#doctordonovan:asks

[duefaith-a]

          //    @doctordonovan​​​  asked for pain  (  inspired by a meme: sender has hidden an injury from receiver , and receiver finds out. )

          “ –– when doctor donovan got shot.”

          there was another half to that sentence,  a beginning that cam was surely supposed to have heard and paid attention to.  a half that was somehow important,  the main part of the sentence by designation of grammar and of content.  it’s in one ear and out the other,  forgotten in the wake of the final five words.  chill courses through him,  and cam rounds on the poor lieutenant fast enough that,  despite the months that current team has worked with him,  the man still straightens sharply as if expecting a harshness cam will never offer.    ❛ what do you mean, ‘when maeve got shot?’ ❜

          he clings to self control by a thread,  vowing to hold judgment until he has his answers despite the twisting in his gut.  he reminds himself that he’s seen her,  that she’s on her feet,  no visible injury.  whatever had happened,  it can’t have offered too much risk to her life.  it’s a paltry reassurance in the wake of the words when doctor donovan got shot.  shock comes half from the reality of the situation,  from the fear that he cannot quash even against the rational suggestions of his mind,  and half from the fact that she neglected to tell him.  for all plenty else has weighed upon their minds,  for all he doubted,  even for a flicker of a moment,  where and when he was when he first saw her face,  had maeve suffered such an injury,  he ought to have known.  she ought to have told him.

          lieutenant jans shifts uneasily,  from foot to foot,  rubs at the back of his neck.  “ we,  er…  we thought you knew.  we thought she’d have told you. “

          though cam’s impatient,  that last thread of control fraying with each passing moment,  and though he is of half a mind to give up on his nervous team and merely seek maeve out herself to demand answers ( something in him that he refuses to acknowledge quails at that suggestion,  however ),  he tries again,  this time his words more precise.    ❛ how did she get shot? ❜

          it’s ackler who speaks up when jans still hesitates.    “ you know there’s another you,  sir.  from that other reality.  he… “    for  a moment she hesitates,  confidence quailing as if she realizes the impact of the sentence she has to finish.  “ he shot her. in the arm. “  she glances fleetingly towards jans.  “ it might’ve been worse,  but jans reacted quickly. “

          he’s unfamiliar with the stillness that descends upon his mind,  with how,  for just a moment,  he,  along with the rest of the world,  freezes as if some deity hit a pause button.  anger usually spurs him to action,  drives him to lash out,  or,  at best,  to need to move to work through the emotion.  somewhere,  in the back of his mind,  a rational part of him recognizes immediately why his counterpart must have acted so — he had seen enough to know.  still,  understanding does nothing to combat simmering rage. his team awaits some reaction,  even ackler ( usually the more brazen of the lot ) looking progressively less and less certain.  

          the gratitude he owes jans  ( owes them all,  he suspects )  cannot gain purchase in his thoughts,  and though he’ll return later to offer it,  when stillness breaks,  it's with that need for action.  the other cameron mitchell,  the version of him who belonged to that other,  hellish reality,  remained yet in custody until such time as they could reverse his passage here.  as he moves through the corridors,  half-murderous and all too aware of the firearm he carries,  strides long and relentless,  those before him all too hastily move out of his way as if recognizing his mood.  one or two braver souls call after him,  asking if everything’s okay,  but they receive no answer.

          still,  he’s descended only two levels by stair before concern outpaces his fury.  for one flight longer,  he hesitates,  then redirects his course to seek out maeve instead.  it’s still there when he sees her,  for all he braces himself.  the fear that spikes through his chest,  the tension that courses up his spine and stretches across his shoulders,  up his neck,  and into his jaw.  the insidious thoughts of events so recently past yet so vividly etched into his mind,  of someone not her yet so so skilled at pretending.  he grits his teeth and ignores it.  instead,  without preamble,  without so much as pausing to catch her attention first,  or without consideration of the fact that he distracts her from her work,  here in the small laboratory where she passes much of her time,  he demands,    ❛ when were you planning to tell me he shot you? ❜    he lingers in the doorway,  steps suddenly leaden,  for all gaze looks her over for sign of injury,  for damage done ( not by him,  he reminds himself,  for all the man responsible shares his features ).  

          still,  speaking the words out loud inflames his former fury,  and with it a nauseating sense of all that’s gone so very wrong,  that he hesitates in her presence,  and that another him could be responsible for hurting her.

