Falling from the Sky
Title: Falling from the Sky
Author: somehowunbroken
Beta: padfootthegrim
Fandom: SGA/SG1 Characters: John/Nancy, John/Cam
Word Count: 4,004
Rating: R
Notes: For camshaft22. I hope you like it, dear!
Summary: Moving on is never easy, or simple.
"This isn't working," Nancy says when John walks into the bedroom. He's been home for all of three minutes; his boots are still laced tightly around his ankles, and he’s still holding his keys. He'd been hoping to come home to dinner, maybe a movie with his wife, but instead he's faced with Nancy's suitcase on the bed, Nancy wringing her hands, Nancy crying.
"Nance," he tries, dropping his keys on the floor and taking three steps towards her. Another step would put him right beside her, close enough to gather her up and try to soothe away the tears, but she puts a hand up and he stops. He's never been able to say no to her.
"I just need some time," she says. It sounds like she's begging him to understand, but John knows this isn't what she signed on for - he was supposed to be safe, was supposed to go into business with his father. He wasn't supposed have an all-out, no-holds-barred fight with his old man and run off to join the Air Force three months after getting married. He knows that this isn't the life she thought she'd have, and he can’t blame her for not being completely happy.
"Nancy," he says hoarsely. "I'm-" He cuts himself off. He is sorry, but she doesn't need to hear that, not now. Instead of saying anything, John pulls her into his arms and buries his face in her hair as she clutches his shirt and cries.
-0-
"So you're my new neighbor," someone says across the table from John. John looks up and meets the guy's eyes, shrugging.
"Captain John Sheppard," John says, nodding.
"Cameron Mitchell, Major," the guy says, sliding into the seat. "Nice to meet you, Captain."
"Likewise, Major," John replies. He tries to look like he’s interested in talking to the guy, even though he doesn't really care. He could use a friend around the base, and this guy seems friendly enough.
"So what made you decide to move on base?" Mitchell asks, and John mentally downgrades him from "friendly enough" to "too damn nosy."
"My wife left me, and after all I put her through, I figured that she deserved the apartment," John says succinctly. It isn't quite the truth, but it's close enough; he and Nancy both still have their keys to the apartment, but it's sitting empty. Nancy is in northern Oregon, visiting her sister and “thinking things through,” and John hadn't wanted to go home to sit in the shell of his life every night, so he'd taken a room on base for a while.
"Ah," Mitchell says, ducking his head. His face flushes a little, and he clears his throat. "Sorry, man."
John shrugs. "It happens."
"I suppose it does, at that," Mitchell agrees.
They finish their meal in silence.
-0-
They aren’t in the same programs on base. Mitchell is in a fixed-wing track, taking some time Stateside to train up new pilots; John is doing some on-site training to keep up his qualifications as a chopper pilot. Their paths don’t cross during the working day.
They cross at other times, though. Mitchell is generally getting to the gym around the time John is leaving; they generally have meals at the same time at least twice a day; they live across the hall from each other. Mitchell is always friendly, always talkative, and it only takes a week or so for John to learn most of his life story. It’s not long after that before John starts opening up himself, sharing pieces of his past.
It takes him almost a month to remember that this is exactly how it started with Nancy.
-0-
"Come on, Sheppard," Mitchell cajoles. He's in sweatpants and a thin tee shirt, and he's got a basketball wedged between his arm and his hip. "All you do is work and sit in your room. It's one game of basketball. I'm not asking you to join the team for every game."
"What," John says, "you don't trust my skills?"
"I haven't seen your skills," Mitchell points out. "Because you, as I have mentioned, do nothing that isn't related to work. Show me your so-called skills, and we'll see about an invite to the team on a more regular basis."
John rolls his eyes, but he's grinning. "Give me five to change," he says, shutting the door in Mitchell's face.
-0-
"Okay, so you're not terrible," Mitchell appraises as they walk back to their quarters after the game. "Your jump shot is better than your layup, but we always have an opening for a guy with a nice jump shot."
"My jump shot is magical," John deadpans, and Mitchell snickers. It makes John smile, and whoa, okay, not a good place for his mind to go. He means to open his mouth and politely turn Mitchell down, but instead he hears himself ask, "When's the next game?"
Mitchell grins easily. "Thursday," he says as they stop by their quarters, John going to his door and Mitchell unlocking his own. "But we have practice tomorrow at 1800."
"You guys practice?" John shouldn't be surprised - they move well together in a way that speaks to more than meeting up for an occasional match. He'd assumed it was the whole fly-together-fight-together thing, that the team knows each other well enough to work like that because they’ve been in combat together, but he supposes that practicing together makes a little more sense. At least half of Mitchell's team hasn't seen combat yet.
"Not all of us have magical jump shots, Sheppard," Mitchell says with a grin. "We'll be in the gym tomorrow. You in?"
"I'm done at 1630," John replies. "I'll meet you in the mess and you can fill me in on your moves."
