SG-1 Fic: Grey Skies, Ashen Ground (Cameron/Teal'c, PG)
Title: Grey Skies, Ashen Ground
Pairing: Cameron/Teal'c
Rating: PG
Prompt: Cameron/Teal'c, picture prompt here
Summary: Even after so many years, the Tau'ri continue to surprise Teal'c.
Notes: Written for the apocalypse_kree challenge. Many thanks to gigerisgod for beta, and to rydra_wong for chatting with me when I got stuck.
It should no longer be so, not after many years spent among the Tau'ri. And yet, they continue to surprise Teal'c, both as individuals, and as a species. Sometimes the surprises are small, almost unremarkable. Other times, he does not understand why he did not anticipate what comes to pass.
It is, for example, no surprise that when the time comes, there is a detailed and organized evacuation plan. Similarly, Teal'c is unsurprised when the clear, precise details become rapidly less organized in the last few days, hours, minutes.
Yet, the location of the evacuation site is unexpected. It is not the Alpha site, a place that perhaps is ideally suited to the needs of the SGC and the civilians who have been included in the evacuation. Nor is it the Beta site, rougher perhaps, but nevertheless well-equipped to house refugees.
Instead, the planet is unknown. He has never been here. He wonders, briefly, who had come here, who had been entrusted with the task of ensuring it was an appropriate location. Who installed the shield on the Stargate? Who constructed the few buildings that stand on the sere ground?
Beside him, Colonel Mitchell whistles, low and long. "This place was buried so many levels down I didn't even hear a peep about it."
Secrets can be very well kept at the SGC. Teal'c has learned this, and learned from it. Right now, he momentarily feels relief that this particular secret had not been kept solely from him.
*
There is a briefing, and in contrast to most briefings that Teal'c has attended, it is indeed very brief. Instructions are divided among pre-arranged groupings of people with specific skills. Some of those groupings are missing individuals - some conspicuously, others less so. Teal'c nevertheless notes them all; this has become too easy over the years.
"Ships and additional personnel will be arriving within the month," General Landry tells them. They were dispatched as the last groups of people were stepping through the Stargate.
The time until their arrival is much longer than necessary, but this Teal'c understands. They are not taking a direct route, but rather attempt to evade any unseen watchers.
"We're burying the Stargate," Landry continues.
Beside him, Colonel Mitchell starts, a brief, sudden movement that he stills quickly.
Teal'c has had many years to practice schooling his features so that he shows nothing. Long before the Tau'ri, even before he became Apophis's First Prime. It is not a struggle to hide his surprise at this announcement.
The Tau'ri of the SGC have never been ones to advocate hiding and isolation. Perhaps they have advised some planets to bury their Stargates, perhaps they have speculated that isolation might have been better for some cultures, but such talk has always had an undertone - you may do this, but we never shall.
*
"I can't believe we buried the 'gate," Colonel Mitchell mutters. "That the plan leaves us stuck here."
Of course, the Stargate can always be uncovered. The DHD is still standing; crystals can be replaced.
Nevertheless.
If he were Samantha, perhaps he would say that when the ships arrive, they will no longer be isolated. But Samantha is busy, calibrating pieces of equipment that will help detect anything that approaches the planet.
Instead, he inclines his head.
"Did they even ask you if you wanted to leave, first?"
Colonel Mitchell knows the answer. He also knows that Teal'c would have had nowhere to go.
Some might ask what meaning lies in the loss of one more home. Teal'c does not vocalise such questions.
*
The planet is steel grey skies and ashen ground. The water that laps at the shore resembles nothing more than slick oil, cold and demanding. There is little time for standing, thinking. There are shelters to be built, or reinforced. There are meetings to attend and directions to give, or follow.
But there are moments - stretched thin and rare - when he stands as close to the shore as he can, watching the waves turn over small stones, drag them into the water, push them back. Only here is the ground damp, giving underneath his boots.
He is rarely alone during those moments. And he is glad.
"It's clay," Colonel Mitchell says to him, nodding out at the shore.
Once, Teal'c knew workers in clay. Old warriors, or those who never would fight.
"There were days," the colonel eventually continues, "when I was a kid. Summer days. Visiting my aunt and uncle, my cousins. They'd moved - hell of a drive to get to them, but it was worth it."
He wonders, briefly, what kind of child the colonel was. Troublesome, perhaps. Certainly inquisitive.
