SG-1 fic: Integration (PG-13; Cameron Mitchell)
Title: Integration
Characters/Pairings: Cameron Mitchell (some Cameron/Martouf)
Rating: PG-13
Words: About 2900
Summary: Learning to live with (as) a Tok'ra.
Notes: I owe a lot to rydra_wong re: this fic. Several of the scenes came about during a chat, when she was encouraging about things I was trying out, and also kicked my ass (with suggestions!) to make the scenes better. And when I got stuck about how to end it, she came along and made all sorts of insightful comments that basically dug me out of the hole where I'd become stuck. She also poked me to go a little further with some things.
Story is based the Tok'ra AU snapshot from Five Earths Cameron Mitchell Might Have Known
Integration isn't as easy as it should be. Cameron has seen Jacob Carter around the SGC; they've all heard the story of that blending, how it was a test-case for something larger.
He's seen the others - the handful of SGC personnel who are new hosts.
They all make it look effortless, natural. Hell, they look confident, happy even.
Maybe that's because they didn't get blended with a smart-ass, stubborn, control-freak, Cameron thinks, struggling to get his legs to move. So they don't find themselves on the floor in the SGC, fighting for control.
It's not the first time Tekesh has tried to push himself forward and argue that they share Cameron's body. So far, Cameron has managed keep the struggles hidden - during his recovery in the hospital, from the SGC - enough that he's been cleared for duty.
Maybe it's not the first time, but this is worse than the snide comments, the internal goading at exactly the wrong times, the odd, annoying dreams.
This is worse, but at least he's in a quiet area instead of the 'gate room, the control room, or the mess hall.
"Come on," he grates out, concentrating on his toes. He can feel them, he knows they should be moving. "It's my body."
He tries to ignore the persistent voice saying that he agreed to the blending, that it's no longer a question of 'my' and 'yours'. Cameron doesn't mind being a host, but a line's got to be drawn.
So he ignores Tekesh and thinks about moving his feet.
He can't quite ignore it though when Jacob Carter -
- Selmak -
walks by, looking down at him -
Us.
- at him, frowning.
Cameron manages to smile up at Jacob, trying to look like he's intentionally sitting on the floor of the hallway. Like he wants to be here, sprawled out and sweating, legs refusing to work.
Jacob's mouth quirks, almost a smile, and he keeps walking. "Asshole," Cameron mutters, and if Jacob hears, he doesn't show it. Must be nice to have just bonded with his symbiote, no problems, no doubts. No attitude.
Paralysis, Tekesh says, quietly.
"Stuck in a tank," Cameron hisses in return, finally managing to wiggle a toe.
Useless, Tekesh adds. Pointless. A waste of resources. And he flashes memories of tanks, glass walls, unable to participate in the planning, the missions. And there's more. He misses Neven, his former host - brown eyes and blond hair, quick on his feet, easily laughing - misses his friends, wonders how it was that he lived when he shouldn't have.
"Shit," Cameron mutters, despite himself. New fucking tactic. He knows, knows about fears of being useless and too lucky, or not lucky enough.
Yes, Tekesh says.
"Ah, hell." He stops struggling, leans his head back against the wall. "Fine. OK. We'll make it work."
He gets the distinct feeling that Tekesh would smile, if he could. And then Tekesh wiggles Cameron's foot.
They stand, slowly.
After that, it starts to get easier.
Slowly.
*
Tekesh has memories of Tok'ra food - nourishing and filling, high in energy and easy to prepare. The Tok'ra don't have much time for food preparation. There's always too much happening, and too few people to do what's needed.
So, nourishing and filling, quick to get and easy to carry on missions.
"MREs, any time, all the time," Cameron says, grinning. "You guys are real suckers, you know that?" And he's got to get used to not talking aloud to Tekesh, especially off-base. It's getting old, civilians looking at him nervously, warily, and edging away.
Tekesh snorts, amused by the delicate sensibilities of the Tau'ri.
"Yeah, but you're impressed by our grocery stores," Cameron retorts, and winks at the woman - pretty and curvy - who turns at his voice.
