Bring it all Back
Chapter 30
Him
He stares out the window, hands still zip tied behind his back, pressing a cheek against the cold glass trying to find some sight of the van. Beside him, Woolsey plugs his ear with a finger while on a call with Landry, had to call Landry because as the arresting IOA officer, Woolsey needs Landry's permission to punish him, since the IOA and Military aren't under the same sector yet.
If he wasn't so scared of losing her, or even worse, of her coming back like she did after Athena, then he'd be more nervous about being discharged and stripped of rank. But since Woolsey hasn't gotten in a word since the call started, and Landry's voice is the type that carries, he can settle on just worrying about her.
The call ends in a burst of half-syllables from Woolsey, and an obvious, but untranslatable threat from Landry, just as the car pulls into the mountain. Woolsey turns his phone off with a grunt and shoves it back into his jacket pocket. "Well, you've certainly made quite an impression with General Landry."
He doesn't respond, like Woolsey didn't the two dozen times he asked what they were going to do with her.
"He refuses to give me permission to discipline you."
All he sees are the pot lights implanted in craggy rock and smudges on the window from his face.
The car halt appropriately at the drop off zone, not the secure area for unloading loose pistol prisoners. Since Woolsey can't detain him, and since he has no superior pull over the military operations of the mountain, he is still technically in charge until Landry gets back from his redeye flight from Washington in the late morning.
Before exiting the car, Woolsey grunts again in frustration and slams the door. He has to wait, the back of the seat pressing into his knuckles until one of the supped-up soldiers opens the door for him, guiding him out and motions for him to turn around so he can cut the zip tie off.
He wiggles his fingers, bringing feeling back into them, and fights not to ask anymore questions. Knows a little about the Alien Act but didn't know it was going to be enforced this soon. Didn't know it would affect aliens already on Earth.
When he's standing in the concrete doorway on his way to the elevators, Woolsey stops in the middle of the drop off zone, his voice echoing over the empty space, "Colonel Mitchell, I would strongly suggest you remain in your quarters until the time that General Landry arrives to relieve you of duty."
Doesn't say a word while he rubs his wrists and walks away from the man who hasn't shut up since Landry hung up on him.
He does go to his quarters first, but it's not so he can remain in exile over the next six or so hours. Grabs a change of clothes, the reliable blue fatigues that are running a little big on him since he doesn't get the gym and jogging time he used to. Even the sparring sessions with Teal'c—Are they going to arrest Teal'c to? He's an alien but has been with SGC longer than most humans.
"Dammit." He snatches a pair of sweats from the drawers and wrings them in his hand as he paces the room.
He can't focus on all the stupid mishaps the Alien Act is going to bring, because he always put her second for work. Practically used her as bait when exploring new planets and diplomatic alliances, sure it's her job, and sure she loved doing it, but he can't count how many times in almost five years he's sat up late worrying that she wouldn't get home. How many times she was late getting home and when he saw her, she looked like she'd been through hell.
How many times he could have gone out and dragged her ass back from a prison or a lair or wherever she was holed up and didn't because he was listening to protocols that demand he put his country and planet before his family.
Tonight is the night that changes.
Carries the rolled pair of sweat pants down to the cafeteria and helps himself to a few things off the early morning pre-breakfast menu. Grabs a paper plate with two breakfast burritos, a bottle of water, and the last orange leftover from the overnight shift. Skips the coffee because he doesn't want heartburn. Needs to be in shape, because he plans to wear his glasses while he runs around after a scrappy toddler who wields a baseball bat until he hears a stifled giggle from the kitchen window.
Cooks up an entire plan of how to break into a brig, but there are IOA guards posted around every corner. They stand ready, but don't pay him attentions as he continues down the long white hallways leading down to the cells. Five rush by him, the static on their walkies crackling through that there's an incident in the interrogation room.
There's no way in hell he can break her out tonight, but he knows if she stews in there for too long, she'll just break herself out, and that's another thing they'll have to do damage control for.
Then he gets to her cell. He knows it's her cell because it's the only one with a guard posted in front of it. It's either hers or Teal'c's and he doesn't think she'd require five additional guards during an interrogation.
It also happens that the guard posted at her door is a familiar face.
"Rodriguez?"
The former private's eyebrows droop as he falls out of his straight-backed position against the wall, weapon resting against his side. Colonel Mitchell, what are you doing here?"
"Here to see Vala."
"Sorry, man, I can't let you in." Shifts on his feet, trailing his eyes to another part of the hall. The weapon jostles as he brings it to rest in both hands, not meant for intimidation, but as a suggestion. "Protocol and all."
"Since when do you care about protocol?"
"Maybe I changed since the IOA decided to give me more—"
"If you were such a stickler for protocol, you'd be addressing me as sir—"
"Well, sorry sir, but that Woolsey guy says that I can't let anyone in or out of this room without—"
"Rodriguez, come on," he groans because he can almost see the time he has the power, the persuasion, to be able to do this slipping away. "Look, if you let me in, I'll give you one of the breakfast burritos. She probably won't touch them anyway."
Rodriguez's squints his eyes, and drops his weapon back down, now examining him closely. "Why you need to see her so bad?"
There are so many answers he could say. So many that it's a waste of time to go through them all. Instead his expression turns serious. "You know why."
A slow, sly grin spreads across Rodriguez's mouth and he steps out of the way. "Fine, man, but if they asked me how you got in there, I'm lying."
The room is smaller than the one he set Jacek up in. Maybe he was trying to be nice to his would-be father-in-law, or maybe he's just a more compassionate guy than Woolsey is. The room only has the basic amenities of a sink, a toilet, and a bed. Everything is white, and the lights are bright and glaring, reflecting off everything disrupting any calm.
