![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: Greener Grass
Spoilers: None
Fandom: SG-1
By:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kellifer_fic
Category: Cameron/Daniel
Disclaimer: Written for entertainment purposes only. No money, no sue.
So, Cameron Mitchell could pretty much pinpoint the exact moment he became a twelve-year-old girl.
It was when he bought the scrapbook.
Okay, scratch that. It was the moment he thought about buying the scrapbook. It might have had B-52 bombers on the cover but that alone did not negate the fact that he felt like he should've been handing back his man-badge or something.
Because… scrapbook.
He’s so screwed.
***
When Cameron wants something, he researches.
At age eight he decided he wanted to be a pilot and so he started doing his homework. He bought every book there was on flying and planes. He built models and bugged his dad’s army buddies to take him to the local airfield. At fourteen, one of those same buddies with a skin full let him take the stick for a little while in his private crapheap.
Cameron never looked back.
***
He heard about the X302 program completely by accident but it was lucky he did. He pushed for inclusion, not really knowing what it was about but knowing for sure that it was something he wanted in on the ground floor of.
The first time he saw one, he knew there was something he wanted more than flying.
Wanting to fly that.
***
The Stargate program came next. He started receiving memos and hearing stories.
So, it turned out there was something he wanted more than flying alien spacecraft.
Who would’ve thought it?
***
Oh yeah, the scrapbook.
Maybe he needed a place to put all those memos and other little bits and pieces. It’s not like it ever left the base and a manila folder was too messy.
He…
Oh hell, who was he kidding?
He might as well have bought glitter glue.
***
“What’s this?”
Jackson holds up the scrapbook, not because he was prying but because Cameron had opened his locker while Jackson was leaning over to do up his bootlaces and the thing had slid out and hit him on the head.
Cameron tries to snatch it back but there must be something on his face that tells Jackson just how badly he doesn’t want anyone to see it because Jackson kind of leans away, holding the book just out of reach. Cameron flails for a second at it, realizes just how stupid a thing it would probably look like to be doing to anyone who would happen to walk in and instead rabbit-punches Jackson in the stomach.
When Jackson curls forward with a squeak, Cameron grabs the book and retreats to his office.
Okay, so maybe that was a low blow, literally, but he really didn’t want Jackson to see how the last third of the book had started being less about the Stargate program and more about…
Well and truly screwed.
***
Turns out there was something he wanted more than flying, alien ships or stepping through a large ring that led to other planets.
Really didn’t see that one coming.
***
Or maybe he should have when Jackson backs him up against his own bar after Sam and Teal’c have made for the Mountain and Jackson had been promising he’d be right behind them.
“Do you write poetry about me?”
“What?” Cameron definitely does not squeak.
“In your book. Is it all about my hair and eyes and big, heaving muscles?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Jackson kind of tilts him this half-sexy smile that he’s never seen before but definitely likes. “I’m just saying that if you did, then I’d have to mock you and tell everyone I’ve ever met in my entire life.”
“You’re the one who keeps a diary,” Cameron sniffs, raising a hand and placing just his fingertips on Jackson’s chest, pushing gently. Jackson leans into the touch rather than moving away but he’s frowning.
“That’s a journal,” he corrects with an imperious sniff.
“Diary,” Cameron insists. He raises his voice to a falsetto and pushes at imaginary glasses with his free hand. “Dear Diary, today Cameron looked totally hot in his BDUs. I wish I were as tough and masterful as him.”
“You’re a child,” Daniel snaps, but he’s still not moving away and he’s starting to smile.
Cameron lets his hand trail down until the pads of his fingers are brushing the skin between Daniel’s shirt and pants. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
***
Yep, Cameron is definitely screwed.
About time.
Spoilers: None
Fandom: SG-1
By:
kellifer_ficCategory: Cameron/Daniel
Disclaimer: Written for entertainment purposes only. No money, no sue.
So, Cameron Mitchell could pretty much pinpoint the exact moment he became a twelve-year-old girl.
It was when he bought the scrapbook.
Okay, scratch that. It was the moment he thought about buying the scrapbook. It might have had B-52 bombers on the cover but that alone did not negate the fact that he felt like he should've been handing back his man-badge or something.
Because… scrapbook.
He’s so screwed.
When Cameron wants something, he researches.
At age eight he decided he wanted to be a pilot and so he started doing his homework. He bought every book there was on flying and planes. He built models and bugged his dad’s army buddies to take him to the local airfield. At fourteen, one of those same buddies with a skin full let him take the stick for a little while in his private crapheap.
Cameron never looked back.
He heard about the X302 program completely by accident but it was lucky he did. He pushed for inclusion, not really knowing what it was about but knowing for sure that it was something he wanted in on the ground floor of.
The first time he saw one, he knew there was something he wanted more than flying.
Wanting to fly that.
The Stargate program came next. He started receiving memos and hearing stories.
So, it turned out there was something he wanted more than flying alien spacecraft.
Who would’ve thought it?
Oh yeah, the scrapbook.
Maybe he needed a place to put all those memos and other little bits and pieces. It’s not like it ever left the base and a manila folder was too messy.
He…
Oh hell, who was he kidding?
He might as well have bought glitter glue.
“What’s this?”
Jackson holds up the scrapbook, not because he was prying but because Cameron had opened his locker while Jackson was leaning over to do up his bootlaces and the thing had slid out and hit him on the head.
Cameron tries to snatch it back but there must be something on his face that tells Jackson just how badly he doesn’t want anyone to see it because Jackson kind of leans away, holding the book just out of reach. Cameron flails for a second at it, realizes just how stupid a thing it would probably look like to be doing to anyone who would happen to walk in and instead rabbit-punches Jackson in the stomach.
When Jackson curls forward with a squeak, Cameron grabs the book and retreats to his office.
Okay, so maybe that was a low blow, literally, but he really didn’t want Jackson to see how the last third of the book had started being less about the Stargate program and more about…
Well and truly screwed.
Turns out there was something he wanted more than flying, alien ships or stepping through a large ring that led to other planets.
Really didn’t see that one coming.
Or maybe he should have when Jackson backs him up against his own bar after Sam and Teal’c have made for the Mountain and Jackson had been promising he’d be right behind them.
“Do you write poetry about me?”
“What?” Cameron definitely does not squeak.
“In your book. Is it all about my hair and eyes and big, heaving muscles?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Jackson kind of tilts him this half-sexy smile that he’s never seen before but definitely likes. “I’m just saying that if you did, then I’d have to mock you and tell everyone I’ve ever met in my entire life.”
“You’re the one who keeps a diary,” Cameron sniffs, raising a hand and placing just his fingertips on Jackson’s chest, pushing gently. Jackson leans into the touch rather than moving away but he’s frowning.
“That’s a journal,” he corrects with an imperious sniff.
“Diary,” Cameron insists. He raises his voice to a falsetto and pushes at imaginary glasses with his free hand. “Dear Diary, today Cameron looked totally hot in his BDUs. I wish I were as tough and masterful as him.”
“You’re a child,” Daniel snaps, but he’s still not moving away and he’s starting to smile.
Cameron lets his hand trail down until the pads of his fingers are brushing the skin between Daniel’s shirt and pants. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
Yep, Cameron is definitely screwed.
About time.