"They lived near a clay pit. Always wet, and wetter once we'd start running around in it." Colonel Mitchell cracks a smile, and it almost looks natural. "God, we'd make a mess, come back covered in it, and mom would get this look on her face, every single time we came home." He pauses, long and heavy.
Teal'c imagines that the colonel is picturing it - an expression, a body stance that he can't quite put into words. Perhaps his mother's mouth would open in a perfect circle of dismay, just before she would start pointing out the clay in her son's hair, or clinging to his clothing.
It has been years, and yet Teal'c remembers with clarity the look on his own mother's face when he returned from misadventure. It had remained a near daily constant for many, many years, but if asked, he would be hard pressed to describe it.
He remembers those long days. Returning home with scratches along his arms and legs, breathless from running and playing games that he later recognized as early training, far from the recklessness they had appeared to be at the time.
"You ever run barefoot on clay?"
"I have not," Teal'c says quietly.
"There's nothing like it."
There is silence, just for a few breaths, before the colonel says, "Come on. We can't build anything on that. It's clay."
When he turns and leaves, Colonel Mitchell's boots leave prints in the damp ground.
*
Within two weeks, the shelters are numerous and sturdy, lending a sense of permanence to the settlement. Even so, Teal'c is beginning to suspect that this was never intended to be permanent. Attempts at cultivating basic foods have been desultory at best, leading him to suppose that when the ships come, they will move somewhere else. This place is simply another step in attempting to lose any trackers.
But for now, there is routine, and also boredom. Perhaps the military personnel are equipped to deal with it, but Teal'c suspects that the civilians are less capable. It does not escape him that they are more frequently to be found in the vicinity of the buried Stargate.
He wonders if General Landry has noticed.
There are scouting missions - days away, in pairs, assessing the landscape and establishing a perimeter. It is unsurprising that Colonel Mitchell prefers these assignments to working around the settlement.
"You notice the civilians?" he asks Teal'c, one afternoon. The sun is filtered through grey clouds.
"Yes."
"They worry me." Mitchell mutters, dropping to one knee behind a series of ragged, grey-green bushes.
Teal'c follows suit, despite the patent lack of any threats on the horizon. "Yes."
*
That night - another night in the field, one of many that stretch out over his life - it is a shock to feel Colonel Mitchell's hand on his shoulder, fingers pressing in with an unfamiliar weight of expectation.
"I -" Mitchell starts, his fingers tightening briefly.
This is startling. He is very much aware of the rules of the American military; rules that now may become either more heavily monitored, or cast aside. He had not given it much thought.
Mitchell clearly has. "I don't see the point -" he says.
Teal'c himself has never truly understood the point, but he has learned to keep such thoughts to himself. And now - it is perhaps bad taste to point out the flaws of a culture that is dying.
But Mitchell's approach, his acknowledgement of desire, has been coming for some time, long before they left Earth. And Teal'c welcomes this step towards intimacy, the furthering of bonds between them. Finally, he thinks, and lets the sentiment show.
"Yeah?" Mitchell asks, hope flashing across his face.
"Indeed," Teal'c says, reaching to clasp Mitchell's wrist.
At night, the sky is not grey, but a rich black. Deep blue tinges the edges of the horizon, and the sky is untainted by a moon. The stars are bright - brighter than he has seen in many, many years.
When he stands, stripping off his jacket and shirt, he wonders if the stars outline his form, or if Mitchell is caught only by the light of their fire.
*
The next morning is grey, again. The mist is heavy, but Teal'c knows by now that it will burn off quickly, even in the watery light of this world's sun. The camp, the tent, their clothes, all have taken on a dull, wan tinge.
But to his eyes, Cameron's skin remains flushed. He wonders if anyone at the settlement - when they return - will notice.
He suspects not.
"Cool morning," Cameron says.
"It is," he replies, thinking of the evening warmth of the tent, already disassembled and packed away.
"Think this," Cameron gestures at the clouds, the ground, "is seasonal? That it's just winter or something?"
"Perhaps," he says, looking up at the sky. By now it is a routine, one that he shares with the Tau'ri - looking up, searching, as though they will see the ships coming into orbit, or perhaps preparing to land. Of course, they will see nothing through the thickness of the clouds, no matter how often they look, faces turned up in hope.
"Ready?" Cameron asks, shouldering his pack.