Finds her asleep on the bed, on top of the covers, with her bare legs still tucked up into his hoodie. Sets the food in the basin of the sink and approaches her with a grin because they haven't had a chance to process her yet.
Her sleep is restless, she squirms and tries to kick her foot, but it gets caught in the hem of his hoodie. He rubs a hand down her arm and presses his lips to her temple in what he thinks is a gentle wake up call.
"Princess, it's—"
Before he can finish, her body tenses and then flies into a violent defense. The heel of her hand smashes into his collarbone and her foot rips out from underneath his hoodie to kick the side of his knee.
As he falls, she rises, bare legs sprouting out from beneath the sweater and feet slamming into the floor.
He twists in pain, the collarbone thing was just a surprise, but the knee thing was too close to his bad thigh for it to not trigger the pre-existing ache. She looms above him, stern expression and fingers balled into fists, before recognition crosses her face and the hard angles of her body fade.
"Oh Darling." Delicately flutters to her knees and places a cold hand on the hot side of his sweating face, before hooking the other underneath his arm, lugging him to stand. "I'm so sorry."
"No, it's fine," grunts, slapping his hand into the thin mattress, and planting the other on her shoulder to stabilize himself. Her hands wash over his skin, tickling into his hair and the refreshing familiarity of it lets him close his eyes briefly. "At least now I know you can take care of yourself."
"But you've always known that." She nuzzles into his neck, fingers floating down to entwine with his.
"I've known it, but never really believed it," words mumbled into her hair. The hair she washed in their shower before she went to bed. He grabbed a towel fresh from the dryer for her and she cooed over his pampering and he wallowed in the domesticity of it. "You okay?"
She smiles, and he knows it's fake. Knows that brand of smile is used to either diffuse a situation or redirect a line of questioning. The awkward shift of her body away from him only reaffirms her anxiousness. "Cameron—"
Stoops, keeps his aching leg straight as he picks up the sweats he brought for her and left on the ground after she knocked him down. "Tell me how you're really doing."
"Cold."
"I got that." Unfurls the sweats, stooping again, holding the pants for her to step into. She gives him a weak smile, pale legs slipping between the fleecy material. Ties the strings at her waist tucking his hoodie back down over her skin but lingers, leaning his head against her stomach. "What else?"
A deep growl interrupts her answer, something so basic and normal that it breaks the tension between them, his constant worry, her unspoken fear. Allowing them to share the same laugh.
"Was that your stomach?"
"Yes." Her fingers comb into his hair, relaxing him further.
"Hungry?"
"Very."
"Didn't they bring you breakfast?"
"They haven't brought me anything."
Knew her needs weren't going to be a top priority for the IOA, but it's not an excuse that makes him any less upset because the entire situation is so stupid. Stands slowly, his leg still creaking, and grabs the food where he stashed it in the sink. "You should eat."
She eyes the breakfast burritos, now cold and rubbery because she's never liked eggs. Reluctantly, she takes the paper plate from him, now soaked through with oil, and perches on the edge of the bed. "You know, I went three days in the square in Ver Isca—"
"I know you can take care of yourself, but I also don't think the Ori have this kid's back." Plops down beside her, grabbing the orange and peeling it for her.
They sit in silence as she picks at the burrito but devours the orange slices he places on the plate. Their time is waning, and he has no idea what's going to happen next. For the last eight years they've given up any semblance of a life for the SGC and he tries to remain optimistic, loyal to the feeling that the program they've dedicated so much to will have their backs.
As he sets the last piece of orange down on the plate, her fingers still. Assumes she's full or has an upset stomach from the acid, but in a bare whisper she acknowledges, "I'm scared, Cameron."
Remembers when she was in that chamber with an electrical charge microwaving her organs and that was worse than this. That was definitely worse than this.
Retrieves the paper plate from her lap as the corners of her lips start to twitch. He sets it on the ground, embracing her just as she starts to grow glassy eyed. "Honey, it's okay. We got this."
"Oh we so do not have this—" Knows that it's hard for her to talk about most things—the baby, her fears, her fears about the baby—he needs her to talk to him now because as stealthy as she is at breaking out of prisons and as high as he is in the SGC food chain, he doesn't know when he'll get to see her again. So when she tries to stand, to pace away from him, he catches her hand to keep her close.
"We have people here, family, friends, co-workers, who'll back us. They'll fight for us."
"Then why haven't they yet?"
"Because it's not the right time."
"And when will be the right time? When I'm tossed into Area 51 and our child is reared by the militaristic—"
"Hey, hey, hey." The flush creeping onto her skin isn't sexual or cute, but the one from yesterday when she wouldn't lower the P90 from Jacek. "You know I would never let that happen."
Fingers try to erase her tension, caress over her knuckles until she takes a step closer to him still sitting on the edge of the bed. His arms curl around the small of her back and he holds an ear to her stomach again.
Her hands don't return the caresses, instead staying stiff at her side, but her voice loses its edge. "Who said you were alive in this scenario?"
"Oh, so I'm just dead?"
Feels an exhalation deflate her body, and her fingers return to trace behind his ear. "Went down rather quickly. It really was quite embarrassing."
He hears the smile in the lilt of her voice.
He's scared to death, terrified because, yeah, they have friends that are so close they're practically a second family, and, yeah, that family might include a set of clones, but they've always had their backs. But she's here and he's here and he can't shake the feeling that this is the last time they're going to be a family.
But for her, he distracts himself, finds the good in the bad. "At least I have my heir to try and clear my name."
