Fic for Cofax - SG-1/Supernatural
So, Cofax7 wanted Mitchell and Dean and freckles and a car show. Which is what she got. This wanted a plot, and I didn't want to plot it further, so it gets a little weirdly thin in the middle. It's a 200 word piece trapped in 1000. Beta free, as a drabble is meant to be:)
No real spoilers for either show, but assume up through S10 for SG-1.
Floodlights on the Highway
He takes Vala with him, partly because it's his turn to drag her out into the light and partly because he thinks she'll enjoy herself. She hasn't been doing much of that lately. None of them have.
Normally, he'd ask Sam or Teal'c, but the former just gives him this vaguely uncomfortable look when he asks her to do things off base these days and Teal'c just isn't that into cars. Cam knows he's supposed to save the world, but sometimes he needs a little reminder as to why.
"Will there be lunch?" Vala asks, and rests her chin on her forearm, stares out the window as they drive.
Cam's feeling generous. "Anything you want."
She looks over her shoulder at him and he tries not to take his eyes off the road. There are circles under her eyes, dark and bruised looking and her skin is slightly waxy. He'd like to hold her hand, pat her knee and none of it tracks - this need to offer comfort, protection. She's not a girl who needs sanctuary, at least she hasn't been. Things are different now.
"Sushi," she says, and flips her head back around to stare at the highway.
"We're in a landlocked state in the middle of winter," he says. "You really think raw fish is a good idea?"
"Yes," she says. There's a glimmery hint of laughter there and Cam feels something ease just a little in his gut. "I like to live dangerously."
"Fine," he says. "A one way ticket to food poisoning comin' right up."
Vala turns away from the road, settles into the leather seat and rests her head against the headrest. She fiddles with the volume control, ends up on the college radio station, wriggles a little to the alterna-rock. Cam doesn't recognize the band, but he doesn't mind the wriggling, likes the sight of her long legs curled against his bucket seats. Her pale hands settle in her lap. Somewhere along the way, she's become someone he craves, as much a member of his team as Sam or Teal'c or… he jumps the tracks on that train of thought and takes the exit to the convention center.
*
They have to walk a ways to get to the auto show. It's chilly out, but bright, crusts of snow caked into the cracks around the trees and gutters at the edge of the parking lot. Cam shrugs his shoulders inside his leather jacket, rolling into the cold, tucking his hands into his pockets.
Vala has on a red coat and her cheeks are flushed pink with the cold. She looks healthier than she has in weeks, and she links her arm through his, puts her cold bare fingers under his elbow. If she were anyone else, he'd stop in this parking lot and kiss her, watch her grin against his mouth, taste the mint of the gum she chewed and stuck in the ashtray just to annoy him. He pushes against her a little, rocking them both and keeps her steady as she picks her way across the asphalt in her high black boots.
They give him a military discount at the door and he buys a couple of coffees, loads Vala's up with sugar and cream. The convention center smells like rubber and Armoral and linoleum. Vala taps her fingers against the paper cup and looks around at the chrome and steel and men with V-8 tinged stars in their eyes.
"This is your idea of treasure, isn't it?" she says, and he forgets sometimes that she's shrewd enough to have survived out there, that she isn't all pigtails and pinup girl seduction and posturing. She's sharp as a blade, resourceful and clever. And she can be kind.
"Not everyone's idea of fulfillment is rolling naked in cash." He takes a sip of the coffee. It's industrial and bitter, but warms him.
"Oh please," she says and crooks up the corner of her mouth. "Like seeing me do that wouldn't have been another kind of treasure."
He doesn't deny that the thought makes him sweat a little.
She tilts her head. "I could have made a fortune." The she sighs. "Too bad about You-Tube. No one has to pay for pornography any longer."
They walk past the real classics - the Daimlers and Bentleys- all those elegant steel beasts from other eras until they get to the muscle cars.
"These must be worth quite a bit," she says, speculative and standing far too close for comfort to the '78 Trans-Am, "if all these people are willing to come out and gawk at them." She leans forward to look in the window and the coffee cup tilts precariously towards the custom paint job.
Cam hears a sharp gasp, snatches at her belt loop, tugs until she scoots away from the car and looks up to see a kid on the other side, eyes wide and horrified, hands clutched into fists. He grins at the kid - not really a kid he thinks, mid-20s maybe, good-looking and a little rough around the edges. His mouth is hard and his eyes are bright, standing with that cocky aggression that Cam remembers from that age. He reminds Cam of the recruits coming back from their second or third campaign: not yet cynical, not really, still ready for anything. Full of piss and vinegar coupled with a healthy dose of holy shit did we really do that fear.
