Fic: Tonight, She is Here (1/1)
Title: Tonight, She is Here
Author: evilmissbecky
Rating: PG
Characters: Sam, Cameron, mentions of everyone else, Sam/Cam if you squint
Word Count 2900
Summary: And that leaves Cam. The only one she can still see. Set during the Season 10 episode, The Road Not Taken
There's nothing she can do, and she hates it.
The worst part is having no one to talk to. Daniel is missing. General O'Neill is dead. Teal'c has been gone for years. Vala is in jail. And Cam, well, she won't be going back there any time soon.
Except that she can't stop thinking about it. She's used to spending long hours alone in the lab. What she's not used to is having to lie, to pretend, to make it look like she's working when in fact she’s brooding.
She tried to get in to see Vala when she was at Area 51, but they told her in no uncertain terms that it would never happen. She asked if there was anything she could do to help find Daniel again, and was told that they were already "working on it." She wondered out loud if contacting Teal'c and the Jaffa would help, and the fact that no one even bothered to respond to her told her everything she needed to know.
And that leaves Cam. He's the only one she can still see.
The only one she might still help.
****
After another hour, Sam gives up. She isn't going to get anything more accomplished today. She throws on her coat, locks up the lab, and leaves Cheyenne Mountain.
It's late February, so by the time she's hit the bakery, the supermarket, and the liquor store, it's fully dark, and the cars are thinning out on the roads. No one wants to be caught out after curfew, after all.
Cam looks surprised to see her again, but his surprise changes instantly to suspicion when he sees the bags in her hands. It's that "don't you dare pity me" look she knows so well only because she's worn it herself on occasion.
"Dinner?" she says as brightly as she can. She holds up the bags and smiles.
After a pause, he backs the wheelchair away from the door and lets her in. "Didn't expect to see you again," he says. She can smell the whiskey on him, and she winces a little as she uses her foot to close the door behind her.
"Then I guess it's your lucky day," she says.
Cam snorts disdainfully.
Sam sets the bags down on the counter. There isn't a whole lot of free space; the kitchen is small to begin with, and the available countertops are covered with dirty dishes, empty booze bottles, pizza boxes, Chinese take-out menus, and stacks of unopened mail.
It's colder in here than she'd like, but she can't exactly stand around in her coat all night. She takes it off, glances around, then finally walks back into the main room and drapes it across the chair where she sat on her previous visit. She takes a deep breath. "I thought we could talk," she says.
Cam looks up at her as he lights a new cigarette. "Yeah? What about?"
"No one really wants to tell me anything," she says. "I figured you could tell me what I need to know."
"You mean I won't sugarcoat the truth," Cam says. He blows smoke in her direction.
She nods. "Something like that."
She wants to know how things got to be this way. She understands about the alien attack, the rioting, the need for law and order. But how could things go on like this? What has happened in this world?
"Sure," Cam shrugs. "I can tell you. Doesn't mean you're gonna like it."
She looks at him. "I already know that."
****
Cooking is one of those things she's always wanted to learn, but there's never been enough time. She can follow directions as well as anyone, though, and there's minimal prep work involved, and before long, the chicken and roasted potatoes are in the oven.
When that's done, she finds a trash bag in one of the cupboards - they're mostly empty; everything is on the lowest shelf - and she starts scooping all the crap she can find into it. When the bag is full, she turns her attention to the sink full of dirty dishes, and starts attacking those.
Cam watches all this through narrowed eyes. "You gonna charge me for maid service?" he finally asks.
"Maybe," Sam says. She tries to think what her Cam Mitchell would say if he could see how his counterpart lives, but all she can imagine is the look of horror that would come over his face when he saw the squalor here.
"Yeah, well, sorry," Cam mutters. His voice is slightly muffled as he pinches another cigarette between his lips and lights it. "I'm all tapped out until next month's pension goes in the bank."
She tries to hide her anger. He served his country as best he could, and this is how they reward him. She figures the utilities and the rent are probably deducted straight from his bank account. Someone delivers his groceries, and maybe the mail too, when it piles up in the box on the first floor that he can't get to. And of course there's the take-out food, the pizza and the Chinese and the Thai, but from what she can tell, the rest of his money goes toward alcohol and cigarettes.
It's a terrible way to live.
She digs through the drawers, opening one after another until she finds what she's looking for. She tosses the dishtowel at him. "Here."