"Oh." Flicks his ear, but her stomach flutters with laughter. "They're your heir now, are they?"
"Gonna have my last name, so yeah."
"Mitchell Mal Doran does have a nice ring."
"Honey, we're already stacking the bricks against this kid before they're even born, don't give them a crazy ass long name to spell."
"Your right. Mal Doran is simpler."
Fights the grin from his face because she's doing the same thing as him, using antics as a distraction, her playfulness as a method to ground them outside of the current situation. Just sitting in the military brig with his pregnant alien girlfriend talking about their future kid.
"Why do they automatically get your name?"
Her hand stills on the back of his neck and the tingling through his skin from her loving pets disappears. Doesn't offer him an answer until he tilts his head up, trying to view her from under the loose material of the oversized hoodie.
"Because we're not married."
"You gotta be kidding me." Shakes his head with a dry laugh, playing along with her game because it's better sitting and worrying. "I've asked you like ten times to marry me."
"Yes, but from what I understand of Tau'ri engagements, there's supposed to be a big spectacle behind the event, and I'm sure if you want to marry me, you would know me, Darling." She pinches his nose, swaying his head, teasing him in a patronizing voice, "and if you know me, then you ought to know I'm a big fan of big spectacles."
"Oh I know it, Princess." She smacks a kiss onto the top of his head and unhooks his arms from around her, flopping down onto the bed beside him. His hand rubs over the top of her thigh reassuringly. "I'll take money out of the baby fund to hire some skywriters and acrobats."
"Baby fund?"
"Yeah, I started setting aside some money when you told me you were pregnant."
Rests her head against his shoulder, touching her stomach thoughtfully. "You wanted this child that badly?"
"I wanted you and for you to be happy. And to be prepared with whatever—"
"That's not what I asked."
Stills his hand against her thigh, not gripping but not light. It's one of those things he wasn't going to tell her until Cam Jr. was in college. That he always wanted the baby, that it would have stung a bit if she decided she didn't, even though he gets her reasoning. That something needed to get their asses off this mountain and away from the constant threat of active duty and he's glad it's whoever he gets to meet in a few months.
Resting his cheek atop her head he mumbles, "Yeah I did."
"Good."
"Good?"
"Yes," lifts her head, arching her back out while she yawns. "Now I know when I get fat, you won't leave me."
"I'd never leave you—" Wants to add 'willingly' at the end but decides to keep it light, needs to keep it light.
She shifts on the bed. Maneuvering his arm and sneaking underneath it to rest her head in his lap just like they're back home. A home he no longer owns. A home with no door, no government sanctioned housekeeper, no royal purple guestroom and a printed-out label in stark black letters for the switch over the sink so she doesn't lop off a hand while doing the dishes.
A home he wanted to teach their kid how to play baseball in the backyard of as Vala tended to six foot sunflowers.
"Cameron?"
"Yeah?"
"I will not birth another child in captivity." She's asleep almost immediately after her reminder, arms cushioned under her head, and just at peace.
He's not.
One of his hands brushes through her hair, and the other covers her hip.
"I know."
"What's this one called?" Vala calls to him across the produce section of the grocery store.
He glances up from grabbing a bundle of bananas, trying to guess whether she'll eat none, or one, or four of them. They haven't been dating more than a month and the few nights she's spent at his place she's annihilated his supply of fresh fruits and veggies that he keeps around for his post-jog protein shakes. He's afraid that if she finds out the protein powder he uses is vanilla flavored, he might pop out of the shower one day and just find her shoveling it into her mouth.
With an eggplant in her palm, classy like it's a skull and she's in a Shakespeare play, she calls to him again, balancing it perfectly and to his defense he makes it halfway over to her before the jets turn on and blast down a quick spurt of water onto all the produce.
She yips, the eggplant rolling lopsidedly from her hand and across the ground to the side of his cart. Snatching it up from the ground, he huffs over to her. "It's an eggplant," he grumbles while setting it back on the pile of a dozen other identical eggplants, then catching her by the arm, he leans in reminding, "and can you try to be less conspicuous?"
Both palms land on the side of his face as she beams at him, kissing him quickly before turning in his grasp. "I'm sorry, Darling, but this is just so exciting. An indoor food market with goods from all around your planet."
"Yeah grocery shopping's a real treat. Vala, listen—"
But she takes off again, bounding down the aisle picking up a brownish purple chunk he's never even seen before. It kind of looks like a beet. She uses both hands this time, cradling it as she showcases it for him. "What's this one?"
"I don't know." Directs her to the side so another cart can pass, the woman gives them a strange expression that he tries to ignore. When he looks back to Vala, she's still bright eyed and bouncing. With a sigh he tries to explain more gently, "Honey, look, if you blow our cover the first night we actually get out together than—"
"Cam? Cam Mitchell?" The woman who passed them doubles back with her cart and Vala takes the distraction as an excuse to further explore. "Is that you?"
Taking a second glace at her, he realizes he knows the woman, knows her really well. "Oh hey, Lucy. How's it going?"
"Not too bad." She looks a lot different, a lot older than he remembers but it's been years since they were together—shit. Lucy's brother and cousin both work at the mountain, different areas, but it's not likely that they haven't heard of SG-1 or Vala.
They're in a precarious place, they're both acting on feelings they've let stew for too long and their relationship is either overly physical and passionate, or reserved because they're still learning each other. He doesn't really want to know how she'd react to meeting on of his exes.
"Are you still working at the mountain?"
"Oh yeah, but they're transferring me upstairs in a few months." Crosses his arms, vaguely aware of his alien girlfriend running around the store, she's probably shoved more than one stolen thing in her pants and then he thinks about her in those jeans, and then without those jeans on and Lucy is still looking at him. "Sorry."
