Chapter 20

2034

"It's a bit like a theme park, huh?" Grace was saying. She was speaking in a whisper, but her voice still filled the empty room, hitting the bare walls.

Caleb was standing in the centre of the room. A streak of light illuminated the bed which was pushed against the wall, revealing an intricate net of rotten ropes on which the former mattress must have lain. "Just a whole lot more bleak," he answered just as quietly, his eyes travelling along the soot-stained walls and coming to rest at a semi completed crib, the wood of which was stained and partly destroyed by the exposure to the elements. The door to the stable was hanging on one hinge only, revealing a partial view of a fallen roof and a rusty pitchfork.

This place didn't do much to lift his spirits.

"Can you even imagine this?" Grace asked incredulously, pushing at the door Caleb had been eying and breaking it off in the process. She let go of the wooden doorknob and stared at it as it lay on the dusty floor.

"Not really, no," Caleb said, stepping over to the hearth where a cast iron pot still hung from a metal hook. This really was unusual. Resources were never wasted in communities like these. Usually they were repurposed. But this place looked abandoned and forgotten. Like the people who had once lived here had taken off and forgotten to return.

He looked down at the broken crib and felt his stomach turn as thought of how handy his dad was at building things. Had he made this? Had he made that bed? The rickety table standing in the centre of the room?

Shaking his head slowly, he reached for the pot. It was heavier than he would have expected. He looked inside carefully, not at all surprised to find an abandoned bird's nest inside. "I mean… Mom and Dad…" He turned it upside-down to get rid of most of the dirt. Somehow he'd smuggle this thing back to them. Seven months meant they must have cooked every single meal in this thing… and to think that in their home they had about a dozen pots and pans. His dad must have gone insane with just one pot. If it had been indeed him who did the cooking. With a broken leg, that wasn't at all likely.

"I read the report, but… yeah, I get it."

She put her hand on the weathered old table. "Seven months is more than just a failed uprising, huh?"

Grace wasn't at all wrong. Seven months meant adjusting to a new situation. It meant living in a community, helping neighbours, receiving help. It meant work and struggle for survival. In their case it had also meant pain and a pregnancy.

She nodded. "Remember my doll?"

Caleb raised an eyebrow and leaned against the windowsill and ignoring the soft creaking sound it made when his weight rested on it. "Which one? You had about two dozen Barbies."

Rolling her eyes, Grace crossed her arms. "No, I meant that wooden doll I had. The one Lucas nearly burnt on your birthday?"

The name made him twitch, but the memory wasn't all bad. He remembered that day. It was the first time he had ever been sloshed, and Josh had been the one to smuggle the beer into their home. Neither one of their parents had noticed, and when they found the bottles strewn around the bonfire, there'd been hell to pay. That doll really had very nearly perished that night, but Torren had saved it for Grace with one of his most charming smiles.

"How did we get our hands on that thing anyway?"

Grace blushed and waved it off. "Never mind." She tapped the table again. "Anyway, when I joined up, dad told me he made it. He made it here and took it home when they returned that one time." Biting her lip, she took a step back to approach the bed again. "For Nora, but still…"

Swallowing hard, Caleb looked up at the ceiling again. At the shingled roof and the cobwebs occupying a stretch between wooden support beam and wall. This place didn't just smell of dust and mice though. It smelled of hot wood and manure from somewhere nearby. Strangely enough, it had a homely feeling to it. Even now that this house had been abandoned for decades. But maybe he was just being sentimental.

Cuthbert had left them in here about half an hour ago, promising to get them when he was done talking with Jonas. And Caleb had no idea how he felt about being here. He was a historian, so this whole place should be fascinating to him. What he felt instead was less excitement and more of a sense of trepidation. Of having underestimated his parents all his life.

It was one thing to know that your mother was an accomplished archaeologist and expert at several long-dead languages. That your father was a soldier. The kind of person who knew how to kill and how to save a life. How to fly fighter planes and train pilots. How to lead men and women into battle.

It was another thing to discover that your parents had been to other planets and had performed all those tasks there as well. That they had both fought some aliens and forged alliances with others. To know that your sister was born in another galaxy and that you yourself had spent the first few years of your life in that very same galaxy.

It was a completely different thing to see remains of that life. To be in this place where his parents had found each other after years of separation. Where they'd survived against all odds.

No. The historian in him could never compete with the son he was first and foremost.

"Dad was always quite handy at that sort of thing," he whispered, eyes trained on the broken crib again. "I remember when I was in my cowboy phase, he made me a whole herd of horses."

"He made a ship for me."

Caleb whirled around to see Cuthbert standing in the doorway. That man certainly knew how to walk quietly, Caleb thought, and then the words sank in. This man had known his parents long before Caleb and Grace had been there. Their father had made toys for him.

"How old were you?" Grace asked, her head cocked to the side. "

"I do not know," Cuthbert answered with a shrug. "Little. He, your mother and my parents were friends. I remember the two of them weren't used to working in the fields. When they were first here, I saw your mother crying over a tub of soapy water, because she could not get the clothes clean… my mother showed her how to do it. It looked strange to me then."

