(Thank you all so much for your feedback! Means the world to me!)
THIEVES IN ATLANTIS
BY TIPPER
———————————————————————————
CHAPTER FOUR: MAKING INROADS INTO ATLANTIS
Garron stood in the corner of the gym, in the shadows by the door, watching Ronon train the marines. The Satedan knew the thin, seventeen-year old was there, but didn't acknowledge him. If the boy wanted to learn to fight, Ronon would show him...but not until he asked.
At some point, Garron left. It wasn't the first time he had come and gone without so much as a word.
The four refugees from M4M-167 had been on Atlantis for almost a week, and they had all made their presence known except for Garron. For some reason, the only person the boy seemed willing to offer any sort of respect was Ronon. Everyone else he seemed to ignore or look away from. The typical sulky teenager.
And most of the time, no one even remembered the boy was even there.
It bothered Ronon.
But not because he was worried about the boy. At first, he thought Garron was just very introverted, despite all the talking he'd done on the planet, but now...he'd begun to think the boy was intentionally trying to hide. He just didn't know why.
————————————————————————————
"So," Ren leaned against the lab bench, looking at McKay's laptop and reading the data that was popping up, "are you saying that, when you swap X sub N for Y in the equation, that—"
"Okay, Ren, you know what?" McKay leaned back, fingers lifting from the keyboard to stare at the boy, "I think, after a week of you following me around like a lapdog and asking incredibly stupid questions, I can officially say, I'm done. You get me?"
Ren's brow furrowed, "Done? Done with what?"
"With you! I can't take it anymore! I've tried being nice; I've tried being mean; I've even tried being cruel, but you're like than a lamprey sucking the life out of me! You won't let go! So, I'm not asking you or telling you anymore—now I'm ordering you in the name of all that's sacred and holy and good in this galaxy, leave me alone!"
Ren blinked at him, eyes wide, then they narrowed. "You don't mean that," he said, tilting his head and smiling. "If you did, you wouldn't have been talking to me so much."
"Talking to you?" McKay threw up his hands, "I can't avoid you! Like having a burr stuck to my clothing! I try to pick you off, but you won't let go. Out! Out! Go find something else to do." He made sweeping motions towards the door, "Now! Shoo! Vamoose! LEAVE!"
Ren just smiled, patted him on the shoulder and nodded. "Okay. I'll go. But I'll see you later, okay?"
"No!" McKay stood up, face reddening as he stared down at the twelve year old boy, "No, you will not! You're going to go away and never come back, understand?"
"Right, right. So, when are you going to do the modifications to the jumpers again?"
"Never!"
"So, what, 4:00 or so?"
"No!"
"Okay!" Ren grinned, "See you at four!" And he turned and bounced out of the room, leaving McKay groaning and falling back onto his lab stool, his head in his hands.
It wasn't the first time Rodney had tried to get rid of the boy. For a week, Ren had been shadowing McKay in the lab, following him around the Control Room, eating meals with him in the Mess, asking questions, and offering suggestions ("not to mention, getting in the way, trying my patience, and driving me insane!" McKay whined to Sheppard over a beer late one night), and no matter what insults McKay had hurled at him—some of them blistering—it wouldn't shake the boy. It was if he somehow knew that, no matter what McKay said, they were just words. They washed off him like water off a duck's back, and, if McKay were honest, he'd admit it was somewhat admirable.
It was also freaky.
"He's persistent," Zelenka said, coming up behind his friend and dumping off some papers. "I have never seen a boy so persistent."
"He's not persistent," McKay mumbled through his hands, "he's incurable. Like a terminal disease. Slot me for six weeks to live if that boy doesn't go away soon."
"He's just a boy," Zelenka said softly, patting McKay lightly on the shoulder. "He can not stay attached to you forever. He will find other interests."
"Before or after I'm dead?" McKay asked, lowering his hands and looking up at Zelenka with almost puppy dog eyes. Radek just smiled back, shaking his head.
"He won't kill you," Zelenka shrugged. "Drive you insane, so you might kill yourself, yes. But he won't kill you." Radek chuckled lightly. McKay gave him a dark look.
"When did you get so mean?"
"What can I say?" Zelenka said, grinning now. "I learn from the best."
