Bring it all Back

Chapter 16

Positivity (Electric Charge)

The bullshit with the Cyclone Planet is still ongoing. He'd back-burnered it while paying more attention to planets like P3J-505 who might actually form an alliance with them, even though SG-9 has been stationed there for over a year and a half straight. As soon as they finish sorting through the wreckage of the last twister, a new one rips through, or there's a lightening storm, or a blizzard.

He's tried talking to their president, but each phone call ends with him talking to a different person who assures, that they are in charge and that they don't require the Tau'ri aid on their shamble planet. Then when he tells SG-9 they can finally come back to Earth and see their families again, the 'real' boss contacts him by the end of the day pleading for the help to continue.

But SG-9 does need to come home and he swaps them out for SG-7 who he pulled off of P3J-505. Dumas is not happy because the Cyclone Planet doesn't have a lot of bars, or strip joints, and prostitution is outlawed, but in the words of Major Dumbass, 'how are you gonna outlaw the oldest profession?"

"Colonel Mitchell?" Gloria pokes her head into the room, she never manages to drag herself fully through the door, always just angles her head sideways.

"Yeah?"

She snaps her gum, then chews loudly. "Got a hot one down in the gate room."

"And what does that mean exactly?"

"I dunno?" Shrugs, snaps her gum again and slams the door.

"Great."

"Are they back yet?"

"Jeez." Jumps and spins around almost knocking into the Jacksons standing behind him like The Grady Girls. "Do I need to get you guys some bells?"

"You seem on edge." Daniel One brushes by him, stopping just a few inches ahead to stare at the stargate.

Daniel Two flanks him on the other side. Misses when there was just one. One he could handle and redirect, but two of them, they overpower him mentally because he's exhausted almost all the time. "Something bothering you?"

"Aside from the cloned archeologist that I'm still in full command of?"

"What's that—"

"—supposed to mean?"

"It means why the hell haven't one of you hightailed it to Atlantis. Sam's there. Sam loves your company." Means that Sam can put up with him, with one single Jackson. Actually, aside from Vala, no one at the SGC has fully embraced the clones. It's not even weird for her, she just treats them both as if they were the single Daniel from before.

"We don't have permission to leave the SGC." Daniel Two pulls his lips tight, stretching back on the balls of his feet.

Daniel One removes his glasses, his fingernail tracing what must be a scratch in the middle of one of the lenses. "We have stay here until we're cleared by medical."

"So, get your asses down to medical."

"Not that simple, Mitchell."

"Dr. Lam's still trying to discern which one of us is the fake,"

"Even though it's fairly obvious—"

"—that doesn't sound like not throwing around insinuations to me."

"What?"

"Yeah that sentence had—"

"—a double negative they're so hard to—"

He hides his face, half on the verge of crying out in irritation, half ready to just laugh because this feels like a rehearsed Abbott and Castello sketch. "Just go to medical."

"Why?'

"We need Landry's permission before—"

"Because then you won't be here!"

They both looked equally shocked and offended, mouths opened wide and inhaling deep for what's probably a heavily worded reply, but they're cut off by a higher power sending SG-7 back through the gate.

Dumas and his two boys walk through first, harrowed faces, but nudging each other with elbows in ribs. He nods at the major who waits until the last minute to nod back, and they're out of the room before Teal'c and Vala makes it through. They're smudgy but happy, she has her hands gripping the tight straps on her bag and Teal'c speaks to her softly with a slow growing smile, and whatever he tells her lights up her face.

"My darlings," she greets with her arms outstretched, the pack is bottom heavy and knocks against her ass making her take a double step. "Did you all congregate here to welcome me home?"

Shuffling awkwardly on his feet Daniel One clears his throat. "We actually need your help reorganizing the tagged artifact binder."

"So, whenever you're ready to come down and do that—" Daniel Two leaves the sentence hanging as they turn in unison for the exit.

"Give her some time to get settled." Shakes his head at het archeologists still walking to the door, hands in their pockets like the weirdest gang he's ever seen. "She's been gone a week and a half."

"Oh, we know." Daniel One doesn't bother to turn around.

Daniel Two however peeks over his shoulder. "But she's the one who dropped the binder and messed up all the tags."