[endsjustify]

          // @doctordonovan​ sent,  ❝ things could always be worse.  at least you don’t have flesh-eating bacteria,  right?? ❞

          Silence lingers, a moment, two, then five, ten. Patience frays, hovering tenuously upon the edge of existence, ready to snap ( as so often it does ) at the slightest provocation. Seconds tick before at last he turns his head, movement slow and meticulously controlled. One breath, then two, as he bites back the retort too sharp upon his tongue.    ❛ On this ship? That’s a mighty big assumption to be making. ❜    Not that things could always be worse. That particular assertion has proven itself true time and time again, and Gabriel never doubts the depths of horror to which reality can plunge.    ❛ God only knows what the scientists are up to. ❜

[anarcalina]

          // @doctordonovan​ sent,  ❝ aw, did you miss me? ❞    (okay but, hear me out, for Casey during Cam's recovery after Frank encouraged her to take a few days off visiting for her own sanity)

          Eyes narrow in mock suspicion.    ❛ Now, see, that seems like a trick question. ❜    What’s a man to say, after all? No, sorry, actually it was nice to have you gone? He nearly snorts in derisive laughter at the mere thought. Casey may not be quite so terrible a liar as his older brother ( then again, who is? ), yet even he doesn’t consider himself capable of getting those words believably past his lips.

          ❛ Of course we missed you. And I’m not just saying that because I’m going to get in trouble if I don’t. ❜    Though who the trouble is like to come from — Cameron, Dad, or Maeve herself — he’s uncertain. The ‘we’ slips past his lips without a thought, for he’s far from the only one who will be grateful she’s back. More quietly, he adds,    ❛ How are you doing? ❜    His own job keeps him from visiting more than occasionally, on those rare occurrences when his schedule allows him a few days in a row to make the drive. Yet he sees enough in his father’s stoic smile and Cam’s irritability to know the burden that she faces for the long hours she spends at his brother’s side. And somehow, just somehow, he doubts a few days offer easy remedy.

[gaerlhoss-a]

          // @doctordonovan​​​ sent,    ❝ even  money  he  makes  a  speech . ❞

           it was all they had wanted:  communications with earth restored,  access to home.  yet there’s less triumph in the accomplishment than elizabeth had hoped,  and her heart is all too heavy.  the arrival of general and statesmen foretold a shifting of the balance of power.  the precise nature of that shift,  however,  remains beyond her ability to predict.  still,  she does not trust that it will work in her favor.  and so,  even as she turns her gaze upon maeve,  eyebrows raised in doubt,  she cannot quite muster a smile to her lips and her words reveal a fatigue she would rather have kept under wraps.    ❛ even? that’s awfully generous odds.  you clearly haven’t spent enough time around politicians.  they’ll turn anything into an opportunity to make a speech. ❜

          she sighs,  just loudly enough to be audible to maeve,  but not to the broader assembly gathered in the gateroom — summoned in a way that left elizabeth bristling.  voice equally low,  she adds,    ❛ if you want to cast bets,  you might be better off deciding the odds of him announcing a change in leadership.  that’s at least slightly more indefinite. ❜    or so she hopes,  at least,  though in their recent isolation she has no pulse for the sentiments back home for the their project and this prized city that now is as much a home as earth.

[duefaith-a]

          // @doctordonovan​ sent,  ❝ before you do anything, try this and tell me what you think. ❞

          He’s scarcely set foot in the door; he hasn’t even had a moment to say hello before her words halt him not two strides into the kitchen. And pause he does, long enough to take in the situation, accumulated bowls in the sink, sugar and flour dusting the countertop, cakes set to cool upon a rack. As she spoke, she’d pushed a bowl of whipped frosting across the counter to him. Made from scratch, if the chocolate-smudged recipe on the counter is any indication. He recognizes the card upon which it’s written, his mother’s handwriting.