If the remains of his team can't win this war, all those kids are going to fall. This kid across from them is gonna be a slave, a follower. Dead if he's lucky, or smart.
The kid doesn't grin back, just takes an eyeful of Vala and shoves his hands in his pockets.
"Her first time," Cam says, gives a shrug. He lifts his chin at the car. "Yours?"
Vala leans back into him and he realizes he hasn't taken his fingers out of her belt loops. His arm is under her coat and she's very close to him and he lets go, tries not to brush his hand along her back as he extricates himself.
The kid is shaking his head. "Nah, just browsing," he says and sounds a little bit wistful. "Met the dude who owns it, though. He did all the interior work himself. Said it was a mess. Had to pull the seats, put in new ones, new carpet and everything." He pauses. "Some people just don't know how to treat their stuff, you know?"
Cam nods. "Yeah," he says, and feels that tug in his gut again, that acidy guilt that's been eating at him for a month now. Christ, has it really been a month?
Vala walks around to the other side of the car. In her boots, she's nearly as tall as Cam, can look the other guy in the eye.
"You like these," she says.
"Yeah," he answers like it's a challenge.
"Show me your favorites," she says and the kid gapes at her.
"Lady, I don't even know you." But he swallows hard, eyes trailing down her pale throat, over the black hair and her long legs.
"So?" she says, and Cam tries hard not to laugh. Saying no to Vala hasn't, to his knowledge, gotten anyone anywhere.
"She'll get bored soon," he offers as encouragement and the kid looks at him, mouth open. Cam knows the rules, knows the regs, knows that letting Vala wander around the convention center with a stranger is against all of them, but she's genuinely smiling right now, amused by pissing off a handsome kid with a cup of coffee and her curiosity and her cleavage and he hasn't seen that wicked grin since Daniel… left. He'd break far more stringent rules than these to keep that smile there for a few more hours.
He doesn't have anything to offer the rest of his team.
It takes two T-birds, a metallic blue 'Stang and a souped up Astin-Martin that just screamed "Bond wannabe" about its owner before Vala cried uncle, declares herself bored to death. She isn't really, Cam can tell. But she is restless, ready for something new.
The kid, who'd introduced himself as Roland with the kind of smirk that made Cam want to roll his eyes and ask why he didn't just call himself Smokey, or BJ held out his hand to Cam. Kid had a solid grip, hands hard like he used them a lot, with freckles dotting the back. He probably spent a decent amount of time outside, or driving with his arm hanging out the window. When he raised his hand to scratch at the back of his head, Cam saw the edges of tan near his wrist.
He also saw the shadow of a holster and his mouth turned sour. He stepped in closer to "Roland", and slapped him on the back. "Colorado's not a conceal and carry state," he says low enough to keep it from the crowds. "Best leave that in the car next time."
Roland purses his mouth. "I might be needing it," he says, voice shifting from loose and drawling to serious. "For work."
Cam wants to stamp his foot. Whatever this is, it isn't his problem. It's a… people problem, a police problem. He looks over at Vala, her eyes bright with interest. Great, this has just become his problem. She's taken an interest.
"We're going to have lunch," she says. "Sushi." She licks her mouth and Roland's eyes flick between the glossy seduction of her pink tongue and lush pout to Cam's grip on his hand. "You should join us."
"Sorry," he mumbles, "Don't eat raw fish."
"You can eat the teriyaki," Cam mutters, and Vala starts along ahead, hips swaying in the tall boots. Both of them watch her walk, and when she's about halfway down the aisle, reflected between a 50s era Benz and a honey of Jag wearing racing stripes, she holds up her hand, fingers clutching a black wallet.
"Shit." Roland's hand goes to the small of his back.
"I wouldn't," Cam says. "I really wouldn't." He's vibrating with energy and the kid shrugs out of his grip, stands still.
"Teryiaki it is," he says.
Roland almost gives up the petulance when they get to the car. "Sweet," he says, without much resentment and climbs into the back. "Restored her myself," Cam says, letting the pride rest in his voice.
"I do my own work," Roland says, "Learned from my dad," he starts and then crawls into the back seat, twitching a little when Vala gives him a shove, her knee against his ass.
