A/N: So I was watching bounty and painting and I got angry because there were scenes that I wanted to see-cut to me writing this story in two or three hours.
This is going to be a series with other episodes being expanded on (Memento Mori, Bad Guys and Family Ties are in the work). If you have any other episodes to suggest, I'd love to hear them.
Also canon compliant so there is no ValaxCam or ValaxDaniel other than what would be acceptable in the show.

Bounty Full

Chapter 1

Mother Cluckers

She's not that good with animals. At first he thinks it's because of that snooty attitude of hers, the one that comes out in a whine whenever she doesn't want to do something because it's too dirty or too boring or too beneath her. The one that he, Jackson, Carter, and everyone at Cheyenne Mountain roll their eyes at.

"My mother was a tavern owner," she scoffs at him tossing seed down for the handful of hens his parents keep around for the fresh eggs and the natural alarm clock. "Our poultry was already dead by the time we received it."

Part of him wants to slam the bucket of seed into her chest and leave her to do the task because she asked, no—she begged to come with him to see his folks and his high school buddies before being forced to go to what is basically an adult version of a junior high dance.

Then he remembers the time Jackson left her to catalogue a bunch of ancient artifacts. How he went down to the archives to check on her because it had been hours and he just expected her to be stashing priceless artifacts in the airducts at this point, but instead he found her trying to stem the blood on her hand because she reached into a box blind and pulled on some really old knife by the blade. When he started dragging her to medical, exuding frustration out of worry, she apologized at least five times, and it was sincere, and it was off putting because it was so sincere.

So he tries a warmer approach, because like most things about Vala, there's usually another reason. "You're missing out." Glances over at her perched on the wooden railing of the fence keeping the half dozen hens in. "Feeding an animal, interacting with one, living with one, it's great."

She clicks her tongue, and hums a bit, glancing at the hens pecking his feed off the ground. He wishes they had some chicks. She'd probably love the chicks. "You truly enjoy this? Doing a job that an automated piece of machinery could do?"

"Yeah." Spreads another wave of seed, watching the hens bobbing closer.

"Mitchell." She hops down from the fence and falls onto shoes not suited for farm life. "You have the highest security clearance your government can offer, you're privy to secrets that others on your planet cannot even fathom exist."

"Yeah, and maybe that's why doing this relaxes me." The pads of his fingers start scraping the bottom of the bucket and he knows his dad is going to give him a look when he returns with it empty, but he always overfeeds them.

Over the clucking he hears her hard exhale and he thinks it's a stifled laugh at his expense because that happens sometimes. Sometimes he can't keep his pants on missions. Sometimes he's just the simple country boy who loves spoiling some chickens.

But she stands straight, shuffling her shoulders inside a jacket, that again, isn't suited for farm life, and wiggles her fingers at him. "Well then, don't hog the feed."

Ducks his grin away as she cups her hands and he pours the remainder of the feed in. Forgets to tell her not to chuck it across the pen, but she doesn't. Slowly lets it drift through her fingers, like sand in an hour glass, angling her head with a pensive smile.

He thinks maybe he made this a good experience.

Until all the chickens start to rush the fence to get at the seed and she shoots backwards away from the six-pound feather dusters. "No. No. Nope."

"It's okay. They won't hurt you," half chuckles because he's seen her kick men twice as big as her in the throat and not bat an eye.

"Yes, well." Shifts her shoulders again and her eyes scroll down to the flock of cluckers pecking a few feet away. "You trust that. I don't."