Thank you so much for the reviews! PLEASE keep them coming, I always love getting them and they help to keep the updates coming faster too. :) *whistles innocently - Nope, I'm not trying to bribe you guys, nope not at all*
Author's Note:
*Atad – father; derived (I believe) from Welsh and Irish.
*Craja – dearest; derived from Scottish Gaelic and Croation.
*Maisiah – pronounced my-shaw
Part II – Brief Respite:
"No visibility," Rodney's semi-whiney voice announced to the small crowd of people surrounding the monitor. The nervous excited buzz that had filled the control room while the small party hoped they'd be able to rescue their friend now dissipated like a fine morning mist fading into the air.
"Alright, shut it down," Elizabeth commanded with a voice as cold as the winter they were staring at. It never got any easier to make these decisions and she was always forced to harden her soul against the screaming in her head. She turned away from the disheartened faces that were staring at her in shock choosing to walk into her office instead.
John chewed his bottom lip in thought. After a few second's deliberation he moved away from the control center and followed Elizabeth into her office. He waited until she'd lowered her weary body into her desk chair before he announced, "I want to go after Beckett."
Elizabeth let out a resigned sigh; she'd known this was coming. "And you think you'll be able to see better through the storm in person?" she countered raising a disbelieving eyebrow.
"Well you can't always trust MALPS," John answered pathetically shoving his hands into his pockets and standing militarily at attention in front of her. He hoped his body language showed that he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer but when he saw that she was going to continue challenging him, he knew he'd failed.
"You think you can see better than that camera? John, those winds are so bad you couldn't even begin to fly through that." She waited for her words to ring true in the Colonel's ears before she gently, logically continued on, "Now, you said Carson was holed up with some of the locals and that he trusted them. Maybe you need to trust him." As he deflated with defeat, she softened. "I'm sorry, John."
She walks through the woods weaving in and out of the paths of trees as she wanders further into the wood. Her cobalt blue dress trails fallen leaves of deep orange and burning red while their friends crunch beneath the weight of her bare feet as the limbs lead the rest of her on a journey that only her heart knows. Thick flocks of ebony flow like black water down the pale mountainside of her flesh contrasting almost painfully in the soft but fading light of the five suns. Hugging her lean biceps, the blue dress snuggled tightly around the muscles sending comfort and smoothness with every swish.
It wasn't a very full dress yet it leant a warmth that would put the wool of Earth to shame making it so she didn't feel the playful autumnal breeze as it whispered about her, taunting and teasing. The ruffled fabric that covered her bosom swayed in the same coaxing wind lending a peak into the valley it protected to whoever may be around. The body of her dress resembled that of a maid's corset showing off her womanly figure while the skirts waved to and fro upon her hips.
Cautious but curious slate eyes peer around every tree trunk in hopes of finding their heart's desire just on the other side and felt disappointment stab her chest with a well aimed arrow every step she further step she took only to find no one waiting for her.
It seemed to her that she would never exit the forests with which she was so familiar when suddenly an opening appeared giving way to an array of light that was blinding in its brilliancy. She slowly edged her way through the opening and found herself standing in a small field of tall grass, the deep greens of it slowly giving way to the more prominent yellows. While most grass on Hoa was velvety in feel this grass was soft almost as though it was covered with an invisible blanket made from the softest fur. Each strand that brushed against her hand reminded her of a dog begging for attention, using the touch to tickle as a reminder before a cold nose could be felt quickly followed by a broad head to pat.
Surrounding the field was a collection of Eilder trees easily protecting the place of peace from unfriendly eyes and unwanted company. At the center of the field lay a pool of the cleanest, clearest water she had ever seen, the light blue and green fading into deeper shades the further down one looked. It reminded her of a lake a man could easily drown in though it didn't come any higher than his knees sending chills down her spine and giving a chill to the unnaturally warm air.
"Lansiah," a painfully familiar voice called to her causing her to spin on her heel. She gasped, bringing a hand to her mouth with the emotion of surprise, and tears collected in her eyes spilling down her cheeks almost instantly with the ease of a midsummer rain suddenly descending upon the plains. Lansiah wasn't sure how long she'd held her breath but when she finally released it, it was in the form of one word, "Atad*."
"Caraja*," he called to her opening his arms ready and waiting to encompass her in his love.
The sound of crying drew Lansiah out of her dreams and causing her to bolt upright in bed. Her heart pounded furiously in worry that something was wrong with Carson and it took her five minutes and the echoes of her ragged breathing her for her to realize that she was crying. She quickly held her breath in hopes of calming her emotions and quieting her sounds; if nothing was the matter with her friend and he was sleeping peacefully she didn't want to be the one that disturbed that peace.