There's a sushi place in a strip mall not all that far from downtown. Cam orders beer and sake for all of them, lets Vala fill out the sushi menu and picks apart the edamame. He thinks about his week of leave in Japan, sitting in a dark bar listening to karaoke and drinking beer and feeling like an alien while his buddies chatted up pretty girls and bullshitted about geishas and tiny cell phones.
Vala waits until there's sake in her tiny cup before giving the kid back his wallet.
"Lots of names in there," she says, leans forward, breasts thrust out. "Which is your favorite?"
Oh hell. Cam knew the name was a fake, but really he didn't need to have it confirmed.
There's a pause, shrewd and assessing and finally the kid says, "Dean. My name's Dean. What the hell do you two want?" Cam thinks he's telling the truth, the kid looks a little startled, on the offensive now.
Cam feels the laughter burble up. "Nothin' much," he says, "Just world peace."
Dean shakes his head. "Crazy fuckers."
Vala rolls that around in her mouth. "I like that," she says, and Cam lifts his eyebrow. "You can't tell me you haven't heard that one already."
She smiles, sweet and slow. "It's different coming from him," she says.
"Look," Dean starts, eyes flicking between them, "I was just checking out the auto show while my brother visits a buddy of his. I'm not looking for any trouble."
"I don't think that's true," Vala says. "You look like all kinds of fascinating trouble."
"Nah," Dean purses his mouth, leans back in his seat. "Just trying to avoid a couple hours of boring egghead talk. Besides, the motels got crappy porn."
He sits up straighter, "Wait, you're not looking for a third in some kinky sex thing are you? I'm mean, you're hot and all," he looks pointedly at Vala, "but I don't do…guys."
She reaches out, puts her thumb against his lip. "Darling, if I wanted you for kinky sex, I would have just asked."
Dean sits back, face scrunched in confusion, glares at Mitchell. "Not kinky sex. Okay. So you're just a car buff, huh? Just hauled me out here to buy me lunch."
"That's about it," Cam says. "Guy who works on his own engine can't be all bad. I don't get much time to shoot the shit about cars. My friends don’t take much of an interest." He taps his chopsticks against the table, "And I thought you might not wanna spend the night in the county jail."
"Like I said, I'm just a guy out to see some cars. Killing time. Finding my own fun. Gun's for protection."
"Big gun for just looking at automobiles," Vala says, and drinks her sake with delicate sips. Dean's eyes widen and he fumbles at his back while Vala's grin stretches out to predatory.
"I liked it better than I liked the cars," she grins. "Besides, I couldn't fit them in my pocket. But don't worry, I might be persuaded to give it back."
And now Cam's the guy who let the alien steal a probably illegal firearm from a civilian with multiple IDs. Great. All righty then.
"Are you in some kind of trouble?" Cam picks up the sake cup, feels the bright burn of rice wine, the bite on his tongue, in his throat. He doesn't know why he cares, but there's this… look the kid has. That same lost look, that tiny edge of arrogance and desperation and as he looks back and forth between Vala and Dean, he knows what he's seeing. Why he's here in this strip mall sushi place watching an alien flirt and interrogate while a kid he doesn't know and should probably be calling the police on struggle for composure.
He's got a feeling that this Dean's not a threat. At least not to them, not to the things Cam values. His mantra, his edicts - Protect. Explore. Save the world. Keep it safe. Couldn't keep Jackson safe, but then nobody could have. Worst day of Cam's life was calling General O'Neill to tell him about bad choices and trade-offs and decisions. About the kind of truce that nobody wants. He knows it wasn't his fault, but it sure as hell feels like his burden. He'd been the one to pull Vala away from the Ori, had three stitches in his thigh from where she'd kicked him, a mark on his shoulder from later than night when he'd held onto her, tried to offer comfort, had let her take what she needed in the dark. He doesn't think Jackson's dead, but maybe he might as well be.
"You're not cops," Dean pokes the end of his chopsticks through the paper sleeve, splits them apart, shaves off the splinters.
"Nope," Cam drinks more sake. "Not cops."
There's a pause, and then Dean leans back in his seat, crosses his arms over his chest, comes to some sort of conclusion. "Are you going to turn me in?"
"No." Cam answers.
Dean sighs, raises his eyebrow, "Know anything about big cats?"
Vala catches his eye and Cam can see the sheen there, the fever-bright curiosity.
"How big?" she asks and he should know better than to think she can't make everything sound like sex. Apparently, she's rubbing off on their new friend because he shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
"Really big."
