trans_9 | Pray this can't be the way

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Pray this can't be the way

He appreciated having a room to himself, even if it was clearly designed for a second party as well. For now, it was his alone. He appreciated that.

The room was about all he really appreciated since the attack of the crew-zombies. The idea was far more cool on paper than it was actually sitting on the roof of the Vatican, mowing down potential crewmates. Still, it was better than mowing down familiar ones. He appreciated that, too.

He appreciated the cute, glowy new look for Stacy, too.

He didn't appreciate the idea of his universe destroyed by something they'd never even gotten the chance to see--let alone fight. He didn't like the idea of being one of the last survivors of his own universe. Whether or not Ronon and Jackson counted as his own universe or another. He appreciated the cute voice. He didn't believe it. He wouldn't believe it, even if she showed him the destruction. None of this was necessarily real. He functioned within it as he needed to, but he wasn't about to fall for something SG-1 already fell for before. The zombies didn't exactly make the place more credible, either.

He frowned, studying the food goop in front of him.

His home-his family. Everyone and every thing he cared about was not gone. He wouldn't leave it to chance and hope that some of the people he cared about might have been alive--he wouldn't accept that their survival meant the deaths of an entire universe were acceptable losses. He wasn't about to accept a 'might' for saving all of them, if they did someone else's dirty work for them. That wasn't how he did things. He wouldn't be manipulated, and...he refused to believe that SG-1 failed. That Stargate Command, and all of their allies failed to protect not just their galaxy, but their universe.

He refused to believe he'd failed to do the one thing that mattered. He couldn't. Not now...not ever.

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He held up his hands, as if to say 'what can you do?'.

"Pie? I can do pie. I promise you that much. Or maccaroons."

Who was this crazy man?!!! Tempe looked down at him wondering what part of what she'd just told him he'd missed.

"I don't know you, you ruin my lunch...And now you want to make me a pie? I really don't understand!!"

He put on one of his more charming smiles. "Cameron Mitchell. And I'm offering to make up the lost lunch to you. No underhanded mentions." He waved a hand. "I make good pies. Momma's recipe."

"Why would you ruin someone's lunch?! All I was trying to do was be nice and you ruin my lunch! That was very mean!!" She's not getting over this for a while, Cam. Sorry.

And yes, she's kinda ignoring his offer for pie at the moment... and the fact that he introduced himself.

She was taking that ruining thing pretty hard. He lifted his hands. "Hey, you're the one with the bias against giant floating space clams."

He tilted his head. Still trying with the charming thing. Maybe he wasn't Vala, but he didn't think he was too bad at it. Anyway, she tried to ruin his gloop, too. If that were possible.

"So. Let me make up the lunch to you. Two pies."

She eyed him suspiciously, clearly not understanding his need to make up lunch to her. "Why? You don't even know me. I'm a complete stranger and you want to make things up with two pies? I don't understand."

He lifted his hands. "Hey. I didn't mean to ruin your lunch. Good, canned chowder in a place like this is worth at least two pies. Three, in the Sensorium." He smiled. "We're on the same ship here, we fought on the same side. In my book, that rules out 'complete stranger'."

She stood there with her hands resting firmly on her hips. Staring down at him, her lips pressed together as she thought over what he had just said. Her expression is doubtful and she really isn't sure she likes him at all. BUT he was trying to apologize, so that counted for something right?

Right.

"Fine, two pies. Apple." she finally said with a slight nod of her head.

Hey, he could deal with skeptical. Sometimes it was a good chance of pace from Vala. Right now, he could do without a reminder of home, anyway.

Cam grinned, and nodded. "You got it. Good taste."

"Real apple pie, not anything out of the Sensorioum," Tempe made sure to add. She thought for a moment. "AND I want to watch to make sure you use real ingredients."

He chuckled, and nodded. "Gotcha. You can even handle the apples before to make sure they feel right."

"That's an excellent idea," Tempe agrees, not even seeing that he might be joking... But she's completely serious business right now.

She gets ready to walk away but obviously thought of something else. "How do I know that you'll keep up your end of this bargain?"

Hey, if she wants to inspect his apples, he won't he the one to stop her.

He archd an eyebrow at the question. "You could take it on trust? If all else fails, you know my name, where I live, where I sleep, and where I work. What better insurance can you have?"

She gives him a look that basically screams her confusion in something. "I know your name?" Oh yes, she's already forgotten that he'd told her... She's really bad about remembering names.

She eyes him suspiciously again. "Do you know mine?"

"I did tell you it." Of course, she was a bit too busy rejecting his offer of pie to listen to it, probably.

He grinned up at her at her second question. And at the suspicious look. It was cute, in a ridiculous sort of way. "Not unless it's Chowder."

"You did? When?" Tempe demanded, not really believing him. She was pretty sure she'd have remembered him giving her his name.

"No, it is not Chowder," Tempe frowned. "I'm Doctor Temperance Brennan, but you can call me Doctor Brennan." she informed him, making sure she emphasized doctor.

"Earlier." He held out a hand, raising his eyebrows at her insistence. If she hadn't actually insisted on repeating her name, he'd have called her Doctor. Doctor Brennan worked for him. It'd probably get confusing with the number of doctors on the ship. "Cameron Mitchell. Colonel. Friends call me Cameron." He tilted his head curiously. "Doctor of what?"

Really?" She's still not believing it, but oh well. "Alright then, Mr. Mitchell." No, she's not going to call him Cameron.

She reached out and shook his hand firmly. "I'm a Forensic Anthropology," she informed him before dropping his hand.

If someone who actually knew him ever woke up on the ship, then she could ask them if she wanted. They'd confirm it. Unless 'they' meant 'Vala'. "Just Mitchell, please." Mister seemed a little pointless, especially considering the fact that he had a title, if she really needed one. He smiled, regardless, and nodded. "Really? What's that specialize in?"

He might have known more large words than he claimed, but that specific combination was not one of the ones he did.

"I specialize in the identification of deceased individuals whose remains are otherwise so decomposed, mutilated, or sometimes burned so severely that they are unrecognizable. I use their bones to determine what they look like, their age, their sex and even how they died and where they died." Well he did ask.

He arched an eyebrow, and nodded. "Yeah? How specific?" No, he wasn't thinking about aliens, or other doctorly co-workers or anything. Not at all.

For the record, he did, in fact, understand all the words she used.

"How specific am I with my conclussions? Normally ninety-nine point nine percent," she told him with a firm nod of her head.

He squinted at the woman. "Ninety-nine point nine percent of what they look like? What's that point one account for? Skin color? Hairstyle?"

"Well, I can tell what race someone is by the features of their skull, even if they're a mixture of races. Besides, sometimes we're fortunate enough to have a skeleton that still has some of the skin attached to it, and that normally helps with determining skin color."

Yes, Tempe can talk about this ALL day.

"Hair color on the other hand is much harder to determine unless there is of course some still attached to the skull." And she hardly ever tries to determine that. "Most of the time hair color is completely unrelevent since there are so many other ways to determine someone's identity."

When you say 'race', Doctor Brennan, Cam isn't thinking the same thing you are. Thus the slim, amused smile the comment summons. So far, he's doing pretty well with the onslaught of words. A few years around three people who had difficulty stopping once they started speaking had increased his threshold a bit.

"So. Do you work locally? Regionally? Federally?"

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