Cam squints at her through the smoke wreathing his head, then he sighs and stubs the cigarette out. He wheels into the kitchen and she scoots over a little to make room for him at the sink - the kitchen really is tiny, even by apartment standards.
She hands him a plate and keeps scrubbing.
****
When the dishes are done, (she had to fill the sink twice, and Cam went through three towels), she checks on the chicken and potatoes. She puts Cam in charge of the salad and she starts slicing the loaf of Italian bread she got at the bakery. She doesn't say anything about dessert, though. That's a surprise.
Her timing is a little off - they have to wait a bit longer for the chicken than she had anticipated - but it all tastes great, so she doesn't feel too embarrassed. She sits on the chair, cafeteria tray balanced on her lap; the bottom of the tray is warm against her thighs from the food on her plate. The wine is good, too, even though she drinks it from a coffee mug that says Beam Me Up, Scotty.
Cam talks while they eat. He tells her about the public reaction to learning about the Stargate program, the riots, the fear, the paranoia. "It's amazing the stuff you can see on TV when you're stuck flat on your back for six months," he says.
Sam takes another bite of her potatoes, and wishes she had taken smaller portions, so there would be more leftovers.
In return she tells him about her world. The way they were able to keep the Stargate secret, the defeat of the Goa'uld, the new threat posed by the Ori. She tells him that it's vital that she return to her own world, and then she finally admits out loud that she fears President Landry will keep her here.
"That sucks for you," Cam says flatly, and she winces. She's already heard this, from the President himself. Unlike you, the rest of us will never have the luxury of leaving for someplace better when things get tough.
The only problem is, she's starting to think she'll never get to leave.
****
When she pulls the macaroons out of the bag, Cam is so surprised he actually laughs. "Where did you get those?"
Sam grins. "At the bakery. They're made fresh today."
He savors the smell of one before biting into it. An expression of almost pure bliss crosses his face. "Damn, that's good," he says appreciatively.
She shakes her head when he offers her the small brown paper sack. "I don't like coconut," she says.
"Your loss," Cam says, and eats another cookie.
She's pleased that she was able to surprise him. "I bet they're not as good as the ones you make, though."
He stares at her. "Come again?"
She gestures at the cookie in his hands. "In my world, you baked me some macaroons. I was recuperating after I was wounded during a mission." She glances down at her clasped hands. "I thought I was going to die. But you stayed with me the whole time." She looks up at him. "You kept me going."
Abruptly she has the sinking realization that she is going to cry. She remembers the helpless frustration on his face as he stared out the window of their refuge, still blaming himself for Daniel's loss, forced to do nothing to assist Teal'c and Vala, unable to help her or get them out of their desperate situation. And she remembers the way he smiled at her after it was all over, sitting on her bed in the infirmary, shyly offering the cookies he had made himself.
She remembers falling a little then, even though there were all those pillows at her back, propping her up.
Damn, she is crying now, all right. She swipes quickly at the tears, hating the momentary weakness that brought them on. She has to do better than this. She has to be stronger than this.
"You okay?" Cam asks gently.
When he sounds like that, when she doesn't look up and actually see him, he could be her Cam.
She doesn't trust herself to speak yet, so she just shakes her head.
Cam doesn't ask anything else, or tell her that everything's gonna be okay.
****
After all the leftovers are packaged away - and she's thrown out all the green fuzzy stuff that was already inside the fridge - they watch TV. She learns that the PS2 was a gift he got back in the hospital, to give him something to do during all those hours when he could only lie there in bed, bored to death.
The dead plant on top of the TV, on the other hand, came from the neighbor down the hall. Other than the people who deliver his food and groceries, and the twice-a-year visit from a military doctor, the old man in 3B is the only one Cam ever sees.
Sam dumps the plant into the trash bag she filled earlier, then during a commercial break, takes it and the rest of the garbage out to the dumpster behind the building. It smells awful, and it's cold, and she hurries back inside.
There's nothing good on television. Cam changes the channels constantly in a fruitless search for something that can help pass the time. Sam glances at her watch once and sees that it's 9:01, but she says nothing.
"What will you do if you can't get back?"
She bites her lip. "I don't know," she admits. "I'm not giving up, though. I'm going to keep at it." She refuses to stop hoping. She's spent too many years clinging to thinner threads than this one to give up now.
She excuses herself and heads down the short hall to the bathroom. It's filthy inside, which is pretty much what she expected. The mirror over the medicine cabinet is cracked, and the shelves are bare; Cam can't reach that high. Scattered on the counter are several pill bottles, and Sam picks them up one by one, reading the labels.
