sg-1 fic: now the fight is o'er [unfinished]

So, in November I didn't write a novel, but I did finish a short story, so yay for that! Also began the burning-down-the-farm project, the next bit of which is here, in the only SG-1 fragment of the bunch:


He stumbles out into a warehouse smelling of heat and distantly of sand, and collapses, weeping, heedless of who might be watching. He’s lost them: beautiful, brilliant Sam, who had reached the end of her strength and continued on anyway; Daniel, cynic and idealist and genius—and friend; Teal’c, whose quiet strength he’d missed so much during the past (future) year, like a mountain when it’s suddenly gone.

The floor runs wet before his tears run dry.

Eventually, though, he pulls himself together, because he’s a Mitchell, and they’ve never been much for crying over spilled milk. Particularly when there’s a chance to keep it from being spilled in the first place. So he gets up, brushes the sand off his knees, and starts wracking his memory for what should be going on in 1929. And for what bits of Arabic he still possesses. He’s in Egypt, unless the timeline has been messed with yet again.


Halfway through the glass it suddenly occurs to him that a) he’s actually still alive, and b) he’s stuck. If everything goes the way it’s supposed to, some other version of himself (and the rest of the world) will never even suspect what happened.


“I know this is going to sound crazy,” he says, because he’s told the story to himself often enough to begin doubting the reality of it himself. Or he had, until the gate opened and Ba’al stepped through, smug expression and all. (Cam’s going to savor the following look of shock for the rest of his life, wherever and however long that may be.)

“After what just happened? No joke,” his grandaddy says, dry enough to sting.

“Can’t tell you much. [...] I’m from the future. Well, a future.”

“That, I didn’t see coming.”


[After watching Continuum I really wanted the write this story. Really, really wanted to. Or perhaps it's more accurate to say that I wanted to read it, and no one else was writing it. As you can see, the idea never really made it past the initial stage for many reasons--primarily because Cam never set himself up in my head and demanded that I finish the thing, as John Sheppard did. Still, I like the bits I did write.]