     // @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.