Mitchell's smile quirks a little funny at John's words, and John bites his tongue to keep from flushing. Mitchell just nods, though, and John gets himself inside his quarters quickly, firmly not thinking about Mitchell and his moves.
-0-
"It's a little more complicated than that," Mitchell informs John, sounding amused. "We're military men, Sheppard. We generally like to have more of a plan than 'hope on a wing and a prayer'."
"More like a jump shot and a prayer," John corrects, and it's only after Mitchell laughs that John realizes that he'd said it to get just that reaction. He bites his lip hard. He's got to figure out a way to stop this - this flirting. Mitchell's military, he's military, and it's enough to get John court-martialled if Mitchell figures out that that's what John is doing.
"Yeah, well, I'd like to see your idea of moves," Mitchell says, and John has to be imagining the sly little smirk that Mitchell tosses him. He has to be.
-0-
“Hey, Sheppard!” John turns and waits as Owens jogs up. He’s another one of the guys on Mitchell’s basketball team, and he’s not John’s favorite of the players. He comes off as a bit of an asshole, to be honest, but John doesn’t need any enemies. He pastes on a polite smile and pauses in the hallway. “Hey, I’m glad I ran into you,” Owens says.
“What’s up?” John asks. Owens glances around too casually, and John can pretty much feel that whatever Owens says next is going to piss him off.
“I wanted to talk to you about Mitchell,” he says, like it’s something that John might have been expecting.
John stops walking. “Major Mitchell? What about him?”
Owens keeps walking. “Come on, Sheppard. Not out in the open.”
John knows this isn’t going to end well, not at all, but he likes Mitchell a lot more than he likes Owens, so he goes along. If Owens is planning something, the least he can do is warn Mitchell about it.
“So, Major Mitchell,” John says when they’re tucked into a corner of the mess. “You planning a birthday bash I should know about?” Mitchell’s birthday isn’t for five months. John knows this, but he doubts that Owens is aware that John knows.
Owens smirks. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to get that buddy-buddy with him, Sheppard.”
John frowns. “I don’t think he’s the axe-murderer type, Owens.”
“Probably not,” Owens agrees, leaning in. John can’t help but lean in to meet him. “I’ve heard things about Mitchell’s preferences,” he says. “Things that are going to end up getting him thrown into Leavenworth.” He leans back. “It’s probably better for you in the long run if you don’t let his image rub off on you.” He pauses and snickers, apparently proud of his double entendre.
“Ah,” John says, trying to keep a lid on the anger that’s seething just below the surface. It takes every last bit of self-control that he can find to not reply with something like maybe I should let him, he could probably use some company in jail or but at least we’d have some fun before we were carted away. Instead, he digs his fingernails into his palm, smiles insincerely, and asks, “You gonna turn him in?”
Owens shrugs. “I figure I won’t have to. Guys like him always end up giving it away on their own.”
John wants to belt this asshole in the face. “Thanks for the heads up.”
“No problem,” Owens says, standing from the table and clapping John on the shoulder. “See you around, man.”
-0-
John takes a deep breath before knocking on Mitchell’s door. He can hear the man banging around inside, and John wonders what he could possibly be up to; when he opens the door a moment later, Mitchell is wearing sweaty workout clothing. He grins and opens the door when he sees that it’s John. “Hey, Sheppard. What’s up?”
“Can I come in?” John asks. It’s not something he’s asked before, and Mitchell raises an eyebrow but steps back, letting John pass him. He waits until Mitchell has closed and locked the door before turning to face him. “I talked to Owens this afternoon.”
“And?” Mitchell prompts after a moment. “Something going on that I should know about?” He’s standing a little straighter, not quite on guard, but not as relaxed as he normally is.
“He says he’s got suspicions about your ‘preferences’,” John tells him, emphasizing the last word. He’s expecting Mitchell to roll his eyes or laugh it off. He’s really not expecting Mitchell’s face to lose all color and for the man to cross the room and sit down hard on his bed.
“Mother of God,” Mitchell says weakly. “He said - just like that? My preferences?”
“Just like that,” John confirms. “I didn’t know if there was anything to it, but I figured you should know.”
Mitchell’s shoulders slump. “Well, you’ve probably gathered by now that there’s something to it.”
“I’m not going to say anything,” John says immediately. “First of all, I’m not that kind of jackass, and also, I’m not a hypocrite.”
Mitchell’s gaze locks onto John’s for a moment before he huffs out a laugh and looks down at his hands. “This is not how I imagined this conversation going.”
“You imagined this conversation?” John’s surprised, but maybe he shouldn’t be; maybe Mitchell had figured out John’s flirting even before John himself had. When Mitchell nods, John continues. “How did you think it would go?”
“It varied,” Mitchell tells him, gradually relaxing back against his bed as he takes in John’s stance - easy against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, trying his damndest to look as little like a threat as he can manage. “Usually it had something to do with being all sweaty after basketball and hanging around in the locker room until everyone else left.”
John grins. “Sometimes the old standbys are the best.”
“They’re classics for a reason,” Mitchell laughs, a real, solid laugh. “Look, man, thanks. You didn’t have to say anything.”