"That's okay," she chuckles leaning into her cart a bit, her almost empty cart save for one premade chicken. "I was just saying it's my last night in Colorado Springs."
"Really?"
"Yeah, I got an editing job in San Francisco."
"That's great, you always—"
"Cameron." Vala beckons him in a sweet singsong tone, the one he's recognized means that she's going to ask for something she thinks is extravagant like to commandeer an al'kesh to go to her favorite off-world market for a certain flavor of gum or to buy a yacht so they can sail around Earth so she can see all the planet has to offer.
But he's learning that sometimes what she thinks is extravagant isn't to him.
Like socks.
Extra socks.
She wears two pairs of socks in the winter.
"Oh hello," she greets Lucy with a smile and holds up the weird thing from before. "It says this is a rutabaga. If you've never had one and I haven't had one, then perhaps—"
"Sure." Palms it from her like a basketball and sets it in the cart next to five bananas, the only thing he's managed to grab since they got here. "Sorry, Lucy this is Vala."
"Nice to meet you."
They shake hands and there's this weird silence when they both wait for him to elaborate.
"Lucy and I used to date." Somehow that's the easier of the two explanations. Vala nods in understanding, mostly reading a box of Hamburger Helper clutched in her hand. So he turns back to Lucy and he doesn't really have the words. "Vala and I are—" pauses, clearing his throat, "we're—"
"Colonel Mitchell, was nice enough to show me a great place to grab groceries." Vala steps in for him, peeling herself away from the directions on the box. "You see, I've recently just transferred here from—"
She stops talking her eyes growing wide, her mind not being able to grasp any city, country from Earth.
"Europe." He offers loudly.
"Yes, Europe. He's such a good teammate."
"The best."
"I'm glad to see you're still a gentleman, Cam." Lucy touches his arm and he freezes, expecting Vala to go nuclear, or at least lash out territorially, but she doesn't just crosses her arms, leaning in against the cart. "Good luck upstairs."
"Thanks, good luck in San Francisco."
Lucy's cart squeals as she makes her way to the self-checkout, and Vala knocks the Hamburger Helper box rhythmically against the cart handle to the bland music playing over the speakers.
"Listen—" Tries to explain himself before it gets too out of control.
She taps the box with her index finger. "Is Hamburger Helper a symbiotic relationship?"
He opens his mouth to answer, then thinks about her question, and the situation again, then her ass in those jeans, and then offers, "what?"
"The relationship between hamburger and it's helper, is it a symbiotic relationship or a parasitic one?"
"I don't know."
The pasta within the box shakes as she examines it again, and then glances back to him. "Can we—"
"Just put it in the cart."
They get to the check out, and as he sets items onto the conveyer belt, she starts tossing them up, a rutabaga, hamburger helper, a box of Trix cereal, egg nog, all adopted through the same method and they never did grab ground beef.
After he pays, they stand at the automatic doors. A cruel wind whistles through as people march in from the freezing weather outside. He stands with a plastic bag in each hand, always forgets to bring his reusable one which is tucked under the passenger's seat in his jeep, and nods to the last one. "Grab it, then we don't have to take the cart out."
She pouts her lips, eyeing the last bag and then the red handle on the cart. "But I want to take the cart out."
"But then we have to bring it back."
"I'll bring it back."
"We only have three bags." If they were at work, at this point he would become irritated and just take the last bag himself, leaving her to do what she wanted with the cart. But in the last month he's gotten to know her because she lets him see things, not just what's under her jeans, but how she works, what her methods are. Usually all it takes is the right question for the right answer. "Why do you want to take the cart."
"Because I want to ride it across the parking lot." Says it nonchalantly, as people swerve around her to return their carts or grab one before going into the store.
It's very cute, the way she stands with her fuzzy white earmuffs on, and her knitted gray scarf. It's so innocent, something she doesn't get to be unless she's feigning it after dropping pudding onto an Ancient text in Jackson's lab.
But it's too impractical. "Vala, you can't—"
"Why not?".
"Because we're trying to keep a low profile—"
"All day all anyone tells me is what I can't do—"
"So that people who know us won't see us together—"
"'Vala, give back Daniel's credit cards'. 'Dancing with the Stars is not field research'. 'No more pudding in the lab'." She mimics his voice, and with each example gives a stern wag of her finger.
It's endearing, but he keeps talking anyway. "Zooming across the parking lot in a cart is a hell of a good way to get noticed—"
"Please." Her hands clamp onto his forearm hidden under a thick padded coat and her eyes get that shimmering glisten of pre-cried tears that he hates. Expects her plea to be empty and her to try to play him the way he's seen her play Jackson and follow it up with a suggestive remark. "Please don't treat me that way when it's just us. I can try to adapt to your rules, Cameron, but I'm not going to change who I am to please you."
He pushes out the cart.
She hooks her boots into the grate below and holds the handle. People walking into the store look at them like he's insane, and he might be because he's giving up a lifelong career if he gets caught.
He edges his chin against her shoulder, padded by a down filled jacket with a fur trim, and warns her to hold on tight. She squeals all the way through the parking lot and when they reach his jeep she hops down and throws her arms around him, mittens wet with snow and itchy on his cheeks.
It's the first time he thinks he saw her uninhibited in her happiness.
That night in bed, as she bounces from the bathroom across the cold hardwood floors and dives under the covers, shimmying up next to him, trying to steal his heat, he questions, "So you really didn't care about Lucy?"
"Who's Lucy?" She angles her head against his chest, her face scrunching as she fights to keep herself awake.
