They close on the house on a rainy day in early March, three days after JD's ID has him turning eighteen. It's easier that way, although they didn't particularly time it. Four beds, two baths, big cul-de-sac lot with big shady trees; it's recent construction, which JD turns up his nose at, but most of Austin is recent construction, and the house is at least fifteen years old, which actually makes it fairly venerable on the housing market they're dealing with.

JD climbs all over the property with a clipboard in one hand and a pencil in the other, marking down things even the home inspector didn't notice. The realtor watches him with wide eyes. JD ignores her; they're only using her because they have to. The place is listed at two hundred and eighty grand; JD gets it down, even in this seller's market, by laying out all the things they'll need to repair and dropping veiled hints about the peeling roof and the ominous gurgle in the water pipes.

When that only gets the seller down to two-fifty, JD gives his best shark smile and points out that the electric's not up to code either, and that's something that would keep the house off the market for a good long time while it gets fixed. The sellers are a couple moving to San Francisco for the husband's job; they need to turn it over fast. They bought the house at one-twenty three years ago. Cam doesn't begrudge them a profit -- they've put some money into improvements, including the kitchen and the master bath that made both him and JD fall in love with it -- but he's still glad JD's there to drive the bargain. They settle on two-twenty-five, in exchange for a quick closing. Since they're intending to give notice to Mr. and Mrs. Chaisorn as soon as they can -- Cam's on a month-to-month lease -- that suits them just fine; JD confesses after that he'd have settled for two-thirty-five if the sellers hadn't budged further.

Cam puts in his thirty thousand, and Momma and Daddy deed him over his share of what Gran'ma left the family when she followed Grandpa on, which they've been keeping in trust for him; supposed to be a wedding gift, but, well. He's shocked to find that it's a good fifty grand. They don't talk about money in the family, except to make sure that everyone who needs it, has it, and everyone who has it, knows how to be smart with it. He knew it was coming to him, but he didn't know how much it'd be. JD turns out to be sitting on nearly a hundred grand, which was even more of a shock for Cam to discover. They wind up splitting the down payment down the middle, sixty thousand each with the other third left over for repairs, and a down payment of over half the selling price in cash locks them in a hell of a rate; the monthly mortgage payments on a fifteen-year fixed wind up being about sixty percent of what Cam's paying in rent.

("Where'd you --" Cam asks, one night, after the lights are out, and JD settles his hand over Cam's mouth. O'Neill had left him with money, JD explains. To be his college fund -- to make sure he'd be able to make his own way and not be beholden to the Air Force for an education or a living, is what JD suspects, and knowing what he knows -- of both men -- Cam's not sure he's wrong. And Cam asks how O'Neill had it to give, and JD picks Cam's hand up and rests it on the lines of ink circling his right bicep, the section that Cam knows means father son sorrow remember grief responsibility made of interlocking Cs, and repeats, college fund. Cam doesn't ask again. Being willing to share doesn't mean you want to, or should have to.)

They schedule the movers for three weeks after closing, and they don't get a lick of code written in those three weeks; base of operations is a rent-by-the-week motel about ten minutes out, because Cam's too creaky to sleep on the floor in sleeping bags. JD turns out to be perfectly capable of doing the electric and plumbing himself -- doesn't surprise Cam by now; he's near come around to the opinion that if it needs fixing, JD can fix it, no matter what it might be -- and Cam can paint most of the walls and trim if he works slow enough and takes frequent breaks to rest and sit. He gets faster once JD comes home from the hardware store with an extended-handle paint roller mixed in with PVC piping and electrical caps, and he can park his ass in the chair and not care about the drips, because they're ripping out all the carpet and replacing it with hardwood anyway.

They bicker about the flooring they're going to use (JD wins; Anderson hickory stained golden, and the first time Cam sees it in the afternoon sunlight, he admits JD's right) and what colors they're going to paint the walls (Cam wins, and when he gets the dusky antique rose and pale moss green up in the living room, JD admits he's right). They bicker about the kitchen (Cam wins on the cabinets; JD wins on the furnishings; Cam wins on the pots-and-pans rack over the center island) and about the bathroom (Cam doesn't actually care about the fittings -- by then the bickering is a point of honor -- but they both agree the hideous wallpaper has to go). They make love in what's going to be their bedroom, nary a bed in sight and nothing but drop-cloths for padding, and Cam's limping for two days afterwards but he can't stop grinning. This place belongs to them, and there's something satisfying in tending it with his own two hands.