“Not that kind of jackass,” John reminds him.
Mitchell shrugs. “Even so.”
“Well, you’re welcome,” John says, shifting to stand and resting his hand on the doorknob. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you out, okay, Mitchell?”
Mitchell shrugs, then nods. “Hey, Sheppard?”
“Yeah?”
“At this point, you can probably call me Cam.”
-0-
Nothing happens.
John waits a month, two; true to his word, Owens doesn’t say anything. John figures it’s mostly cowardice on his part, or a lack of any real evidence. He’s been paying close attention to Cam since they’d had their talk, and he hasn’t seen anything other than the perfect officer. Three months down the line, John figures that Owens has either forgotten or shelved his suspicions, because he’s back to being friendly with Cam, and he doesn’t shoot John knowing looks any more.
John’s incredibly thankful. He doesn’t want to think about what would have happened if Cam had been found out and John had been called up to testify against him. It wouldn’t have been pretty, he’s sure of that.
-0-
There’s a knock on John’s door, and he isn’t surprised to find a grinning Cam on the other side, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Get dressed. We’re going out.”
“Out where?” John asks, more curious than anything else. He’s been looking forward to the long weekend for a solid month, thinking about nothing more than sleeping in and slacking off. That had been great yesterday, but he’s itching to do something now.
“Well, I’m going with Mindy McCreery from the diner in town, and you’re going with her friend Sara,” Cam says, rapping his fingers on the doorframe. “Come on, Sheppard, light a fire under you. It’s dancing time.”
“Dancing,” John repeats dutifully. “I don’t really dance, Mitchell.”
“You can do whatever you want with your lady friend,” Cam replies, waggling his eyebrows. “I plan on dancing with mine and seeing where it goes from there.”
“Fine,” John replies, amused. “Give me ten.”
He changes into a pair of worn jeans and a black button-down. He puts his everyday watch into the top drawer in his dresser and pulls out one that’s a little nicer, one with a wide black band and the time told in civilian hours. He hesitates for a moment before slipping his wedding ring off, but honestly, it doesn’t hurt like he thinks it maybe should to tuck it in with his socks.
“Let’s go,” he says when he opens the door. Cam hasn’t stopped grinning since John first opened the door.
“I feel the need to point out that we forgot to pick up Mindy and Sara,” John says an hour later, when they’re sitting in the back of a nondescript bar, nursing drinks. It’s dark without being gloomy, and the music is low to the point of being easily ignored. It’s not what John was thinking he’d be doing right now, though he isn’t exactly complaining. Cam is company enough on his own.
“Mindy is all set to tell anyone who comes asking what a nice time she and I had tonight,” Cm says with a shrug. “As far as I know, there isn’t actually a Sara, but Mindy will swear up and down that she was pretty taken with you.”
“So,” John says, the start of a smile on his face. “This was some sort of elaborate setup to get me to grab a drink with you?”
Cam laughs a little self-consciously. “Look, John, I don’t think it’s any secret that I’m into you, but our jobs don’t exactly give us the chance to see if we might work. I’d like to try to give us that chance, if you’re game.”
John takes a swig of his beer. He thinks about Nancy, how she’s still out there somewhere, how the thought of her doing something exactly like this doesn’t cut at him. He thinks about Cam’s carefree smile, about his easy laugh, about his willingness to work for this. Cam knows what he would be getting into. He’d understand if John suddenly got shipped out. He wouldn’t worry if a mission ran long and John didn’t get in touch for a few days longer than he’d anticipated. Cam gets parts of John that John had never expected or even wanted Nancy to understand.
“You know,” John says reflectively, worrying at the label on his bottle with his thumb. “One of the guys running for president is talking about lifting the ban.”
Cam exhales. “I’ve heard.”
“That would make things easier,” John muses.
“Do you want to wait?”
Cam doesn’t look surprised or hurt or any of those things when John looks up and meets his gaze. He looks - weary, John thinks, resigned to this being his life. It hits John like a punch to the gut, and he’s already shaking his head as he stands and grabs Cam’s hand.
“No,” he murmurs. “No, I really don’t.”
“Where are we going?” Cam asks, following John towards the door.
“My apartment,” John says, never more grateful that he’s kept it all this time. “Come on.”
-0-
The knock on the door startles John awake far earlier than he’d planned on getting up. Cam mumbles against his side, burrowing further into the covers as the knock sounds again. John huffs out a laugh and makes sure to tuck the blankets tightly around Cam after he eases himself out of bed.
There’s no peephole in the door, so John engages the safety chain and opens the door the few inches that it allows. He can’t contain his surprise when he notices who’s on the other side of the door.
“John,” Nancy says, smiling tentatively. “Can I come in?”
John hesitates before nodding and closing the door, unlatching the chain and then opening it fully. Nancy walks past him but stops short in the hallway. She’s smart, always has been, and John knows that she knows by the time he has the door locked. He takes a breath before turning around, and says, “Coffee?”
