Title: The son she never had
Author: Shenandoah Risu
: PG
Spoilers: Season 1 "Faith"
Word Count: around 400
Summary: Their silences are more comfortable than their conversations.
Characters: Camile Wray, Eli Wallace
Author's Notes: Written for Challenge 021 "Ritual" at the LJ Comm sgu_challenge
Disclaimer: I don't own SGU. I wouldn't know what to do with it. Now, Young... Young I'd know what to do with. ;-)
Thanks for reading! Any feedback or review will receive a personal response. ;-)


The son she never had

It's not that they actually like each other. They don't hate each other, either, they just have very little in common, and as personalities go they are downright incompatible. They tend to end up on opposite sides of the fence in ship-wide disagreements, and since the attempted coup there's been a constant layer of mistrust between them.

When Eli sees Camile in the mess hall he pretends not to have seen her, but she saw him just the same.

They end up talking – he squirms a lot, and then he surprises himself by sharing the last piece of fresh fruit he's pilfered earlier.

Some time later they find themselves in the observation lounge, watching Destiny plod along on her slingshot path around the manufactured sun.

They don't talk much – their silences are more comfortable than their conversations.

It becomes a habit quite by accident, neither one of them planned it that way, but they seem to be drawn to the couch by the window wall at the same time every day.

They sit and stare, wishing they had a penny for the other's thoughts.

"I miss my mom," Eli says one day.

"I miss Sharon," Camile responds.

They look at each other and smile.

It's the most natural thing for her to put her arm around his shoulders, and for him to lean his head against her.

Camile finds that she looks forward to holding him for those few minutes every day, and her feelings of protectiveness towards him come as quite a surprise to her.

Eli, on the other hand, is rather dumbfounded by the concept of a female companion that awakens no desires in him, where he feels safe, because unlike his mom Camile doesn't know his bad sides.

There is an easy silence between them that does not need to be broken.

"One: a set form of ceremony; two: any procedure regularly followed," she says one day.

He sits up, his brow furrowed. "What?"

She smiles. "What is a ritual?" She starts to hum the "Jeopardy" tune.

"Is that what this is?"

She pats his hand. "Who gives a hoot?"

"Ummm… an owl?"

She lays her head on his shoulder.


He nods, wraps his arm around her and goes back to his quiet observation.

She feels a wave of warm maternal fondness wash over her, and for a moment the comfort of their daily ritual blocks out the constant ache of her loneliness.