"The woman we met at the grocery store." Rubs his hands up and down her arm to warm her because she's always cold, always so damn cold. "She's an ex."
She rolls her eyes at him, then tucks her head back against his chest. Thought she would say something, even if she didn't care, but in a few seconds he just hears her snore.
Never did care about any of his exes, or any women flirting with him, and he never asked her why. Probably because she knew he wouldn't stray, couldn't even if he wants to because the moment he kissed her, the moment she got him to break the rules he followed almost since birth, he was done.
Always worries about her, not her flirting because he's seen what she can do with the right swivel of her hips, with a perfectly tailored dress, and he's glad she has a backup weapon in her arsenal if her physical defence fails her. He's worried because the men she toys with, the guards, and officers, and shady cons they get into business with for a cargo ship don't see her flirtations as being harmless.
"Mitchell."
He's been there when they—
"Mitchell."
And when—
"Colonel Mitchell, wake up."
The one time his internal clock, old but reliable on routine, doesn't wake him at 0300 is when Landry gets back to town early, catching him napping with IOA suspect MD001. They don't get a goodbye, he doesn't get to tell her not to worry, he doesn't get to tell her not to try to break out because that would only make the situation worse. Doesn't get to reassure her one more time that there's no way anyone is taking this baby from him or her, that they're going to have two parents, and a cloned uncle.
Instead he's yanked up from the bed.
She was awake, was probably the one who woke him up because since returning to him from Athena, he can always distinguish the sound of her voice through all this dreams.
Doesn't get a chance to give a veiled threat to Woolsey, doesn't get a chance to give a direct threat to Woolsey because Landry takes off down the hallways, people swerving out of his way. "I told you to deal with this, Mitchell."
"To be fair, Sir—" The privates aren't so keen in avoiding him as they are Landry, and he has to duck out of the way, then step double time to try and reclaim his position. "You did only give me a day to handle it."
If they've definitely been through worse situations than this, then why does this one feel so bad.
But then, nothing happens.
He's sequestered to his dorm for the night and he sits thinking about the swimsuit model hanging above his hold bed at his folk's farmhouse. Lays on top of the blanket with all of his clothes on, no beer and the Late Night Show playing on mute in the background because he doesn't know the kid who's on the show anyway, but if he plays up the normalcy maybe his mind can trick him into thinking she's just off-world.
The next day he walks into Landry's office when he's called and he expects to be stripped of rank and dishonorably discharged, but that doesn't happen either.
He ends up being exempt from all charges and allowed to go back to work immediately.
"What about Vala?" When Landry doesn't answer he clarifies, "She's been working on SG-1 for almost a decade. Can't we—"
"Son, they shipped Teal'c back to Chulak, and Vala doesn't have nearly as clean a file as him."
Even with the Wonder Twins working together it still takes over two weeks to find her, and each day he gets edgier, more aggressive, less polite to Landry, to Woolsey who he sees in passing and gets closer to beating the shit out of each time.
Swipes his pass at her room for the first week thinking maybe they're playing hide and seek with her, moving her just as he goes to check, so he checks at different times during the day. The room is imbued with her scent and it calms him until it infuriates him and he stomps out before trashing all her stuff.
When he scans his pass at her door today, it gives him a gritty beep. He tries again and gets a gritty beep with a red light. He smashes the control panel, bruises up a few knuckles, nothing drastic, and marches down the hallway towards the meeting room.
Landry, O'Neill, and Woolsey are having some secret powwow that Sam shrugged her shoulders at this morning while they got a cup of coffee and she told him for the fourteenth day in a row that she hasn't been able to locate one person on a military base. She might be as depressed as him, still hurting from the sudden loss of Teal'c.
He religiously checks the brig, but there's over fifty holding cells down there, and even if the guards like him, he'd never have enough time to check them all without being caught. Then he thinks they've sent her to Area 51 or worse—off-world, to her home planet, a place she openly said she'd never go back to.
He tries not to break down the door, although in his mind he fireman kicks it in, and the adrenaline rush pauses in him when all three men glance his way.
"Son, you can't be in here now," Landry's voice is a stern command.
"We need to talk."
"We're trying to talk, but you're interrupting us," O'Neill adds.
"She's pregnant"
It backfires because the IOA blames her. Some sort of alien seduction technique that she pulls because hey, she used to be the God of sex and seduction, and latently reproduction and fertility. The people of Matcha probably prayed to her at some point.
Woolsey plays it all off as a ruse, that she duped him, that she's hypersexual and he's only a cornfed homegrown American boy who could only resist for so long. That she got pregnant to sink her claws into Earth citizenship, same shit different landmass.
His big secret gets him no time with her. Gets him no room number or location and his hands clamp at his side while the Jacksons type away on their computers trying to follow her log number through several hundred screens of locations.
"Did they take her to Area 51?" Pictures her in a closet-sized cell, dressed in the same orange coveralls she came back with when that planet, a planet he can't even remember the name of or the reason he sent her on the mission, wanted her dead.
Everyone always wants her dead.
He just wants to take her home to the house without a front door.
"Mitchell—" Daniel One sighs and leans back in his office chair with a squeak. Daniel Two hasn't stopped his typing or glanced up from the backlit screen. "This isn't our forte, we're not hackers. If you want results you need to ask—"
"Sam's gone." Not only has Sam jetted back to Atlantis, doesn't blame her, since they banished Teal'c moral on SG-1 has been at an all time low. One fired to Chulak, one fired to Atlantis, and one to—
"Why did you think we would." Daniel One crosses his arms, not in contempt but in interest, going all Lector on him, info for info.