Cam's in charge of charming the neighbors. Left side's a pair of little old ladies, Miss Ella and Miss Noreen, who combined households when they'd both been left widowed early. Right side's the Parkinsons, a family of four, another on the way; he's a geologist and she's a lawyer and the kids (nine and six, both girls) look to be developing a crush on JD to beat the band. Miss Ella and Miss Noreen know damn well what he and JD are to each other; Steve Parkinson seems clueless, but Nancy's smile is pretty knowing.

Doesn't look like they'll be finished in time for the movers to arrive, until all of a sudden they are. Then it's time for another round of bickering, this time about the furniture -- they threw out half of what Cam had in storage, since it wasn't fit to be seen -- and Cam wins that one resoundingly. The one piece JD didn't argue about was the bed. King-sized, to replace Cam's double that they've been cramming themselves into for the past nine months. Their first night in it, with JD all acres of skin and bone spread golden beneath him and begging, Cam thinks it's a little slice of heaven brought down to earth.

Uncle Al, when he drops by after the decorous week-and-a-half to allow them time to get settled in, pronounces himself impressed. They feed him -- Cam's over the moon about having an actual kitchen to work in, instead of his apartment's postage stamp -- and give him the grand tour. He nods a few times and then allows how it's a busy semester for him and he won't be able to get out here as often as he'd like. Cam knows it for what it is: approval, and a tacit promise that he'll stay out of their business. Another ally, then.

Momma and Daddy haven't said anything direct to disapprove of him and JD mingling finances like this, but there's still that hint of worry. Cam can't tell if it's worry that JD is taking advantage of him or worry that JD's going to want to move on and have Cam buy back his half. He doesn't say a word when Nolo's Legal Guide for Gay and Lesbian Couples appears on his doorstop from Amazon.com with a little note from Momma about how she hopes it'll help, but he rolls his eyes a little. He and JD have already paid a lawyer a hell of a lot of money to make it all nice and tidy for them; neither one of them is stupid. But Momma and Daddy are trying, and he's not going to say a word to discourage them.

The housewarming gifts from the family start rolling in -- towels and sheets, curtains and cookware. The odd piece of furniture, though it'll take years before they can replace all the store-bought with hand-made. Uncle Bayliss sends a bookcase that's so nicely sized to the bizarre half-corner of Cam's office, where the roof cuts down and leaves a useless little nook, that Cam suspects him and JD, or perhaps him and Uncle Al, of conspiring. Susie Mae and Maria send a beautiful hand-glazed bowl -- it's Maria's hobby -- that gets settled on the kitchen table to be filled with apples or oranges or whatever's in season. They also send a condom sampler from Condomania and a grab-bag of flavored lube; those go into the nightstand before company can drop by and see them.

And by then it's April. They're settling back into their routine -- the Navy's done with field testing, and they've got some changes they want made before final signoff and final payment -- when Momma drops the bombshell, on Cam's weekly call home, that Cindy Lou's expecting again. An accident, Cam knows; she and Ash had decided to hold steady at three, at least until they were sure Ash would be back in the States for a good long while. But there's no such thing as an unwanted Mitchell, only an unplanned one, and so Cam pulls out his knitting needles and his lace charts and starts work on the christening shawl early.

Two days later, he picks up the phone again, and it's Spence on the other end of the line. "Deep space radar telemetry?" he asks, sounding offended.

It takes Cam a second before he cracks up. Spence and Skipper must have gotten hit by the first round of recruiters. His own had promised "experimental aircraft development and test piloting." "Give it another couple weeks," Cam says. "You call me back after you get the full briefing and tell me I'm still crazy."

Spence gets awfully quiet, though. "I need to know before I tell them yes or no, Uncle Cam," he says. "We're doing important things where we are. I can't tell you how important, but it's big. Whatever this is, is it going to match it?"

"Spence," Cam says. "You can trust me when I say that this is probably the most important command in the entire damn service, and if they want you, it's an honor and a privilege." He pauses. Honesty makes him add, "And a damn good way of getting yourself killed, if you're not ready for it. Be ready for it. And don't be stupid about it."

