Cam hadn't thought about midnight church services. In the Mitchell clan, it doesn't matter what religion you've chosen, what creed you currently follow and what church you attend regularly (if you do; he doesn't, hasn't for a while, even before the accident; too hard to find one that matches his beliefs). On Christmas Eve, you put on your very best clothing and you pile into the car with what feels like more Mitchells each year, and you head on down to Christ Church United Methodist, and you sit in the pew and you fold your hands and when the hymns come around, you sing pretty.

It's something he's been doing every year for his whole life, the years he could make it back home for the holidays, and even the ones he couldn't, he'd close his eyes and think himself there at about the right time. Hell, last Christmas, he'd been just coming off the tail end of a hell of a morphine habit, struggling like hell just to walk again, and he'd still played the Christ Church choir's Christmas CD just to feel like he was connected.

JD hadn't said a word when Cam had told him to pack a suit and tie; Cam hadn't heard JD cop to religious beliefs at all, not once, but he seems to know what to do when they step into the church. That's not the part that makes Cam pause. No, it's the looks that everyone's giving him, the whispers he can't help but hear. That poor Mitchell boy, and such a pity and I wonder who, and it's just another jagged piece of glass on the symphony that is his nerves right now.

He grits his teeth. JD casts a glance at him underneath lowered lashes, out of the corners of his eyes, and Cam knows JD can see it isn't pain that's causing it. But JD crooks his arm anyway, as poised and as polished as a gentleman offering a lady his escort, and Cam tucks his fingers into the curve of JD's elbow, because he'll be damned if he pretends to be anything other than what they are.

The pews are hard and wooden, but the Christ Church Ladies' Auxiliary must have done well enough with their bake sales for the past two years, because the padded cushions are new. Cam sits with JD to his left and Uncle Al to his right. Momma and Daddy are a few heads on down. It's uncharitable and unChristian to keep up a cold war on Christmas Eve, but Cam's still furious in a way he can't explain and which probably isn't fair. All he knows is that for the first time in years, what Momma and Daddy mean as nothing more than good advice and a word of caution has gotten him so pissed off that he can't even think straight.

JD's still pissed off too, but JD's anger is a cold and stunning thing, the kind of thing that manifests in sharp-edged manners that'd put Great-Aunt Aggie to shame. JD had sat at Cam's feet in the living room as they'd all gone around in circles that afternoon, opening present after present -- just the first half, on Christmas Eve; the rest is on Christmas Morning, along with Santa's contributions, else they'd never get to supper, much less to church on time. And JD had smiled, and JD had laughed, and JD had said all the right things to all the people who'd gifted him and gotten warm responses to the gifts he'd chosen.

But throughout it all, JD had been touching him -- a hand hooked around his ankle, a foot resting on top of his, his head on Cam's knee. And every time Momma or Daddy had looked over, JD had known, and looked up and met their eyes. And Cam couldn't see JD's face from where he was sitting, but he could see the lines of JD's shoulders, and JD's whole body had been screaming out a challenge.

They make it through services without blood being spilled, at least. The peace always takes ten, fifteen minutes at Christ Church -- it's half kiss-of-peace, half social hour, even when the church isn't packed to bursting with all the family that's usually scattered wide. Cam pastes a smile on his face that feels more unnatural than not and kisses ladies' cheeks and shakes men's hands over and over again. He introduces JD as his partner. Let them draw what conclusions they may.

When Momma passes, leans in and hugs him tight before he can decide whether or not to pull away -- and oh, he hates thinking that he might have -- she says, right in his ear, "You stop glaring at people, Cameron Everett; you are not too big for me to turn over my knee." He bites back whatever he was going to say to that and watches her hug JD without hesitation. He can't overhear what she says to JD, but his face, when they separate, is contemplative.

Afterwards, once everyone's back in the house and out of the church clothes, once the kids have been put in their pajamas and put to bed whereever there's room and the more morning-inclined adults have gone with them, once the house has been certified Santa-safe and all the hiding places raided for the presents various parents have been stashing here for weeks and months, Cam and JD wind up in the kitchen again. Cam's hungry -- he couldn't eat much at supper, waiting for the other shoe to drop -- and JD's always starving, no matter how much he eats.

Cam makes himself a sandwich out of the leftover turkey (Christmas Eve is turkey; Christmas Day is ham) and brings it over to the table. They're not the only people still up, but the house is quieting down. Mostly just the teenagers left, in the rumpus room in front of the Playstation. Everyone else knows that morning's going to come too fast.

