blue flamingos


Fandom: Stargate Atlantis/Stargate SG1

Category/Rated: Slash, PG

Year/Length: 2009/ ~720 words

Pairing: Cam/John

Disclaimer: No, I don't own them, for which I should think they're profoundly grateful.

Prompt: Cam/John, morphine

Series: Shadows'verse, but it stands on its own.

Author's Notes: Written for comment_fic

Feedback: Yes please. Even if it's bad. Especially if it's bad.


They're almost to the gate, free and clear with no–one behind them, when Cam shouts out. John turns at the sound, just in time to watch him go down. The next bullet whistles past John so close he can hear the air shift around it, and he moves without thinking, almost without looking, but if there's one thing P–90s are good for, it's this, and he hears the thud of a body falling in the same moment as he drops to his knees.

Cam's still gripping his weapon, but he's pale, face tight with pain. "John?"

"It's fine," John says, one hand on Cam's arm as he tries to find the wound. "You're fine."

"Hurts," Cam says through gritted teeth, and John's hand slides over blood, low on Cam's right thigh, just above his knee, and they were being shot at by someone high up...

"Just a scratch," he says, hearing the truth bleed through in his voice. He can't look at Cam, knowing it'll show just as clearly on his face. He taps his radio on to a private channel instead. "Colonel Carter?"

"Sheppard? What's going on?" She's a two hour walk away from them, down in some caves with Jackson and Teal'c, and John's never missed evac–choppers more than he does in that moment.

"Cam's hurt," he says, fighting to keep the panic out of his voice. They're twenty minutes from the gate, tops, but Cam's hurt and there are bad guys around and John can't leave him defenseless to go get help. "He's been shot."

There's a pause, then Carter says, "Is it bad?" and John has to look up and away before he can say, "Yeah," without it being totally obvious to Cam what he's answering.

"Can you–" Carter starts, then cuts herself off. "No, never mind. Stay there, we'll come to you. We'll send to the village for help till we get there, someone to dial Earth, they've got the signal fires burning again."

John nods, even though she can't see him, and Cam moans, broken and desperate. "It's okay," John says, not sure he's even cut the connection, looking back to Cam, who's got his eyes closed, face twisted up. "The others are on their way, you're gonna be okay."

"John," Cam says, his empty hand coming up to grasp at nothing. "John."

"I've got you," John says. He catches Cam's hand in his, and it's cold and clammy, trembling. When he shifts his fingers slightly, squeezes harder, he leaves smudges of Cam's own blood behind him. "I'm right here, I promise. I need to bandage your leg, okay, you're bleeding pretty badly."

Cam winces, then nods.

"Okay," John says gently, carefully laying Cam's hand on his chest and sliding his free. It's harder to let go of Cam's arm, and when he does, his fingers ache, already cramped up from holding on so tight.

Cam screams when John tries to slide the bandage under his thigh, and John doesn't blame him, because the exit wound's wide and ragged, angled down from the entry wound. John won't think about what that means, about 302 crashes and months in hospital, and all the damage a bullet can do going through a leg. Maybe it missed the important bits, maybe it didn't go through his knee.

Cam's panting for breath when John finishes, one hand tight in John's jacket. John wishes he'd pass out, because watching Cam like this is killing him. He fumbles in his vest pocket, fingers stuttering over a compass and another bandage, a couple of power bars, Jackson's favorite pen, before they wrap around the smooth plastic of an injector.

"Here," he says, one hand on Cam's cheek to get his attention. "Something for the pain, okay?"

Cam's eyes clear, and he says, "How bad?"

John shakes his head, doesn't try to smile. There's no way he can come even close to reassuring right now. "You'll be fine when we get you back to Dr Lam."

"John," Cam says, already fading out again. "Please. I can't do it again, I can't." He's shaking under John's hands, and John wants to cry, can feel his throat burning, and he can't say anything. "John."

"I'm right here," John says, and slides the morphine into Cam's vein, pushing him into oblivion. "I'm right here."

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