It's too depressing. She leaves the bathroom and stands in the hallway for a moment. The only bedroom is to her right. The door is ajar and even though it's dark, she can see that the bed is unmade. Books and newspapers cover the floor, as well as mysterious, loose bundles that can only be dirty laundry.
She turns left and heads back into the living room. Cam barely glances up. "I guess you saw I only have one toothbrush," he says, and she realizes he knew her plan all along.
Sam hesitates a little before sitting back down. "I saw," she says carefully.
"Of course, you being you, I bet the curfew doesn't even apply to you. You could probably go anywhere you wanted," Cam says. "Might even get a military escort back to the Mountain."
She probably could, at that. And then tomorrow she would have to suffer an official reprimand from General Hammond for being out after curfew. Not to mention, they would want to know why she had been visiting Cameron Mitchell again.
"I don't want to go back there tonight," she says.
"Okay," Cam says.
"I, um," she says. She has to look down. "I have some things in my car."
Cam gestures at the door, ash from his latest cigarette falling to the floor. "Then I guess you better go get 'em."
She stands up, suddenly anxious. "Is this okay?" She knows she's imposing, and they're coming up on the important question of where exactly she is going to sleep, but it's not too late yet. She still has time to back out.
"Sure," Cam says. It's a little too casual, but she accepts it at face value, only because the other option isn't even worth considering.
She hurries outside to where her car is parked. If this were truly her world and this were truly her car, she would worry about it being vandalized or stolen in this neighborhood, but now she doesn't care. She has more important things to worry about.
The streets are deserted. It's an eerie sensation, being the only person standing outside. In most of the windows of the surrounding buildings, lights still burn, but all the drapes are drawn. The sky is cold and clear, and she looks upward for a moment, wondering if Teal'c is all right, if he still thinks of her with fondness, if he still even thinks about her at all. She wonders if Daniel is out there, if he is watching over her now, bound by the ancient rules that have never before seemed so heartless.
Back inside, she moves more slowly. She takes the steps one by one, feeling the push and pull of the muscles in her legs. Over dinner, Cam told her he can still walk sometimes, on his good days, but not very far and not without pain. Mostly, he said, he just doesn't bother anymore.
The apartment feels warmer, but that might just be because she's been outside. She shuts the door and locks it, then turns off the lights.
Cam is in the bedroom, doing his best to tidy up. "Home sweet home," he mutters.
Sam gives him a nervous little smile. "It's fine," she says, and tells herself quite firmly not to think about how long it's probably been since he washed the sheets.
It's better if she doesn't think about anything at all, actually. She takes her overnight bag into the bathroom, where she changes into her nightgown and brushes her teeth and washes her face. She resists the urge to do a quick clean-up in here like she did in the kitchen, and she steadfastly refuses to think about what is going to happen next.
It seems to take forever to cross the short distance between the bathroom and the bedroom.
Cam looks up at her. She doesn't speak. She just stands there, feeling the chill again, feeling awkward and angry and so damn sorry she doesn't even know what she would say even if she could find her voice right now.
The bedroom is small, and she has to move out of the way in order to let Cam's wheelchair pass by. She crawls onto the bed, which is just a mattress and box spring set on the floor, and pulls the covers up over herself. There's a lamp set on a round table beside the bed, and a few well-worn books. She glances at the titles, then she stares up at the ceiling, tracing the outline of an old water stain and trying not to shiver.
Cam is gone a long time. The walls are thin, and she can hear the water running, stopping, then starting again.
She tries at first not to stare when he comes back, when he levers himself out of the chair and onto the bed, but she looks anyway. She's helpless not to. She watches him arrange his legs and lie down and pull up his side of the covers, and then she turns off the light.
The room is pitch black at first, then gradually her eyes adjust to the dim illumination from the streetlights outside. Her feet are still cold, but the rest of her is warming up.
She hasn't shared a bed with anyone since Pete. She almost forgot how it felt to know that she wasn't alone in the dark. To hear someone else's breathing. To know that if she reached out her hand, she would touch someone.
She turns on her side, facing him. She finds his hand under the sheet and squeezes tight. After a moment, Cam returns the gesture.
In the morning she'll have to go back to Cheyenne Mountain and explain herself. She'll have to present her case again and plead with General Hammond to be given the chance to find a way home. She'll have to meet with President Landry and try to make him understand how he is slowly destroying this great country, one man at a time.