Cam's just about to open his mouth and say something like "thank you for going through that with me" when Skipper and Spence come through the swinging doors, in identical Air Force t-shirts and sweats and wearing identical determined expressions. For a second Cam thinks they're just chasing coffee, but Spence (the quiet one) takes up a position at the door (he's tall enough to see over the swinging doors, see if anyone's coming, see if anyone can overhear) and Skipper (who's always been the frontman) sits down across from JD at the table.

Cam's mouth is full, so he doesn't have a chance to say anything before Skipper starts, "You don't exist."

It makes Cam choke. JD doesn't bat an eyelash, just reaches over to pound between Cam's shoulderblades. "Funny," JD says, once Cam's wiped his streaming eyes on his t-shirt. "I could have sworn Descartes hadn't lived in vain."

Skipper's lips twist quickly before he gets control of the smile. "Spence lifted your ID from your wallet just before church."

Cam puts his coffee mug down with a click -- how dare they -- but JD puts a hand on his wrist. "Funny kind of hospitality," JD says.

"He's our family," Spence says, simply, from the doorway.

"And no," Skipper says, shifting his eyes to Cam, "we're not going to say a damn word to Aunt Sassy about the actual date of birth that's on there, but we're pretty sure that your whole story is bullshit straight through. We're just not sure how." He looks back at JD. "I spent two hours straight talking with you yesterday, and in that two hours, I heard you giving Stella advice that my CO'S CO wouldn't have been able to deliver. I tried you on Air Force and Marine shorthand, and you didn't blink. I compared Milosevic to Ceausescu and you didn't stop and ask me who, you told me that you'd always thought Kim Jong-il fit the role better. And you're really good at keeping a poker face, but when I cut myself peeling those apples and started cussing in Arabic, you understood every damn word."

"Skipper," Cam says. JD's hand, still on his wrist, squeezes.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Cam," Skipper says. "But there's something funny going on here."

There is, and the funny thing that's going on is that JD doesn't make mistakes like that. JD gets up from the table. For a second, Cam wonders if that's it, jig's up. But all JD does is cross the room and pick up the phone from the wall.

He dials from memory; Cam's not close enough to see the numbers. Skipper and Spence watch the whole process. Spence is cutting off the kitchen door, Cam realizes. Skipper is sitting closest to the door out to the porch. Cam's getting slow; he hadn't even noticed. JD would have noticed. JD always notices that kind of thing.

"It's me," JD says, to whoever picks up at the other end of the phone. "Got two names for you. Beauregard and Spencer Griffith. Detached duty to Force Recon. Give Hank a call and tell him to send out the boys with the briefcases."

Cam's not sure who's more surprised, him or Spence and Skipper. "You're working with the Marines?" Cam blurts out, just as Skipper sits straight up and says "how the fuck do you know that?"

JD ignores them both. "Because I said so, Carter," he snaps into the phone, and Cam blinks again. "Because I'm not calling him myself and going through the song-and-dance about who the hell I am, and because I'm not going to be able to impersonate him on the phone until my voice finishes fucking settling, all right?" Pause. "Because they made me, and I'd like to be able to explain myself sometime this century. And because Hank's probably having trouble finding his own ass with two hands and a flashlight right about now, and could use a few more brains in the machine." Pause. "Yeah."

JD crosses the room and hands the phone to Cam. "Phone," he says, unnecessarily, and drops back into his chair, where he completely ignores everyone else in the room and picks up Cam's sandwich to finish it.

"Um," Cam says, into the phone. "Sam?"

"Why is he telling me to get General Landry to send recruiters out to talk to Skipper and Spence?" Sam demands.

Cam closes his eyes. Really, he's had enough of the universe conspiring against him. He has; the thought of a year or so on a ranch in Montana with no contact with the outside world sounds damn good right about now. "Fine, and how are you?" he asks, because he can't think of any answer to that question that can possibly be overheard. Or even said on a non-secure line.

She pauses. "In the kitchen, huh?" she guesses. "And I'm guessing Skipper and Spence are sitting right there."

"Well, one's standing, but yeah." Cam closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "And we're having one of those conversations."

"Hell," she mutters, which for Sam Carter is the equivalent of a three-minute tirade of expletives. "All right, fine. Tell him I'll talk to General Landry, but I can't promise anything. And for God's sake, don't let him say anything to anybody else. The IOC's been making noise about how we don't need the full program anymore, and Daniel's not here to keep them from getting ideas."