Teal'c looks back down, already stepping forward. If the ships do not arrive, he will not be surprised.
End.
Pairing: Cameron/Teal'c
Rating: PG
Prompt: Cameron/Teal'c, picture prompt here
Summary: Even after so many years, the Tau'ri continue to surprise Teal'c.
Notes: Written for the apocalypse_kree challenge. Many thanks to gigerisgod for beta, and to rydra_wong for chatting with me when I got stuck.
It should no longer be so, not after many years spent among the Tau'ri. And yet, they continue to surprise Teal'c, both as individuals, and as a species. Sometimes the surprises are small, almost unremarkable. Other times, he does not understand why he did not anticipate what comes to pass.
It is, for example, no surprise that when the time comes, there is a detailed and organized evacuation plan. Similarly, Teal'c is unsurprised when the clear, precise details become rapidly less organized in the last few days, hours, minutes.
Yet, the location of the evacuation site is unexpected. It is not the Alpha site, a place that perhaps is ideally suited to the needs of the SGC and the civilians who have been included in the evacuation. Nor is it the Beta site, rougher perhaps, but nevertheless well-equipped to house refugees.
Instead, the planet is unknown. He has never been here. He wonders, briefly, who had come here, who had been entrusted with the task of ensuring it was an appropriate location. Who installed the shield on the Stargate? Who constructed the few buildings that stand on the sere ground?
Beside him, Colonel Mitchell whistles, low and long. "This place was buried so many levels down I didn't even hear a peep about it."
Secrets can be very well kept at the SGC. Teal'c has learned this, and learned from it. Right now, he momentarily feels relief that this particular secret had not been kept solely from him.
*
There is a briefing, and in contrast to most briefings that Teal'c has attended, it is indeed very brief. Instructions are divided among pre-arranged groupings of people with specific skills. Some of those groupings are missing individuals - some conspicuously, others less so. Teal'c nevertheless notes them all; this has become too easy over the years.
"Ships and additional personnel will be arriving within the month," General Landry tells them. They were dispatched as the last groups of people were stepping through the Stargate.
The time until their arrival is much longer than necessary, but this Teal'c understands. They are not taking a direct route, but rather attempt to evade any unseen watchers.
"We're burying the Stargate," Landry continues.
Beside him, Colonel Mitchell starts, a brief, sudden movement that he stills quickly.
Teal'c has had many years to practice schooling his features so that he shows nothing. Long before the Tau'ri, even before he became Apophis's First Prime. It is not a struggle to hide his surprise at this announcement.
The Tau'ri of the SGC have never been ones to advocate hiding and isolation. Perhaps they have advised some planets to bury their Stargates, perhaps they have speculated that isolation might have been better for some cultures, but such talk has always had an undertone - you may do this, but we never shall.
*
"I can't believe we buried the 'gate," Colonel Mitchell mutters. "That the plan leaves us stuck here."
Of course, the Stargate can always be uncovered. The DHD is still standing; crystals can be replaced.
Nevertheless.
If he were Samantha, perhaps he would say that when the ships arrive, they will no longer be isolated. But Samantha is busy, calibrating pieces of equipment that will help detect anything that approaches the planet.
Instead, he inclines his head.
"Did they even ask you if you wanted to leave, first?"
Colonel Mitchell knows the answer. He also knows that Teal'c would have had nowhere to go.
Some might ask what meaning lies in the loss of one more home. Teal'c does not vocalise such questions.
*
The planet is steel grey skies and ashen ground. The water that laps at the shore resembles nothing more than slick oil, cold and demanding. There is little time for standing, thinking. There are shelters to be built, or reinforced. There are meetings to attend and directions to give, or follow.
But there are moments - stretched thin and rare - when he stands as close to the shore as he can, watching the waves turn over small stones, drag them into the water, push them back. Only here is the ground damp, giving underneath his boots.
He is rarely alone during those moments. And he is glad.
"It's clay," Colonel Mitchell says to him, nodding out at the shore.
Once, Teal'c knew workers in clay. Old warriors, or those who never would fight.
"There were days," the colonel eventually continues, "when I was a kid. Summer days. Visiting my aunt and uncle, my cousins. They'd moved - hell of a drive to get to them, but it was worth it."
He wonders, briefly, what kind of child the colonel was. Troublesome, perhaps. Certainly inquisitive.
