"You smell like Earth," Cam says, his foot nudging at Teal'c's ankle. "How does that make sense?"
Teal'c doesn't look over. His eyes stay closed. "It does not."
Doesn't matter, though – even here, where the ozone is a little too strong, the dirt a little too chalky, Teal'c still smells like home. Like Earth. Cam leans closer, takes a deep breath. Yep. Teal'c smells like hours at the SGC, too much talk and not enough sunshine. Or kicking back in Cam's living room, three of them drinking beer while Teal'c sticks with water.
Something about the way he smells makes Cam think of walking through the 'gate – successful missions and welcomes and stepping onto to familiar ramps, smiling at familiar personnel.
– and maybe if Sam and Jackson were here, they'd also –
He shakes the thought out of his head, and shifts again, getting even closer. Not quite touching.
In the morning, the Alpha Site will again be buzzing with activity, full of people with things to do, places to be, questions to ask, contingency plans to make. New shelters will need to be put up, new duties to be allocated. Cam will speak with person after person – generals, majors, civilians, doctors, engineers – taking orders, or giving them. So many faces, but half of the ones he still expects to see will be missing, lost.
He'll be surrounded by familiar gear and rations. Surrounded by other humans, other refugees, each with their losses, their own histories, their own memories of Earth.
But none of it – them – will smell like home. Not quite. Not the way they should.
Dissolution, Stargate SG-1, Cameron/Teal'c, earth, PG
Teal'c doesn't look over. His eyes stay closed. "It does not."
Doesn't matter, though – even here, where the ozone is a little too strong, the dirt a little too chalky, Teal'c still smells like home. Like Earth. Cam leans closer, takes a deep breath. Yep. Teal'c smells like hours at the SGC, too much talk and not enough sunshine. Or kicking back in Cam's living room, three of them drinking beer while Teal'c sticks with water.
Something about the way he smells makes Cam think of walking through the 'gate – successful missions and welcomes and stepping onto to familiar ramps, smiling at familiar personnel.
– and maybe if Sam and Jackson were here, they'd also –
He shakes the thought out of his head, and shifts again, getting even closer. Not quite touching.
In the morning, the Alpha Site will again be buzzing with activity, full of people with things to do, places to be, questions to ask, contingency plans to make. New shelters will need to be put up, new duties to be allocated. Cam will speak with person after person – generals, majors, civilians, doctors, engineers – taking orders, or giving them. So many faces, but half of the ones he still expects to see will be missing, lost.
He'll be surrounded by familiar gear and rations. Surrounded by other humans, other refugees, each with their losses, their own histories, their own memories of Earth.
But none of it – them – will smell like home. Not quite. Not the way they should.