Cam's been out of the loop since his accident, and he wasn't too far into the loop to begin with. He's only dimly aware of all the political struggle that's always surrounded the Stargate program -- his clearance was never quite high enough, no matter that O'Neill pulled a few strings and got him bumped up a couple of levels so he could find out what he nearly died for. But he knows enough to know that if Sam's worried, especially since she isn't even stationed at the Mountain anymore, it's something to be worried about.

"Right," he says. "Gotcha. Lips zipped. Merry Christmas, baby."

"Merry Christmas," she says, but it sounds a little sour, and he regrets once again that he hasn't been there for her over the past too-damn-long. "Tell Momma I'll call tomorrow."

JD holds out a hand for the phone about half a second after Sam hangs up. Cam hands it over. He's beyond being surprised that JD knew the conversation was over; at this point, he'd be willing to believe that JD can read minds.

Skipper's still staring at them. "That was --" he starts, and then stops himself. Sam's been coming to Christmas with the family, on and off, for a good fifteen years, over half the twins' lifetimes; they'd been eleven when they first met her. She's "Aunt Sam" to them, just like Cam's "Uncle Cam"; ten years' age difference in this family is enough for a title of respect. Cam sees Skipper look at Spence, sees the wordless communication pass between them; they can hold whole conversations just by thinking at each other.

"You're not going to believe me," JD says, mild and easygoing, as he hangs up the phone and claims the last end-scraps of the apple pie that's sitting on the counter. "But it really is an issue of national security. Nothing to worry about, Captain. Just very, very classified." He smiles, and in that smile, Cam can see the O'Neill of Air Force legend, the O'Neill who'd always come up in hushed tones whenever any group of pilots got togther and talk had turned to the men who jumped out of perfectly good airplanes and did God knows what once they hit the ground. The O'Neill Cam had always heard called Batshit Jack. "Even more classified than your current assignment."

Spence moves a little at the door, and Skipper's face goes pale underneath his freckles and his tan. "What do you know?" Skipper asks, low and urgent. "How do you know it?"

"He's my family," JD says, nailing Spence's intonations exactly, and Cam's gut might be churning, but it's still a comfort to hear.

And then the penny drops. "You little bastard," Cam says. It's half admiration, half irritation. "You set them up."

"Can't have you," JD says, talking straight to him. "But if they're smart enough to put together the hints I dropped, they're smart enough to be a good second choice."

It's a hell of a compliment. A hell of a compliment. "Sam's gonna kill you," Cam says.

JD's lips curve. "She can try," he says. Underneath it is what JD's not saying, what Cam can hear: she's been trying for years.

Spence is watching them carefully. "Okay," he says. "We're getting a tenth of the story. I get that. I really do." He rakes his eyes over JD, and Cam can see him adding things up. He turns to Cam. "This is something to do with your accident, isn't it."

Cam sighs. This is all adding up to be one giant mess. He's almost sorry he came home. "Can I plead the fifth?" he asks.

Spence nods. "Okay," he says again. "Come on, Skipper."

Skipper looks up. "Huh?"

"Come on. It's late."

Skipper's the frontman, but Spence is the dominant twin: the one who makes all the decisions, the one who puts his foot down and can't be budged. If Spence is satisfied, they're done for now. Skipper makes an indescribable noise and gets up. He looks for a minute like he's going to say something, and then sighs and heads on out of the kitchen.

Spence looks at JD. "If you come from Aunt Sam's people," he says, quietly, "if you come from the same people who put Uncle Cam in that plane he crashed -- and I'm sorry, Uncle Cam, but your cover stories suck rocks -- then that explains some of it. Not all. But I'll keep Skipper from trying to dig too deeply. For now. Sir." He looks between them. "G'night."

"G'night," Cam says, automatically, and then they're alone in the kitchen again.

"You want any of this?" JD asks, pointing his fork at the one bite left of apple pie. "And how come you never bake for me?"

Cam isn't biting. "You wanna tell me what the hell all of that was?" he says. It's not quite a request.

But JD holds up a hand, and his expression says, without question, wait. "Is it the lack of space in the kitchen? I could drop part of the counter down to chair-height if you give me a good week or so to mess with it. Or we could just move. Gotta be the right house for us out there somewhere."

Cam's struck with a sudden urge to bang his head against the table until this headache stops. Of course, since it's a situational headache and not a physiological one, that might not be until they're on the airplane headed home. Maybe not even then. But, okay. JD wants him to wait, he'll wait, because there's a tattoo right underneath the neckline of JD's t-shirt that Cam knows the meaning of now, and Cam can still feel the way JD's pulse was beating underneath it. "I could just teach you how to bake, you know," he says. "You're still not fooling me with the incompetence thing."