Tekesh doesn't deny it, and Cameron's pretty sure that's because he's mesmerized by the bright vegetables just waiting to be bought. He picks up onions, pepper, mushrooms, tomatoes, and corn, but skips over the eggplant, despite Tekesh's admiration of colour and form.
And then he heads to the meat aisle. "Steak," he says. "You guys can handle cholesterol levels, right?"
He'll pick up some ice cream too. And hell, maybe a peach pie. "Gotta make this a real welcome," he adds.
*
After the mission - messy and stupidly hectic, and accomplished in the end, thanks mostly to Martouf's quick thinking - Tekesh makes it clear that Lantash is not attractive.
Cameron doesn't care one way or another about Lantash, but Martouf is something else. Maybe he can't do much about it openly -
Your rules are foolish and counterproductive, Tekesh grumbles, but in this case I am most grateful for them.
"What's the problem between you two?" Cameron nods at Walter as he walks by, and Walter just nods back, looking harried and irritated. Clearly he's overcome with the joys of working for General O'Neill.
Tekesh doesn't bother responding, but he doesn't have to. Cameron has the dreams - disorienting and odd - of Tekesh's life, his past. They don't make much sense, most of the time, just snapshots of people and places, distorted mirror images of old hosts and lost loves.
There are dreams of swimming in warm, dark pools, surrounded by brothers and sisters, cousins and family, enemies and friends. Wet and warm, those dreams are disorienting, disturbing, more so than any of the others.
And there are dreams of Jolinar, of Rosha. Cameron only knows it's Jolinar/Rosha because every time someone says Jolinar, the same image surfaces - blonde hair and clear eyes.
Tekesh isn't talking, but Cameron's not stupid - the thing between him and Lantash involves Jolinar somehow. Jolinar and Rosha, and they way they would smile at Tekesh, eyes lidded, mouth a little lopsided.
Cameron shrugs it off. He can't push for an explanation if Tekesh is being a stubborn son of a bitch. But still. There are things he wants, things he will push for. "Gonna have to compromise on this one," he says, as he heads into the change room, looking for a shower more than anything. Mud. Why does it always have to be mud?
It will be difficult, Tekesh says, annoyed. Must you pursue someone so -
Cameron grins, deliberately bring up memories of Martouf's slow smile, the way he watches everything intently, the way he handles a zat gun, and the P-90s.
Inferior, Tekesh automatically thinks about the P-90s.
But he doesn't dispute the memories of the smile, or the skills, or the slow, quiet, falsely-innocent sense of humour that Martouf hides under layers of propriety and politeness.
"You'll just have to go to sleep or something," Cameron says, smirking to himself. "'Cause I've got plans." Mostly, they involve getting Martouf off base, and out of his pants.
And this time, just this once, he doesn't care about what Tekesh prefers.
*
It figures that Cameron gets in on the game just as things are drawing to a close. The Gou'ald are scattered, their power broken, the Jaffa rebelling and free, the Replicators dealt with.
There's a feeling of triumph that pervades the SGC, and he just catches the tail end of the action. He's there when people start to scatter, to move on with their lives.
Cameron knows about Teal'c of course, everyone in the SGC does. And he has vague memories, after Antarctica, of Teal'c coming to the hospital, speaking of courage and bravery and success.
Meeting Teal'c face-to-face, when Cameron's not high on painkillers, is a thrill. He holds out his hand. "Cameron Mitchell," he says, smiling. He manages - barely - not to gush about meeting the most intriguing member of SG-1.
Teal'c inclines his head, hands carefully held behind his back. Right. Cameron lets his hand drop, feeling like an ass.
"Colonel Mitchell. And, I believe, Tekesh of the Tok'ra."
Jaffa, Tekesh says, not quite contemptuous, not quite friendly.
Shut up, Cameron thinks. This is Teal'c.
But he lets Tekesh take control, hoping that he won't be too much of an ass. "I have heard many stories of your pivotal role in the Jaffa rebellion, Teal'c of Chulak. Congratulations on your success."
Cameron is almost convinced that Tekesh is trying to be friendly. Almost.
Teal'c inclines his head again, a faint, remote smile on his face. "I hope you continue to enjoy working with the Tau'ri, Tekesh of the Tok'ra. I have found them quite enlightening."