She nods, following him into the kitchen. She doesn’t say anything as he fills the pot and scoops the grounds into the filter. He tries not to hesitate too noticeably over the button, but there’s a trace of a smile of Nancy’s face when he turns back around.
“So,” he says, wrapping his arms around his chest and wishing he’d thought to grab a shirt before opening the door. It’s a bit ridiculous, seeing how they’ve been married for two years, but it’s a feeling he’s having nonetheless.
“Is she still here?” Nancy asks. Her voice is neutral, and he can’t pick anything out of her expression. He’s always hated it when she pulls out her negotiator’s face.
“Ah,” he winces, “not exactly.”
She frowns, clearly ready to call John on his bluff, but there’s no need. Cam comes stumbling into the kitchen, scratching sleepily at his face, and freezes when he sees Nancy. Their identical looks of surprise would be hilarious, if John didn’t feel like he was about to lose everything.
“Cam, this is Nancy,” he sighs. “Nancy, meet Cam.”
-0-
Cam gets dressed and leaves in a hurry. John watches him go with a sick twist in his gut.
“I’m sorry,” Nancy ventures as Cam drives away. “I should have called - I shouldn’t have assumed-”
“It’s fine,” John says, suddenly tired. “He’ll forgive me or he won’t.” He waves a hand around. “We haven’t been together long, and it’s not like I lied about you.”
“How long is not long?” Nancy asks, then balks. “I’m sorry, I - God, I’m messing this all up.”
John smiles humorlessly. “This might officially qualify as the shortest relationship of my life. We’ve been dancing around it for a while, but we finally got together last night.”
Nancy winces. “I can talk to him-”
John shakes his head. “Why’d you come back? It’s been seven months, Nancy. Almost eight.”
It’s Nancy’s turn to smile without heart. “I wanted to see if we could try again.”
“Oh,” John says clumsily. “I - Nancy, I’m not-”
“John,” she cuts in. “Stop. If you were able to give moving on a try, then there’s not much left to save, is there?”
“I’m sorry,” he says, feeling guilty. “About everything, Nancy. I’m so sorry.”
“John, I knew things were never going to pan out for you at your father’s company,” she says gently. John gapes at her in shock. “I’ll admit, I didn’t see the military in your future, but I knew you wouldn’t stay with your dad forever.”
“You knew,” John says wonderingly. “You knew the whole time?”
Nancy nods, a hint of her old smile on her face. “You two never did see eye to eye, but it was one of those things you had to sort out on your own, honey. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about that.”
“No, hey, you don’t get to apologize here,” John tells her. “I didn’t just walk in on you waking up with someone else.”
“I won’t lie,” Nancy says after a minute. “It does hurt, but I’m not angry, not really.”
John slumps back in his seat. “You’re not. How can you be not angry?”
“We were over a long time ago, John,” she says, smiling sadly. “You tried and I tried, but there are things neither of us was good at.” Nancy stands and leans in to kiss his cheek. “I’ll send the papers to you when I get them drawn up.” She pauses at the doorway of the kitchen. “I hope he’s better for you than I was.”
“I think he might be,” John says slowly, sitting stunned, trying to sort through everything.
“Good,” Nancy says, smiling an honest smile. “That’s good, John. You should get to be happy, too.”
With that, she walks out of the kitchen. John hears the front door shut a moment later.
-0-
“Can we talk?” John asks as Cam opens the door.
Cam’s got a sick-looking smile on his face. “Hey, Sheppard. Something going on?”
“Cam,” John hisses under his breath. “Please.”
Cam stiffens almost imperceptibly. “Sounds serious,” he drawls after a minute, leaning away to let John slip inside. He closes the door when John is safely inside, but he doesn’t turn around.
“I didn’t know she was going to show up,” John says when he realizes that Cam’s just waiting for him to start. Cam’s shoulders slump and he leans his head against the door.
“I figured that much out on my own,” he admits. “I’d like to think that I know you well enough by now to know you wouldn’t throw me in your wife’s face like that.”
John winces. “We’re getting a divorce,” he says quietly, and that makes Cam’s head snap up.
“John,” he says, turning away from the door completely but not moving any further into the room. “That’s - are you sure?”
“It was over a long time ago,” he says, echoing Nancy’s words from earlier. “She and I - we loved each other, you know? But we sucked as partners.” He laughs a little. “We might have worked if I had managed to stay with my dad’s company, but apparently she figured out that that wasn’t going to last and still wanted to give it a try.”
“She loved you,” Cam murmurs.
“And I loved her,” John nods. “But the more I think about it, the more I think that there’s a reason I didn’t fight her when she wanted to leave.” He moves a step closer to Cam. “Look, I can’t say that I love you like I loved her. Ask me again in a year, and my answer might be different.” He takes another step. “I want to find out, Cam.”
“God,” Cam breathes, “so do I.” And with that, he reaches out and slips his hands around John’s waist, pulling him in that last step. John buries his face in Cam’s shoulder, holding on for all he’s worth for a moment, and then Cam is pulling back and kissing him, and yeah, John could get used to this.
