A/N: Okay, so this would not leave me alone until I wrote it. I am still working on Voyage, no worries there. So, yeah, feel free to leave me a review if you're so inclined. Keep in mind this was just something the Muse demanded, as a late tribute to Don S. Davis and isn't going any further than this. I'm not even entirely sure Mitchell's in character.

Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate SG-1 or anything affiliated with it. I'm simply borrowing them to play with and will give them back once I'm done.

A Requiem Remembered

They stood around the gleaming wooden casket, the four of them together in their usual formation; Daniel and Teal'c on one side, Jack and Sam on the other. Mitchell stood back with Landry, observing the moment between them silently, the cues and signals ; the way they still moved in sync with each other though it had been nearly five years since they'd been in the field together.

They stood with somber expressions, hiding the tears behind straight-faced, blank masks that Cam knew they had learned long ago to hide behind. This wasn't their first loss, and probably not their last. Each of them had a single hand extended, resting gently on the casket, almost caressing the wooden structure that held the man whom had lead them for seven years; the man who had always believed in them, even when the world seemed dead-set to bring them down.

The moment seemed to stretch on forever, until the thunderclouds rolled in and the rain began to fall. The gray skies were somehow appropriate for the day, as if the whole world was mourning this man who had given so much to keep it safe. He lifted his eyes back to the four, oddly reminded of how they tended to close ranks when one of them was injured by the way they stood there, eerily still for people who were usually always moving. He couldn't help but envy the man that was soon to be in the grave, absurd though it was to envy a dead man. Had the old man been aware of the fierce loyalty he'd inspired in the four people who had always seemed to care more for each other than anything else?

They did not do anything to give it away, of course, but he could read them a little by now; could see the grief outlined in the way they closed their eyes tightly against it, and the way they stood so close together, as though drawing strength from each other to see this through. He stood beside his own general, glancing up briefly at the man who had been leading the SGC since he'd arrived, and wondered if he would do the same, were it this man lying there dead, and not the other. Did General Landry inspire such loyalty in his men that they would forego their own sorrow at his funeral to show the world the somehow tragic strength they were known for? Would they surround his casket and lay themselves bare with such simple gestures as outstretched hands and bowed heads?

Mitchell knew the answer, mostly, would be a simple yes for himself and the others who had worked only under Landry's command. He wasn't sure that SG-1, the real SG-1 because he couldn't think of them as anything else, had enough left to give to anyone else. He couldn't help but wonder what the General thought of the scene before them; of the somehow poignant farewell of the four of them as they lifted their eyes from the casket to each other, the rain trailing down their faces in place of the tears they would never allow to fall in front of so many. Cam had noticed it years ago, the way they acted when faced with tragedy. They stayed standing in the midst of their sorrow, no matter how crushing the grief that consumed them, and walked on with the knowledge that others drew strength from the sight of their own.

It was an admirable quality to a degree, but he was also fully aware that they had leveled emotional repression to an art form.

He figured it had come from eight years of killing Gods and tearing down their regimes while watching each other die or come as close to death as was possible without actually dieing and still having to soldier on despite the emotional upheaval they must have gone through. Watching them now, as they all stepped away from the grave after a silent conversation consisting of a few simple looks that he still couldn't read , he could see the weight of their actions still dragged them down even after all this time. Maybe it was being here, at the funeral of the man who had been there with them through that first hard, and long war that had seemed so unwinnable at times that dragged the memories back; the things they did in the name of their planet, and of ridding the galaxy of the evil that plagued it.

They were shoulder to shoulder now, the two scientists walking in between the two warriors. It was a formation Cam had seen before, when he'd had the pleasure to see them together. It was the only time they ever really relaxed, he'd noticed. Not that he blamed them for that, for not letting down their guard all the way with him the way they did with each other. He hadn't, after all, lived and died for them for so many long years.

He sighed, casting one last glance towards the rain-soaked casket, squinting through the steadily-increasing sheets of water pouring from the sky. The wooden box was alone now, simply sitting there nestled amongst the flowers, most of which were red, white , and blue, as the people milled about it, most of them talking quietly to friends or relatives, some sobbing into their hankerchiefs or someone's shoulder. The crowd was already thinning by now, people wandering off towards their cars in twos and threes, or larger groups, already forgetting about the man about to be buried in that small plot of land; most of them not even knowing the truth of his life.

SG-1 stood off to the side, looking as though they themselves were about to leave. Just as Cameron was about to turn and go himself, he noticed Landry pausing in his steps and he turned too, watching the four of them curiously. They had turned to stare again at the grave site, eyes narrowed slightly as they glanced once at each other in silent communication before Jack O'Neill took a single step backwards and raised his hand in a lazy, half-sort of salute to the fallen man that had a strange familiarity to it, as though it was a common gesture, made everyday. Then he turned, and steps in syn with each other, SG-1 walked away.

Somehow, Mitchell didn't think the old General would mind the lazy goodbye.