"I saw what happened to you," Spence says, quiet and calm. "And I'm not worried about getting hurt or killed. I'm worried about it being for the wrong reasons. What we're doing right now, it's for the right reasons, but not everything is. I'm sorry, Uncle Cam. I need to know why you walked away from it."

Walked away is maybe the wrong wording, and Cam can hear Spence wincing as soon as the words leave his mouth. "Because I couldn't carry the weight anymore," Cam says, before Spence can fall over himself apologizing. "Because it's a damn heavy one, and I wasn't strong enough. Because I watched my boys and girls dying to buy a handful of people one scrap of a chance, and it worked when it shouldn't have, and luck like that doesn't strike twice and I didn't think I could stand to watch it again. It's not easy. But it's important."

There's a pause, and then Spence sighs; Cam can hear it clear as bells over the phone line. "Important things usually aren't," Spence says. "Easy, I mean. Tell JD I want his story once we've signed the papers. And tell him I said thank you for the compliment, while you're at it."

"If they're smart," JD says, when Cam passes on the contents of the call, "they'll keep Spence in the mountain, assisting whoever Hank's got as XO, and train the kid up right to deal with all the politics. I'd send Skipper out as junior military on one of the Gate teams. SG-9 always needs people who are quick on their feet. Or maybe Atlantis, now they're back in touch. They're desperate."

Atlantis, Cam thinks: Atlantis, where Daniel Jackson retreated, where they're fighting their own war. He wonders if JD would have Skipper carry a message. He's not entirely sure, but he doesn't think he'd mind. Not now. JD's his; Cam knows, by now, what strength the concept of home carries for him, and how much it means that JD chose to make that home be here.

April turns to May. The laundry room is the last on the list of rooms to have sex in; Cam bends JD over the dryer while it's on spin cycle and fucks him long and slow and steady. Afterwards they fold the towels and pull on sweats fresh from the dryer. Cam rests his hand on JD's chest and draws him in for a long slow kiss. JD kisses like every kiss is the end of the world; Cam thinks he'll never get tired of it, not if they live a million years and love each other all the way.

Later, they're in the kitchen -- their kitchen serves the purpose that the living room does for other people; they shopped around for a right proper kitchen table and couldn't find one, so for three weeks it was meals on a folding card table while JD fussed around in the backyard and they prayed for no rain. The resulting table is gorgeous hand-planed oak, big enough to seat four and built straight into the breakfast nook, and instead of chairs, it's got padded booth benches that a body just wants to sink into.

They're both ignoring it for now, though. Cam's thumping around putting together a meal: penne with homemade pesto sauce, sauteed up with some grilled chicken and zucchini and squash he picked up from Central Market yesterday afternoon, and he'll serve it with slices of toasted bread from the weekend's baking. JD is sitting cross-legged on the counter, in what Cam thinks of as "his spot", next to the refrigerator and well out of the way of Cam's cooking trajectory. He's got a book in one hand (the books have multiplied and multiplied again; this one's a history of Roman engineering, and Cam's going to steal it when JD's done) and a glass of red wine in the other. The TV in the living room, tuned to CNN, is nothing but comforting background noise.

Until JD's wineglass hits the floor, and the crack of it shattering and splashing everywhere is almost like a gunshot. "Turn it up," he says, death in his voice.

It takes Cam a second to realize what he's talking about, but JD's eyes are fixed through the open pass-through on the TV. The remote's closer to Cam. He dials it up, because JD looks like he couldn't slide off the counter and move to do it himself if he was ordered to at gunpoint.

It's a press conference. The scrollbar underneath identifies the man who's talking, flashbulbs popping everywhere, as one Kevin Balim, CEO of Farrow-Marshall Industries. Cam doesn't recognize the name. Guy looks to be in his mid-forties: sharp face, dark eyes, dark hair going grey at the edges. Neatly trimmed goatee. He's dressed fit to beat the band, and he's talking about government harassment of private-sector industries.

Cam can't see any hint of what's bothering JD, but when Balim brings up Colson Aviation and starts demanding results of the investigation into Alec Colson's disappearance, JD starts swearing and doesn't stop until the camera cuts back to the anchor.

There's a story here. But JD's barefoot and there's broken glass on the floor, so Cam props his cane against the island and stoops down with a dishrag to mop up the worst of the glass fragments and the wine-spill before he grabs the dustpan. He doesn't ask. JD will tell him as soon as he's ready.