"Still couldn't manage to turn out something as good as you can," JD says. Then, without raising his voice, without looking around, he says, "Wouldn't you agree?"

And damn, but Cam is getting rusty, because a voice comes from the other side of the open screen door to the outside. "Careful. He's a little sensitive about it; we've been teasing him for years."

Cam turns his head. It's Ashton, standing there in his BDUs and carrying his duffel bag, looking like he's been dragged backwards through a sand dune for the past five days running. Which might be the God's honest, since Ash has been in Iraq with no hope of pardon as far as the eye could see for the past two years. Cam's up and hugging him before he can even finish the thought. He's lost weight, and he's added some tan, but it's still Cam's baby brother hugging him back.

"You look like hell," Cam finally says, pulling back.

"You're still older and uglier," Ash says. It'll never not be funny, but it's particularly nice to hear it now, when Ash could be wringing his hands about the accident instead. Not that Ash would; they're too much alike, really, and Ash would know that sympathy would be the worst thing possible.

"You must be JD," Ash says, turning to hold out a hand. "Momma wrote about you."

Cam can only guess what Momma wrote. But JD takes Ash's hand and says something noncommittal but polite.

"I didn't know you were going to be home," Cam said. "Thought you had another three months to go."

"Christmas miracle," Ash says. "Surprise, we're extending your tour another six months, but at least you get to go home and see your wife and kids before your baby forgets who Daddy is." His smile's a bit forced. "I've got until mid-January. I didn't want to call and let people know until I was sure it was going to happen."

"I'll go wake up Cindy Lou," Cam says, but JD's already shaking his head and standing up.

"I'll get it," he says. "You stay put."

Ash watches him go. "Not what I would have expected for you," he finally says.

And that's it; it's the last straw, it's the final nudge, it's the last comment Cam can take. "Will you just mind your own fucking business?" he snaps.

Feels guilty the minute he snaps it, of course. Last thing a man needs when he walks into his own home for the first time in months is his cranky older brother taking his head off about something stupid. But Ash just makes a little tiny hmm noise. "Caught the last bit of what Spence was saying," Ash says, and really, it's a wonder anyone in this damn family ever manages to keep classified information classified; the whole damn family's too damn smart and too damn nosy for their own good. "You in any trouble you can't get out of?"

Because of course that's the question. Cam and Ash have gotten into a hell of a lot of trouble together over the years; the question isn't whether Cam's in trouble now. Ash knows trouble when he sees it. The question is whether Cam's going to need his baby brother at his back moving heaven and earth to help him get back out of it.

So Cam just sighs. "Just that I'm moving to a couple of thousand of acres out in Montana with no other human beings in sight," he says. "I'll tell you the whole damn thing once you've gotten to kiss your wife and shower and sleep off the travel."

"Hold you to that," Ash says, and then Cindy Lou is rushing into the kitchen and into Ash's arms, squealing fit to wake the dead or at least the whole house, and Cam gets up to put on another pot of coffee, because they're probably going to need buckets.

Still, having Ash home is a blessing, and not just because it takes the heat off him for a little while. Means that there's one fewer unit they have to watch the dispatches for. The family's got ten in active combat right now, aside from the usual six or seven who are overseas but in friendly territory, and that's a lot of nervous fretting.

The sun's already starting to kiss the sky when Cam and JD wind up back in the bedroom, and Cam's worn straight through, enough that he's pretty sure he's going to sleep through Santa and breakfast. He knows Momma will give him hell about it afterwards, but he hasn't been sleeping worth a damn this week and it's all catching up to him all at once. He can't go to sleep with some things left unsettled, though, so he doesn't lie down (if he lies down, he'll crash, and crash hard); he sits in the rocker and gives JD his very best penetrating stare. "Later yet?" he asks.

JD looks confused for a second, in the process of stripping down, and then the light dawns. "They hit one of the trip-wires I set up on my data. Anyone tries to run me through the MVA, through Social Security, or through the Air Force, I get a notice." His smile's rueful. "Wasn't intended to catch nosy family members. I was thinking more of the boys in the three-letter agencies when I set it up. But one of them triggered the MVA flag. My money's on Spence. And I know enough about the Mitchell stubbornness to know that they wouldn't let it drop, not unless they got answers, so --" He spreads his hands. "Bait. They took it. They'll do well at the SGC."

It makes sense. But Cam's still annoyed. "You didn't think to tell me?"