A knock at her door immediately told her that she had already awoken the doctor and she grimaced, annoyed with herself.
"Lansiah, lass are you alright in there?" Carson's soft, concerned voice asked through the solid, Brife door. Without waiting for an answer, the Scot had pushed the door opened and painfully limped into her room, stopping just to the right side of her bed. He paused only for a second in sitting down, worried about crossing any sort of boundaries the young woman might have but the sight of tears falling down her face quickly dismissed any hesitation and he lowered himself onto the mattress just by her hip.
Still caught in the memory of the dream, Lansiah threw herself at Carson, wrapping her arms around his neck with the speed of a Venus fly trap snapping around its prey and clinging on as though her life depended on it. Tears fell copiously upon his shirt drenching the light fabric within seconds while her throat went dry from the sounds that were coming out of it. It felt like the room was beginning to close in around her, suffocating her and making her breaths quicken in anticipation of the feeling.
Carson's long face held surprise on it for a couple of minutes. He hadn't expected the girl to throw herself at him so when he saw blurs of fabric then felt the air go from his lungs it had taken his brain a moment to catch up. He stretched out his right leg on the floor giving his very painful knee a moment's rest while he slowly wrapped his arms around the slight Hoan, holding her gently afraid that any amount of pressure would cause her to shatter before his eyes.
His hand ran down her hair in soothing lines, tugging at a few tangles as it went. His heart broke for her with each tear she cried and he couldn't stop himself from asking, "Cara, what's wrong?" Fear caused his heart to race when Lansiah stilled immediately, stiffened then pulled away with shock in her face. Have I said somethin' wrong, he wondered silently, almost smacking himself upside the head for the show of affection.
"What did you call me?" Lansiah asked confused. He couldn't have just called me that, could he?
"I apologize. I shouldn't have said anything," Carson responded almost immediately briefly folding his hands in his lap before placing them on the side of the bed, preparing to stand up.
Lansiah stilled him with a soft, outstretched hand placed gently upon his arm. "No please," she whispered, the request sounding almost like a desperate plea, "tell me what you said."
"I called you Cara; it's a form of endearment back home meaning dearest. I really am sorry," Carson almost rattled out, the speed of his explanation almost rivaling Rodney when the scientist had had five pots of coffee. Lansiah gave his arm an assuring squeeze and tried to offer a friendly smile but the gesture fell flat when it came out more of a sad smile, despair and loneliness filling her beautiful eyes.
"My father used to call me something like that," she explained quietly hoping that her reasoning would help make her friend feel more at ease. "When I would climb trees he would to say, 'Be careful Craja; I don't want to be the one to carry you back home.'"
She giggled and the sound warmed Carson's heart unlike anything he'd ever felt. His own crystal eyes crinkled in a smile and his mouth twisted into a partial one but he could easily see that she was far from happy and that hurt more than he liked. Pain pulsed hot and deep within his knee breaking through the moment reminding him that the joint hadn't appreciated the speed with which he'd walked over to his friend's room. In his worry for Lansiah he'd forgotten the injured limb and therefore found himself almost surprised when it began letting him know it needed rest.
Snapping back into reality, Lansiah's giggling smile faded immediately from her lips giving way to a deep frown. "I am sorry to have woken you," she announced evenly, almost professionally. It amazed her to feel stabbing pain pierce her heart with every grimace Carson gave but she kept her face a stoic façade, not wanting to show how deeply she cared. She slowly disentangled herself from the sheets on her bed, minutely wincing when she placed her toasty feet on the ice cold floor, then stood up and hastily grabbed a dressing robe to throw over her bare shoulders. "Come on, back to bed with you."
When she noticed that Carson could barely motivate himself to move off the bed, Lansiah narrowed her eyes with the keen study of her profession. The hands that were holding on to the sides of the bed for support were clenched so tightly the knuckles stood out white as an old scar against the red tinge of his flesh. His right leg was slightly bent and hovering above the ground. It was obvious he was trying to rest it without moving the injured knee too much but the attempt was failing desperately causing more pain than it was helping.
Silently the girl knelt before the pained man, carefully moving his leg so the foot rested on her thigh and began rolling up the thin pant leg to look at the knee. Her eyes slowly trekked their way up his leg until they saw the beginning tendrils of bruising intricately painted a hand's-width below the knee. Her brows furrowed into a frown when her eyes continued up to the joint that was badly swollen and bruised – the knee hadn't looked like that yesterday at all but of course the stubborn man had refused to stay off it as much as he should and made the injury worse in the night.