When he's done with the cleanup, he looks up to check on JD's progress. JD's got his eyes squeezed shut, and his lips are moving, but he's not making any sound. As Cam watches, he draws himself up to sit straight-spined, arranges his hands on top of each other in his lap. Takes a few deep breaths. Cam knows it for JD's calming routine; JD's told him about those three months in the Soto Zen Buddhist monastery in Oregon, about all the lessons he learned there.

Takes a while this time. Cam pulls the penne off the heat, dishes it up into two bowls, puts them on the table. JD's still sitting. Working through something now, though, Cam can tell. He's found his calm; his face says that now he's rooting through his brain, finding and tagging all the pieces of information he needs to formulate a plan of attack for whatever problem he's just identified.

Cam fetches down a pair of white wine glasses from the cabinet, opens a bottle of Riesling and pours with a generous hand. JD prefers reds, but pasta gets a white. He passes by JD when he puts the bottle back in the refrigerator, but he doesn't touch, no matter how much his palms itch to. JD's busy, and he doesn't need the distraction.

When JD finally opens his eyes, Cam's settled himself down at the kitchen table and started eating; no point in letting good food go cold while he waits. JD plants a hand on the counter and leaps down with one fluid motion. His face is serious as he sits down across from Cam. "We have a problem."

"Figured," Cam says. "You tell me what we need to do, and we'll make it good."

Something moves in JD's face. It takes a second for Cam to identify it as relief. "Balim," JD says. "Ba'al."

Cam chokes on his wine. It burns as it goes down. "Fuck," he says.

"Yeah," JD says. And then he tells Cam about the Trust.

The bowls are empty and the bread's long gone when JD's done, but Cam doesn't remember another bite, and he's pretty sure JD didn't notice any of it. There's white chocolate amaretto ice cream from Amy's in the freezer for dessert, but it'll keep. "Any idea what Balim's game is?" Cam finally asks.

"None," JD says. "I'll call around. Tug on the strings I've still got. Someone has to have seen that press conference, and I'm pretty sure O'Neill will have put someone on the problem already. But I don't know how ... objective he can be about it."

More story there, but now's not the time. "Anything we can do?" Cam asks. "Or leave it to the people who are still in the game?"

"I don't know." JD scrubs his hands over his face. "I can't say. I'm out of the loop. By choice, but still. I'll call Carter. Hammond. We've known for a while that there are Goa'uld on Earth, but last intel I had, we had them mostly taken care of. Pinned in. But --" He breaks off. Drops his head into his hands, pulls at his hair. "Fucking hell," he says. "Five years. If this goddamn body looked just five years older --"

"Hey," Cam says. He gets himself up off the bench, slides behind JD to dig his thumbs into the knotted muscles of JD's shoulders. "Let it go," he says, as gentle as he can. He knows JD can't, but he has to say it. "You've gotta trust them to deal with it."

The lines of JD's body are savage as he pulls away and stands. "If I could trust Hank to deal with it, I wouldn't be this upset," he snaps, and then closes his eyes and takes another deep breath. "Sorry. Issues. Big ones. I need to --"

"Go," Cam says, as gently as he can, because he knows that what JD needs right now is to go out running: work his body to exhaustion, wear off some of the nervous explosion of energy, give his mind time to turn over the problem some more. He also knows that JD knows how much Cam envies him that ability.

JD's face twists, a short sharp shock of misery. "Yeah," he says. "Okay." He turns, headed for the bedroom, to pull on a tank top and sneakers no doubt. Then turns back. "I love you."

"Love you too," Cam says, quiet and calm and strong, and picks up the dishes to put them in the sink.

JD's calmer when he comes back. More settled with himself, or at least more exhausted, which does a good impression. Nothing they can do, JD's decided, but wait and see how things play out, wait and see what intel JD can scrounge. The fact eats at him, Cam can tell. Frustrates and annoys and upsets him. There isn't much Cam can do about that, but he can take JD to bed and hold him tight, tell him wordlessly that it'll be all right, it'll be okay, no matter what they have to do. That no matter what they have to do, they'll be doing it together.