          ❛ I can’t even say hi first? ❜    he demands, for all he’s amused. Still, he approaches the counter, pulling the mixing bowl towards him, though his gaze lingers on her instead.    ❛ Did you follow that? ❜    He points to the recipe.    ❛ Because if so, I guarantee it needs more chocolate. And vanilla. Just, blanket statement, if there’s chocolate or vanilla or cinnamon in any of Mom’s recipes, just double it. Always. ❜    His mother does it herself, though she’d never admit it. Her little secret, she claimed on more than one occasion to her sons while Frank rolled his eyes, pretending not to hear.  

          He fights off the twinge of guilt at the work he’s unexpectedly left upon her plate, adding with no small sheepishness,    ❛ I promised I’d take care of it. ❜    It’s no criticism, no complaint, no I could do it better. It’s merely an apology, however indirect. For he had promised, before complications arose at the SGC and hours ticked past, delaying his return home later and later. Still, plenty of hours remained before the morning, he’d reassured himself, plenty of time to follow through on that promise. If it cost him a night’s sleep, he’s lost sleep for plenty of worse reasons. He could get it baked, cooled, and decorated before morning’s light, with the birthday kid none the wiser. He’d never intended her to have to take on the project.   ❛ I’m sorry. ❜

[duefaith-a]

         // @doctordonovan​ sent,  [ TELL ]  for receiver to look towards sender after a battle and realize they’re bleeding.

          The SGC was in many ways their refuge — against the prying eyes of a world that would have too many questions for its own good, and against the threats of a universe that sometimes ( just sometimes ) seemed dead set on stripping from them life, limb, and liberty. And within its halls lingered a false sense of security, the conviction that nothing could touch them, that they were safe. There’s evidence aplenty to the contrary, reports detailing incursions, foothold scenarios barely averted. Somehow, this is different.

          Cam knows the somehow. What’s read on a page is never truly real to him, and the abstract existence of such past situations can have no bearing on his life. It does have a bearing when he’s in the midst of it, when his team is at risk, when she is on base. Not that reality leaves much time for worrying, consuming all thought with the immediate need for a plan, for action. All truth told, the thought that Maeve is not in fact off world, that, though he doesn’t know for sure, she’d likely somewhere here ( unless by some fleeting kindness of fate she had not yet arrived, or left early, or… but fate is never so kind ), is far from forefront of his thoughts.

          Until, at least, the dust is settled, fatigue offset by the remaining hum of adrenaline, as they tally the damage done and begin setting things to rights. Personnel to account for, to direct to infirmary or assign to a task. Cam’s directing a group gathered from those wandering corridors looking lost when he catches a glimpse from the corner of his eye. He offers remaining, hurried instructions, gives a pointed look at a poor lieutenant into whose responsibility he dumps the rest, and then he turns, her name upon his lips to call her back, to let him catch up.  

          Jogging steps close the distance.    ❛ Hey, are you okay? ❜    The words come, reflexive, a standard question to ask after all that’s transpired. The worry hits only after they’ve left his lips — he’s always too slow to notice what should be immediately obvious. He forgets the last question ( it doesn’t matter anymore, regardless ), supplanting it with another.

          ❛ Maeve, what happened? ❜    He had reached for her arm, intending to pull her into an embrace, but instead he pushes back the hair which half-obscures the injury. The question is dumb as the last, scarcely requiring an answer. And, again, he doesn’t wait for one.    ❛ Let’s get you to the infirmary. ❜    An edge of panic slips through in his tone, for all he strives to keep his voice even. Common sense might acknowledge that there is not so much blood as to warrant such concern, but experience whispers back the subtle and insidious nature of head injuries and concussions. 

          She’ll protest, he expects, concerned as she always is for the other injured, insistent that she is fine and that she ought to help. The thought would be almost laughable, were he less worried, and instead his grip upon her arm tightens, the gesture part reassurance and part concern.

[duefaith-a]

         // @doctordonovan​ sent,  ❝ I am so very tired, Cam. ❞

          He scarcely needs to hear it, the words reaffirming only what he already knows. He can feel it, requiring no extra gifts of empathy, no additional sense, to feel her exhaustion almost as if it were his own. Exhaustion has become constant companion to them both, heartsick despair always warring with physical fatigue for prominence, as if it’s a competition and only one able to prove the victor. And in a way her exhaustion is his own, resonating at a frequency so familiar his own body responds in kind.

