Fic: Amazing Grace, Cam/Lorne
Title:Amazing Grace
Author Rubygirl29
Pairing: Cam/Lorne
Genre: Slash, Angst
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: Sunday
Summary: There were only two reasons to wear dress blues in Atlantis ... one was a funeral.
Disclaimer: Last time I checked, I still don’t own them, just the Breakaway AU.
Author’s Note: This was supposed to be a fun reply to the prompt, “Lorne, dress blues” but the story took over and turned into something entirely different. In fact, I can't even post it as a response it's so far from the intent of the theme which was 'party dress'.
Amazing Grace
They had all worn their blues with pride; Sheppard, Dr. Cole, himself. They had carried Carson Beckett through the Stargate and back to Earth, where they had separated. Sheppard had gone with Rodney and Ronon to Scotland while Evan stayed on call in case there was an emergency on Atlantis. He felt lonely and at a loss. He couldn’t endure the claustrophobic confines of SGC. Cam Mitchell, the one person he longed to see, needed to see, was off-world with SG-1. Lorne wasn’t confined to the base, so he called a taxi and had it drop him off in town. With no where to go and feeling like the ground was falling away beneath his feet, he wandered the streets in a chilly autumn rain. He didn’t notice how cold and wet he was until he came to a well-lit and welcoming bar. The warmth inside beckoned to him. He glanced up at the sign in the window, The Pegasus Pub. He wondered if the name were an omen from Carson. It was as good a place as any to find shelter from the storm.
He went up to the bar and ordered a single-malt scotch. He didn’t drink a lot of hard liquor, but tonight he was cold enough and lonely enough to need it. The scotch was in Carson’s memory. He drained it in a gulp and asked for a refill.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^
Cam Mitchell walked through the streets of Colorado Springs. He was back from a hell of a depressing mission on another world decimated by the Ori. It had been cold and wet there, and it was cold and wet here. Just what he needed -- a grim reminder of death. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen the sun.
He had a destination in mind. Pub grub and a beer sounded pretty good, and the name of the place reminded him of Evan. He'd found himself there frequently enough that the bartender knew his name. He’d tried to get Teal’c and Sam Carter to join him, but Teal’c declined and Sam had some scientific data to work on, so he was alone. He wondered how Evan was doing on Atlantis, where the sun seemed to shine more often than not, and the weather was not nearly as changeable. Cam had the Ori, Evan had the Wraith. Given a choice of enemies, he'd prefer the Wraith. At least they killed selectively. There was a cheerful thought ...
A cold drizzle ran down his collar, reminding him that standing in the rain wouldn’t get him anything but wet. He pulled the door open and went into the warmth of the pub. He shook the rain off his leather jacket and breathed in the earthy aroma of damp clothing and beer; smoke from the fire laid on the large hearth … and food. God, a burger would hit the spot about now …
The waitress offered him a booth later or a barstool now. Cam decided to wait for a booth and get a head start on his beer at the bar. He had taken only a few steps before he paused. Couldn’t be, he thought. No way. He eyed the back of the man in dress blues sitting hunched over a glass of whiskey. Misery was in every line of his body, and Cam would have known the shape of the man in his sleep. He touched Lorne’s shoulder. “Evan?”
The airman made a slow turn towards him. Lorne’s handsome face was ravaged with pain, his eyes bleary and red-rimmed. He blinked at Cam as if he were an apparition. “Cam?” His voice was rough and he had to clear his throat before he spoke. “They said you were off-world.”
“I was. I just got back. What are you doing here? What’s wrong? You look like you lost your best friend …” His words faded. "John? God, is it John?" He gripped Evan's shoulder, bracing himself for a shared grief that would shred them both emotionally.
"No. John's fine. He's ... okay. We're all ... okay." He took a sip of whiskey and Cam saw his hand shaking. "Except for Carson Beckett. He's ... he was killed."
Cam had known Beckett only by sight, but he knew his reputation. Nobody had ever said anything bad about him. He was an exceptional doctor, a decent human being. Evan had counted him as a friend, someone he could talk to when he needed help for himself or for his men. No wonder he looked so shattered.
"God, I'm sorry, Ev. Was it the wraith?"
Evan shook his head. "It was a stupid accident. Another piece of Ancient tech gone wrong with fatal consequences for a lot of people -- not just Carson. He was a hero, Cam. He died a hero trying to save somebody else. He wasn't a soldier. He was a doctor, for God's sake! One of the good guys. It shouldn't have happened. I could have kept it from happening ..." He drained his glass and started to signal for another.
