anchises: (Default)
anchises ([personal profile] anchises) wrote2008-08-23 10:08 pm

Momma knows (SG-1, Broken Wings-verse)

Momma knows, by Anchises. A tag for [personal profile] synecdochic's A Howling In The Factory Yard, und also spoilers thereunto. Contains profanity and presumption; otherwise safe. Syne, this one is utterly for you.

Momma knows.

Momma knows that something is up. In fact, Momma knows that something is fucking up, for fuck's sake. Though Momma would never cuss, least not where the children can see, and she counts anybody younger than herself and Al and their generation as "children". She probably always will. She's okay with that.

She sees mostly through the act that Cameron Everett is pulling with that O'Neill. She knows that she's not seeing all of it, and in some ways she doesn't want to know all of it, because Sassy knows enough to understand the extra-verbal cues that mean that she doesn't need to know. She's enough of a wife and mother to want to know, though. Enough of a person to want to know.


Doesn't stop her from hating what it does to her boy. He tries -- Lord in heaven knows he tries -- not to let it show. But Momma knows best. Momma knows that Jonathan Daniel didn't just up sticks and leave. Boy has more class than that, more behind those eyes than that. She knew that before Christmas, even if Cameron's daddy didn't. She knows that there is something going on there that Cameron knows, and isn't telling. And she knows it is absolutely God-damned eating her boy up to sit there and pretend that JD just walked out on him. She knows that Cameron wants to stand up -- not that, she didn't mean, aw, damn it -- and defend his man, say that he's on a mission of the utmost importance, as the family has always called them, the things that you do that you can't tell anyone else that you do, but everybody knows what they are.

Doesn't stop her hating it. Or wanting to have a quiet word in several people's ears about it, either. But she can't -- and she damned well knows that she can't -- because whatever it is that JD and Cameron are doing is of the utmost importance, and she knows that the family is part of their smokescreen, and that she can't mess with it.

And that's the worst of all.


She always finds something therapeutic in fixing things in the kitchen. She tries out a new recipe for a ham that she got from the market. It's not as sweet as the traditional family recipe, but she appreciates the tang of the cloves in it. Maybe she'll throw a few in the traditional recipe, see if anyone notices. Which they will, of course, and what she means is if anybody notices enough to either compliment or criticise.

Momma makes sure that she doesn't mess things up for Cameron at Eastertide. She's just quietly outraged enough, still, months later, for whatever story the boys are concocting. In a way, she's really interested in how it works, with two men rather than a man and a woman, because she knows that her Cameron isn't a wife left behind who needs a bit of backbone from Sassy to keep up appearances. It's not just that, though. It's that she can see that her Cameron Everett is really hurting, despite -- or perhaps because of -- the game that they're playing, the game that only one other person sees through, a glass darkly, not everything, but enough of it to make a good guess as to what's going on.


Momma soldiers on. Momma is absolutely fucking livid -- and she doesn't even ask your pardon for her language -- about Spencer. She wants to believe, oh, does she ever want to believe, that it's all part of the same thing, because she knows Spencer, and she knows that he was brought up right, and that he would never, never do something like that, and it breaks her heart to hope to God that what she's doing is playing along, because the alternative brings the walls a-tumbling down. And if it's treason (don't think of treason) she simply does not know what she would do.

Other than what they are all doing already.


The phone call comes in. It's late, or early. Early, she thinks, as her mind takes in the breeze outside the window. Too damn early, oh God, oh God, oh God--Cameron?


The light next to her goes on as Cameron's daddy wakes up too, snapping awake beside her and fixing her with the look that she knows too well.

"Is he--" She knows why Cameron's calling, or at least who the subject of the call has to be, and the tone of voice is the right tone of voice.

"He's okay, Momma. He's--okay. He's coming home soon."

She doesn't collapse, because she knows that the headboard of their marital bed isn't padded, and a concussion isn't a whole lot of fun, but she sags. "Oh, Cameron. I--" She knows he knows that she can't say it, not on the phone. Can't say that she knew that it was a ruse. She mouths he's okay to her husband. "I love you both, Cameron Everett Mitchell, and I want to see you as soon as you can."

She hears him gasp, choking a sob. "Love you too, Momma," he manages to croak out. "I'll call you in the morning."

She stays silent after she says good night to her boy for a while, her hand clenching the warm one next to her, thinking about how her boy is more like her than ever she'd thought he was. And that's a crying shame, because this part of it she wouldn't wish on anybody. But right now, the world is a little bit more okay than it was.

For that, Momma is thankful.

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