          The whispers are insidious, guilt stretching tendrils experimentally from his subconscious, searching for purchase it finds all too easily. He has been too harsh, frustrated by years of believing his best friend dead murdered gone, frustrated for lies he should not fault her for and yet cannot let go. He would have made different choices, had she given the option into his hands instead of making decisions for him.

          And even though his mind thinks I’m sorry, still he finds himself accusing,    ❛ That’s what happens when you try to do everything by yourself. ❜    Too curt, too devoid of sympathy, when he understands. Understands the risks — to her, to him. Understands the fears and anxieties the unknown brings. No, he chides himself, you know all too little. He’s nothing but human, nothing but average, normal, unremarkable, and never once would he wish otherwise. Yet he cannot claim to understand.    ❛ Maeve, you know you don’t have to, right? ❜    Never should she have needed to, and surely now… now the damage is done. He knows. Excuses for keeping him in the dark left defunct, she might as well let him help.    

[duefaith-a]

          // @doctordonovan​​ sent,  ❝ what’s wrong with me? ❞

          Her words provoke a roll of the eyes, the exasperated quirk of a smile. She sounds too chipper for him to take the question at face value, to assume true offense taken. All too often they’re quick to feign indignation where there is none, to grasp at any opportunity to needle, to play at whatever game of wry humor this is that they indulge in.

          Already the others pile from the room, funneling through narrow doorway to disperse to various tasks, orders received and tasks clear. Their chatter rises as they do so, careful and attentive silence giving way to greater ease. SG-1 and the others chosen to accompany them had been among the first through the door, off to suit up before traveling down to planet’s surface. Only Maeve lingers. A few stragglers cast glances in their way, but they’re quick to turn, unwilling to linger.

          ❛ Nothin’s wrong with you, ❜    Cam retorts, yet stands his ground in his decision. He has, after all, solid justification to offer her, sound reasoning that, all considered, ought to be in her favor. Not that he’s averse to changing his mind, should her protest be more than academic in nature.    ❛ Just thought you’d be happier skulking around in the shadows, free to do your own thing. If you’d rather come play diplomat with us, that can be arranged. But I don’t want to hear a word of complaint if you come. ❜    

[duefaith-a]

         // @doctordonovan​ sent,  ❝ at least we’re both the same kind of stupid. ❞

          Cam has yet to forget. The disapproval etched upon General Landry’s face, his irritation at being interrupted. Teal’c’s raised eyebrow, signaling incredulity or interest ( Cam couldn’t say which with any certainty if his life depended upon it, yet he’s willing to guess the former ). Jackson’s unamused, almost tired fatigue, all tolerance for perceived bullshit ended. The furrow of Sam’s brow, confusion evident.

          Yet he swears, still swears, that he’s not stupid, that he’s not wrong. He surely can’t have dreamed the whole briefing nearly word for word. Sam’s technobabble, at the very least, lies beyond his imagination’s ability to supply.

          Landry had ordered him to the infirmary, and during each test Carolyn ran, Cam’s patience waned, good humor giving way to bitter frustration as her disbelief compounded upon his team’s and the general’s. Freed but ordered to take the rest of the day off while Sam took SG-1 off-world in his stead, Cam had retreated to the cafeteria, sulking over an untouched bowl of jello. Cubes lie now in fragments, torn apart by the edge of a spoon, though not one spoonful has he yet lifted to his lips.

          When Maeve joined him, dread settled in at the prospect of explaining to her his temper, his presence on base when he ought to be with his team. Yet he could not refuse to explain; not polite not kind not fair. He concludes with a bitter,    ❛ Or I’m just stupid and utterly losing my mind. ❜

          At her words, however, his back straightens, frustration at the universe forgotten in a heartbeat.    ❛ Are you tellin’ me that you remember today, too? ❜    Why them, he wonders, and only them? or, perhaps, it is not merely them.    ❛ I swear, Maeve, if you’re pullin’ my leg… ❜    He has no threat to make, though, only a desperate plea: mean it. He’s not sure he can stand to once more be the fool today.