Cam stopped him. "You've had enough to drink. You need to eat something. C'mon. I've got a booth." He took Evan's elbow. "It's okay. You can talk to me."
Over dinner and coffee Lorne related the whole rambling, painful story. They sat in the semi-darkness, Cam's hand just resting against his on the tabletop as he talked. Guilt, grief, loneliness ... all just below the surface and hidden by the glitter and pomp of dress blues.
Lorne didn't eat much, but enough to keep the whiskey from destroying his outer composure. He was still shaking, though. Not even the fire could reach that chill inside of him. Cam's thumb caressed his knuckles.
"Let's get out of here. My place is just down the street."
The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but the night air was cold. Cam's jacket was warmer than Evan's service dress coat, and he was wearing a thick, water-resistant sweater. He looked around. They were alone in the vestibule. He unbuttoned Lorne's uniform. "Here, wear this." He handed his jacket over. "It's getting cold out there and you're already about to shake apart."
The warmth was comforting and Evan wasn't up to an argument in public, so he complied. It was two short blocks to the condo Cam was subletting from another officer who was deployed overseas. It was comfortable, masculine, and during daylight the big windows let in the mountain views beyond the city. Evan didn't seem to notice or care. He sank down on the couch, leaned back and closed his eyes. Food had helped, but he still felt dizzy and his eyes burned. Too many tears, too much grief. He felt something soft drop on his lap, and cracked his eyes open enough to take a look. Sweatpants and a sweatshirt, socks. "Thanks," he said, trying to marshal the strength to move.
Cam held out his hand. "Get changed. Sam converted me to a tea drinker at night. Want some?"
"Carson ... he liked tea. When we were on night duty, sometimes he'd brew some and we'd sit and talk. He ... he liked fishing. Boring as hell, if you ask me, but he did ..." Evan looked at him sadly. "He was the most compassionate man I’ve ever known.” He let Cam pull him up and went into the bathroom. He turned the water on high and let the heat and steam chase the chill from his bones.
Cam was waiting with a mug of steaming tea. He looked at Evan; his damp hair, his heat-flushed cheeks, his sad eyes, and he ached. He set the mug down and opened his arms. “Let me hold you,” he said, but Evan remained stiff and distant, lost in the darkness of his grief. Cam released him, handed him the tea. “I wasn’t looking for sex,” he said.
Lorne smiled slightly. “I know.” He returned to the couch. “I’m tired, Cam.”
“Then we’ll sleep.”
He made it sound so simple. He drank his tea and let Cam walk him to the bedroom.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^
Later, tucked in the curve of Cam’s body and just about on the verge of sleep, he remembered. “My uniform. It’s on the bathroom floor. I’ll need it for tomorrow.”
“Go to sleep,” Cam murmured.
Evan was too tired to argue. He fell asleep and didn’t even think of moving until the sunlight laid a path of warmth across his shoulders. He let sensations filter through the haze of lingering exhaustion. The bed was warm, but Cam wasn’t there. Lorne could hear movement from the kitchen and could smell brewing coffee. Too tired to move, he closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
Cam looked in, mug of coffee in his hand, and backed out quietly. He gathered up Evan’s uniform and took it to the one-hour dry cleaners across the street. They were used to military uniforms being needed on short notice and promised prompt service.
He went to the store on the corner and picked up a few things to stock his pantry. He called Sam and asked if there was a pressing need for him to be at SGC. She sighed, said no, and that he’d be paged if they needed him. He didn’t know how long Evan had earth-side, but he was hoping for a few days. Enough time to give them a chance to regain equilibrium, to give Evan time to decompress and heal.
By the time he finished his errands, Lorne's uniform was ready. He picked it up and went home. He stripped off the plastic and hung it on the inside hook of the bedroom door. Then he poured a fresh mug of coffee. He sat on the edge of the bed and let the aroma waft under Evan's nose.
His lips twitched, curved into a smile. Cam leaned forward and kissed him. “There’s more where that comes from.”
“Coffee or kisses?”
“Both. If you want them.”
Evan did open his eyes then. “I want you.” They were clear, unguarded. The darkness of the night had been dispelled. The grief was still there, but quiescent, no longer ravaging him.
“That can be arranged.” Cam smiled and set the mug of coffee aside.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^
Lorne stood in front of the mirror and carefully knotted his tie. The blues were his armor; his medals and insignia of rank were his shield. Cam, standing beside him in his own dress blues, was his strength.