It's a dig, but Cameron isn't sure exactly who it's directed at. He feels Tekesh blinking, and then it's Cameron in control again, left with the awkward tension. But he grins. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
Teal'c's smile widens slightly, and he turns, walking away. Not long after, he returns to Dakara, a place Cameron and Tekesh have never seen. They never will. The Jaffa are building new lives for themselves, lives that don't require Tok'ra interference, or Tau'ri visits.
Sam Carter leaves for Area 51, geared up for research and discovery. Cameron hears Doctor Jackson leaves for Atlantis, looking for the same thing.
The halls should seem quiet without the original 'gate team, but wherever Cameron looks, he sees old friends and allies, people he feels he's known for many lifetimes.
It could be worse. And hell, there are still missions, and the other Tok'ra. Cameron's still here, working in a job that he loves.
Perhaps, Tekesh thinks. But changing power structures alter the nature of alliances. You should be prepared.
"You people just don't trust us, do you?" Cameron mutters. "Even now."
Trust is earned. Tekesh's thoughts are overlain with feelings of regret, and Cameron isn't sure why. Regret for not trusting the SGC? Regret for something that happened long before Cameron came into the picture? Tekesh is hiding something.
"Too damn cryptic, you know?" he says, nodding at a startled airman walking by.
Tekesh doesn't respond.
*
It's only when they hear the rumours that Cameron begins to understand what Tekesh had been hinting at, warning about.
Cameron's surprised, but in retrospect, he shoudn't be. With the Goa'uld dwindling and the Replicators gone, the paranoid and suspicious start to question alliances.
Separation demands, Tekesh says, resigned. It has happened before.
He flashes memories of former alliances with small, upstart, human powers, the ones struggling against the Goa'uld, or offering safe worlds. There have been other experiences of betrayal, distrust, and hosts being told to make a choice.
It never ends well. And when Cameron gets called into General O'Neill's office - the way each of the joined personnel are being called, one by one - he knows it's a bad, bad sign.
"The Alpha Site." His voice is flat when he says it. He should have seen this coming. They should have known.
"There are people," General O'Neill says, in a way suggesting that they're not people at all, "in Washington who are questioning the wisdom of the Tok'ra program. The loyalty of our people. They're suggesting we - encourage - participants to rethink their decisions about being hosts. In the meantime, the Alpha Site has been designated as a more secure place for the SGC to accommodate you. And the others."
Cameron knows what that means. Travel through the 'gate on the Alpha Site will be restricted. They won't be in cells, but they won't be able to move about freely. "You want us to separate."
The general shrugs. "Not me. Presidential advisors, maybe."
Separation. He's not even sure if Tekesh would survive, no matter what he's been told. "They can't really expect us to -"
"They expect you to do your duty to your country and your species. They expect you not to side with aliens who seem to have the advantage in this alliance. The Tok'ra are getting bodies they need, and we're getting - what?"
There's something hard in the general's tone, hard and unreasonable, and it doesn't mesh with the General O'Neill he knows. Cameron stands a little straighter, trains his eyes on the wall. "Right. Yes, sir."
He doesn't like us, Tekesh says, he never has. Kanan.
Even now, there's embarrassment in Tekesh's tone.
"Don't take it the wrong way, Colonel," O'Neill says, some of the edge in his voice disappearing. "I don't like it any more than you. Just. Get ready to go to the Alpha Site at 2100 hours. I'll deal with this." He frowns. "There are strings I can pull. It just takes time."
Cameron wants to believe this. He wants to believe in the General O'Neill who is a good man, who looks past his own biases.
Tekesh doubts.
*
"Should you not be packing?" Martouf asks when he finds Cameron in the mess hall.
"Nah," Cameron says around a mouthful of pie. "What's to pack?"
Martouf sits down across from him. "I believe they have sufficient food at the Alpha Site."
True enough. Starving them probably isn't in the plan. Yet. "Yeah, but it's not real food. And Tekesh likes pie."
"I believe that is quite obvious."
Cameron grins. It's his fifth piece - this one's lemon meringue - but what the hell. He can guarantee they won't shipping fresh pie to the Alpha Site, and it pays to minimize Tekesh's bitching.