They do the debriefing which is mostly just Vala and Teal'c complaining about how badly they were treated on the planet, especially after being sent by the Tau'ri and not being Tau'ri, apparently it was a big flip off to the people in charge—who, he still doesn't know. She leaves to shower and heads straight to the Jacksons' lab afterwards. The most he gets is a secret grin and a foot nudge from him to her under the table, their own version of an elbow to the ribs, because it's been a week and a half and he missed her like hell.

Knows the Jacksons will probably preoccupy her time late into the night and sometimes he doesn't know how she deals with them, especially two of them, but she just smiles and laughs and hooks her arms, one through each of theirs, chatting with them about the planet and the things she witnessed while they only half listen.

He busies himself with typing up progress reports for particular planets and missions, then by organizing his to-do list tomorrow until he realizes it's their rest day and he doesn't technically have to do anything, but he'll be on base so he can at least check-in with Lam on immunizing the teams with less vaccinations at once because he's starting to get complaints about all the needles. He could also read through the mission reports from the last week before he submits them to O'Neill. Communications is also going to need to a debriefing on—

The lights buzz and blink off for a moment before humming back on. It's weird, but not the weirdest thing he's seen in the last twenty-four hours, hell he's still getting use to looking at two Jacksons. His watch says that it's near dinnertime, so maybe he'll pop by the lab and drop some subtle hints to her about ordering in. Maybe he'll drop some hints to the Jacksons about going to Atlantis.

Locks up his office behind him and in the hallway the lights flicker and buzz again. It's a little bit weirder, but he'll take flickering lights over blindness parasites and anger fruit any day of the week. Strolls down the hallway, yanking open the door to the stairwell and bouncing down the steps, never understood why the archelogy area is on the same floor as medical, but not the actual gate, must make carrying less than stable artifacts dangerous.

He's surprised the lab door opens right away because the Jacksons have taken to locking themselves in when they're hard at work. The door is soundproof and as soon as he breaks that barrier, all three of them arguing breaks the silence.

"I didn't mean to touch it," she sounds defensive, speaking very quickly and a little jittery.

"But you did, Vala."

"So it's the least you can do."

Shuts the door behind him and finds her sort of inching towards the corner away from the Jacksons who are approaching her with what he thinks is the artifact she probably wrecked, but then he notices a smoking piece of pottery with wires and metal bits sticking out. He chuckles because she wrecked it really well.

"Well I'm sorry, please don't—Cameron." She darts around the Jacksons and shuffles up beside him.

"What's going on? The lights are flashing and you guys are—"

"Vala blew up the Ornate Eye, a priceless piece of Ancient technology." Resting at the end of the first metal table, Daniel One crosses his arms, trying to glare at her hiding behind him.

"Yeah I got that from the sparks and smoke." Points to the leftovers of what must be the Ornate Eye as Daniel Two sits like a guard at the other table end. "What did it do?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"It's more of a galactic Rosetta Stone."

"Oh." Leans forward to get a better look, but the symbols chiseled into the clay and metal are too small for him to even consider reading. She ghosts his movements and he tries to hid his smile. "So, if it didn't do anything, why are you mad at her?"

"We're not."

"Oh."

"We want her to touch this." Daniel Two holds up an artifact that looks like a gold spray-painted basketball with a few embedded gems.

"Okay, you lost me."

Daniel One rolls his eyes, snatching the basketball and traveling forward. "She's charged."

"You're charged?" Turns around tapping her side discretely when she tries to flit away. "Charged with what?"

"Positivity apparently."

"No Vala." Number Two groans crossing his arms and throwing back his head. "You're positively charged."

Whips back to the Daniels. "She has—has a current?"

"Yep."

Flips back to her, his hand hovering over her skin, it makes the hair on his arms stand on end. "How did this happen?"

She shrugs and pulls a tight mouth. "The weather on that planet was atrocious. It wasn't sunny for a single day, two cyclones and at least fifteen lightening storms—"

"Did you get struck by lightning?"

"She's not dead, Mitchell."

"Hey don't laugh." The Jacksons share the same smirk and are encroaching further towards them with the basketball. "I had an uncle who was struck by lightning when I was a kid. He couldn't do his multiplication tables after it."