There was a memorial service at SGC for Carson. Sheppard, McKay and Ronon would return from Scotland that night. They would gate back to Atlantis in the morning. It didn’t give him much time with Cam. A few hours after the service; one more night off-base. He watched Cam struggle with his tie in the mirror.
He nudged Cam’s arm aside. “Let me. How old are you?”
“Not old enough to tie my own tie, apparently.” Cam’s grin was crooked. He lifted his chin and Lorne deftly knotted the twill fabric. “I hate these things.”
“We don’t wear them every day.” Lorne said. Sorrow ghosted in his eyes as he remembered why they were wearing them, but it passed quickly.
Cam kissed his forehead. “Thanks.”
“I guess we’re ready.” He looked around the room even though he knew there wasn’t anything of his there. “Cam ...”
“What?”
Evan shook his head. “Nothing. The next time we wear these ... I hope it’s not a funeral, that’s all.”
“Yeah. I know.” He glanced at his watch. “We’d better get going.”
^*^*^*^*^*^*^
The words were spoken, the tears were shed, Taps was played, and a piper piped Amazing Grace. Then it was over.
They skipped the buffet. It was the same food served every day, just dressed up with proper china and silver instead of melamine. Instead, they went to the Pegasus. They were standing at the bar when the door swung open and John and Ronon came in, looking rumpled and travel-weary.
For the first time since Sunday, Evan felt a sense of normalcy. They drank to Carson’s memory, told stories, caught up with old friends, old memories. When the words ran down to silence, John and Ronon stood up. “See you in the morning,” John said, a hint of color on his cheeks. He tugged at Ronon’s sleeve. “C’mon, buddy.”
Ronon looked from Lorne to Cam as if deciding whether or not to trust his friend to Cam’s care. Another look at John to confirm that Lorne was in good hands, and he rose from the table. “See you in the morning,” he said and followed John out, both of them unaware of the impact of their presence on the other customers.
Lorne sighed and sank into a slouch, his thigh warm against Cam’s, his shoulder close and strong. Cam finished his beer and kept quiet. The silence was good, easy; unlike the night before. He set his glass down. “Ready to go home?” he asked.
It sounded good to Lorne. He thought of Carson and of Amazing Grace. No matter where he was, no matter how many times he was lost and found, no matter how often he wore the dress blues to honor fallen friends, his heart would lead him to Cam.
Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come;
'Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far
and Grace will lead me home.
The End
Author Rubygirl29
Pairing: Cam/Lorne
Genre: Slash, Angst
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: Sunday
Summary: There were only two reasons to wear dress blues in Atlantis ... one was a funeral.
Disclaimer: Last time I checked, I still don’t own them, just the Breakaway AU.
Author’s Note: This was supposed to be a fun reply to the prompt, “Lorne, dress blues” but the story took over and turned into something entirely different. In fact, I can't even post it as a response it's so far from the intent of the theme which was 'party dress'.
Amazing Grace
They had all worn their blues with pride; Sheppard, Dr. Cole, himself. They had carried Carson Beckett through the Stargate and back to Earth, where they had separated. Sheppard had gone with Rodney and Ronon to Scotland while Evan stayed on call in case there was an emergency on Atlantis. He felt lonely and at a loss. He couldn’t endure the claustrophobic confines of SGC. Cam Mitchell, the one person he longed to see, needed to see, was off-world with SG-1. Lorne wasn’t confined to the base, so he called a taxi and had it drop him off in town. With no where to go and feeling like the ground was falling away beneath his feet, he wandered the streets in a chilly autumn rain. He didn’t notice how cold and wet he was until he came to a well-lit and welcoming bar. The warmth inside beckoned to him. He glanced up at the sign in the window, The Pegasus Pub. He wondered if the name were an omen from Carson. It was as good a place as any to find shelter from the storm.
He went up to the bar and ordered a single-malt scotch. He didn’t drink a lot of hard liquor, but tonight he was cold enough and lonely enough to need it. The scotch was in Carson’s memory. He drained it in a gulp and asked for a refill.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^
Cam Mitchell walked through the streets of Colorado Springs. He was back from a hell of a depressing mission on another world decimated by the Ori. It had been cold and wet there, and it was cold and wet here. Just what he needed -- a grim reminder of death. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen the sun.
He had a destination in mind. Pub grub and a beer sounded pretty good, and the name of the place reminded him of Evan. He'd found himself there frequently enough that the bartender knew his name. He’d tried to get Teal’c and Sam Carter to join him, but Teal’c declined and Sam had some scientific data to work on, so he was alone. He wondered how Evan was doing on Atlantis, where the sun seemed to shine more often than not, and the weather was not nearly as changeable. Cam had the Ori, Evan had the Wraith. Given a choice of enemies, he'd prefer the Wraith. At least they killed selectively. There was a cheerful thought ...
