With Brief Thanksgiving

Opening a sentence with 'Did I ever tell you about the time --?' becomes taboo, frowned upon after the first decade.

Because, yes, the answer was always yes, always.

Even long after Cameron starts to make shit up.


Daniel with Vala, Sam with Teal'c, Landry lost in a green haze… Cameron zigzags between a dull celibacy, a violent relationship with his hand, both hands, and sheer, unremitting horniness until he can get hard from a smile sent his way, his name in a mouth he's never kissed.

The pity fucks just make it worse, but he never turns them down.


The first baby Vala loses leaves Daniel and her fused together, no room between them. They all adjust to that and then the next time, it works, it goes well, and Vala swells ripe and round and clings to Sam, the two of 'em whispering in corners, sometimes giggling, sometimes not.

The baby's a sweetheart, a cooing, blue-eyed charmer -- who turns into a hellion when she has wind and whose screams can reach every corner of the ship. She grows, as children do, and if she's lonely, she never says.

She's the reason Sam's plan, when she comes up with it, is rejected out of hand but she's a woman grown by then (don't ask, don't tell, don't tell Daniel, don't -- it never happened, it didn't --) and when she dies, a careful year later, freeing them to escape, it's hard not to feel --

(soap bubble, captured, curved air and rainbows -- pop!)


He misses weather. Misses rain, a fierce battering wind, a sharp frost. Misses sunshine and clouds, humidity and hail.

Hates that it's always going to be a nice day tomorrow.


Fifty fucking years and he still calls Daniel 'Jackson' more often than not, so that when he slips one in, just for the hell of it, Daniel gives him a startled look, a puzzled smile, as if he's forgotten it's his name.


Lots of things become understood after a while.

Like, no one ever disturbs him and Teal'c when they're sparring. Nine times out of ten, all they'd see is two men sweaty, grinning, snarling, bruised.

The tenth time, it'd be kinda like that, too…


A pet. He wants a pet. Hell, a goldfish would do…


He thinks about suicide now and then. Not because he ever would -- quitter talk, and don't you forget it -- but because rejecting the idea with a firm, brisk shake of his head gives him the strength to get out of bed, run, shower, brush his teeth, piss away another day in a cage he can run around in fifteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds if no one gets in his way.


He starts to write his memoirs but he loses interest at around age ten --

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