Her eyes take him in, sweeping over him and she leans close enough to whisper into his ear. "Care to demonstrate?"
He starts to hold his hands up, about a foot between them and then shakes his head. "Are you a demon? Tell me you're a demon?"
"No," she says, "Not anymore. Now I'm just…"
Cam spits sake onto the table, interrupting her. They both stare at him like he's grown a second head.
"Sorry. Bad sake."
"There's nothing wrong with mine," Vala says and pulls the slim white carafe towards her.
The waitress arrives with tempura and the sashimi Vala ordered. She deftly picks it up with her chopsticks while Cam burns his fingers on the shrimp.
Finally, he says, "Big cats, huh?"
Dean's obviously changed his mind. "Just heard some rumors, didn't want my little dog to get eaten. No one likes it when the family poodle becomes a snack."
"So you're planning on shooting mountain lions with a handgun." Cam keeps trying to whisper 'not my problem, not my problem' to himself while Vala steals pieces of friend carrot out of Dean's bento box.
"I'm on the road a lot, and it's hard to keep a shotgun in the car. I'm not putting a gun rack on the Impala, it'd ruin the line." He pauses, "It's just a precaution. I just really hate cats."
Christ, this really isn't his problem.
"What do you do, then?" Vala asks. "For a living."
Dean takes a long swallow of beer, looks young and petulant and trapped. There's a balance of power here, this kid caught between Cam's authority and Vala's allure and he's pretty sure that the young man isn't used to being stuck between either.
"I hunt," he says.
"Funny," Vala puts her hands primly in her lap. "So do we."
The conversation doesn't progress much further. They finish their lunch and get back into the car and Cam drives them back to the convention center. He gets out of the car, letting Dean out on his side, and he takes his elbow before the kid can stalk off.
"There's something coming," he says, doesn't know why he's warning him, doesn't quite know what he's warning him of. If the Ori come, it's not like being prepared is going to do a damned bit of good.
Dean looks at him, looks older now and tired. Looks like a man, a peer. "Something's already here," he shrugs and goes around the back of the car, takes the gun Vala's holding out the window.
"I kept the bullets," she says and tugs him down by the collar of his jacket, kisses him quickly on the mouth. "For luck," she says and he looks a little dazed, a little pissed as he stalks back through the rows of cars.
They're halfway back to the base before Cam speaks. "That was… weird."
Vala pulls her knees up towards her, boots on the seat but he doesn't object. "Do you think that Daniel will come back?" she asks, and it blindsides Cam.
They haven't talked about this, have made oblique references, have searched relentlessly for another solution, one with trappings of hope, but they haven't named these fears aloud.
"I don't know," he says, and wishes he knew how to be less than honest with her.
"That boy," she rubs her fingers on the glass of the window. It's getting colder out and there's a trace of fog. She swipes her fingertip through it. "It looked like he hadn't rested in a long time."
"Yeah." Cam's reminded again of young soldiers, of combat, of burning bright and fierce, of how easy it is to be restless, relentless and how much of a pleasure it is to stop, how it feels like pain at first because you no longer recognize ease. He gives in, puts his hand on the curve of her knee and feels her heat race through his fingertips. She curls her hand around his, squeezes tightly.
"We don't have to go back to the base," he says and she turns bright, inquisitive eyes on him.
"I didn't mean," he starts to backpeddle. "I wasn't talking about…"
"Sex?" She begins to laugh and it catches just a little. She digs her nails into the side of his hand and he has to pull away to shift. "Are you asking me for sex, Cameron?"
She rarely says his first name and it startles him because he doesn't know the answer.
"Dinner," he says quickly, keeping his fist against the gear shift. "TV and beer. Just some down time." He's not ready for the day to end, weird or not, wants to kick back and pretend for a few more hours. It's not like he sleeps through the night. His dreams won't let him pretend.
He holds his breath until she nods, and then he's ashamed. Here he is, a man who's always made friends easily, always had people around, a man leading the best and brightest, living a life he couldn't have dreamed about and he's more alone than he ever has been. What right does he have to ask her to counter any of that? She's the most alone person he knows, and he's asking her for comfort. But there was something about that kid that just made him crave… normal. Vala isn't normal, but she's… more than enough.
"We don't have to," he says, guilt sitting like a weight. "I'll take you back, we can look in a few more databases…"
"No," she interrupts, "I'd like that. To go home with you."