"While that's a great insight into your family—"

"—she was probably just exposed to the elements for too long."

"Teal'c been there for months straight. Hell, SG-9 have been there almost two years."

"All men, darling." Tucks back behind him and his shirt grows clingy with static. "Also almost all Tau'ri."

"Then what's the problem with touching the artifacts."

"This." Daniel One bops the basketball against the bare skin on her arm, and the touch springs the dormant machine to life, gems glowing and the top spins separately from the bottom. It also makes her scream with a bite of pain.

"Hey."

"Mitchell, she's the only thing powerful enough to jolt these things back to life."

"She said it only feels like a shock—"

"A bad electrical shock," she adds with a pout, her hand rubbing the darker area where the artifact touched her arm.

"Nope. This here—" gestures between the three of them and the artifact "—this is done. You two enjoy that toy because you're not getting another one." Then he turns to her, guiding her to the door gently. "You go to medical."

She doesn't get far in medical, barely changed into the familiar navy-blue scrubs before her charge starts to wreak havoc on the systems. When she sits at the MRI machine it hisses and clatters, electricity surging through it as it starts to smoke. She yipes, jumping away from the machine and pats at the black singed holes burnt into the back of her pants.

"Whoa, that's one hell of a barbeque," coughs as he enters the room, Lam zooming by him fanning away the smoke with her clipboard. "Vala?"

"I'm fine." She plays with the tatters of the scrubs and her skin is already starting to blister underneath.

"Well, normally I'd just book you in for a CT scan." Lam tucks the clipboard back up underneath her arm. "But given the circumstances—" when the doctor drops her hand to Vala's shoulder, the another shock jolts through her, and both women jump away from each other with a shout.

Doesn't know why, but he stands between them with his arms held out, keeping them apart like he's mediating a dispute. They're both panting a bit and the smoke still hasn't died down. "Everyone okay?"

"Yeah," Lam answers but sounds unsure and flicks her hand through the air, shaking out the pain. "Is that what happens every time?"

"Yes. Sorry" Doesn't say anything else as she leaves the room to change, but moves slow and purposefully, careful of what she touches.

"Vala," calls to her in the crowded hallway between shift change and dinner. She doesn't stop walking, pretending like she can't hear him, zipping in between people, ghosting by them.

He has to jog to catch up to her, which in between the amount of people and the dull ache in his thigh is no easy feat. Finally, he stretches out an arm, his hand grabbing her shoulder firmly spinning her. "Vala."

"Don't—" Smacks his hand away and raises her palms defensively. "Don't touch me."

But he's got her wrist, and then holds her hands, sidestepping with her into an empty conference room. She tries to yank her hands away, but he holds tight. "Look." He raises their clumped hands, showing his arm hair standing on end. "It doesn't hurt."

"Yet."

"Cameron," she sighs and it's not the usual tone she sighs his name in. One of despair and exhaustion—the bad kind of exhaustion. "What are you doing?"

"What we always do." Shucks his boxers and crawls between the sheets, wiggles an arm underneath her feeling the slight static touch of her skin and then nuzzles the back of her head while his fingers travel the blisters from today.

"You're going to get hurt," murmurs against his arm, but stretches back against him.

"I don't mind taking one of the team."

"I'm going to get hurt." But her hips swivel when his hand rests there, fingers lapping over her skin.

"This sounds like the speech we both gave each other when we started this."

"And?"

"And it was worth it."

Wakes up a little before 0300 because he smells bacon. Blinks into the room a bit to clear his vision and by the fluffy blanket on the reading chair in the corner, he knows he's in hers. She's sound asleep, pressed back against his front, and he presses a kiss into her cheek, getting a little static shock, before beginning to untangle himself and return to his own, cold, empty bed.

Only he doesn't move fast enough, because that little static shock was just a baby compared to the one that forces him from her, sending him over the edge of the bed. He hits the ground hard but compared to the pain in his hands and—other—parts of his body that were still touching her it's nothing.

She squeaks awake, turning at the phantom force between them that shocked them both so wildly, rubbing the small of her back and the curve of her ass. "Cameron, did—"

Smoke starts to billow up from the sheets and then a little ember of a flame. He darts forward grabbing his pillow and smashes it into the mattress so fiercely that she scurries to the edge of the bed, blankets drawn to her neck and eyes wide. "Sorry, I think—uh—I think we started a fire, which is pretty cool if—"

"You should go."