"Because if the tables were reversed, and they have been, she would help find you."
Daniel One doesn't really agree or disagree, just sort of nods a bit and swivels back to his computer.
"Got it." Daniel Two announces, pulling his glasses from his face and wiping a hand over his tired eyes. They're still the same Jackson, still have the same experiences, just have learned from each other enough that one can interrogate him while the other actually digs up the goods and he smiles at the Hardy Boys despite himself, glad she talked him out of axing one.
"Where is she?" All three of them lean into the computer, staring at the jumbled code, the numbers that make up her name, the numbers that make up her location.
"Her last scan was almost a week ago."
"What?"
"Her identification number was last used at the DHD in the gateroom." Two sort of struggles with the fact, taking off and then replacing his glasses again while One runs his forefinger under the print of code that's Vala's signature and with a white face confirms with a slow nod.
"Those bastards already deported her?"
"Teal'c was on the team for almost fifteen years and the cut ties with him within days. The fact that they held her so long—"
"That's because Teal'c isn't pregnant with a half Tau'ri baby."
Daniel One stops moving, his arms unhooking from across his chest as he processes the information.
Daniel Two taps a finger at one of the screens, the rhythm growing quicker and more enthused as he shoots up from his chair. "They didn't necessarily deport her."
"What do you mean?"
"The signature and the authorization behind the DHD dial is her own." He and One pop follow Two's finger highlighting a particular portion of the numbers. "That's her code."
"So—she left on her own?" His heart sinks, thinking of her slinking down the hallways during shift change, getting lost in the crowd of privates and ducking into the gateroom.
"It seems that way."
Then he distinctly remembers her words, her promise, that she would not let their baby be born in captivity.
That no one would take them away from her at any cost.
She did it.
"Holy shit," he mutters to himself, half relieved that that she's gone, but not overjoyed at the prospect of tracing her from planet to planet.
"Wait." Two cranks his chair around again, a confused expression on his face. "What did you say about a half Tau'ri baby?"
Again he's left staring at the ceiling of his mountain dorm that is the same black the rest of the room is. There's no swimsuit pin up, no plastic glow in the dark stars, no pregnant girlfriend tucking her always frozen feet behind his knees. She's not there to take the remote from him and tell him to stop watching the Late Night Show if all it does it make him angry, to propel him off the bed with freakishly strong legs, and to tell him, at the very least, strip off his dirty day clothes and hum in approval why he did and that's probably why she's pregnant now.
Only it's not. It's because they were on that planet, Matcha, without knowing the full rules to the game, and they snuck one in when he wasn't looking. Was just so distracted by her not being bruised, or hurt, or screaming herself awake and disorientated at night.
She still wakes up screaming, and now she's by herself, most likely still waking up screaming and more disorientated than ever. One planet in thousands and that's just a drop of water in a bucket. She could be in a different galaxy. He knows her, knows her so fucking well and scared Vala will overcompensate until she thinks she's safe.
She might not even be in this galaxy anymore.
Falls into a restless sleep because it's been eighteen days.
Eighteen days since he saw her, held her, listened to her sing while she washes the dishes, felt her cold feet burn into the untouched skin on his legs.
Wakes on top of the covers, still wearing his fatigues from the last day, and squints at the clock across the bed which reads out 0300 because old habits die hard, and if it wasn't for the overpowering pain in his thigh, he might have just gone back to sleep.
Would have just rolled over and missed it.
Missed her.
It's the ruffling of clothing, of her nails scratching the bottom of his dresser drawer that pulls him back into reality, his eyes blink open and in the same movement he's sitting up in bed, watching her search through the drawers, pulling out shirts and pants that are plain colors and without military emblems, then shoving them in a duffle bag.
"Vala?" The disbelief in his voice cuts his words short, stops him from hollering an entire sentence at her.
She peeks over her shoulder, and grins at him, standing straight, wearing one of her rogue outfits, a ruffled black shirt under a brown suede jacket and dark jeans that she has riding lower on her hips to fit. "Oh good, you're up. Do you like your brown jacket or your black jacket more because there isn't room for both in this bag."
Just stares at her, because there she is, not on some crappy planet, not holed up in some shack paranoid out of her mind, not in the Pegasus Galaxy, but right in front of him.
Keeps rolling his folded clothes and stuffing them in the bag which is over half full. Yanking out the next drawer she drops the majority of his socks and boxes into the remaining space until the bag overflows. "I like you better in the brown one, but I've kept my brown one because it also looks better on me and I'm not sure if we're ready to be that couple who dresses alike, although we would be rather—"
Pushes himself, cranky thigh and all, off the bed, crossing the room to where she sits on her knees in front of the dresser, rearranging the contents of the bag to fit more in. "Vala."
Stops tugging at the zipper to her panic packing and stands when his hand touches the back of her head. Her hair is soft and wavy falling over her shoulders. There is a familiar grayness hanging under her eyes from either being overtired or from not sleeping.
Wobbles on her feet as she stands because two weeks—eighteen days has added some growth to her stomach, expertly hidden away under her shirt. "Look, if you're not going to make a choice, I'm just going to put your brown one in here and we can deal with the ramifications of—"
Kisses her, not to silence her but so that he knows she's really real, she's really there. His hand cupping the back of her head, the other pressing on the cool material of her jacket, pulling her inwards. She squeaks into his mouth, before grinning and returning the kiss, then uses both hands to direct him back from her. "Darling, I—"
"I missed you." Bows his head to hers, feels her brows knit.
"I missed you as well, but—"
"How are you feeling? How's the baby?" Touches the soft slope of her stomach, grinning like an idiot.