"Dinner and beer and TV?"
"No," she says, and puts her hand high on his thigh, inches away from the scar left by the stitches.
"Okay," he says, and puts his hand back on the wheel.
No real spoilers for either show, but assume up through S10 for SG-1.
Floodlights on the Highway
He takes Vala with him, partly because it's his turn to drag her out into the light and partly because he thinks she'll enjoy herself. She hasn't been doing much of that lately. None of them have.
Normally, he'd ask Sam or Teal'c, but the former just gives him this vaguely uncomfortable look when he asks her to do things off base these days and Teal'c just isn't that into cars. Cam knows he's supposed to save the world, but sometimes he needs a little reminder as to why.
"Will there be lunch?" Vala asks, and rests her chin on her forearm, stares out the window as they drive.
Cam's feeling generous. "Anything you want."
She looks over her shoulder at him and he tries not to take his eyes off the road. There are circles under her eyes, dark and bruised looking and her skin is slightly waxy. He'd like to hold her hand, pat her knee and none of it tracks - this need to offer comfort, protection. She's not a girl who needs sanctuary, at least she hasn't been. Things are different now.
"Sushi," she says, and flips her head back around to stare at the highway.
"We're in a landlocked state in the middle of winter," he says. "You really think raw fish is a good idea?"
"Yes," she says. There's a glimmery hint of laughter there and Cam feels something ease just a little in his gut. "I like to live dangerously."
"Fine," he says. "A one way ticket to food poisoning comin' right up."
Vala turns away from the road, settles into the leather seat and rests her head against the headrest. She fiddles with the volume control, ends up on the college radio station, wriggles a little to the alterna-rock. Cam doesn't recognize the band, but he doesn't mind the wriggling, likes the sight of her long legs curled against his bucket seats. Her pale hands settle in her lap. Somewhere along the way, she's become someone he craves, as much a member of his team as Sam or Teal'c or… he jumps the tracks on that train of thought and takes the exit to the convention center.
*
They have to walk a ways to get to the auto show. It's chilly out, but bright, crusts of snow caked into the cracks around the trees and gutters at the edge of the parking lot. Cam shrugs his shoulders inside his leather jacket, rolling into the cold, tucking his hands into his pockets.
Vala has on a red coat and her cheeks are flushed pink with the cold. She looks healthier than she has in weeks, and she links her arm through his, puts her cold bare fingers under his elbow. If she were anyone else, he'd stop in this parking lot and kiss her, watch her grin against his mouth, taste the mint of the gum she chewed and stuck in the ashtray just to annoy him. He pushes against her a little, rocking them both and keeps her steady as she picks her way across the asphalt in her high black boots.
They give him a military discount at the door and he buys a couple of coffees, loads Vala's up with sugar and cream. The convention center smells like rubber and Armoral and linoleum. Vala taps her fingers against the paper cup and looks around at the chrome and steel and men with V-8 tinged stars in their eyes.
"This is your idea of treasure, isn't it?" she says, and he forgets sometimes that she's shrewd enough to have survived out there, that she isn't all pigtails and pinup girl seduction and posturing. She's sharp as a blade, resourceful and clever. And she can be kind.
"Not everyone's idea of fulfillment is rolling naked in cash." He takes a sip of the coffee. It's industrial and bitter, but warms him.
"Oh please," she says and crooks up the corner of her mouth. "Like seeing me do that wouldn't have been another kind of treasure."
He doesn't deny that the thought makes him sweat a little.
She tilts her head. "I could have made a fortune." The she sighs. "Too bad about You-Tube. No one has to pay for pornography any longer."
They walk past the real classics - the Daimlers and Bentleys- all those elegant steel beasts from other eras until they get to the muscle cars.
"These must be worth quite a bit," she says, speculative and standing far too close for comfort to the '78 Trans-Am, "if all these people are willing to come out and gawk at them." She leans forward to look in the window and the coffee cup tilts precariously towards the custom paint job.
Cam hears a sharp gasp, snatches at her belt loop, tugs until she scoots away from the car and looks up to see a kid on the other side, eyes wide and horrified, hands clutched into fists. He grins at the kid - not really a kid he thinks, mid-20s maybe, good-looking and a little rough around the edges. His mouth is hard and his eyes are bright, standing with that cocky aggression that Cam remembers from that age. He reminds Cam of the recruits coming back from their second or third campaign: not yet cynical, not really, still ready for anything. Full of piss and vinegar coupled with a healthy dose of holy shit did we really do that fear.