Caleb nodded, his mouth dry. Somehow Cuthbert's words didn't sound demeaning, and his expression was so sincere Caleb felt the urge to sit on that creaky old stool. How desperate she must have been.

"When they returned a few years after they were taken, I hated them for still being alive. All of our parents had been killed. Only a few of us remained and we had to fend for ourselves until the Tau'ri returned and later on introduced us to the Langarans. We're one people now."

"How many of you are there?" Caleb asked as Grace stepped closer to the doorframe to peek inside the barn.

"By now? About three hundred or so? A few of those who managed to flee came back over the years and a coalition with the Lucian Republic brought in a few more settlers, but this planet is barren of any natural resources that do not come from farming."

"So you really don't have the manpower to start a mining operation," Caleb said and Cuthbert nodded. Manpower notwithstanding, these people had next to no means of defending themselves against any enemy that might attack the outpost they were planning.

"But we could use naquadah and maybe even the naquadria for trading with other worlds. There really is nothing left for us to get from the mines.

Caleb looked at the other man, unsure of what to say. Should he thank him for showing them this house? Should he comment on that insane endeavour of starting up a new settlement with little to no manpower to spare and basically under the rule of another nation?

"The Jaffa aren't going to give you a good deal, you know?" Grace said, surveying the doorframe and brushing over the side of it before turning back to Cuthbert.

"I am aware, yes." Cuthbert said, frowning at her. "And my people aren't thrilled about their involvement either."

No big surprise there. After all, the Jaffa had killed and tortured for the System Lords, hadn't they? Even decades after the end of the Goa'uld regime, it was hardly surprising that most people were still suspicious of the Jaffa as a people. Especially with guys like Harak in charge. But what choice did these people here have? Not only had the SGC been downsized over the years, but their movements across the galaxy were limited because of that treaty with the Furlings. "I hope things turn out okay for you," Caleb said, wishing there was more for him to say than that useless sentiment.

Cuthbert eyed him for a moment, then he nodded in appreciation. "The session is going to resume. We should head back."

Before they left, Caleb took another look around the small room, his eyes lingering on the crib, wondering if that pang of jealousy he felt whenever he thought of that sister he'd never known would ever fade.

Grace nudged his side on her way to the door. "Are you seriously going to take that pot along?" Her eyes trailed down to the heavy object in his hand. The thin metal handle was already cutting into his hand, but his pack was just outside and it would easily fit inside.

"You mean the artefact?" he laughed. "Hell yes."

Her hand on his shoulder pushed him outside so they were standing outside and opposite the house in which Cuthbert and his family lived. The owner was already farther down the road and almost at the village square. It was high time they got there as well. But as he knelt to pack up the pot, Caleb couldn't quite keep himself from peeking into the barn. At the balls of hay stacked neatly in one corner and the locked-up chicken coop in the other. Had their parents really lived like this once?

The pot weighed heavy in his pack.

The cart had three wheels. Two at the back, one at the front for support.

Alex watched on as Evan pulled it into Oswald's barn. Their neighbours had done so much for them in the past few months and now that Oswald was sick, Evan had taken over getting the hay into storage for winter.

She stroked her swollen belly and smiled to herself when Evan wiped the sweat off his brow and turned to look at her as she was leaning against the wooden wall, inspecting the muscles of his arms, clearly defined under the linen shirt sleeves. He had to be the most attractive man she'd ever seen. Top that with his kindness, his dedication and his urge to create where there was nothing but raw material, and she was lost.

"What?" he asked grinning, helping little Cuthbert of the cart. The boy mimicked him by wiping his own brow and accepted the canteen with water with a wide grin.

Alex gently shook her head, her eyes trained on the single silvery hair glinting in the sunlight. It showed up every now and again, but it was the only one. Cuthbert handed the canteen back to Evan and ran straight for the door leading into the main house and to his parents.

"Well, I've never seen a vehicle like this one," she said absentmindedly, her hand waving in the general direction of the cart.

Evan caught her hand easily enough and pulled her towards him until her belly was pressed tight against his. She couldn't feel the child moving yet, but it was there. And at this particular moment, she wasn't terrified at the realisation. If they were really, truly stuck here, they could still be okay. She could be with him and all their conflicts back on Earth could remain right there. And she willingly drank up this illusion. Just for a moment she allowed herself to be swept up by it. Because winter would come sooner rather than later. Their lives would be in danger as soon as their new-found people displeased Ba'al or enraged the Jaffa.

But just for now, she let herself believe that he was her husband. That all they had to worry about was whether or not that sourdough bread she'd put on would be edible.

"That's funny," he said, his eyes never leaving hers, "you're not looking at the vehicle."

Alex grinned and lifted her hand to wipe at a smudge on his cheek. "I have excellent peripheral vision."

A/N: Yep, it's been a while… this week, let me tell you, wasn't fun at all. There was a friendship emergency and that threw me off my rocker for a couple of days.

Anyway, I can't get over Larsa. Those seven months still haunt me, and I promised myself I'd be done writing about them! Well, I guess I'm a much bigger fool than I thought I was.

This last scene was prompted by dani2the_ela and was inspired by a scene in "When Calls the Heart". Hope you liked it!