Two weeks later, the phone rings in the middle of the night. Babies and deaths are the only things that come calling at three in the morning, and nobody's due to be born for another few months. JD beats Cam to the bedside phone; Cam sits up straight and tries to calm his heart, tries searching JD's face for some sign. "Yeah," JD says, and then, "Oh God, I'm sorry. Hang on."

And JD knows it's better to tell it straight, so as he hands the phone over, he says, "Cindy's father. Heart attack."

"Oh, hell," Cam says, and takes the phone. It's Momma, and she's got her brisk-and-business voice on to hide the tears. Cindy's momma died five years back in a car accident; the Mitchells had closed around James and held him up, and he had already been near-kin even before. Funeral's in four days. Cindy Lou's already having a troubled pregnancy, four months along and she can't keep a single thing down long enough for it to do her any good; she's been in the hospital overnight for treatment twice already. This is gonna make it worse.

Cam hangs up the phone and takes a minute to just ask God for a little bit of grace. Then he gets out of bed and goes to book plane fare. JD's hand settles on his shoulder a minute later; it's warm comfort. "For two," he says.

Cam closes his eyes against the relief. "You don't have to come," he says.

"Don't be an idiot," JD says. "Yes, I do."

They bury Cindy Lou's daddy on a grey Thursday morning, and Cam's there at Cindy Lou's side where Ash can't be. James served in Vietnam, so he's earned the honors. Half the family and more is in uniform, from Sarah in her brand-new ensign's dress whites to Great-Uncle George with his World War Two ribbons on the cut and style of uniform that nobody's worn in years. Cam thinks, as JD re-pins the silver leaf on his shoulders for him before they go, that he's never going to wear this uniform again except when they're burying family. It cuts him deep, until he sees the look in JD's eyes. JD's not going to wear it again ever, isn't entitled to the silver birds he held in his own right or the stars O'Neill sports now.

He catches JD's hand as they walk out to join the family massing in the driveway, bound for the funeral home. It throws his balance off, but he just has to hold harder. JD hesitates for a minute (and Cam can tell why, Cam knows why; he's wearing his blues, and love never shames honor, but it's a hard thing to overcome the conditioning of years) and then lets Cam hold on.

Cindy Lou bears up, until the bugle sings out day is done, gone the sun and she breaks down. Cam's at full salute. He's about to break it, about to hold her close, until JD lets his hand drop from over his heart and pulls her in to comfort. The flag's folded; the captain of the honor guard presents it to her. And then the casket's lowered into the ground and the minister says the last words, and they take Cindy Lou and the kids home and try to get some food in them.

Cam's up past everyone's bedtime -- exhausting day, exhausting week -- thanks to timezones; JD's asleep already, ran himself ragged fetching and carrying and listening and saying soothing words to anyone who needed them, but Cam's not quite ready to settle yet. He leaves JD sleeping in their bed and tries to be quiet as he makes his way into the kitchen. Cup of hot chocolate and a slice of the sweet potato pie the neighbors brought, and maybe he'll be sleepy by then.

He's about to flip the lights on when a voice comes out of the dark. "Leave it off."

It's Momma. Cam's hand stills on the light-switch, and he makes his way over to the table to sit down with her, the hot chocolate forgotten. "You all right?" he asks as he settles himself in.

His eyes are adjusting; he can see she's holding a cup of tea in her hands, but the way she's holding it says that it's been there a long time and is probably cold as winter by now. "Just tired," she says. "That poor child."

"She's got family," Cam says. Lots of stuff you can bear, when you've got family standing with you.

"I know," Momma says. She reaches across the table, takes Cam's hand in her own. Cam's always surprised by how thin her bones are; those hands could move mountains. "Bad time for it, though. Bad timing all around."

Cam covers their joined hands with his other. "No good time for a funeral," he says. "You need any help with Cindy Lou or the kids, you call us. We can work anywhere."

He doesn't realize until he's already said it that he made the offer in the plural, but Momma doesn't seem to notice. "You've got your home to tend," she says.

"Doesn't matter," Cam says. It doesn't. Everyone comes home to Momma sooner or later; Cindy Lou and the kids are living here while Ash is overseas, and she's not the only one. Momma's got Elizabeth's two-year-old and Miranda and her boys and Carter and his baby girl all in residence. Easier to be a military spouse when there are others to take up the burden, and Momma's shoulders are strong. Still doesn't mean she can't always use another pair of hands.