But not tonight.
Tonight she is here.
******
END
Author: evilmissbecky
Rating: PG
Characters: Sam, Cameron, mentions of everyone else, Sam/Cam if you squint
Word Count 2900
Summary: And that leaves Cam. The only one she can still see. Set during the Season 10 episode, The Road Not Taken
There's nothing she can do, and she hates it.
The worst part is having no one to talk to. Daniel is missing. General O'Neill is dead. Teal'c has been gone for years. Vala is in jail. And Cam, well, she won't be going back there any time soon.
Except that she can't stop thinking about it. She's used to spending long hours alone in the lab. What she's not used to is having to lie, to pretend, to make it look like she's working when in fact she’s brooding.
She tried to get in to see Vala when she was at Area 51, but they told her in no uncertain terms that it would never happen. She asked if there was anything she could do to help find Daniel again, and was told that they were already "working on it." She wondered out loud if contacting Teal'c and the Jaffa would help, and the fact that no one even bothered to respond to her told her everything she needed to know.
And that leaves Cam. He's the only one she can still see.
The only one she might still help.
****
After another hour, Sam gives up. She isn't going to get anything more accomplished today. She throws on her coat, locks up the lab, and leaves Cheyenne Mountain.
It's late February, so by the time she's hit the bakery, the supermarket, and the liquor store, it's fully dark, and the cars are thinning out on the roads. No one wants to be caught out after curfew, after all.
Cam looks surprised to see her again, but his surprise changes instantly to suspicion when he sees the bags in her hands. It's that "don't you dare pity me" look she knows so well only because she's worn it herself on occasion.
"Dinner?" she says as brightly as she can. She holds up the bags and smiles.
After a pause, he backs the wheelchair away from the door and lets her in. "Didn't expect to see you again," he says. She can smell the whiskey on him, and she winces a little as she uses her foot to close the door behind her.
"Then I guess it's your lucky day," she says.
Cam snorts disdainfully.
Sam sets the bags down on the counter. There isn't a whole lot of free space; the kitchen is small to begin with, and the available countertops are covered with dirty dishes, empty booze bottles, pizza boxes, Chinese take-out menus, and stacks of unopened mail.
It's colder in here than she'd like, but she can't exactly stand around in her coat all night. She takes it off, glances around, then finally walks back into the main room and drapes it across the chair where she sat on her previous visit. She takes a deep breath. "I thought we could talk," she says.
Cam looks up at her as he lights a new cigarette. "Yeah? What about?"
"No one really wants to tell me anything," she says. "I figured you could tell me what I need to know."
"You mean I won't sugarcoat the truth," Cam says. He blows smoke in her direction.
She nods. "Something like that."
She wants to know how things got to be this way. She understands about the alien attack, the rioting, the need for law and order. But how could things go on like this? What has happened in this world?
"Sure," Cam shrugs. "I can tell you. Doesn't mean you're gonna like it."
She looks at him. "I already know that."
****
Cooking is one of those things she's always wanted to learn, but there's never been enough time. She can follow directions as well as anyone, though, and there's minimal prep work involved, and before long, the chicken and roasted potatoes are in the oven.
When that's done, she finds a trash bag in one of the cupboards - they're mostly empty; everything is on the lowest shelf - and she starts scooping all the crap she can find into it. When the bag is full, she turns her attention to the sink full of dirty dishes, and starts attacking those.
Cam watches all this through narrowed eyes. "You gonna charge me for maid service?" he finally asks.
"Maybe," Sam says. She tries to think what her Cam Mitchell would say if he could see how his counterpart lives, but all she can imagine is the look of horror that would come over his face when he saw the squalor here.
"Yeah, well, sorry," Cam mutters. His voice is slightly muffled as he pinches another cigarette between his lips and lights it. "I'm all tapped out until next month's pension goes in the bank."
She tries to hide her anger. He served his country as best he could, and this is how they reward him. She figures the utilities and the rent are probably deducted straight from his bank account. Someone delivers his groceries, and maybe the mail too, when it piles up in the box on the first floor that he can't get to. And of course there's the take-out food, the pizza and the Chinese and the Thai, but from what she can tell, the rest of his money goes toward alcohol and cigarettes.
It's a terrible way to live.
She digs through the drawers, opening one after another until she finds what she's looking for. She tosses the dishtowel at him. "Here."
Cam squints at her through the smoke wreathing his head, then he sighs and stubs the cigarette out. He wheels into the kitchen and she scoots over a little to make room for him at the sink - the kitchen really is tiny, even by apartment standards.