Author: somehowunbroken
Beta: padfootthegrim
Fandom: SGA/SG1 Characters: John/Nancy, John/Cam
Word Count: 4,004
Rating: R
Notes: For camshaft22. I hope you like it, dear!
Summary: Moving on is never easy, or simple.
"This isn't working," Nancy says when John walks into the bedroom. He's been home for all of three minutes; his boots are still laced tightly around his ankles, and he’s still holding his keys. He'd been hoping to come home to dinner, maybe a movie with his wife, but instead he's faced with Nancy's suitcase on the bed, Nancy wringing her hands, Nancy crying.
"Nance," he tries, dropping his keys on the floor and taking three steps towards her. Another step would put him right beside her, close enough to gather her up and try to soothe away the tears, but she puts a hand up and he stops. He's never been able to say no to her.
"I just need some time," she says. It sounds like she's begging him to understand, but John knows this isn't what she signed on for - he was supposed to be safe, was supposed to go into business with his father. He wasn't supposed have an all-out, no-holds-barred fight with his old man and run off to join the Air Force three months after getting married. He knows that this isn't the life she thought she'd have, and he can’t blame her for not being completely happy.
"Nancy," he says hoarsely. "I'm-" He cuts himself off. He is sorry, but she doesn't need to hear that, not now. Instead of saying anything, John pulls her into his arms and buries his face in her hair as she clutches his shirt and cries.
-0-
"So you're my new neighbor," someone says across the table from John. John looks up and meets the guy's eyes, shrugging.
"Captain John Sheppard," John says, nodding.
"Cameron Mitchell, Major," the guy says, sliding into the seat. "Nice to meet you, Captain."
"Likewise, Major," John replies. He tries to look like he’s interested in talking to the guy, even though he doesn't really care. He could use a friend around the base, and this guy seems friendly enough.
"So what made you decide to move on base?" Mitchell asks, and John mentally downgrades him from "friendly enough" to "too damn nosy."
"My wife left me, and after all I put her through, I figured that she deserved the apartment," John says succinctly. It isn't quite the truth, but it's close enough; he and Nancy both still have their keys to the apartment, but it's sitting empty. Nancy is in northern Oregon, visiting her sister and “thinking things through,” and John hadn't wanted to go home to sit in the shell of his life every night, so he'd taken a room on base for a while.
"Ah," Mitchell says, ducking his head. His face flushes a little, and he clears his throat. "Sorry, man."
John shrugs. "It happens."
"I suppose it does, at that," Mitchell agrees.
They finish their meal in silence.
-0-
They aren’t in the same programs on base. Mitchell is in a fixed-wing track, taking some time Stateside to train up new pilots; John is doing some on-site training to keep up his qualifications as a chopper pilot. Their paths don’t cross during the working day.
They cross at other times, though. Mitchell is generally getting to the gym around the time John is leaving; they generally have meals at the same time at least twice a day; they live across the hall from each other. Mitchell is always friendly, always talkative, and it only takes a week or so for John to learn most of his life story. It’s not long after that before John starts opening up himself, sharing pieces of his past.
It takes him almost a month to remember that this is exactly how it started with Nancy.
-0-
"Come on, Sheppard," Mitchell cajoles. He's in sweatpants and a thin tee shirt, and he's got a basketball wedged between his arm and his hip. "All you do is work and sit in your room. It's one game of basketball. I'm not asking you to join the team for every game."
"What," John says, "you don't trust my skills?"
"I haven't seen your skills," Mitchell points out. "Because you, as I have mentioned, do nothing that isn't related to work. Show me your so-called skills, and we'll see about an invite to the team on a more regular basis."
John rolls his eyes, but he's grinning. "Give me five to change," he says, shutting the door in Mitchell's face.
-0-
"Okay, so you're not terrible," Mitchell appraises as they walk back to their quarters after the game. "Your jump shot is better than your layup, but we always have an opening for a guy with a nice jump shot."
"My jump shot is magical," John deadpans, and Mitchell snickers. It makes John smile, and whoa, okay, not a good place for his mind to go. He means to open his mouth and politely turn Mitchell down, but instead he hears himself ask, "When's the next game?"
Mitchell grins easily. "Thursday," he says as they stop by their quarters, John going to his door and Mitchell unlocking his own. "But we have practice tomorrow at 1800."
"You guys practice?" John shouldn't be surprised - they move well together in a way that speaks to more than meeting up for an occasional match. He'd assumed it was the whole fly-together-fight-together thing, that the team knows each other well enough to work like that because they’ve been in combat together, but he supposes that practicing together makes a little more sense. At least half of Mitchell's team hasn't seen combat yet.
"Not all of us have magical jump shots, Sheppard," Mitchell says with a grin. "We'll be in the gym tomorrow. You in?"
"I'm done at 1630," John replies. "I'll meet you in the mess and you can fill me in on your moves."
Mitchell's smile quirks a little funny at John's words, and John bites his tongue to keep from flushing. Mitchell just nods, though, and John gets himself inside his quarters quickly, firmly not thinking about Mitchell and his moves.