"Didn't get the chance." JD, down to boxers, crosses the room on cat feet and holds down his hands to help get Cam up. Cam eyes them for a minute, trying to decide if he wants to let this keep going until he works up a head of steam, and finally figures that he's had enough of shouting for a good long while and lets it go. He takes JD's hands. "I am sorry about that," JD adds, as an afterthought. "I didn't think of it."

"Next time, tell me," Cam says. He's not too sure if he's happy about the thought of more of his family at the SGC. Especially without Sam there to keep an eye on them. He's not stupid; he knows that whatever Spence and Skipper are up to (the damn weasels; they'd claimed they were doing counter-terrorism in Germany -- then again, Cam had told the family he was testing experimental aircraft in Nevada, and that had made it damn hard to explain away the crash in Antarctica) is probably just as far from being a Sunday stroll in the park as serving on an active Gate team is. But still. There's a part of him that will always think that Stargate Command and all its associated operations has gotten enough from the Mitchell family, and it's a part of him he's ashamed of, but it's there nonetheless.

JD can read it, Cam thinks. JD puts a hand against his cheek and gives him that serious look, the one that says there are things stirring underneath those eyes that Cam probably won't ever fully understand. "They need good people," he says. "Now more than ever. I can't go back, and O'Neill won't. I still hear stories. Just a little, here and there. Carter's at Groom Lake, Daniel's on Atlantis, Teal'c's on Dakara. Landry's drowning. Push comes to shove, he'll roll, and then we're all fucked."

Cam shakes his head. "You said it wasn't your problem anymore."

"It'll always be my problem," JD says. "Even when it's not anymore. I left it with O'Neill, and I don't want it back, but that doesn't mean I don't have a duty to keep my eyes open. Sometimes being outside means that you can see things more clearly."

Cam sighs. He's tired straight down to the bone, and this is the kind of conversation you save for when you have your wits about you. But he can't demand honesty without giving honesty in return, so he says, "I don't like it. I don't like that you lied to me about staying in touch with people at the SGC, and I don't like thinking that you're thinking about going back."

"I told you I didn't lie to you, and I didn't." JD's voice is calm, too. Cam thinks he might be just as tired of the shouting as Cam is. "I don't hear things from Carter, or from anyone who's there right now. I've kept in touch with Hammond. He's not at the SGC anymore; he retired last year, even. But he stays in as a consultant, and he tells me what he thinks I need to know, because he recognizes that I can't walk away completely without knowing that what I helped build is in good hands."

He takes a deep breath, lets it out. "Which it's not. Not completely, and there's nothing I can do about that. Hank Landry's a good man, and if it were any other command I'd say he's a damn fine choice. But I don't know what O'Neill was thinking. Maybe Hank was the best of bad choices, but he's still a bad choice. And the --"

Cam can see JD catch himself. It's late, and everyone else has gone to bed, and the walls are pretty thick. But some conversations you don't have in someone else's house. "The situation's more under control now than it ever was before," JD says, instead of most of the snakes are dead. "And I trust O'Neill to do the right thing when push comes to shove, but I'd rather it didn't get that far. And if that means grabbing two people who are fucking smart and fucking stubborn, who care enough about their people to risk breaking a whole hell of a lot of rules to make sure nothing's going down wrong, I'll do it. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I'll try to remember next time. I'm out of the habit of ever telling someone what I'm doing and why. But I'm not thinking about going back, and I never have. It's not possible, and even if it were, I wouldn't do it. It'd mean too many compromises, and I'm done compromising."

And Cam sighs. He's been awake for far too long now, and it's been one rollercoaster ride after another for the past week, nonstop, and his head hurts and his back hurts and his legs, well, they really hurt. "Promise me one thing," he says.

JD's eyes are wary. "If I can."

"Promise me that anything you find out, you tell me." It isn't like he hasn't been worrying about things all along. It isn't like he hasn't spent enough nights sitting at the window, looking up at the stars and wondering whether there's something coming for them all that he isn't going to be there to help stop this time. It isn't like he hasn't spent nights staring into the blackness and wondering if he had a right to place his happiness and well-being above his duty to his country. To his planet. And in a way, it's almost a comfort to know that JD's been thinking the same thoughts.

JD is considering it carefully. Cam likes that about him, really; the way he won't ever make a promise that he doesn't think he can keep. JD's left one too many broken promises trailing behind him, Cam thinks. Or maybe it was O'Neill. Doesn't matter. "I'll tell you everything I can," JD says.

And it's not quite the promise Cam's looking for, but it's close enough, and he's exhausted. He settles down in the bed, and after a pause, after studying Cam's face, JD comes squirming up against him to bury his face in Cam's shoulder. "Hell of a week," Cam says, after a pause while he breathes in the crisp clean scent of JD's hair.