If the remains of his team can't win this war, all those kids are going to fall. This kid across from them is gonna be a slave, a follower. Dead if he's lucky, or smart.
The kid doesn't grin back, just takes an eyeful of Vala and shoves his hands in his pockets.
"Her first time," Cam says, gives a shrug. He lifts his chin at the car. "Yours?"
Vala leans back into him and he realizes he hasn't taken his fingers out of her belt loops. His arm is under her coat and she's very close to him and he lets go, tries not to brush his hand along her back as he extricates himself.
The kid is shaking his head. "Nah, just browsing," he says and sounds a little bit wistful. "Met the dude who owns it, though. He did all the interior work himself. Said it was a mess. Had to pull the seats, put in new ones, new carpet and everything." He pauses. "Some people just don't know how to treat their stuff, you know?"
Cam nods. "Yeah," he says, and feels that tug in his gut again, that acidy guilt that's been eating at him for a month now. Christ, has it really been a month?
Vala walks around to the other side of the car. In her boots, she's nearly as tall as Cam, can look the other guy in the eye.
"You like these," she says.
"Yeah," he answers like it's a challenge.
"Show me your favorites," she says and the kid gapes at her.
"Lady, I don't even know you." But he swallows hard, eyes trailing down her pale throat, over the black hair and her long legs.
"So?" she says, and Cam tries hard not to laugh. Saying no to Vala hasn't, to his knowledge, gotten anyone anywhere.
"She'll get bored soon," he offers as encouragement and the kid looks at him, mouth open. Cam knows the rules, knows the regs, knows that letting Vala wander around the convention center with a stranger is against all of them, but she's genuinely smiling right now, amused by pissing off a handsome kid with a cup of coffee and her curiosity and her cleavage and he hasn't seen that wicked grin since Daniel… left. He'd break far more stringent rules than these to keep that smile there for a few more hours.
He doesn't have anything to offer the rest of his team.
It takes two T-birds, a metallic blue 'Stang and a souped up Astin-Martin that just screamed "Bond wannabe" about its owner before Vala cried uncle, declares herself bored to death. She isn't really, Cam can tell. But she is restless, ready for something new.
The kid, who'd introduced himself as Roland with the kind of smirk that made Cam want to roll his eyes and ask why he didn't just call himself Smokey, or BJ held out his hand to Cam. Kid had a solid grip, hands hard like he used them a lot, with freckles dotting the back. He probably spent a decent amount of time outside, or driving with his arm hanging out the window. When he raised his hand to scratch at the back of his head, Cam saw the edges of tan near his wrist.
He also saw the shadow of a holster and his mouth turned sour. He stepped in closer to "Roland", and slapped him on the back. "Colorado's not a conceal and carry state," he says low enough to keep it from the crowds. "Best leave that in the car next time."
Roland purses his mouth. "I might be needing it," he says, voice shifting from loose and drawling to serious. "For work."
Cam wants to stamp his foot. Whatever this is, it isn't his problem. It's a… people problem, a police problem. He looks over at Vala, her eyes bright with interest. Great, this has just become his problem. She's taken an interest.
"We're going to have lunch," she says. "Sushi." She licks her mouth and Roland's eyes flick between the glossy seduction of her pink tongue and lush pout to Cam's grip on his hand. "You should join us."
"Sorry," he mumbles, "Don't eat raw fish."
"You can eat the teriyaki," Cam mutters, and Vala starts along ahead, hips swaying in the tall boots. Both of them watch her walk, and when she's about halfway down the aisle, reflected between a 50s era Benz and a honey of Jag wearing racing stripes, she holds up her hand, fingers clutching a black wallet.
"Shit." Roland's hand goes to the small of his back.
"I wouldn't," Cam says. "I really wouldn't." He's vibrating with energy and the kid shrugs out of his grip, stands still.
"Teryiaki it is," he says.
Roland almost gives up the petulance when they get to the car. "Sweet," he says, without much resentment and climbs into the back. "Restored her myself," Cam says, letting the pride rest in his voice.
"I do my own work," Roland says, "Learned from my dad," he starts and then crawls into the back seat, twitching a little when Vala gives him a shove, her knee against his ass.
There's a sushi place in a strip mall not all that far from downtown. Cam orders beer and sake for all of them, lets Vala fill out the sushi menu and picks apart the edamame. He thinks about his week of leave in Japan, sitting in a dark bar listening to karaoke and drinking beer and feeling like an alien while his buddies chatted up pretty girls and bullshitted about geishas and tiny cell phones.