"We're both fine and desperate for your love and attention, but we're also on a very tight schedule." She stoops, grabbing the strap of the bag and hauling it up onto her arm, holding onto his bicep for stability. "We need to be in the gateroom in less than twenty minutes."
"What—"
"I've secured us a house, away from this planet, on a planet with equal technological progression." Sets the bag on the bed and continues to struggle with the zipper now caught on a pair of his boxers. "It's a farm house," speaks to him over her shoulder, her teeth clenching as she bares down with her knee to get some leverage. "Because—I know you—wanted to retire to your—family's farm, but that—might—not—be—"
"It sounds perfect." Kisses her cheek, and his hands replace her own, trailing back the zipper and then yanking it forward to zip the bag completely. She scrambles across the bed grabbing a few magazines, his prescriptions from the bedside table drawer, and his glasses. "How did you manage to—"
"Well because I love you and I trust you implicitly partly due to me carrying your firstborn child." She pecks his cheek quickly to let him in on the joke, and stuffs the magazines and pills into the side pocket of the duffle. "I'll reveal to you that I have a somewhat mouth-wateringly large sum of money stashed away for emergency purposes."
"How large is large?"
"Well, I purchased the farmhouse outright and could do so several more times."
"Jesus, Vala, what did you do to get—"
"The method of my money squandering isn't of importance right now." Starts to unbutton his fatigue shirt, leaving him a bit confused until he realizes that Tau'ri military gear probably isn't going to pass well on the new planet. "What is important is now we need to be at the gateroom in fifteen minutes and you need to change clothes."
His fingers pick up where she left off as she reefs the dresser drawer opening again, pulling out another plain black shirt, one he hasn't been sweating in for over twenty-four hours, for him to change into, boxers, and a pair of jeans. "So this planet isn't crazy about the Tau'ri or—"
"No, our new planet is fine with the Tau'ri, it's the ones we have to travel through before that may see you as a brief threat."
Catches the boxers she tosses him and kicks his old pants and underwear off, replacing them as quickly as possible. "Before?"
Cold fingers slip under the hem of his shirt before she tugs it off, arching an eyebrow at him in approval, then handing him the clean shirt. "We have to gate jump, Darling. Pop from planet to planet as quickly as possibly in order to throw any sneaky followers off our trail."
"So it's just really time consuming?"
"Yes and it works to give me a bad case of nausea." Pulls another drawer open with her boot tip and retrieves his black jacket, tossing it to him. "Is there anything else you need?" Floats into his open arms, and leans her head briefly against his chest, taking a breath for the first time since he woke up. "Anything you can't possibly live without?"
"I got everything I need, Princess."
The thief in her shows while she serpentines down the hallways, crossing over to one side in the shadows, then in archways crossing to the other, avoiding most of the cameras. Maybe it's not the thief in her, maybe it's the part of her that has had to break out of so many bad situations that she doesn't feel the blame, the shame, the simmering rage he does.
The part of her where this is just natural.
Oddly enough, the gateroom is empty.
Doesn't know how she times these things well enough to never get caught, but she did have about three years of experience skulking around the mountain at night before he started deterring her with the stars and the moon.
She pulled him through an emergency exit once, jamming her palm into the bottom of the metal bar and then tumbled like an acrobat out of the hatch. He ducked his head outside, worried that she could've landed the long way, but her bright smile beamed up at him. He fell out less gracefully, still half worried about getting caught, but they enjoyed the small atrium surrounded by rocks as high as they could see. The bright moon hung high above them and the peace on her face was one he'd never seen before as she pointed and told him the constellations her mother taught her.
"So what's the gate address to this new planet?" Sets the bag down next to the DHD and pretends that she's just not going to slink up beside him and enter in the chevron's herself.
"It's—" Does slink up beside him, her hip rubbing into his, but she taps at his temple. "Shouldn't you be wearing your glasses for this?"
"Don't start with that."
"I'm serious, Cameron." She stoops slanting her back forward to deal with the added weight in her front. He's been watching her hips while she walks and every now and then she trips up, just not as balanced as she used to be. He feels bad, but the guilt fades as he enjoys the view. Eighteen days is a long time. "They might not have centralized healthcare on—"
Plucks his glasses from the side pocket, but something jumps out with them, stuck on the folded arms. It skitters across the floor just like it did in the washroom on Atlantis. Again, she stoops to retrieve it, and again, even in the nervous pounding of his heart, he checks out her ass.
"Is this—" She rolls the ring between her thumb and forefinger watching the light refract oddly off the blue gems. Then her eyes tear up to him, as she stills her fingers. "Is this the ring from—"
"Yeah, I uhh—" Rubs the back of his neck and covers the few feet between them. "I got permission to take it—"
"Why haven't you given it to me yet?" She pouts, and it may seem like a whine, but he feels the underlying tone of hurt.
"Well, I was sort of waiting for—" Waiting for her to say yes so he could pop out that ring and surprise her. Wanted to do it in the backyard by her sunflowers that are almost taller than her now, by the barbeque he uses almost every night because she can't get over the craving of hamburgers and ketchup. But he doesn't know how to say it without giving away the ending, without hurting her. "I was just—"
"Oh." She winks at him and clicks her tongue. Dropping the ring into his palm, thinks he'll just pocket it and somewhere down the line, when they have new sunflowers and new stars, he'll ask again.
"Ask me."
"What?"
"Ask me again."
"But there isn't much spectacle to this—"
"I'll over look the spectacle for the story." Maneuvers his hands so he's holding the ring out, and then raises her eyebrows.
"Okay." Takes a deep breath because the other times were so natural that he didn't give a second thought to the nervousness. "Vala, will—"
"Yes."