Momma squeezes his hand. "I know," she says again, and then draws in a breath and lets it out on a big sigh. "We'll be all right. She'll grieve a while, and then she'll go on."

"Summer's coming up," Cam says. "We've got a spare room."

What he's saying, and he shouldn't be saying it without talking to JD first but he doesn't think JD would say no, is that Chandler and Stewart usually spend (spent) the summers with their granddaddy. Family swaps kids around for the summers, once school's out; the running joke is that everyone's looking for a set they like better than the one they have, while the reality is that everybody in the family knows that it's better if children have ties spread wide, in case anything (God forbid) should happen.

He can see Momma smiling a little. "I know you do," she says. "Could be it'll be full this year. But you need some time to your own."

It's not a no, and that eases Cam's mind a little. There'd been a part of him worried that Momma would think they weren't suited to host. "Don't think we'd mind," he says. "JD's good with kids."

He realizes after he says it that he probably shouldn't have; their story for the family doesn't include a good reason for why. But Momma just nods. "That he is," she says. "That boy's had to grow up faster than anyone should have a reason to."

Cam makes some noncommittal noise. Momma sighs again, soft and shifting. "Don't you give me that noise, Cameron," she says, and sets her tea mug aside. "I'm still your momma."

"Yes, ma'am," he says, automatically. Debates saying more, but no; not the time for it.

"You get yourself back to bed, now," she says. "It's late, and your flight's early tomorrow."

Cam nods. He gets himself up out of the chair, comes over to hug her before he goes. She rests her head against his chest for a minute, then slides back her chair and gets up to rinse out her mug in the sink. "I love you, Momma," Cam says, watching her back.

"I love you too," she says, and they both go off to their beds.

The Navy finally pronounces themselves satisfied; the final payment goes into their operating fund, minus the cost of a new laptop for Cam, since his is starting to get a little creaky around the edges. They're invited to bid on another contract, a much bigger one: one Cam actually isn't sure they have the skills necessary to handle. But JD spends two days on the phone with various people Cam doesn't know, and at the end of it, they've got a bid and a proposal JD says will lowball everyone else by a good hundred grand.

"You're not afraid to use your powers for evil," Cam says. "I like that in a guy."

JD laughs. "We'll subcontract the manufacturing part of it," he says. "I don't think the metallurgy lab would fit in the shed."

They don't have plans for Memorial Day; the family holds court all weekend, but it's not a command performance, and they've decided they can't afford airfare again so soon. They don't have that contract in the bag yet; they won't hear for a few months, if not more. JD's noodling around with the software that runs their home security setup, tweaking a little bit of this and a little bit of that, and he's buried deep in the Bluetooth specs when the doorbell rings on Saturday afternoon.

Cam's just about to start kneading the bread dough, but he doesn't have flour all over him yet, so he dries off his hands on the kitchen towel tucked into his jeans and heads on over to see who it is. When he opens the door, it's Spencer and Skipper, both of them in civvies; there's a rental car parked in the driveway.

"Sorry we didn't call first," Skipper says.

Cam's more than a little surprised to see them; they're supposed to be in Germany right now. "Never need to call family," he says, automatically, and holds the door open. "C'mon in. What's the trouble, and how long are you staying?"

"Only until Monday," Skipper says. "We could get a hotel room --"

Had to make the offer, and Cam's gotta turn it down. "Bite your tongue," he says, easily. "Kitchen's through here. You eaten anything yet?"

Cam parks them both at the kitchen table, leaves them with glasses of sweet tea and a plate of cookies fresh from the oven -- Saturday is baking day -- and goes to kiss the back of JD's neck until JD stops swearing at the laptop and recognizes he's being hailed. "We've got company," he says. "Spence and Skipper. Staying until Monday. Should I kill them and hide the bodies so they don't disturb you?"

But JD stands and stretches, and his smile is impish. "Was waiting for that," he says. "Although I figured they'd call first."

When Cam and JD get back into the kitchen, Spence is working his way through the cookies -- he's no dummy -- and Skipper's pacing back and forth. He turns when the two of them enter. "Deep space radar telemetry my fucking ass," he says. "That's --"

JD holds up a hand. "Easy there, Captain," he says, and Skipper shuts up; has to, with that tone in JD's voice. "Hold that thought for five minutes."