She hands him a plate and keeps scrubbing.
****
When the dishes are done, (she had to fill the sink twice, and Cam went through three towels), she checks on the chicken and potatoes. She puts Cam in charge of the salad and she starts slicing the loaf of Italian bread she got at the bakery. She doesn't say anything about dessert, though. That's a surprise.
Her timing is a little off - they have to wait a bit longer for the chicken than she had anticipated - but it all tastes great, so she doesn't feel too embarrassed. She sits on the chair, cafeteria tray balanced on her lap; the bottom of the tray is warm against her thighs from the food on her plate. The wine is good, too, even though she drinks it from a coffee mug that says Beam Me Up, Scotty.
Cam talks while they eat. He tells her about the public reaction to learning about the Stargate program, the riots, the fear, the paranoia. "It's amazing the stuff you can see on TV when you're stuck flat on your back for six months," he says.
Sam takes another bite of her potatoes, and wishes she had taken smaller portions, so there would be more leftovers.
In return she tells him about her world. The way they were able to keep the Stargate secret, the defeat of the Goa'uld, the new threat posed by the Ori. She tells him that it's vital that she return to her own world, and then she finally admits out loud that she fears President Landry will keep her here.
"That sucks for you," Cam says flatly, and she winces. She's already heard this, from the President himself. Unlike you, the rest of us will never have the luxury of leaving for someplace better when things get tough.
The only problem is, she's starting to think she'll never get to leave.
****
When she pulls the macaroons out of the bag, Cam is so surprised he actually laughs. "Where did you get those?"
Sam grins. "At the bakery. They're made fresh today."
He savors the smell of one before biting into it. An expression of almost pure bliss crosses his face. "Damn, that's good," he says appreciatively.
She shakes her head when he offers her the small brown paper sack. "I don't like coconut," she says.
"Your loss," Cam says, and eats another cookie.
She's pleased that she was able to surprise him. "I bet they're not as good as the ones you make, though."
He stares at her. "Come again?"
She gestures at the cookie in his hands. "In my world, you baked me some macaroons. I was recuperating after I was wounded during a mission." She glances down at her clasped hands. "I thought I was going to die. But you stayed with me the whole time." She looks up at him. "You kept me going."
Abruptly she has the sinking realization that she is going to cry. She remembers the helpless frustration on his face as he stared out the window of their refuge, still blaming himself for Daniel's loss, forced to do nothing to assist Teal'c and Vala, unable to help her or get them out of their desperate situation. And she remembers the way he smiled at her after it was all over, sitting on her bed in the infirmary, shyly offering the cookies he had made himself.
She remembers falling a little then, even though there were all those pillows at her back, propping her up.
Damn, she is crying now, all right. She swipes quickly at the tears, hating the momentary weakness that brought them on. She has to do better than this. She has to be stronger than this.
"You okay?" Cam asks gently.
When he sounds like that, when she doesn't look up and actually see him, he could be her Cam.
She doesn't trust herself to speak yet, so she just shakes her head.
Cam doesn't ask anything else, or tell her that everything's gonna be okay.
****
After all the leftovers are packaged away - and she's thrown out all the green fuzzy stuff that was already inside the fridge - they watch TV. She learns that the PS2 was a gift he got back in the hospital, to give him something to do during all those hours when he could only lie there in bed, bored to death.
The dead plant on top of the TV, on the other hand, came from the neighbor down the hall. Other than the people who deliver his food and groceries, and the twice-a-year visit from a military doctor, the old man in 3B is the only one Cam ever sees.
Sam dumps the plant into the trash bag she filled earlier, then during a commercial break, takes it and the rest of the garbage out to the dumpster behind the building. It smells awful, and it's cold, and she hurries back inside.
There's nothing good on television. Cam changes the channels constantly in a fruitless search for something that can help pass the time. Sam glances at her watch once and sees that it's 9:01, but she says nothing.
"What will you do if you can't get back?"
She bites her lip. "I don't know," she admits. "I'm not giving up, though. I'm going to keep at it." She refuses to stop hoping. She's spent too many years clinging to thinner threads than this one to give up now.
She excuses herself and heads down the short hall to the bathroom. It's filthy inside, which is pretty much what she expected. The mirror over the medicine cabinet is cracked, and the shelves are bare; Cam can't reach that high. Scattered on the counter are several pill bottles, and Sam picks them up one by one, reading the labels.