"Here," he says, shoving an extra slice at Martouf. "Get it while you can."
*
Time, Cameron thinks, moves too slowly. He's sick of the Alpha Site, tired of the half-apologetic, half-wary looks the unblended SGC personnel give the blended personnel and the Tok'ra who had been on base when the orders came down. He's walked the perimeter of the camp, watched for incoming wormholes and information. He's eaten bland rations - Tekesh is resigned to it - and wondered how exactly he got into this situation.
"Tekesh." Malek's voice is low. "The council will not allow this to continue."
"Then why have they not already stepped in?"
Cameron knows the answer, and so does Tekesh. They all do. The council has been willing to wait, to hope that the alliance can be maintained. But they won't wait much longer. And when they come, it will be messy.
"We will have to make a choice," Malek says, and all Cameron can see is Sergeant Wilson's face saying the words. Sergeant Wilson, who maybe doesn't have much in the way of immediate family, but who loves steak, mountain climbing, baseball.
Wilson won't be happy about leaving Earth.
Hell, Cameron knows exactly how he feels. Even Tekesh, who sometimes still daydreams about Neven's homeworld, or dark, warm, homey pools, understands.
"They do not treat their Jaffa allies this way," Malek continues, his tone darkening.
No. They don't. Then again, the Jaffa are remote now, and they never had access to the internal workings of the SGC the way the blended personnel do.
"It will not help to sow dissent right now," Tekesh replies, his voice steady, calm. They turn and walk away, joining Martouf and Lantash at a table.
"When did you become so thoughtful?" Lantash asks mildly.
Cameron mentally rolls his eyes. Even now, Lantash is a pain in the ass.
*
Eventually, the word comes, and Cameron figures it's almost just at the right time. There are increased mutterings from the Tok'ra, mutterings about the council, and the breaking of the alliance, and he - and the other blended personnel - are starting to get antsy about it.
"It was decided," General O'Neill says, standing in the Alpha Site mess hall, "that the alliance terms need to be reworked. The paper pushers worked it out, but it comes down to this - all non-SGC personnel are being asked to return to Tok'ra strongholds. All blended personnel return to the SGC, and will act as liaisons between the Tok'ra and the SGC." He doesn't look happy about the situation.
Cameron can't blame him. Already there are slight murmurings in the hall.
"You speak as though we could not have left at any time, General," Lantash says, standing. "And are you suggesting that our brothers and sisters are to be kept away from us?"
"They are still SGC personnel," O'Neill says. "We agreed on that at the beginning."
"Do they not have free will?"
Cameron watches Lantash argue - making points that even Tekesh agrees with - but he's thinking no more days off, inviting Martouf over and explaining another aspect of Earth culture, a kind of cultural exchange foreplay that always ended up with them in bed, despite Tekesh's resigned protests. No more missions where Martouf's caution and Lantash's experience mean that their asses are covered.
No more walking through the hallways, talking with people dressed in the Tok'ra styles that are becoming increasingly familiar. These days, sometimes Cameron's body aches for those clothes, the soft leathers and neutral colours. He's never dressed like one of the Tok'ra, but Tekesh remembers the clothes fondly, and Cameron almost does too.
Carefully, he turns and looks at Jacob standing in the corner. His expression is rigid, and Cameron can tell he's arguing with Selmak, even as Lantash pushes at General O'Neill.
Will you stay? Tekesh asks.
Maybe the politicians back home don't realize it, but it's a given that the SGC won't be able to force the blended personnel to stay on Earth, not if they don't want it. Even General O'Neill got to recognize that he can't force Cameron and the others back home at gunpoint.
He looks at the faces around him, at Sergeant Wilson, Lieutenant Brenkman, Jacob, all of the others. Brenkman has a dog and a niece that she loves. Jacob sees Sam Carter at least once a week. Wilson - well, Wilson is just a homebody. There are others too, people Cameron hasn't known for long, but who Tekesh remembers fondly. Their expressions are all variations on the same theme, right now.
"Yeah," he says softly. They'll be staying. And Cameron will too.
For now. Until - if - it becomes unbearable.