A cold drizzle ran down his collar, reminding him that standing in the rain wouldn’t get him anything but wet. He pulled the door open and went into the warmth of the pub. He shook the rain off his leather jacket and breathed in the earthy aroma of damp clothing and beer; smoke from the fire laid on the large hearth … and food. God, a burger would hit the spot about now …
The waitress offered him a booth later or a barstool now. Cam decided to wait for a booth and get a head start on his beer at the bar. He had taken only a few steps before he paused. Couldn’t be, he thought. No way. He eyed the back of the man in dress blues sitting hunched over a glass of whiskey. Misery was in every line of his body, and Cam would have known the shape of the man in his sleep. He touched Lorne’s shoulder. “Evan?”
The airman made a slow turn towards him. Lorne’s handsome face was ravaged with pain, his eyes bleary and red-rimmed. He blinked at Cam as if he were an apparition. “Cam?” His voice was rough and he had to clear his throat before he spoke. “They said you were off-world.”
“I was. I just got back. What are you doing here? What’s wrong? You look like you lost your best friend …” His words faded. "John? God, is it John?" He gripped Evan's shoulder, bracing himself for a shared grief that would shred them both emotionally.
"No. John's fine. He's ... okay. We're all ... okay." He took a sip of whiskey and Cam saw his hand shaking. "Except for Carson Beckett. He's ... he was killed."
Cam had known Beckett only by sight, but he knew his reputation. Nobody had ever said anything bad about him. He was an exceptional doctor, a decent human being. Evan had counted him as a friend, someone he could talk to when he needed help for himself or for his men. No wonder he looked so shattered.
"God, I'm sorry, Ev. Was it the wraith?"
Evan shook his head. "It was a stupid accident. Another piece of Ancient tech gone wrong with fatal consequences for a lot of people -- not just Carson. He was a hero, Cam. He died a hero trying to save somebody else. He wasn't a soldier. He was a doctor, for God's sake! One of the good guys. It shouldn't have happened. I could have kept it from happening ..." He drained his glass and started to signal for another.
Cam stopped him. "You've had enough to drink. You need to eat something. C'mon. I've got a booth." He took Evan's elbow. "It's okay. You can talk to me."
Over dinner and coffee Lorne related the whole rambling, painful story. They sat in the semi-darkness, Cam's hand just resting against his on the tabletop as he talked. Guilt, grief, loneliness ... all just below the surface and hidden by the glitter and pomp of dress blues.
Lorne didn't eat much, but enough to keep the whiskey from destroying his outer composure. He was still shaking, though. Not even the fire could reach that chill inside of him. Cam's thumb caressed his knuckles.
"Let's get out of here. My place is just down the street."
The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but the night air was cold. Cam's jacket was warmer than Evan's service dress coat, and he was wearing a thick, water-resistant sweater. He looked around. They were alone in the vestibule. He unbuttoned Lorne's uniform. "Here, wear this." He handed his jacket over. "It's getting cold out there and you're already about to shake apart."
The warmth was comforting and Evan wasn't up to an argument in public, so he complied. It was two short blocks to the condo Cam was subletting from another officer who was deployed overseas. It was comfortable, masculine, and during daylight the big windows let in the mountain views beyond the city. Evan didn't seem to notice or care. He sank down on the couch, leaned back and closed his eyes. Food had helped, but he still felt dizzy and his eyes burned. Too many tears, too much grief. He felt something soft drop on his lap, and cracked his eyes open enough to take a look. Sweatpants and a sweatshirt, socks. "Thanks," he said, trying to marshal the strength to move.
Cam held out his hand. "Get changed. Sam converted me to a tea drinker at night. Want some?"
"Carson ... he liked tea. When we were on night duty, sometimes he'd brew some and we'd sit and talk. He ... he liked fishing. Boring as hell, if you ask me, but he did ..." Evan looked at him sadly. "He was the most compassionate man I’ve ever known.” He let Cam pull him up and went into the bathroom. He turned the water on high and let the heat and steam chase the chill from his bones.
Cam was waiting with a mug of steaming tea. He looked at Evan; his damp hair, his heat-flushed cheeks, his sad eyes, and he ached. He set the mug down and opened his arms. “Let me hold you,” he said, but Evan remained stiff and distant, lost in the darkness of his grief. Cam released him, handed him the tea. “I wasn’t looking for sex,” he said.