"They lived near a clay pit. Always wet, and wetter once we'd start running around in it." Colonel Mitchell cracks a smile, and it almost looks natural. "God, we'd make a mess, come back covered in it, and mom would get this look on her face, every single time we came home." He pauses, long and heavy.
Teal'c imagines that the colonel is picturing it - an expression, a body stance that he can't quite put into words. Perhaps his mother's mouth would open in a perfect circle of dismay, just before she would start pointing out the clay in her son's hair, or clinging to his clothing.
It has been years, and yet Teal'c remembers with clarity the look on his own mother's face when he returned from misadventure. It had remained a near daily constant for many, many years, but if asked, he would be hard pressed to describe it.
He remembers those long days. Returning home with scratches along his arms and legs, breathless from running and playing games that he later recognized as early training, far from the recklessness they had appeared to be at the time.
"You ever run barefoot on clay?"
"I have not," Teal'c says quietly.
"There's nothing like it."
There is silence, just for a few breaths, before the colonel says, "Come on. We can't build anything on that. It's clay."
When he turns and leaves, Colonel Mitchell's boots leave prints in the damp ground.
*
Within two weeks, the shelters are numerous and sturdy, lending a sense of permanence to the settlement. Even so, Teal'c is beginning to suspect that this was never intended to be permanent. Attempts at cultivating basic foods have been desultory at best, leading him to suppose that when the ships come, they will move somewhere else. This place is simply another step in attempting to lose any trackers.
But for now, there is routine, and also boredom. Perhaps the military personnel are equipped to deal with it, but Teal'c suspects that the civilians are less capable. It does not escape him that they are more frequently to be found in the vicinity of the buried Stargate.
He wonders if General Landry has noticed.
There are scouting missions - days away, in pairs, assessing the landscape and establishing a perimeter. It is unsurprising that Colonel Mitchell prefers these assignments to working around the settlement.
"You notice the civilians?" he asks Teal'c, one afternoon. The sun is filtered through grey clouds.
"Yes."
"They worry me." Mitchell mutters, dropping to one knee behind a series of ragged, grey-green bushes.
Teal'c follows suit, despite the patent lack of any threats on the horizon. "Yes."
*
That night - another night in the field, one of many that stretch out over his life - it is a shock to feel Colonel Mitchell's hand on his shoulder, fingers pressing in with an unfamiliar weight of expectation.
"I -" Mitchell starts, his fingers tightening briefly.
This is startling. He is very much aware of the rules of the American military; rules that now may become either more heavily monitored, or cast aside. He had not given it much thought.
Mitchell clearly has. "I don't see the point -" he says.
Teal'c himself has never truly understood the point, but he has learned to keep such thoughts to himself. And now - it is perhaps bad taste to point out the flaws of a culture that is dying.
But Mitchell's approach, his acknowledgement of desire, has been coming for some time, long before they left Earth. And Teal'c welcomes this step towards intimacy, the furthering of bonds between them. Finally, he thinks, and lets the sentiment show.
"Yeah?" Mitchell asks, hope flashing across his face.
"Indeed," Teal'c says, reaching to clasp Mitchell's wrist.
At night, the sky is not grey, but a rich black. Deep blue tinges the edges of the horizon, and the sky is untainted by a moon. The stars are bright - brighter than he has seen in many, many years.
When he stands, stripping off his jacket and shirt, he wonders if the stars outline his form, or if Mitchell is caught only by the light of their fire.
*
The next morning is grey, again. The mist is heavy, but Teal'c knows by now that it will burn off quickly, even in the watery light of this world's sun. The camp, the tent, their clothes, all have taken on a dull, wan tinge.
But to his eyes, Cameron's skin remains flushed. He wonders if anyone at the settlement - when they return - will notice.
He suspects not.
"Cool morning," Cameron says.
"It is," he replies, thinking of the evening warmth of the tent, already disassembled and packed away.
"Think this," Cameron gestures at the clouds, the ground, "is seasonal? That it's just winter or something?"
"Perhaps," he says, looking up at the sky. By now it is a routine, one that he shares with the Tau'ri - looking up, searching, as though they will see the ships coming into orbit, or perhaps preparing to land. Of course, they will see nothing through the thickness of the clouds, no matter how often they look, faces turned up in hope.
"Ready?" Cameron asks, shouldering his pack.
Teal'c looks back down, already stepping forward. If the ships do not arrive, he will not be surprised.
End.