky and saw the constellations from Atlantis floating above them. He searched the sky for a moment and then took Cameron’s arm, leaning in so he could sight along it. “See there?” he asked, pointing to a cluster of stars to their left. “We named that one Marge. See the beehive?”
“Y’all have too much spare time on your hands,” Cameron said, his laughter shaking their cart slightly, and John could feel the smile against his cheek. They stayed pressed together on top of the world, but when the ride started down, John hesitantly leaned away, rubbing his hands anxiously on the bar in front of him.
“You’re not dead yet John,” Cameron said quietly, letting his hand rest on John’s thigh, tightening his fingers briefly and rubbing a fingertip on the inseam of the jeans, “but you’re close. It’s your choice now.”
As they were riding, three moons lifted up from the northern horizon, brighter than anything John had ever seen before. They sped through the sky like a timed special effect. “I still don’t understand,” John said after a few minutes, the moons almost straight above them. “What am I supposed to choose? How?”
Cameron sighed and finally met John’s gaze again, “The choice is yours. What have you learned today?”
John snorted, thinking about all the bizarre events he’d seen and not had a second thought about. He thought about Cameron’s weight pressing him down into a bed of hay, and the feeling of their lips and tongues pressed together. “Is there even a little bit of Cam in you? Are you a,” John stopped unsure, but then figured what the hell. “Are you an angel?”
“I’m as much Cameron Mitchell as I am anyone, Sweetpea,” Cameron answered smiling again and reaching over to lay his palm on John’s cheek. “I’m not an angel, exactly, not like what you’re thinking of, but close enough I suppose.”
The moons were making their descent, shining brightly on John and Cameron when the Ferris wheel stopped with them at the top again. Cameron pulled him close and kissed him sweetly, chastely with their mouths closed. “When the moons go down it will be too late,” Cameron whispered against John’s lips. “You can stay here and visit the bar, ride the rides until you’re ready to move on. Or you can go back.”
John knew what he would be going back to; back to the Wraith, and a military bureaucracy set against him. Back where sometimes it was a struggle to breathe and an act of war to get out of bed in the morning. But maybe… John thought back over his day, and how the angel chose to appear to him.
“Is he there?” John asked, keeping his eyes tightly closed, knowing that if he opened them and looked at Cameron now he would see his friend as something more than just human, and not knowing if he would be strong enough to turn that down.
“Yes,” Cameron said softly and pulled away, letting his fingers trace down the side of John’s face one more time.
John opened his eyes and found himself in the little red dirt canyon, alone but he swore he felt the sensations of feathers brushing over his cheek before the sun rose.
He woke up.
John blinked, surrounded by stark white and too bright light. He was cold again and everything hurt. What didn’t throb, ached, and what didn’t ache felt like pins and needles were shooting through his flesh. He didn’t try to move, but he figured if he did, he’d be hauling around at least half a dozen tubes and wires from arm to heart to head.
He couldn’t help it, and eventually let his head fall to the side, pillow cushioning his cheek as his eyes widened. By his bed, slumped Cameron Mitchell looking pale in his working BDUs and fast asleep with his head tilted back and mouth open. Time was still moving oddly for him, because he couldn’t tell if it was five minutes or five hours later that Cameron shook himself awake, yawning and stretching before turning his gaze to John.
“Hey,” John croaked in a voice hoarse from disuse and whatever medications the infirmary had shoved down his throat and through his system while he’d been unconscious.
“Hey yourself, Morning-glory,” Cameron replied shocked, but grinning and pulling his chair over to the side of the hospital bed. He looked like he couldn’t stop the smile sliding wider by the second or his hands roaming over the sheets. “So, that kinda sucked, huh?”
“Naw,” John answered as he carefully moved his hand the fraction of an inch required to meet Cameron halfway and bump their fingers together. Even that small movement put strain on his weakened muscles, but the pain was worth it for the smell of sawdust that was still in his nose and grape on his tongue. “I had a pretty good time.”