JD laughs softly. "Merry Christmas," he says.

"Not a family Christmas until someone has a messy meltdown all over everything," Cam says. "Just wish it wasn't us this year."

"We'll get through it," JD says. Unspoken is the undercurrent: we can get through anything; I know that now.

Cam's already starting to drift off. Being horizontal has it all catching up with him. But he stays awake just long enough to murmur "yeah" before he succumbs to the pull of sleep.

Christmas Day is less awkward than Cam would have expected. Everyone's sleep-deprived and hazy, but Ash is the center of attention, and it does take some of the heat off of him and JD. Everyone's presents go over well. Cam winds up with a good hundred bucks in credits for the iTunes online music store, which is going to go to stuff that will by God replace the opera on the iPod. JD gets an afghan of his very own from Great-Aunt Claire, which is a surprise and more than a bit of a shock, because an heirloom afghan like that (knit out of handspun, stitch by painstaking stitch, on size 5 needles over months and months and months) is usually reserved for a wedding trousseau.

Cam hadn't known Aunt Claire approved that firmly; she'd never said a word to indicate. But he knows she keeps one ahead, for whoever might be needing it, and she meets his eyes when JD opens the box and gives him one of those little Buddha smiles. With Gran'ma gone, Momma's the matriarch undisputed, the one who everyone listens to in matters of kith and kin. But Aunt Claire was Gran'ma's sister, and Momma knows how to read a sign.

The rumpus room's full of kids and toys and noise (batteries might not be included, but Momma lays in a stockpile right before Christmas) and the men have hied off to the den and the women to the back porch, when Ash frees himself up from his adoring family long enough to "suggest" Cam join him out on the front porch. Cam would rather front porch than getting thrown in the creek -- which is a likely outcome if Ash thinks Cam's avoiding him -- and so he goes.

They settle down on the porch swing and Ash lights up a cigarette. He'd been trying to quit last time Cam saw him, but Cam doesn't say a word; he figures a man who's spent his past two years in a war zone is entitled to his few comforts. Ash smokes it half down before either of them say anything. It's nice to just sit outside with his baby brother and watch the world go by.

"Heard you and Dad got into it the other night," Ash finally says.

"Hell," Cam says. "Gimme one of those."

He quit a good ten years ago, but there are times when he backslides, even when he hates himself for it afterwards when his mouth tastes like an ashtray for what feels like days. Ash hands over the pack and the lighter without commentary. Cam lights up; the first hit goes straight to his head the same way the oxycodone always used to.

"Dad's just trying to look out for me," Cam finally says.

"Uh-huh," Ash says. "Got your back up, I heard."

Ash was always the one to go toe to toe with Daddy; Cam was always the peacemaker. But they both know that Cam's the stubborn one. Ash's anger comes and goes like summer lightning, and when it's over, it's over and he's smiling sweet again. It takes a lot for Cam to hit his boiling point, but when he does, it lasts for a long damn time.

"Hell of a lot of things I wish I could tell them," Cam says. "Things'd make a lot more sense if I could."

Ash sets the swing to rocking with one foot. "Momma likes him," he says. "That's why she's worried."

The hell of it is, Cam knows. Cam knew that JD's exactly the type that the family would approve of before he even brought him here; it's the only reason he thought it might manage to work. If Spence or Skipper had brought JD along to stand up as partner -- not that they would have; the twins are straight as razors, girl in every port, and Cam's heard some things that make him think they trade in on the identical thing from time to time, the little perverts -- the family would have welcomed JD with open arms. He'd've been Mitchell before the end of the first visit.

But Momma likes him, and that's why Momma's worried. Because Momma knows what it costs, to stand up with someone who's as damaged as Cam is. Because Momma thinks JD is more-or-less exactly what he seems, a good boy with his life stretching out in front of him, and Momma would be thinking it wasn't fair for that boy to shackle himself to someone whose life is always and forevermore going to be defined by its limitations.

"It's all just one royal mess," Cam says. Because he can't say any of the rest of it.

"That it is," Ash says, and there's sympathy in his voice.

They're quiet for a few more minutes. Cam smokes the cigarette down until there's half an inch left before the filter, field-strips the rest. Ash holds out a hand for the butt without having to be prompted and tucks it back into the pack. They both know better than to litter in Momma's bushes.

"He in it with you for the long haul?" Ash finally asks.

Cam's throat closes up. "All the way," he finally manages.