-0-
"It's a little more complicated than that," Mitchell informs John, sounding amused. "We're military men, Sheppard. We generally like to have more of a plan than 'hope on a wing and a prayer'."
"More like a jump shot and a prayer," John corrects, and it's only after Mitchell laughs that John realizes that he'd said it to get just that reaction. He bites his lip hard. He's got to figure out a way to stop this - this flirting. Mitchell's military, he's military, and it's enough to get John court-martialled if Mitchell figures out that that's what John is doing.
"Yeah, well, I'd like to see your idea of moves," Mitchell says, and John has to be imagining the sly little smirk that Mitchell tosses him. He has to be.
-0-
“Hey, Sheppard!” John turns and waits as Owens jogs up. He’s another one of the guys on Mitchell’s basketball team, and he’s not John’s favorite of the players. He comes off as a bit of an asshole, to be honest, but John doesn’t need any enemies. He pastes on a polite smile and pauses in the hallway. “Hey, I’m glad I ran into you,” Owens says.
“What’s up?” John asks. Owens glances around too casually, and John can pretty much feel that whatever Owens says next is going to piss him off.
“I wanted to talk to you about Mitchell,” he says, like it’s something that John might have been expecting.
John stops walking. “Major Mitchell? What about him?”
Owens keeps walking. “Come on, Sheppard. Not out in the open.”
John knows this isn’t going to end well, not at all, but he likes Mitchell a lot more than he likes Owens, so he goes along. If Owens is planning something, the least he can do is warn Mitchell about it.
“So, Major Mitchell,” John says when they’re tucked into a corner of the mess. “You planning a birthday bash I should know about?” Mitchell’s birthday isn’t for five months. John knows this, but he doubts that Owens is aware that John knows.
Owens smirks. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to get that buddy-buddy with him, Sheppard.”
John frowns. “I don’t think he’s the axe-murderer type, Owens.”
“Probably not,” Owens agrees, leaning in. John can’t help but lean in to meet him. “I’ve heard things about Mitchell’s preferences,” he says. “Things that are going to end up getting him thrown into Leavenworth.” He leans back. “It’s probably better for you in the long run if you don’t let his image rub off on you.” He pauses and snickers, apparently proud of his double entendre.
“Ah,” John says, trying to keep a lid on the anger that’s seething just below the surface. It takes every last bit of self-control that he can find to not reply with something like maybe I should let him, he could probably use some company in jail or but at least we’d have some fun before we were carted away. Instead, he digs his fingernails into his palm, smiles insincerely, and asks, “You gonna turn him in?”
Owens shrugs. “I figure I won’t have to. Guys like him always end up giving it away on their own.”
John wants to belt this asshole in the face. “Thanks for the heads up.”
“No problem,” Owens says, standing from the table and clapping John on the shoulder. “See you around, man.”
-0-
John takes a deep breath before knocking on Mitchell’s door. He can hear the man banging around inside, and John wonders what he could possibly be up to; when he opens the door a moment later, Mitchell is wearing sweaty workout clothing. He grins and opens the door when he sees that it’s John. “Hey, Sheppard. What’s up?”
“Can I come in?” John asks. It’s not something he’s asked before, and Mitchell raises an eyebrow but steps back, letting John pass him. He waits until Mitchell has closed and locked the door before turning to face him. “I talked to Owens this afternoon.”
“And?” Mitchell prompts after a moment. “Something going on that I should know about?” He’s standing a little straighter, not quite on guard, but not as relaxed as he normally is.
“He says he’s got suspicions about your ‘preferences’,” John tells him, emphasizing the last word. He’s expecting Mitchell to roll his eyes or laugh it off. He’s really not expecting Mitchell’s face to lose all color and for the man to cross the room and sit down hard on his bed.
“Mother of God,” Mitchell says weakly. “He said - just like that? My preferences?”
“Just like that,” John confirms. “I didn’t know if there was anything to it, but I figured you should know.”
Mitchell’s shoulders slump. “Well, you’ve probably gathered by now that there’s something to it.”
“I’m not going to say anything,” John says immediately. “First of all, I’m not that kind of jackass, and also, I’m not a hypocrite.”
Mitchell’s gaze locks onto John’s for a moment before he huffs out a laugh and looks down at his hands. “This is not how I imagined this conversation going.”
“You imagined this conversation?” John’s surprised, but maybe he shouldn’t be; maybe Mitchell had figured out John’s flirting even before John himself had. When Mitchell nods, John continues. “How did you think it would go?”
“It varied,” Mitchell tells him, gradually relaxing back against his bed as he takes in John’s stance - easy against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, trying his damndest to look as little like a threat as he can manage. “Usually it had something to do with being all sweaty after basketball and hanging around in the locker room until everyone else left.”
John grins. “Sometimes the old standbys are the best.”
“They’re classics for a reason,” Mitchell laughs, a real, solid laugh. “Look, man, thanks. You didn’t have to say anything.”