"Princess, it's not the worst—"

"We literally just set the sheets on fire by touching."

"Again, pretty cool—"

"Please, just—" Her head swings into her palm, hiding away her expression, but he can hear the fear in her voice. "Please, just go."

It happens in the cafeteria a little after what would be considered a normal lunch time. He stopped in to grab a coffee, a coffee he knows he's supposed to stay away from because of stomach ulcers or some other crap Lam told him was wrong with him. He's filling a Styrofoam cup, which the environmental committee has been trying to get rid of, and spying on her from behind the coffee canister.

She's sulking through the tables with her tray towards the door, stopping just shy of the open archways. The tray drops from her hand and clatters to the ground, a bright red apple rolling away.

And she screams.

He's heard her scream all sorts of ways before, in surprise when he sneaks up behind her, in delight when he fakes eating the last cupcake but secretly hid it for her for later, in anger when he doesn't pick up his boxers off the ground because he's tired and that's what the housekeeper is for, in passion and he has to apologize to the neighbors the next morning without making eye contact while she skips happily beside him, but never like this.

Knows her past is rough, knows she's been tortured, but he's never been there, never been present for it and he hasn't been thankful for that until this moment because she grabs the side of her body and falls to her knees and the scream is so raw, so unaltered that his coffee clatters to the ground.

"Get medical," demands of two privates who nod and burst out of the room. She's one her side, almost fetal, knees pulled to her chest and hands buried against her torso. "Vala, what's—"

"Shoot me."

"What?"

"Just shoot m—" Her hand clamps onto his arm sending a jolt through both their bodies.

He shoots back against one of the tables, slamming his back and his knees into the ledges and she slides across the floor sizzling and unconscious.

Lam appears in the doorway, dressed in her usual cotangent off-world gear, a big plastic pillow suit complete with a window to showcase her face. He's stunned a bit, rubbing the back of his neck and hobbling towards Vala on the floor before Lam can touch her. "You can't she'll—"

But the touch doesn't start an electrical fire or result in any unwanted blisters in sensitive areas, instead Lam checks for responsiveness, tries to find a pulse through thick gloves and then fumbles through her bag for something.

"How—"

"The suit is grounded." Her breath fogs up the glass when she speaks and she gives him a look, to tell him not to waste her time with questions.

They put her in a containment room, this weird room he's never seen before that the Jacksons, with Sam conferencing in from Atlantis, rig up to give off the same electrical charge as her, so she doesn't fry herself from the inside out anymore.

When he finally makes it down, when he thinks he's given it enough time so his concern isn't too conspicuous, the Jacksons sit at a panel reading out a wave of science and numbers he doesn't even begin to understand. "What are we looking at?"

"Well, she's not doing any damage to her internal organs anymore." Daniel One's glasses slide down on his nose as he frantically types at one of the computers.

Daniel Two jots down numbers, his eyes on the monitor not the notebook he writes in, but they all come out perfectly straight and aligned. "Her amps are increasing."

"What does that mean?" There's a few steps down to the containment room, but all he can see is a white floor.

"It means that she's getting a stronger electrical charge."

Daniel One spins from the computer before him to the one beside him. Fingers never missing a beat. "Which means that we have to increase the charge in the room to counteract it."

"I'm guessing that's bad."

Both Jacksons stop their respective actions and glance to him, flat expressions on their faces. They turn to each other having a staring contest over which one is going to give him the bad news, sort of a rock, paper, scissors for the intellectual. Finally, Two clears his throat and ducks his head into his notebook. "The containment room will only go so high, Mitchell."

Keeps his eyes straight, his back ridged, focusing on the white floor of her room. "How long?"

"If it keeps increasing at this rate?"

"A day. Maybe a day and a half."

"But at these levels she's more likely to shock her heart into an arrythmia."

"She know?"

"She's not stupid."

His hands start to sweat, and he wiggles his fingers ignoring how he doesn't get a little trickle of static any longer. "Plans?"

"Mitchell, this is unheard of—"

"Sam doesn't even know what—"

"Plans." Almost shouts it this time, his body still rigid in the middle of the room. The clacking and scribbling stop and he swallows the lump in his throat. "You're both planners, you have to have something."

