Breakaway ... A Cam/Lorne sample
While Traitor simmers away, I started thinking about a certain ficathon I've signed up for featuring Cam Mitchell and Evan Lorne. Kind of an unusual pairing, but one that I find intriguing. I've kinda sorta started writing a backstory for this AU ... Here's a sample.
Breakaway
Breakaway
Cam Mitchell hadn’t stayed in a dorm room since graduation from the Air Force Academy. He’d lived in some pretty primitive conditions due to combat assignments, but he'd hoped for a private room at Luke AFB. He wasn't spoiled. He was just in need of some space to decompress before starting the intensive F-302 training. The last thing he needed was to share a suite with three cadets. He looked hopefully at the sergeant manning the billeting desk.
He shook his head. “Sorry, sir. Due to the nature of the program and your late arrival, your housing choices are somewhat limited. There is off-base housing ...” He scrolled down his computer screen. Here’s something -- A condo in Glendale. Major John Sheppard is the contact. It's that or stay on base for a few days until we can find something else for you.”
Cam sighed and held out his hand. “Thank you, sergeant. I'll try Major Sheppard.”
The sergeant gave him a piece of paper with an address and phone number on it. “Good luck, sir.”
“Thanks.”
Cam stepped out of the heavily air-conditioned office and into the Arizona heat. It didn't bother him; not after two tours of duty in Afghanistan and Iraq. He punched Sheppard's number into his cell phone and got voicemail. Just the way his luck was running, he guessed. He’d take a chance and drive out there; give a plea for mercy in person. Hell, he’d pull rank if he had to. Just so he had a place to lay his head ...
One of the few perks of being a Colonel was having his own wheels available to him; a classic Mustang that was a sweet ride and had an engine like a jet fighter. It took to the wide desert roads like it had been born to ride on them.
Once off the base, regular traffic took over and he drove more carefully, finally pulling off the freeway exit to Glendale. He drove through some mediocre neighborhoods, through some good ones, and finally into what looked like an upscale condo development. He checked the address. Sheppard must have money. This was way beyond a major's salary.
The unit was at the end of a cul-de-sac with a view of the mountains and a golf course. Definitely private money. He went up to the door and knocked.
“Hold on!” A voice came from inside, and a moment later the door opened. Sheppard was younger than Cam had expected by a few years. He was wearing faded jeans and a paint-smeared shirt. A streak of blue that was nearly the same color as his eyes highlighted his cheekbone. He wasn't particularly tall, but his compact frame was muscular and fit.
“Umm …” Cam was a bit thrown off guard. “Major Sheppard?”
“Nope. Sorry.” He held out his hand, pulled it back and looked at it, then wiped it on his jeans, before offering it again. “Evan Lorne. Cap … I mean Major. The promotion's so new the ink isn't even dry.”
“Yeah, I can tell.” He looked at his palm, now with a bit of blue paint on it.
Lorne laughed. “Sorry about that. So, what can I do for you?” His mouth had a cheerful curve to it, his eyes were blue, his smile brought out dimples. Cam stared.
“I, I …” he cleared his throat. “The sergeant at the billeting office sent me over. He said Major Sheppard had a room ...”
“Yeah, this place is like staying at the Hilton. Four bedrooms, private baths, big pool out back … after where I've been, it's like being on vacation.”
“Afghanistan?”
Lorne made a face. “Worse. Somalia.”
“Sorry.”
“Come on in … Geez, I didn't even ask your name.”
“Cameron Mitchell.” He was a little embarrassed. “Colonel Cameron Mitchell.”
Lorne suddenly stood straighter, and a blush suffused his cheeks. “I'm sorry, sir.”
“Forget it. I'm not your CO. Right now, I'm just a guy who needs a beer and a place to stay.”
“God, my mom would give me a good shake for being rude. Come in, sir. I'll get the beer, the room is up to Sheppard.”
“Cam.” He followed Lorne inside. He set his gear down and looked around. There was a lot of white walls, Saltillo tile floors, Navajo rugs. Southwest artwork that looked expensive. “Who lives like this?” he asked under his breath.
“I do.”
Cam turned to the voice. It belonged to a slim, dark-haired man, closer to his own age than Lorne. He looked tired. He was wearing BDUs and carrying a helmet in the crook of his arm. “Lucky you,” Cam commented.
“It's not my place. It's my dad's. I'm John Sheppard. If we're being formal, Major John Sheppard.”
“Cam Mitchell. And if we're being formal. Colonel Cameron Mitchell.”
Unlike Lorne, Sheppard seemed unfazed by that admission, but retained a wary distance rank imposed. “How can I help you, Colonel?”
“For starters, by letting me bunk with you here. Like I told Major Lorne, forget the rank.”
“You've met Evan?”
“Yes. He's my new best friend. Getting beers. He said the room part was up to you.”
Sheppard shrugged and ran a hand over his already mussed hair. “Okay, here's he run-down. Evan and I are in this intensive training class for new jet fighters --”
“The F-302s?”
“Umm. Are you supposed to know that?” Sheppard was suddenly wary.
“It's why I'm here.”
“Okay, I guess we're on the same page. House rules are do your own laundry, police your own bathroom, clean up the kitchen if you cook. Unless you're cooking for all of us.” He looked hopeful and Cam shook his head.
“Pancakes. And I grill a mean steak. After that, it's spaghetti sauce from a jar or MREs.”
Sheppard laughed. “We are on the same page.”
“At least we won't die of thirst.” Lorne reappeared with three beers. “Guess you're here for the duration, sir.”
“Count me in. And cut the 'sir' crap. We're all here for the same reason, so in my book that makes us equals.”
Lorne's dimples came out again. “Welcome to the crazy. Fighters that are space-capable. Who'd have thought we'd see it in our lives?”