“Not that kind of jackass,” John reminds him.
Mitchell shrugs. “Even so.”
“Well, you’re welcome,” John says, shifting to stand and resting his hand on the doorknob. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you out, okay, Mitchell?”
Mitchell shrugs, then nods. “Hey, Sheppard?”
“Yeah?”
“At this point, you can probably call me Cam.”
-0-
Nothing happens.
John waits a month, two; true to his word, Owens doesn’t say anything. John figures it’s mostly cowardice on his part, or a lack of any real evidence. He’s been paying close attention to Cam since they’d had their talk, and he hasn’t seen anything other than the perfect officer. Three months down the line, John figures that Owens has either forgotten or shelved his suspicions, because he’s back to being friendly with Cam, and he doesn’t shoot John knowing looks any more.
John’s incredibly thankful. He doesn’t want to think about what would have happened if Cam had been found out and John had been called up to testify against him. It wouldn’t have been pretty, he’s sure of that.
-0-
There’s a knock on John’s door, and he isn’t surprised to find a grinning Cam on the other side, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Get dressed. We’re going out.”
“Out where?” John asks, more curious than anything else. He’s been looking forward to the long weekend for a solid month, thinking about nothing more than sleeping in and slacking off. That had been great yesterday, but he’s itching to do something now.
“Well, I’m going with Mindy McCreery from the diner in town, and you’re going with her friend Sara,” Cam says, rapping his fingers on the doorframe. “Come on, Sheppard, light a fire under you. It’s dancing time.”
“Dancing,” John repeats dutifully. “I don’t really dance, Mitchell.”
“You can do whatever you want with your lady friend,” Cam replies, waggling his eyebrows. “I plan on dancing with mine and seeing where it goes from there.”
“Fine,” John replies, amused. “Give me ten.”
He changes into a pair of worn jeans and a black button-down. He puts his everyday watch into the top drawer in his dresser and pulls out one that’s a little nicer, one with a wide black band and the time told in civilian hours. He hesitates for a moment before slipping his wedding ring off, but honestly, it doesn’t hurt like he thinks it maybe should to tuck it in with his socks.
“Let’s go,” he says when he opens the door. Cam hasn’t stopped grinning since John first opened the door.
“I feel the need to point out that we forgot to pick up Mindy and Sara,” John says an hour later, when they’re sitting in the back of a nondescript bar, nursing drinks. It’s dark without being gloomy, and the music is low to the point of being easily ignored. It’s not what John was thinking he’d be doing right now, though he isn’t exactly complaining. Cam is company enough on his own.
“Mindy is all set to tell anyone who comes asking what a nice time she and I had tonight,” Cm says with a shrug. “As far as I know, there isn’t actually a Sara, but Mindy will swear up and down that she was pretty taken with you.”
“So,” John says, the start of a smile on his face. “This was some sort of elaborate setup to get me to grab a drink with you?”
Cam laughs a little self-consciously. “Look, John, I don’t think it’s any secret that I’m into you, but our jobs don’t exactly give us the chance to see if we might work. I’d like to try to give us that chance, if you’re game.”
John takes a swig of his beer. He thinks about Nancy, how she’s still out there somewhere, how the thought of her doing something exactly like this doesn’t cut at him. He thinks about Cam’s carefree smile, about his easy laugh, about his willingness to work for this. Cam knows what he would be getting into. He’d understand if John suddenly got shipped out. He wouldn’t worry if a mission ran long and John didn’t get in touch for a few days longer than he’d anticipated. Cam gets parts of John that John had never expected or even wanted Nancy to understand.
“You know,” John says reflectively, worrying at the label on his bottle with his thumb. “One of the guys running for president is talking about lifting the ban.”
Cam exhales. “I’ve heard.”
“That would make things easier,” John muses.
“Do you want to wait?”
Cam doesn’t look surprised or hurt or any of those things when John looks up and meets his gaze. He looks - weary, John thinks, resigned to this being his life. It hits John like a punch to the gut, and he’s already shaking his head as he stands and grabs Cam’s hand.
“No,” he murmurs. “No, I really don’t.”
“Where are we going?” Cam asks, following John towards the door.
“My apartment,” John says, never more grateful that he’s kept it all this time. “Come on.”
-0-
The knock on the door startles John awake far earlier than he’d planned on getting up. Cam mumbles against his side, burrowing further into the covers as the knock sounds again. John huffs out a laugh and makes sure to tuck the blankets tightly around Cam after he eases himself out of bed.
There’s no peephole in the door, so John engages the safety chain and opens the door the few inches that it allows. He can’t contain his surprise when he notices who’s on the other side of the door.
“John,” Nancy says, smiling tentatively. “Can I come in?”
John hesitates before nodding and closing the door, unlatching the chain and then opening it fully. Nancy walks past him but stops short in the hallway. She’s smart, always has been, and John knows that she knows by the time he has the door locked. He takes a breath before turning around, and says, “Coffee?”