There's silence in the room, complete silence between the three of them and he doesn't think this type of silence could exist anywhere else.

"Maybe—Maybe we could go back to the PXF-294—"

"Where?"

"The Cyclone Planet," Daniel Two clarifies.

"Maybe they've experienced this before." One's voice begins to pick up as he understands the suggestion.

Two perks up as well. "They might have a remedy."

"Go." Gives them a nod and takes a step forward as they bolt up from their chairs. Before they reach the door he adds, "if it comes to it, threaten to remove our disaster aid."

Expects them to argue about how cutting interplanetary aid to a planet, a planet full of assholes but a planet in need, is malicious, but again, they say nothing. Just nod sternly in agreement and disappear out of the door.

He takes the steps slowly, not because of his thigh this time, because he can see faded red sneakers he bought her when she wanted to start going jogging with him in the morning and by the third day threatened him if he woke her up.

Her legs hang off the plastic cot with a plastic looking mattress and blanket, fingers digging into the material leaving little grooves. The soles of her shoes scratch at the floor and her eyes trace around the ceiling like she's watching something move.

"Hi honey." Tries to keep the same tone, the same level so she doesn't know how royally screwed they are, so she isn't a little more than twenty-four hours away from cooking from the inside out.

"Cameron." Grins and pushes herself off the side of the bed, stalking towards him like some jungle cat in a too small zoo exhibit. "Finally made it down did you?"

"Gotta fly under the radar."

"Any blips?" She opens and closes her hand.

"What?"

"Blips. Blips." Continues opening and closing her hand. "Radar blips."

"None yet but O'Neill and Landry aren't stupid, it'll get back to them. Hopefully we can just pass it off as—"

"Cameron?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm scared."

Oh shit.

"It's okay to be scared." Placates her like a child, when he can't even look her in the eyes because he's going to lose it and then through his angry wails, they'll be on everyone's radar. With a shuddering inhale he tries to change the subject. "Some digs you got here."

Turns her head away from him, her eyes blinking over the small area with hardly anything occupying it but her. "The Daniels were nice enough to inform me it used to be implemented as a tool in torture."

"That's homey."

"The walls are charged and when a prisoner did something naughty they would—"

"We're going to get you out of this." Flattens his hand against the wall and hisses when he presses down too hard on the blister.

"Oh, that's quite a big one." With a finger she traces the outline of his burn onto her side of the glass.

"Yeah, you should see the one in my pants."

"Promises, promises."

They grin at each other because the banter is the banter and normally they edge away from it, have real conversations about cable tv, the garburator, his inadequacies, her trust issues, but sometimes the banter is just natural and they have to let it play out because this is how it began. His grin falters when he realizes what he stands to lose, and then the question spikes of if the job is worth it. Is it worth for both of them to keep at the daily grind with his body slowly falling apart and her taking dangerous missions coming back blind or barefoot, full of arrows and bullet holes?

Then he finds that he just wants to be with her. At work, out of work. In the grocery store where she wants to ride the cart like a scooter and he always chuckles and tells her no because they're adults, militaristic adults hiding a two-year relationship, and ends up pushing her on it anyway.

He's starting to get tired of all the damn rules.

"You're going to make it out of this." She just smiles at him, but it's worn and meant to placate him, but that's not why he's here. "Hey. Tell me you believe me."

"Cameron—"

"I promise, you're coming out of this."

He doesn't know why he needs to hear it, maybe the boost in confidence will give him the kick in the ass he needs, but maybe it's knowing she's fighting with him, beside him even though she's no where near him and the amps are going up.

"I believe you."

As the words exit her mouth, and float into the positively charged and negated air, he catches her eyes, the fear, the fleeing, the trembling of her irises, but the hope she has when she looks at him and he realizes that he might have just lied to her face.

"Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell." Woolsey greets him from the other end of the hallway. The opposite end of the hallway that he was traveling from. He just popped out of the containment room after having another brief conversation with her, trying to calm her down a bit, watching as the amps rose and the program corrected itself. Told her the good news, that the Jacksons got an ancient device from the Cyclone planet that takes the charge out of people for this exact situation. Apparently, it happens all the time on the planet and working replicas of the device are available at corner stores like chocolate bars. If the planet didn't think the Tau'ri were dumb before, he's glad he could give them the last bit of help they needed in making a decision.