Skipper looks at Cam, but Cam just shrugs. He's long since given up on understanding half of what JD does. JD turns around and disappears back down the hallway; from the sound of it, Cam thinks he's in the bedroom he uses as an office. There's a lockbox in there that Cam's never seen him open, never asked about.

"Uncle Cam," Skipper says, in an undertone, while JD's gone. Cam shakes his head.

"It's all right," Cam says. "Give it a minute."

JD comes back in three of the promised five minutes, holding a nondescript grey-metal sphere that fits neatly in his palm. He's pushing a couple of touchpad buttons as he goes, and it's rippling pretty pink lights. Cam frowns at it as JD places it down on the island counter and wedges it between Maria's bowl and the napkin-holder to keep it from rolling away, and then he remembers where he's seen something like before; it looks like one of the pieces of high-tech art Sam had scattered around her house the last time he went to visit her in Colorado Springs, right before his accident.

He raises an eyebrow at JD. Spence is doing the same; Skipper's more blunt about it. "What the heck is that thing?"

"Lesson one," JD says, mildly. "You never know who might be listening. At any point, at any time. You don't talk about the program outside the Mountain. Ever. I take it you got your new assignment."

"Briefed already, report Tuesday," Spence says, helpfully, and reaches for another cookie. Skipper just gawks.

The gizmo turns out to be a jammer ("Asgard," JD says, "as interpreted by Carter, as interpreted by me"), Spence and Skipper turn out to be on their way to Cheyenne Mountain after having gotten their full briefing ("which leaves you with a hell of a lot more questions than it answered," JD says, and mutters something about how quality of recruiters has gone down), and Spence turns out to have put nearly all of it together, although he thinks JD is some sort of military experiment in anti-aging technology. Cam queries JD with his eyes; he'll let JD decide how much to say.

JD decides to say the part about the Asgard ("no, really, the little green men are grey instead, and don't ever ask why they don't wear clothes") and the part about the cloning, but he leaves out the details about just whose DNA Loki was messing around with. "Holy shit," Spence says, when JD is done. "That --"

"--must suck a whole lot," Skipper finishes. And if they're doing the twin finishing-each-other's-sentences thing, it means that they're really riled up; they learned to stop that a long time back, for the ease of listeners.

JD just smiles, thin-lipped. "You could say," he says. He's sitting on his spot of the counter again; Cam will never be able to watch him pull his legs up into full-lotus without wincing and envying all at once.

"So you were part of the SGC too, Uncle Cam?" Skipper asks, and all of a sudden -- without any warning, without any sign -- Cam's back in the cockpit of an F-302 watching wreckage trail down around him.

He doesn't get the flashbacks often (praise God and Jesus and everyone on down), but when he gets them, they're full-on immersive. He closes his hands around the edge of the table and tries to breathe through it, tries to tell himself he's here -- in their own kitchen, in their own home, thousands of miles away from a snowbank in Antarctica where he was slowly dying for hour upon hour before they came to salvage the plane and what they thought would be his body.

The hand on his neck is what finally snaps him out of it; JD's standing beside him and has him by the scruff like a kitten, pulling just hard enough for Cam to have something to focus on. "Back now, Mitchell," he's saying, his eyes intent on Cam's face. "C'mon back to me."

Cam breathes out, shallow and shaky. "Yeah," he says, nothing more, and JD lets him go, but leaves his hand on the nape of Cam's neck. Cam turns his face and rests it against JD's hip. Breathes in, deeper this time, and tries to slow the beating of his heart. "Bad one. Sorry."

JD doesn't shake off the apology, just nods. "Legs okay?"

"Yeah," Cam says. They're not, but he knows the pain's psychosomatic. He can tell the difference by now.

JD doesn't contradict him, but he knows JD knows he's lying. JD slides in next to him in the booth and puts his hands on Cam's right thigh, the one with the most muscle damage and the one that always hurts worst. His hands are warm, even through Cam's jeans, and he works the tense spots carefully. Spence and Skipper have both frozen, staring. Cam makes himself smile. "Sorry," he says again, to the twins this time.

"What the hell did they do to you?" Skipper blurts. Spence is too busy watching the two of them and thinking.

Cam sighs. "It really was an airplane crash," he says. "Just not a test flight."