She nods, following him into the kitchen. She doesn’t say anything as he fills the pot and scoops the grounds into the filter. He tries not to hesitate too noticeably over the button, but there’s a trace of a smile of Nancy’s face when he turns back around.
“So,” he says, wrapping his arms around his chest and wishing he’d thought to grab a shirt before opening the door. It’s a bit ridiculous, seeing how they’ve been married for two years, but it’s a feeling he’s having nonetheless.
“Is she still here?” Nancy asks. Her voice is neutral, and he can’t pick anything out of her expression. He’s always hated it when she pulls out her negotiator’s face.
“Ah,” he winces, “not exactly.”
She frowns, clearly ready to call John on his bluff, but there’s no need. Cam comes stumbling into the kitchen, scratching sleepily at his face, and freezes when he sees Nancy. Their identical looks of surprise would be hilarious, if John didn’t feel like he was about to lose everything.
“Cam, this is Nancy,” he sighs. “Nancy, meet Cam.”
-0-
Cam gets dressed and leaves in a hurry. John watches him go with a sick twist in his gut.
“I’m sorry,” Nancy ventures as Cam drives away. “I should have called - I shouldn’t have assumed-”
“It’s fine,” John says, suddenly tired. “He’ll forgive me or he won’t.” He waves a hand around. “We haven’t been together long, and it’s not like I lied about you.”
“How long is not long?” Nancy asks, then balks. “I’m sorry, I - God, I’m messing this all up.”
John smiles humorlessly. “This might officially qualify as the shortest relationship of my life. We’ve been dancing around it for a while, but we finally got together last night.”
Nancy winces. “I can talk to him-”
John shakes his head. “Why’d you come back? It’s been seven months, Nancy. Almost eight.”
It’s Nancy’s turn to smile without heart. “I wanted to see if we could try again.”
“Oh,” John says clumsily. “I - Nancy, I’m not-”
“John,” she cuts in. “Stop. If you were able to give moving on a try, then there’s not much left to save, is there?”
“I’m sorry,” he says, feeling guilty. “About everything, Nancy. I’m so sorry.”
“John, I knew things were never going to pan out for you at your father’s company,” she says gently. John gapes at her in shock. “I’ll admit, I didn’t see the military in your future, but I knew you wouldn’t stay with your dad forever.”
“You knew,” John says wonderingly. “You knew the whole time?”
Nancy nods, a hint of her old smile on her face. “You two never did see eye to eye, but it was one of those things you had to sort out on your own, honey. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about that.”
“No, hey, you don’t get to apologize here,” John tells her. “I didn’t just walk in on you waking up with someone else.”
“I won’t lie,” Nancy says after a minute. “It does hurt, but I’m not angry, not really.”
John slumps back in his seat. “You’re not. How can you be not angry?”
“We were over a long time ago, John,” she says, smiling sadly. “You tried and I tried, but there are things neither of us was good at.” Nancy stands and leans in to kiss his cheek. “I’ll send the papers to you when I get them drawn up.” She pauses at the doorway of the kitchen. “I hope he’s better for you than I was.”
“I think he might be,” John says slowly, sitting stunned, trying to sort through everything.
“Good,” Nancy says, smiling an honest smile. “That’s good, John. You should get to be happy, too.”
With that, she walks out of the kitchen. John hears the front door shut a moment later.
-0-
“Can we talk?” John asks as Cam opens the door.
Cam’s got a sick-looking smile on his face. “Hey, Sheppard. Something going on?”
“Cam,” John hisses under his breath. “Please.”
Cam stiffens almost imperceptibly. “Sounds serious,” he drawls after a minute, leaning away to let John slip inside. He closes the door when John is safely inside, but he doesn’t turn around.
“I didn’t know she was going to show up,” John says when he realizes that Cam’s just waiting for him to start. Cam’s shoulders slump and he leans his head against the door.
“I figured that much out on my own,” he admits. “I’d like to think that I know you well enough by now to know you wouldn’t throw me in your wife’s face like that.”
John winces. “We’re getting a divorce,” he says quietly, and that makes Cam’s head snap up.
“John,” he says, turning away from the door completely but not moving any further into the room. “That’s - are you sure?”
“It was over a long time ago,” he says, echoing Nancy’s words from earlier. “She and I - we loved each other, you know? But we sucked as partners.” He laughs a little. “We might have worked if I had managed to stay with my dad’s company, but apparently she figured out that that wasn’t going to last and still wanted to give it a try.”
“She loved you,” Cam murmurs.
“And I loved her,” John nods. “But the more I think about it, the more I think that there’s a reason I didn’t fight her when she wanted to leave.” He moves a step closer to Cam. “Look, I can’t say that I love you like I loved her. Ask me again in a year, and my answer might be different.” He takes another step. “I want to find out, Cam.”
“God,” Cam breathes, “so do I.” And with that, he reaches out and slips his hands around John’s waist, pulling him in that last step. John buries his face in Cam’s shoulder, holding on for all he’s worth for a moment, and then Cam is pulling back and kissing him, and yeah, John could get used to this.