"What a surprise to see you." Woolsey sneaks up in front of him, because he doesn't have time for this conversation. He put his whole day on hold to find a solution for Vala, and now he's going to go stand in the gate room until one or two or twelve Jacksons come back with one or two or twelve of the current sucking devices.

"Not really, you're on my turf."

"Yes, and as I'm on your turf—" Woolsey stops, standing directly in the middle of the hallway, holding up traffic on both sides as people swerve around him. He juts a finger back towards the containment room. "I'm sure you wouldn't mind if I had a conversation with Ms. Mal Doran."

That gets him to stop, and grind his teeth, and set his jaw before he turns around because suddenly he's on very thin and melting ice. "Actually—" he takes a step back towards the room, to Woolsey standing like the big bad wolf before the door. "I don't think she's up for receiving many visitors right now. You know, the whole cooking her organs thing."

"But, you just came from in there, correct?" It's not the persistence, or wanting to talk to Vala about whatever, it's the smug grin, like he's been trapped.

"Yeah, I was updating her on the Jacksons' progress in getting a solution. She's really weak, but I thought I'd deliver her that good news." Crosses his arms over his chest and steps to the side so privates rolling equipment down the hallway don't need to swerve around him. "Nothing against protocol."

"No, not that, but in a close IOA examination of illegal aliens at Stargate Command—"

"She's been here five years—"

"She is still not a citizen of this planet."

"But she's given her life for it more than once."

"That is not how citizenship is earned, Colonel Mitchell, you know that." The smirk briefly reappears, a tight line pulling just the one corner of his lips. "What concerns me is how many times in the last month you've signed her out under your responsibility."

"Instead of keeping her locked up here?"

"She has a suspect past, and we're still unsure of where her loyalties lay."

"Bullshit." Sure the SGC hasn't been under the best management lately, with Landry camping out in Washington trying to get more funding or finding another way around whatever Woolsey and the IOA have planned and O'Neill stopping in about one a month to just mess things up enough before leaving it takes him an entire month to get things back in order. There's cogs that aren't running as smoothly, but they're getting by. No major wars declared, no massacres of any SG teams.

"I know what you're up to Colonel Mitchell. However, if you were to let me have a brief conversation with her—"

"Unfortunately, only a General can give you clearance through that door."

"I would rethink your stance on this before you make a big mistake."

"The rules are the rules, Woolsey." Marches back down the hallway expecting the Jacksons to already be through the gate. "You'll have to wait for O'Neill to get back here next week."

"Do you want popcorn tonight?"

It's a little past midnight and the grocery store is almost abandoned except for a few people who zip by them in the aisles intent on buying one thing and getting out. They're grocery shopping because neither of them were supposed to be going back home this weekend, but after—just after the last forty-eight hours, he gave her and the Jacksons the weekend off.

"I think I'd like to stay as far away from microwaves as possible," she jokes, but it's forced, and he knows she got real spooked today. He grabs her hand and it's a bit cold, and none of the hairs on his hand stick up.

She drifts in towards him and the cart when he tugs, and plants a kiss on her forehead. "You did really good today."

"I almost died today."

"Then how is it any different then any other day?" He hates that he's right, because it is just a normal day at their jobs. She's in trouble, he's in trouble, the Jacksons and Teal'c and Sam and fifteen other teams are in trouble.

Her head tucks beneath his chin and the little nuzzle she gives him, the little sigh, it makes him stop just dead in the snack aisle. "Vala, are we just going to keep doing this forever?"

She doesn't need more clarification than that, they've been together too long, and can read the subtleties and he doesn't know what exactly he wants, but he knows he's not going to be at the SGC forever, knows in ten years he's not going to be leading any more missions than he is now, knows that he'll be bogged down with grandpa glasses, a trick thigh, and some sort of vegan diet. But he also knows that she's going to be there with him. Or with him if they're not there.

It's weird, but he just knows.

Soft lips brush the underside of his jaw and she rubs away any gloss she leaves behind. "Not forever, darling, just for a while longer."