Almost tackles him, snaking her arms up the back of his neck, into his hair, around his shoulders as her lips capture his. Eighteen days and she smells like home. Curls a hand to rest on the small of her back, careful of the either too loose or too tense muscles there. Manages to unhook her hand and slip the ring on as she backs him against the DHD. It hits his ass and he swerves, directing her to it, lifting her from the bottom of her thighs, her legs hooking around him as he sucks at the skin on her neck.
"Oh—Daniels."
"Honey, I love you more than anything, but you cannot say his name while—"
"No." She cups his chin in her hand and turns his head towards the doorway, where the Jacksons stand side-by-side for one last Grady Girl impression. "Daniels."
"Don't let us interrupt anything—"
"No actually let us."
"You couldn't even make it through one portal jump—"
"—before you started—"
His hand stills on her thigh as he shifts to stand a little in front of her. She can take care of herself, and it doesn't matter anymore because he used to think that once they found each other again, then he could stop worrying about her, when that happened it changed to just needing to protect her until the baby is born, but then he'll have another entire person to protect. This is his life now and the worrying is crippling, but he wouldn't give it up for a damn thing.
"Look, if you two are here on the IOAs behalf—"
"They're not." She pats his chest and he steps back, allowing her to slip off the top of the DHD. All grins she walks towards them, nodding her head that he should follow. "They're on our side."
He raises his eyebrows at them. "You want us gone that badly."
"Believe it or not—"
"—we just want you to be safe."
Daniel One pulls out a folded list from his pocket, handing it to her. "There are twenty-three address on this paper. All of them are friendly to the Tau'ri and are developed enough that it wouldn't be a culture shock."
"Thank you, Darling, but we've found a little chalet to call home already."
"And what happens if the SGC find you there?" Daniel Two steps forward, his eyebrows straight and serious, his voice unshaken, and he doesn't blink. "What if Athena finds you there?"
Without breaking eye contact, she plucks the paper from between One's fingers, doesn't glance to it, but slides it into an inside pocket on her jacket. Her voice is softer, less sure as she whispers, "thank you."
"Did you cross-reference it with Vala's blackgated addresses?" Startles her a bit when he slides a hand around the small of her back, creeping in on the conversation, and maybe she isn't even good enough to crack the brig and make it to the gateroom without help—even if she isn't fully aware of the help.
"Oh yeah." One scoffs and produces two more pages of gate addresses. "All of these are a no go for her."
"What can I say?" She shrugs, but he knows her and he can still see the emotion implanted on her face, the ones she's trying to ignore, because she's told him before—in the afterglow of sex, in the tipsy drunk state after they both try to drink each other under the table and end up falling asleep beside each other on the bathroom floor, in the middle of the night while he holds her, or she holds him and whoever is more lucid talks the other down—that they are her family, the Jacksons are her best friends, Sam is her sister, Teal'c is the older brother who makes her feel safe, and he is her other half. "I make an impression."
"That's for sure." Both Jacksons respond in unison, something they got over years ago, and both glare at each other, immediately blaming the other.
That's what breaks her, just familiarity, safety, love. The first tear falls from her eye and he lets her hug them instead, throw her arms around both their necks catching them both in a headlock. "You are both my boys."
"Vala—"
"It's a little—"
"I don't care what you do." She's full out sobbing against their cheeks, alternating from one to the other, her perfected mixture of nuzzling and crying. "You'll always be good boys."
They catch his eyes, begging for help and he shrugs, he's not going to be the one to end this for her.
Finally, One breaks free of her with a huff, rubs the back of his neck, and sends a glare his way which he meets with another shrug.
Two manages to hold on a bit longer, first embracing the single hug, then panicking when it's obvious she has no intention of letting go. Her hand swings out, blinding fishing for One, and he jumps out of the way, putting space between them.
"Vala, you have to go." Two breaks free from her binding arms with a small grin and smudged glasses. His eyes are holding the same broken feeling as hers, more so than One.
As Two takes off his glasses to clean them, One offers, "Remember to take a break after five gate jumps. It'll lower your chances of nausea."
"Thanks guys." It's awkward that he still doesn't know what to call them. After eight years they've sort of grown closer, but not to the point that Vala has with them. But he shakes their hands. "I'd say 'if there's anything I can do—' but I don't think we'll be seeing much of each other soon."
Vala creeps away behind him, putting the code into the DHD.
One holds his hand in place when he tries to end the handshake, then stares him right in the eye. "You make her happy Mitchell."
"Yeah, I guess I do."
"Keep her happy." Two adds, his eyes the same menacing half-glare and he doesn't know if it's a request, or a suggestion, or a threat.
"Cameron, Darling." Her voice carries in the emptiness of the gateroom, eyes large and glistening, fear and hope. "We have to go."
The Jacksons keep to the back wall, as the sound of chevrons clunking into place drowns out her second beckoning of him. He gives them a final nod in appreciation, and walks back to her, his wife, his baby momma, the space pirate who dragged herself into the SGC eight years ago.
Takes his place beside her, watching the gate spin. The kawoosh bursts forward and he remembers crossing the event horizon for the first time, and it didn't feel anything as good as this, as memorable as this.
As important as this.
Finds her hand as they walk the ramp, toying with the ring on her finger, and together they walk into the blue.
A/N: Thanks to everyone who read, I hope you enjoyed the story.
If your sad to see it over, I have some good news for you: the sequel is already in the works.
It's entitled "2 4 1" and deals with the Cam, Vala, and the Daniel clones going back to the Xerox ruins.
I'm aiming to have the first chapter posted by February.