And Ash has his own firm opinions, which Cam's always known, but when Cam tells him something, he believes it. He nods. "Word of advice, then," he says. "I were you, I'd compromise. Settle somewhere where there's family to keep an eye on you. Not here. Somewhere one of the cousins or aunts or uncles can drop in and see you two together every now and then. Somewhere Momma and Daddy'll be able to get updates from to put their mind at ease."

It's always a little shocking to see his baby brother's gotten so damn smart. Cam rubs a hand over his face. "Yeah," he says. "Been thinking that already."

"Austin's pretty nice," Ash says.

And Momma trusts Uncle Al -- has to; he's her brother -- and the next closest outpost of family is Uncle Travis and Aunt Lorena out in west Texas a good eight hundred miles away. And Uncle Al hasn't come down one side or the other on the issue, but Cam's seen him laughing with JD and it wasn't just politeness.

It's not a bad notion. Cam had taken the apartment in Colorado Springs before he'd realized he wasn't going to be able to go back to the SGC, even flying a desk, and he'd stuck it out afterwards because he couldn't think of anywhere else he'd rather be. The entirety of JD's tether to the material world, as far as Cam can tell, is one top-of-the-line laptop, one motorcycle (they still don't talk about where it came from), the rattiest Goodwill wardrobe you could possibly imagine with one or two top-quality monkey suits for contrast, and a stack of books Cam's pretty sure he'd be willing to walk away from.

They're quiet for a few minutes more. The sun's starting to go down; in another little while it'll be too chilly to sit out here without a jacket, but for right now, it's nice. Warm spell this Christmas-time. That'd be another thing in favor of Austin; no snow. Finally, Ash sighs. "Always thought you'd wind up with Sam, you know," he says.

Cam chokes a little. "Hell no," he manages, once the image of the two of them naked in the same bed manages to fade from behind his eyeballs; he'll be scarred for life, thank you so very much.

Ash laughs a little, probably at the reaction he managed to provoke. "What?" he asks. "Good-looking woman, smart as hell, Momma already loves her. Hell, half the family was just biding time waiting for you to get off your ass and offer her a ring. Guess that's why you showing up with someone else in tow startled everyone a bit."

"She's like my sister," Cam protests. And if what he suspects is correct, she's had a torch burning for someone else for quite some time, and he's trying not to think about that, because that's something they're going to have to have out between the two of them sooner or later before it starts to fester.

Ash shrugs. "Doesn't mean we didn't think it," he says. "Didn't know you played for the other team."

"Complicated," Cam says. Because there are things you just don't tell your baby brother, no matter how close the two of you are.

"Usually is," Ash agrees, and then tucks his cigarettes back in his jeans pocket. "I'm gonna go and make sure the demon children haven't set anything on fire. Uncle Al's in the kitchen. Might wanna have a word with him about neighborhoods."

Cam narrows his eyes -- if Ash and Uncle Al hadn't cooked this up between the two of them, he doesn't know his brother. But Cam can't quite manage to get too annoyed about it. Ash means well, and the family's got a long tradition of meddling. "Might not be able to throw you in the creek myself anymore," he says, "but I've got a young hot boyfriend who bench-presses his own weight three times a week to be my legs for me."

And Ash grins, and all's right with the world. "He can try," he says, and steps inside.

Left alone on the porch, Cam watches the sunset and tries not to think of anything in particular. The last bits of purple are just fading behind the mountain when the screen door bangs and JD settles down on the swing next to him.

Last Cam saw, JD had been in the rumpus room, putting together toys and taking being climbed on with surprisingly good graces. "Hey," Cam says.

"Hey," JD says, and settles himself so his thigh's pressed up straight against Cam's. "You sick of people yet? We could probably make it through Tennessee and Kentucky and into Missouri before we had to stop for the night if we just flee now."

Cam laughs. "Four more days," he says. He knows JD isn't seriously pleading for them to make an escape; if he were, Cam might actually consider it. But JD wouldn't ask him to leave unless JD thought he wanted to, so it all balances out.

"Had an interesting talk with your Uncle Al just now," JD says. "Says the real estate market down in Austin is pretty much a bubble and a half, but there's still a few bargains to be had here and there."

"Yeah," Cam says. "I got a different version of the same song and dance from Ash just now. They're conspiring."

He expects JD to get his back up over it -- JD's not the type to take manipulation well, even the completely transparent manipulation that's par for the course in clan Mitchell -- but JD's nothing but contemplative. "Never lived in Austin," he says. "I hear it's nice."

