The Tatterdemalion

Chaptr. 12 – The Clone Who Would Be King

Winter was letting itself be known on the streets of the City in big white powdery flakes of snow, the type that lay still and sticky under foot and compacted hard. Clone John stopped where he was walking and looked up at the sky mesmerised by it speeding towards his eyes and smiled at a memory of ski-ing in the substance. The smile soon left his eyes as he knew that it wasn't one of his memories but that of Sheppard's. His sorrow at holding these thoughts and not having lived them himself, presented itself into a slam of his fist on the nearest wall. It was becoming too painful to bear. He walked on and drew his cloak closer in little support from the cold but continued on his journey, hugging his injured hand to his chest. At least with pain, he had something else to concentrate on and keep the invading memories at bay.

Bartok came and went but Clone John was worried that the Wraith were losing faith in his abilities to remain neutral with them. New scientists had been brought in after the attack and they had recommended that Bartok should not have access to the clone anymore unless due to health issues. The Queens had agreed and Bartok was only permitted in the labs on certain days to see to the manufacture of the tablets from their enzyme for the City's distribution.

The Wraith, and especially Salty, investigated the attack and subsequent escape of Sheppard but never reached a conclusion much too Salty's annoyance, who seemed to watch Clone John like a hawk, suspecting he was in some way responsible as to what happened. The drones and Salty continued to search for the missing Atlantean in the hope that he could be caught, as they knew that he would need medication soon to combat the pain he must be in. He was a valued commodity to them and they would not give up on finding him lightly. Fortunately for Bartok, because he came and went as he usually did, acting normal, they eventually slackened off their suspicions of him and he would always breathe a sigh of relief when he managed to leave the building with the medicines he needed to look after Sheppard.

Girvan, in the end, had been a godsend to them all. Because of him, Bartok could leave Sheppard in his care whilst he went about his business in the City as normal. It was a relief to know that no-one had ever seen the boy in the building before, or at least not thought of him as anything of importance. He had the ability to tend to Sheppard with great care and affection and eagerly learned from his Uncle what Sheppard needed at any given time during his return to hopeful good health.

This last couple of weeks though, the snow had been too heavy for Bartok on foot and even if he managed to trudge his way through the drifts, the footsteps he would leave behind were an obvious trail to his hidden cabin that they could ill afford for the drones or Salty to follow. So Bartok paced in his office with increasing worry that both Sheppard and Girvan were ok and that the stock of Sheppard's medications hadn't swindled away to too low a level. It could prove fatal to him to be without these for too long. So he fretted and wished the snow to ease up.

Sheppard, of course, wasn't his only concern. He watched helplessly, now from a distance, the decline of Sheppard's clone with great sadness. He looked ill and desperately weak, his eyes taking on a haunted look and Bartok understood that day by day his mental health could possibly overtake his fight for survival and cause him to let go. He walked slowly and always appeared to be cold and shivery. On the occasion that their paths did cross, it was all he could do not to reach out to him and offer more than just medical aid. But Salty would be there, eyeing them closely, just waiting on one slip-up that there was more going on than met the eye. He would not be fooled so easily.

One day when the snow had stopped, a commotion outside his door caused Bartok to move outside to see what was going on. Several drones, soaked through, were carrying what looked like a large slab of dirty ice. It was placed on the same metal examining table Sheppard had once been tied to and Salty growled when he saw what laid there. Curious, Bartok walked towards it and couldn't help his wide eyed expression when he looked upon it himself. Lying there, melting fast in the heat of the room, was the frozen preserved body of the Commander. The drones had found it on one of their checks of the surrounding area and it took a moment for Bartok to realise that he had stopped breathing so stepped back and tried to calm himself as he looked up at Salty with a feigned curious expression.

"He must be alive! Sheppard did this. He killed him." Salty said to his Queen as she stepped into the room, hissing when she witnessed the frozen Wraith.

"Search again. Somebody must be sheltering him." All of sudden she spun round to face Bartok. "You! I suspect you must know something for only you could treat the Atlantean. Where … is … he?" she spat out.

"I do not know. I have said this all along."

"Pah. I think you are hiding something from me. But, as you have been here with us for days during the storm…." She stopped suddenly and grabbed Bartok by the chin and then, after looking in his eyes, she pushed his head away from her and stormed out of the room addressing the others.

"Find him. Look further into the woods you idiots. He was alive when he did this. He is stronger that you think, you let him get away!"

Bartok too an involuntary step back and stepped over to the Wraith lying frozen, noticing immediately the wounds that he knew would be there after Girvan had filled him in on their fight.

A flurry of drones and a slow, deliberate walk out of the room by Salty, left Bartok panting and having to put an arm out on the table to stop himself from keeling over. Clone John walked into the room and caught his eye. They both knew time was running out for them all. If Sheppard was caught now, there was no doubt that the Wraiths plan to implant the organs would go ahead immediately. Once the snows had melted, they had no option but to try and get Sheppard off the planet and back home to Atlantis where perhaps they could help them defeat the Wraith once Sheppard told them what was happening here. If Sheppard was still alive anyway. The question was, would Sheppard's clone be welcome there being half Michael as he was.

Are you alive Sheppard? I hope so, Bartok thought to himself.

SGA SGA SGA

A log fell from its pile beside the stove and woke Girvan from his doze, the side of his face facing the fire had a lovely rosy glow to it. He got up from his chair and lifted it up and placed it back on the top of the pile of freshly cut logs, making sure it was securely in place this time. He glanced Sheppard's way, not expecting any signs of life from the man, but was startled to see a pair of eyes watching him distantly.

"Colonel? Sheppard? Are you awake?" He asked quietly.

