Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine. The plot is. Here be wanking and implied homosexuality; if that ain't your cuppa tea, go elsewhere. This was one of eight drabble challenges posed to me; Luna_61 asked for Lapel Pins.
Sam disappeared in a flash of light and Al found himself back in the Imaging Chamber, facing a blank blue wall. His hand automatically stole to his collar, feeling for the lapel pins. They were back. It had been six weeks this time, six weeks without the anniversary present that served as his litmus test of whether the current reality was recognizably his own.
He tapped his foot impatiently as Gooshie and Verbena put him through the usual post-mission check-up, then made some flimsy excuse and was out of there like a bat out of hell, desperate to get home. Home. The little base-housing prefab that was his-and-Sam's, at least for a little while, not Sam-and-Donna's. He raced through the door and shut it behind him, feeling something essential unclench inside at the sight of two fishing rods leaned up against Sam's piano.
His legs didn't stop moving until he got to the bedroom, seeing the Shaker quilt Sam had picked out, and fell heavily on the bed, belatedly kicking off his shoes and loosening his tie. His hand was down his pants before he drew another breath, while he unzipped himself with the other hand to give himself room. He was facedown on the bed, his face buried in the pillows that no longer smelled like Sam, but it was enough to be home, in their bed, and know that, for now, at least, it was real, Sam loved him, even if he couldn't remember it. He came with a muffled cry, seed soaking into the bedspread, and gasped wetly into the pillow. "Come home, baby," he pleaded. "I'm not sure how much longer I can take this."
End.