“Now, that's what I call cool!”Cam grinned, feeling at home as they raised their cans of beer in a toast. “Thanks for the invite, fellas.”
Part 2
Breakaway
Breakaway
Cam Mitchell hadn’t stayed in a dorm room since graduation from the Air Force Academy. He’d lived in some pretty primitive conditions due to combat assignments, but he'd hoped for a private room at Luke AFB. He wasn't spoiled. He was just in need of some space to decompress before starting the intensive F-302 training. The last thing he needed was to share a suite with three cadets. He looked hopefully at the sergeant manning the billeting desk.
He shook his head. “Sorry, sir. Due to the nature of the program and your late arrival, your housing choices are somewhat limited. There is off-base housing ...” He scrolled down his computer screen. Here’s something -- A condo in Glendale. Major John Sheppard is the contact. It's that or stay on base for a few days until we can find something else for you.”
Cam sighed and held out his hand. “Thank you, sergeant. I'll try Major Sheppard.”
The sergeant gave him a piece of paper with an address and phone number on it. “Good luck, sir.”
“Thanks.”
Cam stepped out of the heavily air-conditioned office and into the Arizona heat. It didn't bother him; not after two tours of duty in Afghanistan and Iraq. He punched Sheppard's number into his cell phone and got voicemail. Just the way his luck was running, he guessed. He’d take a chance and drive out there; give a plea for mercy in person. Hell, he’d pull rank if he had to. Just so he had a place to lay his head ...
One of the few perks of being a Colonel was having his own wheels available to him; a classic Mustang that was a sweet ride and had an engine like a jet fighter. It took to the wide desert roads like it had been born to ride on them.
Once off the base, regular traffic took over and he drove more carefully, finally pulling off the freeway exit to Glendale. He drove through some mediocre neighborhoods, through some good ones, and finally into what looked like an upscale condo development. He checked the address. Sheppard must have money. This was way beyond a major's salary.
The unit was at the end of a cul-de-sac with a view of the mountains and a golf course. Definitely private money. He went up to the door and knocked.
“Hold on!” A voice came from inside, and a moment later the door opened. Sheppard was younger than Cam had expected by a few years. He was wearing faded jeans and a paint-smeared shirt. A streak of blue that was nearly the same color as his eyes highlighted his cheekbone. He wasn't particularly tall, but his compact frame was muscular and fit.
“Umm …” Cam was a bit thrown off guard. “Major Sheppard?”
“Nope. Sorry.” He held out his hand, pulled it back and looked at it, then wiped it on his jeans, before offering it again. “Evan Lorne. Cap … I mean Major. The promotion's so new the ink isn't even dry.”
“Yeah, I can tell.” He looked at his palm, now with a bit of blue paint on it.
Lorne laughed. “Sorry about that. So, what can I do for you?” His mouth had a cheerful curve to it, his eyes were blue, his smile brought out dimples. Cam stared.
“I, I …” he cleared his throat. “The sergeant at the billeting office sent me over. He said Major Sheppard had a room ...”
“Yeah, this place is like staying at the Hilton. Four bedrooms, private baths, big pool out back … after where I've been, it's like being on vacation.”
“Afghanistan?”
Lorne made a face. “Worse. Somalia.”
“Sorry.”
“Come on in … Geez, I didn't even ask your name.”
“Cameron Mitchell.” He was a little embarrassed. “Colonel Cameron Mitchell.”
Lorne suddenly stood straighter, and a blush suffused his cheeks. “I'm sorry, sir.”
“Forget it. I'm not your CO. Right now, I'm just a guy who needs a beer and a place to stay.”
“God, my mom would give me a good shake for being rude. Come in, sir. I'll get the beer, the room is up to Sheppard.”
“Cam.” He followed Lorne inside. He set his gear down and looked around. There was a lot of white walls, Saltillo tile floors, Navajo rugs. Southwest artwork that looked expensive. “Who lives like this?” he asked under his breath.
“I do.”
Cam turned to the voice. It belonged to a slim, dark-haired man, closer to his own age than Lorne. He looked tired. He was wearing BDUs and carrying a helmet in the crook of his arm. “Lucky you,” Cam commented.
“It's not my place. It's my dad's. I'm John Sheppard. If we're being formal, Major John Sheppard.”
“Cam Mitchell. And if we're being formal. Colonel Cameron Mitchell.”
Unlike Lorne, Sheppard seemed unfazed by that admission, but retained a wary distance rank imposed. “How can I help you, Colonel?”
“For starters, by letting me bunk with you here. Like I told Major Lorne, forget the rank.”
“You've met Evan?”
“Yes. He's my new best friend. Getting beers. He said the room part was up to you.”
Sheppard shrugged and ran a hand over his already mussed hair. “Okay, here's he run-down. Evan and I are in this intensive training class for new jet fighters --”
“The F-302s?”
“Umm. Are you supposed to know that?” Sheppard was suddenly wary.
“It's why I'm here.”
“Okay, I guess we're on the same page. House rules are do your own laundry, police your own bathroom, clean up the kitchen if you cook. Unless you're cooking for all of us.” He looked hopeful and Cam shook his head.
“Pancakes. And I grill a mean steak. After that, it's spaghetti sauce from a jar or MREs.”
Sheppard laughed. “We are on the same page.”
“At least we won't die of thirst.” Lorne reappeared with three beers. “Guess you're here for the duration, sir.”
“Count me in. And cut the 'sir' crap. We're all here for the same reason, so in my book that makes us equals.”
Lorne's dimples came out again. “Welcome to the crazy. Fighters that are space-capable. Who'd have thought we'd see it in our lives?”
“Now, that's what I call cool!”Cam grinned, feeling at home as they raised their cans of beer in a toast. “Thanks for the invite, fellas.”
Part 2