Integration isn't always easy, Tekesh says.
End
Characters/Pairings: Cameron Mitchell (some Cameron/Martouf)
Rating: PG-13
Words: About 2900
Summary: Learning to live with (as) a Tok'ra.
Notes: I owe a lot to rydra_wong re: this fic. Several of the scenes came about during a chat, when she was encouraging about things I was trying out, and also kicked my ass (with suggestions!) to make the scenes better. And when I got stuck about how to end it, she came along and made all sorts of insightful comments that basically dug me out of the hole where I'd become stuck. She also poked me to go a little further with some things.
Story is based the Tok'ra AU snapshot from Five Earths Cameron Mitchell Might Have Known
Integration isn't as easy as it should be. Cameron has seen Jacob Carter around the SGC; they've all heard the story of that blending, how it was a test-case for something larger.
He's seen the others - the handful of SGC personnel who are new hosts.
They all make it look effortless, natural. Hell, they look confident, happy even.
Maybe that's because they didn't get blended with a smart-ass, stubborn, control-freak, Cameron thinks, struggling to get his legs to move. So they don't find themselves on the floor in the SGC, fighting for control.
It's not the first time Tekesh has tried to push himself forward and argue that they share Cameron's body. So far, Cameron has managed keep the struggles hidden - during his recovery in the hospital, from the SGC - enough that he's been cleared for duty.
Maybe it's not the first time, but this is worse than the snide comments, the internal goading at exactly the wrong times, the odd, annoying dreams.
This is worse, but at least he's in a quiet area instead of the 'gate room, the control room, or the mess hall.
"Come on," he grates out, concentrating on his toes. He can feel them, he knows they should be moving. "It's my body."
He tries to ignore the persistent voice saying that he agreed to the blending, that it's no longer a question of 'my' and 'yours'. Cameron doesn't mind being a host, but a line's got to be drawn.
So he ignores Tekesh and thinks about moving his feet.
He can't quite ignore it though when Jacob Carter -
- Selmak -
walks by, looking down at him -
Us.
- at him, frowning.
Cameron manages to smile up at Jacob, trying to look like he's intentionally sitting on the floor of the hallway. Like he wants to be here, sprawled out and sweating, legs refusing to work.
Jacob's mouth quirks, almost a smile, and he keeps walking. "Asshole," Cameron mutters, and if Jacob hears, he doesn't show it. Must be nice to have just bonded with his symbiote, no problems, no doubts. No attitude.
Paralysis, Tekesh says, quietly.
"Stuck in a tank," Cameron hisses in return, finally managing to wiggle a toe.
Useless, Tekesh adds. Pointless. A waste of resources. And he flashes memories of tanks, glass walls, unable to participate in the planning, the missions. And there's more. He misses Neven, his former host - brown eyes and blond hair, quick on his feet, easily laughing - misses his friends, wonders how it was that he lived when he shouldn't have.
"Shit," Cameron mutters, despite himself. New fucking tactic. He knows, knows about fears of being useless and too lucky, or not lucky enough.
Yes, Tekesh says.
"Ah, hell." He stops struggling, leans his head back against the wall. "Fine. OK. We'll make it work."
He gets the distinct feeling that Tekesh would smile, if he could. And then Tekesh wiggles Cameron's foot.
They stand, slowly.
After that, it starts to get easier.
Slowly.
*
Tekesh has memories of Tok'ra food - nourishing and filling, high in energy and easy to prepare. The Tok'ra don't have much time for food preparation. There's always too much happening, and too few people to do what's needed.
So, nourishing and filling, quick to get and easy to carry on missions.
"MREs, any time, all the time," Cameron says, grinning. "You guys are real suckers, you know that?" And he's got to get used to not talking aloud to Tekesh, especially off-base. It's getting old, civilians looking at him nervously, warily, and edging away.
Tekesh snorts, amused by the delicate sensibilities of the Tau'ri.
"Yeah, but you're impressed by our grocery stores," Cameron retorts, and winks at the woman - pretty and curvy - who turns at his voice.