Vala waits until there's sake in her tiny cup before giving the kid back his wallet.
"Lots of names in there," she says, leans forward, breasts thrust out. "Which is your favorite?"
Oh hell. Cam knew the name was a fake, but really he didn't need to have it confirmed.
There's a pause, shrewd and assessing and finally the kid says, "Dean. My name's Dean. What the hell do you two want?" Cam thinks he's telling the truth, the kid looks a little startled, on the offensive now.
Cam feels the laughter burble up. "Nothin' much," he says, "Just world peace."
Dean shakes his head. "Crazy fuckers."
Vala rolls that around in her mouth. "I like that," she says, and Cam lifts his eyebrow. "You can't tell me you haven't heard that one already."
She smiles, sweet and slow. "It's different coming from him," she says.
"Look," Dean starts, eyes flicking between them, "I was just checking out the auto show while my brother visits a buddy of his. I'm not looking for any trouble."
"I don't think that's true," Vala says. "You look like all kinds of fascinating trouble."
"Nah," Dean purses his mouth, leans back in his seat. "Just trying to avoid a couple hours of boring egghead talk. Besides, the motels got crappy porn."
He sits up straighter, "Wait, you're not looking for a third in some kinky sex thing are you? I'm mean, you're hot and all," he looks pointedly at Vala, "but I don't do…guys."
She reaches out, puts her thumb against his lip. "Darling, if I wanted you for kinky sex, I would have just asked."
Dean sits back, face scrunched in confusion, glares at Mitchell. "Not kinky sex. Okay. So you're just a car buff, huh? Just hauled me out here to buy me lunch."
"That's about it," Cam says. "Guy who works on his own engine can't be all bad. I don't get much time to shoot the shit about cars. My friends don’t take much of an interest." He taps his chopsticks against the table, "And I thought you might not wanna spend the night in the county jail."
"Like I said, I'm just a guy out to see some cars. Killing time. Finding my own fun. Gun's for protection."
"Big gun for just looking at automobiles," Vala says, and drinks her sake with delicate sips. Dean's eyes widen and he fumbles at his back while Vala's grin stretches out to predatory.
"I liked it better than I liked the cars," she grins. "Besides, I couldn't fit them in my pocket. But don't worry, I might be persuaded to give it back."
And now Cam's the guy who let the alien steal a probably illegal firearm from a civilian with multiple IDs. Great. All righty then.
"Are you in some kind of trouble?" Cam picks up the sake cup, feels the bright burn of rice wine, the bite on his tongue, in his throat. He doesn't know why he cares, but there's this… look the kid has. That same lost look, that tiny edge of arrogance and desperation and as he looks back and forth between Vala and Dean, he knows what he's seeing. Why he's here in this strip mall sushi place watching an alien flirt and interrogate while a kid he doesn't know and should probably be calling the police on struggle for composure.
He's got a feeling that this Dean's not a threat. At least not to them, not to the things Cam values. His mantra, his edicts - Protect. Explore. Save the world. Keep it safe. Couldn't keep Jackson safe, but then nobody could have. Worst day of Cam's life was calling General O'Neill to tell him about bad choices and trade-offs and decisions. About the kind of truce that nobody wants. He knows it wasn't his fault, but it sure as hell feels like his burden. He'd been the one to pull Vala away from the Ori, had three stitches in his thigh from where she'd kicked him, a mark on his shoulder from later than night when he'd held onto her, tried to offer comfort, had let her take what she needed in the dark. He doesn't think Jackson's dead, but maybe he might as well be.
"You're not cops," Dean pokes the end of his chopsticks through the paper sleeve, splits them apart, shaves off the splinters.
"Nope," Cam drinks more sake. "Not cops."
There's a pause, and then Dean leans back in his seat, crosses his arms over his chest, comes to some sort of conclusion. "Are you going to turn me in?"
"No." Cam answers.
Dean sighs, raises his eyebrow, "Know anything about big cats?"
Vala catches his eye and Cam can see the sheen there, the fever-bright curiosity.
"How big?" she asks and he should know better than to think she can't make everything sound like sex. Apparently, she's rubbing off on their new friend because he shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
"Really big."
Her eyes take him in, sweeping over him and she leans close enough to whisper into his ear. "Care to demonstrate?"