They talk through dinner and well into the night, and Cam knows they're (both) saying more than they should, but it's too much of a relief to finally be able to say it to someone. He hadn't realized how isolated he felt, even with JD there, until he could actually say something. To somebody in the family, even if it's not Momma and Daddy.

Spence is bound for SG-9, while Skipper's bound for SG-13. JD winces at the mention of SG-13, and his hands still for a minute, but he hides it quickly. "Benton," nodding at Spence, "and Dixon," nodding at Skipper. "Good men."

Cam's trying to remember what he ever knew of the Gate teams. "Diplomatic and -- exploration?" he hazards.

Skipper nods. "That's what they told us."

"I've got a message for you to carry," JD says. Cam looks over at him, but his face is nothing more than contemplative. "Colonel Reynolds. SG-3. Tell him he needs to remember coming home from P3X-811. When he asks you who told you to carry the message, tell him it was the same person who taught him Alekhine's Defense, but no matter what he says, don't mention me. Reynolds won't push, and he won't turn you in for it. You need me to repeat that?"

"No sir," Spence says; he's got a head for numbers. Spence has been calling JD 'sir' all conversation. Spence is no idiot, even if he looks a little wild around the eyes every time he says it.

Later on, when they've got Spence and Skipper settled in the guest room and they're undressing for bed, Cam says, "P3X-811?" He's got a head for numbers, too.

JD sits down on the edge of the bed. "Fourth year," he says. Then frowns and corrects himself. "Fifth year. They all blur together after a while. Reynolds and his men got dosed with some hallucinogenic crap that Fraiser didn't catch. They were halfway on their way out the Mountain when it finally kicked in, and they spent the next two days in isolation screaming that everyone from Hammond on down was in the employ of the Goa'uld and out to get them."

Cam frowns. It takes him a minute to work out the implications of why JD wants Spence and Skipper to carry the reminder, why JD's willing to risk their reputations at a command they haven't even started yet just to carry a cryptic message. He's ashamed to admit that it takes him that long. He's out of practice, and JD's mind turns in sneaky ways. "You think the SGC might be infiltrated."

"Hope to hell I'm wrong," JD says. "And I don't think it too seriously. But from what I can find, Landry's not pushing back against the NID the way he should be, and that's always been the SGC's responsibility even if it's not the SGC's mandate. If O'Neill didn't explain that to him before handing over the keys, I'll eat my hat. Which leaves either incompetence or deliberate mis-handling."

Cam sighs. "You should go," he says. Breaks his heart to say it, but it needs to be said. "Look into things. I know you want to."

JD turns and catches Cam's hand in his. "No," he says, quick and firm. "No. I don't. I don't want to leave you, and I don't want to get involved again." But then he sighs, and rubs his other hand over his face. "But you're right. It's driving me batshit. Would you mind if I took a weekend and went out to hassle Carter in person? Things you can't say on an insecure line."

Cam only has to think for a second; his brain's warming up. "I'll call her up and invite her here," he says. "She and I have been friends for years. If anyone's watching her, it's less suspicious, and you can just keep being my twink boyfriend."

Something very much like approval hits JD's face. "Good thought," he says.

But he's shivering a little when he curls up behind Cam and rests his forehead on the nape of Cam's neck, and Cam thinks it has nothing to do with the temperature of the room and everything to do with the thought of stepping back into a part of O'Neill's life, however briefly. With feeling like he has to step back into a part of O'Neill's life, even just long enough to satisfy himself.

Cam doesn't have any answers, and he doesn't have any solutions. He knows JD well enough to know that JD considers himself still bound by his oath (enemies foreign and domestic, and the Goa'uld are about as foreign as they come) just as much as Cam does. Some promises are for life. But neither of them are what they used to be, and just because you've made a promise doesn't mean you sometimes don't want to walk away from it. Doesn't mean that sometimes you do walk away from it.

But neither of them would be who they are if they could walk away forever, either.

There's no good answer. There's not even any good question; JD might be jumping at shadows, a possibility he fully acknowledges. Hopes for, even. But it's the not knowing that'll kill them both.

"I'll call in the morning," Cam says, into the darkness, and JD's arm tightens over his side. And Cam's not sure what JD is thinking, but what Cam's thinking, as he stares out into the darkness of their bedroom, is: please let it be nothing.

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