With a sigh Lansiah rolled his pant leg back down then moved his foot from her thigh back to the floor and stood off the ground with the fluidity of youth and practice. She stood before her friend, debating what to do next but soon realizing there was truly only one option, an option she did not mind at all, she moved forward and instructed, "Scoot back."
Carson sat on the edge of the bed staring at Lansiah for a few moments dreading the idea of moving at all. Though her examination had been extremely gentle it hadn't been without a great deal of pain and he was currently waiting for the unwanted feeling to ebb to a more tolerable level. His heart was racing in the attempt to cool the burning fire engulfing his right leg and his breathing was becoming harsher with ever breath in an attempt not to shed any tears. When he thought he could move again, the Scot looked up to find Lansiah standing before him, arms over her chest, and concern and determination in her eyes. What was it he was supposed to be doing again? Oh yea, scooting!
Biting down hard on his lip to stifle a gasp, groan or cry of pain, Carson slowly began moving to the head of the bed soon thankful for the softness of the mattresses and fabrics beneath him as they supported and cushioned his aching body. The move itself hadn't been far, though the bed was fairly massive, but it had felt like he had been dragging a singeing stump of a leg rather than a fairly healthy limb; every slight jostle of the leg sent fire throughout it burning along the nerve endings with sharp stabs of throbbing pain. As a doctor Carson knew this was not a good sign, more than likely meaning that he might in fact need surgery to repair some damage done; none of which could be done here.
Lansiah waited until Carson started moving before she quickly scuttled out of the room, adorned in her winter cloak and went outside, collecting a massive ball of ice and snow before she scurried back into the fairly warm cottage and back upstairs where it seemed her pained friend had just finished getting into position. She silently slipped off her cloak, placing it underneath his leg to absorb the liquid from the melting ball, then placed the snow pack over thin pant cloth.
Once she was sure Carson was relatively comfortable for the time being, the Hoan moved about her cabin, refilling the stone hearths with logs of wood and kindle, lighting each one in its turn to breathe warmth and comfort back into the home. The sounds of fires crackling in the hearths echoed throughout the hut making her smile in memory of happier times. She missed when life was pleasant and she could look through the eyes of a child at the snow falling upon the ground outside, her child's heart wondering when she would be allowed to go out and play. Now things were different; she was no longer a child but a young woman slowly making her way in the world, succeeding in doing little things with her craft while the village elders called for the Lantean doctor for the bigger things.
Shame would always color her heart when Carson would be called; it felt as though she had failed in the art of healing somehow and was inadequate. On the outside one would never know Lansiah ever felt any such feelings other than confidence and care but inwardly all she felt was cowardice, fear, trepidation, and pain. She'd learned at an early age to hide her true feelings from others and now was a true proficient at the art of deception. The only person – she found – she could not hide her true feelings from was the man upstairs in her room trying to move as little as possible.
The clattering of a ceramic bowl falling off a shelf brought her out of her thoughts at just the right time and her hand moved with the reflexes of cheetah running from its prey, snaking out and grabbing the dish before he crashed to the ground and shattered into pieces. Determined to keep her focus in the here and now, Lansiah proceeded to finish gathering enough food to supply them with a decent breakfast, a couple mugs for tea, the jar of tea and the teapot full of water, placing them all on a well sized tray then taking it up to her room. She paused momentarily in front of Carson's door before she entered. Having remembered that he had apparently taken off the protective wrapping around his knee before coming into here room, she quickly placed the heavy tray upon the bed, wrapped the cloth around her wrist then picked up her tray once again and headed for her room.
Lansiah's room was more like an expansive loft with four walls and a door. It took up a great deal of the second level leaving room for Carson's bedroom, a water closet that served as what Carson referred to the restroom, a hall closet which housed most of her cloths that she used for injuries, and another spare room that was truly no more than a small work area than a bedroom. She opened the heavy wooden door and stepped quietly in, taking in the sight before her with a smile wider than the entire expanse of earth upon Hoa.
Carson Beckett sat upright against the headboard, his head leaning against the headboard and craning his neck. Gentle snores could be heard and Lansiah recognized it as the snore of a man deep in sleep. His hands were lying limply in his lap facing each other. The ball of snow and ice over his knee was nothing more than a cool puddle of water slowly cascading over the joint and landing on the winter cloak beneath his leg. As she watched, his right hand snaked to his right thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze.
If it weren't for the obvious sings of pain Carson was showing Lansiah would have thought the sight of him sleeping on her bed was perfect. Longing shot through her heart, stabbing with such precision she actually felt pain with the emotion. While she would never tell him this, Lansiah dearly wished to be able to call Carson her own.
