Chapter Text
Wakes up face down on the ground, the smell of wet dirt spiking his nostrils, reminding him of fishing trips with his brother and old man when they were younger, before his dad’s plane got shot down over unfriendly territory and his legs became pretty much just decorations.
Sure, his old man tried for a few years, for him, his brother, and his mom—but he’s been there firsthand. Knows what it’s like to be stuck in a body that doesn’t work like it should, like it used to. Going from running five miles in the morning to not being be able to walk to the goddamn toilet without help.
Always thought his dad was strong, but after he intentionally ate a bullet in their back barn, he didn’t think so anymore.
They still labelled his old man a war hero, a veteran, someone who died in the name of the country, despite his dad’s only enemy being himself.
Then he had his accident, and he thought his dad was a superhero for lasting as long as he did, because each day is a nightmare.
Wiggles his toes this time because he actually remembers to do it and smiles into a mound of wet dirt when those piggies dance. Blinks a few times, spitting some bigger pieces of dry leaves and bark from his lips, and tries to get a handle on where he is, which is obviously a forest.
There’s sun warming his back through his BDU jacket—a loaner from SG-1—and when he presses up on his elbows, finding just a weak, general ache throughout his body, telling him all his bones are intact and unbroken for once in his life, he turns over, taking in the bright beam falling through the spread branches of a big old tree.
The weather is good, he’s not burning up, the jacket’s not making him too hot, and soil sticks to his pants when he stands, stooping to dust off the dirt, and squinting his eyes, scanning the trees.
Everything is really calm.
But all he remembers is the panicking disarray.
He was in a ship—not the Odyssey throwing up one second and sleeping beside her the next—it was an alien ship.
An Al’kesh?
She knows how to fly them.
That’s right, he tagged along after her, after she slipped away from where Lorne and Jackson were arguing about the—fuck!
Trickles back—them being open fired on, and her cracking her head right off the control panel.
He knows how much that hurts—he’s been there too.
The ship was being throw into a corkscrew from her body falling unconscious over what he assumes was the steering column, and despite his pleas, as he crouched beside her and tried to rouse her, she didn’t answer, and blood started to ribbon over her face.
He hauled her up, held her in his arms like he did sometimes when they were playing—fooling around—listening to her laugh, squeal, because they were both unhappy for so long, in pain for so long, and her laugh was lyrical—automatic music.
Kept talking to her, telling her it was going to be fine, even though he didn’t know what the hell he was doing with the ring panels. He collected her to one side, freeing a hand, trying to keep himself and her stable while the ship kept spinning, and the Odyssey kept firing. Finally, just slammed his hand into the same button he did last time to transport to the last entered coordinates and jumped in the rings with her just as whatever the supergate materialized.
It’s weird, but he can still sort of feel the ship ripping apart.
Then he thinks that’s why he can’t find her, because maybe, God willing, she made it out and he—Everything does smell a little different here, he can see everything clearer, hear the sticks snap under his footsteps as he tries to find any sign of her, any tracks, hoping not to.
He was holding her.
Tucked her against him just before they beamed out, shot up his shoulder to protect her, felt the slickness of the blood from her forehead smear on his cheek—
Stops walking and wets the tip of his thumb, the same way he’s seen her do when she needs to flip to the next page of her book. He drags it across his cheek and finds it covered in flaking blood.
“Fuck!”
Shouts it so loud that the birds twittering in a bush to his left startle and fly away as a group. Probably not the brightest thing to do, but the way she looked up at him, the way she was ready to give everything up to save a planet that’s treated her like shit. The way she was just starting to enjoy her life—
If he’s here with her, he needs to find her.
“Vala?” Calls into the woods, stepping through golden leaves and severed trunks. “Vala?”
Then he hears her over the sound of singing birds and leaves rustling in the wind. The low groan recognizable as the sign that she’s awake. She’s not the best sleeper—sleeps light, sleeps rarely—but every time she wakes in the morning, the same pained, irritated groan escapes her, the sound of someone who could be three times her age. Called her on it, on her senior sounds, and with a defeated sigh, sitting on the edge of the bed while he was already making quick work of ironing out any wrinkles in the fitted sheet with his hand, she answered, “you have no idea how old I am.”
Bolts through the trees, the crunching of his feet drowning out any noises she’s making. He skids to a stop, the soles of his boots slipping over the wet ground under trees still dripping water from a recent rainfall.
“Vala?” Pauses, only hearing the echoing of his own voice.
He limps a bit, the leg that always hurt when he went for a morning jog acting up a bit, but when he focuses more on her, the pain goes away, his exhaustion, his confusion, his fear fades.