McKay snorted, sighed, and picked at the charts Zelenka had placed next to his laptop. They had a lot of pastel mini Post It notes stuck on them. Rodney didn't say anything for a moment, then looked up again at Radek, who was studying McKay's laptop screen.
"By the way," McKay said quietly, reaching forward to type on the keyboard, "Thank you for trying to distract him earlier. I appreciate it."
Radek smiled. If McKay was thanking him for something, then he had to truly be at his wits end.
"He will grow tired eventually. And, if not…" Zelenka shrugged.
McKay watched him a moment, then, frowning, prompted, "And if not…what? What do I do?"
"Oh, I have no idea," the Czech said. "That is why I didn't finish the sentence."
The look McKay gave him could have scalded a iceberg.
———————————————————————
"So, lass, what's this one do?" Beckett's question was directed at Freya, who was hovering near him, her large, blue eyes narrowed in contemplation. Turned out, under all that mud, she was a beautiful little girl, complete with the sort of platinum blond hair that older women paid hundreds of dollars for back on earth.
She bit her bottom lip, studied the rubber hammer Beckett was holding up, and then said, "Tests reflexes?"
"Well done!" The physician grinned at her, before returning to the patient sitting before him on the hospital bed. Beckett was currently giving a routine physical to Cadman, who was smiling genteelly as Carson knocked on her knee with the rubber hammer. She'd agreed to letting Freya watch, though it was clear she was more interested in watching Beckett interact with the little girl than in what was going on with the physical.
Freya followed up her guess by rattling off what Carson had taught her about nerves and the way the parts of the body are connected together, which made the physician smile more.
"All correct," Beckett said, smiling at the little girl sitting next to the lieutenant. "Now, what about this one?" He set down the hammer and picked up the blood pressure cuff.
"Blood pressure!" Freya said proudly. Beckett chuckled as he set the cuff on Cadman.
"Exactly right. And this young lady is pretty much perfect in that regard," he said, holding onto Cadman's hand a little longer than was necessary.
Freya, a little like Ren (though nowhere near as obsessive), had spent most of her week visiting with Carson. They got along very well, and it was clear that the Scot was growing very attached to her.
At one point, Carson sent Freya out to fetch some more items for him, which she did, leaving Cadman and Carson alone. The lieutenant gave him a quick kiss before asking the question that had been bothering the physician since Freya had asked to hang out with him today.
"So, Neera's decided not to move to the Mainland then?"
Beckett sighed, shrugging slightly.
"Seems that way. She seems to have really fallen in love with the mess hall kitchens, though goodness knows why. I'm sure Kate's got some clever explanation for it, but since Neera's been here, it's rare to see her outside of the mess hall."
"Her food is good," Cadman said, a touch dreamily, probably thinking back to the pies that were served with lunch today. Neera turned out to be something of a genius with desserts. Fact was, she was pretty much a genius with everything.
"Yes, well, that being said," Carson shrugged, glancing towards the doorway leading into the main part of the infirmary, "it's not right for Freya, Ren and Garron to be stuck here without any other children to interact with. I wish there was a way Neera could see her way to moving out to be with the Athosians and the other refugees. I'm sure the children would be happier."
"Well," Cadman shifted on the bed a little, "I mean, there isn't really any need for her to go with them, is there? She's not their mother—they could be adopted by one of the communities out there. It's not like there aren't plenty more Wraith orphans around."
Carson shook his head, "the three children don't seem to want to leave her. She's not their biological mother, to be sure, but they appear to be very attached. Until she moves to the Mainland, or elsewhere, I think they'll stay here as long as she does." He looked away for a moment, then a small, wicked smile lit his face. "Of course, the twelve year old boy, Ren, seems very happy with the idea, the way he's been dogging McKay."
"Oh," Cadman's eyes were sparkling with amusement, "I saw that! He sat himself down between Rodney and Colonel Sheppard at dinner yesterday, despite there being no room, and started talking a mile a minute. I was a couple of tables over, but we all heard him. I've never heard a child, much less a boy, talk that much to an adult!" She shook her head, "Though I have to say, as much as I think it's hilarious," her eyebrows lifted, "I'm not really sure I understand the boy's attachment to Rodney. Some of the things that jerk said to Ren," her brow furrowed, "he was pretty mean to the boy, Carson."
