blue flamingos

End Of December: John/Cam

Fandom: Stargate Atlantis/Stargate SG1

Category/Rated: Slash/PG

Year/Length: 2011/539 words

Pairing: John/Cam

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

Summary: a day that seems pretty terrible but ends up okay after all

Author's Notes: For somehowunbroken

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


"Ow," Cam says, dropping onto the corner of the couch. It jars his arm, which hurts even with the painkillers the hospital gave him. "Ow," he says again.

John frowns at him, medication bag still in his hand. "I think you should still be in hospital."

Cam frowns back. "It's a broken arm. Clean break."

"You hit your head."

"I didn't even get knocked out."

"You fell off a ladder," John says, like this is some kind of closing argument.

"I remember it well," Cam says sharply. He kind of hates the flash of hurt across John's face, and even more that he put it there, put his head hurts, his arm is a dull ache, throbbing in time with his heartbeat and he can't deal with John as well. "I'm going to bed, all right?"

John hesitates, like he means to help Cam up, then takes a step back to give him space to pull himself to his feet. "You want tea?"

"I'm going to sleep," Cam says.

It's not the first time he's broken his arm, so he manages to get himself undressed down to his boxers without too much difficulty. He can't get comfortable in bed though – usually he sleeps on his left side, but it's his left arm he's broken, and the cast is hot and uncomfortable. He's not actually tired, which doesn't help. Every time he closes his eyes, he feels like falling again, the ladder slipping away beneath his feet and nothing to hold onto. None of which is helped by how much of an idiot he feels for having broken his arm while changing a light bulb.

So much for a week of vacation with John.

Cam sighs, tries to turn over and remembers he can't.

He groans, pressing his head back into the pillow, twitchy with pain and frustration. This is the problem with walking out – he has to be the one to apologize, when all he really wants is John.

As if summoned, there's a light knock at the closed bedroom door, and John pokes his head in. "I know you said you wanted to sleep," he says hesitantly.

"I'm not sleeping." Cam tries to push himself upright, then gives up.

"I brought you some juice, and your painkillers."

"Sorry," Cam says softly.

John comes the rest of the way into the room, putting the glass and painkillers on the nightstand. "You want to sit up?"

"Yeah." Cam's not expecting John to respond to the apology, but he meets Cam's eyes, smiles a little.

"You'll feel better if you take the pills," John says, helping Cam to lean against the headboard, a pillow tucked a little messily behind him.

The juice tastes good, cool and sweet, and Cam can feel John's eyes on him.

"The game's on, right?" Cam asks when he's finished with the juice. "You want to watch?"

"I can," John starts, half-standing.

Cam reaches for him, remembering just in time to use his right hand. "You want to watch with me?"

It doesn't take Cam long to fall asleep to the sound of the commentators, the warmth of John's body against his, but that's okay. It's a pretty decent way to end the day.

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