[duefaith-a]

          // @doctordonovan​ sent,  ❝ if you want me to leave, i’ll go.. ❞

          The words startle him more they they ought, coming now when some clearheadedness has returned, when the walls no longer seem to press quite so close about him, when he can, if painstakingly, move. For a moment, it takes all of his conscious effort to lower himself into a chair without merely collapsing, muscles weak and motor control weaker. Still he cannot go far, nor without support, but the small freedom of movement even across a room is cause for relief and not frustration ( at least, most of the time ) after the past few months.    ❛ Why would I… ❜    But he knows why, knows all too well. Only that the statement comes now and not months ago justifies his surprise. He’d given her cause enough to think he’d rather she be gone ( and at times, in the worst of it, he’d believed it himself ).

          ❛ That’s a dumb question. Maeve, I know I’ve been… ❜    — a dry laugh —    ❛ Well, frankly, I’ve been an ass. But… Look, I’m sorry. This is gonna sound just awful, but it wasn’t… wasn’t about you. I didn’t… Thank you. For sticking around even though I’ve… ❜    This time, the brief exhale of laughter is more bitter, and he leaves the sentence incomplete. He could joke, remark upon how much his father has enjoyed the company ( and truly he has ), but it runs so much deeper than that. She had chosen not to listen to him at his worst, when the words he spoke came only from anger at himself and at the universe, and she had chosen not to let those words drive her away. He can’t belittle that.

                              ❛            No, Maeve. I don’t want you to go.❜

[duefaith-a]

          // @doctordonovan​ sent,  ❝  dance with me. for science. ❞

          There’s something he can’t quite put a finger on in the way his gaze drifts, almost warily, over the once familiar gym. More than ever, he feels the contrast between who he was and who he is, the yawning gap between familiarity and unfamiliarity, between comfort and unease. Cam’s become so accustomed to trouble that he subconsciously searches for it, even here at the high school where he passed his teenage years. Beyond this, his newest change in occupation has made conversations all the more difficult — he has nothing but lies to offer to account for his past year and a half, and he glosses all too eagerly over the nature of his previous injury to those who ask. An awkwardness lingers over all, a steadfast reminder of how much has changed, how none of them standing here are quite the people they were.

          It’s only belatedly, as the gentle pressure of her hand upon his arm drags him back to the present moment and his immediate surroundings, that he realizes he must have been frowning. Her request draws a look, eyebrows half-raised in question.

          ❛ What makes you think I can dance? ❜    he demands. It’s an empty protest for all he continues,    ❛ Besides, I might have almost failed Physics my junior year, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how science works. ❜    But there he lets resistance end, for it’s as much reflex and grumpy sense of humor as as anything; his heart’s not in it. Smile tugs at the corner of his lip, and he frees his arm from her grasp that he might place down his glass and take her hand in is.

[anarcalina]

         // @doctordonovan​ sent,  ❝ i take the parts that i remember, and i stitch them back together. ❞

          Maeve’s explanation is too gentle for the harsh laugh that catches painfully in Elizabeth’s throat. She sits hunched, with elbows upon her knees, and fingers clasped behind her neck, anchoring.    ❛ Easy as that, huh? ❜    Voice cracks upon the wry humor, mouth suddenly too dry. A terrible joke, on all fronts — too much does it diminish what Elizabeth knows all too well lies within her friend’s past — as if it were even remotely funny to begin with. For once, she does not offer an apology: she trusts Maeve to know she meant nothing by it. They’ve been through enough together to know.

          Too much presses upon her thoughts, memories her own and memories of those whose flesh and blood is synthetic in nature. After past months, her thoughts are too quiet: to be one alone. No whisperings tug for her attention or settle into comfortable background not so unlike the sea. There’s merely the guilt. Guilt that she knew too much, for the information pried from mind and cell. Guilt for the efforts expended and risks taken to bring her home. Guilt for all that has happened in her absence, all she has missed. Guilt, in short, for all the ways in which she has let her people down.

          But they could not make her one of them, despite months of trying. One small victory to cling to, for all their efforts stripped her of so much of her sense of self, her certainty. As if being half replicator did not do that damage aplenty. She straightens with a heavy sigh, reaching for philosophy and metaphor as a crutch to establish distance from the problem.    ❛ You talk about it like a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. What if instead, half the pieces belong to another puzzle? ❜

[anarcalina]

        // @doctordonovan​ sent,  ❝ we  need  to  stop  cutting  these  things  so  close . ❞

        ❛ Nonsense. We’re not even close to ‘close’ yet. It’s not ‘cutting things close’ until your hair gets singed. ❜    Her cheery demeanor belies any anxiety she might feel. Five hundred years of running through the world by yourself with no librarian to save save the Library itself would do that to you. Immortality would do that to you. What’s a little danger if death cannot reach you, except through rare, specific artifacts ( and surely that scarcely counts ). 