Lorne smiled slightly. “I know.” He returned to the couch. “I’m tired, Cam.”
“Then we’ll sleep.”
He made it sound so simple. He drank his tea and let Cam walk him to the bedroom.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^
Later, tucked in the curve of Cam’s body and just about on the verge of sleep, he remembered. “My uniform. It’s on the bathroom floor. I’ll need it for tomorrow.”
“Go to sleep,” Cam murmured.
Evan was too tired to argue. He fell asleep and didn’t even think of moving until the sunlight laid a path of warmth across his shoulders. He let sensations filter through the haze of lingering exhaustion. The bed was warm, but Cam wasn’t there. Lorne could hear movement from the kitchen and could smell brewing coffee. Too tired to move, he closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
Cam looked in, mug of coffee in his hand, and backed out quietly. He gathered up Evan’s uniform and took it to the one-hour dry cleaners across the street. They were used to military uniforms being needed on short notice and promised prompt service.
He went to the store on the corner and picked up a few things to stock his pantry. He called Sam and asked if there was a pressing need for him to be at SGC. She sighed, said no, and that he’d be paged if they needed him. He didn’t know how long Evan had earth-side, but he was hoping for a few days. Enough time to give them a chance to regain equilibrium, to give Evan time to decompress and heal.
By the time he finished his errands, Lorne's uniform was ready. He picked it up and went home. He stripped off the plastic and hung it on the inside hook of the bedroom door. Then he poured a fresh mug of coffee. He sat on the edge of the bed and let the aroma waft under Evan's nose.
His lips twitched, curved into a smile. Cam leaned forward and kissed him. “There’s more where that comes from.”
“Coffee or kisses?”
“Both. If you want them.”
Evan did open his eyes then. “I want you.” They were clear, unguarded. The darkness of the night had been dispelled. The grief was still there, but quiescent, no longer ravaging him.
“That can be arranged.” Cam smiled and set the mug of coffee aside.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^
Lorne stood in front of the mirror and carefully knotted his tie. The blues were his armor; his medals and insignia of rank were his shield. Cam, standing beside him in his own dress blues, was his strength.
There was a memorial service at SGC for Carson. Sheppard, McKay and Ronon would return from Scotland that night. They would gate back to Atlantis in the morning. It didn’t give him much time with Cam. A few hours after the service; one more night off-base. He watched Cam struggle with his tie in the mirror.
He nudged Cam’s arm aside. “Let me. How old are you?”
“Not old enough to tie my own tie, apparently.” Cam’s grin was crooked. He lifted his chin and Lorne deftly knotted the twill fabric. “I hate these things.”
“We don’t wear them every day.” Lorne said. Sorrow ghosted in his eyes as he remembered why they were wearing them, but it passed quickly.
Cam kissed his forehead. “Thanks.”
“I guess we’re ready.” He looked around the room even though he knew there wasn’t anything of his there. “Cam ...”
“What?”
Evan shook his head. “Nothing. The next time we wear these ... I hope it’s not a funeral, that’s all.”
“Yeah. I know.” He glanced at his watch. “We’d better get going.”
^*^*^*^*^*^*^
The words were spoken, the tears were shed, Taps was played, and a piper piped Amazing Grace. Then it was over.
They skipped the buffet. It was the same food served every day, just dressed up with proper china and silver instead of melamine. Instead, they went to the Pegasus. They were standing at the bar when the door swung open and John and Ronon came in, looking rumpled and travel-weary.
For the first time since Sunday, Evan felt a sense of normalcy. They drank to Carson’s memory, told stories, caught up with old friends, old memories. When the words ran down to silence, John and Ronon stood up. “See you in the morning,” John said, a hint of color on his cheeks. He tugged at Ronon’s sleeve. “C’mon, buddy.”
Ronon looked from Lorne to Cam as if deciding whether or not to trust his friend to Cam’s care. Another look at John to confirm that Lorne was in good hands, and he rose from the table. “See you in the morning,” he said and followed John out, both of them unaware of the impact of their presence on the other customers.
Lorne sighed and sank into a slouch, his thigh warm against Cam’s, his shoulder close and strong. Cam finished his beer and kept quiet. The silence was good, easy; unlike the night before. He set his glass down. “Ready to go home?” he asked.
It sounded good to Lorne. He thought of Carson and of Amazing Grace. No matter where he was, no matter how many times he was lost and found, no matter how often he wore the dress blues to honor fallen friends, his heart would lead him to Cam.
Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come;
'Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far
and Grace will lead me home.
The End