John slowly raised his hand staring at it for for a moment before lowering it at the other. He had never given them much thought, but now that he had a moment to reflect, they were a curious thing. His hands were large and calloused, covered in small scars. Over the years they'd done so many things, some good and others bad. So many bones and joints covered in muscles and skin. There was so much power to be unleashed, it was almost frightening.
A smile crossed his face. Strange... they were part of so many memories...
His grandfather's age spotted hand linked together with his own helping a younger John to his feet when he had fallen on the sprawling lawn of the Sheppard estate or his grandmother's gnarled arthritis ridden hands hugging him tight and then cupping his cheeks calling him a handsome boy before she slipped away from him in her sleep.
He could remember his father's raised in anger sometimes striking and other times faltering as he turned away in disgust, at himself or his son John was never sure. Those same hands thrown high in the air in supplication as John walked away from the carefully planned life his father had mapped out and planned to fly fighter jets of all things.
Then it came unbidden to the surface; the one set of memories he usually tried to hide from. His mother's soft and gentle touch to wipe away his tears and for once he didn't fight it. Long ago he'd locked the memories of his mother away, he hadn't been ready to deal with the joy that had been sniffed out of his life, leaving such a void. His mother was still something he didn't like think about or contemplate, but today, he closed his eyes and searched for a memory that didn't include the pain of loss.
The day was beautiful and John loved playing in the garden, soon it would be autumn and he would have to start school and leave home once more. Last night he'd heard his parent fighting about whether or not to send him away to military school, but now in the sunlight he could forget the harsh words spoken.
He took one last look at the house, if he hurried his tutor wouldn't find him for a little while longer. So he took off running as fast as his little legs would carry him. His hands pumping at his side to help him go even faster. He ran down the gravel paths enjoying the crunch of the gravel beneath his feet. He was free. if only for the moment. John crested a small hill and looked down over the sprawling gardens. It was then he spied his mother working amongst her roses.
She knelt within the fragrant blossoms. Even this far away he could hear his mother's soft humming and he knew he wanted to share this moment of freedom with her.
Moving quietly, John slipped closer and closer walking on his tippy toes so he wouldn't make a sound. Just before he rounded the last corner, he lifted his hands high above his head. Moving even slower he reached his mother's side.
"Roar!" John's hands touched her shoulder.
"Oh you scared me! Now you're going to pay. I'm going to tickle you!" His mother jumped as she spun around gathering John in her arms and she made him giggle as she moved her hands over his now exposed tummy.
Fighting to get the words out, John pointed to the sky. "Up, fly!"
"Yes my boy, you shall fly!" Her smile grew as she lifting him up into the sunlight. Setting her hands, beneath his armpits she tossed John up into the air. For just a moment he hung in mid-air like he was floating, but all too quickly he had to come back to earth.
"Higher Mom! I want to touch the clouds!"
"Reach for them, they are there so you remember to aim high! Never let anyone crush your dreams,John. You can do anything you want to do."
His mother was the only one who set him flying. It was for her he'd changed his dreams and headed out into the clouds.
Looking down once again at his own hands, John fought other memories coming to the surface. The times he'd used his hands to kill another human. He never enjoyed taking a life but with his career choice more often than not it was kill or be killed that ruled the day.
He closed his eyes as he remembered the sticky feeling of warm blood. There was something about the smell, when it coats your hands. He'd could never quite describe it, but it stayed with you, visiting you in your dreams. Lady MacBeth was right, it never goes away no matter how much you wash.
Flexing his fingers John fought his way out of his dark thoughts and turned them instead to all the good things his hands had done. Lifting another, and giving comfort when needed. No, his hands weren't evil and neither was he.
Teyla's son sighed in his sleep still wrapped in Rodney's coat. The baby's small fingers flexed and then wrapped themselves around one of John's much larger ones. John pulled the baby closer to keep him warm in the chilly dart.
Well my boy, I'm gonna help you become a good man. I'm not your father but if you ever need me I'll be there for you with your hand tucked in mine.