Confused, Cameron could only laugh and move when the nurses rushed over and shoved him out of the way to check the excited beepings of John’s bedside machines. He hovered just out of the way, watching while John had to prove that he knew who he was, who the was President, and what planet he was on. He thought the last question had the potential to be a little tricky but he finally satisfied the overnight staff.
After being poked and prodded, they left to file their reports and notify Landry that he was awake. When it was just the two of them again John felt a little better and was definitely a little clearer in his mind. Enough so to finally ask what had happened to him and get a straight answer instead of the not actually that comforting ‘You’ll be fine’.
“You took a blast from a zat gun that dropped you pretty fast off some metal casings and you splatted on the ground hard,” Cameron said, looking as though he hadn’t had more than a nap for far too long. He locked eyes with John before he continued, “We don’t know for sure, but we think that you might have gotten another partial blast or residual energy somehow. The docs here weren’t sure you were gonna wake up.”
John curled his fingers in the crisp sheet covering him loosely. His throat was still sore, and he had to clear it a couple of times before he could get anything out. “I was dreaming,” he rasped, still holding onto the wonderful feeling and memories that were the only thing left to him. “At least I think I was dreaming; I’m not really sure.”
”Well,” Cameron said thoughtfully, rubbing his fingers over his left eye and blinking owlishly with his right, “I’ve seen some pretty weird stuff go under under the mountain. What did you dream about?”
“You remember that traveling carnival that always showed up back in the Panhandle before school started?” John asked staring up at the gray cement ceiling above him, tired but not ready for more sleep and wanting to talk about what had happened. He didn’t think he’d ever forget the feeling of riding in the mustang or the smell of funnel cake in the carnival. He thought maybe there was something else he’d wanted to remember, but it slipped along the edge of his conscious dancing away when he got close.
Cameron grinned, stretching his feet out in front of him and laughed. He closed his eyes and rolled his head, “You mean that little one horse show? Didn’t you puke the last time we went when you tried to get in line at the kissing booth for Linda Sue?”
“Yeah, yeah,” John sighed, trying to ignore the memory of one his more embarrassing encounters with romance. “Thanks for the reminder. This was…” John trailed off, peeking a glance at Cameron and thrilling at the phantom touch he could still faintly feel, “different - better.”
The metal legs screeched on the linoleum as Cameron scooted his chair closer to the bed and leaned an elbow next to John. “We should go back there this fall,” Cameron said, a soft smile easing the lines on his face. “If your Dr. Weir ever lets you back, that is, after this fiasco. Maybe we could catch Bedlam, see the State fair.”
There’d always be Wraith, or the Ori, or some other genetically, technically, or morally superior race out there breathing down their necks. John finally realized that he’d stopped living a long time ago, stopped trying for anything more than a meal and a place to sleep. Those weren’t bad things, but Cameron, or rather the angel had set him straight. Figuratively.
“That’d be great, Cam,” he said, and smiling at a memory impishly added, “We could go horseback riding to that little red canyon. Remember?”
They’d been nineteen and it had been a bizarre summer spent mostly locked in battle over a girl that neither of them had known the name of the year before. John’s grandma had thrown her hands up at him when he came home with a black eye but had made his favorite for dinner. He’d felt like a heel when he found out Cameron’s grandma had made him wash and sleep in the barn since he couldn’t act like a decent human being and refrain from getting into fist fights in the middle of the town’s Fourth of July picnic.
Jenny had slapped them both and wouldn’t talk to them for the rest of the summer. Consequently, they bribed one of the older college students to buy them a six-pack of beer and took it out to the canyon and pond they spent so much of their summers. It had been John’s first beer, and his first real kiss with tongue and everything. The beer was warm and awful, but Cameron’s mouth had been warm and wonderful.
“Isn’t that where…” Cameron trailed off, his eyes widening and his hand flying up to trace over his lips in an unconscious gesture. He blushed hard and tried to cover it with a cough. “Sounds like a plan, but right now, you’d better get some rest.”
“Yeah,” John agreed and closed his eyes hearing Cameron settle back into his bedside seat. Just before he floated to sleep, John thought he could feel feathers sliding over his cheek.
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Date: 2008-03-15 06:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-17 05:48 pm (UTC)