Finally, he stumbles out into a small clearing, on what looks like the receiving platform to a ring system. She’s laying facedown across it, almost up on a pedestal, her jacket slipping a bit over her shoulder, and her hair shrouding her face. Doesn’t know why she landed on the platform when he landed in the middle of the forest, just knows he can see by the rise and fall of her chest.
“Vala?”
She doesn’t wake at the sound of his rapid footsteps as he crosses the clearing. Kneeling before her, he starts to collect her hair from her face, but most of it is pasted in place by the open cut on the crown of her head. It’s still oozing a bit of blood, but nothing like in the ship. “Honey, wake up.”
Pillows his hand under her head as she groans the same geriatric groans he loves to hear each morning. Her eyes flutter, opening slightly before wrenching closed. “Cameron?”
“Yeah Baby.” All grins, the relief is palpable and flooding from his smile as he helps her sit up slowly. “It’s me.”
“Are we—” her blood soaked curls lap at the back of his hand as she surveys their surroundings, she places a hand on his knee for stability, and she’s cold—colder than she ever was in Antarctica “—are we dead?”
Hears her question, but can’t answer, because he doesn’t care if they are. She’s here, and she’s with him. That’s worth more than most things he can name.
He cups her cheek, thumb strumming away some of the mud smudged on her skin. All he can manage is, “maybe.”
When her eyes meet his, a warm smile breaks on her lips. She slips an arm around his neck, pulling him towards her, nestling her head beside his. Doesn’t speak, just holds on to him, and he doesn’t know what it means, just that he feels the same way. Let’s himself relax until she starts to shake against him.
He plucks at the jacket sliding down her arm, bringing it back to her shoulder before breaking their contact to zip it up. “How do you feel?”
“Like my head is caving in.” She bows slightly, so her forehead resting against his chest. “That light hurt my eyes.”
“What light?” Tilts her head up to observe her pupils.
By no means is he an expert in medical care, but he’s taken more than one course on medical treatment in the field. Doesn’t know if she is concussed, but neither of her pupils are blown when he checks them.
“The light when we got here.”
“What?”
“Through the rings—didn’t you see a light?”
“I woke up face down in a mud pile.”
“You poor Darling.” She dusts away dirt at his cheek, making him grin again.
His arms heavy with reluctance, he slips out of her reach. They have to start planning because they don’t know where they are, of if they’re permanently injured. They need to find food, water, see if there’s any civilization near them. If not, start a fire to keep warm, and he can’t help but worry about things that haven’t happened yet.
He stands, dusting off his hand on his pants, before offering it to her. “Can you stand?”
She only nods, placing her hand in his. He can feel the grit between her fingers, the coldness from her body laying against the stone platform for so long. She does manage to get to her feet but has to lean into his shoulder.
“It’s okay.” Let’s her know he can help, can take the brunt of her weight. In the light streaming through the canopy, she looks just as drained as she did after healing him in the hospital room. “I got you.”
As she steps down from the stone slab, her footing collapses and she banks into him, allowing him to hold her up.
“Cameron—”
Shakes his head against the top of hers, her breath hot against his throat. “Don’t say it.”
She shakes her head back, gulping through her tremors. “It’s stupid to try and drag me along.”
“Who said anything about trying?” Laughs, tries to play off the whole conversation as a joke, but when he takes a step forward, she doesn’t take one with him. Actually, dead weights, making it harder for him to help. “Vala—”
“I can just stay here—”
“I’m not leaving.”
“You can search the surroundings faster—”
“I’m not leaving.”
“It will be—”
“I’m not leaving you!”
Shouts it louder than he means to, but she doesn’t flinch way from him, instead offering him a rueful smile as her hand comes up to caress the side of his face. “I don’t think I can walk for very long, Darling.”
“Then I’ll carry you.”
“Hauling me around this jungle isn’t a good use of energy.”
“It’s my energy, I’ll use it how I want.”
Exhales harshly against his skin, her head becoming heavier and the baby steps they’re taking becoming even smaller, until she’s shuffling. They haven’t even made it out of the clearing yet.
“Cameron, this isn’t plausible.”
He’s the one who stops walking this time, gathering her more against him, ready to snatch her up into his arms and start running through the forest. Waits until she gazes up at him, her eyes half open, but the pupils still reactive in the scattered sunlight.
“Either we both go or neither of us do.” For emphasis, he kisses the top of her head, breathes in her scent masquerading under the smell of moss and air that’s layered on her skin. “You pick.”
As she’s about to answer, a twig snaps in the treeline scattering a few birds and drawing closer.
Instinctively he blocks her, stands with her hands planted flat against his back and one of his hands stretching to offer her support.
Expects to find a deer, or a rabbit, or some other harmless animal that they’re going to have to hunt and eat within the next twenty-four hours. Never expected that another human would stroll through to the clearing.