Tekesh doesn't deny it, and Cameron's pretty sure that's because he's mesmerized by the bright vegetables just waiting to be bought. He picks up onions, pepper, mushrooms, tomatoes, and corn, but skips over the eggplant, despite Tekesh's admiration of colour and form.
And then he heads to the meat aisle. "Steak," he says. "You guys can handle cholesterol levels, right?"
He'll pick up some ice cream too. And hell, maybe a peach pie. "Gotta make this a real welcome," he adds.
*
After the mission - messy and stupidly hectic, and accomplished in the end, thanks mostly to Martouf's quick thinking - Tekesh makes it clear that Lantash is not attractive.
Cameron doesn't care one way or another about Lantash, but Martouf is something else. Maybe he can't do much about it openly -
Your rules are foolish and counterproductive, Tekesh grumbles, but in this case I am most grateful for them.
"What's the problem between you two?" Cameron nods at Walter as he walks by, and Walter just nods back, looking harried and irritated. Clearly he's overcome with the joys of working for General O'Neill.
Tekesh doesn't bother responding, but he doesn't have to. Cameron has the dreams - disorienting and odd - of Tekesh's life, his past. They don't make much sense, most of the time, just snapshots of people and places, distorted mirror images of old hosts and lost loves.
There are dreams of swimming in warm, dark pools, surrounded by brothers and sisters, cousins and family, enemies and friends. Wet and warm, those dreams are disorienting, disturbing, more so than any of the others.
And there are dreams of Jolinar, of Rosha. Cameron only knows it's Jolinar/Rosha because every time someone says Jolinar, the same image surfaces - blonde hair and clear eyes.
Tekesh isn't talking, but Cameron's not stupid - the thing between him and Lantash involves Jolinar somehow. Jolinar and Rosha, and they way they would smile at Tekesh, eyes lidded, mouth a little lopsided.
Cameron shrugs it off. He can't push for an explanation if Tekesh is being a stubborn son of a bitch. But still. There are things he wants, things he will push for. "Gonna have to compromise on this one," he says, as he heads into the change room, looking for a shower more than anything. Mud. Why does it always have to be mud?
It will be difficult, Tekesh says, annoyed. Must you pursue someone so -
Cameron grins, deliberately bring up memories of Martouf's slow smile, the way he watches everything intently, the way he handles a zat gun, and the P-90s.
Inferior, Tekesh automatically thinks about the P-90s.
But he doesn't dispute the memories of the smile, or the skills, or the slow, quiet, falsely-innocent sense of humour that Martouf hides under layers of propriety and politeness.
"You'll just have to go to sleep or something," Cameron says, smirking to himself. "'Cause I've got plans." Mostly, they involve getting Martouf off base, and out of his pants.
And this time, just this once, he doesn't care about what Tekesh prefers.
*
It figures that Cameron gets in on the game just as things are drawing to a close. The Gou'ald are scattered, their power broken, the Jaffa rebelling and free, the Replicators dealt with.
There's a feeling of triumph that pervades the SGC, and he just catches the tail end of the action. He's there when people start to scatter, to move on with their lives.
Cameron knows about Teal'c of course, everyone in the SGC does. And he has vague memories, after Antarctica, of Teal'c coming to the hospital, speaking of courage and bravery and success.
Meeting Teal'c face-to-face, when Cameron's not high on painkillers, is a thrill. He holds out his hand. "Cameron Mitchell," he says, smiling. He manages - barely - not to gush about meeting the most intriguing member of SG-1.
Teal'c inclines his head, hands carefully held behind his back. Right. Cameron lets his hand drop, feeling like an ass.
"Colonel Mitchell. And, I believe, Tekesh of the Tok'ra."
Jaffa, Tekesh says, not quite contemptuous, not quite friendly.
Shut up, Cameron thinks. This is Teal'c.
But he lets Tekesh take control, hoping that he won't be too much of an ass. "I have heard many stories of your pivotal role in the Jaffa rebellion, Teal'c of Chulak. Congratulations on your success."
Cameron is almost convinced that Tekesh is trying to be friendly. Almost.
Teal'c inclines his head again, a faint, remote smile on his face. "I hope you continue to enjoy working with the Tau'ri, Tekesh of the Tok'ra. I have found them quite enlightening."