"Been down a few times to visit," Cam says, because he's not going to ask what JD's thinking. "You gotta love any town whose motto is 'Keep Austin Weird'."

"Pretty nice tech market down there," JD says. "Good rehab center in Houston, too. It's what, three hours?"

Cam sneaks a peek out of the corner of his eye. JD's watching the last bits of sunset, not him. But there's nothing in JD's face but speculation. "You serious about thinking about it?"

"Makes sense," JD says. "I got some firm hints that beating a tactical retreat but giving in a little bit of ground might play well in the press." He shrugs. "I don't care where we settle. Somewhere else might be nice. Fresh start. And I've got enough money set by that we'd be able to turn up a decent down payment. Real estate's a good investment."

"Huh," Cam says. They've never talked about money, nothing beyond the agreement for the proceeds from their business contracts. JD's never hesitated to grab the check at dinner; he keeps coming home with more books, and Cam hasn't paid a single heating, electric, phone, or internet bill since JD moved in. But as far as Cam knew, JD's finances are like his: enough money from the government to make ends meet if you don't mind living hand to mouth for a while, but not enough to live on comfortably for too long without bringing in some extra income.

JD shrugs again. "Always had a hand with money," he says. "You want me to look at your portfolio, I'd be happy to."

Cam's not sure how they got derailed. "Austin," he says.

"Nice little single-story rancher with a big kitchen and an open floor plan," JD says. "Something with wide doors." In case you do wind up in that wheelchair, he means, and Cam's mind shies away from thinking about it. "Something with a big yard and a shed out back for a workshop. I'm thinking three bedrooms so we can each have an office. I don't mind being out in the middle of nowhere if you don't mind being dependent on me to do the errands."

Cam's always intended to buy property someday; he just never got around to it. He's got about thirty grand earmarked for down payment himself, socked away in a conservative-growth mutual fund he can't tap without just enough headache to dissuade him from raiding it for casual use. He's not sure what JD considers a decent down payment, but he's willing to throw his own chips into the pot. If JD is serious.

JD looks serious. "You think it's smart to tie ourselves down with a mortgage when we're trying to get a business off the ground?" Cam asks.

JD smiles. "We won't starve," he says. "I can guarantee that."

Yeah, they're going to have to sit down and have a few conversations: about money, about business plans, about long-term goals. And the fact that Cam can think about long-term and JD in the same mental sentence without panic is telling. He puts his hand on JD's thigh, just to rest it there.

JD rests his head against Cam's shoulder. Won't be too long he can still do that, Cam thinks; he's been waiting for JD to come into his last bit of growth for a while, and once he does, they'll be of a height, more or less. He doesn't remember ever being in the same room with O'Neill when he wasn't lying down and wasn't hunched over leaning on his cane, but he's pretty sure O'Neill might even have an inch or two on him.

"We'll crunch some numbers when we get home," Cam says. "Maybe take a trip down to Austin and look around."

It's not a yes, but it's not a no, either. It's a big thing, moving in together. Not that they haven't been living with each other since day one, before there even was a them, but that's different; that was JD coming to crash on his couch for a few weeks while they figured out if they could make the partnership work and just never moving back out again. Not the deliberate commitment of looking at property, making compromises in what they both want, signing legal papers that entwine their affairs more than just a simple business deal.

Cam doesn't have cold feet, not precisely. He'd said to Ash that JD's in it for the long haul, and that statement goes both ways. He's just not sure if he's ready for the reality of it to set in.

"Hey," JD says. Reading Cam's mind as effortlessly as though he had a straight shot in. Cam turns his head, and JD cups his cheek in one hand. Takes a deep breath. "I love you. I'm gonna get better at saying it."

And right there, sitting on the porch swing of the house he grew up in, looking at the man he'd never expected to find and never thought to look for, Cam's heart swells up in his chest until it feels like it's like to bursting. "I love you too," he says. Means it. Because he's had a lot of friends, and he's had a lot of lovers, and he loved some of them -- loves some of them still -- but none of them have ever been the kind he could see still in the picture twenty years down the road. And JD is.

JD smiles. In the glow of the porch light, in the encroaching dusk, it makes his face light up like a spotlight. "Now go and brush your teeth before I kiss you, you ashtray," he says.

It takes Cam a second. Then he's laughing, and Lord, after the week they've had, it feels so fucking good that he lets it go on long and strong. "Come on," he finally says, and gets himself up off the porch swing. "I'm tired. Let's hit the sack."

It's been a long day. But maybe tomorrow will be better, and even if it isn't, well, they kind of have a plan.

. : | read comments - post comment - back | : .