He starts to hold his hands up, about a foot between them and then shakes his head. "Are you a demon? Tell me you're a demon?"
"No," she says, "Not anymore. Now I'm just…"
Cam spits sake onto the table, interrupting her. They both stare at him like he's grown a second head.
"Sorry. Bad sake."
"There's nothing wrong with mine," Vala says and pulls the slim white carafe towards her.
The waitress arrives with tempura and the sashimi Vala ordered. She deftly picks it up with her chopsticks while Cam burns his fingers on the shrimp.
Finally, he says, "Big cats, huh?"
Dean's obviously changed his mind. "Just heard some rumors, didn't want my little dog to get eaten. No one likes it when the family poodle becomes a snack."
"So you're planning on shooting mountain lions with a handgun." Cam keeps trying to whisper 'not my problem, not my problem' to himself while Vala steals pieces of friend carrot out of Dean's bento box.
"I'm on the road a lot, and it's hard to keep a shotgun in the car. I'm not putting a gun rack on the Impala, it'd ruin the line." He pauses, "It's just a precaution. I just really hate cats."
Christ, this really isn't his problem.
"What do you do, then?" Vala asks. "For a living."
Dean takes a long swallow of beer, looks young and petulant and trapped. There's a balance of power here, this kid caught between Cam's authority and Vala's allure and he's pretty sure that the young man isn't used to being stuck between either.
"I hunt," he says.
"Funny," Vala puts her hands primly in her lap. "So do we."
The conversation doesn't progress much further. They finish their lunch and get back into the car and Cam drives them back to the convention center. He gets out of the car, letting Dean out on his side, and he takes his elbow before the kid can stalk off.
"There's something coming," he says, doesn't know why he's warning him, doesn't quite know what he's warning him of. If the Ori come, it's not like being prepared is going to do a damned bit of good.
Dean looks at him, looks older now and tired. Looks like a man, a peer. "Something's already here," he shrugs and goes around the back of the car, takes the gun Vala's holding out the window.
"I kept the bullets," she says and tugs him down by the collar of his jacket, kisses him quickly on the mouth. "For luck," she says and he looks a little dazed, a little pissed as he stalks back through the rows of cars.
They're halfway back to the base before Cam speaks. "That was… weird."
Vala pulls her knees up towards her, boots on the seat but he doesn't object. "Do you think that Daniel will come back?" she asks, and it blindsides Cam.
They haven't talked about this, have made oblique references, have searched relentlessly for another solution, one with trappings of hope, but they haven't named these fears aloud.
"I don't know," he says, and wishes he knew how to be less than honest with her.
"That boy," she rubs her fingers on the glass of the window. It's getting colder out and there's a trace of fog. She swipes her fingertip through it. "It looked like he hadn't rested in a long time."
"Yeah." Cam's reminded again of young soldiers, of combat, of burning bright and fierce, of how easy it is to be restless, relentless and how much of a pleasure it is to stop, how it feels like pain at first because you no longer recognize ease. He gives in, puts his hand on the curve of her knee and feels her heat race through his fingertips. She curls her hand around his, squeezes tightly.
"We don't have to go back to the base," he says and she turns bright, inquisitive eyes on him.
"I didn't mean," he starts to backpeddle. "I wasn't talking about…"
"Sex?" She begins to laugh and it catches just a little. She digs her nails into the side of his hand and he has to pull away to shift. "Are you asking me for sex, Cameron?"
She rarely says his first name and it startles him because he doesn't know the answer.
"Dinner," he says quickly, keeping his fist against the gear shift. "TV and beer. Just some down time." He's not ready for the day to end, weird or not, wants to kick back and pretend for a few more hours. It's not like he sleeps through the night. His dreams won't let him pretend.
He holds his breath until she nods, and then he's ashamed. Here he is, a man who's always made friends easily, always had people around, a man leading the best and brightest, living a life he couldn't have dreamed about and he's more alone than he ever has been. What right does he have to ask her to counter any of that? She's the most alone person he knows, and he's asking her for comfort. But there was something about that kid that just made him crave… normal. Vala isn't normal, but she's… more than enough.
"We don't have to," he says, guilt sitting like a weight. "I'll take you back, we can look in a few more databases…"
"No," she interrupts, "I'd like that. To go home with you."
"Dinner and beer and TV?"
"No," she says, and puts her hand high on his thigh, inches away from the scar left by the stitches.
"Okay," he says, and puts his hand back on the wheel.