For some time now she'd begun to feel loneliness creeping up on her with the stealth of a slowly growing vine, wrapping around her and squeezing until she ached. Her slowly growing attraction to the doctor helped to nudge her in his direction that long but wonderful night those few months ago. She hadn't had much in her home in the way of food but she knew that he'd been kept so busy with delivering Maisiah's* baby that he'd hardly had time to eat or drink anything in over a day so she packed the few things she could find into her favorite basket (usually used for berry picking and plant collecting) and slowly made her way to Maisiah's hut.
By the time the multiple suns had risen the next morning it had felt like she'd known him far longer than five months and their friendship quickly grew from there on.
Movement from the man in the bed brought her back to reality and she quickly went about getting things ready to re-examine the injured knee. She sat on the bed calling, "Carson."
Carson woke to the sound of an angelic voice calling his name so softly he, at first, didn't think he'd heard it. Pain greeted him clearing his foggy mind like a syringe had drawn it within itself. His face scrunched and his eyebrows drew together in pain but he withheld any sound as he realized he wasn't in his own room. Being a doctor he knew he shouldn't be so embarrassed to express pain, after all he'd often encouraged his patients to all the time, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to make a sound, voluntarily. He didn't want to worry Lansiah any more than she already seemed to be.
The warmth of family spread through him as he remembered all the times the Colonel had stubbornly refused to acknowledge that he was in pain. He remembered with fondness more times than he had the patience to count just how often John had said, "Really Doc, I'm fine," when they both knew that he wasn't. It occurred to the Scot exactly why the Colonel acted as he did and he found that the actions made more sense to him now than they ever would. Granted, that didn't mean he'd accept the "normal" responses from his friend it just meant he understood.
The smell of tea made him actually open his eyes. A steaming mug greeted him along with a bowl of what appeared to porridge and milk.
"Eat," Lansiah instructed gently. She held onto the bowl while she waited for him to drink in a few sips of tea then she took the mug out of his hands and replaced it with the food.
After taking a few bites of the food, Carson placed the bowl onto a small table beside the bed. He really didn't have an appetite right now and he thought it was time for some conversation. "So, what shall we do today?" He paused, listening to the relative quite within the room before he continued on. "It sounds like the storm has stopped. Shall we go outside for a wee bit?"
Lansiah wasn't sure exactly what look she gave her friend but guessing by how quickly his hopeful smile had faded, she would suppose it hadn't been a friendly one. She softened her eyes, letting her adoration and love for him show through like an engraving upon metal and replied, "We will be staying in today. I do need to go out and check the windows and skies as I believe there is more to come but you will be doing nothing but staying on this bed." She slowly rolled up the pant leg and began roaming over the inflamed flesh. Her movements were swift like that of a professional but underneath her touch lay an apologetic tone that could be felt every time her fingers brought about a pained hiss. She frowned during her inspection. "Your injury is much worse than I had initially thought," she supplied remorsefully. Slender fingers roamed over to the sides of the joint, cringing when she felt give that should not be and barely stifling tears when Carson gave a small, strained cry of pain. "I believe you will require," she paused searching for the word, "surgery to fix the damage."
Of course I would, Carson thought exasperatedly, leaning his head rather forcefully against the solid wood headboard then wincing from the brief spike of pain that followed. With a resigned sigh, Carson sat forward, his fingers following shakily along the same path that Lansiah's sure ones had previously trod. He had to bite his lip to refrain from crying out, groaning, or moaning and it took all his training to continue his little trek around the injured joint and not withdraw when every minute step brought something as close to agony as he had ever felt.
When he came to the same spot that Lansiah had reached, he couldn't staunch the gasp and groan the came out as his hands immediately flew away to rest on solid thighs that could take a hefty squeeze. "Aye, I believe you're right," he conceded in between pants.
Lansiah placed a soft hand on his calf, giving a small massage of comfort before she pulled away. "Very well," she answered standing up and placing a few pillows beneath his leg, elevating his knee. "I will go find the equipment needed to make a brace and some more ice." She walked up to the head of the bed, using her hands to brush hair off his face and run a longing hand down his cheek. "Get some rest while I am away."
Carson's eyes opened, crystal blue irises reflecting sadness at the loss of her company and curiosity. He had unconsciously closed his eyes and leaned into her touch when her hand ran down his cheek; he hadn't meant to but it had felt so good feeling her touch him. He watched her head toward the door to her room, slipping on her heavy, partially soaked, winter cloak as she went and asked, "Where are you going?"
She turned around, giving him a smile that brought a suggesting twinkle to her eyes and answered, "Outside of course."