It's a dig, but Cameron isn't sure exactly who it's directed at. He feels Tekesh blinking, and then it's Cameron in control again, left with the awkward tension. But he grins. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
Teal'c's smile widens slightly, and he turns, walking away. Not long after, he returns to Dakara, a place Cameron and Tekesh have never seen. They never will. The Jaffa are building new lives for themselves, lives that don't require Tok'ra interference, or Tau'ri visits.
Sam Carter leaves for Area 51, geared up for research and discovery. Cameron hears Doctor Jackson leaves for Atlantis, looking for the same thing.
The halls should seem quiet without the original 'gate team, but wherever Cameron looks, he sees old friends and allies, people he feels he's known for many lifetimes.
It could be worse. And hell, there are still missions, and the other Tok'ra. Cameron's still here, working in a job that he loves.
Perhaps, Tekesh thinks. But changing power structures alter the nature of alliances. You should be prepared.
"You people just don't trust us, do you?" Cameron mutters. "Even now."
Trust is earned. Tekesh's thoughts are overlain with feelings of regret, and Cameron isn't sure why. Regret for not trusting the SGC? Regret for something that happened long before Cameron came into the picture? Tekesh is hiding something.
"Too damn cryptic, you know?" he says, nodding at a startled airman walking by.
Tekesh doesn't respond.
*
It's only when they hear the rumours that Cameron begins to understand what Tekesh had been hinting at, warning about.
Cameron's surprised, but in retrospect, he shoudn't be. With the Goa'uld dwindling and the Replicators gone, the paranoid and suspicious start to question alliances.
Separation demands, Tekesh says, resigned. It has happened before.
He flashes memories of former alliances with small, upstart, human powers, the ones struggling against the Goa'uld, or offering safe worlds. There have been other experiences of betrayal, distrust, and hosts being told to make a choice.
It never ends well. And when Cameron gets called into General O'Neill's office - the way each of the joined personnel are being called, one by one - he knows it's a bad, bad sign.
"The Alpha Site." His voice is flat when he says it. He should have seen this coming. They should have known.
"There are people," General O'Neill says, in a way suggesting that they're not people at all, "in Washington who are questioning the wisdom of the Tok'ra program. The loyalty of our people. They're suggesting we - encourage - participants to rethink their decisions about being hosts. In the meantime, the Alpha Site has been designated as a more secure place for the SGC to accommodate you. And the others."
Cameron knows what that means. Travel through the 'gate on the Alpha Site will be restricted. They won't be in cells, but they won't be able to move about freely. "You want us to separate."
The general shrugs. "Not me. Presidential advisors, maybe."
Separation. He's not even sure if Tekesh would survive, no matter what he's been told. "They can't really expect us to -"
"They expect you to do your duty to your country and your species. They expect you not to side with aliens who seem to have the advantage in this alliance. The Tok'ra are getting bodies they need, and we're getting - what?"
There's something hard in the general's tone, hard and unreasonable, and it doesn't mesh with the General O'Neill he knows. Cameron stands a little straighter, trains his eyes on the wall. "Right. Yes, sir."
He doesn't like us, Tekesh says, he never has. Kanan.
Even now, there's embarrassment in Tekesh's tone.
"Don't take it the wrong way, Colonel," O'Neill says, some of the edge in his voice disappearing. "I don't like it any more than you. Just. Get ready to go to the Alpha Site at 2100 hours. I'll deal with this." He frowns. "There are strings I can pull. It just takes time."
Cameron wants to believe this. He wants to believe in the General O'Neill who is a good man, who looks past his own biases.
Tekesh doubts.
*
"Should you not be packing?" Martouf asks when he finds Cameron in the mess hall.
"Nah," Cameron says around a mouthful of pie. "What's to pack?"
Martouf sits down across from him. "I believe they have sufficient food at the Alpha Site."
True enough. Starving them probably isn't in the plan. Yet. "Yeah, but it's not real food. And Tekesh likes pie."
"I believe that is quite obvious."
Cameron grins. It's his fifth piece - this one's lemon meringue - but what the hell. He can guarantee they won't shipping fresh pie to the Alpha Site, and it pays to minimize Tekesh's bitching.