Girvan squatted on the floor beside him and took his wrist, feeling for his pulse as he done so for so many days now, he had lost count. Satisfied with the beat, he then put the back of his hand on his forehead and was relieved the find the fever that had raged through him was abating at last. Girvan smiled and patted his arm.

"Do you think you can manage a drink of water?" He asked him that but left his side not even expecting an answer as he knew how weak he must be.

He noticed his hand shake when he filled the glass from the stone beaker. What to do now?

But he didn't hesitate to offer Sheppard the water and sat at the head of the couch where he lay and gently lifted his head onto his lap and reached over him with the glass to his lips and gently tipped it towards his mouth. At first, Sheppard didn't move his mouth and the water dripped down his chin but it didn't take long for Sheppard to catch on and opened his mouth in anticipation of the cool water and opened it in expectation.

Girvan remained quiet, just letting the man have all the time he needed to come to himself and when he felt the weight of his head move on his lap, he held it up whilst he moved off the couch and replaced his lap with a couple of cushions, raising Sheppard up into a semi sitting position.

"More?"

Sheppard nodded and he held the glass to his lips once more and was amused when Sheppard made an attempt to hold the glass himself.

"Ease up there, let me do this just now."

Sheppard relented and closed his eyes when the cool water went down his throat. He took a long time to open them again and Girvan thought he had fallen asleep but he slowly opened them again and even managed a lop-sided smile.

Girvan smiled back. "Just lie still and get your bearings. You are in my Uncle's cabin. You have been very ill and this is the first time you have been aware for a long time so just take a minute."

Sheppard understood and nodded. He felt like hell and if this was feeling better? Well, he couldn't imagine how he must have felt yesterday, never mind the days before.

"How …long?"

"Several weeks but you are going to be alright now."

Another nod. "Bartok?"

"He's not here just now. Can I get you anything?"

"M'good."

Girvan got up from his kneeling position and placed another large log on the fire. He talked away in a nervous manner, suddenly unsure what to say to Sheppard, so started with the snow storm and how deep it had got outside. He looked back at Sheppard and found him listening although not adding to the conversation, reckoning correctly that he was too tired to answer him.

He pulled the heavy fireside chair until he was facing Sheppard and sat down, pulling up his legs and resting his arms on them. "Bartok has not been here in almost two weeks now, I have cared for you by myself…and you know, it's been fine, I have managed…but, I am glad to see you have survived Colonel as I didn't know what I else I could have done for you!" Bartok rambled on and Sheppard lulled by his voice, gave up what little fight he had to remain awake and allowed his eyes to close, but only after grabbing for the boys hand which Girvan extended to him, and gave it a weak squeeze.

"Thank you." He rasped out. "You did well. I owe you"

"It was nothing...happy to help." But did not continue as he could see he had fallen asleep. He placed Sheppard's hand back onto his stomach and pulled up the covers that had fallen off, tucking them around his body and looked down at the sleeping man, pleased to see a healthier colour to his face. He took the jug that he kept beside the couch to fill with more water and was surprised to find his hand shake. Perhaps he had been more stressed than he realised, keeping the man alive on his own. But things had definitely turned a corner with the Colonel's health so for now he would cook a lovely stew for him to eat, hoping that he would wake up hungry.

SGA SGA SGA

It seemed bashing your head back against a solid wall when you were sitting, didn't, after all, knock out unwilling thoughts and memories that weren't your own, Clone John found out the painful way.

Bartok had just left him on his own after checking his temperature which seemed to have risen this last couple of days. There were silences between them that had not been there before; not the father and son relationship they used to share, and Clone John was trying to understand Bartok's thoughts. He probably should ask him outright but he was afraid of the answers. Afraid to know that, as he suspected, his life was not as important to Bartok's as it used to be, afraid that Sheppard was the one worth saving now, not the other way round. The problem was, he didn't know how he felt about that. In one way, he wanted to live, but between the conflicts of the two memories overloading him lately and the manufactured plan for his life, as organised by Michael and the Wraith, with which he had no say in the matter, he realised that he was a slave to both parties and neither seemed a viable choice. Bartok, he knew, felt the strain, as he had witnessed the healer flinch when the Wraith talked about their plans for him to be a super Wraith with all the trappings of the ATA gene and all the other experiments they were concocting for him. Worse, he was to be the King for new generations.

He knew the new scientists were in a position where they were happy with their findings and were looking at him with renewed vigour, their enthusiasm to continue what Michael started evident in their eyes. The only thing missing…Sheppard!

Bartok spoke very little of him, probably to protect him from the truth. That he was holding on to life and being looked after at the moment in the care of his young, capable, nephew's hands, having survived the torture he had been subjected to and the withdrawal from the drugs so brutally stabbed into his body.

In even knowing these things, Clone John knew he was deceiving the very Wraith that had brought birth to him. For he knew they needed Sheppard to harvest his organs for the good of his health and that knowledge, that he was alive, and still, potentially, in a position to be captured, was eating away at him. To tell them what he knew and follow that path or to remain innocently unware and slowly die because his strength was leaving him…well, Clone John wished there was a third option, one where he could just live out his own life but he knew that option was not on the table.

Standing up, rubbing the back of his now sore head, Clone John walked over to the mirror and looked at his reflection. He raised his hand, watching it touch his face and closed his eyes. Unable to look at his face that was more Sheppard's than Michael's, he reached for his cloak and decided to go for a walk, hoping the cold wind and snow would clear his head until the next time melancholy seized his heart and twisted it cruelly. For now, he would continue on as he had done before, deceiving his Masters that he was an innocent in their plans until one day he could reach a decision on which side he favoured. If there was one thing he knew, he had to make that decision soon. He could not carry on the way he had been any longer.

SGA SGA SGA

TBC