It's too depressing. She leaves the bathroom and stands in the hallway for a moment. The only bedroom is to her right. The door is ajar and even though it's dark, she can see that the bed is unmade. Books and newspapers cover the floor, as well as mysterious, loose bundles that can only be dirty laundry.
She turns left and heads back into the living room. Cam barely glances up. "I guess you saw I only have one toothbrush," he says, and she realizes he knew her plan all along.
Sam hesitates a little before sitting back down. "I saw," she says carefully.
"Of course, you being you, I bet the curfew doesn't even apply to you. You could probably go anywhere you wanted," Cam says. "Might even get a military escort back to the Mountain."
She probably could, at that. And then tomorrow she would have to suffer an official reprimand from General Hammond for being out after curfew. Not to mention, they would want to know why she had been visiting Cameron Mitchell again.
"I don't want to go back there tonight," she says.
"Okay," Cam says.
"I, um," she says. She has to look down. "I have some things in my car."
Cam gestures at the door, ash from his latest cigarette falling to the floor. "Then I guess you better go get 'em."
She stands up, suddenly anxious. "Is this okay?" She knows she's imposing, and they're coming up on the important question of where exactly she is going to sleep, but it's not too late yet. She still has time to back out.
"Sure," Cam says. It's a little too casual, but she accepts it at face value, only because the other option isn't even worth considering.
She hurries outside to where her car is parked. If this were truly her world and this were truly her car, she would worry about it being vandalized or stolen in this neighborhood, but now she doesn't care. She has more important things to worry about.
The streets are deserted. It's an eerie sensation, being the only person standing outside. In most of the windows of the surrounding buildings, lights still burn, but all the drapes are drawn. The sky is cold and clear, and she looks upward for a moment, wondering if Teal'c is all right, if he still thinks of her with fondness, if he still even thinks about her at all. She wonders if Daniel is out there, if he is watching over her now, bound by the ancient rules that have never before seemed so heartless.
Back inside, she moves more slowly. She takes the steps one by one, feeling the push and pull of the muscles in her legs. Over dinner, Cam told her he can still walk sometimes, on his good days, but not very far and not without pain. Mostly, he said, he just doesn't bother anymore.
The apartment feels warmer, but that might just be because she's been outside. She shuts the door and locks it, then turns off the lights.
Cam is in the bedroom, doing his best to tidy up. "Home sweet home," he mutters.
Sam gives him a nervous little smile. "It's fine," she says, and tells herself quite firmly not to think about how long it's probably been since he washed the sheets.
It's better if she doesn't think about anything at all, actually. She takes her overnight bag into the bathroom, where she changes into her nightgown and brushes her teeth and washes her face. She resists the urge to do a quick clean-up in here like she did in the kitchen, and she steadfastly refuses to think about what is going to happen next.
It seems to take forever to cross the short distance between the bathroom and the bedroom.
Cam looks up at her. She doesn't speak. She just stands there, feeling the chill again, feeling awkward and angry and so damn sorry she doesn't even know what she would say even if she could find her voice right now.
The bedroom is small, and she has to move out of the way in order to let Cam's wheelchair pass by. She crawls onto the bed, which is just a mattress and box spring set on the floor, and pulls the covers up over herself. There's a lamp set on a round table beside the bed, and a few well-worn books. She glances at the titles, then she stares up at the ceiling, tracing the outline of an old water stain and trying not to shiver.
Cam is gone a long time. The walls are thin, and she can hear the water running, stopping, then starting again.
She tries at first not to stare when he comes back, when he levers himself out of the chair and onto the bed, but she looks anyway. She's helpless not to. She watches him arrange his legs and lie down and pull up his side of the covers, and then she turns off the light.
The room is pitch black at first, then gradually her eyes adjust to the dim illumination from the streetlights outside. Her feet are still cold, but the rest of her is warming up.
She hasn't shared a bed with anyone since Pete. She almost forgot how it felt to know that she wasn't alone in the dark. To hear someone else's breathing. To know that if she reached out her hand, she would touch someone.
She turns on her side, facing him. She finds his hand under the sheet and squeezes tight. After a moment, Cam returns the gesture.
In the morning she'll have to go back to Cheyenne Mountain and explain herself. She'll have to present her case again and plead with General Hammond to be given the chance to find a way home. She'll have to meet with President Landry and try to make him understand how he is slowly destroying this great country, one man at a time.
But not tonight.
Tonight she is here.
******
END