"And yet, Ren pays no mind. I've had a couple of lunches with them, Laura. Nothing McKay says appears to have any effect, unless it's a compliment. Then it has a positive effect. Otherwise…" He smiled, "It's really quiet amazing. McKay tried to be nice to him at first, but couldn't keep it up, and it's almost as if, the meaner McKay is to him, the more the boy wants to stay with him. I can't say I understand it, but it's great fun to watch!"
As he finished, he settled in next to her, leaning against the bed, and she snuggled into his shoulder.
"Well," she said, "I guess we all have our heroes. How Rodney came to be that boy's, I'll never know though."
Carson just hummed, looking again vaguely for Freya.
"Isn't there another boy?" Cadman asked after a moment.
"Oh, yes. The eldest boy. Garron."
"What's he been doing?"
Carson's eyebrows lifted, thinking about this for a moment. After a moment, he gave a light shrug, so as not to dislodge Cadman's head.
"To be honest, I've no idea. Whatever teenagers do, I suppose."
"Here I am!" Freya called, bouncing back in with the things Carson had asked her to fetch. She had way too many of each, and both Beckett and Cadman laughed as the little girl dumped them on the bed with a grunt, nearly sending everything to the floor.
The dark look the little girl threw them was missed by both adults.
————————————————————————
Neera had taken over the kitchens with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. She quickly whipped the rotating personnel assigned to kitchen duty into shape, demanding quality where before there had only been an emphasis on quantity. More than that, she cut no one slack. The marine's rank or the scientist's titles meant nothing when they found themselves under her command. And she never bothered to learn their names—she named them by location on the kitchen floor. Since they rotated, it made a sad sort of sense.
And it was also very clear that she loved being in charge.
Funny thing was, no one had given her that role. She had just taken it. She walked into the kitchens on the first morning after arriving from M4M-167, and had just decided she was going to become lord and master. It had only taken a few compliments to the staff, one or two spectacular dishes whipped up with a modicum of ingredients and in almost the same amount of time it took to heat up an MRE, and the reins were handed over.
And, despite the complaints of those assigned to work for her, everyone else was ecstatic about the change. Her food was amazing. Weir had taken one look at how well Neera was able to do so much more with so much less, that she okayed it without a second glance.
Sheppard grinned for a day after learning of Neera's talent—he felt like he'd finally succeeded in bringing home something more valuable than a ZPM. And, in a way, he had.
He just wished McKay would stop complaining about the fact that Neera's food was too spicy. The scientist was the only one still eating MREs. Philistine!
Neera, herself, practically glowed. Adorned in Atlantian blues, she walked tall in the halls, greeted and complimented everywhere she went.
If Sheppard weren't such an optimist, nodding to her one day as she skipped past, he'd think it was almost too good to be true.
———————————————————————
Garron ghosted the halls of Atlantis, head down, eyes to the ground. He was doing what he did best—staying invisible. Even when he was shifting the now empty metal trunk on a dolly with him towards the jumper bay, no one said a word. He was just that good at not being noticed. Usually, it was enough...
Until the day he noticed there was one eye on him.
Once or twice, Garron looked up to see Ronon watching him. There was something in the Satedan's expression that unnerved the boy.
So, he was forced to work even harder to stay hidden.
Ronon had tried following him once. He'd shaken the large man. Barely.
He just hoped it was only curiosity. Ronon would eventually leave him alone, just like everyone else.
Or else he'd have to be dealt with.
———————————————————————————
TBC...
A/N - I'm going to post the next couple of chapters in a minute. Thank you all so much for your feedback! For the folks who had questions...Yes, I definitely meant Vulcan. I was thinking about the eyebrows, not the forehead. The dark, down turned eyebrows that they all have. The Klingon brow scares me! LOL! Also, I'm sorry if it's confusing! I'm not sure how to fix that. If it helps, the story is just that they've brought four refugees back from a culled planet, an adult and three kids, and the teenager is acting dodgy. He left a symbol behind for someone on the culled planet, but we don't know who. Meanwhile, the other three are settling into City life. That's pretty much it. And, last, Desert Orkids...oh man...I bit off more than I could chew! Too many OCs. I don't know how mystery writers do it, I really don't. It's tabled...hopefully to be resurrected when I can dream about deserts again! LOL! Oh, oh, and, no, I don't post on Wraithbait. It's too hard for me to post there—I don't have the patience to learn how to do italics and stuff—so I just post here and my site. Sorry!