"Here," he says, shoving an extra slice at Martouf. "Get it while you can."
*
Time, Cameron thinks, moves too slowly. He's sick of the Alpha Site, tired of the half-apologetic, half-wary looks the unblended SGC personnel give the blended personnel and the Tok'ra who had been on base when the orders came down. He's walked the perimeter of the camp, watched for incoming wormholes and information. He's eaten bland rations - Tekesh is resigned to it - and wondered how exactly he got into this situation.
"Tekesh." Malek's voice is low. "The council will not allow this to continue."
"Then why have they not already stepped in?"
Cameron knows the answer, and so does Tekesh. They all do. The council has been willing to wait, to hope that the alliance can be maintained. But they won't wait much longer. And when they come, it will be messy.
"We will have to make a choice," Malek says, and all Cameron can see is Sergeant Wilson's face saying the words. Sergeant Wilson, who maybe doesn't have much in the way of immediate family, but who loves steak, mountain climbing, baseball.
Wilson won't be happy about leaving Earth.
Hell, Cameron knows exactly how he feels. Even Tekesh, who sometimes still daydreams about Neven's homeworld, or dark, warm, homey pools, understands.
"They do not treat their Jaffa allies this way," Malek continues, his tone darkening.
No. They don't. Then again, the Jaffa are remote now, and they never had access to the internal workings of the SGC the way the blended personnel do.
"It will not help to sow dissent right now," Tekesh replies, his voice steady, calm. They turn and walk away, joining Martouf and Lantash at a table.
"When did you become so thoughtful?" Lantash asks mildly.
Cameron mentally rolls his eyes. Even now, Lantash is a pain in the ass.
*
Eventually, the word comes, and Cameron figures it's almost just at the right time. There are increased mutterings from the Tok'ra, mutterings about the council, and the breaking of the alliance, and he - and the other blended personnel - are starting to get antsy about it.
"It was decided," General O'Neill says, standing in the Alpha Site mess hall, "that the alliance terms need to be reworked. The paper pushers worked it out, but it comes down to this - all non-SGC personnel are being asked to return to Tok'ra strongholds. All blended personnel return to the SGC, and will act as liaisons between the Tok'ra and the SGC." He doesn't look happy about the situation.
Cameron can't blame him. Already there are slight murmurings in the hall.
"You speak as though we could not have left at any time, General," Lantash says, standing. "And are you suggesting that our brothers and sisters are to be kept away from us?"
"They are still SGC personnel," O'Neill says. "We agreed on that at the beginning."
"Do they not have free will?"
Cameron watches Lantash argue - making points that even Tekesh agrees with - but he's thinking no more days off, inviting Martouf over and explaining another aspect of Earth culture, a kind of cultural exchange foreplay that always ended up with them in bed, despite Tekesh's resigned protests. No more missions where Martouf's caution and Lantash's experience mean that their asses are covered.
No more walking through the hallways, talking with people dressed in the Tok'ra styles that are becoming increasingly familiar. These days, sometimes Cameron's body aches for those clothes, the soft leathers and neutral colours. He's never dressed like one of the Tok'ra, but Tekesh remembers the clothes fondly, and Cameron almost does too.
Carefully, he turns and looks at Jacob standing in the corner. His expression is rigid, and Cameron can tell he's arguing with Selmak, even as Lantash pushes at General O'Neill.
Will you stay? Tekesh asks.
Maybe the politicians back home don't realize it, but it's a given that the SGC won't be able to force the blended personnel to stay on Earth, not if they don't want it. Even General O'Neill got to recognize that he can't force Cameron and the others back home at gunpoint.
He looks at the faces around him, at Sergeant Wilson, Lieutenant Brenkman, Jacob, all of the others. Brenkman has a dog and a niece that she loves. Jacob sees Sam Carter at least once a week. Wilson - well, Wilson is just a homebody. There are others too, people Cameron hasn't known for long, but who Tekesh remembers fondly. Their expressions are all variations on the same theme, right now.
"Yeah," he says softly. They'll be staying. And Cameron will too.
For now. Until - if - it becomes unbearable.
Integration isn't always easy, Tekesh says.
End