          Sometimes she must remind herself: Maeve is not so invulnerable, and having adopted the Librarian as her charge, Nicole cannot drag her into the dangers to which she’s accustomed herself. Yet, she knows that her duty as Guardian is merely to ensure Librarians’ physical safety, and there’s something to be said for the therapeutic effects of a bit of excitement. She’s no therapist, of course: don’t quote her on it.

          Nicole reaches to grasp at a lock of the Librarian’s hair, to draw the ends before Maeve’s eyes.    ❛ See, you’re fine. ❜    

[duefaith-a]

          // @doctordonovan​​ sent,  ❝ your  hardened  heart  is  melting  like  wax . ❞

          Ultimately, Cam has to concede that it is entirely his own fault. He is, after all, sat upon the floor and nose to nose with a chinchilla, the animal held aloft upon cupped hands. He watches the chinchilla as if he expects to find answers in her dark eyes, her twitching nose. Then again, Cam’s not entirely sure the questions for which he seeks answers. He’s not Casey, prone to doting on every animal who crosses his path, and on the rare visit to his brother’s clinic he’s scarcely even noticed the majority of the creatures in Casey’s care. To say nothing of the menagerie Casey has at home. Dogs — at least of the larger varieties — comprise the lone exception to his usual indifference. 

          Without glancing up at Maeve, he remarks,    ❛ Shhh. we’re having a conversation. Aren’t we, Bubala? ❜    A beat, a faint narrowing of the eyes as if in consideration and then, still to the chinchilla,    ❛ She’s right, you know. I’m going to ruin my hard-won reputation, and we can’t have that, can we? I’d better put you down, huh? ❜     He follows through on the voiced intent, returning the creature safely to ground level before tucking a leg beneath him to stand. To Maeve, along with a stern look behind which there’s no true severity, he adds in feigned seriousness,    ❛ Don’t you dare ever tell my brother. ❜

[duefaith-a]

         // @doctordonovan​​ sent,  ❝ you are quite valuable, you know. ❞

          He must have said something, but Cam’ll be damned if he can recall what it is. He scours his previous words, seeking something, anything earnestly self-deprecating. Anything to prompt her words, to justify them. A dry, almost barking laugh escapes his throat, accompanied by a shake of the head. He knows she means well, knows that Maeve of all people would not make a joke of the matter.

          Still, humor has long since become reflex.    ❛ This is the part where I say ‘thanks, but we all know I’m the weak link on this team,’ right? ❜    Somehow the joke falls flat, touches too close to truth to truly be funny.  Still, Cam’s not sure he believes his words quite as much as he did once upon a time, when he first stood beneath the arch of the gate, more overwhelmed than he would ever dream of confessing, armed only with knowledge gleaned from files, and with no practical experience to speak of.

          ❛ Actually, though, I do think Landry’s still just waiting for an excuse to fire me.  ❜

[anarcalina]

          // @doctordonovan​ sent,  ❝  elizabeth ,  can  you  hear  me ? ❞

         Her lungs burn, and water bubbles from her lips as she coughs. Her mind registers voices, but they sound distant to her ears. Hands upon her shoulder, her back, supporting her as she twists herself up onto an elbow to ease the clearing of her lungs.    ❛ What... what happened? ❜    Her throat is raw, her voice hoarse. Her mind supplies the answer, recalling the rising waters. It races backward through events, from the water to the call from the control tower, the power fluctuations and failing shields to her venture here to the outskirts of one of the city’s smaller piers.

          She could only surmise that Sam had identified a solution rapidly enough to restore the shield and drain the water that had infiltrated the south eastern parts of the city. Elizabeth does not wait for an answer, plowing onward to one far more important.    ❛ How many... others... were out here? Are they... ❜    Accounted for. Alive. Her words come in short bursts as it is, and she cannot form the final words.