blue flamingos

Homecoming

Fandom: Stargate Atlantis/Stargate SG1

Category/Rated: Slash, PG

Year/Length: 2007/ ~557 words

Pairing: Cam/John

Spoilers: The Return II

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

Series: The Return 'verse

Author's Notes:

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

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"OK, this is just pathetic," Mitchell had said, leaning in John's doorway and watching him fidget with the hem of his sweatshirt. "Have you even been outside the Mountain since you got back?"

John had shrugged, wanting to tell him to go away. "Maybe."

Mitchell had grinned, the same charming grin he'd had on Atlantis, and John had shoved hard at the memory. "Get changed. You might even get to see daylight if you don't take too long."

John can't remember why he said yes – maybe because he'd said goodbye to Rodney that morning, maybe because he'd been starting to feel like the Mountain was crushing him, maybe because Mitchell had kept grinning – but he had and now he's walking out of a bar in the middle of Colorado Springs, just drunk enough to feel worse than he had when they left the base.

Mitchell, who John suspects isn't drunk at all, fumbles for his car keys and lets John lean against him when the path swerves, suddenly and alarmingly. "You want to come back to my place?" Mitchell asks. John raises an eyebrow at him and he laughs. "To sleep it off, unless you think I want to risk running into my boss after I got you drunk."

"Not really." John leans against the car when Mitchell moves away. It was hard to excuse himself drinking on Atlantis, when he never knew if he was going to be called on to defend them against the Wraith, and he can't remember the last time he drank enough to get drunk.

"Get in, then." Mitchell's still laughing, soft, but he fastens John's seatbelt for him, untwists it carefully, his fingers cool against John's neck. John's not sure he's that drunk.

The street lights pass in a hypnotic blur, the rumbling of the engine mixing with the low voice on the radio, and John forces himself not to think about silent flying, or how much he missed car stereos when they first got to Atlantis. He keeps telling himself not to do it and sometimes he even succeeds, but the alcohol's made him maudlin and he's so homesick it hurts.

"Home –" Mitchell starts to say as they pull up, then seems to think better of it. "We're here," he says quietly, and lets John get out under his own power.

The lights are fuzzy round the edges and John stumbles on the step into the building.

"Whoa, hey." Mitchell catches him with an arm round his waist, leaves it there as he calls the elevator. "You OK?"

John wants to say no, but he's never said it like that before, and he won't start now. Antarctica became normal, eventually, and Earth was home for a long time. This isn't the end of the world.

His body's traitorous, though, when he's drunk, and he leans into Mitchell when the elevator lurches into motion. Mitchell's still got his arm round John so he doesn't fall, making it kind of like a hug, which is a little weird. John tilts his face up, sees Mitchell looking down at him, and then they're kissing, hands tight on each other, as the elevator keeps rising.

It doesn't feel like home, not by anyone's standards, but John keeps doing it anyway, because it's better than anything else in his life right now.

Next: The Morning After


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