Numb wasn't quite the word he would use if he could see himself from another perspective. Not entirely sure how he had got there, Cam found himself at home, lying on his lounge floor as the light through his windows began to fade into evening. He was generally successful at shielding his inner drama and angst; he liked to think so at least, but this year had been tough so far. Of course, nowhere near as bad as what he had been through after the Battle of Antarctica, but emotionally, he had taken repeated kickings. He had lost a very good friend; a friend that very possibly would have had his place on SG-1 and all the opportunities therein had he not been injured; injured because of his own hot temper and foolhardiness. No matter how far he had come, both in career and in recovery, he could never forgive himself for that. Ferguson should have been fighting over Antarctica; not him. Imposter Syndrome reared its very ugly head yet again. What the hell was he doing here?

Not entirely sure how long into his stupor, he became aware of a presence. Damn, if this was off-world, he'd be dead by now. He sighed and was inwardly relieved when a very familiar and welcome fair head started to eclipse his view of his lounge ceiling. This sobered him somewhat, especially her attempt at looking sceptical – she couldn't help the concern which seeped through that military facade.

She folded her arms and watched him as he sat up and wearily scrubbed his face with his hands. He then looked up at her and said wearily, "What are you doing here?"

She inclined her head and said with a very slight smile, "The same thing you'd do for me if I'd had the emotional shit kicked out of me."

He chuckled softly at the uncharacteristic profanity as his gaze dropped to the floor. As he got to his feet, he said with a smirk, "A'right, but I'm buying this time. No point you paying for me not to remember my own name."

She retorted, trying and failing to look serious, "I'm not paying for you to lose your pants either."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Hours later – albeit not that many – Cameron Mitchell, seasoned USAF Colonel, was slumped over Teal'c's shoulder as the Jaffa led him to an awaiting car, the Colonel either talking or singing – no-one was quite sure. Sam followed from the bar they had been in, holding a man's jacket and her purse. One of these days, she thought, she could have a drink with Cam without being acutely concerned for his health. But then, she conceded, their jobs didn't leave much opportunity for self care, especially when it came to mental health. She, Daniel, and Teal'c had overcome so much and had learned to cope over the years, but this was still new for Cam. A smaller voice in the back of her mind longed for the days when she could have a life outside of work, but that had long been proven painfully impossible.

Teal'c unceremoniously piled their colleague into the front passenger seat of the waiting car; and Sam turned to Daniel who had been holding the car door open, Cam's face rather comically albeit unintentionally pressed against the glass. Daniel regarded her with a smirk of amusement at their colleague's predicament.

She said, appearing awkward, "You didn't have to drive us; we could have got a taxi."

He gazed at her tenderly, wanting so much to say what was on his mind. He said quietly, turning away, "I want to."

Sensing something – she wasn't quite sure whether it was her emotions or not – she continued to appear awkward, before slipping into the backseat alongside Teal'c. She draped the jacket she had held on the back of Cam's seat, and sat back, glad to be with her friends; glad of the periods of calm and humour between crises. Teal'c's voice drew her out of her reverie and she looked up at her friend:

"Colonel Mitchell is in need of the ability to drink alcohol in moderation – for the sake of his own health."

She frowned in concern at Cam slumped against the window. SG-1 were never the best at seeking mental help; in fact, they generally had a history of being quite resistant to it. She grimaced a little as she recalled Daniel wrongly being put in a strait-jacket and a padded room six years prior. She replied with a wistful sigh,

"We need to find him other coping strategies."

Daniel retorted with a grimace of his own from the driving seat as he adjusted his mirrors, "Other than downing shots of Cuervo."

His grimace worsened into disgust as Cam promptly vomited into his own lap and seat-well before slumping back against the window. Teal'c appeared slightly amused as Sam blinked despondently, before opening the window on her side to vent the pungent smell. Daniel's jaw clenched as he said, meeting Sam's gaze in the rear-view mirror,

"Well, he didn't make to his lounge floor this time."

Sam felt guilty that she hadn't made Cam pace himself. She said apologetically, "Daniel, I'll pay for it to be cleaned."

Without a word or another look at her, Daniel started the engine and began to drive. Teal'c remarked, "Is it not Colonel Mitchell's responsibility to compensate Daniel Jackson?"

Sam didn't have an answer, awkward as she felt, as she tried keeping her nose close to the open window. She however didn't miss Daniel's grumpy expression in the mirror. Trying to stop an inappropriate smile at that, she looked out at the stores, houses, and streets they passed as the cool night air cooled her hot cheeks.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Three members of SG-1 stood at the end of the Colonel's bed, in various degrees of bemusement, as a rather worse for wear, and still clothed, was fast sleep, having been placed on his side by his colleagues. Contemplating blackmail opportunities, Daniel offered his colleagues a ride home; while Teal'c acquiesced, having had quite enough of a very drunk Mitchell, Sam shook her head in declination. Daniel said, looking at her sceptically,

"Sam, I can stay after I drop Teal'c off."

She shrugged, weariness evident in her countenance. "It's okay; I'm pretty much here every week anyway."

She noticed Daniel's jaw clench at that although his face remained impassive. She sighed silently; she didn't have enough energy to focus on anything else than just going to sleep, let alone decoding why Daniel or any of her friends looked a certain way in any given moment. A small voice in the back of her mind did mention the word 'jealous', in amongst the roar of her tiredness. She shook her head as they left the room and said, "It's fine. I'm pooped."

On the landing, she hugged Teal'c in farewell, the Jaffa gazing at her in concern. He said quietly, "You must rest, Colonel Carter."

She nodded as she followed her friends downstairs. She hugged Daniel and thanked him for picking them up. As they lingered at the door, she began to arrange the cushions and throw on the sofa. Noticing Daniel's scrutiny in particular, she said with a shrug, "Drunken Cam snores."

Any replies, sarcastic or otherwise, remained unheard by the Colonel as she lie down and promptly fell asleep. Had she been more alert, she would have heard her friends leave, and perhaps not missed the sad, longing expression on the archaeologist's face.